Sparkle (24 page)

“He’s fine, Vonelle. He’s just shy.”

“Shy? Shy? What’s that about? Any man’s shy with you must be gay. I’m telling you LaVonne Wilson, you get yourself in another mess with another bad man and—

“Gotta go,” LaVonne said. “He just walked in.”

Even though it was busy, Joe’s stool was free. He saw LaVonne and she saw him at the same instant. Thank God, he thought, she doesn’t have a black eye or something. LaVonne was on the phone, but she put it away immediately—and walked away down the bar to help someone at the opposite end.

Joe stood there, behind his regular bar stool, afraid to sit.

LaVonne was giving excellent service, but she was clearly in no hurry to come back to his end of the bar. Someone looked over at Joe standing there awkwardly, and he finally sat down. He sat there for ten seemingly endless minutes, as LaVonne checked in with everyone else in the place. In about two more seconds it was going to get humiliatingly obvious to the entire bar that she was shunning him. She kept walking by as if he were invisible.

A little guy with a big gut sitting two stools down from Joe had already looked at him funny a couple of times. Joe felt himself shrinking, getting smaller and smaller each time LaVonne came near. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to end up walking out with his tail between his legs and never come back. He worked up his nerve, and waited until she was directly across from him with her back turned.

“Any chance I could get served?” he said.

LaVonne turned around and looked at him as if he were a five-penny tip. She came close and leaned forward. “You already did,” she said quietly, “so unless you came to apologize—and it damn well better be good—you’re eighty-sixed, mister. And I mean permanently.”

One thing Joe liked about LaVonne, even now: When he didn’t know what the hell to do, she tended to create a very clear path for him. Even empty-handed, she was giving him a small opening. He was smart enough to jump at it.

“I c-c-came to apologize. Absolutely. I…I…I…” He couldn’t break through his stutter. LaVonne let him suffer. He bit the inside of his lip, took a quick, deep gulp of air. “I’m s-s-s…I’m s-s-s…I’m s-ssorry,” he finally managed.

LaVonne didn’t move.

Joe tried again. His chest rose up and down as he forced himself to breathe. “I…am sorry,” he stumbled. “I wish I would have…handled myself better. I’m an idiot. Please.”

That was all he could manage. He wanted to say more, but his mind completely flamed out.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. LaVonne knew Joe was wounded, damaged goods. She’d gotten involved with her eyes as wide open as she could manage. There were definite limits, though, and Joe was on the edge of the cliff. She wasn’t going to take one more ounce of abuse in her life. Not from anyone. One tiny push, and he’d be gone, as far as she was concerned. Might as well lay down some ground rules.

She looked around. The guy with the gut was looking at them.

“This is private, Bill,” she said. “Mind your own business and the next round’s on me.” The guy looked away. LaVonne lowered her voice. “Look, Joe, I know you have problems. I know you’ve had a rough time. I like you, I really do. But you’re not the only one who’s had it rough. My life’s pretty good right now, but it hasn’t always been like this. Most of my problems came from two places: hanging out with idiots, and acting like one myself.”

“I know—” Joe began.

“Don’t interrupt,” Lavonne said quietly. “You’re not an idiot, Joe. But you do know how to act like one. As far as your apology…I guess it’ll do, in spite of my better judgment. But the count’s two and nothing against you.”

Joe looked at her as though he was willing to take whatever she was about to pitch.

“Or maybe two and two,” she said.

Joe knitted his brows. “Why two and two?”

“Because you definitely have a couple of balls coming in here after what you pulled last night.”

Joe looked at her, dazed, as her face softened into an expression that was clearly still exasperated—but also kind and indulgent.

“Thank you,” he choked out. He looked down and rubbed his head. He was out of breath.

“You’re welcome,” LaVonne said. “I’m going to give you one more chance, Joe.”

Joe smiled broadly, like a kid, looking at his hands locked together on the bar. LaVonne was shocked. She’d never seen a smile like that on his face before. His sincerity was powerful stuff—on the rare occasions he let it loose.

“Joe,” LaVonne said, reaching out and resting her warm hand on top of his,. “you scared?”

“Shitless.”

“Me, too,” she said. “What can I get you?”

“Redhook. Please.”

After a while, LaVonne took a break, poured herself a diet Sparkle, and sat down next to Joe. They didn’t speak for five minutes. For a change, it was a comfortable feeling. Joe felt his heart slowing down, his breathing easing up.

“I was, I was wondering if you could tell me some more about your nephew’s baseball team thing,” he said.

LaVonne laughed. That was about the last thing she had expected to hear. Joe was just as nonplussed. Lately, with LaVonne, every time he opened his mouth he felt like a puppet manipulated by an invisible, cruel ventriloquist.

“What’s his name?” Joe asked.

“It’s Anton. And if you’re serious about this, Joe, I’ll definitely push you until it happens.”

“Well, I—”

“I’m serious,” LaVonne said, still smiling. “If you did anything to disappoint my little Anton, we’d be through.”

Joe’s cell phone rang.

“Go ahead and get your call.” LaVonne went back to work, smiling and shaking her head.

Joe answered the call.

“How’s that brother of yours?” It was Pinky Bjorgeson.

Joe wasn’t going to get into it with her. He bit down hard to keep from stuttering. “Fine. He’s at the Red Lotus now.”

“You’d better remember to thank Louis for rescheduling that job for you,” Bjorgeson said. “He’s been taking some ribbing for that.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “From you. Tell Louis he can forget paying me the twenty bucks from our bet last Saturday.”

“You tell him. So where’d Eddie take off to?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He came back,” Joe hesitated. “He’s fine. Went for a walk. .”

“Uh, right. So what is it that makes you think he’s not going to run off again?”

“I don’t know, but he’s fine today. Is that all you need? I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Pinky said dryly.

“No problem. So…is that it?” Joe had a pretty good idea what Pinky’s answer was going to be, and it made his heart sink.

“No, actually, that’s not it. There’s a job tomorrow if you’re available. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“Where?” Now Joe’s voice sounded tired.

“Knife fight at a men’s shelter. Pretty gross. These two old geezers had some kind of a disagreement and decided to figure it out with their pocketknives. I guess they both won, huh?” As usual, Bjorgeson couldn’t resist baiting Joe. Joe didn’t say anything. “Joe? You there?”

Joe didn’t bite. “Yeah, we need the work.”

Pinky was quiet at the other end. “You okay, Joe?” she said, finally.

Joe didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He did his best to sound sincere. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Joe. You got the job. The priest will call you with the address. Bet that’s a first, huh? You guys play your cards right, maybe you can get time off in hell for good behavior.”

Chapter 34

Eddie made surprisingly good progress at the Red Lotus. His senses were heightened and melded into one, feeding a continuous stream of information into his brain. The evil was receding, he was still strong after nearly seven strenuous hours, and five of the blue wispy spirits had already freed themselves and floated away.

His worries hadn’t completely disappeared, but they were quieted and pushed far enough back in his consciousness that they didn’t interfere with the work. The overwhelming stimulation of the job was providing blessed relief, at least for now.

But now there was a problem. Eddie was having trouble freeing the last spirit, and his internal clock told him it was getting alarmingly close to quitting time. Eddie had tried to communicate with the spirit, then moved away from it, using the machines to completely clean the rest of the room. But the spirit wouldn’t budge, stubbornly inhabiting what was becoming a smaller and smaller circle of blood on the floor, keeping Eddie from finishing the job.

Now he was going around and around it with the machine. As the circle got smaller and smaller, Eddie sensed a rushing sound, like an urgent whisper. Every time he tried to close up on the circle, the sound became unbearable, drowning out even the powerful whine of the industrial wet-dry vac. It was more than the sound, though. Something strong, something he’d never felt before, was holding him back.

Eddie turned off the machine, knelt down, and concentrated on the perfect circle of dried blood in front of him. He squinted, and could just make it out: a gauzy dome that had materialized over it, hovering protectively.

The circle was about six inches in diameter, right where the main linoleum floor rose up a half-inch or so to meet a wooden dance floor. A piece of molding joined the two sections. Half of the circle was on wood and half was on linoleum. The dome over it was a translucent swirling pattern of light, dark red, and pale blue pouring in and out of one another.

The more Eddie stared, the more curious he became. This shouldn’t be. But there it was, protecting this one spot, the buzzing, croaking whisper enticingly close to being understandable.

As he focused all his energy on the whisper, it began to grow more coherent. Eddie could hear distant but distinct echoes of gunshots, flat, toneless orders, pleas for mercy, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. He usually heard stuff like that—if ever—only at the very beginning of a job, when he was sinking into his cleaning mode. It was never this clear, and it always faded quickly once he got going. Since it had never been of any help with his cleaning, Eddie tended to think of the phenomenon as merely a distraction.

Now it got louder and clearer. Eddie was stuck. He didn’t know what to do. He needed to finish and get dressed before Joe came back.

Then he heard his name.

Eddie took off one of his rubber gloves, reached out carefully, and touched the filmy, swirling dome.

He got a chilling shock, saw a brilliant white flash, and the room changed.

Eddie heard his name being called. It was clear now.

“Eddie,” the voice said. “Eddie. Turn around.”

Lucy hadn’t used his name before. She was standing there looking at him with that strangely accusatory look she had, and she was holding the hand of an elderly Asian man with blood all over his face and head.

The man spoke. “You’re a good boy, Eddie. But you’re headstrong. You need to listen to your mother.”

Mom? Eddie thought.

“Yes. She sends a message for you.”

Mom? Eddie felt dizzy. He sat on the floor to keep from falling down.

“Remember your promise,” the old man said. As he said it, he jabbed his finger at Eddie’s chest three times, once for each word. “Just. Let. Go.”

“Just let go.” With every word, the thumping in his chest became louder, harder to hold back. He rubbed his head nervously.

“That’s right,” the man said. “You listen to your mom. She’s a good lady.”

Things shifted again. There was a blast of pure light and Eddie saw the scene in shadows. It was night. The killer moved down the line of people on their knees—bang! The old man would be next, and he grabbed onto the killer’s long coat. The killer turned to shake the man off and hit him in the head with a gun and the man staggered but held on tighter. Eddie’s vision zoomed in and he saw the old man’s hand somehow go into the killer’s pocket and come out with something. The killer struggled to loose the old man’s grip. Bang! The old man fell. He was the last one. Bang! The killer pumped a second shot into the first victim, coming down the line again to make sure all the victims were really dead.

The old man held a scrap of paper, and he reached out his hand and shoved it away from him and under the loose linoleum where two kinds of flooring came together. Then he died. Right there. Right where Eddie had not been able to clean.

The lights seemed to come back on and the man was still there with Lucy. He faded into the ordinary sort of ghost Eddie was used to seeing. The pale wisp brushed against Eddie’s face with an electric blue spark, then wafted up and out of the room. Gone. Job done.

But Lucy didn’t go. “Why haven’t you looked at what I gave you? You have to keep your promises. I have to know why. You have to make the catch.”

Eddie felt the small lump of rubber glove grow hot in his pocket.

Lucy pointed to the place Eddie had been circling with the machine. “It’s there. It’s something else you need. It will never stop unless you make the catch.”

Lucy faded away and Eddie was hit by the smell. It was faint and passing and it triggered a memory. The same scent had wafted briefly in and out of his consciousness at the Silver house. It hadn’t held any meaning at the time and he had let it go. It was unforgettable though, sweet and harsh with a faint chemical-alcohol aftertang. It came and went in an instant and Eddie knew it was the smell of the killer, somehow more nauseating and persistent than the cloying, rotten stink of death itself.

Eddie never thought about who did these deeds. It had never needed to be his business. He was a cleaner. He never wasted a thought on the wrong that had been done; merely concentrated every gift he had on the small but vital thing he could do to make things right. Now he was being forced to look at more, and felt a weight of responsibility that threatened to crush him if he let it in. He tried to reach into his pocket but he couldn’t. The small rubber lump against his leg burned hotter and hotter, but he could not force his hand inside that pocket. Instead, he looked down at the perfect circle of rusty crimson at his feet as his body vibrated like a guitar string plucked much too hard.

Chapter 35