The Faceless One (31 page)

As they neared the door, they saw a dusty and annoyed guard approaching from the parking lot. The two men hurriedly slipped down a side corridor and into an exhibit of Pueblo tribes. They stopped before a large glass case filled with Hopi Katsina dolls and waited silently.

* * *

Dex sneezed three times in rapid succession, the final sneeze punctuated with a string of obscenities.

The guard unholstered his gun and headed for the temporary exhibit. He thought of calling for help but did not want to explain his soiled appearance without capturing some asshole first. If he made a bust, he’d be a hero. If not, he’d be considered just a screwup, and maybe a crazy one at that.

He used his left hand to flip on the bank of lights and saw immediately that one of the display cases had been broken into and many of its artifacts removed. The arm of a mannequin lay on the floor amid shattered glass. His eyes tracked through the hall and noted that one mannequin had been stripped of its garments. Somebody had stolen a lot of shit, that was for damn sure.

* * *

In the Pueblo exhibit, George was perspiring freely. He was terrified at the prospect of going to jail, of not having even the small measure of freedom the retirement home had afforded him.

Why had he listened to Jimmy? Hadn’t he known this whole insane scheme would end in disaster? George felt the back of his neck prickle and turned.

All of the Katsinas were facing him now.

He pulled at Jimmy’s sleeve, scared out of his wits.

Jimmy was straining to hear where the guard had gone, hoping they might slip out while he checked another part of the museum. He was going to shake George off but looked at the man. George was actually trembling. He motioned wordlessly to the glass case. Jimmy looked.

All of the Katsinas turned their heads to look at Jimmy.

George let out a low moan. Jimmy patted his friend’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, George, this is very good magic.”

George did not want to look at them again.

Jimmy placed his hand on the glass.

“I am grateful for any aid, any blessings, in the coming trials,” he said.

The Katsinas regarded him silently.

Jimmy seemed to listen for a moment, then looked at George.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“What did they say?” George asked, whispering like a frightened child.

“I have no idea. I don’t speak Hopi.”

“Maybe … maybe you want to take some of them with you.” George hated himself for even thinking it.

Jimmy shook his head. “There’s a lot of power here, but I wouldn’t know how to use it properly. I might insult one of the Hopi gods, and then where would we be?”

George didn’t know how to answer this. Just then, all he wanted was to get the hell out of there. A boring day at Golden Summer suddenly seemed very appealing.

Jimmy and George walked up the short stairs as quietly as they could. There was no sign of the guard. They made their way to the front door, and still the way was clear. They heard the crunching of glass in the main hall, echoing like a rifle shot through the darkened halls. They moved through the door and walked quickly but quietly to the car. By the time they reached the Lincoln, both the men were winded. George opened the trunk, and they stashed the Tlingit artifacts inside.

They got into the car, taking care not to slam the doors. George started up the car, which, fortunately, had a quiet engine. He backed out without turning on the headlights. As he gunned the car to the exit, the tires squealed like a pair of irate piglets.

* * *

In the main hall, Dex was trying to decide whether to block off the crime scene with ropes or just block the hall with stanchions. He had already stepped on some glass, which would probably piss off the LAPD.

He heard the car leaving the lot and ran to get a look at it. By the time he got out the door and up the steps into the parking lot, the car was gone. He remembered now seeing a vehicle in the lot when he was chasing Claudia (or thought he was) but couldn’t remember anything but its basic shape. Man, he was just screwing up right and left. There were no cameras in the lot, so that wouldn’t help. Maybe he should just skip the part about chasing a little girl who looked like his daughter who had then changed into a bird and flown away. Such a story would not only get him banned from ever applying to the academy; it might get him locked up in an institution. Yes, skipping his little misadventure in the parking lot was definitely the way to go. Dex went back in and called the police and Margaret Jugos, the director of the museum.

* * *

Jimmy and George got onto the Pasadena Freeway, which was deserted at this hour, and headed back to the Holiday Inn in Burbank.

“Well, Cochise,” George said, his mood considerably lighter now that they were on the road, “we are officially felons. What’s our next move?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I have to wait for a sign from Raven, then purify myself for the coming battle.”

Now that George had seen both a ghost and the Katsina dolls, he was no longer a skeptic. But being a believer brought new worries.

“This will be very dangerous, won’t it?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

Jimmy looked at his friend. “Yes, but don’t worry. As soon as I learn the location of the battleground, I’m sending you home.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna leave you at that point, Cochise.”

“This is not your battle, George.”

“Ha. Seems to me it’s everybody’s battle, Tonto. You may be the one wearing the blanket and the lady’s handbag—”

“Octopus bag. It’s a pouch.”

“Tomato-tomahto, looks like a purse to me, Minnehaha. You may be the one with all the Tlingit finery, but I’m one of the ones who’s gonna freeze his ass off if you fail. Besides, that Faceless One may get one look at that ugly puss of yours and hightail it to parts unknown, and you’ll need a driver again.”

Jimmy couldn’t bear to put George in any more jeopardy. “We’ll see,” Jimmy replied.

“Mmm-hmmm”—George nodded—“when my wife said that, it meant ‘no.’ You just try keeping me away. You’ll have to fight me and the Big Ugly. Wanna place a bet on who’s tougher?”

“I don’t think The Faceless One is going to talk my ears off like you, George Watters.”

George laughed at this and pushed
SCAN
on the digital radio until he was able to tune in a jazz station. Django Reinhardt’s jaunty “Limehouse Blues” took them all the way to their hotel, and Jimmy continued to look for signs.

It was just past 5:00
P.M
. on Friday when Stan was again visited by the Big Boss, who communicated to him that it was time to switch vehicles. Stan was sorry to leave Richie behind but also relieved. Now the man might get a decent burial. He was sure Richie’s family was worried about him. Stan found an Airstream trailer, dented and covered with stickers from a thousand scenic wonders, near the outskirts of Tucumcari, New Mexico.

In the front yard were a large piece of Astroturf and a collection of ceramic bunnies, over fifty of them. They were gathered in a large group before a ceramic lawn gnome who appeared to be reading to them from a plaster-mushroom pulpit. On the large, spotted mushroom was an open Bible. It had been lacquered to protect it from the elements. Stan couldn’t tell if the Bible was real but suspected that it was. He wondered what passage a gnome might read to a crowd of rabbits.

In the dirt driveway were an ancient Impala and a relatively new Ford Bronco. Stan eased by and noticed a carport out back made of wooden planks and a corrugated tin roof. The carport was listing, as if it had endured several years of high winds. Stan parked the Buick out back under the carport. It was dark under the carport, and several creatures scuttled into corners when he exited the vehicle.

“What the hell are you doin’, Mister?”

Stan looked up. A large man, a construction worker by the look of him, was standing just outside the carport.

“Car’s overheating,” Stan said, smiling.

“I don’t give a fuck,” the man said. “This is my mother’s place. Now get the hell out.”

Stan shot him once in the chest, and the big man collapsed without a sound. Stan dragged his body back into the darkness of the carport. The Big Boss was in a hurry, and did not force him to get creative with the remains, which was a blessing. As Stan left the ramshackle structure, he heard the first tentative movements of the various scavengers toward the still-warm body.

He had hated using one of his few remaining bullets on the man. Letting him live had been out of the question, of course, and the man’s hostility had made it just a bit easier—not that a friendly attitude would have saved him. But if the man had been smaller, he could have bludgeoned him, saving bullets for his final “fuck you” to the Big Boss.

Inside the trailer, an enormous woman was watching
The Young and the Restless
and eating cold fried chicken from a bucket. Stan smothered her with a pillow, thus saving bullets and keeping the mess down to a minimum. He helped himself to some of the chicken and a couple of cans of Hawaiian Punch from the fridge. He raised one of the aluminum cans in the air as a toast to his former partner, then drank deep. On his way out, he took a look at the Bible-thumping gnome. The Bible was indeed real and opened to the First Book of Kings. The print was faded from sunlight, but a verse had been touched up and blocked off with Magic Marker. It read:

Not a very uplifting passage, but then, in his experience, there wasn’t much about the Bible that was cheery. Not a lot of laughs, there. He wasn’t sure why these little rabbits were cursed to be fed upon by the Dogs of Naboth (whoever they were), but he thought he knew how they felt. Had the Bible not been lacquered open to that one grim verse, he might have turned it instead to the story of Creation, or something else more … hopeful.

He left the doomed rabbits and the unyielding gnome and locked up the Airstream. He drove off in the new Bronco, feeling almost cheered by a vehicle that didn’t smell of vomit and sun-baked garbage.

By the time someone discovered the bodies, he would be in California.

Once Jimmy and George had returned to the Holiday Inn, Jimmy began to prepare. George had planned to stay awake to assist him but soon was snoring loudly in the armchair near the television. This was just as well because Jimmy needed to concentrate and couldn’t be bothered with George’s inevitable questions or comments. The snoring he would try to reimagine as roaring surf near his village in Yanut.

He took some of the devil’s club herb and mixed it with water. Knowing what was to come, he hesitated slightly before drinking it. He had lived among non-Tlingit people for several years now. The purification of his body was going to be painful. He drank down the mixture in the bathroom and waited. There was no warning, just his guts suddenly clenching and cramping in painful knots, as if his insides were being crushed between stout fingers of iron. He barely made it to the toilet and vomited up an enormous amount of undigested food and liquid. He continued to throw up, his eyes tearing and his muscles clenching and straining, until at last all he could bring up were viscous yellow strings of bile, acidic and bitter on his tongue. He weakly washed his face with cold water, spitting into the sink and rinsing out his mouth with water.

Another wave of cramps hit him, even more violent than the first, and this time he had to sit on the toilet as the ginseng purged his intestines. It was painful, loud, and embarrassing, the small room filling with a noxious odor. The assault on his body lasted a full half hour, and when it was finally over, he was wet with sweat and trembling. He flushed the toilet for the fifth and final time and weakly crawled to the sink. He again washed his face, then knelt before the sink, too weak to stand. He at last curled up on the cool tile floor and slept.

George woke him trying to get into the bathroom. Jimmy got to his feet, feeling better. He felt stronger, his body free of toxins. Too many years of preserved and junk foods and less-than-pure water were now gone from his system. He let George in, flicking on the exhaust fan as he did so. George wrinkled his nose but was too polite to say anything. George saw several spatters of blood on the toilet seat and on the tile floor, the bright crimson a violent contrast to the snow-white fixtures. Jimmy saw these and cleaned them up with one of the towels. He apologized to George, and George gently patted his arm.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” he said.

George’s use of his first name always surprised Jimmy and told him that his friend finally
believed all of it. It was the appearance of Uncle Will, he supposed, or maybe the Katsinas had done it. If that was the extent of their aid, Jimmy was grateful. Perhaps George would listen to him when it was time to send him away.

He left George to his morning toilet, intending to shower when the bathroom was free. After that, they would need to find a piece of open ground for the next phase of the ritual. As he moved, he noticed something. Rather, he noticed its lack. The pain in his hip, a constant companion for the last decade, was now virtually absent. Rather than masked by some narcotic, he had a feeling the arthritis in his hip had actually retreated. He again thanked his uncle for his gifts. Now he would be more sure-footed in facing his enemy.

Once Jimmy had cleaned up, they sought out the night clerk. The portly man was already up, drinking an enormous cup of coffee and munching on an apple fritter the size of a Frisbee. Jimmy politely asked him where the nearest unspoiled wilderness was, which got a laugh from the clerk, whose name was Rak. Rak told them that the only places he knew that had nice trees and hills were either Griffith Park or the Forest Lawn Cemetery. George feared that they would be going to the cemetery. Normally, he would have dismissed stories of ghosts, what his grandmama had called haints, but he had seen one, hadn’t he? And those dolls in the museum, that hadn’t been any dream—they had looked right at him with their little clay-and-bead eyes. Jimmy went on to ask Rak which place allowed a fire, and Rak said Griffith Park, “unless you was planning to ‘cremerate’ somebody,” then Rak laughed, showing two gold-edged teeth. He pulled out a map from the desk and gave them directions to Griffith Park. Jimmy thanked him, and they went out to the car, weighed heavy with artifacts and old teachings.