The Paladin (16 page)

"Take the damn thing," Zack said, "Just please let Mrs. Mills go."

Cody began to laugh, "Zack, can I call you Zack? What did Brenda and the preacher tell you?"

"That a bunch of assholes kidnapped her mom and want a stupid jar that belonged to Silas Cole or they would kill her."

The three men burst into laughter.

"Son, you are the sucker of the year," said Cody. "We aren't kidnappers; we are blackmailers."

"Blackmailers?"

"Yeah. We made Preacher Mills a deal. Find us the jar or we give the district attorney evidence about him screwing underage girls."

"Uh, and boys," said Countess.

"Yeah," said Cody. "What a sicko!"

"But he said…Brenda said—"

"I don't know what they told you, but we haven't laid a finger on his wife. I do know that the same day of our…arrangement, he put his old lady on a flight to New York State."

"That bastard used me," Zack said dropping his head. "I should have known better than to trust him or his bitch daughter!"

"Let him go, Al," said Cody.

The tall muscular redhead and the small dark man released Zack and stepped back.

Don produced a gun and said, "Now stand there and be a good boy."

Zack rubbed his wrist and looked at his assailants warily.

"Give us the jar and you can go," said Cody.

Feeling like the world's biggest fool and seeing no way out of his predicament, Zack said, "It's in my backpack. I tied it at the end of the rope."

"Pull it up, Al."

Pope took the rope and quickly pulled the backpack out of the cave. He tossed the pack to Cody, who caught it and untied the rope.

"Yes!" he said triumphantly, pulling the cold stone vessel free. "The old man will be happy."

The three thugs gathered around the jar, curious as to why it was worth so much to old man Beck.

Zack looked about and his eyes fell upon his staff that he had tossed aside before entering the cave.

"Don't even think about it," Countess said covering Zack with his .40 Glock. "Hands on top of your head, pretty boy."

Taking a deep breath, Zack complied.

"I told you we weren't' going to hurt you, boy," said Cody, as he produced his cell and punched in a number.

"We got the jar," said Cody.

"What about Mr. Cole?" asked Dana Kirby.

"I was about to cut him loose," said Cody.

"Are you insane? He is a loose end! Kill him and get here with the vessel as soon as possible."

"I don't see the point," said Cody. "He can't hurt us."

"You are well paid to follow orders," she said. "Now get rid of him."

"Sorry, Zack," said Jeff as he slid the phone back into his case. "Waste him, Don."

"No, you can't—" began Zack.

"Oh yeah," said Don as he brought up his pistol. With a small smile, Don fired three rounds in rapid secession.

Zack's eyes went wide as the slugs struck him in the chest. Stumbling back two steps, Zack disappeared into the Stygian blackness of the cave.

***

"Mr. Beck, how is your injury?" Harold asked as he selected a white flattened disk from an exquisitely turned wooden bowl.

"A mere scratch," Beck said placing a black stone on a point and confiscating six of Harold's white pieces."I want to wring that damn witch's neck. ‘The Paladin is dead
,’
she said. Dead my ass!"

"I didn't see that coming," Harold muttered as the game was quickly becoming a rout. "Anyone get a look at the gunman?"

"No. Lee Harvey got clean away in the confusion," said Beck. "Knowing the local constabulary as I do, they will pull in the usual suspects then this case will quietly slip away into the cold case files. That’s the problem with buying obedience, Harold. Quality often goes right out the window."

***

Dana Kirby could hardly contain herself as she hurried to the library.

She opened the big heavy door without knocking and quickly entered. She found Harold White and John Beck engaged in a fierce game of Go.

"I take it from your entry that you have heard from Mr. Cody and his motley crew?" asked Beck, not taking his eyes from the six-inch thick Kaya wood board.

"Mr. Cody and his motley crew have done it! They have secured the vessel and are their way back, sir."

"What about young Mr. Cole?"

"I am afraid he met his end in a tragic shooting accident," she said coolly. "Miss Mills, it seems, has a bad habit of losing boyfriends, permanently."

"Excellent. I think that is a good deal: Silas Cole's great grandson for my two legs. I hope both of them are having quite a reunion…in Hell! Miss Kirby, please inform the schoolteacher that tonight we will perform the ceremony and to be ready for our arrival."

"Yes, sir, it will be done," said Dana.

"It seems that Pastor Mills has come through like he promised," said Harold.

"And he will be rewarded," said Beck. "Miss Kirby, please send the prepared packages out first thing tomorrow. Make sure the one for the district attorney has a nice big red ribbon on it. God in Heaven; how I detest a child molester."

"It will be my pleasure, sir," she said.

"Mr. White, Miss Kirby, please take time to relish this moment," said Beck with a grin. A single tear of joy rolled down his cheek. "You will still be alive to celebrate it five hundred years from now."

"Sir?" asked Harold. "I don't understand."

"No time to explain, Harold. Tonight, sixty-nine years of misery and injustice come to an end and a new era will begin. Trust me when I say this old world will never be the same."

"Excuse me?" asked Harold.

"Never mind. Just get ready to welcome home the mistress of the manor."

"Yes, sir," Harold said.
At last!

19

"Brenda, would you like some tea?" asked Sara.

Brenda Mills looked up from
Rufus Prichard's journal.

"Excuse me?"

"Tea?"

"Umm, sure," said Brenda. "Tea would be nice."

"Give your eyes a break, girl. You've had your nose stuck in that crazy book since you dropped off Zack."

Brenda rubbed her eyes while Sara poured a big glass of sun tea.

With every fantastic passage she read, a knot of guilt grew within her stomach. At the moment, she felt like she was going to either deliver a fifteen-pound baby or pass a watermelon.

What have I done?
she thought as she sipped the tea.
I am sure that jar is the Collamarr. When Zack finds it and hands it over to Beck, that thing will be let loose again. All the people it kills, their deaths will be all my fault. Oh God, I feel sick!

"Brenda, are you alright? You look like the burden of the world is on your shoulders."

"Sara, I'm worried, it's been hours and Zack hasn't called. Something's happened, I just know it."

"Zack is a big boy," said Sara. "He said he would call. People have been looking for Silas for seventy years and I doubt that Zack will have an easy time, even with a map. You ask me, it will take more than a single night to solve the mystery of Uncle Silas, but don't you worry, we'll get your momma back."

"You're right, but I can't help but worry."

"Wait till you have kids, then the worry really begins."

Brenda's phone began to chime.

She fumbled with it, finally managing to push the talk button.

"It's about time, Zack, you had us worried sick!"

"Brenda Michelle Mills, is that any way to greet your mother?" asked Eva Mills.

Brenda squealed with joy.

"I am happy to hear from you, too, sweetie, but it has only been a few days."

"Momma, are you alright? They didn't hurt you did they?"

"Brenda, calm down, this is getting ridiculous," said Eva Mills. "I hate to bother you, but your father won't answer his phone."

Brenda collapsed into a chair; tears of joy streamed down her face.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Hurt me? What are you talking about, dear? They aren't paid to hurt you. Trust me, for the steep price, you had better look and feel great when you leave."

"Huh?"

"Come and pick me up and we will have a long talk, OKOK?"

"Where are you?"

"At the Knoxville airport, silly. Where did you think I was?"

"Duh, kidnapped?"

"Kidnapped! Whatever gave you that idea? I have been at the Algonquin Spa. Your father can be such a skinflint at times, so when he offered, I jumped at the chance. Anyway, my flight was delayed and I need a ride home."

"But Dad said—"

"Honey, your father said you were having…well, problems, and that he was working with you. That is why he sent me away: so he could have some one on one time with you."

"Mom, Dad was the one who told me you were kidnapped! He tried to get me to sleep with Zack Cole so he would go after some stupid jar to exchange for you! He said they would kill you!"

"Brenda, have you gone and lost your mind? That's the silliest story I ever heard! It's almost as bad as the time you accused your father of molesting you. Your father is a righteous man doing the work of the Lord. Your lies could have ruined him and his ministry! You should be more appreciative of him and stop this constant cry for attention. Sometimes I think you need professional help, dear."

"That son of a bitch tricked me!" Brenda said. "Mom, sorry, but you'll have to call a cab!"

Brenda promptly hung up on her mother.

"I have to stop Zack! Oh God, please don't let me be too late!"

Brenda punched in Zack's cell number. After several rings, it went to voicemail.

"Zack, whatever you do stay away from the jar! My mom has not been kidnapped; it is all a damn lie. Call me as soon as you can!"

"Sara, do have a spare flashlight?"

"Why yes, dear, but it is much late to go poking around in the woods alone. I will go with you."

"No way, Sara! You are staying here. This is my problem. I have to find him before it is too late! It's all my fault. That thing can't be let loose!"

***

Minutes later, Brenda was backing Zack's truck out onto the street.

Throwing the truck into gear, she slammed the gas pedal to the floor and roared off into the night.

***

A small blue Honda, in stark contrast to her recklessness, pulled away from the curb and carefully fell in behind.

Maggie hung back, just keeping the truck in sight. The last thing she wanted was to miss another chance at Zack Cole.

***

A few blocks from Sara Johnson's house, John Beck and his entourage pulled into Mrs. Anderson’s drive. The first of the two four-wheel-drive vehicles contained John Beck, Dana Kirby, and Mr. White. The second contained Mr. Cody and two secretaries that Beck had just hired: Jan Kelly and Stacy Dean.

The two young women's virtues lay not in their meager secretarial skills, but in the fact that they both had long histories of drug abuse and petty criminal records. They had almost no family and few friends, making them the perfect choices for  the night's planned festivities.

Dana sat next to Beck, fascinated with his attention to the stone jar. He sat with the canister on his lap, caressing its cold surface as one would touch the face of a lover.

Mrs. Anderson met them at the gate and waited patiently as Beck was loaded into his wheelchair.

"Uh…Mr. Beck, what's going on?" asked Jan Kelly stifling a yawn.

"Miss Dean, where are your sleeves?" asked Beck.

Stacy's eyes went wide and she crossed her tattooed covered arms protectively, "Sorry, Mr. Beck, I…I wasn't thinking."

"Haven't I made myself clear?" he asked. "I find your so-called body art offensive. I gave you explicit instructions that you will never appear in my presence without sleeves!"

"Oh, leave the poor girl alone, John," said Mrs. Anderson. "Don't worry about him, dear; he's just like an old dog: from time to time he just likes to hear himself bark."

"You will hear some barking before the night is over, witch," said Beck. "The Paladin almost ruined everything! You told me he was dead!"

"Oops! I guess I was wrong," she said with a smile. "Seems Mr. Long
was
a better gardener than assassin. Win some, you lose some."

"You won't blow this off—" began Beck.

"Come on girls," the witch said ignoring Beck. "I think I can find a place you can rest until we are ready to begin."

"Begin what?" asked Jan as she and Stacy were ushered into the gated yard.

"A ceremony that hasn't been attempted in a thousand years."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Stacy. "I had a boyfriend that was into magic, you know, like the druids. I thought the symbols on your gate looked familiar."

"You are a smart one, dear," said Mrs. Anderson. "However, it isn't the pseudo magic you find on the back of rock and roll albums, but pure, unholy magic, the kind only made capable by a person completely invested in the dark side. I'll let you two in on a secret. You see, girls, I am a witch."

"Cut the bullshit, lady," said Jan. "Stacy may believe all that silly mumbo jumbo, but I sure don't. Besides, aren't you a retired schoolteacher?"

"I taught school to cover to my true intent," she said opening the door of her house for the two girls.

"What do you mean, 'true intent?'" asked Jan.

Quick as a striking serpent, Mrs. Anderson tapped a long forefinger on each of the girls’ foreheads. Jan and Stacy stumbled backwards and the world seemed to shimmer. When they regained their wits no longer did they face an elderly schoolteacher, but a tall, slim black woman attired like an African queen in shimmering red silk. The witch's silver hair was bound into thick braids that fell to her waist. She would have been quite striking but for her cold, dead eyes that mirrored her vile, polluted soul.

"What happened to the old lady?" asked Stacy.

"I decided to let you see my true self," said the schoolteacher. "After all, we are about to be a part of history."

"That is so cool," said Stacy.

"Are you out of your mind? This is frigging messed up!" exclaimed Jan. "I never was the best Baptist in the world, but this is over the line."