Later(53)

Liz stopped, turned off the car, and pocketed the keys. “Sit still, Jamie. This will be over before you know it.”

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. A trickle of blood ran from one of her nostrils and she wiped it away. She got out and went to the intercom, but the car windows were closed and I couldn’t tell what she was saying. Then she went to the gatehouse side and this time I could hear her, because she raised her voice. “Teddy? Are you in there? It’s your buddy Liz. Hoping to pay my respects, but I need to know where!”

There was no answer and no one came out. Liz walked back to the other side of the gate. She took a piece of paper from her back pocket, consulted it, then punched some numbers into the keypad. The gate trundled slowly open. She came back to the car, smiling. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves, Jamie.”

She drove through. The driveway was tar, smooth as glass. There was another S-curve, and as Liz piloted through it, electric torches lit up on either side of the driveway. Later on I found out you call those kind of lights flambeaux. Or maybe that’s only for torches like the mob waves when they’re storming the castle in the old Frankenstein movies.

“Pretty,” I said.

“Yeah, but look at that fucking thing, Jamie!”

On the other side of the S, Marsden’s house came into view. It was like one of those Hollywood Hills mansions you see in the movies: big and jutting out over the drop. The side facing us was all glass. I imagined Marsden drinking his morning coffee and watching the sun rise. I bet he could see all the way to Poughkeepsie, maybe even beyond. On the other hand…a view of Poughkeepsie? Maybe not one to kill for.

“The house that heroin built.” Liz sounded vicious. “All the bells and whistles, plus a Mercedes and a Boxster in the garage. The stuff I lost my job for.”

I thought of saying you had a choice, which is what my mom always said to me when I screwed up, but kept my mouth shut. She was wired like one of Thumper’s bombs, and I didn’t want to set her off.

There was one more curve before we came to the paved yard in front of the house. Liz drove around it and I saw a man standing in front of the double garage where Marsden’s fancy cars were (they sure hadn’t taken Donnie Bigs to the morgue in his Boxster). I opened my mouth to say it must be Teddy, the gatekeeper—the guy was thin, so it sure wasn’t Marsden—but then I saw his mouth was gone.

“The Boxster’s in there?” I asked, hoping my voice was more or less normal. I pointed at the garage and the man standing in front of it.

She took a look. “Yup, but if you were hoping for a ride, or even a look, you’re going to be disappointed. We must be about our business.”

She didn’t see him. Only I saw him. And given the red hole where his mouth had been, he hadn’t died a natural death.

Like I said, this is a horror story.





60


Liz killed the engine and got out. She saw me still sitting in the passenger seat, my feet planted amid a bunch of snack wrappers, and gave me a shake. “Come on, Jamie. Time to do your job. Then you’re free.”

I got out and followed her to the front door. On the way I snuck another glance at the man in front of the double garage. He must have known I was seeing him, because he raised a hand. I checked to make sure Liz wasn’t looking at me and lifted my own in return.

Slate steps led to a tall wooden door with a lion’s head knocker. Liz didn’t bother with that, just took the piece of paper out of her pocket and punched more numbers into a keypad. The red light on it turned green and there was a thud as the door unlocked.

Had Marsden given those numbers to a lowly transporter? I didn’t think so, and I didn’t think whoever she’d heard about the pills from would have known them. I didn’t like that she had them, and for the first time I thought of Therriault…or the thing that now lived in what remained of him. I had bested that thing in the Ritual of Chüd, and maybe it would come if I called, always supposing it had to honor the deal we’d made. But that was yet to be proven. I would only do it as a last resort in any case, because I was terrified of it.

“Go on in.” Liz had put the piece of paper in her back pocket, and the hand that had been holding it went into the pocket of her duffle coat. I took one more glance at the man—Teddy, I assumed—standing by the garage. I looked at the bloody hole where his mouth had been and thought of the smears on Liz’s sweatshirt. Maybe those had come from wiping her nose.

Or not.

“I said go in.” Not an invitation.

I opened the door. There was no foyer or entrance hall, just a huge main room. In the middle was a sunken area furnished with couches and chairs. I later found out that sort of thing is called a conversation pit. There was more expensive-looking furniture placed around it (maybe so folks could spectate on the conversations going on below), a bar that looked like it was on wheels, and stuff on the walls. I say stuff because it didn’t look like art to me, just a bunch of splats and squiggles, but the splats were framed so I guess it was art to Marsden. There was a chandelier over the conversation pit that looked like it weighed at least five hundred pounds, and I wouldn’t have wanted to sit under it. Beyond the conversation pit, on the far side of the room, was a swooping double staircase. The only one remotely like it I’d seen in real life, as opposed to in the movies or on TV, was at the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue.