Recall Night, page 10
part #2 of An Eli Carver Supernatural Thriller Series
He cries out, tries to thrash free, but they have him held tight.
“Night, what the fuck?”
“Too late to change your mind now,” Papa says, laughing.
The drums get faster still, the pulse against my temples and eyes strains to burst free.
“Cora, I went along with this bullshit ritual for you. You said it’d make me powerful! What’s this shit?”
“Oh, it will!” Papa Night laughs.
Through the haze in my brain I realize Andretti thinks it's about him, thinks Cora is doing him a favor of some kind. One he was happy to play along with. But whatever is going on here is Cora’s doing. She’s set Andretti up. But more than that, she’s going it alone, not doing Lombardi’s bidding. He still thinks she’s kidnapped. She’s played them both, but to what end? Fuck, if only my brain worked properly.
She lays there, gasping rapidly.
Andretti is thrashing and yelling, but still held fast. Papa Night stands tall over Cora. He tips his head, inquisitive. She does that one decisive nod again, closes her eyes. Night raises a blade, shining in the candlelight. It’s thick and gleams, wickedly sharp, a white bone hilt stark against his dark skin. Cora grabs the edges of the table and her knuckles whiten as she braces herself, her body rigid, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut.
Night starts his chant again, rapid and deep. The drums pound on, louder, faster. My heart is racing, thumping against my ribs, my head swims. Night brings the knife down, slamming it into Cora’s sternum below her throat. What the hell? She arches up off the table, a scream ripping from her.
“The fuck?” Andretti yells, head twisted to one side, compelled to watch. “The fuck the fuck the fuck?” He thrashes but he’s held fast by four grimacing people, his crew marching their slow circle, oblivious.
Night rocks the blade hard against Cora, carving through her sternum, then drives his other hand into her chest. With a wet sucking, he pulls it free and he’s holding her fucking heart, letting her blood pour from it over his face, into his mouth. Cora falls still and Night turns to Andretti. The drums reach a crescendo of speed and volume, the circling mooks are moving, moving, whispering loud and sharp.
Andretti is screaming senselessly now, animal noises of panic and terror. Night draws the blade down Andretti’s chest, not deep, but opening the flesh from throat to stomach. Blood sluices out, Andretti screams higher still. Night raises Cora’s heart and slams it down into the wound. It bursts like ripe fruit, an unnatural splatter, and Andretti bucks against the table like he’s being electrocuted. His scream is like nothing I’ve ever heard before, and hope to never hear again.
I feel like space is opening around me, as if portals to some frozen void are howling through the huge room. I’m such an insignificant fucking speck. The candles flicker, other colors like lightning lance through the air. Everything wavers, reality rippling like water from a thrown rock. Whatever this smoke is, I’m tripping balls on it.
Night’s chant and the whispering of the circle reaches a fever pitch, the drums an almost solid wall of noise. The four holding Andretti down grimace at the effort as he wails and bucks, Alfie and Stella now chanting loudly beside him. The candlelight flickers and dives, the smoke thicker than ever, my head pounds and pulses as my eyes focus and unfocus and I feel blackness swelling in at the edges of my consciousness.
Papa Night’s voice rises in volume and pitch, an inhuman screech like a pterodactyl from a bad sci-fi movie. The drums are suddenly silent. The circling mooks stagger and drop to their knees, some fall flat on their face. The four holding Andretti down lose their grip, collapsing to the cement floor. Alfie and Stella sag, stagger back. Night’s screech dies and everything falls into a heavy silence. Stillness, but for thick, swirling, sweetly acrid smoke.
Through the dense clouds I watch Papa Night look down at the inert Andretti. Alfie steps up next to him. For a moment everything is motionless, almost tranquil, and I feel my consciousness fleeing, like I’m falling backwards through a tunnel.
The last thing I see through the haze is Andretti sit up, blood pouring from his chest. A wide, white-toothed smile splits his face as he reaches out, takes hold of Papa Night’s hand and Alfie’s hand.
Then I’m swallowed by the dark.
* * *
I have no idea how long I’m out, but sound comes back in pulses that match the pain in my head. It’s lessened at least. I suck in a shuddering breath and try to wipe my eyes, but my hands are still tied behind the chair. My wrists are sore from the rope, my back complains, my forearm burns from the bullet graze.
“Welcome back.” I can’t see well, like there’s a thick fog in the room, but blinking rapidly seems to clear it a little.
Furio Andretti is standing by me. His face is pale, but alive, his eyes glittering. They have a slightly purple hint in the low light. Behind him I see the six suited guys from his crew all sitting on the floor against the wall. Two are still out but the rest are rubbing their eyes and looking at each other in confusion. They share words and shrug. It looks like they have no idea what happened. I wonder if they remember any of it.
I can’t see Papa Night or any of his people, except Alfie who lingers behind Andretti. The two metal tables are shining in the light, cleaned of blood. Cora’s body is nowhere to be seen.
Andretti leans into my field of vision, and down the neck of his open shirt I see bright white dressings covering the long gash in his chest. No wonder he’s pale, the amount of blood I watched him lose.
I try to speak, but my mouth is dryer than a dead camel’s ass. Andretti smiles and gestures to Alfie, who scurries away. I take a moment to suck in another breath, my head still spinning. Some of the lights are on, the smoke is gone, the fucking drums have stopped, thankfully. Alfie returns with a glass of water and Andretti nods. The old man holds it to my lips and it’s nectar. Ambrosia. I swallow it all down and Alfie moves away.
“How do you feel?” Andretti asks, his voice is smooth and deep, it reminds me of a late-night radio DJ. Not like the angry yelling from before.
“Hard to know, if I’m honest.” It’s the best I can do. I genuinely don’t know how I feel.
“Your timing was most unfortunate, given how time-sensitive the ritual was.”
“Why so time sensitive?”
Andretti smiles. “Too much to explain. Planets and alignments, numbers and seasons. The million spheres. The interplay is complicated, but on occasion, power is there for the taking.”
A frown creases my brow. “That is some ambiguous bullshit.”
“Nevertheless, it’s all I’ll tell you.”
“So now what?”
Andretti smiles again and pulls up a chair, sits facing me. “Isn’t that the question.”
I try to push aside the fog in my brain, remembering how Andretti was so angry and scared, how Cora seemed to be the one in charge, in cahoots with Night. Then the knife… Now Andretti is so calm and balanced. “You killed Cora,” is all I manage to say. I want more water.
“Did I? It’s hard for a woman in a man’s world. I risked everything for power. Did it work? Now I’m a woman in a man. Should be easy rolling from here on. Yes?”
“You’re… Cora?”
“Am I?” He grins, and it’s disconcerting as hell. “Or am I just fucking with you and I murdered that bitch because Lombardi’s an asshole? And I used a ritual to do it to give me more power. Or because it was fun. Did I humor Cora and she died for her nonsense? Or did Andretti humor me and he died for his hubris? Does it even matter? Why would you care?”
His eyes glitter and I stare. This is some messed up bullshit. All I actually need is money, Bridget’s money. The rest of it can all go to hell. “Your guys hit Gino’s a couple of nights ago.” Andretti nods. “Okay, so I was there with an associate of mine.”
“I know. You cost Andretti…” He smiles. “Cost me assets.”
I let that pass. Honestly, what the actual fuck? “Yeah, well those assets were trying to murder everyone, so fuck you.”
A genuine laugh escapes Andretti, then he winces and puts a hand gently against his torso. “Fair enough. And?”
“And one of them took my associate’s bag, and in that bag was a lot of money that belongs to no one but her.”
“Really? I’m wondering if maybe that kinda cash might have belonged to someone else before her. After all, it’s unusual to carry around so much, no?”
“Regardless, it’s not yours.”
“It is now.”
Everyone’s an asshole. I stare at him, anger making my head pound more. I take a deep breath again to control myself. “My associate needs that money. It’s all she has. The only reason I’m here at all is to get it back. I don’t actually give a fuck about you or Lombardi or anything else. We just need our money.”
Andretti nods, sits back, that hand still resting lightly against his chest. “I’m impressed you found me, honestly. Even more impressed you managed to stay alive until now.”
“We’re all fucking salty about that,” Officer Graney says from somewhere off to my right. I ignore him, don’t take my eyes from Andretti.
“But you’ll get nothing from me.” Andretti holds up his free hand to forestall my response. “Except, perhaps, your life.”
I nod, but don’t reply. I suppose I should have expected this. There’s nothing to stop him wasting me right here. I’m nothing but excess baggage, after all.
“Lombardi needs to go,” Andretti says.
“And you want to use me for that, huh?”
He raises his hands, palms up. “I don’t know where he is. You do, I presume.”
“I do.”
“So go kill him for me and I’ll let you live.”
My brain is slowly clearing, the water helped. My body aches to move. “What’s to stop me leaving once you set me free? I mean, I could tell you I was going to kill Lombardi, then just fuck off.”
Andretti smiles. “But you won’t. Because of…your associate. Besides, can you really not see how badly Lombardi needs to die?”
“That’s your business, not mine. You stole from me, not him.”
Anger flashes across Andretti’s face. “You have any idea what he did to me? The depravities he enacted on me, while I was too weak to resist?”
My eyes narrow. “Cora?”
Andretti sniffs, sits up straighter. “He lives with his staff like some plantation owner asshole, he fucked around behind my back, he has less honor than a fucking cockroach. You’ll do the world a favor taking him out.”
“Wait a minute, his staff are your friends. Alfie right there, he knows exactly where Lombardi is. Fuck, he could get Stella to poison the fucker’s food and you’d be done with it. And if you’re really his fucking wife in there, you know exactly where he is, surely?”
“Are you fucking stupid?” Alvin hoots behind me.
“You signed your death warrant right there, cocheese!” Dwight says.
Andretti smiles. “It’s true, of course. But I want to remain distant, keep my family distant. You are a cipher, Mr. Carver.”
It surprises me to hear him use that word.
Andretti relaxes back into his chair again. “Besides, it pleases me to think of you taking him down and I agree you and your associate deserve some recompense. This will work out for all of us. I want to sic you onto my husband, Mr. Carver. He’ll see me coming, I’m the enemy remember? He knows my crew. You can get close.”
These assholes all using me as their performing monkey. This is a lot to take in. “Are you really Cora in there?”
Andretti shrugs. “Does it really matter to you?”
“I guess not.”
“Tell you what, here’s something to sweeten the deal. In Paul’s office in the house in Bridgewater is a portrait. Of him, naturally. Big fucking ugly thing. But it swings out and there’s a safe behind it. He always keeps a stash of clean cash in there. The code for the safe is 8-9-4-3-2.”
I watch him, trying to force my foggy brain to think around all the angles. But I repeat the number in my head a few times. I’m good at remembering numbers.
“There’s really nothing sinister going on here,” Andretti says. “All that stuff you saw last night? You dreamed it all. The drugged air. It was a harmless ritual.”
“Not for Cora Lombardi!”
“But that wasn’t real either.” I frown and Andretti gives a wide smile. “Honestly, all a dream. She’s fine! And you’ll get no money from me, giving back anything goes against my very DNA. But take Paul out, take the money, get your friend, then fuck off forever. Or get dead right here. Seems like an easy choice. Should you mess it up in any way, I can organize a clean-up later. You’ll certainly make things easier for me, however far you get. And until it’s all done, myself and my whole crew will be publicly far from Bridgewater, clearly not involved at all.”
I’m over a barrel, really. If I want to get out alive, I have to agree. If I want to save Bridget and get her money, I have to do want Andretti wants. Whether it’s Cora in there or not is pretty much irrelevant. I mean, maybe Alfie knows Lombardi’s safe code and he told Andretti. It’s not like only Cora could know that information. What do I care if she’s dead, it’s all part of their war. Already I can’t be sure of what really happened last night, like a dream that fades on waking.
“Does it matter?” Michael is standing behind Andretti, looking over him at me. “I mean, any of it? Whether or not we’re real, whether that’s really Cora in Andretti’s body, whether the fucking tooth fairy is actually saving up kid’s teeth? I mean, what the fuck would a fairy want with millions of tiny teeth anyway? You ever think about how fucking creepy that is? All this stuff is bullshit that doesn’t matter in the real world. What matters is what you do. How you live. The choices you make.”
“Okay,” I tell Andretti.
He smiles. “Okay.” He nods and someone unties my hands.
As I’m rubbing life back into my wrists, dried blood over my hand from the bullet graze that’s already scabbing over, Alfie comes around the front and unties my legs, then the ropes across my chest.
“You better stay away from Bridgewater too,” I tell him.
“We ain’t ever going back anywhere near there,” he says, and turns away. I hope he and Stella will at least be treated like equals here, like people.
Andretti stands, moving gingerly, and goes across the room. He comes back with the two Glocks Lombardi gave me and hands them over. I notice his crew have cleared their heads while we talked and they all stand at the ready. They look confused, and as if they’re itching for a fight.
With a nod I holster both guns and leave the warehouse, my ghosts voicing their displeasure quite animatedly as I go.
* * *
Dawn is painting the sky in shades of pink and peach as I head back toward the car. The air is cool, fresh, and I realize how much the warehouse still bore traces of the previous night’s activities. Ritual? Hell, I don’t really want to think about it. Already I can’t be sure what I saw, can’t be certain of what happened.
Musashi said, “Truth is not what you want it to be; it is what it is, and you must bend to its power or live a lie.” I think there’s a lot in that revelation, but there’s also power in accepting some truths will persist whether we bend to them or not, and if it makes no difference, it’s best to just ignore them. Musashi also said, “Do nothing which is of no use.” I feel like dwelling on shit we can’t really know is of no use. Whatever happened last night doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what lies ahead. I get in the car and point it toward Morristown. Whatever else might happen, I have to get Bridget out first.
“He also said ‘The path that leads to truth is littered with the bodies of the ignorant’, you asshole.” Graney is lined up with the others in the back seat, leering into the mirror as I drive.
Since when did he read The Book of Five Rings?
“And he also said, ‘Accept everything just the way it is’,” I tell him. “So fuck you.”
Graney growls a laugh, shakes his head.
“I told you to steer clear of that guy,” Sly says. “You should steer clear of all this.”
“No. This situation is here, and I need to deal with it. I’m rōnin now, so I walk the path before me. Right now, I owe Bridget. If I have no code, I’m nothing. Besides, that fucker Paul Lombardi has this coming. If we trace it all the way back, he’s the one who ripped off Bridget in the first place with a crooked game. That’s the only reason we find ourselves at this current juncture.”
“She was planning to rip him off by counting the game,” Graney says. “If anything, she started it.”
“Leave her in the wind,” Michael says.
“No, cocheese, go get her. There’s still a chance you might die that way.”
“I’m getting her because it’s the right thing to do,” I growl.
“Rationalization of the highest order,” Michael says.
“So what? After everything that’s gone down, I’m ready for some fucking mayhem!” Perhaps I really haven’t changed that much after all.
Dwight leans forward, blood trickling down his nose from the bullet hole between his eyes. “Control your anger. If you hold anger toward others, cocheese, they have control over you. Your opponent can dominate and defeat you if you allow him to get you irritated.” He sits back, hyucking as he goes.
“Even you quoting Musashi at me now?” Honestly, this may be the biggest surprise of this whole debacle. “Fuck you all. Shut up and let me drive.”
I pull into a fast food drive-thru and sate the hunger that’s tearing at my gut, then head on again. The Glock 17s, as their name suggests, hold seventeen rounds as standard, and the two Lombardi gave me are as standard as they come. I try to search up a store using the smartphone but the battery is dead, the phone a useless brick. I wonder how long it’s been out. But it’s not long before I see what I need and stock up on ammo. Both pistols now have seventeen each, and I have two spare mags. Let’s hope I don’t need more than sixty-eight rounds.
