Coven Page 11

  Besser was pretending not to be on the spot, the fat, no balls wimp. Tom knew who wore the real pants in that relationship. Besser just said: “Winnie and I, and the sisters, of course, have to get Penelope ready. Things didn’t work out, the poor girl. It couldn’t be helped, so there’s no reason to feel bad about it.”

  I could care less, Tom thought.

  “Meet us back here in an hour,” Besser instructed.

  “Yes, sir, an hour. No problem.”

  “Oh, and Tom?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Besser’s bald spot gleamed. “Bring a shovel.”

  —

  CHAPTER 14

  She’s not going to show, Wade felt convinced. The Mitchell’s Brewery clock over the mantel showed 9:15. He should’ve known.

  He sat sipping an Adams at the upstairs rail. Several girls sauntered in. They looked at him and immediately burst into laughter. “Hey, Wade!” one called out. “How’s the new job—”

  “—cleaning toilets!” added a second.

  “—for minimum wage!” finished a third.

  “Laugh it up,” he muttered. He didn’t even care anymore; there was no more face left to save. His depression rose to new peaks.

  When Lydia Prentiss walked in, Wade didn’t even notice her—that is, he noticed the full tilt blonde who stood scanning the bar, he just didn’t realize it was her. She stood skintight in stone washed black jeans and scarlet high heels, and a bright yellow tube top which her breasts filled to its physical limit. Then she spotted him and walked up.

  “Hello, Mr. St. John.”

  “Woe ah!” Wade said.

  “Sorry I’m late. I don’t have a car so I took a cab.”

  “Hemmina, hemmina, uh,” Wade said. “Let’s get a booth. It’s more private.”

  “Okay.”

  On the way to the rear booths, Wade stepped on his shoelace, tripped, and fell. Heads turned, some chuckles rose up. Suddenly Wade was the town fool.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “No, I swear. I draven’t hunk—I mean I haven’t drunk a thing all day.”

  She just shook her head, faintly smiling. He felt much better in the booth. Stationary now, he thought. Back in control. Go get her, King of Charisma. “What would you like?”

  She relaxed in the padded booth. “I think I’ll have a beer.”

  But all Wade could see was her—her beautiful body, her beautiful face. She was radiant. “Kut bind of weer?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  Idiot! “I mean, what kind of beer?”

  She scanned the beer list with interest. As a rule, women always ordered either Michelob Light or Corona. Wade saw no point in the existence of light beers, and as for Corona, he refused to drink anything with the same name as the end of a penis.

  “Surprise me,” she said.

  He ordered an Adams for himself and an Old Nick for her, neglecting to mention that Old Nick had more alcohol than any beer in the house.

  He was grinning at her, enraptured. He felt charged with nervous current. Her beauty was too much to perceive at once. Say something! a voice like an alarm ordered. Make conversation!

  Brilliantly he inquired, “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “I think I’d be more interested in hearing about you first.”

  “Ask anything you want. My life’s an open book.”

  “An open comic book, by the looks of you now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re grinning like Alfred E. Newman. You’ve asked me kut bind of weer I want, and sworn you draven’t hunk a thing all day. And to top it off, you tripped over your own two feet. Are you this smooth with all the girls?”

  At that moment, the beers came. When Wade went to pour, he knocked his over. Half the bottle emptied into his lap.

  Lydia Prentiss could suspend her laughter no more. The waitress was laughing too, and so were several patrons. Wade bounced to his feet, a sweating, grinning idiot. “Excuse me,” he said, and marched stiffly to the men’s room. Before the mirror, he shouted: “What the hell is wrong with you! You’re making a jackass out of yourself in front of quite possibly the most beautiful woman on earth!”

  The mirror was warped; his head looked slanted. Two guys at the urinals were laughing it up real good.

  It was the foreignness of the situation that was causing this debacle. Something—perhaps everything—about Lydia Prentiss had pulled the rug out from under his social feet. Wade had commanded virtually every encounter in his life that involved women. But now…now…

  Now it was all gone. This female cop had reduced him to a gibbering nudnik in the space of five minutes.

  Control, he thought. I must regain control.

  He stared himself down. Then, as hard as he could, he slapped himself in the face.

  There. Now. Ready.

  He went back to the booth, mindful of his shoelaces. He sat down carefully. In his absence, she’d put a good dent in her Old Nick. “This stuff’s pretty good,” she admitted.

  “I may not know trigonometry but I do know beer.” He ordered another round, and pointed to the cigarette she’d set up on end before her. “Aren’t you going to smoke that?”

  “Not yet.” She seemed dreamy, relaxed. “I’m going to look at it awhile first. I allow myself only one per day.”

  “Oh, yeah? My friend Jervis allows himself four per day. Four packs.” He sipped his Adams for moral support and began: “Sorry about making a spectacle of myself. I must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

  “Well, I’m sorry too,” she said, looking down. “About this morning, I mean. I’m not always like that.”

  Wade rubbed his hands together. “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled, let’s start over again.”

  And something quite unusual followed. A kind of bridge rose between them, a pleasant neutrality that lacked the pressure of appearances. For the next hour and a half they…talked. A day ago they’d been antagonists, but now they each provided buried commonalities. He told her things about himself in ways she found amusing. He told her far more than he planned. He told her about his school problems, his inabilities at decision making, the situation with Dad. She told him about her work problems, her inabilities in respecting others, the situation with Chief White and the other police. A wordless conclusion came at the end, that they both dealt with their problems from the wrong angles. Wade was fleeing from himself by being what others expected him to be, while Lydia made the same flight by being just the opposite. Wade seemed to be providing something she desperately needed without knowing it, and it occurred to him that he was probably seeing a part of her that no one else had for some time. In the course of an evening, they’d become each other’s confessors. A few shreds of their shadows had been freed.

  Afterward they looked bewildered at each other. A shocking acknowledgment exchanged. Did I say all that? he thought. And did she say all that? To me? Lydia looked down and gulped. “Wow, I… I didn’t mean to drag you through my whole life.”

  “I did some dragging of my own. Look” —he touched his Adams— “our beers got warm. It’s not just any woman who can divert me from my beer.”

  “I’m honored. Order some more. I’ll be right back.”

  She excused herself for the obvious. Wade felt pleasantly exhausted, and still bewildered. The place had become packed. Up front was standing room only. Abruptly, though, the crowd began to quiet and part. People were frowning. They were making way for someone, someone big. Then Porker lummoxed through.

  “Well, well. Wade St. John, every toilet’s favorite guy.”

  “Aw, Porker, tough luck. The all you can eat pasta bar is closed.”

  “You’re a funny guy, St. John. And you were real funny on the front page of the paper today.”

  “Thanks… Say, have you lost weight?”

  Porker ignored the comment. His shadow engulfed the entire table. He and Besser would make a great tag team: the
Blobsy Twins or something. “Who you here with?” Porker demanded. “Your deadbeat friends? Or one of your usual fast lane bimbo types?”

  Wait’ll you see, big guy, Wade thought, ’cause here she comes.

  Porker’s mastodonic physique turned. He gaped, balloon faced in lust. The sight of Lydia nearly caused him to fall backward, which surely would’ve collapsed the entire brass and wood bar. “H hi, Lydia,” he yammered. “You’re sure lookin’ good tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Very primly then, and to Porker’s complete outrage, she sat down across from Wade.

  Porker’s hooded pig eyes flashed panic. “Y you’re with him?”

  “That’s right,” she answered.

  “D don’t you know who that is?”

  “Yes, Porker, I do. I’m a big girl now.” She flashed him a seductive white smile. “But would you do me a favor?”

  “Yuh yuh yeah.”

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay? The chief might get the wrong idea.”

  “Sh sh sure, Lydia.”

  Her smile brightened. Her crossed arms drew closer, to articulate her breasts. “Promise?”

  Porker gulped, staring. “Pruh pruh promise, sure.”

  Wade was duly amused. This wasn’t body language, it was body hypnosis. Porker’s portable radio squawked, and as he answered it his eyes remained riveted to Lydia’s breasts. Then he snapped it off. “Shit! We gotta big nine out on the Route!”

  “See ya,” Lydia said.

  Porker hustled out. “What’s a nine?” Wade asked her.

  “Traffic accident. White probably needs him for a roadblock.”

  “I hope you’re not going to get in trouble being here with me. I don’t guess police are allowed to fraternize with students.”

  “I can deal with it,” she said.

  Before Wade could say anything more, Porker rushed back in. “Lydia! I just got another call after the nine. Vandalism out at North Admin. Chief White wants you to check it out.”

  “I’m off duty,” Lydia objected. “Send someone else.”

  “There is no one else—the whole shift’s on the Route. A gas truck jackknifed, spilled gas all over the place. Come on, take the call. It’ll only take you a few minutes.”

  Lydia frowned. “All right.”

  Porker was gone again, and Lydia was regretting, “Looks like I—” She slackened suddenly. “Shit, I forgot! I don’t have a car!”

  Wade smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a car.”

  ««—»»

  Wade floored the Vette out of the inn’s lot, dumping 400 plus horsepower onto the hardball. He did zero to sixty in four seconds. Lydia’s gorgeous bright blond hair was a flying mane. “Slow down!” she yelled.

  Nonsense, Wade thought. The Vette sucked down onto the road as he slowed off the exit and blew through the campus gate. A minute later he side skidded to a halt at the front steps of North Admin.

  “Jesus Christ!” she yelled. “That’s a highway, not the Indy 500!”

  “Relax,” Wade said. “I got you here in” —he looked at his watch— “less than three minutes.”

  “Come on,” she said.

  North Administration was the main records hall. It stored all student personnel files and all the medical files for the campus health clinic. Lydia’s high heels clipped along the floor. Behind, Wade watched her figure traverse in the tight black jeans.

  “Hey, you kids! What’cha doin’ there?”

  A bent duffer with a red nose approached, holding a mop. Wade sympathized with him. Lydia flashed her badge and ID.

  “Damn,” the janitor said. “I only called three minutes ago.”

  Wade smiled proudly.

  “I’m Officer Prentiss. You reported some vandalism?”

  “That’s right. While I was buffin’ the north wing floors, I noticed the clinic door open, and I know I locked it earlier. First thing I see is the door frame split, like it was kicked in, and I notice file drawers open, folders layin’ about. Come on.”

  He took them several doors down and turned on the light. The clinician’s desk sat adorned with Hummel curios, a Cross desk set, and a petty cash box. “Don’t touch anything,” Lydia said. The whole scene distracted her, and Wade, too, felt the wrongness of the room. Several file drawers hung open, and a lot of folders had been tossed around the room, but that was it.

  “This sure is patsy vandalism,” Wade said. “They busted in just to throw a bunch of files?”

  “This isn’t vandalism, it’s burglary,” Lydia said.

  “Right. Blind burglars?” He gestured at the desk. “They left the desk set, the clock, the cash box?”

  “That’s not what they were after.” She bent over the violated file cabinets. Someone had forced the drawers open.

  “The files?” Wade asked.

  Lydia nodded. “They knew exactly which ones to hit, too.”

  “But who would want a bunch of files?”

  Lydia didn’t answer. She breathed on the metal cabinets. “Will you take me back to the station for a minute? I need some things. I’ll also need you to help me, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. I’ve got nothing to do.”

  She got the janitor’s name and sent him on his way. Before they left, she stopped to examine the door. The doorknob was gone. Knocked off, Wade guessed. “Hey, here it is,” he said, looking in.

  “Don’t touch it!” Lydia exclaimed.

  They both stooped over. It hadn’t been knocked off, it looked crushed. Wade glanced at the door frame itself. “Take a look,” he said.

  It was hard to see at first. A palmprint had been embedded in the wood. Closer inspection revealed more. It wasn’t a print—it was an indentation. But this was a solid wood door!

  Lydia exhaled on the impression, checking for a ridge pattern. When Wade stepped back to give her light, he stepped on something. He could feel it under his shoe.

  He looked down and flinched.

  It was a beer cap.

  He picked it up quickly, careful to conceal it from her. He knew it was tampering with evidence, but the cap provided a disturbing giveaway; he knew it at a glance. It was gold with a trademark: a malt shovel and the red Gothic letters “München Spaten Oktoberfest.”

  ««—»»

  Tom poured back the rest of his Spaten Oktoberfest. Damn, it was good! Malty but not harsh. Smooth, and a pleasant aftertaste. Prime stuff, that was for sure.

  Rebirth, he thought. The night was his home now, his sanctuary and his power. What more could a natural man ask for? Good beer, a good car, and…immortality. He drove the Camaro through quiet campus roads, looking around, seeing, feeling. Everything was new, and everything old was behind him. Forever.

  Who are they? he wondered. Or what?

  Tom laughed out loud. His laughter trumpeted, and cracked echoes into the night. It sounded like cannon fire.

  “Rebirth!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  It didn’t matter who they were, really, or what.

  Did it?

  “Destiny!” Tom shouted.

  He swigged his beer and opened another.

  The Camaro roared off back to the sciences center.

  —

  CHAPTER 15

  Jervis sat in darkness before the open window. The yellow quarter moon barely cleared the flat roof of the opposing eight-story dorm, Lillian Hall. Jervis smoked, drank, and waited.

  Waiting for the truth, he pondered. It’ll be arriving soon.

  Czanek’s phantom brand receiver came with the price. Jervis extended its antenna. To his left stood the telescope, already focused on the black second story window. It was a Bushnell 400x refractor; he bought it that afternoon for $220 at Best Buy.

  Czanek’s bug would let him hear, and the telescope would let him see. A full window-shot at this distance only required the 40x eyepiece. Seeing was important to him. He needed to see, not as a voyeur, but as a seeker. Why did he want to hurt himself by witnessing what he already knew? Why did people d
o that? To see, he thought. To see the truth with his own eyes and be caressed by its finality.

  Then he heard something. A spark of static. Voices?

  He heard: “He’ll be here soon. Be patient.” A man’s voice.

  Jervis held the small speaker to his ear. More: —We mustn’t waste time! We only have a few more days!

  That was a woman’s voice, but clearly not Sarah’s. It sounded silly with excitement like a little girl’s. Then: “I’ll be going over these while you’re gone.” A second woman’s voice.

  Jervis looked into the telescope. Sarah’s window was still dark, and there was no sign of Wilhelm’s love van in the parking lot. The dorm, clearly, was empty.

  Then where were these voices coming from?

  “Goddamn!” Jervis sputtered. He realized then that his receiver was picking up someone else’s bug. Czanek must’ve inadvertently planted another bug for another client in range of Jervis’ receiver.

  The voices crackled on from the box. So far Jervis accounted for two women and one man. Then the first woman said, even more excitedly: —I can’t wait to begin! It’ll be so much fun!

  And the man again: “I just hope it works out this time.”

  Jervis shook his head in the dark. Just wait till he got hold of Czanek. He hadn’t paid six bills to hear someone else’s goddamn bug! Yet something distant bothered him. Something…

  The man’s voice sounded familiar.

  It sounded older, more mature than a student. But then he heard another man, a second man. What was this?

  “Sorry I’m late, boss. I’m all ready.”

  First man: “Excellent!”

  Second woman: “Damn it, Dudley! I told you not to bring that thing in here!”

  The first woman seemed to giggle.

  First man again: “Bring the box to the car. Use your key. We’ll meet you at the labyrinth.”

  That finished it. Only static followed. Labyrinth? Jervis puzzled. Key? And the second woman had said Dudley. Dudley Besser? That must be where the other bug was, in Besser’s office.

  This bothered Jervis. But one thing bothered him more—the second man’s voice. It had sounded just like Tom.