Francisco did not reply.
"That, too, is a mortal sin. But I can forgive you, Francisco. I can give you grace."
"I don't need your forgiveness, Mr. Fournier. My parish priest is homosexual."
"Which of these men do you love, Francisco?"
"Both of them, but not in the way you mean." Our new permanent associate investigator paused, then added wryly, "They're not my type."
"Sexually, you mean. Am I your type?"
"Are you propositioning me, Mr. Fournier?"
"I'm offering you the best sex you've ever had, Francisco, but also so much more than that." He paused, used his free hand to slowly raise his robe to expose his priapic condition, then continued, "I offer you forgiveness."
I said, "That's very droll, shithead. You call your dong 'Forgiveness'?"
He ignored me. He continued to stare hypnotically at Francisco, speaking in a tone that was reassuring and sensual. "I can give you orgasms, Francisco, but I also offer you more power and money than you can imagine. You can travel the world with me, and never have to worry about any physical, emotional, or sexual need ever again. The organization I'm part of will provide you with everything. I think you realize how powerful we are, because you've been helping your employers try to expose just a small part of our activities. Do you believe that I'm telling you the truth?"
"I'm aware that you work for a very powerful organization," Francisco replied in a flat tone.
"Good. I'm asking you to join me in that organization, be at my side. The price is betrayal of these men you love, but that's nothing compared to what you will gain. Betrayal is not only the price of power, but the very essence of power itself. I will replace them. You will love me, as I will love you. Just think about it for a moment. Think of what I am offering you. Help these men now, and they will only become more rich and famous-while your life will remain the same. Help me, and wealth and power will be yours."
Francisco said nothing.
"Francisco. .?"
"You have to be more specific, Mr. Fournier. I believe you can provide me with these things, but how do I know you will? How do I know I can trust you?"
Fournier abruptly dropped the hem of his robe, then glanced down at me. There was a smirk on his face and a gleam of triumph in his eyes. He took the knife away from my throat and dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a loud, metallic clatter. "I've dropped my knife, Francisco," he said softly. "Now you lower your shotgun. I will show you that you can trust me. I want to hold you in my arms, have you hold me. I will do things to you. Then you'll know."
Fournier moved out of my line of sight, his bare feet padding on the floor as he walked toward Francisco. I counted six steps before the deafening roar of both barrels of the shotgun being fired boomed in the chamber. Pieces of Guy Fournier splattered over me, and I screwed my eyes shut and spat. When I opened my eyes again I found an ashen-faced Francisco beside me reaching out with trembling hands to unfasten the leather strap buckled around my left wrist.
"I may be Roman Catholic and homosexual," he said in a low voice that now quavered with shock, "but I'm not stupid."
"Nicely done, Francisco," Garth said. "Very nicely done."
When my wrists were free, I sat up and began unbuckling the straps around my ankles as Francisco turned and started to attend to Garth. I asked, "How the hell did you find this place?"
"Information about it was on the computer diskette, sir. It was one of the first things the Slurper found and decrypted. Fournier kept an online diary, along with records of everything he did here-dates, names of victims, even photographs. He paid his rent and utility bills electronically, so there was an address listed, along with the combination to the electronic lock on the main entrance. Now I think he must have kept the diary and pictures for sexual purposes." He gagged slightly, turned his face away. "My God, I've murdered a man."
"It's called pest control, Francisco," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the table and rubbing my wrists and ankles as Garth, now free, did the same. "It's also called self-defense. A man like Fournier knows lots of ways to kill a man, and, if you hadn't shot him, he'd have broken your neck the second he was close enough to get his hands on you. Besides, he was threatening you with a knife."
"But he'd dropped the knife, sir. I shot him in cold blood."
"My blood was hot enough for both of us. Besides, I didn't see him drop the knife. Did you see him drop the knife, Garth?"
"I certainly did not," my brother replied in a firm tone. "You have to get used to being a hero, Francisco. How'd you know we were here?"
"I didn't. It was the only place I had to look."
"The last time we spoke, Mongo and I were on our way to Idaho."
"But you didn't check in like you were supposed to. The protocol, remember?"
"We were always forgetting to check in."
"This time was different. You were supposed to check in within forty-eight hours, and almost twice that much time had passed. I just knew you were in terrible trouble. I felt sick. I didn't know what to do. Then the Slurper decoded the diary and the references to this place in it, and I thought maybe you'd been brought here. I had to do something, and coming here was the only thing I could think of. I bought the shotgun and shells on the way."
"Bless you, child," Garth said, abruptly grabbing Francisco under the armpits, lifting him up off the floor and planting a loud, wet kiss on his forehead. "Mongo, I think our new permanent associate investigator has already earned a raise."
"I think he deserves profit-sharing."
"Agreed."
"Thank you," a thoroughly embarrassed Francisco said as Garth set him back down on the floor.
I said, "Speaking of protocol, Francisco, why didn't you call Veil? That was the first thing you were supposed to do if you thought we might be in trouble."
"Veil wasn't home. I couldn't wait; I had to get here as soon as possible."
"And not a half second too soon. What about the police?"
"I did call the police. They didn't take your disappearance seriously; they said the two of you were disappearing all the time, and the only people I should be worrying about were whoever you'd disappeared with. They said they were going to send a detective around to look at the photographs from Fournier's computer files, and then consider getting a search warrant for this place, but I couldn't wait for all that to happen."
"You do nice work, Francisco. Thank you."
"Thank you, sir."
"All right," I said to Garth as I hopped down off the table to the floor, "rest time is over. Fournier said the president and vice president were probably already dead, but that doesn't make it so. We've got to find our clothes and a phone, not necessarily in that order."
Chapter 14
We found neither, but behind one of the two doors at the far end of the loft we did find a toilet and laundry sink, where Garth and I washed Fournier's blood off us as best we could. Behind the second door was a small storeroom filled with voodoo paraphernalia and a pipe rack with a half-dozen robes similar to the one Fournier had been wearing.
"Here," Garth said, tossing me one of the robes. "This will have to do."
Garth was about the dead Haitian's height, so his robe fit just fine. Mine did not, to say the least; I looked like a neon, voodoo version of Casper the Ghost. I ended up wrapping it around my body like a sarong, and then we quickly followed Francisco out of the ceremonial chamber toward the front, through narrow corridors and past storage rooms filled with what appeared to be old theatrical props and dilapidated sets. We emerged in a small parking lot of a warehouse abutting Twelfth Avenue. The first thing I took note of was the relative quiet.
"It hasn't gone down yet," Garth said, echoing my thoughts. "If it had, all hell would be breaking loose-helicopters, ambulances, and police cars all over the place."