Light caught his eye and he understood why Poli had retreated. He glimpsed the flashing red and blue lights of a string of police cars through the pine trees. They were racing for the salvage yard, and the lead vehicle was only seconds away.
Unable to use the front door because of the ruined porch roof, and with the back engulfed in flame, Mercer led everyone out the window, making sure that Erasmus and Lizzie went first. Harry demurred to going next, so Cali could throw a long leg over the sash and duck outside. She helped Harry onto the ground and Mercer slithered through after him. He herded them to the far side of Fess’s tow truck, and there he and Cali fell into fits of coughing as they gulped at the fresh air.
For some reason Harry and the Fesses weren’t as affected. Harry took out his pack of cigarettes, lit three, and handed one to Erasmus and one to Lizzie.
Through a wreath of tobacco smoke, Harry said, “Years of building up my immunity finally paid off.”
The New Jersey State Police cruiser slid to a stop, kicking gravel across the yard. The officer threw open the door and emerged with his pistol drawn, making sure he was protected by the bulk of his car. “Hands up where I can see them, assholes!” he shouted, hopped up on adrenaline and the thought of a promotion in his near future. “Anyone move and you’re dead.”
The five of them did as ordered, while more cars careened into the driveway.
Before the next officer could cover them, the back of the house collapsed in a shower of sparks and the flames danced ever higher. Lizzie turned to her husband and said matter-of-factly, “Ras, we’re movin’ to Florida.”
Arlington, Virginia
Mercer swirled the last of his vodka gimlet and downed the remainder in one gulp. He was on his third, contemplating his fourth. Harry slouched next to him on his favorite stool at Mercer’s home bar. Both of them were raw-eyed and exhausted, but neither was ready to call it a night.
It had taken more than eight hours, and the direct intervention of Ira Lasko as well as a shadowy figure from Homeland Security who vouched for Cali Stowe, before the New Jersey police and FBI realized they hadn’t captured public enemies numbers one through three. Lizzie and Erasmus had spent no more than an hour making their statement before being released. Ira assured Mercer that the junk man would be fully compensated for his losses.
Cali had left before Mercer and Harry, whisked away by the Homeland Security agent in a government car, while Mercer was allowed to return to the Deco Palace to retrieve his Jaguar. It was a long drive home.
Harry had shown up at his place a couple hours after Mercer had dropped him at his own apartment, Drag in reluctant tow. They’d ordered Chinese food but neither was in the mood to eat. Each was preoccupied with his separate thoughts.
“Well at least one mystery’s been cleared up,” Harry said after a healthy slug of his Jack Daniel’s.
“What?”
“The car.”
The police who’d searched the Rolls-Royce they’d stolen from the Deco Palace found that the car had been fitted with a LoJack tracking device. The man Mercer had seen Poli leave behind at the entrance of the hotel had grabbed the driver and made him reveal his personal identity number. The tracking service led Poli and his men straight to the Fesses’ salvage yard. Fortunately the car’s owner hadn’t been killed, but three people inside the hotel were dead and another eight wounded.
While Mercer knew their murders weren’t his fault, they still lay heavy on his conscience. He especially felt Serena Ballard’s death. There was no way around the fact that had he not contacted her she’d still be alive. All of those people would.
“I do have something to cheer you up,” Harry said after a long silence. He shuffled over to his windbreaker and tossed some papers onto the bar.
“What’s this?”
“The copy of the notes from the safe Lizzie Fess gave me.”
Mercer looked at him incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you bastard? You’ve let me sit here thinking we’re at a dead end while you’ve had this the whole time.”
“Hey, sorry,” Harry replied. “I wanted to translate all of it first, but seeing your face hanging lower than Drag’s made me reconsider.”
Mercer read the first couple of paragraphs.
Deer and the antelope play. That damned infernal song will not leave me. Were there ever any antelopes in America? I ask you, Albert, what games did they play? What merriment the rams and ewes all enjoy? I remember once being sane and I think I should go back there. But then again how does anyone really know what is madness. And are there many who really care? I no longer do. Burned out, I fear this trip has changed me in sick and disturbing ways. I no longer recognize the reflection in the mirror. And within this safe is the key for more madness to follow. Nick of time I thought when I boarded this massive airship. I escaped all those who pursued me — the Carmines, and their minions. But I have paid a price. My eyes appear kohl darkened, like a pharaoh’s. My hair, what little I started with, has fallen out in stiff tufts and my body aches in unholy ways. Other passengers turned away when we boarded. I indeed am a wreck. To recall what I’ve endured in the past weeks and months makes me think that even before I left I was more than a little mad. But I had to find out. I was obsessed, I suppose, unable to forgo my ego’s needs to always be correct. I barely had the strength to rise each morning on the zeppelin and now I sit here trying — forcing myself to write this story.
Second tea into cup in six.
But I did it. I had to show the world that at least one of my theories was worth pursuing. And I have learned that they all were. By ships, automobiles, trains and donkeys I’ve allowed my obsession to drive me deeper into hell. I’ve been so wracked with fever I chipped a tooth shivering. At one point my fight with malaria was so bad my urine turned the color of wine. I think what my brother Nick endured in the Great War and I know I have surpassed his suffering. My journey had all the elements of a great quest, Odysseus’s odyssey. Only mine will not end in the dew-covered fields of my Ithaca in the arms of my beloved Penelope. I could not vanquish the suitors. And while I didn’t want to believe they exist I know even now they are plotting against me. I have become paranoid, but I fear I am not, in fact, paranoid enough. I lack the Hero’s cunning and I lack his strength. Guile is not in my nature.
“This has got to be in code like the note Cali and I got from Einstein’s archives,” Mercer said when he finished the cryptic paragraphs. “It makes sense on one level but there has to be more. Do you remember the code? How many words to skip?”
“Every eleventh word,” Harry said at once.
Mercer grabbed a notebook and a pen from a drawer behind the bar and began counting out words. After a few moments he set the pen down and read aloud what he’d deciphered. “Leave you and I really care has recognize the thought of but like fallen ways.” He looked to Harry. “What the hell does that mean?”
Harry chuckled. “It means you’re an idiot,” the octogenarian said mildly. “You didn’t count the first word.”
Mercer turned the pages over to his friend in frustration. “You’re the one who loves puzzles and cracked the first message. You do it.”
“I already did. The first ten words are ‘Deer me Albert ewes should know I changed the key.’ When you clean it up a little you get ‘Dear me, Albert, you should know I changed the key.’”