“No, I’d say it was mostly about Karl.”
He nodded tiredly. “Well, while we’re waiting for the sunset to resolve that particular issue, there’s no shortage of other ones to think about.”
“Like what Karl got out of Slattery, there at the end.”
“That’d be pretty high on my list, yeah,” he said. “Helter fucking-skelter. Jesus. Never thought I’d hear that again, except maybe on some TV documentary about the Sixties or something.”
“Patton Wilson,” I said. “He’s back. Has to be.”
“I heard that bastard was hiding out in Australia someplace.”
“Maybe he was,” I said. “Or that could’ve been a rumor he started himself, to throw the feds off his trail. Anyway, I’m betting he’s in Scranton now. Or someplace close by.”
“Close by,” McGuire said with a slow nod. “That’s right – he never was much for delegating, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t,” I said. “He’s a very hands-on terrorist, is Mister Wilson.”
“Terrorist?”
“I don’t know what else to call the bastard. He wants to wipe out all the supes by starting a ‘race war’ between them and humans. If that’s not terrorism, I guess it’ll do until the real thing comes along.”
“Yeah you got a point there. Last time, he just used that bunch of religious whackos he controlled–”
“The Church of the True Cross,” I said.
“Yeah, them. But this time, he’s doing what the military calls ‘fighting on multiple fronts’.”
“Multiple is right,” I said as I rubbed my forehead. “It makes my brain hurt just trying to get a handle on it all.”
“The Patriot Party’s the easy one,” McGuire said. “We got that straight from the horse’s mouth not an hour ago.”
“Wilson’s gotta be behind the Delatassos, too,” I said. “Delatasso Junior, anyway.”
“The bombings, you mean?”
“That’s one part,” I said. “Those bombs have got the people scared shitless, and I don’t blame them. And since the bombing’s all part of the gang war, supes get the blame, with the fucking Patriot Party right there to fan the flames. Just like the Nazis and the Reichstag fire.”
McGuire’s a World War Two buff, so I didn’t have to explain to him what I meant. “For them, it was the Jews,” he said slowly. “And for the PP, it’s supes.”
“With a similar result in mind,” I said.
“You said the bombings were only one part of it,” McGuire said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I am, if you’re thinking about Slide,” I said. “Drug-addicted supes are gonna commit crimes to get money. And every time they do, the PP gets something else to be outraged about.”
“And if the Patriot Party wins the election…”
“Wilson gets a city government that’s gonna do whatever he tells it to. Same thing if the Delatassos wipe out the Calabrese family and take over local organized crime. Then Wilson controls both the cops and the crooks.”
“But the Delatassos are supes, too,” McGuire said. “They’re vamps, for God’s sake.”
“I figure Wilson’s willing to overlook that – for a while,” I told him. “Shit, the Nazis had an alliance with Japan, remember? And the Japanese weren’t exactly what Hitler and his crew considered members of the fucking master race.”
“Alright, fine,” he said. “But let’s put the history lesson aside. The important thing–”
“Wait! Wait a second – something just occurred to me.”
He raised an eyebrow in my direction. “I don’t suppose it’s a miraculous solution to all our problems.”
“Sorry, no. In fact, it’s another problem – or it is if I’ve got things figured right.”
“Then let’s hope you’re wrong,” McGuire said. “But you better tell me anyway.”
“I just remembered something Christine was telling me the other night. Now that Victor Castle’s dead, that leaves a power vacuum in the supe community.”
“You needed your daughter to tell you that? You must be slipping, Markowski.”
“No, I figured that part out for myself. But what I didn’t know is that there’s a guy – a vamp – who’s angling for the job. And it sounds like he’s pushing pretty hard.”
“Pushing how?”
“The usual combination of carrot and stick. The stick is what you might expect – he’s known as a bad guy to cross, you should pardon the expression. Any supe who’s against him runs into a world of hurt.”
McGuire leaned back in his chair. “If that’s the way he does business, I’m surprised we haven’t encountered him before now. Or maybe we have – what’s his name?”
“Dimitri Kaspar.”
He shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“The guy doesn’t have a sheet, at least not locally. I asked the Staties to check their database, see if he’s been busted anyplace else in Pennsylvania. But you know how that works.”
He nodded. “They’re going to get back to you – any day now.”
“Yeah, that’s about it,” I said.
“Still, this Kaspar just sounds like a run-of-the mill punk, whether he’s got fangs on him or not.”
“I’d agree with you,” I said, “except for the size of the carrot he’s offering to those who go along with him.”
“What kind of carrot are we talking about?”
“The usual kind – money. Apparently he’s been spreading a lot of it around. But here’s the thing, boss – this guy works at the Post Office, sorting mail. He should barely be able to make the rent every month, let alone throw cash around like he’s been doing. Unless he’s hit the lottery, there’s only one explanation I can think of.”
McGuire stared at me for three or four seconds. “You know, under other circumstances, I’d be inclined to say you were batshit paranoid.”
“Yeah, but just cause we’re paranoid doesn’t mean that Patton Wilson isn’t really out to get us.”
McGuire let out his breath in a long sigh. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”
“The bastard’s thorough,” I said. “You gotta give him that.”
“Alright,” McGuire said. “Whether you’re right about this vamp Kaspar or not, it’s pretty damn clear that Wilson is back, and he’s up to the same shit as last time – but on a much bigger scale. Question is: what the fuck are we gonna do about it?”
“Oh,” I said. “You don’t know, either?”
I got through the rest of the day somehow. I wouldn’t have minded going out on some calls, even though I felt beat to shit, but McGuire said he couldn’t authorize the overtime for half a detective team. He didn’t mind if I hung around the squad room, though, so I spent a lot of time at my desk.
Lieutenant Crestwell, the squad’s day-shift commander, came on duty at some point. McGuire must’ve asked him to leave me alone, because Crestwell didn’t acknowledge my existence all day, beyond a nod when he first entered the squad room. That was fine with me – I was busy thinking about the return of Patton Wilson. I wish I could say that some brilliant idea occurred to me as I sat there, but brilliant ideas seemed to be in short supply for me lately.
That bastard Wilson was angling to be the power behind three thrones – the local Mafia family, the city government, and the Scranton supe community – assuming you want to dignify any of those positions with a word like “throne”. Well, you couldn’t fault Wilson for nerve – the guy had the balls of a brass ape. Unfortunately, he also had both brains and bucks in abundance – maybe enough to make his twisted ambition a reality. Unless somebody stopped him. Somehow.
I realized that Christine would be rising at sunset, and she’d expect to find me at home. If I wasn’t there, she might assume the worst, so I called and left a message on her voice mail.
Hi, honey, it’s your old man. Listen, I won’t be there when you get up tonight, and I’m not sure if I’m gonna get home at all. Some crazy stuff’s going on at work – I’ll tell you about it when I see you, which may not be until tomorrow night. But there’s nothing to worry about.