“Yeah, feeling better?”
“Do you—” what would he say? Did he remember Art having sex with some strange woman?
A movie playing on a television.
He wasn’t drunk that night. He couldn’t have been. He’d remember at least drinking more than one beer before getting fuzzy. Then what—
The phone rang in his pocket. Steve and the man with the moustache rose simultaneously, each thinking the call was on theirs. Such was the curse of portable phones, Art always thought, generally with more amusement than now.
Art knew it was his phone. Could remember other times, coming clearer, when he had reached this level of understanding only to answer the phone and then... nothing. That moment after Nate’s call at work, any doubt washed away as if some buried instruction in his brain had kicked in, shutting his thoughts down. Again.
Steve’s cribbage partner broke his own rule and counted out his hand on the board. He said happily, “Ain’t mine. Mine plays the Star Spangled Banner when I have a call. Does it better than most versions I’ve heard at the Red Sox games.” He laughed, and slipped his peg a couple of unearned notches ahead.
Art’s phone rang again from his coat hanging over the back of an empty chair. Steve said, “Art, it’s your phone.”
Of course it was, he thought despondently. He rose and grabbed his jacket, but not to answer the call. He headed for the door, needing to get home, talk to Beverly, try and save their marriage before it was too late. He was confused still, but more and more details fell into place in his mind. He hadn’t been unfaithful, he was almost certain of that now. But the thought that he’d been drugged and shown a pornographic film, made to think... no, none of it made any sense.
The phone stopped ringing. Art didn’t have voicemail, so whoever it was must have given up. If it was Beverly, it didn’t matter. He’d be home soon enough. He took the phone from his pocket, turned it off, and put it away again.
Someone else’s phone began to ring. The man with the Star Spangled Banner ring guffawed and said, too loudly, “Looks like the wives are calling you boys home!”
Steve pressed a button on his own phone and said, “Hello?”
Art opened the door and stepped outside. The cool night air opened his mind further. More and more understanding, some of it dark—almost frighteningly so—but clearer than it had been in a long time. It made him giddy with relief.
“Art!” Steve’s voice. Art turned and waved goodnight to him. His hand froze mid-air when he saw the man holding out his phone. “It’s your wife. She’s worried sick, says you didn’t answer your phone and figured she’d check with me.” In a low, conspiratorial voice, he whispered, “If she’s calling me she knows where you are, so no sense hiding.” He grinned.
Art wanted to say Just tell her I’m on my way home, but remembered that he wasn’t suppose to be here in the first place. The message would sound too much like a brush off. He’d tell her he would explain everything when he got home, then hang up before Quinn arrived. The sooner he was out of this place the better. In fact, once he got home, he’d remove the battery from his own phone. Maybe go so far as change his number.
He reached out to Steve’s proffered hand, too late wondering how Beverly had known this man’s cell phone number.
“Hi, Bev,” he said, “Listen, I—“
“Mister Dinneck,” said Peter Quinn’s smooth voice.
The world crinkled around him, faded to black.
No, no! God hel—
And he was no longer anywhere but in the world created for him by his master. He listened to the instructions, handed the phone back to Steve and returned inside.
It was still early. He could wait a little longer. He saw Steve heading directly for his car through the closing front door, heard the Star Spangled Banner begin to play from somewhere in the room. He was content to simply sit in the chair and wait for Quinn to show up. He had something important to tell him.
After Star Spangled Banner listened to the call without speaking, he passed the phone to the next, who listened then passed it on to the third. All three men at the cribbage table rose as one and went to get their jackets. They said, “Goodnight, Art.” Art Dinneck waved absently to them.
He was trying to remember something important. It was just at the tip of his memory, if he could only remember....
Chapter Sixty
“Is the girl inside?”
Manny Paulson nodded. He stood in the open doorway leading from the alley into the store’s back room. Peter Quinn closed his car door and said, “Is Dinneck the only one out front?”
Another nod. Nathan, who’d been pulling the Ark from the back seat and trying to make the action look more like a struggle than it truly was, looked up at the name. He couldn’t have meant him, so his father was here!
What did Dad have to do with this? More insurance?
Quinn moved around the front of the car, the fingers of his right hand grazing the hood absently. “Leave him there for now. He won’t disturb us.” He turned to Josh. “Mister Everson, please follow our Holy Man into the building.”
Nathan straightened and gave Josh a look. His friend stared back blankly. What was he was seeing? Nathan followed Quinn into a long rectangular room, dark save for a row of short red candles burning along the far wall. There was a lingering odor of sulfur, from the matches Paulson likely used to light them. Nathan remembered the sudden welling of fear this morning, a sense that something evil lurked inside this room. The fear returned, though not the overwhelming terror of earlier. Nathan thought, Lord, protect me. Give me strength to face what’s in here.
Bathed in the candles’ red glow and drifting among a thin line of sweet smelling incense, sat a small altar. It reminded Nathan of a Japanese Zen shrine, minimal adornments, set low so one had to kneel before it. The incense stick’s tip had only a small bit of ash.
Seeing what adorned the altar gave him a start. The small statue had a body of gold, though the gold was likely no more real than that which adorned the Ark in Nathan’s arms. It was difficult to tell in the dim light. The idol had the head of a bull, outstretched arms waiting for an offering.
Forgery or not, he did not want to put the Ark on the floor in front of such a desecration. He looked away. Elizabeth stood near the wall on his left, not far from the door leading to the front room where his father was apparently waiting. Her expression was less blank than Josh’s now, and when he looked her way she blinked and returned his gaze.
Quinn said, “Ah, welcome back, young lady. I trust you had a pleasant sleep.”
She was wild-eyed now, looking around the room in a panic. Only when she tried to move did she realize her hands were tied behind her back.
“Nathan, what—”
Quinn raised his hand. “Do not speak.” She stopped talking like an obedient servant, but Nathan was glad to see her expression remained alert. She looked at him, mouthed where are we? Then her eyes fell on what he was carrying. Her look of shock changed to confusion. Maybe she saw it now for what it truly was. She mouthed something else, but Nathan was too preoccupied to interpret it.
Quinn stood in front of him, closely inspecting the Ark without actually touching it. His expression moved slowly from one of awe, to curiosity, to something else. Something darker. He looked up with his eyes only.
“Getting a bit heavy to hold, Reverend Dinneck?” Nathan didn’t like the tone of voice. Sarcasm?
“A little.”