Then again, he thought, looking at the uneven stumps that protruded from his boxers, he was stuck in the chair till he croaked. He did an hour on crutches every day, but they made his arms hurt. Artificial legs were out of the question. He had too little of the real ones left. At least Lucky didn’t mind. Some of the girls could hardly disguise their horror. That made him so mad that he made them blow him, so the bitches’ faces were up close and personal with the stumps.
‘I leave now,’ said Lucky, emerging from the bathroom in the least clothing that the cops would let her get away with on the street. Girls in the Tallahassee area weren’t what Mikey would call shy and retiring when it came to what they wore, but this one beat them all.
‘See ya, doll,’ he said, sticking his finger between her legs.
She slapped his arm. ‘We finished now, doll.’
Mikey Lister watched her go. Had she just given him attitude? He pushed the wheel toward the door and got there before it slammed behind her. He grabbed the golf club he kept for emergencies and rolled down the driveway.
‘Hey, Castro quim, get a load of this!’ he yelled, closing on her spectacular rear.
Lucia Sanchez sidestepped the chair and Mikey trundled past, bouncing onto the road. ‘Get back here, bitch!’ he yelled, swinging the club.
‘Screw you, gimp!’ she screamed back, as she got into her scarlet Bonneville.
Mikey watched her accelerate away, still in the middle of the street. He looked around, but there was no one outside. Just as well, he thought. He wasn’t in the mood for whining from his tight-assed neighbors. About thirty yards away he saw a dark blue Crown Vic that looked familiar. Was it the same one that had been across the road from his place yesterday? Was he being watched?
He pushed the chair to the side of the road and thought about that. He didn’t know what Gordy was up to these days, but it sure wasn’t legal. He didn’t have that paper job anymore and he’d begun calling from different places each week. He’d also told Mikey not to talk about him, not that he did. Mikey had always thought Gordy was a pathetic runt and he’d given him hell when they were kids. Maybe Gordy had someone watching him to make sure the cops weren’t doing surveillance, too. Screw that.
Mikey Lister set off down the street, the golf club across his thighs.
‘Hey, peeper,’ he shouted, ‘you want some of this?’ As he got nearer, he saw the driver’s head rise from the back of the seat and heard the engine start. ‘Yeah, that’s right, get the fuck outta here!’
The Crown Vic pulled away, leaving Mikey in the middle of the road. He stayed there until it turned the corner and disappeared.
‘Yeah, Mikey,’ he said. ‘Way to go!’ Maneuvering the chair, he pushed himself back toward the driveway of his building. The sun was beating down on the back of his neck and he could hear the cry of seagulls in the distance. Some place, he thought. Sunshine in the middle of winter. It sure beat the shit out of Oklahoma.
The pickup that had turned into the street ahead of him had large chrome bull bars. Mikey pulled into the side and gave it the benefit of his professional eye. ‘Nissan Frontier,’ he said to himself. ‘2003 or 4. Those bars are new, though. Hey, is that a woman driving? Come on, bitch, take off your cap.’ He imitated the action.
The blonde obliged. Her hair was short and she looked good. Then she jerked the wheel to the right and floored the gas pedal.
Mikey Lister flew out of his wheelchair and headfirst into the trunk of a nearby palm tree. The last thing he saw was the set of the woman’s lips. It looked like she was in pain.
Fifteen
Peter Sebastian drove us to the airport outside a town called Rockford. Quincy Jerome and I were in the back of the SUV. I looked out through tinted windows at the world I’d been excluded from for what seemed like years. It was icy cold and there were few people around. The exhaust fumes from vehicles hung in the air like ghosts unable to take corporeal form. Northern Illinois did not look in any way inviting.
‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Quincy said, ‘what’s the plan?’
I flexed my fingers. ‘We find Heinz Rothmann and I get rid of him.’
Peter Sebastian glanced into the mirror. ‘Partially correct. We need to find Rothmann, but I want him brought in, like any other felon.’
‘So I’m an officer of the law now, am I?’ I asked ironically.
‘But if you have to use extreme force to defend yourself,’ the FBI man continued, ‘then so be it.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Quincy said. ‘That applies to me as well, does it?’
‘You’re a soldier,’ Sebastian said. ‘You’re trained to fire back if you’re attacked, no?’
‘You sure this is aboveboard?’ the sergeant asked. ‘I don’t want to find myself in a court accused of murder.’
‘Not going to happen,’ Sebastian said emphatically. ‘As for legitimacy, I can show you an authorization signed by the Director of the FBI.’
‘Maybe later,’ Quincy said, glancing at me.
I didn’t respond to his look. All I cared about was nailing Rothmann.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, as we arrived at the airport.
‘D.C.,’ Sebastian replied, showing ID at a gate. ‘I want to review the murders. Then we’ll come up with a detailed plan.’
I didn’t buy that. The FBI’s head of violent crime was about the most structured person I’d ever met. We wouldn’t just come up with a plan, he’d have several carefully structured strategies already.
We were waved past the terminal building and through a gate in the security fence. Sebastian drove into a hangar and stopped next to an executive jet.
Quincy Jerome let out a low whistle. ‘Cool. Never been on one of these babies.’
Neither had I, but I didn’t feel any exhilaration. It was like my emotions had been streamlined-everything was directed toward finding Rothmann.
A few minutes later, we were in the air and arcing upward through a thick cloud cover. Quincy had his eyes glued to the porthole, until a tray of food arrived from the galley. When Sebastian sat down opposite me, I leaned forward and spoke to him in a low voice.
‘I presume you’ve publicized the fact that I’m in circulation.’
He shook his head. ‘We’re not telling the media anything as that would provoke a feeding frenzy. But we will pass the word to some of our informers in the criminal underworld.’
‘So I’m the bait.’ I gave him a cold smile. ‘Don’t worry, I can see the attractions of that idea. But what if he doesn’t come after me?’
‘You killed his beloved twin sister, Matt. Trust me, he’s going to come after you.’
I sat back. ‘So why are we going to D.C.? Why don’t we go somewhere easier for him to target?’
Sebastian thought about that. ‘Got a suggestion?’
‘I have, actually. You remember Mary Upson?’
‘The woman who got you out of Maine.’ His memory was as sharp as I had expected. ‘Her mother was involved with the Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant.’
‘Correct. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. You can interrogate the old woman about the cult and I can find out what Mary didn’t tell me.’
‘They were both interviewed at length after the cathedral massacre. The mother denied any involvement with either the Antichurch or Rothmann. Besides, your relationship with Mary Upson didn’t exactly end happily, Matt.’
‘True. I’ll try to make it up to her.’ The fact was, I was in pure manipulation mode. Rothmann would have been proud.