At the Berghoff restaurant in Chicago, there were mutters, whispers and stares.
“Is that…?”
“Can’t be…”
“Wasn’t she in…?”
The overall consensus was that, although the woman who walked right in, ignoring the reservations podium, bore a great resemblance to Nicole Kidman, it probably wasn’t her. The features and fi gure were right, but there was a certain stiff, plain awkwardness—not only in the way she moved, but in the way she held her aloof expression on her face. She couldn’t quite carry it off. Maybe the hair wasn’t exactly right.
Nonetheless, many men paid attention. Some even found her slight limp alluring. They had not, of course, heard her speak.
The woman who wasn’t quite Nicole Kidman walked straight back through the doors into the kitchen, then up a small fl ight of stairs to a private room. The private room had been something of an architectural accident—too big for a second pantry, too small for a banquet room, but just right for people who didn’t want to risk being overheard.
The middle manager from TNI half-expected what he saw, but it shocked him anyhow. He stood refl exively and held out a hand, but instead of a calm and confi -dent greeting, what he said was “Good grief, it’s true… you really can change…”
“No,” growled the Freak in its serpent voice. “This is how I naturally look. I just do all this magick shit as a sideline to my acting career.”
The sarcasm in the torn, tortured words violated the illusion, and the middle manager repressed a shudder. It wasn’t just the voice. There was a masklike quality to this… being’s… features, and he found it disturbing. Especially knowing that it had killed four highly trained assassins, any one of whom could have taken out the middle manager with one hand and an empty Coke bottle.
The Freak looked him up and down, coolly. “So,” it said. “Who’s paying your way?”
“I don’t see how that’s really relevant to matters between you and me.”
“Don’t try to yank my dick: I don’t have one today. It’s Abel, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s ‘Abel’?”
The Freak blew out an exasperated breath and turned towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your damn business. If you want to tell lies and jerk me around, you can do it on my voice mail.”
“I’m not jerking you around!”
“Oh really? Listen, there are two kinds of people who know that phone number.
One group is people I’ve given it to, and that clearly isn’t you. The other group is occult fuckos, and pretty high grade ones at that. Any occult fucko who has that number and claims he doesn’t know who Abel is, is either a liar or too ignorant to bother with. Now, you want to tell me which one you are?”
The middle manager shook his head and gave a little sigh.
“I’m a liar,” he said.
“I fi gured. You work for TNI, don’t you? And don’t lie to me again. I can smell it on you, you know.” This was a bluff, but the Freak knew its reputation went well beyond even its own considerable powers. In truth, the Freak had pegged the middle manager for TNI simply because other occultists usually looked shabby.
“Okay, yes. I work for the New Inquisition.” He took a deep breath. “But in this instance, I’m here unoffi cially.”
The Freak sat down.
“Now that’s interesting,” it said. “Abel’s got leg breakers and mystics up the yin-yang. What would make you come to me? What have I got that’s worth betraying a powerful billionaire who thinks you can’t make an omelet without breaking skulls?”
The middle manager was quiet for a moment, then said “I have a sister. She’s very sick.”
The Freak leaned back. “The best doctors are at the end of their rope?”
The middle manager nodded.
“Abel doesn’t have anyone who can cut the mustard?”
“We’re not allowed to use company resources for personal purposes,” the manager said, with a touch of bitterness.
“What’s she got?”
“Ewing’s sarcoma.”
“Ooh. That is nasty.”
At that moment, the waiter came in. The manager got veal. The Freak ordered the white sausage. When the waiter left, it leaned forward and said “Miracle cures are a specialty of mine, but you have to make it worth my while.” One perfect hand stole up to the front of its black blouse and tweaked a button out of its hole.
“There’s a price I pay, and it’s not easy.” A second button, and the middle manager could see the top of one perfect breast over a black lace brasserie. Punched through the fl esh was a thin link of metal chain.
“I understand,” he said, eyes glued to the conjunction of dead steel and living skin. The Freak leaned back, redoing its front.
“So. What have you got for me?”
“First and foremost, a rival godwalker. I know where he is, I know his name and I can hand him over for you to deal with as you see fi t. As a fringe benefi t, we’ve come into possession of a device that tracks Hermaphrodite avatars.”
“What do you mean, ‘a device’?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t examined it myself, but apparently…” He coughed into his hand. “Er, apparently it’s some kind of fetus in a glass jar…”
The Freak leaned back and laughed. It wasn’t attractive.
“The Hotchkiss compass? I always thought it sounded too good to be true. I guess you never can tell.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The story goes that some time in the late 1800s, a guy named Hotchkiss was running around the country with a sleazy kind of circus or fair or something.
One of his attractions was a fetus preserved in a glass jar. This kid had died in the delivery room, and it was a perfect biological hermaphrodite—that is, it had both sets of genitals. Today we’d call it an intersex baby. Anyhow, some kook stole it from him and, using the principle that like attracts like, made it a kind of dowsing rod for those people who stand betwixt and between. Just as the baby was between male and female, preserved at the moment between birth and death. There’s a lot of stories about who took the thing and who’s had it, but I suppose it doesn’t matter in the long run.” The Freak reached for its water glass and took a long sip.
It usually spoke in short sentences to take it easy on its scarred vocal cords, but it rarely had the chance to show off its knowledge on a topic so close to its heart.
“Clearly you know more about this device than I do.”
“Clearly.” A fl awless hand stroked a fl awless cheek. “One miracle cure for this
‘rival’ and the Hotchkiss compass. Who does the legwork?”
“You do. There’s no way I can hand him over to you without my boss fi nding out.”
“And then it’s the forty-fi ve caliber retirement plan, huh?” The Freak shrugged.
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just two of my people.”
“Oh, is that all? So I have to run off, tangle with two pro killers who can see
me coming with the compass and then reveal myself to a rival? Look, you do know how avatar politics tend to play out at high levels, right?”
“Look, I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. Take it or leave it.”
“This reeks of setup.”
“It’s not a setup.” The middle manager sighed, pinched his nose. “Look, if you absolutely have to… heal my sister, then rat me out to Abel. Watch the papers for my obituary. Then you’ll know I was on the level,” he said with some bitterness.
The Freak just stared, silent.
“Well?” The middle manager shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Am I lying?
You can smell it, right?”
He wasn’t sure himself.
The Freak stroked its chin. “So, why does Abel want the kid so bad? As a threat to me?”
The man from TNI shrugged.
“Does this mean the truce is off between TNI and myself?” The Freak’s voice was low and even—the man couldn’t tell if it was dread or simmering anger.
“God, I hope not,” he replied. “Honestly? I think he’s just hedging his bets. He’s got nothing to gain and a lot to lose by crossing you. Trust me, he hasn’t forgotten last time… hell, for all I know, he was planning on getting the kid and handing him over to you.”
“If that’s the case, why do I need to help your sister?”
“Because this way, you get him free. You know Abel would make you pay dearly before he put a rival godwalker in your power.”
The Freak shook its head. “All right. You’re playing a dangerous game for someone. I’m going to hope it’s for yourself. Tell me where to go. I’ll take care of your sister when I get back.”
The middle manager swallowed, then shook his head.
“I’m sorry, that’s… that’s not acceptable.”
“Oh?” It was a single soft syllable, pronounced after a short pause, but it frightened him more than anything he’d heard in his life.
“I… I mean, there’s no way I can know you’ll survive this. More importantly, I don’t know how long she’s going to last. I’m going out on a limb here. I need some assurances.”
“So you think… what? I’m going to go, get the goodies, then leave you hanging?”
The middle manager said nothing, just concentrated on mastering his fear. He stared, but when the Freak moved, he was still taken by surprise. It was that quick.
One moment it was across the table from him. Then, with the speed of a blink it was standing, and it had jerked him back from the table, chair and all, and before he could react both its hands were on either side of his well-shaved chin. It picked his two hundred and ten pounds out of the chair as easily as his wife would lift
and inspect a melon in the supermarket. He felt the bones in his neck pop as they took the unfamiliar weight of his entire body. He didn’t want to scream, but he tried involuntarily, his fear was just too great. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t even open his mouth, could only wave his hands feebly and kick against the empty air as the Freak pushed him against the wall.
“You little shit,” the Freak said calmly. “You pathetic bag of crap. You know I can kill you. But did you know that I can warp you? I can shrivel your face and wither your hands and distort your ribcage until it’s torment just to feel your heartbeat. Now think carefully. Are you going to trust me, or are you going to insist that I trust you?”
Gently, the Freak lowered him until his feet touched the ground. He stumbled back into the chair, rubbing his chin and his neck. He was hyperventilating.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” the Freak said crossly. “Bend down and put your head between your knees.”
When the middle manager looked up, the Freak was sitting calmly, sipping its water. At that moment, the waiter arrived with their entrees. He gave the middle manager a concerned look.
“He has the hiccups,” the Freak said. “He’ll be fi ne.”
The waiter nodded and put down their meals.
“Don’t come back without knocking,” the Freak said as the waiter backed away. Then it took a forkfull of sausage and said “So, you gonna tell me where the guy and the compass are?”
“Please…” The middle manager wiped his face with his napkin, then said
“Please,” again. “Please try to see this my way. I have very little to bargain with. I have no way to make you keep your promise. I’m putting my life in your power just meeting with you. You can kill me… you don’t even need to do it yourself, just say the word to Abel. But before I die I want to see my sister better. I need that.”
The Freak just stared.
“Shit,” it said at last. “Now I have to respect you.” It sighed. “Your sister—she here in Chicago?”
The middle manager nodded.
“All right, fi ne. Lemme fi nish dinner then I’ll do it.”
He blinked.
“Just like that?”
“What, you fi gured I’d need to kill a brindle calf at the full moon? I’ll get my stuff while you’re paying, then you can drive me to the hospital. If it’s a doublec-ross, I guess I’ll just kill you and fi ght my way out. Won’t be the fi rst time,” it said, frowning down at its sauerkraut.
The middle manager couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Well, eat up,” the Freak said. “I’d hate for that poor veal calf to have suffered for nothing.”
Despite that, the manager found he had no appetite. The Freak left fi rst, after telling him to pull his car around to the front of the restaurant. As he paid the parking attendant, his head was spinning. Was the Freak going to betray him?
He didn’t have a very high opinion of his ability to withstand torture, and he was certain the Freak was capable of it. But what would it gain by forcing him, instead of cooperating? If it killed him, its truce with TNI would be off. His stomach turned at that thought. The Freak was just one person, but among the occultists who knew its reputation, there wasn’t much that scared them more. If it tortured him without killing him, he could turn TNI on it with some story, but it would know that. So if it was going to betray, it would have to kill him for good and certain.
Did it have more to gain from betrayal than from collusion? That was the key question. Without any idea how diffi cult it would be for it to heal his sister, he couldn’t make an informed judgment. He just had to guess, and trust in a being whose most stable property was “unity of opposites.” Sinner and saint. Healer and slayer.
He waited, and wondered which face it would show him.
* * *
The Mundy family found Joe Kimble in the lobby of their motel. It was a complete accident. They were coming in tired and discouraged; he was at loose ends and going out to see a movie.
Fred stared at Joe, who stopped in his tracks, frowning, his eyes on Fred’s swollen lip. Kate and Leslie didn’t notice and kept moving, and then Joe’s eyes shifted to Leslie.
“Oh man,” he muttered. He looked back at Fred, then over at Kate briefl y, but his eyes came back to Leslie. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dan wasn’t at the desk, then turned back.
“Kate, Leslie, I’d like you to meet Joe Kimble,” Fred said.
Both women stopped and stared.
“Shit,” Joe muttered. “I mean… shit.”
He recognized Leslie from the picture Fred had shown him, and like Ralph he was struck by the resemblance to Lisa Kimble—the woman he’d known all his life as “mom.” But at the same time, some part of his mind was working on the fact that the birth certifi cate he’d seen had said “male” and that this… person… was feminine. About his height but thin, like… Lisa. Ralph’s straight lank hair hung long from Leslie’s scalp.
Seeing his scrutiny, Leslie turned her head a little, dropped her gaze, closed her posture.
As for Kate, she was shorter than Joe, with a huge straw purse. She had on blue jeans and a loose blue sweatshirt with a fading print of a dolphin on the front. A
little heavyset, with a deep suntan. Her kinky, frizzy hair was pulled into a puffy ponytail that reached halfway down her back. He felt a tiny pinprick of suspicion thinking she looked Italian, and then realized, no, she was actually black.
“Hi Joe. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all this time,” Kate said at last.
When he took her hand, he could feel it trembling a little. Her brown eyes bored deep into his, and he knew he’d seen eyes that color, every time he looked in a mirror.
“Uh…”
Leslie cleared her throat, but didn’t say anything.
The awkward pause stretched out.
“So, you had dinner?” Fred said at last. Joe shook his head.
“You, uh, want to have dinner with us?”
“Yeah, sure,” Joe said slowly, his mind still trying to take the three of them in.
“Okay,” Kate said.
“That’ll be nice,” Leslie said.
“So… since you’re, uh, local, how about recommending a place?”
Joe nodded.
“One with a bar okay?” he asked.
Everyone agreed enthusiastically.
* * *
The manager had been in his car long enough to start wondering if the Freak had ditched him, but not long enough for his suspicions to really be reasonable, when it showed up carrying an old fashioned doctor’s bag. He had to look twice, because the resemblance to Nicole Kidman was eroding. He couldn’t quite put his fi nger on it, but the hair color was subtly different. He thought maybe her breasts were smaller, too. But the clothes were, of course, exactly the same. He opened the door.
“Take me to her.” When he heard the voice, he knew. The one thing the Freak could never change.
It was a long silent drive, and periodically he would sneak a glance over at his passenger. The fi rst time, he saw that its face had become a little puffi er—the cheekbones no longer stood out, and the mouth was less of a perfect bow. The Freak had pulled down the car’s sunshade and fl ipped open the makeup mirror on the back side.
At a stoplight, he glanced again. Now there were crow’s feet around its eyes, and smile lines. Its hands looked older, thinner, with the veins more prominent.
The hair was defi nitely several shades darker.
The Freak turned its head and caught him looking. “Well, I don’t want to attract a lot of attention at the hospital, do I?” As it spoke, its eyes darkened into a dull brown.
The driver behind had to honk to get him moving.
At the hospital, two nondescript people emerged from his car—himself, a portly businessman in his fi fties, and a shorter woman. If anyone had cared to guess, they would have put her age at forty or so, but no one cared.
“From here on, you refer to me as ‘doctor,’ got it? Is it past visiting hours?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good.”
To his surprise, the Freak had an actual ID card to show the nurse. Apparently it was valid and the picture matched, because they were given permission to see his
To his surprise, the Freak had an actual ID card to show the nurse. Apparently it was valid and the picture matched, because they were given permission to see his