Clickers III (15 page)

Clark swiveled his gaze to Tony.

“Don’t give me that,” Tony continued. “Give it to me straight. You break it down; Uncle Sam is the biggest pusher, the biggest pimp, and the biggest bookie in the yard. Iran-Contra. Government bailouts. The FDA. I could go on.”

Clark shrugged. When you boiled it down, Tony was right. And besides, Clark no longer served the interests of his country. His sole interest now was to himself. He’d admitted as much to Tony just minutes before.

“Myself, I was content with hanging out in the fuckin’ desert playing Larry DiMazzio,” Tony continued. “Besides, I was starting to get a little too old for the life I’d lived with the Marano family. That shit wears at you after awhile.”

“I agree,” Clark said. “It does.” He drained the rest of his Gin and Tonic.

“You got like, what? Ten years on me? Fifteen? You been whacking people the last two years and it hasn’t made a dent. Don’t tell me you haven’t whacked people when you were on the other side of the law.”

“I did, actually,” Clark said, thinking back to his early years. “Three times, if you must know.”

“You making up for lost time or something? Eight in the last two years is pretty fucking impressive.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t enjoy it as much as you think I do.” Clark regarded Tony. “It’s like you guys say… it’s nothing personal. Just business.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than business to you. You whacking these fucks is saving your life.”

Clark shrugged. “True.” He could use another Gin and Tonic. No sooner did the thought enter his mind than the female agent appeared with fresh drinks in hand.

“Damn, you’re good,” Tony said, raising a fresh glass of Knob Creek to her. He winked at her, watched her head back to her station. “Nice ass.”

“You got that right,” Clark said, watching her sashay back to her station. He glanced at Tony and both men burst out laughing.

“Okay, you gotta level with me,” Tony said, fresh drink in hand, his spirits jovial. “I’m dying to know this out of curiosity. Holdover from my days as a professional whacker myself, so I gotta ask you. Those eight RNC people you did. How’d you do it so law enforcement hasn’t connected them with each other?”

“Many of them aren’t even ruled as homicides,” Clark said. He cast his gaze around coach. The Black Lodge agents were still absorbed in whatever it was they were doing. Besides, who cared if they heard anything this late in the game? Onyx already told him everything about him and then some. “One of them’s a suicide, two are accidents, one is being attributed to a serial killer in Los Angeles, and the others are being attributed to either cases of domestic disputes, robberies gone bad, or simple random assaults.”

“No shit? Suicide? How the fuck you do that?”

“Convincing a chronically depressed woman to commit suicide is easier than you think.”

“Damn, that’s cold!”

Clark shrugged. “The woman in question was a big influence on the RNC’s special investigation. She was getting too close. She also had the ears of a lot of important people in Washington. Another few weeks, she could’ve opened an official inquiry that would have really nailed me.”

“So it was either you or her.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’m down with that. What about the accidents? They hard to stage?”

“Very. That’s why I was only able to make two of them look accidental.”

“How’d you make one look like they were done by a serial killer?”

Clark shrugged. That one had been the hardest. Clark had been sick for a week after, but the situation had been perfect. The RNC underling in question had resided in an area of Los Angeles where a notorious serial killer dubbed as the Eastside Butcher had resurfaced after a long hiatus. An afternoon of research on the case at the library and the internet, and Clark’s personal knowledge of his victim, specifically that he was into rough S&M, provided all the ammunition he needed. He’d tailed the man to an underground bondage club one night and knocked the man out with a simple pressure point touch in the parking lot, when the lot was completely deserted. Within a minute, the man was tied up in the back of his car. He’d tied the man up tightly, stuck a ball gag in his mouth, and once in the privacy of the seedy motel he’d rented, he’d decapitated him in the bathtub with a large butcher knife. He’d disposed of the decapitated body in a vacant lot and buried the head in the desert. The FBI still thought the Butcher killed him.

“That’s really fucking brilliant,” Tony said as Clark gave him a brief rundown on how he’d dispatched the roaches who kept poking

into his shit, threatening to take him down. “And the only reason they’re on to you in the first place is due to the shell casings found in the White House?”

“Yeah.” Clark had given Tony the basic backstory of events that had led to the mess that was his current life. “Their ideology demands that Tyler was a saint. Therefore, somebody did him in, even though the FBI and Secret Service have already exonerated me.”

“Why haven’t they just gone to the press?” Tony asked. “You know, smear your name in the tabloids and shit.”

“That could happen at any moment,” Clark said. “What’s kept the press out of it so far is the clandestine secrecy of this investigation. The powers-that-be in the RNC…they have no idea that some of their members are even participating in this investigation. This is all very hush-hush. It’s so secret, the leader of the RNC has no idea it’s going on. The Republican Party got bitch-slapped in the last election, and the Tyler Administration damaged them so badly that to go public with their theory would just make them look as stupid as Jessica Simpson debating the theory of relativity with Einstein. That’s why they took this underground. They think if they can get solid physical evidence, they can get a federal prosecutor interested in looking at the Secret Service’s handling of their dismissal. In short, they can make everybody from the Pentagon to the Livingston Administration itself look as corrupt as them. And if they do that, they can erode some of the negative flack they’ve gotten, maybe even woo some of their support back.”

Tony shook his head. “Politics. I’ve never understood that fucking shit.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing but a snake pit.”

“What were you? A Democrat?”

“I’m a non-partisan Progressive.”

“The fuck is that?”

“I believe in the right to bear arms and I believe the government should do more to keep AK-47’s out of the hands of criminals,” Clark said. “I believe the government should leave me the fuck alone when it comes to who I want to marry, how I spend my money, the education choices I make for my kids and myself, what religion I choose to follow or not follow, how my doctor and I manage my healthcare, and what I choose to read, listen to, or watch on TV. I also believe that through reasonable taxation that the government should fund and foster the arts, science, education, public access roads and parks, provide some assistance to the unemployed and disabled, ensure that my food and water are safe and won’t kill me, that the air I breathe is not contaminated, and that the men and women who serve and protect are adequately armed, trained, and empowered to enforce the laws. I think if a woman is gang raped and decides to abort the fetus, she shouldn’t have to be forced to bear the fetus to term the way an insensitive asshole like Randall Terry would want. She should be able to legally put that part of her trauma behind her without having to seek medical attention from some back alley doctor or some clown who lacks the proper training, which is what the procedure would be relegated to if abortion were made illegal again. I also believe that the mongoloids who raped her should be caged for life like the animals they are and never be allowed back into society. I believe murderers should be executed and I believe marijuana possession should be decriminalized. I believe people should be able to worship whatever they want so long as their devotion doesn’t harm other people. I despise the far right as much as I despise the far left, but I’m far from being middle-of-the-road. My world views are neither guided by fantasy ideology, nor out of some dose of optimistic Pollyanna.” Clark shrugged. “But that’s just me. As an old friend of mine used to say, your mileage may vary.”

Tony raised his glass to Clark. “Mr. Arroyo, I couldn’t have said that better!”

Clark raised his glass to Tony’s and they clicked them together and drank.

“Although,” Tony said with a grin, “you said you believe murderers should be executed. Would that apply to me and you, too?”

Before Clark could answer, a voice came over the plane’s intercom system. “Flight staff, please take your seats and prepare for arrival.”

Clark looked toward the front of the cockpit. The female Black Lodge agent was now seated in the front row, by herself. Onyx, Amethyst, Diamond and Ruby were still in their respective seats. Clark traded a glance with Tony. “We stopping in LA or something?”

“On the contrary,” Ruby said from the row behind them. “We’re preparing to touch down in Naranu.”

Clark and Tony, simultaneously: “Already?!” They turned around to look at Ruby.

Ruby smiled at them, her features calm, showing no hint of alarm or surprise at their expression. “Yes.”

“How the fuck is that possible?” Tony asked.

Ruby’s smile didn’t fade. “Anything is possible if you have the will and means.”

Clark frowned. “Naranu is almost one full day ahead of our time zone in Arizona. I don’t know how fast you got to Tony after you were alerted that there was trouble on that island, but I’m willing to bet a lot of shit has gone down there in the meantime.”

Ruby met Clark’s gaze. “That is correct. Time is of the essence.”

“But unless you’re playing with String Theory or something—”

“The fuck is String Theory?” Tony interrupted.

“It’s complex,” Clark explained. “But interesting. It involves extra dimensions. The theory states that the number of dimensions is not fixed by any consistency, but flat space-time solutions exist in something called a critical dimension. It basically allows for quantum leaps in time and space.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

Clark grinned. “Believe me, String Theory is complex shit. I had to study extra hard when we covered it in Physics when I was in college.”

Tony shook his head. “That’s why I never went to college.”

Clark turned to Ruby. “So is that right? Black Lodge is able to utilize String Theory for time travel?”

“As I said, gentlemen, we’re almost to our destination. The how doesn’t matter. Only the why.”

“Wait a second,” Tony said.

Ruby adjusted her seatbelt. “No more questions, Mr. Genova. As I said, the how really doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck the how, sweetheart. This involves the why. Those pictures of Jennifer that you showed me…when were those taken?”

“About thirty minutes before we showed up at your condominium.”

“And how big is Naranu?”

“About nine square miles.”

Clark and Tony made the connection simultaneously, and glanced at each other.

“They aren’t going to have time,” Tony said. “Nine miles means nothing to these fucking things. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they could sprint across that fucking island in under an hour.”

“They can’t search the island in an hour, but they can ravage it within a day,” Ruby stated. “Which is one of the reasons why time is of the essence. Not to mention our primary objective—stopping the Dark Ones before they awake Dagon and summon him to this realm of existence.”

Diamond called down the aisle. “Now you see why it was imperative that we left your condominium as quickly as we did.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Clark bit his lip, concentrating. He thought about Diamond and Amethyst’s weird behavior. They’d seemed intensely focused on something, as if in some sort of meditative trance. Then there had been a little turbulence and the strange flash he’d seen out of the corner of his eye. After that, the two operatives had seemed to be okay again. Soon after, Ruby had announced that they were arriving.

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom system again. “Please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”

Clark’s seatbelt was already fastened. He took a look out the window, which was on Tony’s right. Tony was peering through it too, and the sight that met them both was stunning. A vast sea of jet-black ocean, light cumulus clouds dotting the sky like gossamer draped below the stars and moon. He was able to discern the point on the horizon where the sky and ocean met. Clark craned his neck up, trying to get a better glimpse. He saw what looked like an island in the distance. He motioned toward it with a tilt of his chin. “Is that it?”

“No, that’s one of the Micronesian islands,” Ruby said. “Naranu is to our left.”

Clark and Tony turned to the left, trying to look out the windows on that side of the plane. The aircraft was banking a left turn, and the window view was filled with the dark, moonlit Pacific Ocean at fifteen thousand feet and descending.

“Well, there’s a first for everything, I guess,” Tony said. He settled back in his seat, drink clutched in his right hand.

“What’s that?” Clark asked.

“I’ve done a lot of shit in this life,” Tony explained. “I’ve driven from Jersey to New York with millions of dollars in a suitcase stuck in the trunk. I’ve killed God knows how many people. My partner Vince and I kept a cannibalistic serial killer on retainer to help us get rid of bodies. I’ve made love to incredibly beautiful women, been tortured by members of the Monteleone family, pissed off the Russian fucks that tried to move in on our turf, and traveled to such exotic locations as East Brooklyn, Brinkley Springs, West Virginia, and fucking Newark, New Jersey. I’ve been chased by and fought the fucking Clickers and Dark Ones in the basement of a nuclear power plant with a guy that became the President of the United fucking States. And according to our hosts, I’ve also apparently fought with zombies in Finland in an alternate reality—and God knows what else. But this shit…traveling eight thousand fucking miles an hour to get to Naranu in under an hour?”