Do Not Go Gentle (45 page)

“And you think I do?”

“No, but I think your desire for revenge may blind you to the dangers involved.”

They glowered at each other for several seconds. Jamie finally blew out a frustrated breath, fogging up the rear window. “Darcelle, I've forgotten more about handling these types of situations than you'll ever know. Even if I've got a case of tunnel vision, I'm not going to put us at needless risk.”

“I've got no problem with dangerous. It's foolhardy that worries me. You're not a cop any longer, Jamie. You're not even a PI.”

“Bite your tongue,” Jamie replied evenly. “Most private investigators are overpriced and underwhelming. I have years of police experience, and Louie's not blindly walking into a trap. You can mitigate the danger by knowing exactly what your opponent is up to.”

No one spoke for several minutes. They stared out at the snowy street and the ice-covered trees on Copp's Hill. Finally Daphné spoke. “Actually, Unc, there has been some activity here.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Well, no one's come out, but several vehicles have gone in, and then come out a little while later.”

“What kind of vehicles?” Jamie asked.

“The same kind of white panel vans that kidnapped Riona,” Darcelle answered.

After a moment's thought, Jamie asked, “How many vans have been in and out of there?”

The twins looked at each other. “Probably half a dozen since we've been here,” Daphné replied.

“No telling how many more before we got here at dawn,” Darcelle added.

“Or if there were trips out of the building either,” Jamie concluded.

“True.”

“Do you think someone inside has made you?” Jamie asked after another pause.

Darcelle shrugged. “Yeah, it's possible. We followed one of them after they left here, but it just took us on a big loop around the North End and came back here without stopping anywhere. This isn't the first time we've been camped out here, so I think we've probably been made.”

Jamie tapped his walking stick again for a minute, then he said, “Ladies, let's take a little drive.”

“Sure,” Darcelle said, starting the car. “Where to?”

“Let's take a quick trip to Logan.”

“Why?” Daphné asked. “You flying somewhere?”

“No,” Jamie replied, “but Logan's a great place to rent a car.”

The twins looked at each other for a moment, and then Darcelle chuckled as she pulled out and made her way down the street. “You're going to have up split up, each in a rental car.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jamie said. “Then park at the next intersection in both directions.”

“If they don't see us lurking out here, they might step up their activities,” Daphné noted.

“Yeah. Switch places once in a while too. Maybe we'll lull them into revealing something.”

“Pretty sneaky, Unc,” Darcelle admitted.

“Like I said, Dar-Dar, I've danced a few dances in my day.”

Darcelle narrowed her eyes and muttered a Cape Verdean curse beneath her breath. “Good thing you're my favorite uncle. I'll let you get away with that
this
time.”

“Fair enough,” Jamie said with a laugh. “Daphné, since I know you're going to nag about how long I'm here, I'll go with you. We can spare Darcelle the argument about when it's time for my nap.”

“Man, you're just determined to piss us both off,” Daphné said.

Jamie shrugged. “What can I say? Living in a house full of women, it's just a talent.”

* * * *

“So, it looks like they're entrenching themselves,” Jamie said after they followed white vans to separate destinations, where they loaded up men and boxes into the back, and return to Sedecla's townhouse.

“Yeah, they probably don't have party favors in those boxes,” Daphné noted, having finally won the argument about it being time for Jamie to go home and rest.

“Probably not.” As they drew near to the exit for Dorchester, Jamie said, “Okay, you and Dar keep an eye on them for the rest of the day, then turn in the rentals and call it a day.”

“Great,” Daphné said. “You know, we
do
have other obligations, uncle.” She smiled at Jamie. “I mean, this is fun, but we gotta pay the rent. Not to mention expenses like car rental, gas, bullets—”

“I know,” Jamie replied with a grimace, “but I don't think this is going to drag on much longer, one way or the other.” He looked out at the snow-encrusted streets and houses. As they approached Saint Brendan's, Jamie said, “Hey, just let me out here.”

Daphné frowned. “I dunno. Aunt Eileen was pretty insistent that I drive you back home when we were done.” Nonetheless, she pulled into the church parking lot. “I think maybe I'll wait here.”

“I think maybe you'll have a long wait then,” Jamie shot back. “I don't need a babysitter. I want to light a candle and say a quick prayer for guidance.”

“I can still wait,” Daphné replied sweetly.

“I'll sneak out the back,” Jamie said in the same tone. He leaned over and put a kiss on her forehead. “I'll be fine, lass. I'll tell Eileen that I made you drive off at gunpoint.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jamie laughed, closed the door, and rapped the roof as he walked away, crunching snow and ice underfoot as he made his way into the church. The church wasn't always open, but Jamie got lucky. Jamie quickly dipped his fingers into the stoup at the door leading into the church and crossed himself. A smile played about his lips as he recalled the old schoolboy rhyme for the directions of the sign of the cross.
Spectacles, testicles, watch, wallet.

The tapping of his walking stick sounding thunderous despite his effort to restrain it, Jamie made his way to one of the small alcoves at the rear of the church that contained stands of candles. Jamie put a donation in the box, and then lit a candle. He genuflected, both in front of the candle and at the end of the pew on which he knelt, praying for guidance and safety in the upcoming confrontation. After a minute of silent prayer, Jamie sat back into the pew and closed his eyes. Even with a multitude of thoughts and worries scurrying through his weary mind, he dozed.

* * * *

Jamie stood in a dark, dank room, reeking of suffering and death. Straining to see in the Stygian blackness, Jamie slowly perceived a smudge of reddish light coalescing in the distance. The smudge grew into a ragged oval, swirling and spinning about a figure that Jamie couldn't make out. As the circle grew, he realized the sphere wasn't far away—it was close and had begun as a tiny dot that was growing to the size of a person. Jamie still couldn't make out the identity of the person bathed in crimson, but he had a good idea, even as gold and black flecks danced about the form like confetti. When the figure turned toward him, Jamie stood face to face with Sedecla. She was dressed in dark red and brown, a flowing gown of some kind, with a golden belt cinched about her waist.

“Are you prepared to meet your fate, mortal?” Sedecla asked in a soft, sensual voice. Despite the evil that surrounded her, she was attractive. Sedecla gazed at him fiercely. Jamie felt the weight of her gaze upon him, like an iron coverlet, threatening to drag him to his knees.

“The better question is, are you prepared to meet yours, witch?” Jamie kept his voice calm and even, despite the anger and worry roiling within his breast.

Sedecla laughed, which echoed like the sonorous tolling of dark, ponderous bells. “You do not lack courage, little man. I will give you credit for that much.”

“Hey, who you callin' little?” Jamie demanded. “I'm taller than you.”

Her mouth curling up at one corner, Sedecla chuckled. “You can make your jokes as well, detective. You have had extraordinary luck in eluding my snares, but now you will have to come to me if you wish to stop me. Do you have the courage to confront me in person?”

Jamie smiled and returned her chuckle. “I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. You sorry you sent a boy to do a man's job? Being taken out by two girls, wow
—
” He shook his head slowly.

Eyes flashing, Sedecla became furious. “Tomás da Silva was twice the man you will ever be.”

“Ooh, touched a nerve there, hunh?” Jamie replied sarcastically. Then he had to steel himself to hold his ground as Sedecla stepped forward to stand inches away.

“Your brats and bitch wife have eluded me so far, but their time is running out, I promise.”

“Here now, none of that,” Jamie replied, still keeping his tone light despite the menace streaming from the witch. “I'm the only one allowed to call my wife a bitch.” Then, with a wry smile, he added, “and I do so only at my own peril, let me tell you—”

“Enough,” Sedecla shouted, throwing her arms out wide, bolts of power crackling from each hand as she leaned in, almost touching noses with Jamie. He knew this was a dream, but Jamie felt her reality, her nearness, and an imminent threat. Her large brown eyes bored into his gray eyes and reached into his mind, seeking a foothold to grasp, to gain control or at the least, to inspire fear.

Jamie had been in the presence of many important and powerful people over the years—bishops and cardinals, even the Pope across a large room once, the chief of police, the mayor, the governor, glimpses of senators, presidents and heads of state that had visited Boston, the iron will that suffused Frank Griffin's every move and word. This presence, however, was the most commanding, the most intimidating, the most powerful that Jamie had ever encountered. Quelling the doubts and dread bubbling up inside him, Jamie did not flinch, did not blink, and did not look away. “It's only enough when I say it's enough, bitch,” he replied in a soft, even voice.

Sedecla whirled away, the power lancing across the room, crackling against rough-cut, stone walls and briefly illuminating the room. It was moderately large, maybe twenty feet square, with a circular wooden platform that took up about half the space. There was some type of design inlaid into the platform, but the burst of illumination was too short-lived for Jamie to discern its identity. The floor of the room consisted of a finely ground powder, but with a smell that reminded Jamie of a grave. Sedecla turned back, one arm held out elegantly, as if posing for a statue. “You may only be here in your dreams, mortal, but I can still inflict pain. I cannot kill you, but I can make you sorry you came here.”

Red radiance, laced with black, lanced out and struck Jamie. It felt like a strong man had taken a sledgehammer and swung it full force to his chest. Jaysus Christ. It feels like she's breaking my ribs. The force blew Jamie backward, and he felt himself lifted off the platform and hurtling toward the stone wall on the other side of the room. Just before he struck, with Sedecla's snarling face focused intensely upon his, Jamie felt himself yanked downward, as if he were in a runaway elevator. Then, before impact—

* * * *

Jamie jerked forward in the pew, his eyes wide open. Sweating and his heart racing as if he had just finished a marathon, a monstrous pain rampaged in his head, more terrible than the worst migraine he had ever experienced. He slapped his hands over his face and bowed to rest on the back of the pew in front of him. Nausea swept through him like a flash flood, and only years of ingrained propriety kept him from vomiting in the church. As he regained control of his stomach and tried to push back against the pain, Jamie heard a familiar voice reach his ears. “Jamie? Jamie, lad, are you okay?”

Lowering his hands, Jamie saw Father O'Connor lowering his bulk into the pew in front of him. Sighing, Jamie placed a hand weakly on one of the priest's beefy shoulders. “Yeah, padre, I'm fine.”

O'Connor placed a large hand upon Jamie's shoulder. “Seriously, are you okay? Do I need to call Eileen?”

“No,” Jamie replied with more strength than he actually felt. “I just need a few moments.”

Nodding slowly, O'Connor eased back in the pew. “Seeking spiritual counseling, Jamie?”

Sighing, Jamie returned the priest's nod. “Aye, father, but I can't discuss it with you.”

“You're not working again are you?” O'Connor asked.

“Not as a detective, but it's still a case, and I'm not going to burden you with the story.”

“Burden? That's what I'm here for, Jamie. To share burdens.”

“No offense, Anthony, but you've seemed over-burdened yourself for some time.”

Fear traced itself over the priest's face. “What do you mean? Has O'Neill spoken with you?”

“Timmy?” Jamie asked. “No. Should he?”

O'Connor let out a ragged breath. “No, but Timothy has helped me deal with a burden of my own.” He looked at Jamie, examining his face for any unspoken meaning.

The two men exchanged glances for several seconds. Finally, Jamie spoke, “Okay, I know better than to try to pry information out of you. Seal of the confessional and all that jazz.”

“Something like that,” O'Connor agreed, trying to keep the worry and shame from his face.