The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (2 page)

“This place isn’t up to snuff?” she asked, indicating the ramshackle building beside them.

Aïas shook his head. “There’s barely a roof. We will probably drown in there with all the rain. Plus, you said you needed to get in touch with your friends back in New York, yes? There might be a phone, or at least a telegraph.”

Jean sucked her teeth. He had a point; things had gone belly up and the sooner she could get in touch with the Green Lama—or at a minimum, that rich playboy Jethro Dumont—the better. But something about this plan didn’t sit right with her. “And what about our four-legged friends and their buddies with the guns? They’ll definitely catch a glimpse of us running off into the horizon.”

“You really think they are going to keep searching in this?” he waved his hand to the sky. “They can barely see two steps in front them and the rain will cover our scent. Come,” he said, turning to leave. “Before they get any closer.”

“Remind me again why I should trust you?”

He looked back and shrugged. “You shouldn’t, but then again… They haven’t caught us yet, have they?” he asked, before disappearing back into the rain.

Jean hesitated, wondering, not for the first time, why Aïas had been arrested. A man that big could do some serious damage and for all the skills Jean possessed, she wouldn’t be able to fight him off easily. Not that she wouldn’t make him hurt. If he had any special plans when they got to the station house, he had another thing coming.

As she stepped forward, there was a sudden crack of thunder and Jean felt a sharp pain in her right leg. Glancing down, she saw blood seeping out of a small wound in her calf, mixing with the rain.

Oh,
she thought, collapsing into the mud. She reached down to touch the wound, her leg throbbing. The bullet had gone straight through the muscle and out the other side, missing the bone. But that didn’t stop the pain, or the blood. Beneath the din of the pouring rain, she heard a dog’s bark and a policeman’s cries as they ran toward her, their footfalls splashing against the muck.

“ Aïas!” she shouted as she ripped off the edge of her sleeve to fashion an impromptu tourniquet, no longer concerned that the police would hear her. “Dammit! Aïas!”

Click!

Jean looked up behind her to find a pistol barrel staring down at her. “Βάλτε τα χέρια σας στο κεφάλι σας!” the Greek policeman yelled, while the leashed dog growled ferociously.

“Aw, hell,” she said through gritted teeth, quickly slipping the shiv beneath her remaining sleeve, and cupping her hand to keep it in place.

“Βάλτε τα χέρια σας στο κεφάλι σας!” the policeman shouted, pontificating each word with a thrust of his pistol.

“I don’t understand a lick of what you’re saying, buddy, but I can probably guess.”

The policeman grabbed her by the collar and harshly pulled her off the ground, yelling, “λίθια αµερικανική όρνη!”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I said…” With subtle grace she cocked her wrist, loosing the shiv in her palm. She grabbed the policeman’s arm with her free hand, squeezing down and quickly twisting the gun away while she stabbed him in the shoulder with her handcrafted blade. The officer hollered in pain, releasing Jean and falling back as he tried to remove the shiv, dragging the dog with him. Despite her injury, Jean dove to the ground, grabbed the pistol and smacked it across the officer’s head, knocking him unconscious. “I can’t understand you.”

“Jean!” Aïas shouted as he ran back over to her. “I heard a gunshot, are you—” His eyes went wide at the scene before him. “—okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Thanks for the help,” she added sardonically.

“You’re bleeding.”

“This? Buddy, I’ve fought monsters and mobsters. This—this is nothing…” she trailed off as she fainted to the ground.

• • •

Lieutenant John Caraway awoke to a ringing phone and a splitting headache.
Too much wine
, he thought, gripping his temples.
Far too much wine
.

Francesca shifted beside him. After so many months apart, he was still unaccustomed to waking and finding her lying next to him, but he wasn’t complaining. She had grown older and softer over the years but he still loved her shape. He ran his hands over hips that would break a younger man’s heart and allowed himself a crooked, self-satisfied smile. She had shown up so suddenly, walking into his office after she had sworn she’d never speak to him again. Things had moved quickly from there. That was their cycle, off and on, round and round, a carousel made for two. Maybe this time—

She pulled the blanket over her head and grumbled, “If that’s the office, tell them it’s your anniversary and your wife is going to kill you. And I will, too.”

Caraway glanced at the clock as he swung his feet off the bed. It wasn’t even four in the morning, which must be some sort of record. His lower back popped as he stood, reminding Caraway that his days as a beat cop were a long way behind him. “Technically, sweetheart, our anniversary was months ago,” he said as he stumbled toward the unremitting phone, the icy floor biting at his feet. “You remember, fifteenth of June, nineteen thirty? You wore a white dress as a joke.”

Francesca buried her head beneath the pillow. “Just answer the damn phone!” she shouted, her voice muffled.

Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the receiver and muttered,” his better be good.”

“
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
” the strong yet soft-spoken voice echoed through the phone line.

Caraway sighed. “Jesus. Do you sleep, Lama? I mean, ever?” Normally, he wouldn’t mind hearing from the Green Lama, but then again, Francesca wasn’t normally sleeping in his bed and he wasn’t normally this hung over. “And how in the hell did you get my home number?”

“I beg your pardon for waking you, Lieutenant, but your assistance is needed.”

“Who is it?” Francesca murmured through the pillow.

“Just the Green Lama, sweetness. Go back to sleep,” Caraway said over his shoulder. “You’re gonna get me killed here, Lama.”

“Again, my apologies,” the Green Lama said, sounding less than sincere, “But time is of the essence.”

Caraway glanced mournfully over to Francesca. They never got a break, did they? “What is it this time? Did someone take out the Italian consulate now?”

“Please meet me at Three-fifty Fifth Avenue, hundred-and-second floor, in one hour. I would recommend bringing some travel clothes,” the Green Lama said without responding to Caraway’s question.

“Three-fifty Fifth Avenue,” Caraway repeated as he jotted down the address on a piece of scrap paper. It wasn’t until he read it over that he realized where he was going. “Wait. You want me to go where and bring what?”

The Green Lama’s reply was the audible
click
of the phone disengaging.

• • • 

Caraway took another sip of coffee, watching the numbers increase as he rode the elevator up to the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building. His arm was still smarting from the bruise Francesca had given him as he left the apartment. She didn’t scream. Hell, she didn’t even speak. Just socked him on the shoulder and gave him the “you’re-in-trouble” look, which he found more frightening than the rampaging golem he had faced several months back.

The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. Shifting the small duffel over his shoulder, he walked out onto the 102nd floor, the wind howling and dawn light hinting morning on the horizon. It had been a little over four years since he last set foot in this building, a hundred story firefight against the terrorist group known as the Medusa Council. His knees ached at the memory.

A lone man stood waiting on the observation deck, nursing a cup of coffee as he watched the sunrise. He had a handsome face, blond hair and a chiseled chin. He was the sort they painted on movie posters with titles like
His Lady Luck
or
Distant Dreamers
. The women swooned and the men rolled their eyes, but there was no denying the fact that he was the kind of man that would forever have his name in lights. His wrinkled suit matched the black pockets and red rims around his movie-star blue eyes, the smell of alcohol floating around him like a cloud. Wherever he had come from, it had been a lot of fun.

“Morning, Ken.”

Ken Clayton raised his cup as Caraway approached. “John. Let me guess,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Green Lama?”

Caraway shrugged, as if there were any other answer. “He call you too?”

“Something like that.” Ken shrugged. “I was at this amazing party until I found a little note at the bottom of my drink telling me to get here,” he said, swirling his finger over the cardboard cup. “Told me to pack a bag too, but I… uh… I forgot.” He gave Caraway a sheepish smile. “I’m not even sure how the hell he did that, putting the note at the bottom of my drink. How do you think he did that?”

Caraway sighed. “Wish I knew, buddy. I’ve known the guy a few years now. …Well, as best as one can know a ‘masked vigilante’ and I’m not sure how he does half the crap I’ve seen him do.”

“Radioactive salts,” Ken said matter-of-factly, topping it off with an affirmative nod. He held one hand over his cup, moving his fingers as if he were sprinkling sugar into his coffee. “He puts it in his water and drinks it. Makes him strong. He’s even got a special batch that can make him fly.”

“Heal people too,” Caraway added, tapping his chest with the knuckle of his thumb.

Ken gave Caraway a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah, I remember that, the golem almost killed you.”

“Thanks for the reminder. You know, I was there, right?”

Ken shrugged. “I’m so hung over right now, let’s just be impressed I’m standing up, okay?”

Caraway grunted a laugh. “Hell, I’m pretty sure I would’ve died a dozen times if it weren’t for that Buddhist bastard. Every time I think I’m done, he appears out of the shadows.
Lama ex Machina
.” He sipped thoughtfully at his coffee. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the army?”

Ken looked out toward the sunrise, his inebriated grin shrinking. He looked thinner than Caraway remembered, his eyes a bit more guarded, sadder. “Honorably discharged,” he admitted after a moment.

“Couldn’t keep up?” Caraway chided.

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Ken replied mournfully with a distant look Caraway recognized as heartbreak. “Time to step back into the real world.” He waved his hand at the horizon. “If you could call this reality. So it’s back to the stage.” He paused to clear his throat. “Just landed the lead role in the new Broadway show
On Your Toes
.”

“Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me for a few years now?” Caraway asked after a period of weighted silence. “No offense or nothing, but why does the Green Lama have an actor working with him?”

Ken shrugged. “Hell if I know. Jean and I met the guy on a ship from Los Angeles and for whatever reason we just jumped at the chance to help him. Hell, the first time I ever spoke to him, he was hiding in a baggage room. Who in their right mind would listen to a guy hiding in a baggage room?” Ken sighed as he rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

Caraway checked his watch. “Five minutes to five in the morning.”

“Christ on a cross!” he exclaimed, massaging his eyes. “I wonder if Gary and Evangl ever had to deal with this sort of crap too.”

“
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
”

“Speak of the devil,” Caraway murmured as they turned to find the Green Lama standing solemnly behind them. For all they knew he could have been there for several minutes, listening to their whole conversation, which, Caraway silently admitted, wasn’t all that surprising.

“Lieutenant Caraway, Mr. Clayton,” the Green Lama said in greeting, his voice strained and hoarse. Caraway couldn’t help but notice that the Green Lama’s face, though shadowed by his large hood, appeared almost Native American, noticeably different from his more Caucasian appearance several weeks prior, which itself was a change from the Asian man he had seen a few days before that. Most striking, however, were the deep pockets seated beneath the Green Lama’s blazing eyes.

Ken raised his coffee in a mock toast. “Lama.”

“Thank you both for coming here on such short notice and at such an early hour.”

“Could we get right to the point?” Caraway said testily. “I’ve got a wife at my apartment seriously considering a return to single life, so can we get this over with quickly?”

The Green Lama gave him a terse nod in acknowledgment. “Mr. Clayton, you will recall at the conclusion of our recent exploits with the golem the discovery of a second Jade Tablet.”

“How could I forget?” Ken sighed.

“As of two hours ago, the Tablet, just as it did for Rabbi Brickman, revealed to me a glimpse of the future. And while these visions were unclear…” the Green Lama grimaced. He closed his eyes, as if he were trying to replay the visions in his mind. “I believe that the delicate order of this realm has indeed been thrown off balance and that we are at the forefront of a great upheaval, somehow tied directly to the entity known as Cthulhu.”

“Aw, great,” Caraway grumbled. “You’re getting us involved in some apocalypse-type business aren’t you? ”