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Wednesday Morning in the Park Minutes past nine on a clear autumn day. Sutton Park was quiet and still. Last cut for the season a month before, the grass struggled out of form even as it died. The surface of the pond, around which the park was laid, gleamed as hard and white as the sun. A crushed-gravel walk encircled the pond, passing through woods at its northernmost end. Unseen by the others present--a jogger stretching near the water fountain, a mother and her children approaching a bench--two men entered the woods. Their names were Teak and Dallow. They made an unlikely pair. Teak was in a suit, described by his clothier as "casual," but for this neighborhood it was unnattainable elegance. Rather like Teak himself. He stood 6', 190 lbs. He was trim, tan, obsessively groomed. His innate grace and composure led many to wonder if he was gay. No one knew for sure. Teak had never, to his credit, been linked with a member of either sex. Dallow, his companion, wore a flannel shirt, thick cords, soft leather workboots. He would have preferred a t-shirt and jeans. L.L. Bean was not his style. But Teak had asked him to dress this way--and for what Teak paid, Dallow would have showed up in a mini-skirt. He had Teak by half an inch and a solid 40 lbs. He was confident in himself but somewhat wary of the situation. Killers tend to keep bad company. "So, Dallow..." They stopped, face to face. The woods didn't provide much cover. Only bits and pieces of leaves remained, spread beneath their whipthin branches. It didn't matter. Now that skin could be grown around "sensitive" cartilage, there was no such thing as privacy. "How's our little friend?" Teak asked. "Our little friend's no more." "Good. He was a nuisance. Barely served his purpose." Teak, from his tone, might have been asking after the welfare of a loved one. "No complications, I hope." "No involvement, Mr Teak. Can't get cleaner than that." "What are you talking about?" "Seems someone did us a favor. Got to him first." "But you're certain..." Dallow nodded. "Dead as yesterday's cold cuts," he said. "Nice." Dallow shrugged. This whole thing was unsettling. He had no idea what was going on, why Teak had sent him to murder a corpse. Teak must have known the punk was dead. For all he knew, Teak was behind it. So why send Dallow, put him at the scene, possibly in danger, then stand here playing dumb? Dallow took a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket, lit one, then replaced the pack, touching the butt of the featherweight Beretta strapped to his shoulder. Rumour had it Teak carried an electronic pistol--a slimmed-down version of the one O'Dwyer had come up with at the end of the last century. 180 rounds in .01 seconds, with no moving parts. It wasn't released to the public yet. But if anyone could get his hands one, it would be Teak. Dallow couldn't imagine where he kept it. "There's something else," Dallow said, wishing immediately that he had bit his tongue. "Yes?" "There was a young woman, associate of our 'little friend,' who came to rather a bad end herself." "A woman." Teak looked taken back for a moment--or was it Dallow's imagination? "Her name?" "Evelyn." Teak said nothing, but his mind was working. Dallow's was not: he smoked idly, trancelike, primed to react to any threat. "The doctor?" Teak asked. "Pieter Frenk, you mean?" "That's the one." "Gone. As in vanished, not yesterday's ham." "You tried to get in touch?" "Did better than that. I found him--where he was hiding. The factory." "La fabrica." "Looks like he left in a bit of a rush." "Did he?" Dallow scanned the trees, then beyond. The jogger was off somewhere. The woman on the bench was unwrapping sandwiches. It was getting colder, the wind picking up. Twigs and broken leaves stirred in the undergrowth. "I'm going to tell you a story," Teak said. "It's not my naptime yet." Teak gave a rare, involuntary smile. "You won't want to sleep after this one." "Oh." "Oh is right," Teak said, pausing. "There was a legend, Dallow, told during the mid 1900's, about a book called Necronomicon. It was created by a man named Lovecraft for a story. But many believed in it's existence. Something of a spellbook, I take it, for inviting sinister, ancient gods back into our world." "Happens all the time," Dallow said. Teak went on, ignoring him. "Our generation has its own version. Only now it's called Electronomicon and is supposed to summon things, or people, from the future." "Nonsense." "Of course. But there was something behind it. Word got to us about what he could do--with technology, not black candles and fingernail clippings--and we tried to get in touch with him. A heavy-handed attempt, I'm afraid. I had nothing to do with it. He was not appreciative." Dallow ground the cigarette under his boot. Teak had his attention now. "One day, as it happened, we we're in a meeting, discussing, among other things, what should be done about him...Letters appeared in the air, above the center of the table. Out of nowhere. As if they were being typed on a pane of glass. Everyone shut up and watched. The letters became words. DON'T LOOK NOW. Then disappeared. A moment later, two of our junior executives dropped out of their chairs to the floor." "Dead?" asked Dallow, uncomfortable in the silence. "No. Both still alive, but instantly comatose. It's difficult to explain. Makes no sense from a conventional, medical standpoint." "What's happened to them?" "They share a cottage in the mountains. Set in its own tiny clearing. Beautiful place. I've been there myself. Like something in a fairytale...A live-in nurse tends to them--administers drugs, changes diapers, dresses them, cuts their hair, wipes the dried tears from their eyes every morning." "Jesus." "A few days later we received another message, giving us a second chance. On his terms. It was signed Pieter Frenk--the first names of the men he had stricken down." Teak tipped his head and smiled again, but it wasn't cute this time. Dallow had to look away . "What would you like done?" he asked. "Nothing for now," Teak said. "Just find him. And let me know the moment that you do." This page by Pitchbright |