Johnny Temple - USA Noir - Best of the Akashic Noir Series

“What a lovely little trip down Memory Lane,” Larry said acidly. “Can we get to work now?”

Paul swung the backpack off, opened it, and stepped up to the shelves, leaning over each statue. He wanted them all, wanted to take them and put them in his basement room just to stare around at them, but that wasn’t why he was here and no matter how many he took that wasn’t what would happen to them. He reached out. This one, it was gold. He held it, let the headlamp glint off it. Then into the pack. That one was beautiful but it was iron. Leave it. The two there, with jewels and coral, into the pack. The silver one. That little candlestick, it too. That was all the best from the ledges. Now for the cases on the walls. Paul turned his head, sweeping the light around.

There she was.

Just like the first time, the girl in the kitchen, Paul almost pissed himself. A nun, in gray robes, big brown beads around her neck. She smiled softly and Paul’s mouth fell open. It was the same nun, the one from the cave, smiling the same smile.

“You—you—you’re still here?” he managed to stammer.

“I’ve always been here,” she replied. Her eyes twinkled, and she stood with her hands folded in front of her. When she smiled she looked like the lady he used to give candy bars to. He’d never noticed that before, that they looked alike. “Paul,” she said, “you know you can’t take those.”

His voice had rung oddly off the stone walls. Hers didn’t disturb the sense that everything was resting.

“How do you know my name?” This time he whispered so he wouldn’t get the same echo.

“You came here when you were a little boy.”

He nodded. “I used to watch you sitting there. Meditating.”

“I know. I thought perhaps you’d join me sometime.”

“I—”

Larry interrupted him, barking, “Paul! Get back to work.”

He said, “Just give me—”

“No!”

That was Roman. The kick was from him too. Paul’s head almost cracked. The pain was blinding, and he barely heard the nun calmly say, “Roman, stop that.”

The kicking stopped instantly. Paul stared at the nun. “You can hear them?”

She smiled. “You don’t have to do what they say, you know.”

Paul swallowed. “Yes, I do.”

“Yes, he does,” Larry said.

“Yes! He does!” Roman yelled.

“No,” said the nun.

“I can’t get them to leave.” Paul was suddenly ashamed of how forlorn he sounded. Like a real loser. He heard Larry snicker.

“Even so,” she said.

He wasn’t sure how to answer her, but he didn’t get the chance. “Paul?” That was Stoom, sounding dark. When Stoom got mad it was really, really bad. “Do what you came for, and do it now. Remember, Paul: no swag, no skag.” It was one of those times Paul could hear Stoom’s sneer.

Paul looked at the nun, and then slowly around the room. The headlamp picked out fierce faces, jeweled eyes. “There’s lots of places I could hit,” he said to The Guys. “Doesn’t have to be here. This was a dumb idea. You know, like my ideas always are. How about I just—”

“No,” said Stoom.

“No,” said Larry.

And Roman started kicking him, chanting, “No swag, no skag! No swag, no skag!” Then they were all three chanting and kicking, chanting and kicking.

Paul staggered forward, toward a statue of a person sitting cross-legged like the nun did. Pearls and coral studded its flowing gold robes. He reached for it but the nun moved smoothly in front of it. She said nothing, just smiled.

“No,” Paul heard himself croak. “Please. You have to let me.”

She shook her head.

“Paul!” Stoom snapped. “You moron loser. Push her out of the way.”

“No. I’ll get a different one.”

“I want THAT one!” Roman whined.

Paul swung his head around. The headlamp picked out a glittering statue with lots of arms, over in a case by the door. He turned his back on the nun and lurched toward it. By the time he got there she was standing in front of it, hands folded, smiling. He hadn’t seen her move.

“Paul,” she said, “this life has been hard for you. I don’t know why; I think, though, that the next turn of the wheel will be far better.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about. Wheel, what wheel? All three of The Guys were kicking him now, Roman the hardest, trying to pop his right eye out. “Please,” he said. “Get out of the way.”

She said nothing, just smiled the ticket lady’s smile and stood there.

Paul took two steps over to the next cabinet.

There she was.

“Please!” he shouted at her. “Stop it!” His head pounded, the pain so searing he thought he might throw up. He could barely see but he knew she was still standing between him and the statues. “ Please! ”

“Hit her.” That was Larry. Paul barely heard him through the pain. He tried to pretend he didn’t hear him at all but Larry laughed. “Hit her. With a statue.”

Paul’s hands trembled as he reached into the backpack, took out the gold statue. “Please,” he whispered to the nun–ticket lady. “Please move.”

She just stood and smiled.

Paul lifted the statue way high. As he brought it down on her shaved head he realized he was screaming.

He felt the impact on her skull, felt it all the way up to his shoulders, his back. The nun crumpled to the floor without a sound. Blood flowed from the smashed-in place, started to pool under her face. Paul dropped the statue; it fell with a splash into the puddle of blood. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God.”

“Oh my God is right!” Larry roared a grand, triumphant laugh. “You killed her!”

“Killed her! Killed her!” shrieked Roman.

“You know what happens now, don’t you?” Larry said. “You go to jail. Prison, you loser, you go to prison where there’s no smack and we go too! Oh, will that be fun!”

“No.” Paul could barely get the word out. “I didn’t. She’s not dead.”

“Really?” said Stoom. “Can you wake her up?”

Paul kneeled slowly, put out his hand, shook the nun gently. She still had that little smile, the ticket lady’s smile, but she didn’t respond at all.

“Look at all that blood,” Stoom said. “You’re stupid if you think anyone could be still alive with all their blood on the floor like that. You’re stupid anyway, but she’s dead and you killed her.”

“Prison!” Roman bellowed. “Killed her! Prison!”

“No.” Paul stood slowly, shaking his head. “No.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Larry said. “Oh, yes.”

Paul took one more look at the nun, then staggered toward the exit door. An alarm shrieked as he pushed it open. He ran across the terrace, slipping on the autumn leaves. When he got to the railing he stared down; the headlamp shone on branches and bushes growing out of the wall beneath him but couldn’t reach all the way to the street below.

He grabbed the rail, ready to vault over.

“No,” said Stoom in that very hard voice. “No, you’re staying.”

Paul felt his grip tighten on the rail, like The Guys were controlling his fingers. He heard a siren wail. That would be the cops, because of the door alarm. If he was still here when they came, he’d go to prison for sure.

“That’s right,” Larry said with satisfaction. “Prison for sure.”

Paul took a slow, deep breath. “No,” he whispered. “She told me I don’t have to do what you say.”

The Guys yelled, they bellowed and kicked, but Paul loosened his fingers one by one. He climbed over the railing, stood for a minute on the edge of the wall. Then he dove. His last thought was the hope that The Guys wouldn’t have time to clear out of his head before he smashed it to bits on the pavement.