James Swain - Dark Magic

His drinks arrived, and he belted back the vodka. He wasn’t sure how he’d get out of New York, or for that matter, the country. Using any mode of public transportation was out of the question. He needed a new identity. He supposed he’d have to kill some bloke.

He threw down money, and headed for the door. The pay phone next to the dart board started to ring. The waitress who’d been serving him answered it. “Hold on, I’ll check.” She cupped the receiver into the crook of her neck. “Is your name Jeremy?”

Wolfe’s hand was on the front door. He shot her a murderous look.

“What if it was?”

“Someone’s looking for you,” she said, gulping hard.

“Who?”

“Some guy with a funny accent.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He wouldn’t give it to me.”

Wolfe crossed the bar and motioned for the receiver. Lifting it to his ear, he felt the cold plastic seep into his skin. The waitress skipped away.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Hello, Major Wolfe,” said the elder with the BBC accent. “When you didn’t contact us at the usual time, we decided to track you down. How is your mission going?”

Wolfe parked himself onto the stool next to the pay phone. He had not decided how to break the news to his employer, and supposed now was as good a time as any.

“I’ve hit a bump in the road,” Wolfe replied.

“How so?”

“I tracked down Reggie Brown this morning, and got attacked by a pack of dogs. There was a young woman with him, chanting some sort of spells. I think she’s a witch.”

“Will you be able to continue?”

Wolfe laughed to himself. Nothing like getting right to the bloody point, was there?

“No,” he said flatly.

“You can’t continue, or won’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“Answer the question, Major.”

“Won’t. I’m finished. Game over.”

“That’s our decision to make, not yours.”

“The police have circulated my photograph, and everyone and their brother is looking for me,” Wolfe said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “It’s just a matter of time before I’m caught, so I’ve decided to chuck it.”

“We have an agreement,” the elder replied. “You signed it in your own blood when you became a member of the Order. There is no quitting on our watch.”

“Oh, piss off,” Wolfe said, letting the alcohol talk for him.

“How dare you speak to me in that fashion.”

“I’m hanging up now. Have a nice day.”

“Wait!”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

The elder hesitated. “What if we change our deal?”

“What are you offering?”

“More money.”

“I’ve got all the flipping money I want. It will have to be something fresh. Put your thinking cap on, and come up with something.”

“I need to speak with the others.”

“Do that,” Wolfe told him.

The line went mute. Wolfe found himself staring at his reflection in the silver plate on the payphone. The tattoo on his neck had intensified in color. The tattoo was like a homing device which let the elders keep track of him. The day Wolfe had the tattoo removed, he would have to tell the doctor to cut very deep.

“Are you still there?” BBC accent said, coming back on the line.

“I’m here,” Wolfe replied.

“We wish to make you a new offer in recognition of your present situation. This offer should more than compensate you for your trouble.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wolfe said.

“If I’m not mistaken, you are presently in a bar with several large-screen television sets. Walk to the nearest screen, and stare at it.”

“Why the hell should I do that?”

“Major-just do it!”

Wolfe dropped the phone, the receiver banging against the wall. The nearest screen hung directly over the bar. He crossed the room and gazed up. A basketball game was showing, with men flying through the air like they had wings on their feet. In the blink of an eye, the picture changed to a tranquil bay with deep blue water, and a fishing boat tied to a dock. A sunburned man wearing a straw hat was cleaning the deck, while whistling to himself. The man looked happy, without a care in the world, and Wolfe’s face grew warm as he realized that he was looking at himself, the picture on the screen his dream of one day retiring to the Seychelles. It upset him to know that the elders knew such intimate details about him, but that was the price you paid for working with men who practiced dark magic. He went back to the pay phone.

“No thanks.”

“But-”

“I’ve got all the money I need to buy my boat and start my charter fishing business,” he said. “You can’t dangle that carrot in front of my face.”

“You’re a hard man to please, Major. You realize we could crush you like a bug, if we so choose.”

“But then there would be no one to kill Peter Warlock and his friends.”

“We could find someone else.”

“Who can kill psychics like I can? Good luck.”

“Perhaps we can sweeten the offer.”

“Go right ahead,” Wolfe said sarcastically.

Again the phone went mute. Wolfe could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his life he’d been in a position like this. He caught the waitress’s eye, and mimicked chugging a beer. She got him a perspiring Heineken from the bar, and slapped it into his hand with a knowing wink. The elder with the BBC accent returned to the line.

“We have something else we’d like to put on the table,” the elder said.

“I’m listening,” Wolfe replied.

“Go back to the large screen TV you were looking at a moment ago.”

“What for?”

“It’s part of our offer.”

Wolfe crossed the room. A commercial with a talking lizard was showing on the flat screen. Before his eyes, the reptile turned into a ravishing woman sitting on a prison cot in some godforsaken part of the world. It was Rita. He walked back to the pay phone.

“Where is she?” he said into the receiver.

“Turkey,” the elder said.

“Don’t tell me she’s in Diyarbakir.”

“It’s a rather nasty place, isn’t it?”

Diyarbakir was a hellhole. Torture by the guards was common, with prisoners dragged behind cars across a concrete courtyard until they died.

“How did they catch her?” Wolfe asked.

“Your girlfriend attempted to kill an Arab terrorist who was in Turkey on vacation. It seems she’s employed by the Israeli Mossad. How ironic that both of you are in the assassination business.”

“Shut up, you dirty swine.”

“Now, now, Major, we didn’t put her there, but we can get her out.”

“You can? How?”

“Leave the details to us. Our offer to you is this. Stay in New York and finish your job. Rita will be sprung from prison, and flown to a city of your choice. First class, of course.”

Wolfe took a swig of beer. Rita was the only woman he’d ever loved. Like him, she had no family or friends. He was the only person who cared about her, and she him.

“You have a deal,” Wolfe said.

“You’ll kill the rest by tomorrow?” the elder asked.

“You have my word.”

“Tell me how.”

Wolfe hadn’t thought that far ahead. Killing the others in such a short amount of time would be hard, unless he set a trap. He had not forgotten the old witch and her niece going out for dinner, even though they knew their lives were in danger. They were naive, and he would use them as bait to draw the others in.

“I’ll have to get them all in the same room,” Wolfe said.

“Is that possible?” the elder asked.

“They’re a close-knit group. It shouldn’t be difficult.”

“When will this take place?”