R.Scott Bakker - Disciple of the dog

And if he was a believer, then he really thought she had gone to a better place.

I was losing perspective. I could feel it. Leave it to Baars to give me a reality check…

“I could show you,” he said. “Hypnotize you… “

“I was sexually assaulted by a hypnotist as a kid,” I said, thinking of Jennifer and her father and not liking it one bit. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I pass…”

I’ve known more than my fair share of psychologists-certainly enough to know that suggestion is the cornerstone of hypnotic trances. Suspicion of murder aside, there was no way in hell I was letting Baars muck around with my head.

“Of course,” he said, frowning, knowing that I was lying and not knowing how to deal with it. “Tell me, Disciple. What do you think about this? I mean, really think.”

I studied him for a moment. Given my memory, I had become acutely aware over the years of all the small cues that establish hierarchies between individuals. I knew by now that Baars, for whatever reason, had accorded me the status of an equal. That he respected me.

What I couldn’t figure out was why this made me feel gratified..

“She’s with Xen…”

“What do I really think?” I shrugged and made my favourite face: a crooked smirk that said whatever, and eyes that asked if it was bedtime yet. “Honestly? I think you’re a fraud. I think you’ve used your talent for sincerity to hook these people, and your training as a philosopher to reel them in. Now you’re living the high life, a miniature king of a miniature religion, filling young minds with ancient horseshit, and tender pussies with old cock-which is pretty much what this is all about, isn’t it? Living out your guru-porn-star fantasies.”

Baars leaned forward in his wicker chair as if winded. “Oh, my…” he gasped.

“You asked,” I said, leaning my face back to soak in the sun.

“You really think-”

“You say my memory’s miraculous?” I snapped without looking at him. “Not half so miraculous as the consistency of old perverted pricks like you. You a// invent a religion of some kind, don’t you? Something to cover your horny old asses. A cult of misogyny. A cult of beauty. A cult of privilege. But somehow, magically, miraculously, it all comes back to fucking… ”

A smile creased the sun-hot skin of my face. The glare illuminated the backs of my eyelids. I realized I much preferred talking to him with my eyes closed. He unnerved me too much otherwise.

“You sound pretty certain of yourself,” Baars said, his voice taut.

“Occam’s razor, Professor. You know the drill. All things being equal, the simplest explanation is generally the best.”

I could hear the breeze whisking through the willows in the near distance. Somewhere, a small radio piped the blues. The taint of driveway dust hung in the air.

“If all things are equal… ”

My smile broadened. I could feel the sun across my lips, close enough to kiss.

“So you tell me, Counsellor, how many initiates have you banged?”

I turned to appraise his answer and saw old-man horror-the signs of a body that had lost faith in its structural integrity. He seemed to shrink and to age at once. Fawk. You would think I had just kicked his dialysis machine or something.

“Only Jennifer,” he said in a hollow voice.

Liar, I smiled.

I got up, made to show myself the way out. Amanda Bonjour came crashing up through my memory: “The whole thing is a murderous con! ”

“Mr. Manning!” Baars cried. “Do you really think that this-what we have built, and more importantly what we have discovered-is as small and as sordid as… as what? A libidinous ego trip?”

A Gallic shrug. “Isn’t everything?” I replied.

I paused before rounding the courtyard threshold, spared him one final glance. I could see anger crawling into the gap his confidence had left behind. He even held one fist out, not in defiance. If anything, he seemed to be miming the act of seizing something-a bug, a coin, or even a wisp of smoke-from the open air.

“She’s dead, Baars. You know that.”

“No, Mr. Manning. Quite the contrary… What I know-know, Mr. Manning-is that mankind conquered death long, long ago.” I lay on the hard board that was my motel bed, eyes fixed on the dust- furry blades of the ceiling fan above me. And I also sat carefully in my office chair, watching Amanda and Jonathan Bonjour struggle with what always should be a simple question and yet somehow never is.

“He wants to know whether the cult was just an excuse to escape us,” Jonathan Bonjour said.

“Troubled,,”Amanda said stiffly. “Troub- “

“Not abusive,” Jonathan Bonjour interrupted. “There’s troubled and then there-”

“I’m sure Mr. Manning re-” Amanda began, her face slack with something-something.

“I just didn’t want him to get the wrong idea! “

A pause directed at me. A request for confirmation, reassurance- certainly not more questions. “Andwhat idea wouldthat be, Mr. Bonjour? “

“Jon slapped her,”Mrs. Bonjour said in a clear, broadcasting tone. “The last… fight we had. Jon slapped… her. “

“I… ah…” A fat thumb wiping tears. “I… I don’t know what to say. “ A hand raised as a hood. A breath squeezed to the limit of manly self- restraint.

“Jonny blames himself,” Amanda said.

That clinched it. Hearsay or not, Jonathan Bonjour was a lying fat fuck. And what choice did he have? Even the best of us are moral cowards at the best of times. And this guy was a lawyer, which meant he had cashed in his ethical chips a long, long time ago. He spent his every day wringing advantage out of ambiguity.

The only real question was how far would he go.

“I have one last question-for you specifically, Mr. Bonjour. Your law firm regularly contracts private investigators, does it not? “

A moment of shock. Not because I had guessed his profession-what I had thought originally-but because he suddenly understood that he had inadvertently grabbed a steak knife-me-when what he really wanted was to spread some more butter.

“I’m not sure I understand.. “

“Stufflike this… personal stuffwith consequences that are, well, as big as you can imagine… such stuffrequires trust. Why wouldn’t you go to people you know? “

“This wasn’t Jonny’s idea,” Amanda said. But it was his idea. He might have led her to it, rubbed the back of his neck and complained about how so-and-so had fucked up this-or-that, hemmed and hawed until, inevitably, she suggested they go with someone else.

“Even still…”

Jonathan Bonjour literally squirmed. How could I have missed that?

“No offence, Mr. Manning, but my opinion of your profession is rather… jaded…” Fucking lawyers.

“And?”

“Well, let’s just say that I’ve come to that opinion through long experience. “

“But it’s not just that,” Amanda quickly added. “You see… Jonny’s already gone down there, asking questions and all, and the people are… well, more like you.. “

Fawk… The implications of this were just beginning to soak through my deductive hide.

“Like me? “ I replied, smiling. “You mean socio-economically disadvantaged.”

“We thought that you might be able to talk their, uh, language. “

“My ad in the Yellow Pages that bad, huh? “ They both laughed. Only one of them sincerely. Had Bonjour hired me because I smelled like a reliable fuck-up? I could see it all. His wife was jamming him to do something, throw some of that morally dubious cash around. And I-apparent loser that I am- was exactly what he thought he needed: a way to go through the motions of finding his daughter, all the while ensuring she would never be found…