Jeffrey Ford - The Girl in the Glass

After dressing, we helped Antony perform one more search of the house, but the others were nowhere to be found. Suddenly, the big man said, "Shit, I just remembered something." We followed him to Schell's bedroom, where he went directly to the already open closet, reached in, grabbed an armload of suits, and threw them on the bed. Leaning into the closet again, he put his hand up to the ceiling. "There's a button in here somewhere," he said, groping around. This was something I'd never known about. A moment later, a panel in the rear wall of the closet slid back to reveal a compartment filled with the form of Morgan Shaw dressed in a long white silk nightgown. Antony held his hand out to her and helped her into the bedroom.

The first thing she said was, "Where is he?"

"They took him," said Antony.

Morgan began to cry, covering her face with her hands.

"No time for tears, sister," said Antony. "Get dressed. I'll go start the car."

Luckily they'd left the Cord in one piece. As we piled in, Antony said he figured that if they were coming back they'd at least have slashed the tires so we couldn't get away. Still, he insisted on leaving the house. When we were on the road, he told me that Schell kept a little place in Babylon on the South Shore, next to the bay. "It's sort of a glorified fishing shack, but it's got a fireplace and a stove," he said. This was yet another revelation to me.

"He never told me about it," I said and tears came to my eyes.

"Shit, kid, he's got secrets he doesn't even tell himself. Don't take it so personally," said Antony as he pulled out onto the road. The light from the headlamps glinted off a fine dusting of snow that had already stopped falling.

"It's not that," I said, now outright crying.

"There's one piece of good news," said Antony. "I got a clear look at that so-called phantom tonight. He's no monster. I'm sure of that from the way he yodeled when Schell threw that shiv into him. He's just a fucked-up guy with a pasty complexion, a big lumpy head, and in serious need of a dentist. He's in perfect shape, though, and strong as an ox. Must be a bitch wearing nothing but that pair of shorts he's got on in this weather. Nothing a couple of bullets wouldn't bring down, though."

"Are they going to kill him?" said Morgan, leaning forward over the front seat.

"Who, Schell?" asked Antony. "I don't know."

She sat back and started crying again. I turned to see how Isabel was doing, and she was staring quietly ahead in shock. Only Antony was operating as if it was business as usual.

The drive from the North Shore to the South Shore was fairly long. Both Isabel and Morgan eventually dozed off, their nerves frayed. I was also succumbing to a deep weariness, my eyes blinking like mad, my mind numb. I tried to stay awake to keep Antony company, but I was fatigued beyond measure.

Although he hadn't spoken for miles, the big man turned to me somewhere in the middle of the trip and said, "You awake?"

I shook my head to bring myself around and sat up. "Yeah," I said.

"Listen, Schell and I agreed yesterday that I'm good at following orders but I'm no mastermind. He said if anything happened to him, you should take over. So, kid, as of right now, you're the boss."

"What?" I said, unsure as to what I'd just heard.

"You're the man now, junior," he said.

"Okay," was all I could get out. I was too tired to comprehend the implications of my new position. My first act as the head of our operation was to slump over and fall fast asleep.

By noon the next day, after having slept and eaten something, Antony and I were back at the house. We'd left Morgan and Isabel in the fishing cottage in Babylon as it seemed secluded enough to be safe. I'd also told Antony to instruct Isabel on how to fire the gun, which we'd left with her.

The weight of my responsibility had begun to dawn on me during the return trip to the North Shore, and although the prospect of calling the shots was frightening, I had to laugh, remembering how only a few nights before, I'd felt so mature, thanks to having my arm around a woman and a drink in my hand. It struck me now that growing up had more to do with others being able to count on you, and whether or not you could pull through in a jam.

Antony rigged the back door to keep it closed and nailed up an old rug over the front entrance to keep out most of the autumn breeze. I built a fire in the living room using the shattered remains of the furniture. Once the blaze was really rolling and the house had started to warm up, I made my first decision. Going to my bedroom, I fetched the turban, my pasha pants, and the high-collared blouses that had been the props, and a good part of the lie, of Ondoo, and chucked them all into the fire. Black smoke, like some evil genie, roiled upward from those garments, and the stink of them burning seemed somehow right to me.

I went to Schell's room, chose one of his silk suits (a cream-colored one with a vest), a pair of shiny black shoes, and an indigo tie. I knew intuitively somehow that these things would fit me, and they did. It was a stroke of luck that when Schell was abducted, he was in his pajamas, because that meant he'd left behind his wallet (we'd need the money) and the skeleton key, which I knew would come in handy. Slicking back my hair in the mirror, I studied my reflection, and it struck me that, like one of Schell's butterflies, I'd finally emerged from my cocoon.

I walked out into the kitchen, where Antony was making coffee. He looked up, and I know he noticed my new attire but said nothing as he turned his attention back to filling the pot.

"Did they cut the phone wire?" I asked.

"No," he said, turning off the tap.

"When you get a chance," I said, "call Hal Izzle. Tell him what happened to Schell and tell him we need him to get out here as soon as possible. We'll pick him up at the station."

"Okay, boss," said Antony. He put the pot on the stove and then went into the office to make the call.

I took my seat at the kitchen table, focused on the intricate wing pattern of a mosaic, Colobura dirce , that lay dead next to the sugar bowl, and took stock of what I knew and what I needed to know. My only goal now was to save Schell. I didn't care any longer if we got Agarias or avenged Charlotte Barnes.

When we picked Hal up at the station in Port Washington a few hours later, he was wearing an overcoat with extra-long sleeves, a pair of gloves, and a hat with an exceedingly wide brim he kept turned down, obscuring his face from the curious and the cruel.

"Anything from Tommy?" he asked as he settled into the back-seat of the Cord and removed the huge hat.

"Nothing," said Antony.

"Kid, what's with you?" Hal said, pulling off his gloves. "One time I see you, you're a swami, and now you're a gigolo. You've got more disguises than Lon Chaney."

"The kid's in charge now," said Antony.

"Holy shinola," said Hal. "Congrats on the promotion." He reached his hand into the front seat and I shook it.

"It's not something I wanted," I said. "But you can call me Diego from now on."

I felt Hal's hand on my shoulder. "You're going to do fine, Diego," he said.

"Thanks," I said, feeling as though I'd jumped some hurdle by naming myself.

"Wait till you see what he's got cooked up for you," said Antony, smiling into the rearview mirror.

I then held up the leash and collar I'd kept out of sight on my lap.

"The old leash and collar," said Hal, his eyes widening. "You must have been talking to some of my lady friends."

"I don't know how to say this without being offensive," I said. "But you've got to play the dog."

"How could I be offended?" he said. "That's my bread and butter. You want me to bite somebody, pee on a lamppost, hump some dame's leg? Just let me know."