George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"At the moment, all I remember is a lot of smoke and flame," I said carefully, watching my brother's face. "Who got me out?"

"It must have been a fireman, although I was never able to find out which one," Garth said in an odd tone of voice that went with the odd way he was looking at me. "I responded to the original call when I heard the fire was in your apartment building. As a matter of fact, I was the one who found you unconscious on the sidewalk where somebody had dropped you. You were wrapped in soaked drapes from your living room. Whoever got to you first had a lot of presence of mind; he was cool, quick, and gutsy."

Indeed, I thought. Also, whoever had broken through the apartment door, assessed the situation, torn down the living room drapes and soaked them in the kitchen sink, then waded under that life-saving shroud through a sea of flame to cut me free and carry me out, had to have been very close by-like virtually in the hallway outside my apartment. Even so, I considered it quite possible that my rescuer had been more badly burned than I was.

"What about the other people in the building?" I asked.

"The whole floor was gutted. Five people died-two of them children."

"Oh, my God," I whispered.

"You'll stay at my place until you find another one of your own," Garth said. His tone had gone from merely odd to almost cold. He turned slightly, nodded toward a stack of boxes piled up next to the window. "I brought you a few changes of clothes."

"Thank you."

"I've got a couple of other items for you, as well," Garth said, rising from the chair and walking to the window. He selected a box, came back and sat down again. Resting the box on his knees, he took off the top and brought out two handguns-a nickel-plated Beretta in a shoulder holster and a palm-sized Seecamp with an ankle holster. He placed the guns, along with a box of cartridges for each, on the bed next to me. "These will replace the ones you lost. You'll find copies of your city and state carry permits in the shoulder holster. It makes me very nervous to think of you going around unarmed, even in a hospital room."

I checked the magazine and trigger action of the Beretta, shoved it back into its holster. The weapons of death looked out of place in this room inside a house of healing. "Thanks again, Garth. You've really been taking care of business."

"Yeah. You say all you remember is waking up and finding yourself surrounded by smoke and flame?"

"Uh… something like that." I was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

"Something like that? Let me see if I can refresh your memory." Once again he reached into the box. This time he brought out four lengths of rope, each frayed at one end and sliced cleanly with a knife at the other. He tossed the ropes into my lap. "I'll bet a month's salary that the widths of those ropes match the friction burns on your wrists and ankles," Garth continued coldly. "They should, because that's where I found them tied. God knows how you got those bruises on your heels and soles; they're black. Do you always beat the soles of your feet and tie yourself up before you go to sleep?"

I'd run out of thinking time. "Garth, I-"

"What the fuck's the matter with you?!" Garth snapped, his brown eyes flashing with anger. "Five people died in that fire! Why the hell are you playing games with me?!"

"I'm sorry, Garth. I thought maybe I had a good reason for keeping my mouth shut. I can see now that I didn't."

"The fire that destroyed that floor started in your apartment, didn't it?"

"Yes."

"Very good. It sounds like your memory is improving."

I proceeded to tell Garth what had happened, finished by explaining why I had considered keeping the story to myself.

"Dumb, Mongo," Garth said, shaking his head in exasperation. However, his face had softened, and the chill was gone from his voice. "I appreciate your concern for me, as misplaced as it was, but don't really understand what you thought you were going to do next. Did you plan to try to find and take on these two guys by yourself?"

"I wasn't sure what I was going to do, Garth," I replied, thoroughly chastened. "I was thinking about it."

"Hell, all they did was tie you on your bed and light a fire under you."

"True; but they tried to kill me only after they'd asked me a lot of questions, which I think is important to consider. There's no doubt in my mind that if those guys had thought they already had the answers to the questions, if Veil had left me any kind of message clearly outlining what was going on, I'd have been blown away the moment I stepped out of Veil's loft onto the sidewalk. The men weren't certain of what I knew, or what others might know, and so they followed me instead of killing me right away. Now, if they find out I'm alive, they'll kill me on sight-and I believe they'll do the same to you if they find out we've talked. Doubt in the minds of Veil's enemies-doubt about what he's done, and plans to do-is the only reason I'm alive. That's one of the things I believe I learned from my visitors."

"One of the things? I thought you said they didn't tell you a damn thing."

"They didn't, but I think we know a little more now than we did before they popped in on me. I found the questions they asked and the situation itself instructive."

"Instruct me."

"We have confirmation that Veil is the guardian of a secret that profoundly threatens a very powerful person or persons unknown. The importance the men attached to the painting confirms that it contained a clue, or clues, to what that secret is; the secret involves events that took place a lot of years ago, sometime during the decade that the United States was involved in the war in Viet Nam."

Garth thought about it. "It's hard to imagine anything about that miserable period of history coming out now that would be worse than the stuff that's already been exposed."

"That's arguable. In any case, let's pose the question differently. It may not be a matter of how bad the shit is compared to things that have already been reported, but who this particular pile of shit belongs to. The torturer-assassins who worked me over were top-of-the-line professionals. Talent like that, whether working free-lance or on a salaried basis, doesn't come cheap. That's why I smell a lot of money and power behind them. Whatever Veil knows could seriously embarrass that money and power."

"You think Kendry may have been blackmailing somebody?"

"No. Veil isn't the blackmailing type. But even if I were wrong about his character, I could still point out that he never had the proverbial pissing pot until he started to make it with his art. Yet whatever he knows, he's known it a long time, and all indications are that he assiduously kept his mouth shut. Christ, he's still keeping it shut, for all intents and purposes."

"Then why come after him now?"

"An excellent question. Whatever it is Veil knows, he was left in peace for close to two decades-until Wednesday. By the way, what day is it?"

"Sunday. You've been out for a while. Just because Kendry never said anything to you doesn't mean that he didn't start whispering in somebody else's ear."

"Granted that's possible. Whatever Veil did or didn't do, it now seems almost certain that money and power sent an assassin after him. But the rifleman misses, and now money and power really has a problem. The truce, if that's the proper word for it, is broken. Not only is a live, hidden Veil Kendry one hell of a formidable opponent, but he no longer has any reason-maybe-to keep quiet. Enter my two visitors with some difficult marching orders-track Veil Kendry; assess any damage Veil may already have done; erase possible trouble spots, like me."

"According to you, and I have no doubt you're right, he's carrying nunchaku, at least one knife, two handguns, and a submachine gun. That sounds like somebody bent more on killing an enemy that talking about him."