Graham Masterton - The Manitou

The Cougar hissed along the wet highway. A ray of yellow sunlight fell across our laps.

"Well, maybe it's easy for us to be soft now," I said. "We've got everything we want, and now we've done that, we can afford to be charitable. But whatever the reason, I can't justify transferring the manitou into someone else, no matter what race they are, and no matter how broken-down they are. It just goes against the grain."

"Okay," said Singing Rock. "Then we have an alternative. But I warn you, it's much more dangerous."

"What is it?"

"We wait until the medicine man emerges from Karen Tandy's body."

"But that will kill her — she'll be dead."

"In the accepted sense, yes. But her own manitou, or spirit, will continue to live inside the medicine man. So she won't be past saving."

By now, we were well into Manhattan, and I slowed up and stopped at a red light.

"I don't understand."

"It isn't easy, I admit," said Singing Rock. "But once the medicine man has emerged, we'll have some ability to deal with him physically. We may be able to imprison him, provided we do it with spells as well as bars. And then we can actually force him to return Karen Tandy's manitou to her."

"Force him?" I asked. "How?"

"By invoking the power of Gitche Manitou. All lesser manitous are subject to the greater influence of the Great Spirit"

"But couldn't he do the same thing — and kill you ?"

Singing Rock thoughtfully sucked his cigar. "Of course. That's the chance I'd have to take."

"And would you take it?"

"If it was worth my while."

"And how much is worth my while."

"Twenty thousand dollars."

I grimaced. "Okay. I don't blame you. I'd want a hell of a lot more than that to risk my life."

"In that case," said Singing Rock, tossing his cigar out of the window, "thirty thousand."

By now, it was all up to Karen Tandy's parents. No one else could pay the price of Singing Rock's medicine, and no one else had the right to let him work it. I took Singing Rock back to my flat on

Tenth Avenue

, and he showered and drank coffee while I called up Karen's parents. I told them who I was, and they invited me over for lunch. I just hoped their food wouldn't stick in their throats when they heard what Singing Rock was suggesting.

We reached Mrs. Karmann's apartment at one o'clock. The glazier had been around that morning, and the window that had been smashed during the seance was repaired. It was warm and expensive and cozy in there, but there was a distinctly awkward atmosphere.

Jeremy Tandy was a dry-looking, fair-haired man in his middle fifties. He wore a dark Nixonite suit, and his shirt was white and immaculate. His face had something of the elfishness of Karen, but it was matured and beaten into a harder and less compromising form.

His wife, Erica Tandy, was a light, slight woman with brown flowing hair and startlingly large eyes. She wore a black Dior suit, and contrasted it with simple gold jewelry. I was fascinated by her long gleaming fingernails, and her $5,000 Piaget wristwatch.

Mrs. Karmann was there, too, fussing around and trying to make everybody feel comfortable. She needn't have bothered. We all felt awkward and odd, and no amount of small talk could do anything about it.

"I'm Harry Erskine," I said, wringing Jeremy Tandy's hand as firmly as I could. "And this is Mr. Singing Rock, from South Dakota."

"Just Singing Rock will do," said Singing Rock.

We sat down on chairs and settees, and Jeremy Tandy passed round cigarettes.

"Dr. Hughes told me you had an interest in my daughter's case," said Jeremy Tandy. "But so far he hasn't told me who you are or what you do. Do you think you can enlighten me?"

I coughed. "Mr. Tandy — Mrs. Tandy. A lot of what I'm going so say now will sound far-fetched. All I can tell you is that I was just as skeptical as you when I first found out about it. But the evidence is so overwhelming that everyone who knows anything about your daughter's illness has had to agree that this is probably — I won't say definitely — the cause of it."

Step by step, I explained how Karen had come to me and told me about her dream. I told them how I had tracked down the Dutch ship, and how Amelia had raised the spirit of the medicine man. I told them about the reincarnation of medicine men, and our visit to Dr. Snow in Albany. And then I told them about Singing Rock, and what he was going to try to do, and how much it would cost.

Jeremy Tandy listened to all this impassively. Every now and then he sipped at a glass of brandy, and he chain-smoked as he listened, but otherwise his face betrayed no sign of emotion.

When I'd finished, he sat back and looked at his wife. She seemed bewildered and confused, and I couldn't blame her. When you told it straight and cold, it was a pretty fantastic thing to swallow.

Jeremy Tandy leaned forward and looked me square in the eye.

"Is this a con?" he asked grittily. "If it is, tell me right out now, and we'll let it go at that."

I shook my head. "Mr. Tandy, I know it sounds incredible, but if you call Dr. Hughes he will tell you the same story. And you have a cast-iron guarantee that it isn't a con. You don't have to pay any money at all until Karen is well. If she doesn't recover, that will mean that Singing Rock here has failed, and so he won't be needing the money anyway. If he fails, he may die."

Singing Rock nodded soberly.

Jeremy Tandy stood up and paced the floor like a puma in a cage.

"My daughter's sick," he snapped. "They tell me she's dying. Then they tell me she's giving birth to a three-hundred-year-old medicine man. Then they tell me I'm going to need another medicine man to get rid of the first medicine man, and that's going to cost me thirty thousand bucks."

He turned to me.

"Now is that bullshit, or is that bullshit?" he asked.

I tried not to lose my temper. "Mr. Tandy, I know it sounds crazy. But why don't you just call Dr. Hughes? Dr. Hughes is a world expert on tumors. He knows more about tumors than I know about the New York subway, and I've been traveling on it since I was knee high to a high knee. Call him. Find out. But don't waste any time, because Karen is dying and as far as everyone can see there's only one way to save her."

Jeremy Tandy stopped pacing, and stared at me with his head on one side.

"Do you really mean that you're not kidding?" he said.

"No, Mr. Tandy, I am not kidding. I am serious. Ask Mrs. Karmann here. She saw the face on the table, didn't you, Mrs. Karmann?"

Mrs. Karmann nodded. "It's true, Jerry. I saw it with my own eyes. I trust Mr. Erskine. He isn't lying."

Mrs. Tandy reached up and took her husband's hand. "Jerry, darling, if it's the only way — we must do it."

There was a long silence. Singing Rock brought out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Somehow I never imagined that Indian medicine men needed handkerchiefs.

Finally, Jeremy Tandy threw up his hands.

"All right," he said. "You win. All I want is my daughter back again, sound and well, and if you can do that you can have sixty thousand bucks."

"Thirty is okay," said Singing Rock, and when he said that, I think that Jeremy Tandy finally believed that the manitou was for real.

After lunch, I drove Singing Rock up to meet Dr. Hughes at the Sisters of Jerusalem Hospital. Karen was under very heavy sedation, and there was a male nurse constantly at her bedside. Dr. Hughes took us down to see her and for the first time, Singing Rock saw exactly what he was up against. He stood at a respectful distance from the manitou, gazing at it above his surgical mask with worried eyes.

"Phew," he said softly. "That's something."

Jack Hughes stood nervously beside him. "What do you think, Singing Rock?"