Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

“But it worked , goddammit! I bargained for a return to success, and success is what I got.”

“What you got was confidence . You may have had a little good luck, too, but most of it was just you.”

“Are you serious ?”

“You bet I am. A fella like you has got to know how important confidence is in business. If you believe in yourself, it shows, which causes other people to believe in you, too. And that’s where success usually comes from. You were convinced your business problems were going to be fixed, and thus you acted in such a way as to fix them. You assumed your failing marriage could be repaired, and so you went and repaired it. And so on. They call that a ‘self-fulfilling prophecy,’ Mister Stone.” Morris held up spread hands for a moment. “Happens all the time.”

“My God.” Stone sat back, relief evident on his face. But in a moment, he was frowning again. “Wait a minute — Dunjee, with his contract and the rest of it. I didn’t imagine that, I didn’t dream it, and I don’t do drugs, anymore. None since college, and nothing that would give me those kinds of hallucinations.”

“I have no doubt he was there. That’s why I asked you what name he was using, and what he looked like. Your description was very accurate, by the way.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Oh, yeah,” Morris said with a sigh. “When you deal with the occult, it pays to keep track of the various frauds who pretend to have supernatural powers. A lot of my work involves debunking con artists.”

“Con artists? That’s what Dunjee was — nothing but a fucking con artist ?”

“Exactly. His real name, by the way, is Manfred Schwartz, and he ran that particular scam very lucratively for a number of years. It’s a version of the long con. Pretty damn ingenious, really. He would look for successful people who had fallen on very hard times. He’d show up, go through the routine he used on you, get a signed contract, then fade away.”

Stone’s brow had developed deep furrows. “I don’t get it — how could he make money doing that? He didn’t ask me for a dime.”

“Not at the time, no. His approach was to visit a number of people, across a wide geographical area. He would go through his ‘deal with the devil’ act, then wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For his ‘clients’ fortunes to improve. Some of them would never recover from their adversity, of course. Those folks would never see ‘Dunjee’ again. But Manny chose his victims carefully — people with brains, guts and ambition, who had just been dealt a few bad hands in life’s poker game. People who might very well start winning again, especially if Manny convinced them that supernatural powers were now on their side. Then, after they started to pull themselves out of their hole, Manny would show up again.”

“Before the ten years were up?”

“Oh, yes, long before. He’d say he was just checking to confirm that they were receiving what he had promised — and to remind them what the ultimate price would be. Then he’d sit there, looking evil, and wait for them to try to buy their way out of their contract.”

“Oh, my God,” Stone said. “I see what he was doing, the little bastard.”

“Sure. Manny would act reluctant, which would usually prompt the victim to offer even more money, which he would finally accept — in cash, of course. If asked what the Devil wanted with money, anyway, he’d say something about money being the root of all evil, and the more money the forces of darkness had to work with on this plane, the more evil they could create, et cetera. He’d wait while the mark went to the bank, if necessary. Then he’d make a ritual of tearing up the contract, and go off to spend his loot. It’s a perfect con, because the mark never even knows that he’s been ripped off.”

“Wait a minute — Dunjee never came back to see me. Never!”

“I’m not surprised,” Morris said. “Because Manfred Schwartz was picked up by the FBI on multiple counts of interstate fraud — something like nine years ago.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Manny never came back to extort money out of you after your life got better, because Manny’s life took a turn for the worse. He’s currently serving fifteen to twenty-five in a federal pen — Atlanta, I think.”

“But I never heard a thing from the FBI — they never asked me to testify.”

“Probably because Manny hadn’t received any money from you yet, so technically he hadn’t committed a crime. Besides, I expect the government had plenty of other witnesses to present at his trial.”

Stone appeared to really relax for the first time since he had shown up at Morris’s door.

“Feeling better?” Morris asked with a quiet smile.

“ Better doesn’t begin to describe it,” Stone said. “I feel like … like I can take a deep breath for the first time in years.”

“Well, then, I’d say that calls for another libation.”

Morris took their empty glasses back to the sideboard. While mixing Stone’s second bourbon and water, he unobtrusively opened a small wooden box and removed a couple of capsules. Using his body to shield what he was doing, he popped open the capsules and poured their contents into the drink he was making. He stirred the contents until the powder dissolved, then poured another Scotch for himself.

Morris gave Stone his drink and sat down again. The two of them made small talk for a while, Stone asking Morris questions about his “ghostbusting.” Then Stone said, “Man, I suddenly feel really wiped out.”

“Not surprising,” Morris said. “With the release of all that tension, you’re bound to feel pretty whipped. Anyone would.”

A few minutes later, Stone’s speech started to slur, as if he had consumed far more than two drinks. His eyelids began to droop, and then they closed all the way. Stone’s head fell forward onto his chest, and the nearly empty glass dropped from his fingers and rolled across the carpet, before coming to rest against a leg of Morris’s coffee table.

“Stone?” Morris said. No reaction. Then more loudly: “ Stone! Wake up! ” Receiving no response, he slowly stood and went over to the unconscious man. He put two fingers on the inside of Stone’s wrist and held them there for several seconds, while looking at his watch. Satisfied, he gently released Stone’s arm.

Morris then left the room, and came back carrying a small, rectangle-shaped bottle with a glass stopper. Back at the sideboard, he poured several ounces of what looked like water from the bottle into a clean glass, then returned to his chair. He put the glass on a nearby end table, but did not drink from it. Then he glanced at his watch again, picked up the latest issue of Skeptical Inquirer from the end table, and settled down to wait.

Morris did not check the time again, but he knew the witching hour had arrived when an elegant grey Homburg suddenly plopped onto the middle of his coffee table. Looking up, Morris saw a small man in an elegant gray suit and maroon bow tie sitting on the sofa next to the unconscious form of Trevor Stone. The new visitor absently stroked his goatee as he frowned in Morris’s direction.

“I was about to say that I’m surprised to see you, Quincey.” The little man’s voice was surprisingly deep. “But, on reflection, I really shouldn’t be. My last client tried to hide out in a cathedral, for all the good it did him. So I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of them came crying to you for protection.”

“I’m a little surprised myself, Dunjee,” Morris said calmly. “Surprised, I mean, that you even bothered with this one. He was contemplating suicide when you showed up to make your pitch, you know. You guys would have had him anyway — and a lot sooner.”