Chapter #30People Who Don't Confess … And Some Who Do by: Seuzz   "You haven't got any secrets, not from us." Bredon's tone is casual, insolent. "Not if you're one of those guys who likes to come up here and sling the shit at the top of his lungs."
Gordon reddens, but his expression only shows confusion, not anger or fear. "So what the hell should I care?" he says. "What have I been saying that's got you all— Who are you?"
"Never mind." Bredon turns to you. "Stonehenge here knows your name," he says as he cocks his head at Gordon. "What's his?"
"Gordon Black," you say quietly.
"Oh! He was at the top of the list of suspects, wasn't he?"
"Suspects?" Gordon's eyes start from his head. "The fuck are you—?"
"Relax, Stonehenge. I'm not here to bust your balls. On the contrary, I want in on it." Bredon relaxes against a wooden crate. "Like I said, you and your friends have been talking and playing to an appreciative gallery. Like Prescott here." Now he jerks his head at you. "He's let it all slip out, he knows the buzzer's sounded and the only way to keep alive is by making a three-point shot. Go on, Prescott. Tell your friend here that I want one of those masks too."
Maybe you're the most confused person in the loft, but the guy who looks like Gordon sure looks like he's trying to snag that honor for himself. He blinks—seemingly with a lot of effort—then pulls a phone from his pocket. "I don't know who you are, but I'm calling my dad, and he's a cop, and he—"
"Oh, don't do that, Stonehenge. If you do that, you won't get your magic book back."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
Bredon laughs: a dry, rustling sound. "You believe the brass of this guy? I'm talking about a book about this big, covered in red leather, that let you steal Gordon Black's face and body and girlfriend and family and life and make it your own. Ring any bells? I assume you've still got some friends that are in the market for new bodies. If you don't let me play, you're not going to be able to oblige them."
Gordon stares, his mouth hanging open, then shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, you psychotic fuck. But I'm calling the—"
"Alright, alright." From his pocket Bredon takes a card and holds it out to the red-faced basketball player. "That's my personal number on there. If you change your mind, that's where you can reach me. And I suggest you talk my offer over with your friends—Matthias, Javits, Patterson, Saunders, whoever else is in on it. Do it somewhere that hasn't been compromised, though." He taps again on the vent. "Come on, Prescott."
For a moment you think Gordon is going to block you, but he stands aside, his face showing astonishment and utter perplexity as you and Bredon go past. When you're halfway down the stairs, Gordon slams the door.
Like a deer, Bredon is away, off the staircase and around a corner. You hurry after, and just glimpse him vanishing into the boys' changing room. You follow the rush of footsteps past the showers and into the maintenance area. You almost collide with him when you catch up to him, as he's opening and ducking into that access door. He puts his palm to the duct you and Carson listened at, and motions you to be silent.
You have the subtle impression that the tiny space has gotten much roomier. Then you hear Gordon's voice, sounding so strong and clear that he might actually be standing next to you. He must be on the phone, for though he's talking to someone, you've only his side of the conversation.
"Hey, I'm at the school, you wanna come up? I gotta check this place out, see if anything's missing, and anyway, I want some company."
"I dunno. There was some fuckhead— Two of 'em, actually. You know that new blonde fucker over at Eastman? Durras? Yeah, he broke in here with some smelly old homeless guy—"
"Yeah. I came up here because, pfft, Chelsea was being a triple-wide cunt this afternoon. Anyway, I find Durras and this homeless dickhead in here. And they're talking like, I dunno, all crazy."
"I dunno! They musta busted in. I threw 'em out, and they didn't look like they took anything with 'em, but—"
"Well, I don't know, I thought maybe you mighta had something valuable up here."
"Nah, the beer's still here. But they were talking about— Did you have some kind of book up here? Or Halloween costume? Because they kept talking about books and masks."
"Oh, fuck him. Lynch's been walking around like a whipped dog for the last, I dunno, last week or fuck something. Did you do something to him?"
"Then it must be the rag. He hasn't even been up here since— Well, I haven't seen him up here all week. So c'mon, man, I'm dyin' up here. If I don't—"
"Alright, sure. That's great for you. Give her one anally for me. See you tomorrow? Yeah. Later. And fuck you like a fag, you fucking piece of shit!" There's a slight thud and loud thump, and the sound of a can being cracked open. A pause, and Gordon belches. "Son of a goddamned bitch," he hoarsely mutters.
You and Bredon remain rigid for some long moments, but Gordon doesn't call anyone else, and he only mutters inarticulately at a few places. Finally, Bredon gestures you to follow him, and he exits the changing room and the gym. "So where's your buddy Ioeger now," he asks.
You've told Bredon a lot, but not everything: you've not mentioned Blackwell. "He was out running errands. You know, like shopping. He has a date tonight. So do I."
"U-huh. Call him, find out if he's home yet."
"Okay. But he's just going to tell you what I told you."
"So you hope. Go on. Call him."
You do. Carson answers, and says he's home and asks where you've been. Before you can answer, Bredon takes the phone from you and studies the number pad, and with a raised finger tells you to stay where you are. Then he shuts the phone off and gets in his car.
You lean in at his window. "What are you doing?"
"Relieving you of your phone," Bredon says as he tosses it aside. He starts the car.
"Hang on! Where are you—"
"I'm heading to your place to talk to Ioeger. If you wanna sit in on it, better start jogging." He punches the accelerator and races off, leaving you to cough in a cloud of exhaust.
* * * * *
Joe Durras is in excellent physical condition, so you're able to sprint without pausing for long stretches. Still, you're on the other side of the city from where the Durrases rent, and it takes a very long time before you pant up to the door. Bredon's sedan is in the driveway behind the Durras's truck. You probably should have scoped things out before barging in; but you're so sick and angry and exhausted that you just burst through the front door anyway.
A bloodied and scared-looking Frank Durras—Carson, that is—is huddling on the floor. Bredon, who is looming over him, looks up with an amused smile as you come in. "Perfect timing, Prescott," he says, and slips that knife back into his pocket. "How about you fix yourself and Ioeger some dinner. You could probably both use the sustenance."
"Carson, are you okay?"
"He's fine," says Bredon. "You're both fine. In fact, you're both much better off than either of you have any right to be." He looks between you and Carson. "Your phone's on the table, Prescott. Leave it on, I'll be in touch." You get out of the way as he shuffles over to the front door. "It's been a very interesting evening," he says. "I don't remember the last time I had so much fun. Oh, one last bit of advice, Ioeger." Carson flinches. "Stay away from warlocks." And he goes.
You rush over to Carson, but he slaps you away moodily when you try to help him up. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"Trying to get back here! What did he do to you?"
"What does it look like?" Carson is bruised and has little cuts and knicks on his face. "Where'd that psycho come from?"
"He showed up here just after you left. He cut me too. Well, he came close to it," you grudgingly confess. "But he's been hauling me around in the trunk of his car all over town. What did he ask you about?"
"About who I was and how I got here. If we ever get out of this, Prescott, I swear I'm never talking to you again."
"You did tell him the truth, didn't you? Because I did."
"Yeah, I didn't hold anything back." He stumbles into a bathroom and runs water all over his face. It looks like most of the cuts are only superficial, because once the blood is gone you can't see any of the scratches on his face. "Did he at least tell you who he is?" Carson asks.
"Rick Bredon. Well, that's the name he gave me. I thought at first he was a friend of Frank and Joe's, but—"
Carson follows you back into the living room, and you give him a long recital of the afternoon's excitement. He barks in excitement or incredulity at many spots, and pales at the news that Joe and Frank have clammed up. "We need to talk to them," Carson says.
"I don't know who to trust," you say. "It's like they took that book and disappeared and left us in the lurch. You're gonna tell me I'm crazy, but I think our best chance now might be with the doppelgangers."
"It's all so crazy that nothing's crazy," Carson says. "But Joe and Frank have the book."
"But the doppelgangers know how it works. I think we should try talking to Javits."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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