Part 1 (2/2)
For a long moment he stared at me. His Subliminal Psychological Profile was giving off a welter of vibrations: irritation, mostly, but with a certain grudging admiration mixed in. Eventually he sighed, looked put upon, and picked up his coffee mug again.
”Oh, very well,” Ari said. ”I should have known. What is it that your brother says you have?”
”X-ray vision. One of Dan's favorite phrases: my kid sister with the X-ray vision.”
”Yes, that's it.” He had a pensive sip of coffee. ”But they didn't make the arrangement. Interpol did. Someone requested I be posted to San Francisco, so it all worked out.”
”Someone?”
”I don't know who. Someone at the NCB level.”
”The what?”
”The National Central Bureau.”
”Ah. Thanks. But even if you did know, I bet you wouldn't tell me.”
”Quite right I wouldn't, but I don't.”
”So you really do work for them? I've always wondered.”
”Yes, in the ant.i.terrorism unit. You Americans seem to think that your country's the only target of terrorists, but it's a real problem internationally, too. Of course Interpol's involved. It's perfectly compatible with my other job.”
”You're right. Sorry. So okay, someone high up wanted you here.”
”Yes. I think I know the reason. I'm authorized to share intel. It might have a direct bearing on this question of Chaos masters. Reb Ezekiel's been spotted here in San Francisco.”
I nearly dropped my mug. ”I thought he was dead. Cardiac arrest in a wh.o.r.ehouse, wasn't it?”
”Yes, just that. The body was properly identified at the time by reliable witnesses. He was buried on his wretched retro kibbutz. But an IT person at one of the big banks is convinced he's seen him twice, at two different locations here in San Francisco. Both times Ezekiel turned and ran when he realized that he'd been spotted.”
”Did this tech know Zeke well enough to be sure?”
”Oh, yes. I know the fellow who saw him. Itzak Stein's his name. He was a fellow sufferer in the sodding kibbutz, but his family returned to the States.”
”Reb Ezekiel had some American converts, huh?”
”Yes. Itzak was born in New York, and he retrieved his American citizens.h.i.+p once he was old enough. I'm not surprised, considering what we went through.” Ari paused and looked away, probably to repress memories from his childhood. After two minutes by the kitchen clock, he turned back to me. ”So yes, he's quite sure.”
”Okay then. Have you considered that this Ezekiel might be a doppelganger?”
”From one of those deviant world levels? That's my current a.s.sumption. The question is why he's here. I had my agency send yours a dossier. Haven't you received it yet?
”Not yet. It takes a while to get things cleared.”
Ari made the noise I call his growl, a sort of lowfrequency clearing of his throat accompanied by a scowl.
”So you were sent back,” I went on, ”because both agencies know you can recognize this fake holy man. It makes sense.”
”Yes. I was glad to get the a.s.signment.”
”Why?”
”Nola, don't be dense.”
We were edging toward a subject I didn't want opened. Ari leaned back in his chair and watched me, waiting, while it was my turn for the meaningless smile. Eventually he gave up. With a sigh he finished his coffee and got up. When he held out a hand for my mug, I gave it to him. He went to the stove and refilled both from the carafe. He handed me mine, then stayed standing by the stove to gulp his down.
”I'm going to shower and shave,” Ari said. ”I suppose I should unpack some clothes, but not the rest, if we're going to move-” He let the sentence dangle.
I merely smiled for an answer. He finished the coffee and left me alone to think.
I felt like sulking over this new problem that the Agency and Interpol had dumped onto the Apocalypse Squad. I already had a complex problem sitting in my metaphoric inbox. Recently we'd broken up a dangerous Chaos group. Two of their members, now dead, had dealt in heroin. A third member had been murdered, probably for knowing too much about their racket.
The question: were the two dead perps the leaders of the group? I had some evidence that they were only part of the problem. In that case, where were the rest of them? I knew of four other people in their occult circle, and they were still on the loose. The two dead members, Johnson and Doyle by name, had devoted themselves to the cult of the Peac.o.c.k Angel, Tawsi Melek. Islamic clerics identified this figure with Satan, which was not good news.
So possibly a stronger force lay behind the group-and possibly behind whatever trouble had brought me Fog Face. The mystery mist might also have seen some completely other criminal mischief brewing. That's what I mean by ambiguity: two problems or one, I didn't know.
I got up and walked into the living room, dark and gloomy at the moment from the plywood over the bay window. A mound of Ari's luggage, a couple of kelvar suitcases and some cardboard cartons, sat on my old Persian rug between my computer desk and the blue couch. He'd put one leather case, marked ”fragile” in big red letters, on the coffee table. The floor was apparently good enough for the rest.
Ari came back in and zipped open one of the suitcases to pull out his shaving kit.
”What is all this stuff, anyway?” I said.
”Things I'm going to need for my job. A crime kit, that sort of thing, standard police issue. In locked containers.”
”Ah. I wondered if you'd been sent to blow something up.”
He scowled at me and retreated back to the bathroom.
I returned to the kitchen and saw Venus hovering a few feet above the black-and-white tile floor, over by the refrigerator. She wore a simple straight white dress, pinned with gold brooches at each shoulder, all the adornment she needed, since she also radiated a dazzling golden light.
”I admire your bedroom techniques, honey.” She sounded a lot like Mae West. ”But you've got to get a better mirror.”
”Yes, your divineness,” I said. You don't argue with G.o.ddesses when they give you beauty tips. ”What should I look for?”
”The boyfriend's right. You're too thin.” She smiled at me and raised one hand in blessing. ”Remember! A better mirror.” With that she disappeared.
Ari reappeared in the doorway, this time with his razor in his hand. Shaving soap covered half of his face.
”Who were you talking to now?” he said.
”Venus,” I said. ”The Roman G.o.ddess, y'know?”
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