The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) Read online

  Max looked at him slyly. “Not even if I pay you a million dollars?”

  Suddenly, the certainty left Mike's face. He was a little unsteady when he said, “A million dollars?”

  Max considered how much he was worth, grinned. “Okay, you drive a hard bargain. Ten million dollars.”

  Mike goggled at Max, “You're shitting me, aren't you?”

  Max shook his head. “We'll, consider it combat pay. As I said before, the place is haunted, too–with real live... er... dead, ghosts.”

  Mike's refusal collapsed, and he said, “I hate you, you bastard.”

  Max gave him a wide grin. “Did you ever consider trying out for the Olympic track team? I think you would have outrun a six-foot-tall Jamaican back there.”

  “Bastard.”

  Nothing to wear

  Max awoke the next morning in a panic. The dinner party was one day away, and he had no clue what would be expected, how to dress, or how to act. Maybe he could call in sick, or break his leg, or something. It wasn't until he was in the blessedly vigorous hot shower that he thought about Alice. Maybe she could save him. He hopped out of the shower and picked up his cell phone to call her, and then he remembered that he didn't have her phone number. Hastily, he looked up the hospital on his phone and dialed their number. When a female voice answered, Max said, “Hi, Alice? This is Max.”

  “I'm sorry sir. This is Annette speaking. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Uh, yeah, I need to get hold of Alice. Do you have her phone number?”

  “Sir, I do apologize, but I cannot give out that number.”

  “Oh right... When is she coming in today?”

  “Thursdays and Fridays are her day off sir. She will be in on Saturday evening.”

  Max barely withheld a curse and instead said, “Thank you,” and hung up the phone.

  Damn, he didn't even know her last name. He would have to go to her house, and hope he could catch here there.

  He threw on some clothes and almost bowled over Mike on his way out the door.

  “Whoa,” said Mike. “Slow down! Where's the fire?”

  Max backed off. “Sorry, I've got to go see this woman I know, to see if she will go to this Mayor's party with me.”

  “Okay, so what should I be doing while you are off chasing tail?”

  “Mike! It's not like that, she's a nice lady. She's got three kids.”

  Mike leered. “That's just proof she knows what to do.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “You’re such a pervert. Come on, move, I've got to go.”

  “Well, what am I going to do while you are out chasing Amy?”

  “Her name is Alice, and you should go out to the house and start figuring out what needs to be done with it.”

  “Oh, no. I'm not going out to that house alone, Max.”

  “Don't be a baby, Mike, there is nothing dangerous there.” He guiltily thought of the fire-starting ghosts, but decided it would be counterproductive to mention them to his friend. “Go on, just keep repeating to yourself, ‘ten million dollars, ten million dollars.’”

  “Can I at least throw out that creepy dude?”

  “Please do. Wait a minute. We are talking about Josh and not Old Bone, right?”

  “How about I throw them both out?”

  “No, Old Bone stays, but Josh should go. If he's passed out, just shovel him into a wheel-barrow and take him out to the road.”

  Mike asked, “Why do you want that creepy mummy head hanging around your house anyway?”

  “I don't know, I guess I just feel sorry for him.”

  Mike looked at him in disbelief, “You feel sorry for a head?”

  “Well yeah. Think about how rotten it would be if you were stuck as a head.”

  Mike shuddered. “I think I'd want you to shoot me.”

  “I don't think that would do it with Old Bone, since I found him in a water-filled coffin in a secret cellar that has been flooded since the hurricane.”

  “Okay, then toss him into a trash compactor. Or better yet, a bonfire!”

  Max controlled his exasperation. “Look, I'm not asking you to kiss him or become best pals, just leave him alone. Now, I've got to go, you little wimp.”

  Mike gave Max a glare, but stepped aside to let him leave and head to the car.

  Max headed out, followed by a black sedan driven by a grim-faced man in a black suit. Mike shook his head and headed out to his waiting truck.

  After the short drive, Max pulled in front of Alice's modest house.

  He got out and went to the door, followed closely by his bodyguard Nunzio. Once there, Max hesitated. He hoped he wasn't breaking some southern rule of hospitality by showing up in person, but there was nothing for it. This was an emergency. He knocked lightly at the door and cringed at the chaos of barking dogs, running feet, and screaming children it sparked. Max could hear one of the children yelling above the others, “Mom, someone's at the door!...It looks like a tax collector!” After a short wait, the door opened up, but it wasn't Alice. It was a small girl, maybe seven years old in nothing but bikini bottoms.

  She looked up at Max with big gray-green eyes (just like her mother's) and a dirty face that begged to be cleaned. She waited without saying anything, while the yelling and barking continued on behind her.

  Max felt acutely uncomfortable looking at the little girl standing with fearless curiosity in front of him. He had no clue what to do, so he tried the obvious. “Hi, I'm Max. Is your mother here?” The little girl solemnly nodded yes without saying anything. When it became apparent that was all he was going to get, he said, “Could you go get her for me? Tell her it's Max?”

  She shook her head and said in a sweet little voice, “We're not supposed to wake her up.”

  Max was startled. He said, “Oh. Well, uh, could you tell her Max stopped by when she gets up?”

  Apparently a child of few words, she nodded her head and closed the door on Max. He grimaced and turned to go. He hadn't gotten more than a few steps when he heard the door behind him open up followed by Alice's groggy voice. “Max?”

  Max turned to see a tired and worn looking Alice peeking out the door. Her long hair was tangled and disheveled. She was wearing a canary yellow bathrobe, which had obviously been well loved by children with sticky little fingers.

  Seeing the state she was in, Max stammered out an apology, “I'm sorry Alice! I didn't even think! I didn't mean to wake you up.”

  She squinched one eye closed momentarily, then tried to wiggle some mobility back into her face. Holding her eyebrows up high, perhaps in the hope that her heavy eyelids would follow, she said, “No, that's all right Max.” She looked at the black suited Nunzio standing behind him and the eyebrows came back down in concern. “Are you in trouble or something?”

  Max glanced back at his bodyguard, whose name he couldn't remember. He turned back. “Uh, no, that's just my bodyguard.”

  The eyebrows went back up, and she said, “Bodyguard? Why would you need a bodyguard, for heaven's sake?”

  Max was embarrassed about the topic. “Uh, it's a long story. I, I should go.”

  “Well, you've already gotten me up, why don't you tell me what you came for?”

  “Oh, sure! Uh, well, the Mayor invited me to a small dinner party tomorrow night and I was hopping maybe you could come with me?” His uncertainly made the last words rise a half octave in pitch and drop in volume considerably.

  She did the eye squinch again. “Oh, well, I don't think that would be such a good idea. I don't get on so well with the Mayor.”

  Max panicked, he begged, “Oh please! I have no idea what I'm doing here. I need a native guide: someone to help me dress properly and make sure I don't do anything stupid, and you are the only person I know here. Please?”

  She seemed swayed, but she threw up her next objection. “Well, I'd have to get a sitter for the girls...”

  “I'll pay for the sitter! I'll buy you a new dress!” He added an afterthought. �
�Just as friends?”

  Alice snorted in laughter. “You are such a lost little boy.”

  Max brightened. “So that means you'll go?”

  She laughed again, and the tired lines in her face became warm and alive. “Okay, pick me up tomorrow at seven. It never pays to get to these things early.”

  She started to close the door. Max almost shouted, “Wait! I need a suit or something! I have no idea what to wear, could I get you to help me pick something out? We can buy you your new dress then too.”

  She laughed. “I don't need a new dress, silly man, but come back this afternoon at a decent hour, and we can go shopping for something suitable for you. I'm going back to bed.”

  Max's relief was clearly visible in his stance. He said, “Okay, thanks! I'll see...” He didn't finish because Alice had already closed the door. He wondered if that meant she was still angry with him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He turned back to his car humming a little tune, considerably lighter of heart – until his phone rang.

  “Hey Mike, what's up?”

  “Max? You've,” crackle pop, “get out here! You've got–” bleep the call cut out.

  “Mike? What's happening? Mike?”

  The call dropped, and Max sprinted to his car. If something happened to Mike, he'd never forgive himself. He popped the lock on the driver's side and got in. He completely forgot about the bodyguard till he knocked on the passenger side window. Max let him in and screeched away.

  Max sped through town fighting his urgency and his need to drive within the limits. As soon as he hit the county road, he opened it up. He pulled out his phone again and redialed Mike. He didn't notice the police cruiser he passed until it caught up to him with flashing lights and siren.

  “Crap!” Max tossed the cell phone onto the seat and contemplated his options. He seriously considered making a run for it until he remembered he was driving his little Honda Civic, not the Maserati. Well, officer Jacobs seemed reasonable, and he would surely understand that this was an emergency. Max pulled over to the side of the road.

  As soon as he stopped, he told his impassive bodyguard, “Stay here,” hopped out, and hurried back to the cruiser and its flashing bar. Then the door opened and out stepped a massive chunk of mad in the form of Chief Wayne.

  “Ah, shit!” Max stopped in his tracks. He briefly reconsidered making a run for it, but quickly recognized his folly as the Chief stomped up to him.

  “Faust! What in the nine hells is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill someone? Are you trying to piss me off? Are you a total idiot?”

  While Max was busy cringing, he noted how crimson the sheriff's face got when he was angry and yelling. Max caught himself. No, it's Chief, not sheriff, Chief, not sheriff... He rallied himself and tried to pour his urgency into his “Sheriff, I have an emergency out at my house—”

  “I ain't no goddamn sheriff, you pin headed waste of my air!”

  “Sorry! Sorry! But I really need to get to my house—”

  “Ain't that a shame. You're going to be late. Against the car, Yankee!”

  “What? No! You can't—”

  Max found out he could. The Chief grabbed him and soon had Max spread-eagled against the cruiser. He roughly patted Max down and then left him there while he headed to Max's car.

  The bodyguard was standing impassively by the car.

  Wayne growled at him. “Am I gonna have to teach you a lesson, boy?”

  His face didn't so much as twitch under his Ray-Bans as he said, “No, sir.” He took a step back as the Chief ransacked Max's car.

  Max could feel his own face heating up. He pulled away from the car and advanced on the Chief as he was rifling through Max's trunk. When he was about three feet away, the Chief whirled on Max and Max found himself looking down the barrel of his gun. From this vantage point, it didn't look so tiny. Max stopped and put his hands up.

  The Chief growled at him. “You think you can take me while my back is turned?”

  Max's eyes nearly bugged out even before he saw Nunzio standing in a spread-legged shooting stance, aiming his huge handgun with both hands at the back of the Chief's head. Max shook his head in terror at the guard. “No! No! Don't shoot! I just need to get home! I'm serious, there is an emergency.”

  “That's why we got 911.” The chief holstered his gun, and before he turned, the bodyguard did the same. Unaware of the bodyguard’s actions, the Chief stomped back to his waiting car.

  Max's knees almost gave out with the relief that flooded through him as his personal terminator re-holstered his gun. Max turned and watched the car tilt under the weight of the Chief as he climbed in. With nothing else to do, he retrieved his phone from the car and tried to contact Mike again. There was no answer.

  “Fuck!”

  Images of horrible things happening to Mike at the house poured through Max. He considered making a run for it again. Prudence won out. He waited. And waited. What the hell can he be doing in there? He waited some more. Max was vibrating and bouncing up and down by the time the Chief got back out of his car and sauntered over to him.

  “Sign here, and here.”

  Max did as he was told. The chief ripped off the ticket and handed it to Max.

  The chief's eyes were almost lost in his massive face and scowl. “Court date is in two weeks. If I could make it sooner, you'd be down there today losing your damn Yankee license. If you don't show up, I'll hunt you down myself.”

  The Chief turned and headed back to the cruiser. Max jumped into his own car and drove slowly away gnashing his teeth and thinking terribly unwholesome thoughts about a certain police officer.

  Falling for You

  Max came to a gravel-flinging stop behind Mike's truck and ran in. When he opened the door, the pot smell had diminished. He rushed in, followed by his bodyguard shadow. "Cry little sister" by Gerard McMann, was pounding ominously out of the music room, “Last fire will rise, behind those eyes, black house will rock, blind boys don't lie…” It was a great song, but he didn’t appreciate how it added to his panic.

  “Mike! Where are you?”

  Mike answered from somewhere upstairs. He said, “Up here. Come on up, check out what I've found!”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah, come on up.”

  Max turned to the guard and told him to stay, then he trotted up the groaning and creaking staircase. When he got there, he didn't have to look far for Mike because he was at the elbow of the right hallway leading from the balcony as it turned toward the front of the house. Mike was standing at an open door. It was one of the previously locked doors. Without looking at Max, Mike took a step to back from the door. “Look at this!” The door was now open, but instead of leading to any sort of space, it opened onto an irregularly finished red brick wall.

  Max snapped at Mike. “You called me in a panic to see this?”

  Mike glanced back at Max with a puzzled frown. “What? No, it wasn't panic. This is just wild.”

  Max closed his eyes and tried to let his anger go. It's just life; no one is purposefully out to get you Max. Breath. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall.

  “A brick wall? You nearly gave me a heart attack, and I probably lost my license for a brick wall?”

  “Sorry Max, I thought you'd be excited, too. Come on! A bricked-up room in a haunted house. How much more cliché can you get? Maybe we'll find a cask of amontillado.”

  Max grimaced. “There was no cask, it was a lure for a trap.” But still, when you put it like that, it was kind of cool. Max released the last of his annoyance, walked up, and put his hands on the bricks. They managed to be literally cool even in the heat of the second floor. “Huh.”

  Mike grinned at him. “That's just what I said. Shall we break it down and see what's behind it?”

  Max wasn't really in love with that idea. He said, “I don't know, somebody went to a lot of trouble to put this up here. Maybe it isn't such a good idea.”

  Mike said, �
�Come on Max, where is your sense of adventure? It might be Jimmy Hoffa buried behind there!”

  “When did you get so adventurous mister 'I'm afraid to go out to the big bad house'?”

  “That's different! This is a mystery! This morning, I knew what was probably waiting for me here, and I didn't want to risk blindness and insanity.”

  “Speaking of blindness, was there any problem throwing out Old Josh when you got here?

  Mike looked at Max strangely. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He walked past Max and back down the stairs.

  Max followed him down past the stoic bodyguard still standing in the hall to the music room where, he noted Dave Mathew’s Band’s “Rhyme and Reason” was now playing. Very odd mix, he thought.

  As he entered the room, Max braced himself for whatever he might see. Mike seemed entirely too self satisfied about it, and as Lucian always said, “Paybacks are a bitch.” Braced or not, Max was still surprised by what was waiting in the room. Josh, who thankfully had his raggedy pants back on, was lying on the floor, stiff as a board again. He lay next to a set of sawhorses that supported what looked like one of the carved wall panels.

  Max said, “Oh, damn, he's done it again. I don't know how any human being can get all stiff like that and not be dead!”

  Mike waved his hand in dismissal, “Ah, don't worry about it, he must have fallen over in the last hour or so. Take a look at the walls, Max.”

  Max did. It only took him a second to zero in on what Mike was talking about. The far wall of the room sported what looked like several brand new wood panels, where before they had been missing or damaged. Max went up to one of the new ones, ran his hands over its smooth, raw surface, and looked inquiringly at Mike. “Wow, where did you find these?”

  Mike smiled like the canary who mugged the cat. “When I came I this morning I found Josh working on them. He made them out of some spare wood he found in one of the buildings out back. There is a ton of it back there, and a lot of it's in good shape because it was stored in racks off the ground.”

  Max ran his hands over a panel in wonder. “Wow, that's nice work.”