The Bad Place Part 27

"That's his decision," Bobby said.

"You've gotten rid of what you wanted. Eventually he may agree, and then you'll have everything you're after. But don't push it now." The round man nodded.

"Fair enough. But tell me... where did he find the thing?"

"He doesn't remember. He has amnesia." The drawer behind him was open now. He could hear the sh.e.l.ls of the huge roaches clicking and sc.r.a.ping together as they poured out of confinement and down the front of the cabinet, swarming toward him.

"We really have to go," he said.

"We don't have another minute to spare." He left the study quickly, trying not to look as if he was bolting for his life.

Clint followed him, as did the two scientists, and at the front door, Manfred said, "I'm going to sound as if I ought to be writing stories for some sensational tabloid, but if this is an alien artifact that came into your client's hands, do you think he could've gotten it inside a...

well, a s.p.a.ceship? Those people who claim to have been abducted and forced to undergo examinations aboard s.p.a.ceships... they always seem to go through a period of amnesia first, before learning the truth '

"Those people are crackpots or frauds," Gavenall said sharply.

"We can't let ourselves be a.s.sociated with that sort of thing." He frowned, and the frown deepened into a scowl, and he said, "Unless in this case it's true." Looking back at them from the stoop, grateful to be outside, Bobby said, "Maybe it is. I'm at a point where I'll believe any thing till it's disproved. But I'll tell you this...

my feel is that whatever is happening to my client is something a stranger than alien abduction."

"A lot," Clint agreed.

Without further elaboration, they went down the front was way to the car. Bobby opened his door and stood for a moment reluctant to get into Clint's Chevy. The mild breeze wash down the Irvine hills felt so clean after the stale air in M fred's study.

He put one hand in his pocket, felt the three red diamond and said softly, "Bug s.h.i.t." When he finally got into the car and slammed the door, barely resisted the urge to reach under his shirt to determine if the things he still felt crawling on him were real.

Manfred and Gavenall stood on the front stoop, watching Bobby and Clint, as if half expecting their car to tip back its rear b.u.mper and shoot straight into the sky to rendezvous with some great glowing craft out of a Spielberg movie.

Clint drove two blocks, turned at the corner, and pulled the curb as soon as they were out of sight.

"Bobby, where the h.e.l.l did Frank get that thing?" Bobby could only answer him with another question: "H many different places does he go when he teleports?

money, the red diamonds and the bug, the black sand-a how far away are some of those places? Really far away?'

"And who is he?"

Clint asked.

"Frank Pollard from El Encanto Heights."

"But I mean, who is that?" Clint thumped one fist again the steering wheel.

"Who the h.e.l.l is Frank Pollard from El canto?"

"I think what you really want to know is not who he is. More important ... what is he?" By SURPRISE Bobby came to visit.

Lunch was eaten before Bobby came. Dessert was still in Thomas's mind.

Not the taste of it. The memory. Vanilla ice cream, fresh strawberries. The way dessert made you feel.

He was alone in his room, sitting in his armchair, thinking about making a picture poem that would have the feeling of eating ice cream and strawberries, not the taste but the good feeling, so some day when you didn't have any ice cream or strawberries, you could just look at the poem and get that same good feeling even without eating anything. Of course, you couldn't use pictures of ice cream or strawberries in the poem, because that wouldn't be a poem, that would be only saying how good ice cream and strawberries made you feel. A poem didn't just say, it showed you and made you feel.

Then Bobby came through the door, and Thomas was so happy he forgot the poem, and they hugged. Somebody was with Bobby, but it wasn't Julie, so Thomas was disappointed. He was embarra.s.sed, too, because it turned out he'd met the person with Bobby a couple times before, over the years, but he didn't remember him right away, which made him feel dumb. It was Clint. Thomas said the name to himself, over and over, so maybe he'd remember next time: Clint, Clint, Clint, Clint, Clint.

"Julie couldn't come," Bobby said, "she's babysitting a client." Thomas wondered why a baby would ever need a private eye, but he didn't ask. In TV only grownups needed private eyes, which were called private eyes because they looked out for you, though he wasn't sure why they were called private. He also wondered how a baby could pay for a private eye, because he knew eyes like Bobby and Julie worked for money like everyone else, but babies didn't work, they were too little to do anything. So where'd this one get the money to Bobby and Julie? He hoped they didn't get cheated out of their money, they worked hard for it.

Bobby said, "She told me to tell you she loves you even more than she did yesterday, and she'll love you even more torn row." They hugged again because this time Thomas was giving hug to Bobby for Julie.

Clint asked if he could see the latest sc.r.a.pbook of poe He took it across the room and sat in Derek's armchair, who was okay because Derek wasn't in it, he was in the wreck room Bobby moved the chair from the worktable, putting it close to the armchair that belonged to Thomas. He sat, and talked about what a big blue day it was and how nice the flowers looked where they were all bright outside Thomas's room.

For a while they talked about lots of things, and Bobby funny-except when they talked about Julie, he changed.

was worried for Julie, you could tell. When he talked about her, he was like a good picture poem-he didn't say his words but he showed it and made you feel it.

Thomas was already worried for Julie, so Bobby's worry made him feel even worse, made him scared for her.

"We've got our hands full with the current case," Bob said, "so neither one of us might be able to visit again this weekend or the first of the week."

"Okay, sure," Thomas said, and a big coldness rushed from somewhere and filled him up. Each time Bobby mentioned the new case, the one with the baby, his picture of worry was even easier to read.

Thomas wondered if this was the case where they were going to meet up with the Bad Thing. He was pretty sure it was.

thought he should tell Bobby about the Bad Thing, but couldn't find a way. No matter how he told it, he'd sound I the dumbest dumb person who ever lived at The Home. It better to wait until the danger was coming a lot nearer,TV to Bobby a real hard warning that'd scare him into looking out for the Bad Thing and shooting it when he saw it. Bob would pay attention to a sent warning because he would know where it came from, that it came from just a dumb person.

And Bobby could shoot, too, all private eyes could shoot because most days it was bad out there in the world, and you knew you were going to meet up with somebody who was going to shoot at you first or try to run you down with a car or stab you or strangle you or, once in a while, try to throw you off a building, or even Try To Make It Look Like Suicide, and since most good guys didn't carry guns around with them, private eyes who watched over them had to be good shooters.

After a while Bobby had to go. Not to the bathroom but back to work. So they hugged again. And then Bobby and Clint were gone, and Thomas was alone.

He went to the window. Looked out. The day was good, better than night. But even with the sun pushing most darkness out past the edge of the world, and even with the rest of the darkness hiding from the sun behind trees and buildings, there was badness in the day. The Bad Thing hadn't gone out past the edge of the world with the night. It was still there, somewhere in the day, you could tell.

Last night, when he got too close to the Bad Thing and it tried to grab him, he was so afraid, he pulled away quick like. He had a feeling the Bad Thing was trying to find out who he was and where he was, and then was going to come to The Home and eat him like it ate the little animals. So he pretty much made up his mind not to get real close to it again, stay far away, but now he couldn't do that because of Julie and the baby. If Bobby, who never worried, was so worried for Julie, then Thomas needed to be even more worried for her than he was. And if Julie and Bobby thought the baby should be watched over, then Thomas had to worry about the baby, too, because what was important to Julie was important to him.

He reached out into the day.

It was there. Far away yet.

He didn't get close.

He was scared.

But for Julie, for Bobby, for the baby, he'd have to stop being scared, get closer, and be sure he knew all the time where the Bad Thing was and whether it was coming this way.

JACKIE JAxx did not arrive at the offices of Dakota & Dakota until ten past four that Tuesday afternoon full hour after Bobby and Clint returned, and to Julie's annoyance he spent half an hour creating an atmosphere that found conducive to his work. He felt the room was too bright so he closed the blinds on the large windows, though the approaching winter twilight and an incoming bank of clouds the Pacific had already robbed the day of much of its light. He tried different arrangements with the three bra.s.s lam each of which was equipped with a three-way bulb, giving what seemed an infinite number of combinations; he finally one of them at seventy watts, one at thirty, and one off completely. He asked Frank to move from the sofa to one of chairs, decided that wasn't going to work, moved Julie's chair out from behind the desk and put him in that, then ranged four other chairs in a semicircle in front of it.

Julie suspected that Jackie could have worked effectively with the blinds open and all of the lamps on. He was a former, however, even when off the stage, and he could resist being theatrical.

In recent years magicians had forsaken fake shows like The Great Blackwell and Harry Houdini in favor of names that at least seemed like real ones, but Jackie was a throw back. Just as Houdini's real name was Erich Weiss, Jackie had been baptized David Carver. Because he preferred comic magic, he had avoided mysterious-sounding names.

because, since p.u.b.erty, he had yearned to be part of the night club and Vegas scene, he had chosen a new ident.i.ty that, him and those in his social circle, sounded like Nevada royal While other kids thought about being teachers, doctors, realestate salesmen or auto mechanics, young Davey Carver dreamed of being someone like Jackie Jaxx; now, G.o.d help him, he was living his dream.

Although he was currently between a one-week engagement in Reno and a stint as the opening act for Sammy Davis in Vegas, Jackie showed up not in blue jeans or an ordinary suit, but in an outfit he could have worn during performances: a black leisure suit with emerald-green piping on the lapels and cuffs of the jacket, a matching green shirt, and black patentleather shoes. He was thirty-six years old, five feet eight, thing, cancerously tanned, with hair that he dyed ink-black and teeth that were unnaturally,ferociously white, thanks to the modern miracle of dental bonding.

Three years ago Dakota & Dakota had been hired by the Las Vegas hotel with which Jackie had a long-term contract, and charged with the sticky task of uncovering the ident.i.ty of a blackmailer who was trying to extort most of the magician's income. The case had many unexpected twists and turns, but by the time they reached the end, the thing that most surprised Julie was that she had gotten over her initial distaste for the magician and had come to sort of like him. Sort of.

Finally Jackie settled on the chair directly in front of Frank.

"Julie, you and Clint sit to my right. Bobby, to my left, please."

Julie saw no good reason why she couldn't sit in whichever of the three chairs she chose, but she played along.

Half of Jackie's Vegas act involved the hypnotizing and comic exploitation of audience members. His knowledge of hypnotic technique was so extensive, and his understanding of the functioning of the mind in a trance state was so profound, that he was frequently invited to partic.i.p.ate in medical conferences with physicians, psychologists, and psychiatrists who were exploring practical uses of hypnosis. Perhaps they could have persuaded a psychiatrist to help them pierce Frank's amnesia with hypnotic regression therapy. But it was doubtful that any doctor was as qualified for the task as Jackie Jaxx.

Besides, no matter what fantastic things Jackie learned about Frank, he could be counted on to keep his mouth shut. He owed a lot to Bobby and Julie, and in spite of his faults, he was a man who paid his debts and had at least a vestigial sense of loyalty that was rare in the me-me-me culture of show business.

In the moody amber light of the two bra.s.s lamps, with the world darkening rapidly beyond the drawn blinds, Jack smooth and well-projected voice, full of low rounded tones an occasional dramatic vibrato, commanded not just Frank's attention but everyone else's as well. He used a beveledrop crystal on a gold chain to focus Frank's attention, a suggesting that the others look at Frank's face rather than the bauble, to avoid unwanted entrancement.

"Frank, please watch the light winking in the crystal, a soft and lovely light fluttering from one facet to another, facet to another, a very warm and appealing light, was fluttering. - -." After a while, lulled somewhat herself by Jackie's calculated patter, Julie noticed Frank's eyes glaze over.

Beside her, Clint switched on the small tape recorder he had used when Frank had told them his story yesterday afternoon.

Still twisting the chain back and forth between his thumb and forefinger to make the crystal spin on the end of it, Jack said, "All right, Frank, you are now slipping into a very relaxed state, a deeply relaxed state, where you will hear my voice, no other, and will respond only to my voice, other...." When he had conveyed Frank into a deep trance and finished giving him instructions related to the interrogation ahead, Jackie told him to close his eyes. Frank obliged.

Jackie put the crystal down. He said, "What is your nam "Frank Pollard."

"Where do you live?"

"I don't know."

Having been briefed on the phone by Julie earlier in the day, aware of the information they were seeking from their client Jackie said, "Have you ever lived in El Encanto?" A hesitation. Then: "Yes." Frank's voice was strangely flat. His face was so haggard deathly pale that he seemed almost like an exhumed corpse that had been sorcerously revitalized for the purpose of serving as a bridge between the members of a sayonce and those whom they wished to speak in the land of the dead.

"Do you recall your address in El Encanto?"

"No."

"Was your address 1458 Pacific Hill Road?" I. 'i A frown flickered across Frank's face and was gone almost as soon as it came.

"Yes. That's what... Bobby found...

with the computer."

"But do you actually remember that place?"

"No." Jackie adjusted his Rolex watch, then used both hands to smooth back his thick, black hair.

"When did you live in El Encanto, Frank?"

"I don't know."

"You must tell me the truth."

"Yeah."

"You cannot lie to me, Frank, or hide anything from me.

That is impossible in your current state. When did you live there?"

"I don't know."

"Did you live there alone?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember being in the hospital last night, Frank)"

"Yeah."

"And you... disappeared?" :'They say I did." 'Where did you disappear to, Frank?" Silence.

"Frank, where did you disappear to?"

"I... I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"I... don't know. I can't think."

"Frank, do you remember waking up in your car last Thursday morning, parked along a street in Laguna Beach?"

"Yeah.

"Your hands were full of black sand."

"Yeah." Frank wiped his hands on his thighs, as if he could feel the black grains clinging to his sweaty palms.

"Where did you get that sand, Frank?"

"I don't know."

"Take your time. Think about it."

"I don't know."

"Do you remember checking into a motel later...

napping... then waking up with blood all over yourself.?"