Infernal

10

-39:51

"Wait here. I'll only be a minute."

Joey nodded and reached for the radio. As Jack walked away he recognized the unmistakable sound of Mad Dog Russo's voice on WFAN.

Joey had groused a little about swinging through Astoria, but they'd hit no backups on the Cross-Bronx or the Triboro and made decent time. Jack had the photos of Al-Kabeer in hand as he stepped up on the front porch of Menelaus Manor. He'd called Lyle from the car to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting a seance.

"Hey, Jack," Lyle said as he opened the door. "Charlie's been waiting for you. Want a beer?"

Jack's impulse was to refuse, then he figured, Why not?

A few minutes later he and a Heineken keg can entered the channeling room.

"Hello, Charlie," he said as he handed Lyle the photos. "I need a favor."

Lyle nodded as he took them. "Charlie says if it's at all in his power, you've got it."

Once again, that odd feeling rippled over his skin: I'm talking to a dead man.

"Thanks, Charlie. Take a look at that guy in the photos. His name is Hamad Al-Kabeer. Can you tell me anything about him?"

Lyle's ebony face broke into a grin. "I'll go first: He's an Arab."

Jack had to smile. "Gotta hand it to you, Lyle. Nothing gets past you."

The grin faded. "Charlie says you look strange."

"Well, I've had better days."

"No, he says he can't see you clearly." He paused, listening. "He says your edges are blurry and you seem to be… transparent."

Jack's gut tightened. Was it starting already? Was that how it would happen? A slow fade instead of a simple evaporation?

He looked at his hands. They looked as solid as ever. But Charlie saw the world through different eyes. Was he now seeing Jack's future?

"Long story," Jack said. "What about our Arab friend there?"

Lyle listened, then, "Charlie says he's got blood on his hands."

Jack stiffened as an electric jolt sizzled through him.

"Whose?"

"You think he might be involved in your father's…?"

"Possibly."

Lyle stayed silent a moment, then, "Charlie says he can't tell whose blood, just that it's not his own."

Jack sat in silence. One more nail in the coffin of Hamad Al-Kabeer. He just wished it wasn't all so damn circumstantial. He wanted something more concrete before he ripped the guy in half.

And if Al-Kabeer had been a part of it—didn't matter if he was the shooter or just a planner—tearing him up was too easy. He needed something worse than just death. But what? If Jack had the time, he knew he'd come up with something. But time was in short supply.

Time…

He straightened in his chair.

Lyle looked at him. "What?"

"Just had an idea."

"Care to share?"

"Not yet. Need to work out the details…"

Yeah. Many details.

Jack stepped out of Menelaus Manor in higher spirits than when he'd arrived, but not much. He squinted. The rooftops of the houses across the street flared with a corona effect from the lowering sun behind them.

… your edges are blurry and you seem to be… transparent…

Jack shivered in the twilight, and not because of the icy wind.