“You’re scared of women,” she said, knowing she was throwing her last spear. “That’s it, right? The bag over my head thing? It’s the shame.”

The clicking stopped. “What did you say to me, harlot?” The voice was a ragged whisper.

“You know what I do for a living, right? Now and then I get guys want to fuck me with a bag over my head. They’re ashamed, that’s why. They know I can see them and they’re scared of what I can see. What are you scared I’ll see?”

“For he is the servant of God,” the toneless chant continued. “An avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer …”

The clicking of stones. A grunt. Something slammed the wall at her back and rolled away. Sissy made herself giggle. “Oh sure … throwing rocks at a girl with a bag over her head. Did your daddy teach you that one? Was your daddy scared of girls, too? Or is it more a mommy thing with you?”

Every sound ceased. The chanting. The footsteps on the floor. The clicking of the rocks. Hands surrounded her neck and the room exploded into light, Sissy blinking into eyes inches from hers, a mouth twisted in a hideous snarl, the hood in a brown hand that looked like a claw.

“SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, WHORE!”

He back-handed Sissy into the dark concrete wall, a high heel snapping off as she fell. The man stared from a dozen feet away, his hands balled into fists and his eyes like pinpoint jets of gray flame.

Sissy’s skirt was hiked high and showing sleek lengths of silken leg, one foot bare. She brought a hand to her face to push back a fallen lock of hair, using it for cover, the other hand undoing a button on the sheer black blouse to display additional cleavage and the frilly top of her black bra. Pretending to be dazed, Sissy pushed herself to sitting, taking deep breaths to let the boobs press against the silk.

Look at them, monkey man. They have more power than you do.

I hope.

Sissy stood unsteadily, feeling the man’s eyes across her as she leaned the wall. She was in a goddamn barn, wood walls, heavy wooden supports, windows boarded over. At the far end was a concrete bench with its top scorched black, beside it a pile of cloth strips, a half-dozen bottles labeled Naphtha, and a gallon jug of oily-looking shit.

Sissy shook back her hair, gave her captor a hit of the eyes. She let her mouth droop open as the pink tongue traced her lower lip. Her captor stood motionless with his mouth lolling wide, gray eyes drinking in every glorious inch of Sissy’s body, a man who’d crawled a hundred miles of desert to suck from a sweetwater oasis. He looked more dazed than Sissy as his hand fell to the front of his pants and clutched. He winced and moaned. Sissy’s eyes looked past the fondling hand and saw something glistening on the faded blue denim.

Jesus God … is that blood?

51

Nautilus sat on the balcony of a Knight’s Inn a half-mile from his previous lodging. He’d driven to the airport and surrendered the leased Hummer, renting in its place a blue Jetta. The room was smaller and lacked the amenities of Jacob’s Ladder, but Nautilus needed only a place to sit and plan. Carson had asked him to keep an eye out and though his unemployed status made that a bit more difficult, it was also a challenge. Harry Nautilus found challenges exhilarating, perhaps why he was whistling.

He was about to run to the store for a supply of snackage and brews when his phone rang. The caller ID said, REBECCA.

Not Rebecca. The call was the phone she’d given to Greta. “Hello, Greta,” he said, his voice warm and friendly.

“I was t-told to call this number,” the girl said. “Th-that maybe someone could help me.”

“My name’s Harry Nautilus. Did Rebecca tell you anything about me.”

“She s-said you were a protector. Like Spider Man or Superman. She said you saw me get slapped the other day.”

“Do you get slapped often, Greta?”

“I … I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And we shouldn’t,” Nautilus crooned, the girl as jumpy as a kangaroo on meth. “Not on the phone – in person. To see each other’s faces and get to know one another. Can you do that, Greta … meet me somewhere to talk?”

A long pause. “I want that girl there, too. Rebecca. She’s … nice. And smart. I don’t know you. You might be one of them, like a test. You might be a lawyer.”

Lawyer? Greta wasn’t making a lot of sense, Nautilus thought. But Rebecca had said the girl seemed a bit loopy.

“Rebecca can’t come, Greta. She told her parents she lost her phone and they grounded her.”

“I’m not coming without her. I trust her.”

Nautilus blew out a breath. “Where are you, Greta? At the park?”

“I-I’m in Bethlehem today. It’s break time and I’m in the bathroom. I can’t be seen with a phone, I’ll be punished.”

“Let me see what I can do, Greta. We’ll talk again when—”

“YOU CAN’T CALL! THEY’LL HEAR!”

“You’ll call me,” Nautilus said. “Keep the phone turned off until then. When’s your next break?”

“In, um, about two hours.”

“Call me then. I’ll see if I can’t change things.”

The phone died on Greta’s end. Nautilus went to the Jetta. With the sun nearing zenith and beating down like a ninety-degree hammer, Nautilus flushed the vehicle with cool air and cruised by the motel holding the Owsley family, wondering who was in the room. Rebecca surely, Celeste a fifty per cent likelihood – half her time spent shopping – with Richard Owsley a good bet to be at the structure, waving a bible and ululating at giant boxes.

He parked in the lot and slipped the Joshua-level pass around his neck. Owsley had forgotten to divest him of the amulet, and perhaps – if Nautilus was lucky – had been too distracted by his project to inform the motel staff that Nautilus was now persona non grata.

He strode nonchalantly to the door just as a young bellman was rolling a cart of luggage out to a waiting taxi. The bellman stared at Nautilus.

Come on, magic … Nautilus thought, nodding at the man. Be there.

The bellman’s face lit in a beatific smile. “Mr Nautilus …” he said, almost genuflecting. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

“A fine visit,” Nautilus said, hiding his relief.

“Just the girl’s in the suite, Mr Nautilus.” The bellman winked. “We’re keeping an eye on her.”

“Excellent,” Nautilus said, wondering what that meant. “I have to pick up some papers for the Pastor.”

The bellman wished Nautilus a blessed day and proceeded to the cab. Nautilus caught the elevator to the Owsley floor, knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” Rebecca’s voice, glum.

“Harry.”

The door opened, the kid wide-eyed, wearing stone-washed jeans and a pink sleeveless blouse, her hair tied back in a ponytail. She held a can of Dr Pepper in her hand. “Daddy said you had to go back to Mobile. You took another job.”

“An unfortunate rumor. I’m still here it seems, though now in the Knight’s Inn, a few blocks east.”

“I knew Daddy was lying. Whenever he lies his voice sounds like fur feels.”

“I hear you got grounded.”

An eye-roll from Rebecca. “Daddy told the ogres on the staff here – all those happy-faced goofs in the lobby? – to make sure I didn’t leave the motel. If I did I’d be grounded all summer.”

Which explained the bellhop’s words about keeping an eye on the girl. Nautilus looked inside, checking out the expansive suite of rooms.

“Where’s your mama, Rebecca?”

“My aunt came from Tampa and they went to Orlando. Mama said they’re going shopping but I’ll bet they go to Disney World. It’s a lot better than that crummy old park here. And I’ll bet it doesn’t smell like goats and camels.”

“Your father?”

“He’s been gone since I got up. He’s almost finished with some project, then he wants to talk. Something about our future.”