Apocalypse Cult (Gray Spear Society) (11 page)

She shook her head. "I don't remember nothin' else."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Come back any time." She thrust her large breasts at him. "The candy store is always open."

"I'll keep that in mind," Aaron said.

He and Marina walked out.

After they left the store, she said, "I have a problem with your behavior in there."

"What?" he said. "You don't like prostitutes?"

They were walking down the street in the oppressive heat of the day. Parking spaces were very hard to find around here, so getting back to the van would take a few minutes. Aaron thought about stopping for a cold drink at one of the many little stores on Lincoln Avenue.

"The whore was not the issue," Marina said, "and she was helpful. Now we know the cult uses drug sales to finance its operations. The problem is she knows your real name and has a personal relationship with you. You can't involve somebody like that in an investigation."

"I just asked a few questions."

"That's fine, as long as you use a false identity. Aaron Glade doesn't exist anymore. Your past life is gone."

"But I don't have a false identity," he said.

"Which is why I'll ignore this one infraction, but next time you won't have an excuse."

"That seems like a ridiculous position. My past life can't just go away. A man should be able to talk to his own parents."

"If you want to put their lives at risk," she said, "go ahead. Otherwise, stay the hell away from them."

They came to an ice cream shop that was too tempting to pass up. Aaron quickly went inside and ordered chocolate for himself, and Marina asked for strawberry sherbet. With ice cream cones in hand, they continued the long trek back to the van.

"I don't get why secrecy is so damn important," he said. "This paranoia is out of control."

"Didn't Ethel explain our mission to you?"

"Protect the Earth. Fight God's enemies."

"Yes," she said, "but God supports us out of necessity, not because we're part of His original design. We're actually an embarrassment to Him." She held up her hand. "Do you see these fingernails? I'm a monster."

"Oh." He furrowed his brow.

"We stay out of the light, like cockroaches. We disguise our activities. And after the mission ends, we hide in our secret lairs. 'Paranoia' is what God demands of us. When we're not working, we must not mingle with His beautiful children. We must not disrupt His elegant plan."

He nodded slowly. The Spears philosophy was extreme, but at least it was consistent.

"By the way," he said, "I don't think you're a monster."

"Thanks, but you just met me. Give it time."

Aaron took a deep breath. "Ethel thinks she receives messages from God."

"She does," Marina said flatly.

He stared at her. "You actually believe that? Is she some kind of prophet?"

"No, she's just a soldier with a lot of seniority. I've had more than a dozen encounters with the Big Guy. One of the perks of being a Spear is you occasionally meet your Boss. We're outside the natural world, so the usual rules don't apply. He can talk to us directly without it being such a big deal."

"Are you telling me I'll meet God?"

She nodded. "If Ethel is right about you, you'll meet Him many times."

They finally reached the brown van.

Marina climbed into the driver's seat. "My turn to pick a destination."

He sat in the passenger seat. "Where?"

"A church. We'll need nicer clothes."

* * *

Aaron and Marina stood before the Church of the Healing Trinity. It occupied a retail space next to a karate studio in a strip mall. Inspirational sayings, such as "God Heals" and "Jesus Can Cure You," were painted in bold script on the plate glass windows. Given the context, they were less than convincing.

"They know me as a police detective named Withers," Marina said. "You'll be a cop, too. Pick a name."

"Uh, Stan Stone," Aaron said.

"Sounds like a trashy detective novel, but it will do."

She led him inside. Five closely spaced pews faced a small altar on a pedestal. No sermon was in progress, and some men were sleeping on the pews. Their sharp body odor made Aaron breathe through his mouth instead of his nose.

Marina knocked on the back wall near the altar. A moment later, a black man in purple religious vestments came through a door. He had sparse gray hair and glasses with thick black rims.

"Detective Withers," the preacher said, "even though you never bring me good news, your lovely face is always welcome. It's been a long while."

She smiled. "I missed your silver tongue. This is Sergeant Stone."

"Glad to meet you." The preacher shook Aaron's hand. "I'm Reverend Anthony. How can I help you?"

"We're investigating the Church of One Soul."

The reverend's cheery smile vanished. "I know about them."

"There are allegations they are distributing narcotics."

"I heard those rumors, too." He nodded. "Makes sense."

"What do you mean?" Marina said.

"Zealots always believe the ends justify the means. They commit heinous acts, even murder, and then argue it's all for the good. Makes me sick."

Aaron looked at her to check her reaction. The reverend's complaint might as easily apply to the Gray Spear Society.

She just nodded in a professional manner. "That may be true," she said, "but I'm here to investigate a crime. What can you tell me about the narcotics?"

"This 'church' has people all over the city wearing those ugly green robes. They never stop talking about Simon, as if he were the true Savior." The reverend pretended to spit at the floor. "It's the perfect cover for drug dealers. If you make a big enough donation, you get a special bonus with your pamphlet."

"Slick. Deals can go down in broad daylight. Have you actually seen a suspicious transaction?"

"No," he said, "but I hear things."

"Can you give us an address where they do a lot of business?" Marina asked.

"Sorry, no. I'm not a customer."

She sighed, obviously frustrated.

"Then maybe you can give us the name of somebody who can help us," Aaron said.

The reverend rubbed his chin slowly. "There is a dealer who got out of county jail a month ago. Craig Parker. He's trying real hard to get his life straight, but he still knows the business. If you tell him I sent you, he might cooperate. He trusts me."

"We'll do that. Thank you. The department appreciates good citizens like you."

"Just bust those a-holes. That's all the thanks I want."

"Don't worry," Marina said. "We'll get them off the streets. All of them."

She and Aaron left the church and walked back to the van. He was glad to breathe fresh air, even if it was hot and humid.

"Call Ethel," Marina ordered. "Update her on the situation, and ask her to locate Craig Parker."

He took his bulky phone out of his pocket and stared at it. "What's her number?"

"All our important numbers are on speed dial, and you have to unlock the phone first. Did you read the instructions?"

"Well, I was planning to do it after..."

She rolled her eyes and showed him how to call Ethel. A little embarrassed, he put the phone against his ear.

"Hello?" Ethel answered.

"Aaron here. We have new information, ma'am. The Church of One Soul is selling heroin. The people on the street corners hand out more than just pamphlets."

"That's useful to know."

"We need to find a guy named Craig Parker. He recently spent some time in Cook County Jail."

"Hang on," she said. "I'll give the name to Edward."

Aaron heard her walking and talking in the background.

"He's working on it," she said after a minute. "By the way, I sent a cleanup crew to your apartment."

"To get rid of the bodies?"

"To get rid of everything. Every speck of blood, every hair follicle, and every fingerprint will be removed. The crew will also pack and store your belongings."

"Do I still have to pay rent?" Aaron said. "I signed a lease, ma'am."

"Don't worry about it. We also took care of your many parking tickets and delinquent bills. You were in some financial difficulty."

These people are cleaning up my entire life
, he thought. "Thanks."

"Edward just gave me a printout," Ethel said. "Craig Parker is working as a salesman at Top Sports Shoe Emporium on Michigan Avenue."

"We're on our way. Bye."

* * *

Top Sports Shoe Emporium was a monument to overpriced athletic footwear. Aaron looked up at three stories of almost seamless glass façade. Through the windows he saw hundreds of customers browsing countless shoes. So many tourists were coming and going that there was a traffic jam at the front door.

"We'll stick with the same covers," Marina said. "My name is?"

"Uh... Detective Withers," Aaron said.

"Right, and you're Sergeant Stone."

"What if he asks to see a badge?"

She took a wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. There was a badge and a Chicago Police Department identification card. They looked completely authentic.

"Deception is our business," she said. "Let's go in."

Finding Craig Parker among the dozens of salespeople took a few minutes, but eventually, Aaron and Marina located him on the third floor. His black skin was pockmarked with acne scars. He wore a blue football jersey with the number 22 on it.

"Mr. Parker?" Marina said. "We need a few minutes of your time."

Parker was busy helping a kid put on a pair of shoes. "Please wait your turn, miss," he said.

"We're the police."

He stood up so suddenly he almost fell backwards. "This is a bad time. I'm working."

"Is there a quiet place where we can talk?" she said.

He quickly led them to a storage room in back. Shelves held thousands of boxes of shoes. Aaron could smell the rubber and glue, and he wrinkled his nose.

"What do you want from me?" Parker said. "I don't need this harassment. I had a hard enough time getting this job."

"The Church of One Soul," Marina said. "Ever heard of them?"

He shook his head.

"Green robes and facial tattoos."

"Oh, yeah. We call them the Ones."

"They're selling narcotics," she said. "We want to know where."

"I don't know nothin'." He shrugged.

"Reverend Anthony sent us to you. He told us you still have connections in the business."

"I'm out of that life."

"Listen, Parker." Aaron poked the young man in the chest. "If we have to come back tomorrow, we will. But next time, we'll ask questions in front of all the customers."

Parker cowered. "I really need this job."

"And we need information."

"I could make a few calls after I leave work."

Marina handed a business card to him. "Call me tonight. Understand? Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight!"

With his eyes downcast, he shoved the card into his pocket.

Aaron and Marina left the store. Even though the sun was half-way down, the heat was still oppressive. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"We have a few hours to kill," she said. "Let's head back to headquarters and empty out the van. Those weapons really should be put away. Then we'll ask Ethel to give you another orientation lecture."

"I need one?" he said.

"Desperately."

Chapter Eight

Aaron stood with Ethel in the main conference room, which also served as the library for the Chicago cell.

"Do you see these books?" She pointed at the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves. "They are our
tabelli
. Our secret history."

He moved in for a closer look. Every book had a date in Latin written on the side. He took one at random and flipped it open. The contents were also in Latin, printed in very dark ink on thick paper that felt like fine leather. He guessed the book was made to last hundreds of years.

"Who wrote these, ma'am?" he said.

"I report to a
legatus legionis
, who is responsible for all of North America. Twice a year all the
legati
in the world meet to discuss the latest news and make policy decisions. The
tabella
are the transcripts of those meetings, plus anything else they want to publish. Important missions are usually described in detail. Every cell in the entire Society keeps a complete set."

He put the book back. "There are a lot of books."

"Three hundred," she said. "Our greatest triumphs and worst failures are here. According to legend, if you read every book and understand every word, you will gain divine wisdom."

"I don't know Latin."

"You could learn."

"But I'm confused," he said. "You told me you work for God. Doesn't He make all the policy decisions?"

"He provides guidance, but we must work out the details. That is His way. Let's go to my office."

Aaron had never seen Ethel's office, and he was intensely curious. She led him through the gray halls to a door made of beautifully carved oak. She used an antique iron key to unlock the door.

Inside the office were several glass display cases containing artifacts. A large painting of a man or a woman in formal gray robes hung above each case. A granite desk with a polished top surface occupied the center of the spacious room.

Ethel pointed at the paintings. "My predecessors. All of them suffered a violent death. Their stern faces remind me to cherish my fragile life and always watch my back."

Aaron walked over to one of the display cases. It contained a rusty sword with a jeweled hilt, a matched pair of antique muskets, a human skull with almond shaped eye sockets, and many other peculiar items.

"Trophies," she said. "Most are very old, but there are a few recent additions." She opened a case and took out a large pair of wire cutters with highly polished blades. "Do you remember the serial killer who called himself the 'Devil's Shepherd?'"

"Sure. He cut off the fingers of little children. I was a rookie cop at the time. The police never caught him."

"We did." She smiled. "These nippers were his favorite toy."