weak but good enough for Xavier to see.
“You need to go, Winter?”
“No. Why you ask me that?”
“Because I intend to break down this door and get on the other side. I sure do.”
“How? You friends with Batman or sumpin’?”
“Neighborhood I come from Batman stayed away.”
Xavier hefted his miniature tire iron and rubbed it thoroughly with a rag from the floor while studying the door closely.
“This ain’t no glass door, Ecks.”
“But you see, Win. The door got hinges.”
“Shit, man. Them things look like they frets on a battleship.”
“Sure do,” Xavier said with a nod. “But the outer edge is anchored in concrete, not steel. All I got to do is pull the outside of the hinges out the wall.”
“What about the locks?”
“They’re anchored in concrete too.”
It took a little under three hours, but Xavier, with some help from Winter Johnson, wrenched the hinges from their moorings and levered the five-hundred-pound door from its frame. It hit the floor with a mighty crash, but no toes were broken and the sound was swallowed by the earth.
The smells of fresh soil, with a hint of rotting flesh, wafted from the shadowy underground chamber.
The interior was dark, and Xavier hesitated to use his little flashlight.
“What’s that smell?” the professional chauffeur asked.
“Death.”
“What?”
“Listen, man,” Xavier said. “I let you come this far—to get your feet wet. I know you’re scared. You’d be a fool not to be. But maybe right now you should listen to that shiver in your heart. ’Cause you know, Win, this shit here is about to get bad.”
Winter’s eyes were light brown and small like their owner. He squinted at Xavier and his shoulders quivered.
“In for a penny,” the driver said, “in for a pound.”
This phrase was like the flip of a switch in the ex-gangster’s nervous system. The violence, as always, was most evident as a sensation in Xavier’s forearms. His jaw clenched, clamping down on the evil smile that wanted out. He turned abruptly, entering the tomblike vault, guided by the little plastic flash.
The chamber was largish, fifteen feet deep and twenty wide.
Toward the far end of the unfinished space, lying on a short mound of moist soil, wasSedra Landcombe. There was a pale blue slip over her withered flesh and a bloody gash on the left side of her head. The force of the blow had caused the eyeball on that side to come out of its socket, falling down the side of her face and hanging next to her left ear.
“Oh, shit!” Winter cried.
Xavier knelt close to the body, looking for anything that might tell her story. But she was dead and bereft of any signature, jewelry, or sigil. Probably murdered in another room, Xavier mused, most likely the master bedroom. Xavier thought that Dodo had hit her aunt with the bludgeon, maybe more than once, dragged her down to the family tomb, and then gone back upstairs to wash up any blood.
“Oh, fuck, no,” Winter whined.
He was standing at the door holding a small dark and lightweight stone in his hand.
“No,” he moaned.
“What is it?”
“A baby’s skull, man. A baby’s little head.”
Winter dropped the stone and fell to his knees.
Xavier went to the area of the tomb that his friend had come from and saw various bones both jumbled and arranged. Most remnants belonged to children and babies, but there were at least three adult skulls in the mix. Xavier poked at the bones with his tire iron but he didn’t touch them, not even with gloves on.
The bruise on his side, from the car accident, suddenly flared. This was the only indication he had of some kind of feeling of vulnerability. His minister had sent him into slaughter and he, in turn, had brought along an innocent friend.
“What we gonna do, Ecks?”
“We get our ass outta here, Win.”
At the top of the stairs, still in the pantry that contained the door leading to the basement, Xavier had a premonition. There was something
“You need to go, Winter?”
“No. Why you ask me that?”
“Because I intend to break down this door and get on the other side. I sure do.”
“How? You friends with Batman or sumpin’?”
“Neighborhood I come from Batman stayed away.”
Xavier hefted his miniature tire iron and rubbed it thoroughly with a rag from the floor while studying the door closely.
“This ain’t no glass door, Ecks.”
“But you see, Win. The door got hinges.”
“Shit, man. Them things look like they frets on a battleship.”
“Sure do,” Xavier said with a nod. “But the outer edge is anchored in concrete, not steel. All I got to do is pull the outside of the hinges out the wall.”
“What about the locks?”
“They’re anchored in concrete too.”
It took a little under three hours, but Xavier, with some help from Winter Johnson, wrenched the hinges from their moorings and levered the five-hundred-pound door from its frame. It hit the floor with a mighty crash, but no toes were broken and the sound was swallowed by the earth.
The smells of fresh soil, with a hint of rotting flesh, wafted from the shadowy underground chamber.
The interior was dark, and Xavier hesitated to use his little flashlight.
“What’s that smell?” the professional chauffeur asked.
“Death.”
“What?”
“Listen, man,” Xavier said. “I let you come this far—to get your feet wet. I know you’re scared. You’d be a fool not to be. But maybe right now you should listen to that shiver in your heart. ’Cause you know, Win, this shit here is about to get bad.”
Winter’s eyes were light brown and small like their owner. He squinted at Xavier and his shoulders quivered.
“In for a penny,” the driver said, “in for a pound.”
This phrase was like the flip of a switch in the ex-gangster’s nervous system. The violence, as always, was most evident as a sensation in Xavier’s forearms. His jaw clenched, clamping down on the evil smile that wanted out. He turned abruptly, entering the tomblike vault, guided by the little plastic flash.
The chamber was largish, fifteen feet deep and twenty wide.
Toward the far end of the unfinished space, lying on a short mound of moist soil, wasSedra Landcombe. There was a pale blue slip over her withered flesh and a bloody gash on the left side of her head. The force of the blow had caused the eyeball on that side to come out of its socket, falling down the side of her face and hanging next to her left ear.
“Oh, shit!” Winter cried.
Xavier knelt close to the body, looking for anything that might tell her story. But she was dead and bereft of any signature, jewelry, or sigil. Probably murdered in another room, Xavier mused, most likely the master bedroom. Xavier thought that Dodo had hit her aunt with the bludgeon, maybe more than once, dragged her down to the family tomb, and then gone back upstairs to wash up any blood.
“Oh, fuck, no,” Winter whined.
He was standing at the door holding a small dark and lightweight stone in his hand.
“No,” he moaned.
“What is it?”
“A baby’s skull, man. A baby’s little head.”
Winter dropped the stone and fell to his knees.
Xavier went to the area of the tomb that his friend had come from and saw various bones both jumbled and arranged. Most remnants belonged to children and babies, but there were at least three adult skulls in the mix. Xavier poked at the bones with his tire iron but he didn’t touch them, not even with gloves on.
The bruise on his side, from the car accident, suddenly flared. This was the only indication he had of some kind of feeling of vulnerability. His minister had sent him into slaughter and he, in turn, had brought along an innocent friend.
“What we gonna do, Ecks?”
“We get our ass outta here, Win.”
At the top of the stairs, still in the pantry that contained the door leading to the basement, Xavier had a premonition. There was something
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