"Mr. Brazee?"
He didn't look away from his bulb-studded mirror. "That you, Halley? Come to grovel for your old job back?" He chuckled. "Ain't gonna work."
The sound of the door closing was followed by the deadbolt sliding into place.
"Hey, what's the big-" Brazee swiveled in his chair. "Who the hell are you?"
The short stocky man behind him did not answer. He heard the jingle of a pair of handcuffs, and a second later, felt the snapping around his left wrist. The other end of the cuffs clamped onto the arm of his chair.
"What the-" He tried to stand, but the cuff chain jerked him back into his seat. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but all I have to do is say 'Boo' and there'll be people crawling all over-"
"I don't think so." Calmly, Tucker opened his overcoat, withdrew a long-handled axe, and placed the blade against Brazee's throat. "First, near as I can tell, everyone else has gone home already. Like rats from a sinkin' ship."
"My act is not-Anyway, even if the crew has left-"
"I told your driver you wanted to walk home. Clear your head. Said you had some thinkin' to do."
"He wouldn't believe you."
"He did. Got the impression he didn't mind leavin' early all that much. Got the impression he doesn't like you so much. Tell the truth, Mr. Brazee, I get the impression no one likes you much."
"That's insane."
"I remember when you were somethin', when you had that song on the radio, what was it called?"
"I've had many hits." He sniffed. "But the one you're remembering is probably 'I Miss You So in Springtime'?"
"Yeah. That's the one. That was a good song. Damn good song."
Brazee's eyes moved slowly from Tucker's face to the blade still pressed against his throat. "So…are you an…enthusiastic fan?"
"No. But I liked that song."
"Then why don't you let me go?"
"Can't do that."
"If you free me, I could…sing it for you."
"Nice offer. But nah." He grinned a little. "'Fraid your number is up. And I really mean it."
"I don't understand. If you like my song, why don't you let me-"
"This has nothing to do with your songs. You were chosen, that's all."
"Chosen? But-" His eyes slowly widened, the horror dawning. "You're that man. The one I read about in the paper. You killed two people."
"Three."
"And then you-" His head fell. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God."
"Like I said," Tucker replied, looking away, "it's nothin' personal. Well, it is, in a way. But it's still all about the numbers."
They both heard the creaking sound outside at the same time. "Halley!" Brazee shouted. "Halley! Help!"
Tucker dropped the axe, ran to the door and flung it open.
No one was there.
"Just the house settlin', I guess," Tucker growled. "But that was stupid. I coulda killed you."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because there's supposed to be a…a procedure." He spoke each syllable slowly, as if it were its own word. "A pattern." He put the blade back against the man's throat. "But don't get the wrong idea. You screw up again, I'll kill you right here and now and do the rest of the stuff later. It's not the best way. But I'll do what I gotta do."
"Other stuff? What…other stuff?"
Tucker spoke as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "The brandin'."
"Why would you possibly want to…to…hurt me? I've never done anything to you. I've never done anything to anyone."
Tucker's eyes narrowed. "'Zat what they say back in Terre Haute?"
Even with the blade against his throat, the stiffening of his neck was noticeable. "W-Why would you ask me about…about that city?"
"What kinda man doesn't take responsibility for his own kid, huh?"
Brazee could feel the man's hot breath on his face. He pulled back, as far as the cuffs would allow. "There were…practical considerations…Career…You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
His voice dropped. "His mother was a groupie. Met her backstage at a concert. We weren't married."
"You coulda married her."
"Yeah, and killed my career. I couldn't disappoint the little girls, man. I'm sure you know how that is. The chicks had to think I was available. I was a teen heartthrob."
Tucker placed his free hand atop Brazee's head and slowly turned it to face the mirror, bringing the blade right along with it. "Been a long time since you've been a teen, huh, mister? Bet it's been a long time since you had a teenager in your audience, too."
"That's not my fault. It's just bad management."
"You haven't been makin' your payments."
"I haven't been pulling in the scratch like I used to. But I got a plan. My new manager, he's gonna make my show bigger, better. Maybe bring in the guys who did the act for…for…those two German guys with the cats."
"Too late." Tucker reached under his overcoat and this time withdrew a branding iron with the letter N at the end.
"What-What are you-Oh my God-"
"You are Netzach. You must make the sacrifice."
"The sacrifice. What does that mean?"
"Well," Tucker said, as he pulled out his acetylene torch and began heating the branding iron, "it means you won't be doin' any more singin' anytime soon."
I could hardly ask Amelia to refill the prescription I swiped from her, could I? And I sure as hell couldn't get through all this, Granger breathing down my throat, having to cancel on Amelia, feeling lost, feeling alone.
Watching that videotape. Twice.
I know why he made it, and why he left it behind. At least in my mind I did.
He left it for me. He left it because he knew how badly it would screw me up. And he was right.
Thank God for the Internet. In less than twenty minutes, I found some shady outfit that could have Valium at my doorstep tomorrow afternoon, if I was willing to pay the outrageous shipping costs. But for that matter, as I hyper-clicked around, I found all kinds of options. Why stop at Valium when there was Xanax, and Effexor, and for that matter, even better stuff. Vicodin. Prozac.
I ordered a wide assortment. A smorgasbord of relief. I was going to need it.
Might as well stay up all night working on this preliminary report. I knew I wouldn't sleep, not with two lousy Valiums left. But tomorrow would be different. If I could just get through the next twenty-four hours. So I logged off the Internet, logged onto the FBI's BSI database, and went to work. It would be a hard night. But I knew I could make it.
Help was on its way.