When my cell phone rang, I woke up and didn’t know where I was for a moment. I rolled out of bed and pulled it out of my coat pocket and flipped it open.
It was Cason.
“You and Leonard ought to get together with me and Mercury,” he said.
“Got somethin’?”
“Yeah. Leonard with you?”
“No. But I can hustle him up.”
“When can we get together?” Cason said.
“I don’t know. I’ll call him, we’ll call you, and we’ll get together.”
“Tell Leonard not to wear the hat.”
We showed up at Cason’s apartment, way he said. Mercury was there with him. Leonard didn’t wear the hat.
As we went inside I gave the place a once-over. It was sort of thrown together with home-made bookshelves and an old couch and a coffee table that looked as if it had been salvaged from the dump. It had so many glass and cup stains on it, it almost looked designed.
I could see the kitchen from the middle of the room, and the sink was full of dishes. Through an open doorway I could see an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. It reminded me of every place either I or Leonard had lived until Brett and I got the house. As much as was possible, she had civilized me.
Mercury had a laptop with him and he placed it on the coffee table, and we all found a place to sit. Cason asked if we wanted beer. Leonard took one; so did Mercury and Cason himself. I passed.
Mercury turned on the laptop, said, “You don’t need to see this ’less you want to. I can read off my notes and tell you what I got.” We agreed this was fine.
“Kincaid’s daughter died of an overdose,” Mercury said. “That much you know. But she died in Oregon. Did you know that?”
“No,” I said.
“Guys that got killed and had the devil head painted at the site were all drug dealers. You startin’ to see a pattern here?”
“Kincaid’s daughter died of a drug overdose, and the drug dealers she dealt with are the ones found dead with the devil heads,” I said.
Mercury nodded. “And his son is killed by crazies, and the crazies die. I think the one in jail, Gonzello a.k.a. Godzilla, was the subject of a hit, but she was tougher than the hit. But when she gave the knife back, thinking she was immortal, well, she messed up. And the train accident. Who knows? Maybe that was some kind of rig too. The Christopher boy… Wrong place, wrong time. Probably caught and killed him and Mini somewhere else, tried to make it look like rape and robbery. However, they just couldn’t resist leaving their mark. Right there in the open, thinking no one would see the connection. But they would know, and it would please them. That’s what conspiracy theorists like myself call a pattern. A pattern of deaths, a pattern of markings-a signature, if you will.”
“So it all does go back to Kincaid?” I said. “He wanted revenge, so he hired Devil Red to do the deed, but Devil Red couldn’t resist leaving his mark. I guess someone killed my son and daughter, I’d feel pretty vengeful.”
“Thing is,” Cason said, “Devil Red seems to put a lot of people to sleep, all over the country. They can’t all be people who’ve done something to the Kincaids. What Mrs. Christopher wants is whoever killed her son. She wants Devil Red, and I’m sure, if possible, she wants whoever arranged it, so the Kincaids aren’t off the hook, no matter what.”