Conspircaies

ERNIE'S I-D

ALL KINDS

PASSPORT

TAXI

DRIVERS LICENSE

Jack pulled open the door and stepped inside.

'Hey, Jack,' said the skinny, basset-faced man behind the counter. 'How y' doin'. How y' doin'.' Not a question, just Ernie's habitual rapid-fire greeting. 'Lock the door and flip the sign to 'closed' there, will ya?'

Jack did just that, then approached the counter, passing racks of sunglasses, customizable T-shirts, sports caps, and bootleg videos. Ernie developed film and made legitimate photo IDs, and generally sold anything that had a fat mark-up, but his main income came from people who wanted to be someone else, or at least be known as someone else.

Over the years Ernie had made dozens of driver's licenses and photo IDs for Jack.

'You said you need another high school ID, right?' Ernie said, lifting an accordion file from the floor and removing the elastic band that encircled it. 'Here in the city?'

'No. Hoboken.'

Ernie flipped through the pockets in the file, an extensive collection of ID cards and badges for most of the schools, factories, and offices within a ten-mile radius.

'Hoboken…Hoboken…what's the kid's name?'

Jack unfolded a photocopy of a certified birth certificate and placed it on the counter.

'Here he is. And I'll need you to notarize this copy for me, too.'

Ernie had a Notary Public seal, the duplicate of a legitimate Notary down in the financial district.

'Sure thing.' He squinted at the birth certificate. 'D'Attilio, huh? D'Attilio the Hun, maybe?' He flashed Jack a quick, Charlie Callas grin. 'For a D'Attilio we should probably enroll him in St. Aloysius.' More searching. 'Here it is.'

He removed a high school ID from the file and clipped it to a yellow legal pad.

'Okay,' he said, scribbling on the pad. 'We've got John D'Attilio. D-O-B?'

Jack pointed to the birth date on the certificate. 'Right there.'

'Got it. Address?'

Jack gave him the address of his Hoboken mail drop.

Ernie nodded. 'Yog?'

'What's that?'

Ernie raised his eyebrows and gave Jack a Do-I-have-to-spell-it-out? look. 'Y-OG?'

Of course—year of graduation. It was on all school IDs.

'Let see…he's just turning sixteen, so he'll graduate two years from now.'

'Got it. And I've got a nice photo to go with that name. Okay. When do you need it?'

'No hurry. Next week's okay.'

'Good. Cause I'm a little backed up.'

'Usual price?'

'Yeah.'

'See you Monday.'

Jack turned the sign, unlocked the door, and stepped back onto Tenth Avenue. He glanced at his watch. Time to check back with the hotel. He hoped the reservation desk had scrounged up a room for him. He found himself looking forward to mingling with the Society for the Exposure of Secret Organizations and Unexplained Phenomena. He'd never been an 'experiencer' before.

4

Jack lucked out with a room: One of the SESOUPers had to cancel because of some family emergency, and Jack took her place.

He wound up in a fifth floor room overlooking the street. The decor was typical hotel blah: stucco ceiling, heavy duty beige wall paper, TV, dresser, and a pair of double beds, double drapes on the window, and framed nondescript prints of ponds and tree branches on the walls. But the bland surroundings didn't allay the strange uneasiness he felt every time he stepped into this building, as if the air were charged with some sort of cold energy.

He was unpacking the gym bag that held the change of clothes he'd brought from home, when he heard a knock on his door. He eyeballed the peephole, expecting to see Lew. Instead he found Olive Farina standing in the hall.

'I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Shelby?' she said as Jack pulled open the door. 'May I come in? I have a question or two I'd like to ask you.'

Jack hesitated, puzzled. What did she want here?

But she looked harmless enough, and he was curious to hear her question or two.

'Sure.'

He stepped aside and Olive entered uncertainly, peering into the bathroom as she passed, as if expecting someone to be hiding in there.

'You're alone?'

'Last time I looked.'

When she reached the center of the room, she stopped in front of the TV cabinet and turned to him. 'Before we speak, will you do something for me?'

'Depends on what it is.'

She lifted the silver crucifix that hung from her neck. 'Will you hold this for me?'

'Hold it?'

'That's right. Just wrap your fingers around it for the count of ten.'

Uh-oh, Jack thought. Loony Tunes times.

But he said okay and gripped the crucifix in his fist, firmly resisting the manic urge to scream in agony and fall writhing to the floor. Very doubtful this audience would find much humor in that.

'Good,' she said after a few heartbeats. 'You can let go now.' She inspected Jack's open palm.

'Looking for scorch marks?' he said.

She gave him a tolerant smile. 'Laugh if you will, but at least now I feel I can trust you.'

Jack shrugged, thinking, if that's all it takes, you're already way too trusting. He gestured to one of the upholstered chairs by the big plate glass window.

'Have a seat.' Jack turned the chair from the writing desk to face her and dropped into it. 'What did you want to ask me?'

'Well,' she said, adjusting her wide frame into the narrow seat, 'if I understand correctly, you were the last one to speak to Melanie Ehler.'

'I don't know that for sure. She could have called lots of other people.'

'Yes, of course. But I want to know…when she spoke to you, did she mention anything else…did she mention the End Times?'

'No,' Jack said. 'I'm not familiar—'

'That must be what Melanie learned,' Olive said, her voice revving up. 'Because everything that's going wrong in the world is evidence of the End Times.' She pointed to the night stand between the beds. 'There's a Holy Bible in that drawer, and it's all recorded right there in the Book of