coming from the den. The guest bathroom lay halfway between the kitchen and the den. Holding his breath, he made it to the bathroom and closed the
door behind him without latching it. Leaving the light off, he stood with his ear to the opening and listened.
Mr. Haskins was talking.
“Damn it, Gordon, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Wel , it is and it did. So we deal with it.”
Jack wished he’d arrived sooner. Then he might know what “it” was.
Mr. Haskins sighed. “Poor Sumter. Why now? What lousy timing.”
“Timing had nothing to do with it,” Mr. Brussard said. “He was brought down.”
“Brought down by whom? No … the High Council can’t know.”
“They don’t have to. I’m certain they’ve sent out a klazen.”
A klazen? Jack thought as he heard Mr. Haskins gasp. What’s that?
“That’s a myth,” the freeholder said. “An old wives’ tale. There’s no such thing.”
“You’re so sure? I’m the Lodge lore master, remember, and I’m tel ing you a klazen can sniff out those responsible. And when it finds them … wel ,
Sumter was healthy as a horse but now where is he?”
Responsible? For what?
“B-but he had a heart attack.”
“Did he? Maybe his heart simply stopped. That’s not a heart attack, but it’s the way a klazen works.”
“Oh, God!” Haskins moaned. “What do we do?”
“The
“The
Mr. B sounded ticked off. “This is getting tiring, Winston. We have partial transcripts in the vault.”
“What do they say?”
“To use this. Not now … tomorrow at dawn, face your back to the sun, and use it.”
“‘Back to the sun’? Oh, come on!”
Jack could imagine Mr. Brussard shrugging. “It’s up to you, Winston. I did it. I’m protected. If you want to risk going without it, be my guest. I’ve
discharged my responsibility. What happens now is on your own head.”
“Al right, al right. God, I’m scared. This had better work.”
“It wil . A klazen can run for only a week. At the end of that time, it wil vanish and the Council wil assume it’s done what needed to be done. We’l be
home free.”
“Five more days … if we can just last …”
“The key to doing that rests in your palm.”
“What about Chal is?”
“Out in L.A.—some insurance brokers’ convention, his wife said. But who knows? I don’t know about you, but Bert Chal is worries me.”
Bert Chal is? Jack thought. The insurance guy?
He had his office up in Marlton but insured most of the houses and people in Johnson. Jack remembered him coming to the house last year with a life
insurance policy for Dad to sign.
Mr. Haskins nodded. “I know what you mean. He’s a loose cannon. No tel ing what he’l do.”
“Wel , if you see Bert or hear from him, tel him to get in touch wil me immediately. His life wil depend on it. Same with Vasquez.”
“Yes. Sure. Of course.”
Jack heard footsteps enter the hal way and felt a flicker of panic. What if they caught him in here? If he’d put the light on it would look like he’d simply
been using the bathroom. But standing here with the light off … how would he explain that?
He didn’t see much choice but to stay hidden and hope neither of them needed a bathroom break.
He peeked through the slit opening and saw Mr. Haskins standing by the front door. In his left hand he held a funny-shaped red box, maybe two inches
across. Mr. B stood there holding something that looked like a cross between a cookie jar and a cigar humidor. Since Jack had never seen a black
