stealing sorcerer.
Dorn cut the connection in the middle of the other person’s sentence and then turned off the phone. “Mr. Colby, what have you discovered?” he asked again, in a mocked attempt at formality. He looked like he had a major migraine.
Carla’s floundering increased. The gallery of insect husks shuddered off the ledge as she tried to push herself through the wall behind her.
“Can you let Carla out, please?” Colby asked.
Dorn looked to his side, seeing her for the first time. He made a face akin to discovering raw sewage on new shoes, and moved aside.
Carla stumbled out of the diner and ran across the street toward the church.
“That one didn’t turn out as planned,” Dorn said.
“No kidding.”
Colby motioned to an emaciated nearly toothless Vietnam veteran in red flannel wearing a John Deere cap behind the counter. He came over like a man preparing to go onstage.
“This is Sweeny. He was working here thirteen years ago when a strange couple with a baby came in from the rain. Tell Mr. Dorn what you saw, Sweeny.”
Sweeny gave the god the look tax cheats give an auditor. He sniffed, and with the reluctance of a man who had told the same story too many times said, “’Twas about October. I remember cause we was making cakes ’n’ things for the Halloween party at the church. We was having mighty big weather that night. Couple came in to get out of the rain. The missus started changing diapers right here on this very table. I came out to tell her she can’t do that on account of health codes. Woman had no good sense to be changing crap on a table what people eat on. The baby had the dangdest birthmark, like a tattoo of a Camero bird. What kind of damned freak’d ever tattoo a babe? I got me a tattoo in ’Nam. Hurt like hell. Dang if I didn’t near pass out. And I had two bottles of sock-ee in me. Sock-ee couldn’ cut it. Tequila is the best hootch, if you gonna get a tattoo-”
“Thank you, Sweeny,” Colby said.
“Pitiful shame though what happened to them folks…”
“That will be all, Sweeny.”
Sweeny’s mouth gaped like a man who wasn’t used to having the curtain drop on his act. “You gonna git anything to eat,” he said to Dorn, “or just sit there like a fancy boy, taking up a customer’s space?”
“We’ll be going now,” Colby said.
Outside, the detective met Dorn’s new companions who were waiting by the cab. Both looked like Edward Gorey renditions of a Victorian butler. They wore black long-tail tuxedos with bowties, gray pinstriped trousers, and spats. Both held ornate walking sticks, the tall one with a brass ball handle, the other clutched a gnarled wooden cane. The shorter man was stocky, round of face, wore a bowler hat, and looked unkempt despite his classic ensemble. The fabric of his jacket was dusty and frayed. The cut tips of his white gloves revealed brown-stained fingernails. He was in need of a shave and teeth cleaning. The other was tall and thin, clean-shaven, impeccably manicured, and crowned by a silk-lined top hat. Colby half expected Queen Victoria’s carriage to turn the corner any second. The smaller “twin’s” eyes reminded Colby of a kid from grammar school who had been sent to juvenile hall for dousing a dog with gasoline and lighting it on fire. The cabbie, who still sat behind the wheel, was a Middle Eastern type with heavy bags under his eyes, who looked very unhappy.
“You didn’t bring me all the way up here for one fool’s walk down memory lane?” Dorn asked.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“The last thing anyone wants, Colby, is an introduction to Oulfsan and Krebe. Why did you bring me up here?”
Colby motioned Dorn to walk. Now that he’d met Oulfsan and Krebe, he preferred to be far away.
“I did some checking in the county office. Since I had a definite time period I was hoping to find a property purchase, tax return, adoption record, speeding ticket, parking violation, you name it. What I found was an accident report.” Colby pulled out forensic photos of a dead man and woman. “Sweeny identified them as the kid’s parents. Said you couldn’t mistake those two.”
“How did they die?”
“Fatal car crash. Driving in a storm when they should have been indoors. They were blown off their lane and went head to head with a semi. The couple were a pair of Does. Their IDs were fake. No way to trace them, no history, no sense of having come from anywhere remotely familiar.” Colby pulled out another photocopy. “They were in possession of a lot of cash and some strange coins, but not from any country the authorities could identify. The coins have since disappeared-they were made of eighteen-karat gold-but here’s a photo of them.” The profile of a nobleman adorned the head side, and an elaborate phoenix flew on the tail side. An unknown alphabet encircled the images.
Dorn’s eyes lit up at the photo of the coins. “Are you telling me the child is dead?”
“No. The child is gone. It survived, but it’s lost in the system. Illegally adopted, possibly kidnapped. For all we know Sweeny could have raised him and he’s washing dishes in the diner for condom money. There’s no trail.”
“Not good enough. I have to see him-if he’s not alive, I need a corpse.”
“What the hell makes a thirteen-year-old kid so important, Dorn? Is there a shortage of acne where you come from?”
“Everything you need to know to do your job has been made available, detective.”
“Not enough when it comes to politics and money. There are always people working for the other side, and that could get a man killed. Again. It is politics and money, right?”
Dorn looked away for a minute, considered Colby’s remark, then said, “It’s always politics. The boy, my second cousin, is an heir, the son of an archduke. What he stands to inherit is an empire.”
“You mean that literally. We’re not talking stock options?”
“Correct. Four hundred million inhabitants, twelve kingdoms, a treasury equal to the GDP of Europe. Head of state. Head of government. Head of religion… head of life itself. The power to shape our society in his image.” There was contempt in the way Dorn ended that phrase.
“But you have other plans?”
“There are closer relations we’d prefer to see inherit the crown. We’ve waited just as long; they merely had a more successful breeding program.”
“What’re you going to do, get him to sign a waiver relinquishing his claim?” Colby said, sardonically. A devilish grin supplanted Dorn’s calm indifference. Colby almost felt a chill. There wouldn’t be any runes or spells used when Dorn went after this boy’s heart.
“Didn’t think so,” Colby said.
They came to the graveyard and stopped. Two Doberman watchdogs approached from the other side of the picket fence. Dorn reached over and petted them. They accepted his graces.
“They recognize one of their own,” Colby muttered.
“What’s the price?” Dorn asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You brought me here to clarify the stakes and renegotiate our deal. I suppose you want your heart back before you go any farther.”
“This kid can be anywhere in the country. Maybe farther.”
“You know how I feel about loyalty, Colby.”
“No one else can dig this kid up like I can. Half the tabloids in the country published off my leads.”
“I don’t negotiate with dead men.”
“I’m not dead, goddamn you!”
“Enjoy any good meals lately?”
“How do I know you can fix me? How do I know you even want to? If you can’t reverse what you did to me, you can go fuck yourself. No little lost cousin for you.” Colby clammed up for dramatic effect, but it was wasted on Dorn.
“Just so we’re clear,” Colby continued, “there are a bunch of envelopes ready to get mailed to various law and news agencies in the event of my death.”
“You are dead.”
“There are still people in high places who will read my mail. I made some serious accusations that may or
