Incubi

vehicle?”

“A step van. White.”

“Make, model, year?”

“I don’t know, man. Do I look like a car dealer?”

“You see the tag number?”

“No, I had no reason to look.”

“Did you notice the state, even the color of the plates?”

“No,” Stewie said.

Jack tapped the bar. What else was there? “These two guys? You must’ve given them a receipt for the painting.”

“Yeah, a standard exchange receipt. I have our copy. The smaller guy signed it, but I can’t make out shit for the signature.”

“I’ll need to see it anyway,” Jack said. “I’ll also need the day you made the deposit, and what bank you use. The bank’ll log a cash deposit that big and the serial numbers of the bills if they’re consecutive. If they’re not consecutive, they’ll record sample numbers.”

“What good would that do?”

“I might be able to link your deposit to Khoronos’ withdrawal. If I can locate his bank, I can locate him. The only problem is bank records are protected information. Unless I have probable cause to convince a magistrate that Khoronos has committed a crime, which I don’t, then they won’t show me the transaction records.”

“Talk to me, Jackie. You guys have ways around that shit.”

“I might be able to go under the table, but I doubt it. I’ll give it a shot. After that, there’s nothing.”

Stewie got up, a little stumbly. “There are other things you can do, Jackie, and you know what I’m talking about. Excuse me.”

Yeah, there are a few other things, Jack agreed. He was already thinking about them.

While Stewie utilized the men’s room, Jack began to feel edgy. Just seeing people drink goaded him, just seeing the bottles lined up on the wall. Craig was shaking up some shooters for a pair of local cuties. A goateed guy and an area writer were drinking a toast: “To darker days and evil women,” the goateed guy proposed. Everybody was drinking, having a good time. Just one, Jack considered, but he knew it was a lie. For men like Jack there was no such thing as one drink. He’d made a promise tonight, and he resolved to keep it. He might break it tomorrow. But… Not tonight, he thought.

“Another soda water, Jack?” Craig asked. He flipped a lit cigarette and caught it in his mouth. The two cuties applauded.

“I, uh—” Jack groaned. Fiddich, rocks, he wanted to say. “I made a promise that I wouldn’t drink tonight.”

Craig ejected a shaker of ice behind his back into the sink. “My view on promises is thus: A man can only be as good as his promise. When we break our promises, we break ourselves.”

“Another soda water, Craig,” Jack validated. The wisdom of barkeeps, again, amazed. When we break our promises, we break ourselves. He should have it tattooed on his wrist, a constant reminder. “With lime and lemon this time,” he added.

“Where were we?” Stewie retook his stool and ordered another Sapphire. His eyes looked bloodshot.

“Hey, Stewie,” Jack began. “How come you’re getting tanked?”

“You’re lecturing me? That’s balls, Jackie. You’re the A.A. candidate, not me.”

“I’m not lecturing you, I just—”

“I told you, I’m worried about her, I’m concerned.”

“I used to be in love with her, remember? I’m concerned about her too. More than you.”

“Bullshit, Jackie.” Stewie swigged, wincing. “You’ve never been concerned about anyone in your life.”

Jack gaped at the insult.

“And if anything bad happens to her,” Stewie ranted on, “it’ll be your fault.”

Jack gaped at that one too. “Since you’re drunk, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“No, Jackie, since I’m drunk, I’ll tell you what I really think. You wanna hear it?”

“Sure, I listen to crap every day. Yours is no different from anyone else’s.”

“Here’s what I think, Jackie boy. I think you were the best thing to ever happen to Veronica.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. Of all the things he might expect Stewie to say, this was the least imaginable.

“Before she got involved with you, she didn’t have anything but her work. She was confused, disillusioned, and unhappy. But you gave her direction—”

Jack was confused too, thoroughly. “Stewie, how come all of a sudden you’re saying good things about me?”

“—and then you failed,” Stewie, ran on. “You gave her the promise of something good, and then you let her down.”

Jack roused. “How the fuck did I let her down! She dumped me, remember? She ended the relationship, not me!”

Stewie shrugged. “You dangled happiness in front of her face, but you never let her have it. All you did was moan and groan about your own problems without ever considering hers. It broke her heart, Jackie. You never even tried to care about the things that were important to her.”

“Oh, yeah? What? What things?”

“The things that make her tick. Her desire to create, her visions and her insights. Her art, Jackie. Her art.”

Jack’s mouth felt frozen, an immobile hole.

“She loved you so much, more than you could probably ever know. You led her on, but you never came through. You were too selfish.”

Could all this be true? Could Jack have been so blind that he didn’t see any of this?

“You left her with no alternative, Jackie.”

Jack felt dried up in the aftermath of Stewie’s dissertation. His first impulse was to deny it all, to dismiss it, but that would only be evasion. Why would Stewie make up so detailed a condemnation?

“I didn’t know,” Jack said. “I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah, right.” Stewie slapped some cash down on the bar, and also the date of the deposit and the name of Veronica’s bank. “Are your excuses always so sophisticated? With Veronica, you could have had everything. Look what you get instead.”

Jack didn’t know what he meant.

“I gotta go now, Jackie. Enjoy the view.” Stewie shoved his wallet back in his pants and walked out of the bar.

Enjoy the view, Jack repeated in his mind. He looked up. In the mirrored bar wall, behind rows and rows of bottles, he saw his own face staring back at him.

“Hey, Craig. Dump the soda water and pour me a Fiddich.”

“What about your promise?” Craig asked, stacking some pint glasses with Oxford Class emblems on them.

“Fuck the promise. Get me a drink.”

“With all due respect, Jack, I don’t think that’s such a hot idea. Why not just play it cool tonight?”

“I don’t need a counseling session, Craig, I need a drink. Just pour me a fucking drink, or I’ll find a bar that will.”

Chapter 21

“Father of the Earth,” spoke the Prelate, “we live to serve your will.”

“Hail, Father, hail,” responded the Surrogoti.