The Beasts Of Valhalla

wallpaper above his head, more crystals.

I licked my finger, lifted one of the crystals off the wall and tasted it. Salt.

When I bent back Lugmor's stiff fingers and examined them, I found little pieces of dried gray matter sitting on top of the grease and dirt beneath the nails. I stood up and shuddered. Water stains; salt crystals; terror. It was as if something had risen from the sea-or the depths of Volsung-to strike Coop Lugmor dead.

But now I had another 'monster from Mirkwood' to contend with. I heard this one walk on its two legs through the door at the front, enter the living room, stop. I slowly turned to face Jake Bolesh and his leveled shotgun. He'd been waiting around a while, probably in the woods to the southwest; he was unshaven, and his eyes were bloodshot and black-rimmed; binoculars hung from a strap around his neck. His voice, when he spoke, was curiously flat.

'Old grudges die hard, don't they, Robby?'

'Hey, Jake,' I said as Bolesh slammed the cell door shut on me, 'have you seen the old B movie where the innocent victim tells the bad guy he won't get away with it?'

Bolesh turned and stared at me. His expression was strangely blank, his eyes dull; the gorilla had looked more human than Bolesh did at the moment. The liveliest part of him now was his hair; every strand of the pompadour was neatly combed into place, greased and gleaming.

'You're no innocent victim, Frederickson,' he said at last.

'What did you use to kill Coop?'

'I didn't kill Lugmor; you did. You came back home here a hotshot hero from New York City. You always thought you were better than anybody else. Now you were upset about your nephew's death, and you decided to use the occasion to even up some old scores while you were here. I know that, because you threatened me at least three times.'

'You think Mike Wallace is going to believe that?'

'I seriously doubt that Mike Wallace is going to show up in Peru County.'

'Come on, Jake, use your head. I may be a lot smaller than Coop, but you'll find I won't disappear anywhere near as easily.'

'No? We'll see.'

'How about a phone call? I want to speak to my girl friend.'

'The phone's out of order.'

'People will come looking for me.'

'Will they?'

'Garth, for one. You know that.'

He shrugged, touched the gun in the holster at his side.

'Jake, I really feel we should discuss this problem with a third party.'

'There isn't any problem.'

'I think we should negotiate what we're going to do with me.'

He stepped up to the bars, stared down at me. Now, studying him, I realized I'd made a mistake in thinking that his face and eyes were blank; I'd merely been looking at the surface of a black sea. Now I could see below the surface where great tides of rage and hatred swelled.

'What do you have to negotiate with, Frederickson?'

When things get bad, a moderate amount of worry is in order; when things get really bad, a person might as well laugh as cry. I managed a weak chuckle. 'I'll make you an offer, Jake. You give yourself up and sign a full confession, and I promise I'll appear at your trial as a character witness.'

Bolesh wasn't amused. 'You've got balls, Frederickson; I'll say that for you. Just like your parents.'

The laughter turned hot and choking in my throat. 'What about my parents?' I asked in a tone of voice just short of a plea.

'They're tough,' Bolesh said, a thin, cruel smile spreading like a skin disease across his face. 'I needed four men-one to grab hold of your mother, another to hold a gun on your father, and two to help me-to search their house. I'm afraid we made a mess of things. It's a shame we had to tear up the home of a nice old couple like that just because their dwarf son is a retard with a big nose who ignores good advice when he hears it.'

'Seriously, Jake,' I said, struggling to control a surging rage that was pumping my blood pressure up to the top of the graph, making everything around Bolesh seem red, 'you're a real shit. Leave my parents alone, for Christ's sake. Even you can't be dumb enough to think there's anything to gain in hurting them.'

'We found the papers you took from Volsung, Frederickson.'

'Ah.' My situation did not look good; it had dropped from really bad to near hopeless. 'Did you read them?'

'I destroyed them.'

An interesting admission, which wasn't likely to do me any good. It was time to swing down from the high wire, belly up to the green felt, and play. I squeezed up my first card, slapped it down on the table.

'Tell your people in Volsung that I want to see Mr. Lippitt.'

'Who's Lippitt?'

'He's an operative for the Defense Intelligence Agency, and he's probably in charge of the silly joke they call security out there.'

'Never heard of him.'

'It's possible you don't know his name, but he's there. Your bosses will sure as hell know who he is.'

Silence. A second card.

'Tell Lippitt I want to discuss the Valhalla Project. I may have put other files in other places; maybe I wrote some letters.'

Silence. A dangerous, razor-edged joker from high up in my sleeve.

'Tell your bosses to remind Lippitt that he owes me. If he doesn't show up here, I'm going to start shouting at the top of my lungs about a certain talented mutual friend of ours we're both interested in. Tell him there may be a lot of unmarked graves in Peru County, but the Russians and Chinese have big ears. They'll hear about our friend. You repeat every word I just said, Jake. I guarantee it will get a response, and the people at Volsung will thank you for it.'

'You're full of shit, Frederickson,' Bolesh said, and abruptly walked out of the cell block.

Lacking a lock pick and having absolutely nothing better to do, I lay down on the hard jail cot and proceeded to catch up on some of the sleep I'd lost the night before. I had a strong suspicion that, very soon, I was going to need all the strength and clear thinking I could muster.

I woke up to the sound of shouting. The voices were muffled by the thick wall between the cell block and the outer office, but one of the voices sounded wondrously familiar all the same.

'Goddamn it, Bolesh, I know he's in there! I want to see him now! You open that door or you're going to have more fucking lawyers in Peru City than you can fit into the town hall!'

My initial surge of relief immediately hardened into a sharp blade of anxiety that pressed against my heart. There was no way Bolesh and the Volsung Corporation were going to allow the loose cannon that was my brother to roll around Peru County.

'Garth!' I shouted, leaping off the cot and banging on the bars. 'Garth, run! Get the hell out of here! Don't let them take you!'

Garth had quick reflexes, and he was good with a gun. I hoped my warning shout would allow him to get the drop on Bolesh and any of the deputies who might be in the office. There were more muffled shouts, but no gunfire. There were the sounds of scuffling, large pieces of furniture being broken or overturned; the soft, thudding phonk of knuckles on flesh. Curses. Whatever was happening, Garth was giving as good as he got; if the outcome were still in doubt, at least it meant that my bull of a brother still had a chance.

'Come on, Garth!' I screamed. 'Do it, baby! Heeyai!'

There was another thump; deep, resonant. Ominous. Then I heard a heavy body fall to the floor. A few seconds later the door to the cell block opened and Jake Bolesh staggered through. His pomaded hair was thoroughly messed; it also looked slightly askew, as if Garth had pulled Bolesh's scalp down over his left ear. A toupee; very expensive, expertly fitted, but a rug just the same. Bolesh was bleeding from the mouth, and as he grimaced I thought I saw a large gap where a few front teeth were missing. His shirt was torn and flapping; all of