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The door swung open, and Sam escorted Evie through the dank basement speakeasy, past a rough crowd to a dark-paneled booth in the very back. It smelled like dust and stale booze wiped up by a stinky rag.
“Okay. Spill. What did you see?” Sam pressed.
“It all happened so fast. But it felt familiar, too. I’ve seen those very images in my dreams, Sam. And he knows James! You heard him—he told me to help James.”
“Doll, you don’t know that he meant your brother. That coulda been anybody named James.”
“No. Sam, I can’t explain it. It was a feeling. Just like you knew about your mother, I know he was talking about my brother.” Evie sipped her gin, grateful for the familiar warm sting of it as it burned down to her stomach. “What did he mean, the Eye has him?”
“Evie, he’s not right in the head.”
“Something terrible happened to Luther,” Evie said, staring into her cup. “I saw things in his mind that I’ve only seen inside my own dreams: The soldiers. The Victrola. The forest. It went by very quickly, but it was there. When Bob Bateman brought me James’s comb to read, he said somebody had paid him to do it. Men in dark suits. Luther said Shadow Men told him to shoot me. We saw two men in dark suits when we broke into the abandoned offices
of the Department of Paranormal. Somehow, this is all connected to Project Buffalo and us. I just know it is. And Luther Clayton is the key that unlocks these mysteries, Sam. I’ve simply got to talk to him again.”
“Well, good luck, doll. You just got us thrown out of there. That warden was not happy. How you gonna get back in?”
“I’ll think of something,” Evie said.
“Yes, you will. And that’s what I’m afraid of.”
The minute Evie returned to her hotel, she asked the operator to dial the number for the Daily News.
“Woody? It’s Evie.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Listen: That story on me forgiving Luther Clayton?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it right now.”
“Well, forget it. I’ve got a better story.”
There was a pause. “Okay. I’m all ears.”
When Evie had finished enlisting Woody’s help, she called Theta. “Theta, who’s your dearest friend?”
“Henry,” Theta replied.
“After Henry.”
“Memphis.”
“After Memphis,” Evie said, annoyed.
“I’m pretty fond of my doorman.”
“Theta!”
“I’m just pulling your leg, Evil. What plan is cooking up in that feverish noggin of yours? I can hear the diabolical wheels turning from here.”
“I need an acting job. How’d you like to come on my show tomorrow night?”
There was a pause followed by a heavy sigh. “Why do I know I’ll regret this?”
BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE
The next morning’s headline was a beauty:
