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Chapter Thirteen
JOHNNY SHONDELL SET down the fire extinguisher he was carrying and took out a pocketknife and knelt on one knee and sliced the ligatures on Clete’s wrists. The butt of a small semi-automatic protruded from the pocket of his jeans. He looked into Clete’s face. “You all right, Mr. Clete?” he said.
“No,” Clete said. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be all right. What happened?”
“I know some of the places they use. So I came here.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“You don’t want to find out.”
Clete shook his head. “This isn’t real.”
Johnny put his hand under Clete’s big arm and helped him to his feet. “Get all these memories out of your mind. There’s a world around us other people can’t see. You and Mr. Robicheaux found your way into it. That was a mistake. You got to undo the mistake. You hear me, Mr. Clete?”
“I’m not going to put up with this greaseball craziness, Johnny.”
“What day is it?”
Clete had to think. He had flown into Lauderdale on Friday. “Saturday morning.”
“It’s Monday,” Johnny said.
“It can’t be.”
“It is,” Johnny said.
“How’d I lose two days?”
“Maybe they used drugs on you. Maybe they didn’t need drugs. They have powers we don’t understand. The only thing they fear is discovery.”
“What?”
“They’re always out there. They don’t want people to know they exist. There’s good ones and bad ones.”
“Cut that out. What’s this place we’re in?”
“A junkyard.”
Clete started to shiver. The sky was still black, the rain still falling, twisting like drops of crystal. “You got a car?”
“A rental.”
“What about the cop who hit me with a blackjack?”
“I don’t know anything about a cop.”
“He was plainclothes,” Clete said. “He came to your motel room.”
“I don’t remember that,” Johnny said.
“We’re going to hunt down this guy and find out who he’s working for.”
“No, we’re not.”
Clete felt his legs going weak. His head began to spin, as though he were still suspended from the cable. His throat had never been so dry, even after weekend benders. Johnny steadied him with one hand. “My car is over here, Mr. Clete. I’m going to take you back to the hotel.”
Clete looked at the southern horizon. The waves were rolling out of the Straits, dark green and capping and glazed with the moon’s reflection. “What happened to the ship? The one with the masts and oars.”
