Chapter 18: In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning    (print this)

WHATEVER GODS OF CHANCE that had smiled on Henry so far, allowing him to survive the increasingly dangerous and bizarre rabbit-hole he had fallen down, kept smiling. He found one white SUV in the aboveground garage of the Underground House just sitting there, keys dangling from the ignition. Moving now on sheer adrenaline, Henry drove like the devil toward Maude's rented house in the Scotch 80s.

He tried desperately not to think he was too late, drove pictures of Mangopoulos and his hitmen out of his mind. But they were all too readily replaced with images of Napoleon Hendryx, dying before him. Henry drove like a madman, hoping against hope some cop would tear off after him. He would lead them straight to these evil fuckers. Henry cursed himself, daring not to stop for a phone. Not too late, not too late...

But none of Metro's finest took notice. When Henry pulled off of Shadow Lane, he forced himself to slow down, realizing he might be blundering right into them, unarmed and covered in Gus' blood. He slowed a block away from the house, looking around the car's interior for anything he could use as a weapon. Fortune smiled, if for a moment, once more when he felt the long cold barrel on the floorboard behind him. Pulling it up, he found he held a sawed off shotgun in his hands.

Henry took a deep breath, and stopped the car. The street was utterly quiet. He got out, peering the length of the block, looking for some sign. But then, these killers wouldn't make a lot of noise, would they? Eyes darting this way and that, Henry jogged down the sidewalk, keeping as best he could to the shadows.

There were no cars anywhere near the house. Henry approached cautiously, holding the shotgun with both hands, hands that were trembling now. He peered around the edge of the open gate into the driveway. Nothing. The house was dark.

Henry breathed for a long minute, thinking. Should call the police, just call the police, a voice said. But he ignored it. This was beyond personal now, and Henry took another deep breath and exhaled, as an inarticulate rage and fear rose up in him again. With the next breath, he was running from the street up the driveway, ready to shoot the first Greek thug he saw.

Henry practically threw himself against the front door, slipping and hitting it with a heavy thump. Jesus, he thought to himself, hold the fuck up there, Mannix. He listened for a moment. Nothing, not a sound. The fear hit him in another, sickening wave. Too late, I'm too late, they're dead— He shook it off, and his hand went to the doorknob.

The door swung open into darkness.

Henry stopped breathing. He looked for a long terrible moment, then plunged into the pitch black vestibule. He listened, and fumbled for the light switch, bracing himself for what it would reveal. Like a condemned man watching the lever fall, he flipped it.

Everything was as it should be. The décor, the faux Grecian urns, the chaise lounge on which he and Maude had sat for many an evening, sometimes under the baleful eye of Stephanie or the distracted eye of Europa. The living room was empty, and perfectly undisturbed.

Henry blinked. At last he called out, "Maude?" Nothing. "MAUDE?" He moved swiftly through the house, calling, flipping on lights. The house looked as if it was a furnished model, untouched by habitation. He moved from room to room, coming at last to the small sculpture studio, the one where he had passed so many hours these past months, talking with her, watching her. He paused, afraid almost to swing the heavy door open.

When he did, he found it as empty as the rest, every piece, work in progress, every tool, gone. But it was clear from the dirt, scrapes and disordered dust of things moved that everything had been taken out in a hurry.

Henry stood there, a little dumbfounded. Had they taken them? But why take everything, all the materials, if their intentions were merely murderous? Henry called out again, this time to Stephanie, to Europa. Silence came back.

Henry looked around the bare studio, still cradling the shotgun like a child in his arms. As his thought raced, his eyes fell on the heavy steel door at the far end of the room, the one that led to Maude's private studio; a studio that even in all their nights of growing intimacy, she had never allowed him to enter. "I have to keep some secrets, or you shall grow bored, like all men," she said with a strange laugh, that at once was sparkling and strangled. Henry would merely smile, for the one time he had tried to tease her, saying "Careful, or I'll start feeling like Bluebeard's wife," a look so dark and painful passed over her face he felt he had just stabbed her.

All those nights these past months had been like that. Something light, warm growing, then shrinking away from unexpected blasts of frost, as if winter refused to yield. Now, Henry walked slowly toward that door, the shotgun dropping to his side. He wondered—

But no. When he pulled it open, the great dark space—much larger than he had anticipated—was empty, too. Completely empty. Looking down, he saw lighter squares checkerboarding the stained concrete. They were the same size, he realized in a flash, as the pedestals Maude had used for the Tarot sculptures.

Henry tried to think things through. Did they have enough men and vehicles to abduct all three women and such large pieces? Impossible, thought Henry... though his memories of coming to in the Underground House were sketchy. By the time he could make sense of things, they were gone. How many men did this maniac have? A small army? Henry looked around the room, about to cry out in helpless frustration.

That was when a soft, scuffling sound made the hair on his neck rise.

Henry turned around slowly. He could see nothing through the doors he had moved through. He stood absolutely still, head cocked. There, again: a scuffling, like a shoe on concrete. Someone was in the first studio behind him.

Henry barely breathed as he raised the shotgun with one hand, stepping gingerly toward the open door. He listened for a long moment until he thought he heard the sound again. It was close. Just around the corner.

Mannix time, thought Henry, his heart beating so loud he could almost hear nothing else. Grabbing the shotgun with his other hand he swung suddenly around the corner and screamed "Freeze!" in a voice so cracking it could have been an adolescent's.

An extraordinarily large wall slowly held up its hands. The wall, who Henry quickly realized was in fact a black man in a dark blue suit who could easily have been an entire defensive line, looked at Henry impassively. "Whoa, there," he said in an impossibly soft voice. "No need for that, hoss."

Henry leveled the shotgun at the wall's center, which looked as if a shell would have tickled it for a moment before the wall fell upon him and ripped his head off. "Who," managed Henry, practically panting, "are you?"

The wall stared at him with dark eyes that seemed very accustomed to having guns pointed at him. "That depends. Is your name Henry Bethel?"

Henry's own eyes narrowed in what he hoped was a dangerously crazy manner. "Yes," he said carefully, his finger sweaty and aching against the trigger.

The wall that walked like a man suddenly smiled. "Then my name is Tell. You're the man I was sent to find."

"By who? Who sent you? Where's Maude?" Henry barked in a rush, still waving the shotgun. Tell had not put his arms down, but now he did, like two great wings coming to rest on either side of an unperturbed and majestic eagle.

"This would be a lot less stressful, man, if you lowered that gun." Again, the soft voice, almost a whisper.

Henry looked at him, still holding the gun, a dim memory stirring. He had seen this character somewhere before... "I'll lower this gun when you've answered some questions... man." Henry was sweating, his stomach roiling; at any moment, he thought to himself, I'm going to throw up and this behemoth is going to kill me.

Tell shook his head softly, and was about to speak, when the tinny but unmistakable chimes of Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" slid from his inside his breast pocket. Tell looked at Henry as the refrain repeated. "I really need to take that, man," he said.

Henry nodded, holding the shotgun steady as Tell reached into his pocket and removed a cell phone far too small for his massive hands. He flipped it open and said, clearly, "Tell."

He nodded, and held the phone out to Henry. "It's for you," he said simply.

Henry blinked, then edged forward, trying hard not to let the shotgun quiver in his grip, and took the proffered phone from the giant's mitt. He held it up to his ear.

"Henry? Henry, are you all right?" Her voice.

"Maude! My god, am I all right, are YOU all right? Where are you? What's happened?" It came out in a relieved babbling rush.

"Henry, it's all right. I'm all right, we're all right. We had a warning. We're someplace safe."

"Where? Maude, where are you?"

"Henry, I-I... just a moment..." Voices in the background. "Henry, I must go, I must attend to the sculptures. Go with Tell, he'll bring you to us."

"Oh Maude... Maude I thought—" Henry couldn't finish, his voice suddenly choking.

"Come to me, Henry. As quick as you can. Must go." And the line went dead.

Henry smiled, at last lowering the shotgun. His whole body slumped a little. "That was her," he said stupidly.

Tell smiled. "Yeah, man, I know," he said. "Listen. I'm supposed take you to her. We need to get you cleaned up, though." Henry looked down at his blood soaked shirt for the first time since he had escaped Gus, and very nearly did retch. Tell took him by the arm, putting the shotgun aside, leading him, as tenderly as a human wall could, down the hall. He felt as if he might collapse with each step, so exhausted in mind and body. But his heart was beating normally once more. Maude was safe.

As they exited the house, Henry felt a million questions rising to his lips, but instead he merely looked up at Tell and remembered where he had seen him. A little cloud of anxiety stole over his face once more. "You... you work for Win Stephenson, don't you? You're head of his whole security operation."

Tell smiled. "That's it, hoss."

Henry felt a little cold. "That means that Maude and her assistants... and all her works... if they're safe, they must be..."

"That's right," Tell said again in his low voice. The moon was high and full above Las Vegas as they walked down the driveway to the waiting hulk of a big, black Hummer. Tell opened the door and said, "Next stop, Rancho Diablo."