The Devil's Paradise Page 8

  “You know, it just might be hooked up to cable,” said Jeremy as he moved the backpack to the other side of the duffel bag. A single white cord lay fully exposed where the backpack had been. Jeremy traced its path from the television to a bundle of wires hanging down from a hole cut in the basement’s newly extended ceiling, near the earthen wall closest to the desk. “Yep, I believe it is. Go ahead and turn it on.”

  Deshawn turned on the TV and located CNN before joining Jeremy and Jack on the couch, sitting between them. After a ten minute sports report on the NBA and NHL playoffs ended, a special update came on the air concerning the latest information in the search for the brothers. According to the report, federal and local authorities had intensified their search for the pair in the Tuscaloosa area.

  A spokesperson for the FBI further stated, “…we are increasing security measures since evidence indicates the Kenney brothers intend to violently sabotage graduation ceremonies this weekend. The entire university campus and surrounding areas will remain on heightened alert….”

  The spokesperson went on to say, “…these men are armed and extremely dangerous. We believe they may be traveling in a dark blue, late model Nissan Altima, license number ‘LPH 719’, stolen earlier this evening from a residential area just east of Birmingham. If anyone has information regarding these men or the vehicle just described, please contact the FBI or the National Support Office for Crime Stoppers immediately.” After giving the numbers for the FBI and Crime Stoppers, the news update concluded by stating the reward of $150,000, originally posted eighteen hours ago, was now up to $250,000.

  Jack looked over at Jeremy mystified, scarcely believing the incredible allegations from the CNN news report. Neither one expected such a wild story as a planned sabotage against their alma mater. A likely excuse for a heavier dragnet to flush them out into the open, the near-doubled reward made it all that much worse.

  Understanding the full implications to their present safety, they both looked at Deshawn warily, whose eyes were still locked on the television screen until the next commercial break took place. He finally noticed how they stared at him suspiciously.

  “What’s up with you two?” he asked casually, glancing back and forth between them. All at once their silent accusations hit him. “Oh, no, man. You don’t think...Shit, ya’ll know me better than that! I ain’t some fucking snitch!! ”

  He sat up straight, a mixture of sharp anger and hurt clearly evident in his face as he continued to alternate his attention between them.

  “Why would I even bother getting your supplies together?? I mean, the goddamn cops in the 7-Eleven watched me like I was dealing dope! It wasn’t until I picked up some pork rinds and some other black shit that the motherfuckers turned their attention away from me!

  “Yeah, I realize that’s a whole lot of money to be throwing around,” he continued, trembling from wounded feelings. “But, ya’ll are like family to me—closer than most of my own kin! Jeremy, you know that’s true!! I mean, how many secrets have you shared with me over the past five years that I’ve divulged to anyone?? None—not even to Jack! You’ve always been able to trust me, man, and that’ll never change!! Someone would have to kill me first, ‘cause no amount of money could change my loyalty to either of you!!”

  He lowered his head, shaking it slowly, seeming on the verge of tears.

  Jack and Jeremy studied him in silence, their suspicion transformed into embarrassed looks.

  “Deshawn…we owe you an enormous apology,” said Jeremy, quietly. “Just try to keep in mind what we’ve been through over the years. There’s recent shit, too, that I’ll tell you about in a while. Hopefully, it’ll help you understand why we’re so fucking paranoid. I mean, I love you man, and you know Jackie feels the same way. We’re just in a spot right now where we can’t afford to make a wrong move. Everything—including you, our best friend in the world—has to be looked at critically.” He glanced over at Jack. “We both can tell you’re being straight with us—just like you’ve always been. I’m sorry we made you feel bad, but we’ll get through this...together. Just be prepared for us to be a little skittish until this shit blows over, man. All right?”

  Deshawn met Jeremy’s serious gaze with his own, finally nodding his head to indicate he accepted his apology. Jack placed his hand firmly on Deshawn’s shoulder to assure him of his trust. Since the television report had ended, Jeremy turned off the TV and moved over to the duffel bag and opened it. Deshawn grabbed his backpack and did the same. Both were stuffed to the point of tearing, and once opened, their contents spilled out onto the floor.

  “Did you remember the extra stuff I told you about?” Jeremy asked Deshawn, smiling mischievously while removing the last few items from the duffel bag.

  “If you’re meaning your cancer sticks, I’ve got them right here,” he said, clearing his sinuses before reaching into a side pocket of the backpack. He pulled out a carton of Marlboro 100’s and handed them to Jeremy, while Jack looked on in horror.

  “Thanks, my good man!” Jeremy nearly ripped open the first pack of smokes to get to the first cigarette. “I don’t believe I could’ve gone much further without ‘em.”

  “When did you start smoking again?” asked Jack, not recovered from the initial shock of seeing his brother smoke for the first time in nearly six years.

  “Tonight,” said Jeremy. “I’m starting again tonight. I can’t take anymore bullshit without the help of my little friends here, Jackie.”

  He placed the cigarette between his lips, and Deshawn lit it for him using a silver lighter that he also used to light the slim cigar he carefully balanced between his own lips.

  “Who knows,” Jeremy continued, coughing slightly after exhaling a small stream of smoke. “Maybe this will be a short lived phase that’ll last only as long as this fucking misadventure of ours.”

  “So, what else did you bring us, Deshawn?”

  Jack searched for something to distract him from the disturbing sight of watching his brother reacquaint himself with a vice he’d long since conquered.

  “Man, I brought you everything I could think of,” he replied, releasing his own stream of smoke as he exhaled. He seemed much calmer, and his jovial nature fully returned. “You know I’m talking about real food, man, like meat and shit like that. None of those little pocket pizzas and other white-boy crap ya’ll like to eat. But I did get you a couple boxes of Pop tarts in case ya’ll are on the run and you can’t stop for a decent meal.”

  He smiled and winked at Jeremy, poking fun at his fickle eating habits.

  “What? There’s pancake mix and syrup, molasses, biscuits, eggs, ham and bacon in here, too!” Jeremy announced as the last items in the duffel bag now sat neatly upon the cement floor. “Where are you planning to cook this shit, Chef Boyardee?”

  “This is a big fancy house, right?” replied Deshawn. “I’ll bet there’s a big ole motherfucking kitchen that surely has a ‘Susie easy-bake’ expensive oven. It’ll be purring like a pussy once it sees the likes of me! Oh yeah!! I can tell by that look in your eye, man—I’m right about that shit! And just as sure as I’m the very finest chef in all of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, there’s got to be some wonderfully gorgeous pots and pans to cook a decent breakfast for us all in the morning! Ain’t I right so far? Just keep dreamin’ your half as good a cook as ‘Chef Boyardee’…. I mean, you can’t cook a damn thing if it requires more than ‘just add water to it’!!”

  He flashed his radiant smile while Jeremy chuckled.

  Grateful the awkwardness had passed, Jack searched for the makings of his and Jeremy’s long overdue dinner. The amount of food and other things Deshawn managed to stuff inside the duffel bag and backpack amazed him. Among these were several quart jugs of milk and orange juice, two twelve-packs of beer and Coke, six loaves of bread, four boxes of macaroni & cheese, at least ten bags of chips and other snacks, several boxes of cereal, some butter, beanie weenies, a jar of peanut butter, and other edibles. Deshawn also packed som
e toothpaste and toothbrushes, along with generic shampoo and a bar of soap. He even included a change of clothes for each of them. The only item not intended for their use was a worn basketball, which Deshawn almost always took with him. The object was for good luck as much as he simply still loved to play whenever an opportunity presented itself.

  Jack picked up a box of mac & cheese and a Coke from the twelve-pack, and told the other two he was headed upstairs to fix his late-night dinner. Deshawn and Jeremy decided to join him, since Deshawn wanted to explore the upstairs’ rooms of this magnificent home while Jeremy ate with Jack.

  “Remember to stick with the flashlights while we’re up here, ya’ll, and keep the beams pointed low and away from the windows,” Jeremy advised once they reached the top of the stairwell. “The only open curtains are in the dining room, I believe. So we should be all right. But just to be safe, we’ll need to be cautious moving from room to room. Ya’ll with me?”

  Jack and Deshawn told him they were, and he cautiously opened the basement door. The main floor eerily quiet, he stepped out of the stairwell and into the kitchen. Jack followed close behind and soon they rummaged through the cupboards looking for utensils to go with the copper pan Jeremy grabbed from above the kitchen island. Meanwhile, Deshawn began his exploration of the upper floor of the estate. Though somewhat austere, Jack and Jeremy enjoyed their first meal in nearly twelve hours by flashlight once they located everything needed. Deshawn rejoined them in the kitchen just before they finished.

  “Ma-a-a-n-n-n, this place is Cat Daddy!” he told them. “Even in the dark you can tell there’s some serious money invested here. Did ya’ll check out that Chippendale suite in the master bedroom and the huge marble bath with all the gold plated fixtures and shit? Not to mention all the expensive furniture on this floor and that fucking enormous wall-mounted television in the den. It’s one of the latest HD models, so there’s probably twenty to thirty grand in that alone. I told you Oscar Mensch was worth a hell of a lot more than what he had in that bungalow of his and the old VW he drove.”

  “This place doesn’t really belong to Oscar,” said Jeremy. “According to what we found in his journals and notes downstairs, it belongs to some guy named Mohammed Quard-e-Lazim, who Oscar had known long before he ever came to Alabama. Apparently, this dude’s involved in almost everything that’s going on here. It’ll all make a hell of lot more sense once you read the stuff I set aside for you downstairs.”

  “Maybe so,” whispered Deshawn. He turned toward the living room and pointed his flashlight in that direction, peering from side to side as if trying to see something.

  “What’s up, man?” asked Jack.

  “‘Not sure,” Deshawn replied, still looking toward the living room. “I know for a fact there’s nobody else in here with us, but the whole time I was away from ya’ll checking everything out, I kept feeling like someone was right behind me. I’d turn to look, and of course no one was there. But as soon as I went back to whatever I was doing before, I’d feel that same shit again. It’s got me feeling a little jumpy, man.”

  “Well, that’s one experience all three of us have now shared. The same thing happened to Jackie and me earlier tonight,” observed Jeremy. He motioned for Jack to help him clean up the small mess they’d created while preparing their meal. “I’ll tell you more about it later on, but for now let’s go back downstairs. The sooner we get through the stuff in the basement, the sooner we can get some rest.”

  ***

  Jeremy lit his second cigarette just before they returned to the basement, and all three cast wary glances over their shoulders on the way down the stairs. Once they reached the desk, Deshawn sat down and examined the same journals and correspondence that Jeremy and Jack had read, starting with Dr. Mensch’s note to them.

  The brothers returned to the couch and turned on the TV while they waited for Deshawn to finish. Rather than further distress themselves watching news reports, they settled on a movie from Turner Classics, disappointed that Oscar or Dr. Quard-e-Lazim hadn’t opted for premium channels like HBO or Starz.

  Known for his reading speed throughout his collegiate years, Deshawn took longer than either Kenney expected to complete his review of Dr. Mensch’s writings. Nearly an hour passed before they realized he’d gone over some of the material several times. Holding the journal and diary entries, he walked over to them.

  “So, Oscar was once some guy named Viktor Seiverlich, huh?” he mused aloud. “This gets weirder by the moment. And this thing out here must be the Estrella De la Sangre, or at least what’s left of it. Knowing you two, you’ve probably already located the Cristal Del Sol that’s mentioned here. Right?”

  “Yes,” said Jeremy. “So far you’re on target.”

  “Then, where is it—the Cristal Del Sol?”

  Deshawn’s eagerness to get to the main prize reminded Jack so much of his brother’s inability to savor the actual quest in getting there. Jeremy surprised him when he decided to wait on revealing the crystal sphere’s location.

  “We have every intention of letting you examine it,” Jeremy told him. “But, there are a few things you need to know first in order to keep everything in its proper perspective.”

  “Like what, Jeremy? You’re not going to lead this horse to drink and then pull the trough away, are you now?”

  Deshawn seemed a little irritated, and Jack knew his brother didn’t have long to appease their buddy’s curiosity before he got testy.

  “Well, for one thing, an agent in Virginia actually befriended Jackie,” Jeremy explained. “You may have heard the guy’s name mentioned in the news reports, Special Agent Peter McNamee. We were framed for his murder even though the four agents I killed in self-defense murdered him in cold blood. Just like they planned to do to us.

  “This Agent McNamee shared some pretty heavy shit with Jackie that has since been verified by what we’ve discovered down here. You’ve learned from Dr. Seiverlich’s journal, Dr. Mensch’s diary notes, and the circle of tables behind us that there are eight deities known as the Children of Elohim. Agent McNamee told Jackie there are eight giant towers headed for Alabama right now, including one that’s often disguised as an F5 tornado causing heavy damage in eastern Mississippi.”

  “Don’t fuck with me man, are you serious?” said Deshawn, his irritation melting away.

  “As a fucking heart attack, man,” replied Jeremy.

  “That’s so fucked up!” Deshawn’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “So, we’re talking about the same slow-moving storm system from Mississippi that crossed into western Alabama earlier tonight, right? It’s already killed a hundred and fifty people, man! I saw a video of one tornado near Meridian, Mississippi on CNN yesterday. I swear the funnel cloud looked like it had something alive and highly volatile in the center of it! The picture was a little blurred and the actual image hard to see. But for maybe five seconds it sure as hell looked like some enormous object was shimmering inside the cloud. It was golden-orange in color, and for some crazy reason it made me think of the ‘pillar of fiery smoke’ that hovered above the tabernacle when Jehovah led the Israelites through the desert toward the Promised Land after they fled Egypt long ago”

  “Well, maybe He’s using an appearance like that again,” said Jack. “Only this time, Jehovah seems to be heading across the Atlantic toward the United States on His way to us. At least, that’s what Agent McNamee indicated to me about the tower on its way here from Israel. Apparently, Washington’s pretty shook up about it all.”

  “And, six of the other deities you read about in Dr. Seiverlich’s journal are on their way here, too, from the very continents and countries he mentioned,” added Jeremy, finding it hard to contain his own excitement. “Did you recognize Nyame, the goddess from Africa?”

  “Yeah, I did,” said Deshawn, his tone much quieter, as if sorting through what they told him and the recent news reports concerning Mississippi and Alabama. “She’s an ancient goddess of the Congo. I’m quite famil
iar with Sekhnet and Mithra too. Most everyone in the world is familiar with deities like Jehovah and Shiva.”

  “And now they’re all heading here. Right here to this house, to this god-forsaken basement!” said Jack, more fearful than excited. “Somehow, we’re supposed to figure this thing out for Oscar, or Viktor. We know these tables and the Cristal Del Sol are part of the equation—perhaps they’re most of what we need. But, I’m feeling more and more that there’s something else important that we’ve either missed or hasn’t been revealed just yet. Maybe it has something to do with Dr. Quard-e-Lazim.”

  “Or, maybe it has something to do with Genovene,” offered Deshawn.

  Jack stiffened where he sat while his mind raced to find a missing connection here. Physically and mentally drained, it was remotely possible he carelessly mentioned her name to Deshawn in the past. But after scanning his memory, he determined there was no way in hell he could’ve slipped up. Someone else did. He slowly turned to face his brother, the anger in his face revealing the accusation in his heart.

  “All right, Jackie,” Jeremy sighed, reaching in his shirt pocket for another cigarette. “He knows, man. Deshawn’s known about Genovene for probably four years now. But, he’s the only one I’ve ever told and I’d bet my very life he’s never told anyone else.”

  “How could you?” whispered Jack, his anger seething. “How could you, goddamn it?”

  He got up from the couch and glared at Jeremy, who remained seated, as if bracing himself for the verbal assault sure to continue.

  “What in the hell were you thinking? Did you tell him everything??”

  “I think so.”

  “A-a-u-g-g-h-h!!”

  Jack’s anger ignited his hazel eyes, turning them a shade brighter. He stomped away from Jeremy and Deshawn until he reached the edge of the card table holding Sekhnet’s crate. He stood with his back to them, trembling, and for the moment refusing to turn around and face either one.