Philip couldn't believe his eyes. The manor at Costa Verde was the only home he ever had, and it was gone forever. Hayes still told him not to worry about Jacobi, that he'd probably run off to one of his other manors spread around the country (the one in Alabama, perhaps), but Philip wouldn't hear it. Jacobi was dead, and he knew it. He could feel it, like a finger on his hand or hair brushing against the back of his neck. The sensation was there, and it couldn't be denied.
"What do we do? Oh, God, what do we do?" Jenn asked, desperate for an answer. Her entire future had depended on a man who wasn't there.
Vitus tried to calm her. He held her close and whispered in her ear, but he had no answers for her. In fact, he could just barely keep himself calm. If not for the support of Jenn's body, which he found himself wrapped around, he was fairly certain that he would crumple to the ground and never be able to get up.
They wandered over the ruins, piecing the manor and themselves back together. They looked for something, anything that might help them or give them answers to questions that pounded against doors inside their heads, and Philip found it first. The others gathered around. A new, white pedestal (which Vitus couldn't help but noticed a miniature, freestanding Doric column) stood at the very center of where the manor once was, and upon it was a small figurine--the Virgin Mary carved entirely from jade.
"What is it?" Hayes asked.
Vitus answered, "It's a message. It says that Malcolm Ivanovich did this."
Philip took the figurine in his hand and placed it in a bag. At that very moment, regret flooded into Vitus Bethel's entire body. Oh, how he wished now that he'd put a bullet in Ivanovich's head when he had the chance. Maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe everything would have worked out in the end, yet Vitus couldn't help but feel that his humanity, his willingness to let another man live, had doomed them all.
"Let's go," said Philip.
"Where?" Hayes asked. Vitus and Jenn wondered as well, but they didn't quite feel like talking out loud at the moment.
"Tonight, we have a wake. We'll drink and say our goodbyes to Aristotle Jacobi," he said. "Tomorrow, I hunt down the man who did this and kill him."
Ten hours and several hundred miles later, the crew found themselves in a dark bar that smelled like smoke and only smoke. Their hotel was next door, and while the rooms they had rented for the night were small and musty, they were adequate for a night's sleep.
Philip picked the table--one that was far off in the corner and nowhere near any of the others--and volunteered to pay for the drinks. The day had been long and horrible, and though none of the crew (with the notable exception of Hayes) were heavy drinkers, they agreed that it might be just what they needed to take the edge off.
"Four whiskeys," said Philip, leaning against the bar, "Baliol, if you have it."
They did. Philip proudly told them that this was Mister Jacobi's drink of choice. Though it may not have been their own, Vitus and Jenn drank it down but declined seconds. Philip and Hayes, on the other hand, took their time, downing glass after glass of whiskey as the antique-dealer and his partner watched uncomfortably.
"So tell us about Jacobi," said Jenn, figuring Philip had loosened himself up enough to have an actual conversation that had nothing to do with plans and schemes and shooting people.
"He was a good man," said Philip. "He'd been like a father to me my entire life, especially after my real one passed away."
"I'm sorry," said Jenn, biting back her lip.
"Don't be. This is a wake," said Philip, holding up his glass. "We're here to celebrate and remember. I've worked my Mister Jacobi for as long as I can remember, and so did my dad. I guess you could say we were his assistants. At the very least, we did his dirty work."
"What kind of work was that?" asked Vitus.
"Trading, mostly," Philip replied. "Not exactly the sort of dirty work we're performing now, though. Mister Jacobi was a collector of everything, so we did lots of buying and trading on his behalf."
"He was well off, Jacobi was," Hayes added. "He came from old money--coal or steel or something along those lines, anyway. Some people'd say he was squandering everything he inherited, but the old man knew better. He wasn't just collecting, he was preserving. He thought he was doing this world a service. You've heard of people living in the past. Well, that's Jacobi for ya."
"It was more than that," said Philip between long sips. "He saw this world as hovering on the brink of destruction. He'd go on and on about what was wrong with it. It was the technology that he hated most, but that's not to say he didn't see the merits of preserving human life more efficiently. He could see the other edge of that sword, though. We aren't just improving the quality of life--we're making it increasingly meaningless, according to him at least. Even as computers bring us together, they separate us more. Have you ever noticed how many people you talk to nowadays that you don't even get to see face-to-face? We're so distant from each other, separated by a digital boundary that can never replace traditional relationships."
"It sounds like you believe what he was saying," said Vitus. Philip shrugged.
"That's good, though, right?" said Jenn. "I mean, he may be gone, but his beliefs are still around."
Hayes looked into his almost empty glass and shook his head. "Just because he spouts it out don't mean he believes it. No offense, Phil, but when I think of the champion of traditional relationships, you ain't the one who springs to mind."
Jenn felt the sudden urge to change the subject. "So who is this Rasputin, anyway?" she asked. "Is he some kind of Russian mob boss or something?"
"No," said Philip, "just a very competitive collector."
"Wait, that's all? An antique collector is sending hitmen after us and killing his competition? He must think the settee is magic just like Jacobi did, right?" she asked.
"I suppose," said Vitus. "But just for a second, imagine if it was real, imagine what somebody could do if they wanted to start a new revolution with it. They could rule the world."
"Yep," said Jenn. "And it's sitting in our hotel room right now. Hey, Vitus, when we get back, we should test it out or something. We could try to make all the dogs in the world revolt against people."
"I don't know," said Vitus. "I'm allergic, after all."
"Okay, then how about something more social? I bet we could make everyone in America turn vegetarian if we really wanted."
"That might be fun. I am awfully fond of rhubarb, especially in pie form."
Jenn smiled. "I know."
Hayes chuckled and shook his head. "I've seen enough Twilight Zone to know you shouldn't screw around with stuff like that, even if it's just hearsay."
"He's got a point," said Vitus.
"Honestly, I don't see how things could get much worse at the moment," said Jenn.
"There's always a way," said Philip, draining his glass. "For instance, someone working either for Rasputin and/or Ivanovich has been watching us, and Ivanovich has gone to so much trouble to make sure we know it. They're messing with us, and they're not going to stop until they have the settee and we're all dead. We'll have to split up, I suppose. I'll go back to Anchorage to find Ivanovich. Hayes, I want you to take these two to one of Mister Jacobi's other manors, and we'll rendezvous later."
Hayes was about to protest, but Vitus responded first. In the last few moments, Vitus had been aligning the puzzle pieces in his brain. It was a very large puzzle, and it seemed that a few of the pieces might have been missing, but he believed that with a little guesswork, he could properly assemble what he did have.
"Ivanovich isn't in Anchorage," said Vitus. "He wanted us to know that he'd played a part in Jacobi's death, and as boastful as he may be, he's an even bigger coward. He won't simply go back to his house in Alaska and wait for us to come to him. He's gone into hiding, telling us that we've missed our chance to catch him. Jacobi has manors scattered all across the country, right?"
"Right," said Philip. "Across the world, to be more accurate."
"Well, he's not the only one. Ivanovich owns a very profitable delivery company that caters to people like us, dealers and collectors alike, and I know for a fact that he owns several warehouses in the United States alone. My guess is that if we start hitting these places, we'll find Ivanovich sooner or later," said Vitus.
"Beating the bushes to find a snake," said Hayes. "I like it, kiddo. Good thinking."
"These warehouses," said Philip, "you know where they are?"
"A few. I believe I heard you say Jacobi has a manor in Alabama."
Philip nodded. "Not far from Mobile."
Vitus smirked. Ivanovich, he knew, had a place in the same general area. He recalled shipping a particular late 19th century armoire to a town called Starfall near Mobile Bay. He also recalled that the shipping took two days.
"All right then, on the day after tomorrow, we start looking for a way out of this mess," said Vitus.
"So when you say we're going to start hitting these places, exactly what does that entail?" asked Jenn.
Vitus was only slightly annoyed. After all, he had just made a rather decisive and dramatic statement--the sort that should have ended the conversation with all the participants nodding, followed by a montage of the crew preparing their things for the journey ahead. But it was Jenn, so he really didn't mind undoing his perfect moment and settling for something a little more ragged and uneven.
"We ransack them," said Vitus. "We'll do whatever we must to make sure Ivanovich knows we were there."
"And if they're lucky," added Philip, "the least we'll do is burn them to the ground."
"Oh," said Jenn.
"Sounds like we got ourselves a plan," said Hayes.
At this point, Jenn was tired and no longer felt like watching two men drink themselves stupid, even though she knew how thoroughly entertaining such a spectacle could be. She felt the need to retire to the hotel room she shared with Vitus for the night, where the settee sat waiting for them, still trapped in its wooden crate with the word FRAGILE spray painted on the side, and yet she felt uneasy when alone with it, as if it tempted her--a simple girl with mostly nonexistent dreams of ruling the world--with its promises of revolutions both bloody and bloodless. Though given the choice, she would vastly prefer bloodless.
"Do you two know which direction to stumble when you finish drinking?" she asked Philip and Hayes. They muttered affirmatively. "Fine," she said. "We'll go guard the settee for awhile."
She took Vitus by the hand and whispered into his ear, and the antique-dealer and his partner left the corner table in the bar with the intention of lounging around in their hotel room, watching the settee (and, most likely, the television) until they fell asleep. As they exited the bar, though, the two men in dark suits who had been playing billiards at the other end of the room abruptly ended their game and followed them out to the parking lot, where their long, black car was waiting.
"What do we do? Oh, God, what do we do?" Jenn asked, desperate for an answer. Her entire future had depended on a man who wasn't there.
Vitus tried to calm her. He held her close and whispered in her ear, but he had no answers for her. In fact, he could just barely keep himself calm. If not for the support of Jenn's body, which he found himself wrapped around, he was fairly certain that he would crumple to the ground and never be able to get up.
They wandered over the ruins, piecing the manor and themselves back together. They looked for something, anything that might help them or give them answers to questions that pounded against doors inside their heads, and Philip found it first. The others gathered around. A new, white pedestal (which Vitus couldn't help but noticed a miniature, freestanding Doric column) stood at the very center of where the manor once was, and upon it was a small figurine--the Virgin Mary carved entirely from jade.
"What is it?" Hayes asked.
Vitus answered, "It's a message. It says that Malcolm Ivanovich did this."
Philip took the figurine in his hand and placed it in a bag. At that very moment, regret flooded into Vitus Bethel's entire body. Oh, how he wished now that he'd put a bullet in Ivanovich's head when he had the chance. Maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe everything would have worked out in the end, yet Vitus couldn't help but feel that his humanity, his willingness to let another man live, had doomed them all.
"Let's go," said Philip.
"Where?" Hayes asked. Vitus and Jenn wondered as well, but they didn't quite feel like talking out loud at the moment.
"Tonight, we have a wake. We'll drink and say our goodbyes to Aristotle Jacobi," he said. "Tomorrow, I hunt down the man who did this and kill him."
***
Ten hours and several hundred miles later, the crew found themselves in a dark bar that smelled like smoke and only smoke. Their hotel was next door, and while the rooms they had rented for the night were small and musty, they were adequate for a night's sleep.
Philip picked the table--one that was far off in the corner and nowhere near any of the others--and volunteered to pay for the drinks. The day had been long and horrible, and though none of the crew (with the notable exception of Hayes) were heavy drinkers, they agreed that it might be just what they needed to take the edge off.
"Four whiskeys," said Philip, leaning against the bar, "Baliol, if you have it."
They did. Philip proudly told them that this was Mister Jacobi's drink of choice. Though it may not have been their own, Vitus and Jenn drank it down but declined seconds. Philip and Hayes, on the other hand, took their time, downing glass after glass of whiskey as the antique-dealer and his partner watched uncomfortably.
"So tell us about Jacobi," said Jenn, figuring Philip had loosened himself up enough to have an actual conversation that had nothing to do with plans and schemes and shooting people.
"He was a good man," said Philip. "He'd been like a father to me my entire life, especially after my real one passed away."
"I'm sorry," said Jenn, biting back her lip.
"Don't be. This is a wake," said Philip, holding up his glass. "We're here to celebrate and remember. I've worked my Mister Jacobi for as long as I can remember, and so did my dad. I guess you could say we were his assistants. At the very least, we did his dirty work."
"What kind of work was that?" asked Vitus.
"Trading, mostly," Philip replied. "Not exactly the sort of dirty work we're performing now, though. Mister Jacobi was a collector of everything, so we did lots of buying and trading on his behalf."
"He was well off, Jacobi was," Hayes added. "He came from old money--coal or steel or something along those lines, anyway. Some people'd say he was squandering everything he inherited, but the old man knew better. He wasn't just collecting, he was preserving. He thought he was doing this world a service. You've heard of people living in the past. Well, that's Jacobi for ya."
"It was more than that," said Philip between long sips. "He saw this world as hovering on the brink of destruction. He'd go on and on about what was wrong with it. It was the technology that he hated most, but that's not to say he didn't see the merits of preserving human life more efficiently. He could see the other edge of that sword, though. We aren't just improving the quality of life--we're making it increasingly meaningless, according to him at least. Even as computers bring us together, they separate us more. Have you ever noticed how many people you talk to nowadays that you don't even get to see face-to-face? We're so distant from each other, separated by a digital boundary that can never replace traditional relationships."
"It sounds like you believe what he was saying," said Vitus. Philip shrugged.
"That's good, though, right?" said Jenn. "I mean, he may be gone, but his beliefs are still around."
Hayes looked into his almost empty glass and shook his head. "Just because he spouts it out don't mean he believes it. No offense, Phil, but when I think of the champion of traditional relationships, you ain't the one who springs to mind."
Jenn felt the sudden urge to change the subject. "So who is this Rasputin, anyway?" she asked. "Is he some kind of Russian mob boss or something?"
"No," said Philip, "just a very competitive collector."
"Wait, that's all? An antique collector is sending hitmen after us and killing his competition? He must think the settee is magic just like Jacobi did, right?" she asked.
"I suppose," said Vitus. "But just for a second, imagine if it was real, imagine what somebody could do if they wanted to start a new revolution with it. They could rule the world."
"Yep," said Jenn. "And it's sitting in our hotel room right now. Hey, Vitus, when we get back, we should test it out or something. We could try to make all the dogs in the world revolt against people."
"I don't know," said Vitus. "I'm allergic, after all."
"Okay, then how about something more social? I bet we could make everyone in America turn vegetarian if we really wanted."
"That might be fun. I am awfully fond of rhubarb, especially in pie form."
Jenn smiled. "I know."
Hayes chuckled and shook his head. "I've seen enough Twilight Zone to know you shouldn't screw around with stuff like that, even if it's just hearsay."
"He's got a point," said Vitus.
"Honestly, I don't see how things could get much worse at the moment," said Jenn.
"There's always a way," said Philip, draining his glass. "For instance, someone working either for Rasputin and/or Ivanovich has been watching us, and Ivanovich has gone to so much trouble to make sure we know it. They're messing with us, and they're not going to stop until they have the settee and we're all dead. We'll have to split up, I suppose. I'll go back to Anchorage to find Ivanovich. Hayes, I want you to take these two to one of Mister Jacobi's other manors, and we'll rendezvous later."
Hayes was about to protest, but Vitus responded first. In the last few moments, Vitus had been aligning the puzzle pieces in his brain. It was a very large puzzle, and it seemed that a few of the pieces might have been missing, but he believed that with a little guesswork, he could properly assemble what he did have.
"Ivanovich isn't in Anchorage," said Vitus. "He wanted us to know that he'd played a part in Jacobi's death, and as boastful as he may be, he's an even bigger coward. He won't simply go back to his house in Alaska and wait for us to come to him. He's gone into hiding, telling us that we've missed our chance to catch him. Jacobi has manors scattered all across the country, right?"
"Right," said Philip. "Across the world, to be more accurate."
"Well, he's not the only one. Ivanovich owns a very profitable delivery company that caters to people like us, dealers and collectors alike, and I know for a fact that he owns several warehouses in the United States alone. My guess is that if we start hitting these places, we'll find Ivanovich sooner or later," said Vitus.
"Beating the bushes to find a snake," said Hayes. "I like it, kiddo. Good thinking."
"These warehouses," said Philip, "you know where they are?"
"A few. I believe I heard you say Jacobi has a manor in Alabama."
Philip nodded. "Not far from Mobile."
Vitus smirked. Ivanovich, he knew, had a place in the same general area. He recalled shipping a particular late 19th century armoire to a town called Starfall near Mobile Bay. He also recalled that the shipping took two days.
"All right then, on the day after tomorrow, we start looking for a way out of this mess," said Vitus.
"So when you say we're going to start hitting these places, exactly what does that entail?" asked Jenn.
Vitus was only slightly annoyed. After all, he had just made a rather decisive and dramatic statement--the sort that should have ended the conversation with all the participants nodding, followed by a montage of the crew preparing their things for the journey ahead. But it was Jenn, so he really didn't mind undoing his perfect moment and settling for something a little more ragged and uneven.
"We ransack them," said Vitus. "We'll do whatever we must to make sure Ivanovich knows we were there."
"And if they're lucky," added Philip, "the least we'll do is burn them to the ground."
"Oh," said Jenn.
"Sounds like we got ourselves a plan," said Hayes.
At this point, Jenn was tired and no longer felt like watching two men drink themselves stupid, even though she knew how thoroughly entertaining such a spectacle could be. She felt the need to retire to the hotel room she shared with Vitus for the night, where the settee sat waiting for them, still trapped in its wooden crate with the word FRAGILE spray painted on the side, and yet she felt uneasy when alone with it, as if it tempted her--a simple girl with mostly nonexistent dreams of ruling the world--with its promises of revolutions both bloody and bloodless. Though given the choice, she would vastly prefer bloodless.
"Do you two know which direction to stumble when you finish drinking?" she asked Philip and Hayes. They muttered affirmatively. "Fine," she said. "We'll go guard the settee for awhile."
She took Vitus by the hand and whispered into his ear, and the antique-dealer and his partner left the corner table in the bar with the intention of lounging around in their hotel room, watching the settee (and, most likely, the television) until they fell asleep. As they exited the bar, though, the two men in dark suits who had been playing billiards at the other end of the room abruptly ended their game and followed them out to the parking lot, where their long, black car was waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment