The Killing League

30.

Mack

The pillow in his arms was damp with sweat. His tongue felt like balsa wood. The spike through his brain reminded him of the scenes from the Omen where photographs showed a giant iron crucifix thrust through the future heads of Satan’s victims.

Mack was surprised at the severity of his hangover. He had downed the rest of the beers in the cooler after Adelia and Oscar left, but there hadn’t been that many.

Maybe he was getting old.

With that thought in mind, he rolled out of bed. His feet hit the floor with a thud that reverberated through his body. He looked up and out the bedroom door, judged the distance to the kitchen and the coffeemaker like the generals in World War Two judging the distance across a bridge too far.

He stood, felt his insides shift and sweat broke out along his forehead. He walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, then went into the living room and sat in his favorite chair, facing the big picture window and the river.

He’d been sitting in this chair a lot more lately, and he didn’t like it.

There was more to life than what he was doing. Truth was, he envied Adelia and her husband. Their easy intimacy with each other. They were life partners, as corny as the term sounded. He’d had work partners, but never someone to share in his life.

He thought of Nicole Candela, then stood, put his empty coffee cup in the sink, changed into a swimming suit, and dove into the pool.

Mack cut through the water, his hands like knives slitting the belly of the pool’s surface, a gifted surgeon leaving no mark.

He drove forward, his legs thrumming with strength and power. He swam steadily for twenty-five minutes and felt re-born. The sick feeling was gone, and when his watch buzzed letting him know he’d hit the half-hour mark, he pulled himself from the pool and plopped into the hot tub where he’d torqued the heat up as high as it would go.

Mack’s body felt the shock of the temperature change and sweat broke out along his forehead. He closed his eyes and sank into the boiling water.

“Good morning,” a voice said.

Mack opened his eyes and Janice stood over him. She had on khaki shorts and a salmon colored polo shirt. In her hand was a card.

“Good morning, Janice. What do you have there?” he said.

He had lost a little bit of control last night, he realized. It didn’t happen often. And he wasn’t sure what triggered it. But he had imbibed more than he usually did, and felt guilty.

He didn’t want to beat himself up too badly. He was old enough, and had gone through enough nights to understand that something was bothering him. Something was getting to him. Mack didn’t really believe in any type of “sixth sense.” But he did understand scientists who said human beings use only 15% of their brain. That there are capabilities, most likely, no one understands. In his line of work, he had seen the extraordinary. The impossible. The inexplicable.

And right now, he was feeling something. In the wake of a bad hangover, something was trying to clarify itself.

Janice handed him the card.

On the front was a funny looking shield with the letters “KL” inside.

He opened the card and it was blank, save for the same symbol on the cover. “KL” inside a shield of some sort.

“Where did you find this?” Mack said. The mail hadn’t come yet, and it surely hadn’t been delivered via FedEx.

“The man gave it to me,” she said.

Mack looked up from the card. “What man?”

“The man who’s been watching me.” Janice turned and looked out at the river. She started humming.

Mack considered questioning his sister, but it was pointless. Whatever answers she gave him, he had no way of determining their validity.

He looked again at the logo.

It was probably a lawn care service, they dropped stuff off all the time at his house. The “KL” was probably something like “Kominski Lawns” or something. If he googled KL.com it would probably take him to the landscaper’s website.

He set it on the ledge of the hot tub.

Janice stood at the edge of the pool, swaying with the rhythm of the palmettos in the early morning breeze.

Mack felt a twinge again and he glanced over at the card.

Whatever this thing was that kept nagging at him, Mack understood on some very deep, impossibly vague level, that it was probably something very bad.