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New York City: St Dympna’s Home for the Mentally Deficient and Criminally Inclined
Jerry quickly realized that they’d been transported to a Hellhole that would make Bedlam look like a day at Disneyworld.
“Home sweet home,” the big blonde guy said, looking around disgustedly. He said it as if he didn’t really mean it. “You know,” he continued confidingly to Jerry, “I’ve got to say that this really sucks. The Cardinal gets to lord it up over at the Waldorf, while we have to scrounge around here in a building barely fit to be Blood’s kennel.”
Jerry grunted noncommittally as the blonde guy, as if emphasizing his displeasure, aimed a kick at Blood’s ribs as his handler dragged him by on his leash. The kick landed solidly. Blood howled like a kicked dog while the blonde guy sneered his satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t oughta do that, Witness,” the keeper said. “Blood ain’t done nothing wrong. You treat him like that, you confuse him, and then he’s hard to handle.”
“He’s disgusting,” Witness said. “Get him out of my sight.”
Grumbling, the handler pulled Blood away, tugging hard at his leash and saying in an aggrieved voice, “Come on, boy, come on,” while Witness looked on, grinning. Jerry felt sick to his stomach.
Witness turned to him, his face suddenly wearing an expression of concern that didn’t quite look authentic. “How you doing, Dagon? You look pretty well beat. I guess that Ray is one tough customer.”
Jerry, trying to speak as little as possible, only nodded.
“I tell you what,” Witness said. “Why don’t you stay here and rest awhile? Get some medical attention. I’ll have some of the boys help you up to the infirmary. They’ll take care of you there.”
Although his words were sympathetic, his voice had an underlying tone that Jerry interpreted as meaning, “Look out, I’m going to screw you now.”
“Don’t worry about reporting to the Cardinal. I’ll go into Manhattan and do it. Though,” he gripped his left shoulder and swung it experimentally while grimacing, “I could probably use some medical attention myself. I think I pulled something here.”
Jerry kept a look of elation off Dagon’s face. At least he knew where they were, that somehow they’d been transported back to Manhattan. That would make things easier, if they could only get out of St. Dympna’s, whatever the Hell this place was. Jerry nodded and made groaning noises in what he hoped sounded like an acquiescent tone.
Witness brightened perceptibly, smiling like he’d just put one over. Apparently he was eager to get to this Cardinal and report. Maybe to tell him his particular version of events. Maybe to take all the credit for it. That was fine with Jerry.
Witness barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands together with glee. He turned to the men who’d been holding a silent, sullen John Fortune by his arms. “Take the brat to the oubliette,” Witness ordered.
That doesn’t sound good, Jerry thought.
“You others help Dagon.” Jerry winced realistically as they put their arms around his waist. “Careful, dolts! Can’t you see that he’s injured?”
The thugs murmured apologies that Jerry accepted with a feeble nod. Witness nodded, and with a final farewell bustled off, planning whatever stab in the back move he clearly intended.
This, Jerry thought, was not a subtle guy. Probably more muscles than brains.
As they shuffled off together, Jerry stopped, turned, and looked at John Fortune. “Be seeing you, kid,” he said.
He said it as quickly and quietly as he could and still be sure that John Fortune heard him. He really didn’t have a firm grasp of Dagon’s voice, and he was a bad mimic anyway, as his utter failure as the Projectionist proved, so he just used his regular voice and hoped no one was really paying attention
John Fortune glanced wildly back over his shoulder as two thugs hustled him down the hall, and their eyes met. For the first time since their capture, Jerry saw hope on the kid’s face. Jerry risked a single nod as he was shuffled off in the other direction. John Fortune had understood. He’d recognized Jerry’s voice, or perhaps he’d just recognized one of Jerry’s favorite tag lines.
He knew that his shape-shifting bodyguard was still on the job.