Part 6 (1/2)
”Not me. I was already disillusioned with her and her crummy little game, but the icing came when she scammed some little old lady into signing over a valuable piece of property to her; convinced her it was what her dead husband wanted her to do.”
”Oh, no.” The image twisted inside Gia.
”That was when I walked.”
”But they're not all like that.”
”The open ones are.”
”Open?”
”There's two kinds of mediums. The closed mediums really believe in the spirit world and what they're doing; they've bought the whole package. As a rule they limit themselves to readings-tarot cards, palms, tea leaves, that sort of thing. They don't put on a show. Open mediums, on the other hand, are all show. They're con men who know it's a scam, who trade background information on their suckers, and are always looking for bigger and better ways to hoodwink them. They knowingly sell lies. They promise a peek into the afterlife, but they use special effects like ectoplasm and voices and spirit writing to fool people into believing they've delivered.”
”But Jack, I'll bet a fair number of people derive some comfort from them. Look at you tonight. If you didn't know what you do, and let's say you maybe half-believed, wouldn't you have found comfort in that message from Kate?”
”Sure. But here's my point: it wasn't from Kate. It was from Ifasen. He told a lie. If I'd come to him as a private client, all I would have got for my money was a lie.”
”And peace of mind which, in a way, is priceless.”
”Even if it's built on a lie?”
Gia nodded. ”If a placebo cures your headache, you're rid of your pain, aren't you?” Jack sighed. ”I suppose so.” He shook his head. ”The really sad thing about so many of these open psychics is that they're truly talented. They possess amazing insight into people, an instinct for reading body language and picking up on every nuance of speech and dress. They know know people. They could be ace psychologists. They could make a great living in the straight world-you know, doing well while doing good. But they'd rather stay on the fringe, playing their games.” people. They could be ace psychologists. They could make a great living in the straight world-you know, doing well while doing good. But they'd rather stay on the fringe, playing their games.”
”Hmmm,” Gia said. ”Sounds like someone I know but I can't quite place the name. I think it begins with a J...”
”Very funny. Except I don't play games. I deliver. And if I don't, it's not for lack of trying.” He shot her a rueful smile. ”But you know, I do believe old Ifasen did something for me tonight. I know he just rattled off a stock message from the 'Other Side,' but to tell the truth, he happened to hit on exactly what Kate would have said.”
”You mean about getting on with your life?”
”Yeah.”
”How many times have I told you that Kate wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life moping around? And when was the last time I mentioned that very thing? How many hours ago? Two? Three maybe?”
He grinned sheepishly. ”Yeah, I know. But sometimes you have to hear it from a stranger. Anyway, I think it's time for me to get back in the saddle again. I've got a couple of calls in my voice mail right now. I'll check them out tomorrow, and if one of them is right for me, I'll be back to work.”
”That's wonderful.”
What am I saying? Gia thought.
She hated Jack's work. It was usually dangerous. Every time he hired on to ”fix” a situation, he ran the risk of being hurt. But worse, because the police were as much a threat as any hoodlum he took on, he couldn't count on them for help if he got in over his head. When Jack went off to work, he went alone.
How many times had she pleaded with him to find something less dangerous to do? He'd compromised by promising to restrict his fix-it work to situations he could repair at arm's length, where he didn't have to show his face or get personally involved. Gia believed he tried his best to keep that promise, but too often the jobs didn't go as planned.
But his interest in returning to work meant he was pulling out of his funk. That, at least, was good.
”Maybe you should go back for a private session,” she said. ”Maybe he'll tell you to get into a safer line of work. And maybe you'll listen when he he tells you. Heaven knows you don't listen when I do.” tells you. Heaven knows you don't listen when I do.”
”I think we should stay away from Ifasen, but not for that reason.”
”Meaning?”
”I think he's got trouble.”
”You mean because he yelled 'bomb'?”
”That... and other things.”
”Like what?”
”A patched bullet hole in his front window, for instance.”
”You're sure?”
He nodded. ”It could have been there when he bought the house, but he's obviously renovated the place, so... someone's giving him a hard time.”
”But who-?”
”Other psychics. The lady-I use the term loosely-that I once worked for used to go berserk when she lost a sitter to another psychic. She called herself Madame Ouskaya but her real name was Bertha Cantore. I used to think she'd seen The Wolfman The Wolfman too many times and ripped off the name of that old actress Maria Ouspenskaya who played the gypsy, but that was giving her too much credit. I can't imagine her ever sitting though the credits of a movie. Finally one night, when she'd had a few too many gins and was sailing a few too many sheets to the wind, she told me that she'd cadged it off an ancient Russian neighbor who'd died when Bertha was ten. But you know how they talk about a leopard never changing its spots? That was Bertha. She may have called herself Ouskaya, but that didn't hide her true nature. Her father was Sicilian and she had a hitman's temper. She'd send me out to slash tires and break windows and-” too many times and ripped off the name of that old actress Maria Ouspenskaya who played the gypsy, but that was giving her too much credit. I can't imagine her ever sitting though the credits of a movie. Finally one night, when she'd had a few too many gins and was sailing a few too many sheets to the wind, she told me that she'd cadged it off an ancient Russian neighbor who'd died when Bertha was ten. But you know how they talk about a leopard never changing its spots? That was Bertha. She may have called herself Ouskaya, but that didn't hide her true nature. Her father was Sicilian and she had a hitman's temper. She'd send me out to slash tires and break windows and-”
”Did you?”
Jack didn't look at her. ”Most of the time I just told her I did, but sometimes... sometimes, yeah, I did.”
”Jack...” She couldn't keep the dismay out of her voice.
”Hey, I was hungry, stupid, and a lot younger. I thought what was bad for her was bad for me. I hadn't figured out yet that she she was bad for me. h.e.l.l, if she knew how to make bombs, she'd probably've wanted me to plant them, or wire ignitions to blow the compet.i.tion away.” He shook his head. ”What a nutcase.” was bad for me. h.e.l.l, if she knew how to make bombs, she'd probably've wanted me to plant them, or wire ignitions to blow the compet.i.tion away.” He shook his head. ”What a nutcase.”
”Could she be the one Ifasen's afraid of?”
”Nah. Couple of years ago I heard that she'd, as they say in the trade, migrated to the Other Side.” A quick glance Gia's way, embarra.s.sment in his eyes. ”Let's not talk about her, okay? Makes my teeth hurt just to think about her.”
Gia knew getting off the topic of this Madame Ouskaya would probably turn the conversation to her question to Ifasen. She cast about for a diversion and spotted the pamphlet Jack had brought from the psychic's house. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.
”'The Menelaus Manor Restoration Foundation.' What's this?”
”Sounds like a scam. Take donations to renovate the house you're living and working in. A win-win proposition for Ifasen if I ever heard one.”
”Is all this true?” Gia said, gathering flashes of the house's history of mayhem by the light of street lamps they pa.s.sed.
”I never got a chance to get into it. What's it say?”
She turned on the console lamp and held the brochure under the glow. ”It says the place was built in 1952 by Kastor Menelaus. He died of cancer, and was the last owner to 'pa.s.s on to the Other Side' due to natural causes.”