"So the Dark Man shares his name with the messenger of Elohim in the Book of Daniel," said Royce. "Which is ... ?"

  "Can't you guess?" answered Taine somberly. "It's Arelim—the Angel of Rigorous Ministry. The Avenging Angel."

  26

  Around the same time Taine walked into the Temple of Danballah, Felice arrived at the crack party at Annie's place. She got there a little later than she originally planned, but she had no complaints. Nothing ever happened at a crack party anyway. And the seventy bucks tucked in the hidden pocket of her skirt would keep her high for a week.

  Seven other girls sat on the battered chairs and sofa that filled up most of Annie's small living room. Light came from an old red hurricane lamp on the floor. The dim glow of a portable black-and-white TV set cast weird shadows on the walls. Annie left the television going day and night. Not that she watched anything. She just liked the constant noise.

  Crack Annie herself unlocked the door to the apartment and let Felice in. Normally during a crack party, Annie was flat on her back on the living room floor, screwing her man, Leon. The combination of crack and a roomful of young women kept her stud hard for hours. Leon loved performing in front of an audience. No one ever objected. Crack had destroyed their few remaining sexual inhibitions long ago.

  Most of the time, the crack heads just watched. Annie never allowed any other men at her parties. She worried about possible violence. Crack and sex made a volatile combination. Put a jealous man at an orgy and blood would flow.

  Annie believed in sharing with her friends. If they wanted to join the fun, she never objected. Leon liked variety. During the course of a long evening, they indulged in every sexual position imaginable between two adults. Another girl only widened the possibilities. Once or twice, when the crack was really good, all of the other girls joined in, turning the party into an hours-long marathon sex session.

  That was the way it was until two weeks ago Friday. During the day, Leon worked as a cook at the local hamburger joint. It didn't take much brains and paid just enough to keep him and Annie in crack. However little he earned, it must have seemed like a lot to the five teenagers who waylaid him after work.

  Attacking Leon in the alleyway behind the restaurant, his assailants savagely beat him with rusted pipes and chains. Though he screamed and screamed for help, no one came to his aid. Getting involved too often meant getting killed.

  It only took a few minutes for the gang to break both his arms and most of his ribs. When they only found twenty dollars in his pockets, one of the boys stuck a gun in Leon's mouth and blew away half his head.

  When she learned the news, Crack Annie locked herself in her apartment and didn't come out for three days. She spent the entire time smoking rock, burning Leon out of her system. When she emerged, there was no sorrow left in her. After two weeks, her lover's body still remained unclaimed at the morgue. Leon no longer meant anything to Annie. Only crack mattered. The parties continued as before, but without the sex on the floor.

  "Where you been, girl?" Crack Annie asked Felice. "Party started a long time ago."

  "I had my own party," said Felice, grinning. "Got me some hot white boys with real money." She handed Annie two twenties. "Here's my share. Keep the rest on credit."

  She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with drifting whiffs of smoke. Felice looked around the room. All the usual girls were here, sitting in their usual places. No one bothered greeting her. Crack heads never spoke when they smoked crack. They devoted all of their attention to their pipes. The only noise in the room was the crackling sound emitted by the beads that gave the drug its name.

  "What's with Rebeeka?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders at the motionless figure hunched over in one corner, her head wedged between her knees.

  "She's been on a permanent mission all day," said Annie, unconcerned. "Beeka got here before everybody and started smoking right away. She quit 'bout an hour ago. Don't you worry none. She just needs some rest. It takes a long time to come down from a deep case."

  "Guess so," said Felice, vaguely troubled by Beeka's appearance. Nobody slept in such an uncomfortable position. Still, it was none of her business.

  "I got us some real fine rock today," said Annie, unusually talkative. "The Children been making deals lately. This stuff is real pure. You go flying on these rocks."

  "Yeah," said Felice, dropping onto the couch and grabbing a crack pipe. "Time to take off."

  All ready to light up, she hesitated for a second. "What you say about getting this rock from the Children. I heard some talk a stickup boy killing them left and right. They called the dude the Dark Man."

  "Who cares?" said Annie. "Dumb rollers shoot each other all the time. They never touch the crack heads. We be the ones that pays the bills."

  Felice nodded and touched a match to the rock. Two quick puffs and she went zooming off into the stratosphere. All of her worries and troubles evaporated in a cloud of instant gratification. It was like someone turned a switch in her brain to maximum ecstasy and then left it there. The pleasure blotted out all other sensations. For ten minutes, she hardly thought at all.

  Smoking crack satisfied her more than sex and without any of the bother. Given an unlimited supply, she would do nothing else. Or so she felt when she was flying.

  Other times, that same thought gave her the chills. A close friend of hers starved to death last month. The police found her, a crack pipe in her hand, bags of unopened food in the kitchen. Crack killed if you let it take complete control of your life. Felice knew she was too smart to ever let that happen.

  Ten minutes and she came tumbling down from the clouds. The same size rock once sent her soaring for twice that time, but that was six months ago. The more hits you took, the more you needed to get high.

  As usual depression set in, hitting her hard and fast. It was the drug's one side effect that always strung Felice out to dry. Only one thing eased the shakes. She needed another rock. First, though, she needed a drink to calm her nerves. Then she would head back into the clouds.

  Rising to her feet, Felice stumbled past her silent friends into the kitchen. Only the TV made noise. The set served to block out the sounds of the street. The neighbors never complained. People who lived in a crack house learned to mind their own business. Geeks made dangerous enemies.

  Annie always left a pitcher of gin and fruit drink, "swamp juice," by the sink. The powerful mixture always chased the blues away. Carefully tilting the container, Felice filled a plastic cup to the rim. Sipping her drink, she headed back to the living room.

  "Tap, tap, tap." Someone was at the door, gently knocking to be let in.

  "I got it," said Annie, reaching for the knob. Nobody worried about The Man in this building. The police knew better than to enter this neighborhood on foot. Only crack heads came to see Annie.

  Untroubled and unsuspecting, Crack Annie opened the apartment door. For a second, she froze, her body blocking the entrance. Then, with a shriek of fear, she tried slamming the door shut.

  A huge fist smashed through the paneling, sending Annie tumbling back onto the sofa. Cursing loudly, several of the girls pushed her violently away. Annie crashed to the floor, half dazed from the fall.

  Meanwhile, the Dark Man forced his way through the door and into the apartment. Most of the women never even saw him arrive. For an instant, he stood unmoving in the ruins of the doorway, as if deciding on a plan of action. Then, before anyone could react, the intruder attacked.

  Standing at the far side of the room, Felice saw it all happen. Reaching out with one immense hand, the gigantic stranger grabbed LuAnn Coye by the hair. Brutally, he yanked her out of her seat and up into the air. She never had a chance to scream. Timing the blow perfectly, the Dark Man swept his other arm forward, aiming it straight at LuAnn's face. In his hand he clutched a gigantic butcher's cleaver. With a grisly thunk the blade bit deep into her flesh.

  The girl's features erupted in an explosion of blood and gore. Fragments of bone and cartilage splattered against the killer's topcoat as he wrenched his weapon free. Calmly, the Dark Man raised his blade high into the air and chopped again. His second cut severed LuAnn's head from her body, sending her torso spinning to the floor. Her still-beating heart sent a fountain of hot blood splashing across the room and all of its occupants.

  Dazed and horrified, the crack heads struggled up from the couch. A few of them still clung possessively to their crack pipes. None of them seemed sure of what was taking place.

  Laughing, the Dark Man grabbed Wanda Hanson by an arm. Her screams echoed through the small room. Desperately, she tried to pull away. There was no escape. Like a flash of lightning, the bloody cleaver slammed into her stomach. Bright red blood gushed from her lips. Ruthlessly, the Dark Man twisted his blade and ripped it up and across. With a violent shudder, Wanda's body collapsed in ruin as her steaming insides spilled in a gory mess onto the floor.

  "Let's have some fun," said the Dark Man, chuckling. Waving his cleaver in the air, he stepped forward, intent on his next victim. Beneath his feet, the blood-soaked carpet unexpectedly shifted, sending him toppling to the floor.

  "Get that mother!" screamed Crack Annie, rising up from behind the sofa. In one hand she clutched a six-inch switchblade. Madness filled her eyes. "We gotta kill the son-of-a-bitch while he's down!"

  Shrieking like harpies, the women attacked. The crack in their system gave them courage they otherwise lacked. It was kill or be killed. Only Felice hung back, frozen by fear. Her legs refused to move. She could only watch and hope.

  Two girls, one on each side, trapped the Dark Man's arms between their arms and legs. A third girl hung on tightly to his feet, not letting him rise. Hovering over his chest, Crack Annie jabbed away with her knife. "Die, damn you, die!" she screamed as she stabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

  Felice's eyes bulged in horror. Each time Annie pulled the knife free, the blade emerged clean. No blood stained the metal. The killer didn't bleed. It took Crack Annie a few seconds to realize her folly. By then, it was much too late.

  "Party's over," said the Dark Man, his voice filled with good cheer.

  Wrenching his body around, the giant sent one girl flying across the room. She smashed into the wall and lay very still.

  One hand free, he reached around and grabbed the girl holding his other arm by the face. He squeezed tight. Bones crunched like candy beneath his fingers. Blood jetted high in the air as he continued to apply pressure. Her body only twitched for an instant.

  The third girl died with her skull smashed in. She never saw death coining. Rising to his feet between the corpses, the giant faced Crack Annie.

  The girl stared at her bloodless knife and then back up at the Dark Man. "They never touch the crack heads," said Annie, a note of annoyance in her voice. Then, before the Dark Man could attack, she rammed the switchblade deep into her stomach. Her eyes blinked rapidly and then closed. She collapsed and died without another word.

  "She cheated me," said the Dark Man, turning to face Felice. "I hate when they do that." He held up his cleaver. "I'll have to take my time with you. I always do with the last one."

  "No, no, no," said Felice, stepping back. A terrible coldness gripped her body. Death stood five feet away. "Take Rebeeka, not me. You forgot Rebeeka."

  "Sorry, dear. She's been dead for hours," said the Dark Man. "Her heart gave out right after the party started. That final rush popped all the blood vessels in her lungs. Crack does that to a lot of people. You're the only one left, Felice."

  Up went the cleaver. Then, the giant paused, as if hearing voices in the distance. Tilting his head, he stood perfectly still. "They know my name," he muttered. Then, louder, "They know my name."

  Felice reacted the only way possible. She flung her drink at the Dark Man's face and ran for the door. She dashed into the hallway before the giant realized she was gone.

  Jumping an entire flight of stairs with each leap, Felice went flying down three floors in an instant. Momentum carried her across the hall and out the front door. Grabbing the porch railing, she leapt down concrete steps to the sidewalk. Behind her, she could hear the Dark Man laughing. He sounded amused by her escape.

  "Your body belongs to me, Felice," he called from inside the building. "I'll get you in the end."

  Dazed but unharmed, she bolted across the deserted street. The fall of soft rain on her skin never felt so sweet. She made it out alive with everyone else dead. Breathing hard, she forced herself to keep moving. The farther she got from the scene of the crime the better. She had no desire to be here when the police finally arrived.

  A puzzled look crossed Felice's face as she stumbled along the street. She had escaped the Dark Man but his last words implied otherwise. She wondered what he meant. Shaking her head, she continued walking. Too bad all that crack was gone. She was dying for a hit.

  27

  Mommy's got a boyfriend, mommy's got a boyfriend," chanted Timmy as Janet tried to put on her makeup.

  "Quiet down, you babbling brook," she said, laughing. Her hands shook too much to apply her eyeshadow. "You want your mom to look like an Indian?"

  "A red Indian or one from India?" asked Tim curiously.

  "A Sioux Indian," said Janet, smiling at her boy. "That means I'll sue you if you don't let me get ready. Mr. Taine should be here in a few minutes. Let me finish getting dressed. Go bother Bruno or your grandfather."

  "Grandpa told me to pester you," said Tim. "He said you needed the company."

  Which meant her father wanted some peace and quiet. She understood his feelings perfectly. No adult alive could ever keep up with a typical eight-year-old.

  "Mom," said Tim in his most-serious sounding voice, "are you going to marry Mr. Taine?"

  "Timmy!" said Janet, caught off guard. "I only met him the other day."

  "I know," replied her son, "but you like him a lot. I can tell."

  "I like a number of people," she said, with a shake of her head, "but that doesn't mean I plan to marry all of them."

  "He likes you, too," said Tim, completely ignoring her words. "Kids sense feelings better than adults."

  "He hasn't asked me," said Janet, trying to recapture the conversation.

  "He will," answered Tim. "I bet you ten dollars."

  Downstairs, the doorbell rang. "That's him right now," said Tim, flying out of the room. "Maybe he brought me a toy."

  "Don't bother Mr. Taine too much," she called after her son. "Tell him I'll be ready in just a few minutes."

  Anxiously, she turned back to the mirror and made a few final adjustments to her lip gloss. Satisfied, she stepped back and contemplated the whole picture. She still looked awfully good for thirty. A new dress and a pearl necklace didn't hurt either.

  She had stopped into her shop early Thursday morning. To the surprise of the staff, she stayed for less than fifteen minutes. A few necessary checks got written, a few problems that required her attention got answered, and then she was gone. Along with her went one of the nicer pearl necklaces from the safe. Janet smiled as she remembered the incredulous looks on the faces of her girls. At least she gave them something to talk about for the rest of the day.

  Bruno brought the necklace back to Brentwood while Janet went shopping for a dress. After much looking, she settled on a basic black cocktail dress with a high choker neck that left her shoulders and back bare. Coupled with a finely knit white shawl, it accented all of her curves and none of her faults.

  The entire day she refused to question her motives or desires. Forgotten were her doubts from the previous night. In the daytime, her questions about Taine's past seemed unimportant. Instead of logic, she let her emotions guide her actions. By the time she arrived back at Brentwood, Janet felt positively giddy.

  Taine called just before five. He had made reservations at one of the nicer Italian restaurants on the North Side and would pick her up around seven. As before, the detective was a few minutes early. That suited her just fine. She hated being late, but she also knew the value of a good entrance.

  As she descended the stairs, Janet caught a fragment of conversation between her father and Taine.

  "Then you believe that even dangerous criminals deserve a second chance?" asked Leo, a note of disbelief in his voice.

  "It all hinges, of course, on their desire to reform," said Taine. "I'm not advocating letting mass murderers go free to kill again. However, we must temper justice with mercy. Every man deserves the opportunity to change his ways."

  "Nicely put," said her father, "though I suspect few people today would agree with your position."

  "If sin exists," said Taine somberly, "then so must redemption. Otherwise only evil triumphs."

  "These days, that happens all too often," said Leo. "Enough gloom and doom. Here is Janet now."

  The look on Taine's face made all of her shopping worthwhile. Even Leo looked impressed.

  "Mom's all dressed up," said Tim proudly. "She looks like a movie star."

  "She surely does," said Taine, walking over to meet her at the bottom of the stairway. "I believe stunning is the appropriate term." He took her hands in his. "I'm properly dazzled. You're beautiful."

  The sincerity in his voice set her pulse racing. For the first time in years, she found herself blushing. "I'm glad you think so," she said, struggling to find the right words. As she spoke, she gently squeezed his hands. "I wanted to wear something special for you."

  "We better get going," said Taine, struggling to maintain his composure. "We don't want to be late."

  "Taine brought me a micromaster Transformer," said Tim from the corner of the room. "Neat, huh, Mom?"

  "Very neat," she agreed. "Mr. Taine and your grandfather must share the same contacts."

  "You'll need an umbrella," said Leo, peering out the front doorway. "It started drizzling again."

  "Monotonous, isn't it," said Taine. "Fortunately, after nearly a week of rain, I've taken to carrying an umbrella with me wherever I go."