Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Part Three
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Radu-Chapter XXVIII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
7 pages approximate
Grady Desmond lit a cigar. He sat back in his office lounge chair, and he drew in a deep drag. It was getting better now-much, much better. He knew he should not flaunt the no-smoking policy of the paper, but on the other hand, he knew as well he should not sit here in his office and nurse a snifter of brandy during working hours. His proctologist would have a fit. So would his wife, and his children. His boss would lecture him about propriety. On the other hand, Desmond really could care less if his boss, the editor-in-chief of the Baltimore Sun, fired him-not that there was any danger of that. Desmond only worked from the sheer pleasure of the job, and if they fired him-which was not about to happen-he would easily land another job. His reputation was secure through three decades and change of first beat reporting, and then editorial work. He knew how to play the newspaper game. It was all about the office politics. Grady rose above that over a decade ago. Grady was one of those lucky few. Others catered to him.
He took a final sip of brandy, and then he took another long, leisurely drag of his cigar. He put it out. He was satisfied.
Few people in life had managed to accomplish the things Grady Desmond had in life. He had built, saved, and destroyed careers. In doing so, he took pains to insulate himself from any potential fallout. Finally, when everything came crashing down around him, he sat and watched it all from a position not only of security, but also of comfort. Randolph Morrison killed in a plane crash in India. His son Greg under investigation due to admitted involvement in a murderous pedophile ring. Lonnie Brock was also finally dead after a long, torturous bout with cancer. Even Jason Talbert was not immune, as he discovered the hard way. Insistent though he was that his battery of high-powered lawyers could weather any storm, he never seemed to get the point. Wealthy people never did. The ultra-wealthy were the worse. From their perspective, the world was always about them. Everything and everyone else that gravitated within their orbit existed only for their benefit. What Talbert could never grasp was the determination of others to avoid their own lives becoming casualties of the storm, while men like Talbert used them and disposed of them like plastic utensils. Talbert had to go. Grady had his obituary written two hours before he got word of his demise. It was amazingly accurate, right down to the reaction of the assembled family and friends. Grady even included the dinner menu-Peking Duck. Luckily, Talbert was as always predictable. It enabled Grady to humanize the event of his death ahead of time.
He seriously considered pouring another snifter of brandy when the intercom buzzed.
“Your appointment has arrived, Mr. Desmond,” came the perky voice of the receptionist. Desmond wondered if he might fuck her one more time before the month ended. Before he tried to have sex with his wife of thirty-seven years, for the first time in eleven, by way of a prescription of Viagra, he experimented with the drug on Alice. Having done so, he decided he would not mind making that a semi-regular event, and so he did. It was a once a month thing, but Grady would never allow it to become more regular than that. Women, like a fine brandy, were to be savored at leisure, but should not be overindulged.
“Mr. Desmond, are you there?” she repeated.
“Yeah, Alice, send them in,” he answered.
“I will be leaving now, sir,” she then said. “Will there be anything else you need before I go?”
“Yeah, remember our private meeting for next weekend,” he said. “I will certainly be looking forward to it, and there might be an extra special bonus coming your way.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it as always sir,” the secretary replied cheerily as the door to Grady’s office opened.
When the elderly couple entered Grady’s office, he was astounded at how healthy they seemed for a couple in their late seventies. The old woman could easily pass for her early sixties, and while there was no such miscalculation as to the age of the man, he seemed strong, healthy, and even had a twinkle in his somewhat olive green eyes.
“Please, come in and have a seat,” Grady said cordially. “I’m so happy you could make such a long trip on such short notice. I know you’ve both been through quite a lot over the last year.”
“Not at all, Mr. Desmond,” the old man replied. “It has been too long since we’ve been in Baltimore. We only wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances.”
“In a warmer season,” the old woman added. “Baltimore is horrid this time of the year.”
“Can I offer you something?” Grady asked. “Some brandy, perhaps. I also have some cigars from the finest tobacconist shop in Baltimore.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I will have to abstain from the cigar,” the old man said. “Unfortunately, that is one of the pleasures of life that, tempting though it is, I am afraid it would be liable to hasten my demise. Brandy would be nice, however.”
“As it always is, Martin,” the old woman said in good-natured teasing fashion. “Might I do the honors? Really, I do insist, Mr. Grady.”
“Well, by all means, Mrs. Krovell,” Brady replied. “Or do you prefer the name Krovelescu?”
“Krovell will be fine,” Martin said. “For a short time, I did toy with the idea of changing our name back to the original form, but Louise convinced me that would be seen as pretentious.”
Louise by this time had poured Grady’s brandy, and then began pouring one for her husband, as she let out a laugh.
“Our poor, dear Marlowe started all that,” she said. “He was so insistent that we become true to our heritage, and wear it like a badge of honor. I don’t think the poor boy ever quite got it through his head the Krovelescu family was really quite a common one of mere peasant stock.”
Martin kept his gaze peeled on Grady, and with a smile took the snifter of brandy Louise prepared for him as though it were a routine gesture.
“Yes, I think Marlowe was determined to discover we were descended from some ancient line of nobility, such as the Draculas, or from Radu the Black,” he said. “The sad truth was, our ancestors were never any more than serfs, at best. Our common ancestor Vlad, the one who immigrated here, managed to work his way up to groundskeeper for a Phenariot family. Interestingly, he was in charge of the family cemetery as well. He was their own private gravedigger, until he was discovered digging up already occupied graves and stealing the interred valuables-which is not the kind of heritage in which one would ordinarily take a lot of pride.
“Luckily for Vlad-or Lawrence, as he renamed himself-he managed to stash enough away from previous-er, undertakings-that he was able to leave the country in one piece, along with his wife and mother-in-law.”
“Yes, Magda the Gypsy,” Louise said as she now began sipping her own brandy. “Now she was indeed a character.”
“Actually, it is another ancestor of yours I am most interested in,” Grady said. “I am not sure ancestor would be an appropriate word, to tell you the truth. I hope you do not mind, but I took it on myself to do a bit of research. I know you for quite some time were interested in the whereabouts of your mother. I think I can finally put your questions to rest.”
Martins’ eyes got wide with surprise, and he almost bolted from his chair.
“Mr. Grady, are you serious?” he asked. “You found my mother?”
Grady handed Martin Krovell what appeared to be a set of documents bound by a paper clip. The old man took them eagerly as Louise looked on in obvious interest.
“What does it say, Martin?” she asked.
“Why, according to this she returned to Romania,” he replied. “She had her marriage to my father annulled by a priest of the church. Then, incredibly, she went on to marry that same priest less than a year later, a priest by the name of Mikhail Khoska, by whom she later had a son named-oh my God, Louise, Aleksandre Khoska is my half-brother.”
The old man was obviously distraught, as he sat down the snifter of brandy.
“Mr. Desmond, I hate to impose, but do you mind if I have another bit of this fine Brandy you have so kindly provided for us?”
“Why would he not have told you?” Louise asked, obviously with growing concern. “How cruel of him to keep this from you for all of these years! Why would he do such a thing?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Martin replied. “I think I shall certainly ask him, though.”
“Perhaps he was ashamed of his father’s actions,” Louise said. “It would certainly be understandable.”
“That might be true,” Martin replied. “Still, I came to understand long ago that my father was a jealous, possessive, uncaring, vindictive, abusive man, to the point where he could be mercilessly brutal. No, Father Khoska did not do the wrong thing. I would have liked to know, however. My mother died just a little over ten years ago, according to this document. Had I known, I would have made a trip to see her before she died. Now of course it is too late.
“Mr. Desmond, you have no idea how much you have helped me ease my mind. I have always suspected my father of having done away with my mother somehow. You have no idea how many times I have considered digging up the entire property, but dreaded discovering her remains. There are days it has been all I could think about. I owe you a tremendous debt, sir.”
Grady looked at the old couple now with an intensity that was almost striking in its ferocity. He had more news for the elderly couple.
“Actually, I can’t take credit for it,” he said. “I put one of my top reporters on the job, and she was more than diligent in uncovering the information. You may have heard of her. Her name is Grace Rodescu.”
For just a brief second, Martin and Louise Khoska shot each other a stunned look, as they regarded each other with a deadly silence. This did not go unnoticed by Grady Desmond, to whom they soon both returned their gaze, as they regarded him sternly.
“Why, Mr. Grady. You have surprised us, very much in fact,” the old man said as Louise suddenly smiled. “You are holding up quite well, though, much better than we would have expected, to be completely honest. You do look rather tired, though.”
“What-are you talking about?” Grant asked with a smile though filled now with suspicion. Louise held up her snifter of brandy as she indicated with a nod the one that sat beside Grady.
“You should really be careful whom you allow to prepare your drinks, Mr. Desmond,” she advised him with a suddenly girlish smile. “You never can tell when one might decide to ‘slip you a Mickey’, as they say.”
Grady looked down at his now empty snifter in horror, and then looked back at Louise, who met his gaze with what actually seemed to be a girlish anticipation, as she giggled.
"Now, Louise, you should not be so modest,” Martin said as he patted his wife on the arm. “After all, a 'Mickey Finn' consists of mere ‘knock-out drops’, not a deadly poison. Really, though, we should not tease Mr. Desmond. After all, he has been very cordial towards us, inviting us all this way to tell us all of this important information. Mr. Grady, you really must not mind my wife. She has always been noted as the practical joker of the family, after all. I think it is more than likely that gypsy blood of hers. I am indeed a lucky man, would you not say?”
Grady looked at the two of them, and suddenly started laughing, albeit uneasily, as they did likewise. Suddenly, Grady stopped and, clutching his chest, humped over his desk.
“Oh, my dear,” Martin now said. “Louise, I do believe you might have used a bit too much nightshade. It really isn’t supposed to have this sort of effect, you know.”
“Oh, I know dear,” Louise said apologetically. “I just can’t seem to get used to these more intense preparations. I always found the more old-fashioned extractions were far more reliable in their predictability.”
“Nightshade?” Grady now gasped, as he clutched his chest, his breathing now coming in gasps, as he doubled over. His eyes went back in his head, as he now tilted over in his chair.
“Would you kindly look outside and see if the girl has gone, Louise,” Martin now said as his wife walked toward the door. “I will place a call to our friend.”
Louise opened the door and peered outside, noting the desk outside was empty as Martin placed a call with his cell phone to someone whom he informed could feel secure in presenting herself. Within less than three minutes, an obviously disguised and visibly pregnant Grace Rodescu entered the office of a yet alive, though barely so, Grady Desmond.
“I guess I no longer have you to worry about, Grady,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this, but I can’t afford to take any more chances with you. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Khoska.”
“Grace, my dear, it has been far too long,” Martin said. “What has it been now-sixteen years or so, I believe. What a pleasure to see you again. And to think-you are carrying our great-grandchild. How magnificent!”
“I am glad you approve,” Grace said.
“Out of all the girls from the old country that Phillip sponsored in that dreadful place, you were by far our favorite, Grace,” Louise now said. “You do know that, do you not?”
Louise then gave Grace a hug, after which Martin did likewise.
“So it was Phillip Khoska who was responsible for all of that,” Grace said. “Grady was telling the truth.”
“Yes, Grace, I’m afraid it was,” Martin said. “Now, come to find out, I and Phillip are related. I would be his uncle, I guess. I really hope you do not look askance on us, dear. What is troubling is he knew it all the time, him and Voroslav, and the old priest as well. I wonder why they would keep such a thing from us.”
Grady now groaned as he actually attempted to rise from his chair. Grace looked at him warily, and then picked up a heavy vase as she walked toward the fallen editor.
“That really wouldn’t be necessary, dear,” Martin advised her. “Should he survive, he will remember little, and what little he might remember, he will be helpless to communicate. Perhaps that would be a most fitting punishment for him, given his position, would you not say?”
“So, you are the chosen mother promised to give birth to The One Who Shall Renew,” Louise said, totally engrossed in the matter of Graces’ pregnancy. “Why, you look to be six months pregnant, yet it has been all of what-a month?”
Grace suddenly betrayed a look of deep worry that Louise found disconcerting.
“What is it my dear?”
“I had an ultra-sound performed, under an assumed name of course, and according to the physician, there is no fetus. There is nothing there, in fact, but a mass of blood and mucous, much like placenta, but no baby. According to the attending physician, the heartbeat seems to be the result of swirling gasses.
“Yet, it takes on the appearance of a human shape, and seems to act like an infant. It has the appearance of a head and appendages. It looks to be sucking its thumb, while curled in a fetal position. Does this sound natural?”
“Well, I am no expert in these matters, dear,” Martin replied. “Bear in mind, however, this is hardly an ordinary pregnancy, and most certainly not an ordinary infant.”
Suddenly, Louise stiffened, and looked gravely at Martin, and then at Grace.
“The old priest Aleksandre, he knows,” she said. “He has to go, Martin. All of them have to go. They are dangerous. We cannot take the chance they do not know. It would explain his silence to you all those years ago. It is the only thing that makes sense. Of course, he had to know you and he shared the same mother.”
“All of the Khoskas have to die, then?” Grace asked with no visible show of emotion, yet noticeably ill at ease.
“Let us worry about that, Grace,” Martin replied. “We will see to the dirty work, as they say. You worry about keeping healthy. We will put the Khoskas in their place. Their deaths may not be necessary. If they are, so be it. We will see to them over time. Indeed, it will not be the first time. I had to put an end to my own father when he proved too weak, as well as my brother, once it became obvious how untrustworthy he was. As hard as it was to do these things, our son George was the hardest. When I think of how he ended up, eaten by rats on the docks of Baltimore, it really saddens me.”
“Uh huh, see what I mean about not being stingy with things you execute people with-especially loved ones?” Louise said to Martin’s obvious dismay. “Too much is always far better than not enough. That is why I always tell you to let me handle these things. Martin can be such a skinflint.
“Nevertheless, this day has been five hundred years in the making,” she then added. “It is actually quite impossible to prevent it. That would be such a mockery.”
“Nevertheless, if it turns out to be essential,” Martin concluded, “or advisable in any way as a stopgap measure, we will certainly see to the Khoska family as well, regrettable though that will be in the case of the old priest. Phillip will be no problem whatsoever, other than technically, of course, due to his wealth and influence. Again, he will not be the first of that caliber either. As for his friend here, I suppose we had best make sure he is finished, Louise, would you not agree?”
Suddenly, Grady Desmond rose on one arm, and looked toward Grace.
“Grace,” he said in a hoarse whisper with great effort. “Please help me. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Oh, dear, I suppose I should finish the poor fellow off quickly now,” Martin said. “I hate to see him lying there suffering, obviously feeling the fool. Honestly, Mr. Desmond, we do appreciate the great help you have been to us. We are not ungrateful, by any means.”
“You can trust me,” he said desperately. “I only wanted to help Grace. Please, don’t kill me.”
“What do you think?” Louise asked her.
“He sent a former FBI agent to follow me and kill me,” Grace replied. “He didn’t know I found out about that, but I did. He followed me all the way to a remote area of Virginia and would have killed me if someone else had not interfered.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Grady said. “That was all Phillip Khoska’s doing. I just supplied you the car with the tracking device. I didn’t know he was”-
Suddenly, Grady clutched his chest in agony as his face become blood red, and he gasped in a tremendous amount of air. He then fell out of his chair as he simultaneously breathed his last breath.
“Huh-well, I guess that settles that,” Louise said. “Now, remember Grace dear. There will be four people arriving here shortly. One will be a man in a cheap business suit, acting nervously, his eyes darting around suspiciously. Yet another will be a woman in tears. A very angry man will follow her. Finally, a black man will arrive, wearing a clown suit and a gift of poisoned brandy and cigars.”
“What was this again-a black man wearing a clown suit?” Grace asked. “Why?”
“Louise just thought that would be a nice touch,” Martin said with a shrug. “You have to admit it will certainly give them something to talk about as well as providing an adequate disguise for who will be thought the probable killer. You do have your temporary workers card, don’t you, Louise?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Martin, for the thousandth time, yes,” the old woman replied with exasperation. “No one here will ask for it anyway, I’m sure, but yes I have it. Oh, but that does remind me-here, Grace.”
Louise reached inside her purse and handed Grace a card.
“Here is the number I promised you. He is waiting to hear from you. Really, that dilapidated old building is no place for you in your condition, not until we finish the repairs at any rate. He is more than happy to see to your welfare.”
“He has missed you almost as much as we have, if that were possible,” Martin added.
“Would you like to be alone, dear, to speak to him in private?” Louise asked.
“That would be good,” Grace replied.
“One more thing, Grace,” Martin replied. “You must really discourage Radu from these constant longings for these past attachments of Marlowe’s. He really should let them go. Otherwise, he may never come into his own, and that will never do, of course.
“I understand of course that was inevitable. However, you should stand firm with him. He really needs you. Remind him that Marlowe was never important, that in fact Marlowe was never more than a brief, though necessary, temporary incarnation period to provide his unconscious soul a period of rest and healing, until such time as he could awaken and take his place once more in the world-his true, rightful place.”
“I am trying, but it has not been easy,” Grace replied. “He will come around, I am sure.”
“That is why we wish to avoid him for the time being,” Louise added. “Our presence would only encourage him to hold these false, irrelevant memories. Make no mistake, though, we have the utmost faith in you, my dear.”
“Well, we should really be moving along, Louise,” he said. “Well, I should. You have a temporary secretary’s job to do for a few hours.”
The elderly couple then moved towards the door to the office, and as Louise exited, Martin turned once more toward Grace, as he regarded her in obvious fondness.
“After all he has been through, I see now you are the perfect one to guide him,” he said. “It is so amazing how his strength prevails as it has up until now, despite the influence of such weaklings as that despicable Uncle Brad of his, to say nothing of that worthless heroin addicted friend of his, Marty Evans. No offense, mind you, my dear, I understand that we all have our weaknesses. Of course, when he fell under the sway of that”- here Martin gazed toward the office door, where Louise had just now went out to assume her place at the secretary’s desk-
“That nigger,” he whispered. “Louise hates it when I use that word. You know, the Crenshaw fellow. Anyway, Marlowe-oh, there I go, I am as bad as he is-Radu, I mean, has seen his share of hardships, not the least from that abominable mother of his. Had I known how weak my own son was I would have ended his life as easily as I did my youngest son.
“You see, though, Grace, it turned out all for the best after all. As they say, what does not kill you only makes you stronger. Still, he needs you very much to keep him on the right course. And I know you will do that.”
“You sure seem to be taking your time in there, Martin,” Louise shouted from outside the office. “I hope you are not wasting Graces’ time and making a fool of yourself at your age.”
Martin rolled his eyes and grinned as he shook his head.
“It has been really good seeing you again, Grace,” he said. “Be sure you remember to lock the door when you leave, my dear. After all, the weekend is coming up. If we are lucky, they will not discover Mr. Desmond’s body until it starts to stink up the place. That would make it far more difficult to establish an exact time of death, you see.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Krovell,” Grace said, and then as Martin shook his finger with a teasing admonition, immediately made the correction. “Martin, I mean. And it has been really good seeing the two of you again, as well.”
After he left, Grace rummaged through Grady’s office until she found the hidden tape recorder, which she set on rewind. She then rummaged through his pockets until he found his cell phone. As she suspected, he had surreptitiously taken pictures of the two elderly Krovells, which she deleted.
“Nice try, Grady,” she said with grudging respect as she extracted from her purse her own cell phone, with which she phoned the number on the card earlier given her by Louise.
“Eddie, this is Grace,” she said. “I see you are out, so I’ll call later. I will be coming as soon as possible. I look forward to seeing you again. It’s been too long.”
She waited a few minutes longer, after which she returned to the tape recorder. She hit the record button, after which she placed on Grady’s desk another recorder. When the clock struck eight, she hit the play button on that one, which contained snippets of a previously recorded conversation earlier engaged with the now deceased editor of The Baltimore Sun. The clown would take this recorder with him after his visit, she reasoned.
“You forgot something, Grady,” she said in the way of a farewell. “You always taught me that most times, things are more often than not exactly what they seem to be on the surface. What you did not realize is-this was not one of those times.”
Grace walked casually toward the front door, her high heels clicking on the floor below her. She reached for the door. As she opened the door, she turned one last time. She glanced down toward the now dead body, crumpled on the floor. She smiled. She turned then and left, closing the door behind her.
