Jack spent an uncomfortable night at the Ritz Carlton. Not because there was anything wrong with the twelfth-floor park-view room—it was superb. The front desk manager hadn’t blinked when Jack had declared that he didn’t believe in credit cards and laid down three of a kind of Maria Roselli’s thousand-dollar bills as an advance on his stay. But despite all the comforts he kept thinking he should be at Gia’s place, watching over her, ready to jump should anything happen. By reminding himself that the Ritz was only a few blocks from Sutton Square—closer than his own apartment—he managed to drift off to sleep.
He was up early, and showered and dressed before he called Gia to make sure she was okay. She was. No surprise there. If something had gone wrong, she had his room number and would have called.
At eight-thirty room service delivered his breakfast and he turned on his Tracfone. Four minutes later, as he was digging into a pair of deliciously runny eggs Benedict—Gia would have made a face—the phone rang.
“Mr. Farrell?” said a woman’s voice.
“Speaking.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I finally contacted you. I’ve been calling this number since yesterday.”
Jack smiled. Bet it drove your boss crazy that no one answered.
“Who are you and why are you calling me?” Jack knew the answers, but Jason wouldn’t. “If you’re selling something—”
“Oh, no! My name is Eva Compton from the New York City Dormentalist Temple. I’m calling from the Grand Paladin’s office and—”
Jack let out a little gasp. “Dormentalist? I have nothing to say to you people! You threw me out!”
“That’s why I’m calling, Mr. Farrell. What happened yesterday was a terrible mistake. Please come back to the temple so that we can rectify this unfortunate error. We’re all terribly upset here.”
“You’re upset? You’re upset? I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life! You Dormentalists are awful, heartless people and I want nothing to do with any of you. Ever!”
With that he thumbed the off button and glanced at his watch—8:41. Jack made a mental wager that they’d call back in twenty minutes.
He lost. The phone rang at 8:52. Jack recognized the accented bass voice immediately.
“Mr. Farrell, this is Grand Paladin Jensen of the New York City Dormentalist Temple. We met yesterday. I—”
“You’re the rude man who kicked me out!”
“And I’m so sorry about that. We made an error—a terrible error—and we’d like to rectify it.”
“Oh, really.” Jack drew out the word. He wasn’t going to let Jensen off the hook easily. “You said I was a phony, that you ran a check on my name and found out I didn’t exist. So why are you calling a man who doesn’t exist, Mr. Jensen? Tell me that?’
“Well, I—”
“And why are you calling me ‘Mr. Farrell’ when you say that’s not my name?”
“I-I don’t have any other name to call you. Look, if you’ll just come back, I’m sure we can—”
“You also said you don’t allow lies in Dormentalist temples—only truth. If that’s true, why do you want me back?”
“Because…because I was too hasty.” Jack could almost hear him squirm. “After you left I did some investigating and learned that your RT made several errors. Errors which would rightfully upset anyone.”
“I’ll say!”
“I promise you she’s being disciplined. She’ll be sent before the FPRB and—”
“The what?”
“The Fusion Progress Review Board. Her behavior will be reviewed and appropriate disciplinary measures taken.”
Electroshock therapy, I hope, Jack thought, remembering that hapless mouse.
He figured it was time to waver, but not before twisting the knife.
“Well, that’s encouraging, but what about you? You didn’t even give me a chance to speak. Are you going before this FPRB?”
“Well, ah, no. You have to understand, Mr. Farrell, that the Church is under constant assault, and sometimes we get jumpy. I realized that you had volunteered your real name but I wouldn’t listen, so I discussed the matter with Mr. Brady.”
Time to be impressed. “Luther Brady? You discussed me with Luther Brady himself?”
“Yes, and he was very upset that you’d come to the Church for help and we’d turned you away. He wants to meet with you personally when you come back.”
Bump it up to breathy-voiced awe: “Luther Brady wants to meet with me? That’s…that’s…” a little catch in the voice here “…wonderful! When can I come back?”
“Anytime you wish, but the sooner the better as far as we’re concerned.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“Excellent! I’ll have somebody meet you at—”
“Not just ‘somebody,’” Jack said, unable to resist one last turn of the blade. “You. I want the Grand Paladin himself there to bring me in.”
Jack heard Jensen swallow, then say, “Why, of course. I’d be happy to.”
Oh, yeah. I’ll bet you’re just dying to be my escort to Luther Brady.
Jack considered asking Jensen to bark like a dog but canned it. He grinned as he ended the call.
Finding Johnny Roselli was turning out to be fun.