I gave Lionel the rundown and he smirked at my ruthlessness. I reminded him that as an avowed Peeping Tom, Herzog brought skills to the game. Then he said, yeah, but what about the dog? I said if Herzog disappeared or got it in the neck because he didn’t know how to tail someone discreetly, we’d go find Gracie and bring her to Hawk Mountain. Lionel, despite the impracticality of the scheme, was satisfied.

Several hours passed and I admit to a pang of regret as my imagination concocted gruesome fates for Lenny H. Then Herzog called in with an address and a demand that I email his PayPal account with the agreed-upon payment. It wasn’t lost on me that I was as amazed that this flea-bitten hermit availed himself of online banking as I was that cultists were prancing through the woods in varsity duds.

What a world.

■■■

I’d gotten my hands on a 1980s Dodge cargo van for cheap. White and rust with two bucket seats up front. My buddy at the salvage yard reinforced the bumpers and installed a winch mount in the front. Unable to predict how events might unfold, we prepared for the worst; loaded the van with an array of tools and equipment, then covered them with a tarp.

Meg asked how long I’d be gone. She’d grudgingly grown accustomed to me languishing at the house four or five nights a week, licking my wounds and poring over curious and quaint volumes of forgotten lore. As we talked, she supervised my efforts to reattach a section of gutter that sprang loose during the last heavy snow. Me on a shaky ladder had us both pondering mortality.

“A few days,” I said. “Or forever.”

“Oh, sweetie, you aren’t killing the comedy.”

I could never quite tell when her dry wit was referencing something serious (my former life with the mob, for instance), nor what response was expected. I did what all guys learn to do, if they’re savvy—I improvised. I fell off the ladder.

She kissed me and made it better.

“I hope I don’t ever die,” I said.

“Oh?” she said.

“Yeah. I’d miss you.”

■■■

I borrowed the Monte Carlo. Lionel drove the van. We departed Hawk Mountain at different times and traveled separate routes. Weeks had passed since my California vacation and there were no signs of surveillance. Some of Mandibole’s people might’ve been ex-intelligence, which was a concern. However, the logistics of monitoring my activities and those of my associates over a prolonged duration would require a much larger team and support staff. Could the Redlicks theoretically afford a full-blown surveillance operation? Yes, a small chance existed. Could a small, under-supported team function effectively and without tipping their hand? The odds dwindled to near zero. Horseheads was the real danger. Once I showed my face in town, the fuse would be lit.

I cruised into a golden late-winter morning. On the way, I listened to audio from the Campbell-Ryoko files. These pieces were the last in my possession. I was slightly nostalgic to think we were at the end of our journey. I played them several times.