Alexander Death(76)

Alexander studied the picture. “You say they're working for her family?”

“If the U. S. government were involved, I would not bring this to you. I would say I could not help them. It is her family looking for her.”

Alexander knew Jenny's father couldn't afford any such investigation. Jenny's boyfriend, though—the healer. The Barrett family had plenty of money, most of it from investments Alexander had made himself, when he wore a different body. He was curious how it had compounded over time. He wished to see the house he'd built, the family graveyard he'd ordered constructed when he was already half-senile.

That previous incarnation had lacked the clarity of this one, probably because Jonathan Barrett the First hadn't died under anesthesia as a child, and then gotten revived. Alexander Scipioni, son of a Beverly Hills entertainment lawyer and drunken plastic surgery addict, sure the hell had. Alexander had nearly gone insane, but he'd come back with his mind wide open, fully understanding the past-life glimpses and dreams he'd been having since he was born. With further research, he'd decided to use a more natural alternative for Jenny, and that had worked out just the way he wanted it to.

“Do you know where to find the girl?” Francisco asked.

“I have her,” Alexander said.

“Really?” Francisco waited for more, but Alexander volunteered nothing. “You have her?”

“Yes.”

“I see. In that case, my friends want me to ask about a ransom. A great deal of money is available to pay for her return.”

“There is no ransom,” Alexander told him. “The girl will not be returned.”

“I see.” Francisco downed his whiskey. “Can you give some evidence that she is with you of her own free will? Have her send us a note?”

“No.”

Francisco studied Alexander. A minute passed, while Alexander listened to the brassy horn music playing over the cantina's scratchy speakers.

“I do not know if this will satisfy my friends.” Francisco finally said. “They suspect kidnapping. They want assurance that she is willing to be where she currently is, and that she is not a prisoner.”

“I can offer no such assurance,” Alexander said. “And there will be no ransom.”

“You might make them angry with you. Should I deny the girl is with you? I don't want this to lead to trouble for Papa Calderon.”

“Do not deny it,” Alexander said. “Tell them you found me. Tell them I have the girl, and I do not desire a ransom, and I will not provide proof of her well-being.”

Francisco scratched his head and sat back in his chair. “I will tell them what you say. Anything else you want passed along?”

Alexander shook his head.

“Then our business is concluded.” Francisco whistled to the dancer he'd admired earlier, who was now over at the bar. “Carmen! Come and see us.”

Alexander stood up and left pesos on the table for the waitress.

“You don't want to miss this.” Francisco gave another gold-toothed grin while the girl approached the table.

“I'll pass,” Alexander said. “Busy schedule.” He stepped away from the table.

“Watch your ass, Brujo,” Francisco said as he left. “You don't want this to become trouble. Not for Papa Calderon, and not for me.”

“No trouble,” Alexander said. He put on his sunglasses and stepped into the hot, dusty afternoon outside the cantina.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





Seth found himself back in Atlanta only a couple of days later, after receiving an urgent call from Jerome Breisgau at Hale Security Group. He'd spent most of the intervening time sleeping, eating and recovering from all the healing he'd done at the cancer ward. He'd missed two days of classes, but he didn't really care.

The receptionist took Seth to Breisgau's office as soon as he gave his name.

“Have a seat, Mr. Barrett,” Breisgau said as he shook his hand. Seth took the chair, feeling a little weird about a man decades older than himself calling him Mister. “Coffee?”

“She already offered, thanks.”

Breisgau sat across from him and seemed to study him for a moment. “Your girlfriend seems to be running with a rough crowd.”

“You found her?” His heart began to race.

“Possibly. Since you mentioned a Mexican girl was involved, we went ahead and reached out to a few associates south of the border. Someone told us a rumor about a certain person who can supposedly raise the dead. Exactly the rumor you told us to watch out for.”

“Then let's check it out,” Seth said. He was leaning forward in his chair now, impatient.

“We have. The man is called El Brujo. In Spanish, that means a sorcerer, a male witch. Unfortunately—and this where things get complicated—he's a part of the Calderon cartel.” Breisgau watched Seth for a reaction.