His target, Tommy, sat on a stool by the other door. It was propped open, and the sound of a loud band slamming their instruments pulsed out from inside the dark club.
Ward approached Tommy, flanked by Buchanan and Avery, who stayed a half-step behind him. They all wore thick leather gloves tonight, and he’d warned them not to touch Tommy at all if they could avoid it. The boy’s touch could shatter a man’s mind with fear.
Tommy looked them over sullenly as they approached, studying their dark suits and ties. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, and his long hair was dirty and tangled.
“I don’t think this is really your scene, guys,” Tommy said as they stood before him. “Somewhere in Orange County, an Applebee’s is calling your name.”
“We didn’t come for the music or ambiance, Mr. White,” Ward said.
Tommy sat up on his stool, and his eyes widened. He glanced among the three of them, probably realizing that he couldn’t win a straight fight, and would need his power if he wanted to escape. Ward didn’t want him running just yet.
“Settle down, we’re not here to hurt you,” Ward told him. “That is your name, isn’t it? Thomas White? Also known as Thomas Krueger? Currently going by Thomas Voorhees. Cute.”
“Who are you?” Tommy asked.
“We are with the Department of Defense,” Ward said. “We know you escaped from a maximum-security penitentiary in Louisiana, and the guards there would just love to have you back. We also know that you killed your foster father, Ben Tanner, just before you went and caused that riot in Charleston. Your foster mother says you were a very disturbed boy.”
“You talked to her?” Tommy asked.
“She’s doing well with Mr. Tanner dead, I’d say. Spent some of the life insurance money on a candy-pink Le Baron convertible. Didn’t you think she looked well, Buchanan, in that red Christmas dress?”
“Yes, very healthy,” Buchanan replied.
Tommy shrugged, as though indifferent to his foster mother’s fate.
“Have you ever played Monopoly, Tommy?” Ward asked. “I’m offering you a little orange Get Out of Jail Free card. We can expunge your entire criminal record, make you a free man. No more scurrying around in the dark.”
“In exchange for what?” Tommy asked. He had a cornered-rat look in his eyes, still deciding whether to fight or flee.
“In exchange, you serve our country. You apply your fear-inducing ability toward protecting American interests around the world. Surely you don’t want to do this for the rest of your life.” Ward pointed inside the dark, loud club.
Tommy shrugged. “This job’s okay.”
“It’s okay? Son, you have a tremendous power inside you. You’ve got to have some ambition, don’t you? You could be out there making the world safe for America. You could be a hero instead of a criminal. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“What’s it pay?” Tommy asked.
“Pay?” Ward shook his head, exasperated. He was ready to punch the kid in the nose. “We’re talking about you finally doing something worthwhile with your life. You’ve got to look at the bigger picture here.”
“So the pay sucks,” Tommy said.
“It has to be more than you’re making here,” Ward said. “Room, board, medical, and we’ll pay you what we pay the Special Forces guys. Is that good enough? Or do you want to sit on this goddamn stool collecting dollar bills from drugged-out kids until it’s time for you to go back to prison with an extended sentence? What the hell are your plans for your life?”
Tommy sank on his seat, looking like a petulant child.
“Wake up, kid,” Ward said. “This is your only chance. You’ve got to see that.”
“I’ll think about it.” Tommy scratched his head.
Ward shook his head in disbelief. What was the kid’s problem?
“We want your girl to come, too,” Ward added. “Esmeralda, the one who can speak with the dead? We want both of you. Go and talk to her about it, too.”
“You want Esmeralda, too?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Ward glared at the dirty, long-haired kid and tried to keep his temper under control. “Go and talk to her about it,” he repeated.
“I guess I will.” Tommy shrugged.
“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” Ward said. “It shouldn’t take you twenty-four seconds to make this choice. At your age, it’s time to stop being a slacker and start being a man.” Ward handed him a plain white business card—no logo, no name, just a single phone number. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Call if you come to your senses before then.” Ward turned and walked away, followed by his two assistants.