CHAPTER EIGHT: EVIL INTENTIONS

Bring me the face. Without the face I cannot doit.

Whatever you require, Tamara, that you shallhave.

You talk so sweet...that voice will get you anything. Bringme the face and I will make it yours. The man who wears it now won'tbe needing it, will he?

No...I don't imagine he will.

Dead of Winter (Written by George R.R. Martin)

It was a miserably-hot July afternoon in Central Park. Thoseunfortunate enough to be outside in the heat of the day were far toooccupied with finding shelter within to notice the tall, lanky manwho leaned against a large shade tree. He was obviously a homelessderelict, hanging out in the park until rush hour began and hischances for bumming a handout improved. He was hardly an unusualsight in Central Park, only one which had become much more common astimes became harder. It was the facade he wanted any who passed by tomake of him. For those who stared too hard or too long, there wassomething about the man that caused them to quickly redirect theirattention. They were right to do so. John Spirko was the embodimentof all that wasn't safe; all that wasn't right in a society wherepoverty, crime, and death flourished alongside the natural beauty ofthe park.

From a nearby bench partially hidden by a large hedge, Tamara satand observed the man she had not yet decided to meet. Word hadreached her just that morning that there was a stranger hanging outin the park who was willing to pay for certain information:information about the underground tunnels. She had no idea how longhe had been waiting for one of the regulars to take him up on hisoffer, but she supposed that by now he was beginning to suspect thatit wouldn't be quite so easy to hire a guide for the world Below.Strangers from the outside were invariably under the impression thatmoney could buy them anything, and this stranger was no exception.Tamara smiled as he shifted his position again, a sure sign of hisgrowing impatience. It was apparent that he was puzzled that no onehad pounced upon his offer. What he didn't know, what he couldn'tknow, was that regardless of how desperate their circumstances mightbe, those who knew the tunnels also knew exactly who dwelledin them. There was no amount of money this stranger could offer thatwas worth bringing down the wrath of Vincent upon their heads.

Yet, Tamra had not completely ruled out assisting the man. Forone, she wasn't a member of the tunnel community, although she hadlived Below for all of her adult life. On the run from the policeafter being implicated in several murders, she was in her late teenswhen she first stumbled into the tunnels and realized that she hadfound the perfect hiding place. That had been more than four decadesagoÐeven before the arrival of Jacob Wells or John Pater. Theinventive genius of John Pater, matched with the organizationalskills and charismatic leadership of Jacob Wells had transformed theworld Below into a safer, not to mention more habitable refuge forall. But Tamara was not inclined to acknowledge that particulartruth. For more than four decades she had nurtured a grudge againstJacob Wells and his tunnel followers. Helpless to stop theestablishment of the underground community, complete with its ownbrand of ethics and morality, Tamara had moved further away from theinterlopers into the most uninhabitable sections of Below.
There also existed a handful of others who had claimed the tunnels astheir home, but Tamara paid scant attention to them. For reasons oftheir own, they chose not to live within the society Jacob Wells hadestablished or to be governed by its rules. Over time, those whowalked a different path from that of the rapidly growing undergroundcommunity came to be known as outsiders. It was a label Tamaradespised, given that she was one of the remaining few who had claimedBelow as her refuge long before Wells arrived with his grand plansfor a utopian society.

Yet, despite it all, those who lived Below, whether alone or as apart of the Wells commune, did so under an informal truce in whichestablished boundaries were observed and differences were tolerated(if not always agreed with). The vastness of the tunnels andsubterranean caverns allowed for this co-existence, and even more,encouraged the one imperative shared by all: that every man,woman, and child guard against the discovery of the world Below bythose Above. Thus, it was unusual for a complete stranger to knowabout the existence of the tunnels, much less want to go down intothem. Still, unless he was escorted by one who actually lived within,the chances were minimal that he would ever locate those who livedBelow.

These thoughts and more came to Tamara as she played with the ideaof approaching the stranger. The fact that his inquiry had beenrelayed through the network of indigent patrons of the park whosehelp could be bought cheaply (usually for the cost of a bottle ofwhiskey) told her that this man knew his way around the underbelly ofsociety. That, alone, had been enough to bring her Above topersonally inspect him. Now peering out again at him, she felt ashiver of excitement run down her spine. The man had cold, dead eyes,and even the distance that separated them could not cloak theruthlessness that clung to him like a second skin.

While he was dressed appropriately enough for the role of a parkvagrant, Tamara could see the real man hidden beneath the rattyclothing. This man was no homeless derelict. Tamara knew he was awareof every movement in his proximity. Regulars sat on benches scatteredthroughout the park, much as she was doing. As his eyes passed overthem, Tamara sensed his keen assessment. In the end, she knew he wasdetermining which of these human specimens were of any use to him.None held his attention for long, and Tamara had no doubt that if theneed arose, he would have no compunction about ending their lives.No, he was no park bum: he was definitely a killer.

Tamara felt the spark of excitement spread. She hadn't been thisintrigued by anyone since she had met John Pater. Pater, later knownas Paracelsus, had been the first and only one of Wells' undergroundcommunity that she had ever permitted to encroach upon her territorydeep withing the bowels of the earth. Though their relationship hadbeen based on using one another to their mutual advantage, there hadbeen similarities between them. Paracelsus shared her contempt forJacob Wells and her hatred of the community where the man who wouldhave all others call him 'Father' ultimately became the sole leader.And yet, there was one inescapable difference. Tamara didn't shareParacelsus' single-minded determination to destroy Wells and hiscommunity, nor was she preoccupied with Vincent. And she certainlywasn't willing to die for either the tunnel community or its hybridlion mascot. While she might assist in the nefarious plans of othersto bring about the tunnel community's downfall, she had no desire tolead such a project herself. Tamara had her own creative interests,and they kept her busy.

Tamara had keenly felt the loss of Paracelsus in her life. Withhim she had enjoyed a long and fulfilling association; one she hadnever thought to experience again. Paracelsus' line of work oftenleft him with an excess of corpses which he, in turn, wouldgenerously bestow upon her. The only condition was that she beavailable when he desired the exclusive use of her unique talents.Thus, while she didn't actually grieve for the man, she did genuinelygrieve for the loss of a good supplier of many of her mostinteresting masks. Since his death, she had been alone, forced to goAbove to find deceased subjects in deserted alleys and the poorestsections of the city. Those places invariably produced the worsehuman specimens for her to work with, and in turn, the quality of hermasks had suffered.

Now in the presence of this man, Tamara saw someone with whom shecould once again join forces. It was a heady sensation; and thepossibility, however remote, of entering into partnership with thisstranger as a means of improving her craft infused her with eageranticipation. Things could be just like the were with Paracelsus!Certainly this stranger reminded her a great deal of the man,especially the arrogance that even a beggar's clothing could notdisguise. She suspected that just like Paracelsus, he would seehimself as superior and underestimate her at first. She was certainthat given time he would recognize his error and her worth. She, andshe alone, had the gift of mask-making, and even her fellow outcasttunnel dwellers walked a wide circle around her. Her ability totransform the faces of the living into masks of death was theultimate fool-proof disguise. Instinctively she knew that in thisstranger she had finally have found another who might have a need forher talent, that is, if she wasn't forced to kill him first. Pullingherself away from these inner reflections, she looked again to wherethe man still stood, only to feel her insides clinch at therealization that he was now standing directly beside her.

He stared down at her with dark, penetrating eyes, his mouth athin, tight line that held the barest hint of a frown. If hisexpression of grim determination was any indication he had gottentired of waiting for a volunteer and decided to take matters into hisown hands. Tamara instinctively knew he carried a gun. He probablyhad it pointed at her at this very minute, and she knew that hewasn't above murdering a woman, even an old one. So it didn't come asa surprise to her when he grabbed her elbow and forced her behind alarge cluster of bushes which effectively hid them from the main bodyof the park. It now only remained to be seen if he were foolishenough to try to harm her or if there was truly a good reason for herto help him find his way Below. If the former proved true, he was infor a surprise as she released a hidden lock on her bracelet fromwhere a small needle emerged. It would only require a second flick ofher forefinger across the button to shoot a lethal dose of poisonstraight into the man. He would be dead before his body hit theground.

"Are you the one who can tell me about the tunnels?" Spirko askedin a rasping, typical Bronx accent that actually made Tamara wince.She realized at once that she had obviously attributed too much tothis man. Accustomed to the smooth, cultured tones of Paracelsus'voice, which so successfully disguised the evil of his nature, shehad expected something similar from this stranger. What she heard,though, had been a shock to her sensibilities. He was menacing, andhe exuded danger. There was nothing suave, subtle, or cultured abouthim. In the cruel reality that was her life, Tamara had met manypeople just like this man. He was, simply, the killer she had hopedfor.

Calmly she answered him. "It depends on what you want to knowabout the tunnels, and what I'll get from telling you."

"Look," Spriko ground out. "I've been standing in this hell-holefor most of the day waiting for one of you to take up my offer. Firstthing you better learn is that I don't like to wait. Second is that Idon't play games. So if you're even half as smart as I think you are,you won't waste my time."

Tamara responded with no trace that his words had given her theslightest cause for concern. "I never said I wouldn't tell you whatyou want to know. In fact, I'd like to think that we can come to amutually beneficial arrangement, that is, if you can bring yourselfto turn that gun away from me."

With grudging acknowledgment, Spirko eased his finger away fromthe trigger of the gun he'd had trained on her since he first noticedher spying on him from behind the bushes.

"The name is John," he told her.

As Tamara rubbed her hands together, she carefully pressed asecond button on her bracelet and smiled as she felt the smallvibration which told her the pin had safely receded back into thechamber. "I'm Tamra," she said, "and what exactly do you need to knowabout the tunnels, other than the fact that they're dangerous?"

Recognizing that he had finally found someone who would tell himwhat he wanted to know, the flicker of a smile crossed his face. "AllI need to know is how to get around. I'm looking for a group thatlives down there."

"And I can assume that your visit isn't for a friendlyget-together?" Tamara asked with growing interest.

"Yeah, you can assume that."

"And you really expect to just go down there and locate thisgroup?" Tamara insisted.

His patience eroding, Spriko shot back tersely, "What I plan to dois none of your business. All I need from you is directions."

"I do believe," she said quietly, "that you're going to need quitea bit more from me than just directions. You see, most everyonearound here knows the tunnels are down there, but only a few of usknow how to get around in them. And of those, I'm likely the only onewho doesn't give a damn about the others who live Below, and so theonly one who won't steer you straight into the Abyss. So if you'reserious about going down there, finding this group, and getting outalive, you're going to need a guide. You're going to need me."

"Is that so? Well, the more you talk, sister, the more I'mthinking I'd be better off on my own," he shot back.

Tamara refused to allow his words to provoke her. He was anarrogant man who didn't understand that the rules Above didn't applyin the place where he wanted to go. So with more patience that shewas known for having, she tried to explain. "I don't know what you'veheard, but within an hour in those tunnels alone you'll be hopelesslylost and lucky if you ever find your way out. And if anyone knew youwere going down there gunning for someone in that group, you'd neverleave that place alive."

"Lady, I don't need this," John spat out.

Taking a step closer to him, Tamara lowered her voice. "Oh, so youdon't need my help? Fine. Go ahead, but you're signing your own deathwarrant. Do you really thing you're the first killer to come nearthese tunnels? There was another one, you know, about a year or soback. Snow they called him."

If the deadly menace in her voice wasn't enough to give him pause,the mention of Snow's name definitely was. Spirko knew Snow, and hewas reported to be one of the best.

"So Snow's been here," he finally said. "Small world. He's almostas good as me. He's a little too flamboyant for my tastes, but stillhe's good."

He waited for her to respond, but when she didn't, he figured he'dhave to come right out and ask. "So....Snow was here a while back.You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Oh, not much, really," she replied with a secret smile that senta shiver down his spine. "This Snow guy just kind of reminds me ofyou. He thought he could go down there, too...into thetunnels...alone. They say he had all kinds of modernequipment.....stuff to see in the dark.....stuff that could make youhear a pin drop.....and enough firepower to blow up the entire park.In the end, though, he was the one to die. They said every bone inhis body was broken...that he was hung like a rag doll. I only wishI'd been able to get hold of his head . . . ."

Her expression turned wistful, and Spirko was not quite sure ifshe was playing with a full deck. Yet, if Snow had met his end inthose tunnels, they were a lot more lethal than he had suspected. Hehadn't lived this long by being a fool, and if she wanted to help, hefigured he couldn't do any worse. Plus, he could always get rid ofher when her usefulness ran out. So with feigned disinterest thatfooled neither one of them, he asked her.

"So who took Snow out?"

Staring him straight in the eye, she said, "It's not a who,it's a what, and his name is Vincent. Seeing the spark ofrecognition in his eyes, she added maliciously, "And if he's the oneyou're after, you better believe you're not only going to need me,but plenty of luck, and even with that, I wouldn't bet on yourchances of making it out alive."

For the second time in less than five minutes, John Spirko foundhimself revising his opinion of the old woman. The bitch had knownall along that he was gonna have to get into bed with her if he wereto have a real chance of killing this Vincent. It was obvious thatshe'd been toying with him all along. Now seeing the self-satisfiedsmirk on her face, he was sorely tempted to slap it off just toregain the upper hand. The part of him that was a professional,though, stifled the impulse immediately. He still didn't know whather angle was, but he was now certain that he had the right person tohelp him get below. Reaching out, he took hold of her arm again in afirm grip.

"t just so happens that I agree with you. I do need you," he bitout. "So why don't we go where we can talk. You lead, and you canwipe that look off your face. I may need you for now, but that canchange real fast."

Tamara, former colleague of the now deceased Paracelsus, slowlylet the smile fade from her face, but it fooled neither one of them.For all that he held her arm in a punishing grip, he was no more incontrol of her than he had been when they first met. Yet she wasreluctant to deflate his ego any further. She still had plans forthis John Spirko, and if they didn't pan out, she could always getrid of him when his usefulness ran out. So turning, she pointedtoward the open culvert to the North, and stepping ahead of him, sheled him into the tunnels below.

> > > > > > * < < < < < <

As John Spirko followed Tamara down the seemingly endless series ofwinding passages, he was mesmerized by the enormity of theunderground world. The farther down they proceeded, the more he wasconvinced that he had made the right decision: not about resistingthe temptation to kill the old woman, he still might do that, but hewould have never been able to traverse this world on his own. And itwasn't just knowing the way. Several times he had been forced topause with Tamara as they quietly waited for others to pass them by.At other times they dodged sentries who stood watch. He had to handit to her, the old woman knew her tunnels.

He also became increasingly aware of the heat. They had left thecooler air several levels above, and Tamara explained that thetemperature would climb as they continued downward. While she assuredhim it would not get dangerously hot, Spirko found himselfuncomfortably reminded of childhood terrors instilled by hisgrandparents' threats that he was going to burn in hell for hismisdeeds. Even though it meant being shuffled off to another set ofrelatives to live, the young John Spirko had actually rejoiced whenboth grandparents died in an automobile crash years later. Now theirominous predictions mocked him, as he continued down the endlesstwists and turns like a rat trapped in a maze. Repeatedly he palmedthe gun in his coat pocket for reassurance, and when they finallyreached their destination, Spirko couldn't hide his obviousrelief.

That relief lasted but a few short seconds, however, as he steppedinto the large cavern behind Tamara. At the threshold he was met withthe sight of masks: hundreds of human faces that seemed to occupyevery available open space in the huge chamber. They hung from thewalls and ceilings, were piled on top of several large tables,stacked in corners and strewn across the floor. With morbidfascination, he walked further into the chamber, stopping before anancient sewing machine complete with manual foot pedal. A mask layhalf finished on the adjoining table, and Spirko bent down to examineit. The workmanship was stunning. He could barely discern the small,nearly invisible seams on the hairline of the partially baldhead.

More curious than alarmed, he wondered if Tamara made money fromselling her masks to the numerous novelty shops and costume outletstores that were so prevalent in the area. If she did, she couldn'tbe as indigent as she appeared. She definitely wouldn't have a reasonto live underneath a ton of rocks. Looking closer at the fifty ormore masks lying on the table, he admitted that she obviously had arare and unique talent. The masks appeared so authentic, so real, solife-like . . .

Abruptly, Spirko turned around, looking for Tamara. She hadpreceded him in, but in the face of the macabre scene that hadgreeted him, he'd lost track of her. Noticing that one corner of thecavern had been partitioned off with an old flannel blanket, hewalked over and pushed it aside with his gun. There he found Tamarasitting on the side of an wrought iron day bed, rubbing her feet. Shelooked at his outstretched gun, and then at him, but said nothing.The silence in the chamber stretched out between them. Spirkorealized that as bizarre as it might seem, he had hit on the reasonthe masks were so life-like: because they had lived. On the heels ofthat thought he suddenly turned away to look back into the mainchamber with its assorted collection of face masks and then whippedback around to glare at Tamara. She still hadn't moved, hadn'tspoken, and she hadn't smiled.

Although he was sure he'd figured it out right, he needed to hearher admit it, so nodding back toward the outer area, he asked her."Those masks out there, they're real faces - I mean they were madefrom human faces, right?"

Now came the smile. "Of course they're made from human faces! Howelse would I achieve the quality of my craft?"

Looking at the strange, eery smile she bestowed on him, Spirkoheard an inner voice warn him that perhaps this was just a little toomuch, even for him. There was a closer voice, though, a harder voicethat whispered his brother's name. In his mind's eye he could seeBernie, at least what was left of him to identify once they'd draggedhis soggy, decomposing corpse out of the river. And just that quicklythe rage was there. It still burned deep in the pit of his stomach,and it didn't give a damn about a crazy old woman or her chamber ofmasks. All that mattered was that he excise the pain and guilt, andslowly his grasp on reality reasserted itself.

Taking in a deep breath, he looked around the chamber again anddiscovered he couldn't drum up even an ounce of real outrage at whathe saw. He killed for a living. She made masks from human faces. Forall he knew, she might have killed the people attached to thosefaces. Then too, she might have only taken the remains of another'skilling. In the end, it really didn't matter to him as long as sheprovided the information he needed to avenge his brother. Thus, hepulled a chair up to the side of the daybed and sat down. Placing hisColt 45 Super across his lap, he looked over at her with no moreemotion than the masks that surrounded them.

"Why don't we get down to business?"

> > > > > > * < < < < < <

Several hours later, the deal had been closed. A rudimentary plan hadbeen devised, with Tamara's input, for Spirko to infiltrate Father'stunnel community. Sipping at a cup of tea liberally sprinkled withwhiskey, John Spirko actually marveled at the simplicity of the plan.Tamara had the knowledge about the people down here that he needed toget inside. She also had the perfect disguise, and in return for herservices, all she wanted was for him to supply her with the heads ofthose he killed. Given the many chasms they had passed while comingto her chamber, he figured this place would be as good a place as anyto dispose of the bodies, beginning with the one he would target toget their plan in action. All in all, it had proved to be a verysatisfactory day.

Tamara returned with her own cup of tea, and sitting down, she nowbestowed a smile that for the first time had genuine warmth. She,too, was pleased with their arrangement. The man needed her help, andhe wasn't above asking for it. He had definitely lived up to herexpectations, and so she asked him, "Anything else you want to knowright now?"

Spirko nodded brusquely, and Tamara had the satisfaction ofknowing that he would hang on every word that she said. If the truthwere known, she was enjoying herself immensely. Despite her age, shewasn't immune to the flattery of having the undivided attention of aman in his prime. So when Spirko asked about Vincent's son, sheanswered him without a second thought.

"About two years ago, Vincent had a woman who lived Above.Catherine Chandler was her name. Word has it that she was kidnapedand kept a prisoner by this big shot from Above. His name wasGabriele, if I recall correctly. Evidently she was pregnant byVincent at the time this Gabriele snatched her, and he decided tokeep the woman alive until the baby was born. After that, he didn'tneed her anymore and she was killed. Now I've never seen the child,Jacob they call him, but it's said that he looks human and for somereason Gabriele wanted to keep the boy. That was when all hell brokeloose down here. Vincent just about went crazy over his woman's deathand his missing kid. He was on the prowl everywhere trying to findhis son, and I guess Gabriele realized he'd never have a moment'speace unless he got rid of Vincent. That's when Snow was sent downhere: to kill Vincent. But I've already told you it's not so easy toget rid of Vincent."

Then, with a conspiratorial wink at John, she ended with a hackinglaugh, "Snow was a fool to think he could go against the devilhimself with nothing but a gun and goggles."

"So I take it you subscribe to the belief that this Vincent is thedevil," Spirko commented without hiding his sarcasm.

"It doesn't matter what you believe," Tamara replied. "It onlymatters that he is probably the most dangerous killer you'll evercome up against."

Sitting up suddenly, Spirko leaned forward with intensity. "That,Tamara, is where you are wrong. What you believe matters very muchwhen it comes to killing. There's a psychological advantage, and ifthis Vincent is as sharp as you say, I'm sure he's aware of the edgehis looks give him in hand-to-hand combat. But no one, not evenVincent, is indestructible. Everyone has a weakness, and it's onlyfor me to figure out his."

"Maybe so," she conceded, "but those who go up against him seldomlive to call him anything but death. Paracelsus once described him asdeath incarnate. Of course, Vincent eventually killedParacelsus, too."

The silence in the chamber was ominous as John Spirko sat andconsidered everything Tamara had said. As unbelievable as it seemed,her stories fit neatly into everything he'd uncovered from hisbrother's notes and tapes. Looking up at her with a predator's gleamin his eyes, he smiled and took another sip of his tea.

"So," he said finally, "tell me more about this son of Vincent's.You said his name was Jacob?"