D’Agosta followed Pendergast down to the bank of the stream, idly listening to the muted conversation of Constance and the count that they had left behind with their picnic things. Several large, gnarled elm trees blocked the others from view, but the sound of their voices—if not the individual words—drifted pleasantly on the air of the clear, calm afternoon. Pendergast stood beside a tree that was very close to the water’s edge, one of his long, white hands resting delicately upon the dark bark of the trunk. He gazed pensively out over the water, his eyes following its turbulent passage with a steadiness that was almost meditative. D’Agosta cleared his throat gently and squinted up into the sky.

“” Pendergast abruptly recited this bit of poetry with a clipped succinctness that did not seem to fit the rich, fantastical tone of the words. “Or someplace very similar, at least.” He released a quiet sigh and turned back to meet D’Agosta’s inquiring gaze. “This case is becoming quite the puzzle.”

D’Agosta shrugged. “Only if you don’t believe in the devil,” he replied flippantly.

Pendergast smiled slightly. “I feel a measure of...   read more »

I was resting in a very large bed, with several large pillows, a newspaper and a glass of spring water on a bedside table. None of it was making me feel any better, however, and in fact I was becoming greatly frustrated by the whole thing. It had been two days since Aloysius Pendergast had saved me from the clutches-greatly skilled and terrible though they be—of his brother. In that whole time, I had been salved and soothed and treated like a queen on her throne. By his servant.

Not once in the entire two days had Pendergast himself been within spitting distance of me. He’d carried me to a hospital, whisked me off to a private flight, physically carried me from plane to car to apartment, laid me on the bed and then—poof! Vanished. It was enough to give a girl a complex, considering what we’d been through and how we’d celebrated our survival together.

Granted, I could see where he might not regard me as the sort of guest he’d want to pay personal attention to, what with me being a lounge singer and all; certainly no New Orleans debutante, but I thought we were getting along quite well. Perhaps...   read more »

Diogenes Pendergast’s Letter to Santa Claus 1969 (?)

Dearest Santa Claus,

It has recently come to my attention that my name might have been incorrectly entered in your ‘naughty’ list. I sincerely hope this is a misunderstanding. As your omniscient powers certainly have revealed, Aloysius and I had quite a lively altercation after this pronouncement, which I am sure you will chalk...   read more »

A light scrim of mist drew across the full moon. Most of the streetlights were out, and driving down the back street felt like being at the bottom of the ocean — inky dark, dank, details obscured by drifting fogbanks.

D'Agosta spotted a lone figure lounging under a working streetlamp and let off the gas pedal, tapping the brake lights in code as the unmarked cruiser slowed.

It was a shitty job, but the mayor had been making a lot of noise about "cracking down" on prostitution since the latest killings. D'Agosta didn't for one second think the crackdown would make any difference. Sure, the streets would be empty for a while — at least, until the heat was off — but the streetwalkers were just taking their business indoors. Only the brave and the desperate were out tonight.

He had volunteered for street-sweeping partly because he knew damn well plenty of his fellow officers would take the opportunity to beat the shit out of these guys. D'Agosta felt a little more sympathy for them. They were only doing what they could to survive. A lot of them didn't have much choice.

He nudged the cruiser up to the curb...   read more »

I didn’t have long to wait. I’m sure Aloysius’ (how funny to think of him with a first name!) cell phone is in a single-digit dial position on his brother’s phone, because that’s the only explanation for why those two didn’t trip over each other in the lobby. I’d just gotten the sheets changed, mangled ones in a trash bag—not even I was sure I’d try to bleach those clean—when a soft knock sounded at the suite’s door.

After a final check of the bedroom to make sure everything was reasonably tidy, and deciding to leave the comforter where it was on the floor, I gingerly made my way out to the mini-foyer. Not being quite the fool I seem at times, I checked through the peephole before removing the chain and turning the doorknob. Tall, pale and handsome, Pendergast lounged against the frame, face blank of any emotion beyond well-bred ennui, computer bag dangling from his shoulder.

“Good...morning.” I said, casually checking over my shoulder to see what the clock on the end table said. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Gracefully, Pendergast straightened from the door and slid past me like a ghost. Pausing only to drop his bag on the table...   read more »

At first glance, the setting may have looked romantic. The thought occurred to Special Agent Cady as she surveyed the remains of dinner at the small table in her kitchen: chop sticks set down after eating their fill of take-out Thai food; a small porcelain pot of green tea still warm and fragrant; red linen napkins to further accent the Asian flavor of dinner, along with a petite arrangement of unknown blossoms —at least unknown to Cady— that he had bought to grace the table. Even the lights were dim, and three well-used candles flickered tiredly together at the end of the table. The man who sat across from her, white-blond hair occasionally highlighted in the candlelight, expensive tailored suit, silk handkerchief arranged perfectly in his breast pocket, and one slim, elegant, long-fingered hand thoughtfully tapping the table as he looked at her, was every bit the well-bred, well-heeled suitor. To the casual observer, they might have looked like quite the romantic pair.

On the other hand, this was Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast sitting across the table from Special Agent Anna Cady, and anyone who knew him at all would know that the glint in his eye had nothing to do...   read more »

Their position had been overrun during the early morning hours. First Lieutenant Eli Glinn manned the bridge as American troops fell back, fighting and straggling their way over the sturdy wooden frame.

He had waited for nearly twenty minutes, a virtual lifetime as their tiny force had held, broken, held again. He’d been anticipating this moment for two days. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as five men broke from the heavy cover and ran for the bridge as though Lucifer Himself was on their heels. The tall one bringing up the rear, Garza, signaled to him and Glinn took a breath to steady his nerves.

This was it, then. Just a matter of seconds, now... He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Get clear! Get clear!” he yelled as Garza shepherded the last soldier over the bridge. All accounted for. Glinn didn’t know all of the men but he knew the number in both special ops teams scheduled to be in the area give or take a few for casualties, and recognized the rearguard as they came up behind the last of the stragglers. Only thirteen men left? Jesus. He put the thought away....   read more »

Agent Pendergast looked out
His window at Dakota
When the snow lay all about
Pale as his own scrota
“How I hate the cold,” he hissed.
“What would be the harm
in taking leave of this foul mess
and going someplace warm?”

He invited dear Vincent
They boarded a cruise ship
Just a couple single gents
Avoiding winter's cruel nip
The ship sailed and Vincent paled
For he began to blow chunks
Pendy was consumed with guilt
And quickly packed their trunks.

He chartered a whirlybird
Performed a ship-air pick up
Vincent's fear was quite absurd
Dickens he did kick up
Twirled and kicked and screamed his way
From the deck to the bird
Pendergast was heard to say,
“Oh, Vincent, my word.”

Then the chopper dropped them off
In North Carolina
At their protests, the pilot scoffed,
“Nothing could be finer!
You don't want to see the snow
You want milder weather
This place here will do you fine
Stay with my friend Feather.”

They found Feather's humble site
Dark, and out in the sticks
They asked why she had no light
She lit all her wax wicks
Asked them if they'd like to dance
Trip the light fantastic
Vincent volunteered but he
Proved to be quite spastic.

Feather turned to Pendergast
“Hey, tall, pale, and handsome...
Let's have us a little blast.
You and I can dance some.
Tell your friend to take a nap
His strength...   read more »