Prodigal Son

medical supply companies… But two sites on the Internet offer formulas for making it in the kitchen sink, out of stuff you can buy at the supermarket. I'm just saying this case doesn't fit in any standard box. You're looking for something you've never seen before. To stop this guy, you've got to go to a weirder place-one level below Hell."
        Harker turned from them and walked away across the squad room.
        Carson and Michael watched him leave. Then Michael said, "What was that? It almost seemed like genuine concern for the public."
        "He was once a good cop. Maybe a part of him still
is."
        Michael shook his head. "I liked him better as an asshole."

CHAPTER 8
        
        OUT OF THE LAST of the twilight came Deucalion with a suitcase, in clothes too heavy for the sultry night.
        This neighborhood offered markedly less glamour than the French Quarter. Seedy bars, pawn shops, liquor stores, head shops.
        Once a grand movie house, the Luxe Theater had become a shabby relic specializing in revivals. On the marquee, unevenly spaced loose plastic letters spelled out the current double feature:
        
    THURS THRU SUNDAY
    DON SIEGEL REVIVAL

    INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS
    HELL IS FOR HEROES
        
        
        The marquee was dark, the theater closed either for the night or permanently.
        Not all of the streetlamps were functioning. Approaching the Luxe, Deucalion found a route of shadows.
        He passed a few pedestrians, averting his face without seeming to, and drew attention only for his height.
        He slipped into a service walk beside the movie palace. For more than two centuries, he had used back doors or even more arcane entrances.
        Behind the theater, a bare bulb in a wire cage above the back door shed light as drab and gray as this litter-strewn alleyway.
        Sporting multiple layers of cracked and chipped paint, the door was a scab in the brick wall. Deucalion studied the latch, the lock… and decided to use the bell.
        He pushed the button, and a loud buzz vibrated through the door. Inside the quiet theater, it must have echoed like a fire alarm.
        Moments later, he heard heavy movement inside. He sensed that he was being studied through the fish-eye security lens.
        The lock rattled, and the door opened to reveal a sweet face and merry eyes peering out of a prison of flesh. At five feet seven and perhaps three hundred pounds, this guy was twice the man he should have been.
        “Are you Jelly Biggs?" Deucalion asked.
        "Do I look like I'm not?"
        "You're not fat enough."
        "When I was a star in the ten-in-one, I weighed almost three hundred more. I'm half the man I used to be."
        "Ben sent for me. I'm Deucalion."
        "Yeah, I figured. In the old days, a face like yours was gold in the carnival."
        "We're both blessed, aren't we?"
        Stepping back, motioning Deucalion to enter, Biggs said, "Ben told me a lot about you. He didn't mention the tattoo."
        "It's new."
        "They're fashionable these days," said Jelly Biggs.
        Deucalion stepped across the threshold into a wide but shabby hallway. “And me," he said drily, "I've always been a fashion plate."
        
        BEHIND THE BIG theater screen, the Luxe featured a labyrinth of passages, storage closets, and rooms that no patron had ever visited. With a rolling gait and heavy respiration, Jelly led the way past crates, mildewed cardboard boxes, and moisture-curled posters and stand-ups that promoted old films.
        "Ben put seven names on the letter he sent me," Deucalion said.
        "You once mentioned Rombuk monastery, so he figured you might still be there, but he didn't know what name you'd be using."
        "He shouldn't have shared my names."
        "Just knowin' your aliases doesn't mean I can mojo you."
        They arrived at a door that wore an armor-thick coat of green paint. Biggs opened it, switched on a light, gestured for Deucalion to enter ahead of him.
        A windowless but cozy apartment lay beyond. A kitchenette was adjacent to the combination bedroom and living room. Ben loved books, and two walls were lined with them.
        Jelly Biggs said, "It's a sweet place you inherited."
        The key word whipped through Deucalion's mind before lashing back with a sharp sting. "Inherited. What do you mean? Where's Ben?"
        Jelly looked