Free The Faceless One by Mark Onspaugh Page A

Jackson at lunch?”
    Theresa jumped a bit at the sound of his voice.
    “Yes, Mr. Breckforth. He should be back in about ten minutes.”
    Breckforth walked in.
    “I just wanted to touch base with him over the Hoeniger meeting.” He looked at the mask. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up.
    “That’s from Mr. Slater’s estate. I’m sending it to his brother in California.”
    “Oh, Slater, yes. God, that was bloody awful.”
    Theresa nodded, not really wanting to think of Mr. Slater, especially in the context of “bloody.”
    Mr. Breckforth placed the mask back on the suede.
    “Tell Jackson to come to my office as soon as he gets back.”
    Theresa nodded and went back to work, anxious to get the mask into the box and sealed away. She didn’t want to look at it anymore.
    * * *
    Purcival entered Evolution, squeezing into the limited space made smaller by its profusion of skeletons and fossils. Evolution was a stylish store that dealt with various biological specimens mounted for either museums or private collectors, emphasis on the latter. There were entire skeletons mounted, everything from a tiny bat weighing less than two grams to a full-grown grizzly bear. There were skulls of saber-toothed cats, protohumans, and various extinct species cast in resin from actual fossils. One wall was filled with mounted butterflies and insects, including a vast array of scarab beetles. The beetles defied the conventional, many of them looking as if they had been dipped in gold, covered in chrome, or plated with any of a dozen precious metals or gems.
    There were several people browsing at the vast collection of artifacts, but Purcival notedgratefully that no one was making a purchase or requiring the help of the sales staff.
    There were two people behind the counter, one a tall man dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a purple silk shirt. The other was a young woman with a pierced lower lip and the beginnings of a Maori tattoo on her pale face. Purcival approached the young man.
    “I called about displaying a mask?”
    “Right! I have something right here.”
    The young man brought out a beautiful glass case edged with black lacquered wood and containing a brass stand.
    Purcival mentally checked the dimensions of the case against the image of the mask in his mind. It seemed like it would fit perfectly.
    “That’s fine. How much is it?”
    “One hundred and twenty-five dollars. Normally it’s two hundred, and—”
    “Fine, fine, I’ll take it,” Purcival said, interrupting. He fumbled his American Express Platinum card on the desk.
    The young man was used to such abruptness. He swiped the card through a small electronic device and punched in the price. As they were waiting for the sale to be approved, he wrote up an invoice by hand. With precision timing, the device chirped its approval just as he wrote the total in the lower-right-hand corner. He tore off the slip that the device spit out with a series of hums and clicks and presented it for Purcival to sign.
    “I can put this in a box for you with some styrofoam packing material, Mr. Purcival.”
    “That’s all right, just a shopping bag is fine. I’m going right back to the office to put the mask in it.”
    “Certainly.” The young man frowned for a fraction of a second. This was less than the service his employers prided themselves on. But his supervisor was watching the transaction, she would be his witness if Purcival broke the case on the way back to his office and tried to demand a replacement or credit.
    He placed the case in a large bag emblazoned with woodcuts of fossils and nature drawings as well as the store’s logo.
    “You can clean the glass with any regular glass cleaner—”
    Purcival grabbed the bag and hurried out of the shop. He flagged down a cab, relieved that his purchase had taken less than ten minutes. Now he could get back to the office with plenty of time to display the mask before his meeting. He carefully placed the bag on