'"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. She's contagious. The last thing she'd
want is for you to catch the infection. Sister Beatrice would never
forgive us if we started an epidemic of strep throat at the school."
"Did Dr. Caruth prescribe Remy's medication?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I don't know, Pinkie, it's ... Remy's been so run down lately."
"So?"
"Well, I was just thinking that maybe I'm guessing, of course but could
she be, you know, pregnant?"
Pinkie's eyes focused on the Steuben crystal paperweight on his desk,
but he didn't really see it. Nothing registered except his young
sister-in-law's absurd suggestion, which suddenly didn't seem so absurd.
Unaware of his reaction, Flarra continued."If she is, should she be
taking antibiotics?"
"She's not pregnant."
"Are you sure?"
"If my wife was pregnant, don't you think I would know it?" he snapped.
"Well you don't have to bite my head off. I don't mean to pry, Pinkie.
It's just that I think Remy secretly yearns for a baby and regrets that
she's never been able to conceive. I was hoping that might be the reason
she's been so puny lately. I even asked her."
"What did she say?"
"She said no."
"So there you have it. Why would she lie?"
"I guess you're right," Flarra said."It was just a thought." Then she
asked if he would hold the phone up to Remy's ear."Just so I can say hi
to her. I won't make her talk."
"She's asleep."
"Oh, well, I guess you shouldn't wake her," she said, obviously
downcast."She's been told about your calls and appreciates your
concern."
"One reason I was so worried," she said as an afterthought, "Remy must
be awfully upset over Errol."
"You heard about that?"
"I read about it in the newspaper. Remy must have freaked out."
"Actually she doesn't know yet. She's been so ill I haven't had the
heart to give her the bad news."
"Do the police have any leads?"
"None that I know of. I'm afraid it was one of those random acts of
violence, a crime that will remain unsolved."
"Errol was strong as an ox," Flarra mused aloud."How could an ordinary
mugger get the jump on him?"
"I don't wish to speak unkindly of the dead, but Errol's physical
strength far exceeded his mental fortitude. He should have known better
than to go for a stroll along the levee alone in the middle of the
night."
"I guess, but it seems strange that " Tiring of the conversation, Pinkie
interrupted."Flarra, sweetheart, you must excuse me."
"Have you given Fat Tuesday any thought? You know, about me coming to
your party?"
"I've given it some thought, yes. But I haven't yet reached a decision,
and I really can't talk about it now. Another call has just come in, and
it pertains to my case. I'll give Remy your love."
"Okay," she replied with a marked lack of enthusiasm."Tell her to call
me as soon as she feels up to it. Bye-bye." As soon as he hung up,
Pinkie asked Roman to summon Bardo. When the man arrived and entered the
study, Pinkie handed him a Rolodex card.
"Put one of your best guys on this. Have him be discreet, but I want to
know what she eats for breakfast." Bardo nodded and pocketed the card.
Pinkie asked him, "Has our pseudopriest decided to cooperate?"
Bardo grinned evilly."We're giving him a little longer to think it
over."
"What about Mccuen? Heard from him yet?"
The policeman had failed to keep his appointment with Bardo earlier that
evening. Men were sent to check his house. They reported that no one was
at home and that the place was in total disarray, as though it had been
abandoned in a hurry.
"I've got guys looking for him. He'll turn up," Bardo said with his
customary cockiness. Then, less sure, he asked, "What if neither the fag
or Mccuen comes across?"
Pinkie glanced down at the telephone and recalled his most recent
conversation. Stroking the receiver with his finger, he smiled like a
gambler with a winning ace up his sleeve."I'll try something else."
"Lord, who could that be?"
Joe Basile figured his wife had every reason to sound grumpy. Her day
had got off to a bad start at dawn with Doug Pat's unannounced visit.
Now she'd been awakened by the telephone in the wee hours. He groped for
the receiver and answered on the fifth ring
"Mr. Basile, this is Mac
Mccuen again. Please don't hang up on me until you hear me out."
"What is it, Mr. Mccuen?" he said impatiently.
"I lied to you this morning."
Joe levered himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed.
"How so?"
"I told you Basile had invited me to join him on a getaway. He didn't.
But I must get in touch with him. I lied because I didn't want to
involve you in this. Unfortunately I've run out of options."
"Involve me in what?"
"Your brother is in a shitload of trouble."
Although more crudely put, his statement was consistent with Pat's.
"By trouble, do you mean that he's in danger?"
"Grave danger. If you know where he is, you've got to tell me. I must
reach him before anyone else does."
That, too, was almost verbatim what Pat had said. After calling Dredd's
Mercantile twice and receiving no answer, Joe hadn't tried again. Now he
wished he had. If Burke had gone on a retreat, he was most likely at
their fishing cabin. If Burke was anywhere in that vicinity, Dredd would
know.
Personally, the grizzled taxidermist and his spooky dwelling gave Joe
the willies, but there was a strong bond between Dredd and Burke.
Joe reasoned he could rely on Dredd to tell him the truth, if he knew
it.
Unfortunately he hadn't been able to reach him.
"Mr. Basile, Joe, please tell me," Mccuen implored."Do you know where
Burke is?"
"I told you this morning that I didn't."
"That's what you told me, but do you?"
His tone didn't sit well with Joe Basile."Forgive me, Mr. Mccuen, but
you're the one who sounds desperate and in trouble, not Burke." After a
long pause, Mccuen said, "I apologize for insinuating that you're lying.
In your place, I'd lie, too. I respect your loyalty to Basile.
But you've got to believe me when I tell you that you're doing him harm
by not telling me how I can reach him."
"At the risk of sounding repetitive, I don't know where he is," Joe
said, enunciating each word.
"You must have some idea," Mccuen argued. Joe hesitated for only a
millisecond, but Mccuen seized upon it."What can I say thatll convince
you to help me find him? What can I say?"
Characteristically, Burke was a light sleeper. That's why it surprised
him that he didn't come awake until she began thrashing her arms.
She was trying to raise her right hand, and couldn't because it was
shackled to his left. It was the sharp tugging on his wrist and the bite
of the handcuffs that roused him from a deep sleep.
At first he misunderstood the reason for her agitat
ion."Hey! Cut it
out."
But as he came more fully awake, he realized she wasn't struggling to
free herself from him. The mosquito netting hanging from the ceiling had
fallen and landed directly over her face, she was frantically trying to
extricate herself from it.
Her attempts had resulted in the fabric becoming wrapped around her left
arm. The harder she tried to shake it off, the more entangled she
became. She opened her mouth to scream, but her inhalation sucked the
fabric into her mouth, increasing her panic.
"Relax. I'll get it off."
Her eyes were open, but either she was in the throes of a nightmare or
panic had pushed her beyond reason, because when Burke moved his hand
toward her face and tried to help pull the gauzy material away, she
began fighting him. She flung her head from side to side. When she tried
to raise her head, that only drew the netting tighter across her face.
She slapped at Burke with her left hand and continued to yank her right
hand against the unyielding metal cuff. He threw his right leg over hers
to protect himself from her vicious kicks. Again she tried to scream,
but the cloth was in her mouth and the only sound she made was a harsh
gasp.
"Be still, for God's sake," he said."I'm trying to help you."
Finally, he managed to get hold of the netting and pulled at it so hard
that it ripped, relieving the tension across her face. But the torn
sections drifted weblike over her. She brushed at them with her left
hand until they were no longer touching her. Her breathing was labored
and loud and rapid.
"You're all right," he said, speaking in a low, soothing voice.
"It's gone now. You're fine." He reached up to smooth away strands of
hair, but her left hand struck his hard."Don't touch me!"
"Calm down," he said, patting the air between them."The mosquito netting
fell over you. That's all it was." She stared at him dazedly while her
breathing gradually slowed down."Could you use a drink of water?"
She nodded. Earlier she had set a glass of water on the rickety
three-legged table that acted as a nightstand. Burke reached across her
for it."Can you sit up?" Propping herself on her elbows, she drank from
the glass he held for her.
Rain was still pattering monotonously on the shack's corrugated tin
roof. Even so, a muddy gray moonlight shone through the windows.
Tense and watchful, he had stood at the door for at least half an hour
after the men in the fishing boat departed. He hadn't sensed any menace
from them, merely curiosity over the priest whom they had rescued from
certain disaster, only to have him vanish during a wedding celebration.
But preferring to err on the side of caution, Burke had refrained from
relighting the lantern and had stood vigil until he was satisfied that
they posed no threat.
Finally, he had suggested that he and his hostage turn in. He had
handcuffed her to him again, which had sparked another argument, which
he had won by citing that she had a possible means of escape now that
the boat had been repaired. In light of her nightmare, he felt pretty
rotten about keeping her shackled, especially since it wasn't entirely
for safety's sake that he wanted to lie beside her.
She drank from the glass so greedily that water dribbled from the
corners of her mouth. When she had drunk it all, he returned the empty
glass to the table."Better now?"
Again, she didn't speak, but only nodded.
His eyes touched on her brow, cheekbone, nose, and mouth. After only a
moment's hesitation, he whisked the pad of his thumb across her chin and
lower lip, and it came back wet.
"I'm not going to kick you, Basile."
Something, desire maybe, had made him muddle-headed."What?"
She shifted uncomfortably, and he realized that his leg was still lying
across hers, trapping them against the mattress. His foot, his calf,
even the inside of his thigh touching her as a lover might. His crotch
was pressed snugly against her hip. His eyes lowered to her lips again.
He had touched them with his thumb. They were wet. And incredibly soft.
"Don't, Basile. Please."
Five words were whispered, but they couldn't have been clearer.
Her plea for him to desist covered about six transgressions that sprang
immediately to mind. With more self-restraint than a man should have to
For a time, he was absorbed with his own misery. But he became aware of
her massaging her right wrist with her left hand.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"A little."
"You were yanking on it hard. That's what woke me up. Do you need
something for it?"
Now, wasn't he being a good Boy Scout? Not only was he keeping his hands
off her at her request, he was also offering to render aid.
Either he deserved a medal of commendation or the Pussy of the Year
award.
"If you're so concerned about my wrist, you could remove the handcuffs."
"Not a chance."
"Please."
"No. Don't ask me anymore." Screw Boy Scouting.
They were close enough for him to feel every breath she took, and desire
wasn't something that retreated upon command. But there were barriers
between them more impenetrable than a steel bolster. Not the least of
which was that she had said
"Don't, Basile," and, although he was a
kidnapper, he wasn't a rapist. Second, she was another man's wife. True,
adultery was a popular, "aCceptable sin. If public stoning were still the
punishment for extra marital fun and games, the planet would have been
depleted of rocks a long time ago. As sins go, adultery was a huge yawn.
Religious aspects aside, there was the moral implication. He would like
to think himself a notch above Barbara and her football coach And,
anyway, the lady candidate had said no, so it wasn't going to happen no
matter what, so he ordered himself to stop thinking about it and go to
sleep.
He lay there for a long time, wide awake and about as relaxed as a
two-by-four. He sensed she was finding it equally difficult to fall
asleep again. He wasn't particularly in the mood for a chat, but he
feared if he didn't break the strained silence, his jawbone was going to
crack."Was it a nightmare?"
"Not exactly," she replied."More like a ... Yes, I guess you could call
it a nightmare."
"Associated with your fear of suffocation?"
He felt her nod.
One didn't have to think about it too long and hard to figure it out.
"What happened to you?"
She took so long to answer he thought she was going to ignore the
question. But then she did begin to speak, haltingly."I was twelve.
He was one of Angel's regulars. I had learned at a very early age that
when a man was in the house I was to keep still and quiet. Not to cry.
Not to whine. Not to ask for anything or draw attention to myself. I
tried to make myself as small as possible, first to avoid punishment,
then later to avoid being noticed. I wished to be invisible so
they
wouldn't look at me.
"But this one wouldn't let me ignore him. He always placed himself in my
path, teased me, made remarks to Angel about me that I didn't understand
at first, then came to understand too well
"One night she brought him
home with her after work. It was very late, and I was already asleep,
but their laughter woke me up. They were high, of course, and continued
their party without paying any attention to me.
Eventually they passed out in Angel's bed, and I went back to sleep.
"I'm not sure how much time passed. If I'd come awake sooner, I could
have fought him off and run out of the apartment. But when I woke up, he
was already on me, holding my arms above my head. I was wearing a
T-shirt and panties. He had pushed my shirt up and covered my face with
it."
Burke closed his eyes and lay perfectly still.