by Vic Kerry
“That was some rank gas,” Cybil said. “I assume we’re talking about that smell in your office.”
“That’s why it’s embarrassing. If I wasn’t getting such good results, I would quit using it, but look.”
Rogers pulled the sleeve of his shirt to his shoulder. He flexed his arm. The bicep muscle looked large and defined. Ashe remembered that when he started working with Rogers the psychologist was flabby and didn’t have much muscle tone at all.
“Where did you get that stuff?” Ashe asked. “If it’ll make your arm look like that I might need some.”
Rogers took another drink from the piña colada. “I can’t tell you. It’s not exactly legal in the US.”
Ashe was not surprised, and it explained the smell even better. He’d probably picked up something that was heavily laced with sulfur. Rogers might even be using a product similar to methamphetamine, which sometimes had a heavy sulfur base.
“Was that all you guys wanted to know?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Smalls said. “I guess we were just concerned because you’ve been losing so much weight. I guess we misinterpreted your weight loss attempt to get sex as stress related.”
“Sex is a great stress reliever,” Rogers said.
“True,” Smalls said.
Ashe looked up at the priest. He noticed that the others had as well.
“I’m a clinical psychologist as well as a priest. I know about stress relievers even if I don’t use them.”
“I’m going to get out of here. I need to get some work done,” Rogers said. “You know it’s weird that you guys hang out here because I met this chick the other day that plays here a lot.”
“She’s in a band?” Cybil asked. “I probably know her. I come here a lot.”
“I don’t remember her name, but she played in some band called the Bobby Socks or Red Sox or something like that.”
“The Goth Sox.” Ashe felt a flush inside him.
“Yeah that’s it. Let me tell you something. Amazing. She had this piercing.” Rogers stopped and looked at Cybil. “I’ll stop there.”
“Do you know where we can find her or the band?” Ashe asked.
“Why? You interested in strange piercings?” Rogers asked.
“We need to ask them some questions. They may be connected with Marianne’s death or disappearance,” Ashe said.
“I’ve got no idea. I had a one-nighter with her and threw her number away. It was good but not getting attached good. Sorry.” Rogers took one more drink to empty the glass. “I’ll catch you later.”
He hurried out of the bar. Smalls finished off his whiskey and stood up.
“I think I’m going to hitch a ride back with him,” Smalls said. “I need do some work on campus as well.”
Ashe nodded. The priest ran after Rogers. Cybil reached over and took him by the hand. Her fingers were cold, probably from holding her beer. He looked into her eyes. She looked innocent. He wished that he hadn’t gotten involved with her. She was in as much danger as he was now.
“He’s a charming guy that Dr. Rogers,” she said.
“He’s a pig.”
“I know that. I’ve known that since the first week I started working in the building.”
“How?”
“He tried to get me to blow him in the copy room the first time we ran into each other.”
“He was probably just joking. He razzes everyone. I don’t think he’s ever heard of sexual harassment.”
Cybil drank from her bottle. “Maybe he was, but he pulled it out and pointed it at me.”
Ashe took a big swig from his beer. Marianne hated Rogers. She always said that he came onto her as many times as he could. He even seemed to remember that his junk slipped out of his running shorts one time when they encountered each other in the library stacks.
“He wouldn’t try anything now. As long as we’re friends, he’ll respect that.” Ashe doubted his own words as soon as they came out.
Chapter Seventeen
Since they were downtown, Cybil and Ashe decided to take in the parade. By the time they’d left the bar after two more bottles of beer, the crowds on Dauphin Street kept them from getting to the barricade.
“It’s crowded tonight,” Ashe said.
“There’s a good parading society tonight. People love their floats and their throws.” Cybil stood on her tiptoes to try and see the street. She looked at her watch. There were still a few minutes before the parade would start to roll. “I know a better place to stand so we can get closer to the street.”
She took Ashe by the hand and pushed back through the crowd. They walked across a few side streets and down an alley by the most popular gay bar in Mobile. The balcony of the old Victorian house was empty, and the music coming from inside was subdued. Cybil stopped as they passed.
“Sometimes Hortense comes by here to hang,” Cybil said. “We may find her there after the parade.”
Ashe looked at the building. He pointed at the rainbow pride flag flying from the side of the porch. “You want to come back here?”
“You’re not a homophobe are you?” she asked.
“No, but this isn’t my kind of a place,” Ashe said.
“You want to find somebody from the band, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She’ll probably be there. Don’t worry; I’ll hold your hand the whole time so that no one mistakes you for one of them.” Cybil giggled.
She must have had more of a beer buzz than she thought because the giggle turned into a big belly laugh. Ashe pulled on her hand to start back walking. She did, but laughed all the way to Government Street.
At the corner of Joachim and Government, she led him back toward the bay. Very few people stood on this stretch of the parade route. A few children hung off the barriers into the street.
“I told you that this street would be better.” Cybil let go of Ashe’s hand, running to an empty spot at a barrier.
He kept up behind her. Once she was on the barrier, he leaned in to her. She felt his hot breath on her neck. It smelled of beer, but not like he’d had an all-nighter, milder than that. It was manly and a little sexy. That confirmed her buzz was stronger than she had thought.
“You’re not going to flash with all these kids around, are you?” he whispered.
“Not a chance. Even though there are fewer people around here, the cops are a lot stricter; plus, this guy doesn’t want to see it.”
Cybil pointed to a man in an electric wheelchair. He wore an Auburn ball cap and held a large cardboard box in his lap.
“Leave me out of this,” he said. “I’m just here for the medallion necklaces. They changed them this year, and I need the new one.”
“I guess your prudishness is safe,” she said to Ashe.
Across the street behind Government Plaza cheers rose up, muffled by the distance. She gave him a peck on the lips, slipping her tongue in just enough to be a tease. He tried to kiss her back, but she kept away from him. “Always leave them wanting more” was her motto. As the spotlight mounted behind an Alabama National Guard Humvee that led every parade flashed in the air like a signal to some superhero of Mardi Gras, a man leapt over the barrier on the opposite side of the street. He ran to the middle and started waving his hands.
“The end is near,” he yelled. “I have seen the dead walk. They come for us. They want us, the living, to become like them. The Devil walks the earth seeking who he may devour like a roaring lion.”
“Shut up!” someone in the crowd yelled.
“Nut job,” the man in the wheelchair said.
Cybil looked at Ashe. He held onto the barrier and leaned into the street. People started throwing things at the bum. She felt sorry for him as McDonald’s cup slammed into his back. One hit him on the head and burst. Vanilla milkshake ran down his face.
“Don’t invite him over,” the wheelchair guy said.
“I thought you said to keep you out of our doings,” Cybil said.
“Whatever.”
“The time is near,” the bum yelled, coming closer to them. “The dead walk with Satan.”
More people hurled things at the man. Cybil started to yell for them to stop. Music swelled down the street. The cadence of a marching band drumline rumbled toward them. Police sirens whined. She looked as two police motorcycles rode down the street. The engines revved when they got to the old man.
“Sir, you need to get back behind the barriers, or we’ll arrest you,” one of the motorcycle cops said.
“It’s all over by Ash Wednesday,” the bum said. “Satan and the dead will have us as part of their kingdom.”
“Okay,” the other police officer said.
Each of the motorcycle cops took the man by one arm. They started to ride their bikes down the street at just enough speed to keep them upright, with the old man trotting between them. He ranted the whole time. Cybil wanted to yell for them to leave him alone, or that he was her grandfather and demented, but she didn’t. Ashe seemed ready to jump the barrier himself. She grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him from it.
“They’ll haul you to jail too,” she said. “He’s just a crazy old man.”
“Did you hear what he was saying?” Ashe asked. “He said he saw the dead walk.”
“Just a crazy old man,” she said again. “Come on; let’s go back to that bar and wait. We’ll get you a drink to calm you down.”
As the first float rolled down Government Street, Cybil took Ashe by the hand and led him back to the gay bar. His hand felt clammy and trembled a little bit. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind. The bum was crazy. No one ranted and raved about that kind of stuff in the open, but Ashe claimed that he had watched at least two dead women walk out of the morgue. He’d supposedly seen photos of another corpse doing the same thing. They stopped at the door of the bar. The bouncer held the door open. He wore a Venetian carnival mask with a long nose that looked a little like a penis. Cybil peeped inside. It seemed that the few patrons milling around all wore some kind of mask.
“Is there a theme tonight?” she asked the bouncer.
“Honey, there’s a theme every night, and that theme is fabulous,” he answered back. “You’ll be fine.” He eyed Ashe. “I don’t know about him though.”
“Come on,” Cybil said. “Geek is chic.”
“He must be Mr. GQ then,” the bouncer said. “Come on in. Two drink minimum no cover.”
Cybil and Ashe went inside. The bass coming from the speakers rattled through her chest. She attempted to read Ashe’s face again, but came up short. He kept a serious unreadable look.
“You’re not crazy,” she said.
“I know that, but I’m not sure that guy was either.” Ashe held up two fingers to the bartender. “He may have seen the dead walk. I’ve seen it several times.”
The bartender brought over two beers. They looked cheap to Cybil. She never drank much of the stuff so she wasn’t certain. Ashe moved deeper into the bar. She followed. They sat down at a round table in a back corner. The lighting was bad, leaving him mostly in shadows so that she couldn’t watch or study his eyes.
“I think the stress is just getting to you—to us both,” Cybil said.
“Maybe.” Ashe took a drink from the bottle. “All I know is that I’m sitting in a gay bar waiting for someone who may or may not show up.”
“Cybil?” A patron wearing a feathered masked stopped by the table. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just here having a beer with my boyfriend waiting on somebody,” Cybil said. She had no idea who the guy was but tried hard not to show it.
“I’m doing the same thing,” he said. “Who are waiting for?”
Cybil drummed her fingers on the table. “I’m not sure who I’m talking with.”
The patron pulled his mask off. He was dark skinned with deep green eyes rimmed with eyeliner. His lips were shiny and his cheeks sparkled. Cybil recognized him. It was Dean, Stewart’s boyfriend and Hortense’s brother.
“We’re waiting on your sister. Is she going to be here tonight?” Cybil asked.
“Be here? She is here up on the second floor. What you need her for?”
“I need to ask her some questions about her band.” Ashe perked up.
Dean looked him up and down. Cybil knew it was for nothing else but to get an idea if Ashe was a narc or not. “Are you a narc?”
“No.”
“A record producer? Because you don’t look like one.”
“I’m not that either. I’m just an electrical engineering professor with a few questions,” Ashe said.
“She doesn’t know anything about that, but like I said, second floor.” He started away. “Maybe I’ll see you there in a few.”
“You want to head up before the crowd comes in after the parade?” Cybil asked.
Ashe nodded. They got up and started toward the stairs. He took her by the hand. She felt a little bit of a flush come over her. No one in the place was going to hit on him, but having him act like a teenage boy afraid that it might happen was cute. The stairs to the second floor were wooden with barefoot prints on them in different colors of paint. Mardi Gras beads hung from the banisters. At the landing, a boa greeted patrons with a feathery brush across the face or forehead depending on the height of the person. Ashe let her hand go when he got to this part. He swiped at the feathers. Cybil laughed.
“Afraid much?” she asked.
“I just don’t like the way the feathers feel when they brush over you. It tickles.”
She goosed him in the ribs. “Don’t like being tickled?”
Ashe jerked away from her. Some of his beer splashed out of the bottle and onto her top. She started to wipe it off with her hand.
“That’s what you get.” He reached up and started brushing his hand across the wet spot over her breasts.
She slapped at his hand and turned her back to him. “That’s what you don’t get.”
“I think I’m being stalked,” Hortense said from behind them.
Cybil quit trying to wipe the beer from her shirt. She turned around and saw the woman sitting at a round table near the wall. Only Hortense and a few men sat around the table. No one else was on the second level.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cybil said.
Hortense always got under her skin. Usually she just called her Tense Whore, but tonight she planned on being on her best behavior for Ashe’s sake. A tip of the hand with her beer bottle in it was how Cybil formally greeted her.
“I’ve been looking around town for you,” Ashe said.
Hortense looked at her friends. “What did I tell you? I’m almost famous.”
“Which is a synonym for obscure,” Cybil shot back even though she tried to keep from it.
“Why have you been looking for me, and where’s your priest friend? Was he afraid to come into a gay bar?” Hortense asked.
“He had other things to do,” Ashe said. “I need to know more about that song your band recorded.”
“What song would that be?” Hortense asked.
“It’s not like you’ve had that many songs recorded,” Cybil said. “Answer the question. We’re trying to figure out something very important.”
“Maybe I don’t want to help,” Hortense answered.
“The song that had the incantation on it,” Ashe said.
To Cybil his voice sounded cold and flat. He was all about business now. She needed to keep her own emotions under control, or she could risk getting nothing out of Hortense.
“That one.” Hortense’s voice became soft. She crossed herself,
kissing her fingers at the end. “How can I help?”
Cybil thought that she changed her tune quickly. She thought about commenting on it, but let it pass. Hortense looked scared. Her bravado and narcissism faded away into that visage. That change made her uncomfortable too. Although she’d been in on all the discoveries that Ashe and Smalls had come up with, somehow Hortense becoming frightened sent a chill into her. She shivered.
“The man that recorded the song, Francisco San Roman. Is that his real name?” Ashe asked.
“As far as I know. He doesn’t look Hispanic, but I don’t know why he would lie.”
“Could it be a stage name, like yours, Amanda?” Cybil asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is what he told me. That’s not much,” Hortense said.
“Do you know where San Roman lives?” Ashe asked.
“No idea. I don’t even know if he lives in Mobile.”
“How about your manager?” Cybil asked. “Would he know?”
“Sure, but he’s out of town.”
“Where did he go? Was it sudden?” Ashe asked.
“No, he’s from Huntsville originally. He had an appointment of some kind up there. He’ll be gone the rest of the week. Thus, why I’m sitting here with my boyfriends,” she said.
The men around her laughed. Cybil thought that the bravado might be coming back. She didn’t like that idea; it meant that the flow of information was about to run out.
“Did you know that your song has been attached to a recording of a lecture from Columbia University almost like a virus?” Ashe asked.
“No, but at least, people are hearing it,” Hortense said.
“It’s the version with the incantation on it,” Ashe said.
Hortense’s demeanor changed again.
“Maybe you’ll finally be totally famous,” Cybil said. She paused to set up the next jab. “For killing people.”
Ashe looked at her. His eyes threatened. Cybil shrank down some. All in all, she was still a little freaked out and that look made her even more so. Ashe wasn’t dealing with things as well as she’d thought he would.