Ed saw him try to move his feet just a little further apart. Just a little. To distribute his weight that much more evenly. In fascinated horror Ed’s eyes traveled up the sweat-soaked body to the noose around the thick neck. They guy was doing his best to balance there. But he was tiring. That stool was rickety. Ed would swear one of the wooden legs was loose. Oh, shit, watching the guy was unbearable.
What if he sneezed?
Coughed?
Even developed an unbearable itch in the small of his back?
Maybe the noose line was slack enough for him to step down onto the floor. No, not a hope. There was hardly any slack at all. If the guy even tilted too much left or right, the rope pulled taut. That in turn tightened the noose around the guy’s neck. Already it had started to dig a little into the soft flesh of his throat.
How long can you balance like that on a small stool? Especially with your hands bound behind your back?
Maybe that’s it?
“Sir,” Ed said. “Can you loosen your hands?”
“They’re tied… with wire.”
The stool wobbled.
The man gave a sharp cry.
Recovered his balance.
Nearly that time.
Nearly…
Virginia spoke up. “It’s the only way, sir. Can you work your hands from the wire? Once you do that you can just reach up and pull the noose off over your head.”
“Okay, okay… I’m trying.” With his lips pressed together in concentration, Cardinali’s shoulders worked as he tried to slip his tied wrists from the wire.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
The guy sweated hard. “Purgatory. Freaking purgatory.”
“Keep trying.”
“I am trying.”
“Breathe slowly. Deeply. Don’t panic.”
“Hey, who’s panicking, lady?” Cardinali sounded like more of his cocksure self. “I’m doing it. The loops are slipping down my hands.”
Ed looked at the man’s dripping face. Triumph sparked in the eyes. Cardinali raised his face, concentrating hard on those loops of wire that held his hands.
“They’re coming loose. Once I get them over my knuckles, I’ll be off this damn perch, I can tell you. Assholes.”
“Careful.”
“Nearly there. Nearly—”
Jerked his elbows. Trying to pull free.
Ed shouted, “Watch out!”
“Nearly there. Nearly—ahh!”
Cardinali fell.
The stool shot from under his feet to slam against the bars of the cage. The force disintegrated it.
Cardinali didn’t fall far. The rope snapped tight. Tongue sticking out. Eyes poking hard from the sockets, he swung backward and forward. His legs ran in thin air like a cartoon character who’d run off a cliff.
Then the guy’s body started jerking. It didn’t last long. In twenty seconds he hung limp at the end of the line. His neck had stretched thin, maybe as much as twice as long as it had been before.
Looks like we’re back to two again, Ed told himself as the lights went out.
What now?
When the lights came on what must have been a couple of hours later, Cardinali was gone. So was the rope that had hanged him. So was the wreckage of the stool that his death throes had kicked against the cage.
Ed shook his head. “He didn’t last long.”
Virginia shrugged. “Like I say, you must obey them.”
“But how long can we last?”
“We’re doing fine so far, aren’t we?”
“Sure.” Ed looked down at the scabbed foot. “My little toe’s made it to freedom. Now I only have to get the other ninety-nine percent of me out.”
“Take it easy, Ed, save your—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Save my strength.” He gave a sour laugh.
“Then save it.”
He walked across the cage to look through the bars at the empty cell next door.
Ouch.
The area of flesh that had once sprouted his little toe burned furiously. He’d stubbed it on something.
He glanced down.
Hey.
Now that might be interesting.
Quickly he bent down, scooped up the object, and returned to his mattress. He sat cradling it in his knee.
“What’ve you got there, Ed?”
“Ssh,” he hushed.
She whispered back. “What is it?”
“One of the legs from the stool.” He gave her a quick glimpse. Can’t be too careful. Lights might go out, then his prize would quickly vanish. “They must have missed it when they cleaned up.”
“What are you thinking, Ed?”
“See? It’s more than a foot long. Look how it’s broken at that end. It’s as sharp as a spear.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Oh, my God indeed. It’s miracle time.”
“Don’t let them see it.”
“Don’t you worry. I’m keeping this baby safely wrapped up in my blanket.”
“But what are you going to do with it?”
“Cast your mind back to when we were talking earlier.”
“Go on.”
“Remember we discussed the hole in the cage ceiling?”
“Yes.”
“And how you wondered if I could somehow reach through it?”
“Sweet Jesus. You think you can?”
“Going to try.” He took a peek at the wooden stake cradled in his arms. “This needs some work first. By the way…” He shot her a wild grin. “Have you ever seen anyone harpoon a fish?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The telephone rang. Susan lowered the paperback she’d been reading and glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. She got up from the couch. “Expecting a call?” she asked Tag. He shook his head and returned his eyes to the National Review. Susan picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Am I speaking to Miss Connors from the museum?”
The man pronounced each word with precision; someone educated the expensive way.
“Yes, this is Susan Connors.”
“I must speak to you at once about Amara.”
“Who is this, please?”
“My name is of no importance.”
“I would like to know whom I’m speaking to. This isn’t—”
“I saw you on the television news.”
“But you can’t—”
“Listen to me, please. This is vital.”
“Do you know where Amara is?” Susan asked.
“I must see you, then I will explain.”
“Maybe you should call the police.”
“The police? They would scorn me or accuse me. They would not believe. Perhaps you will believe. I saw in your face the eyes of one who understands.”
“What am I supposed to understand?”
“About Amara. May I see you?”
“Well…”
“Please, Miss Connors. This is of great importance.”
She sighed. “Okay, when?”
“At once. You are at 2102 Coral Reef Road?”
“Yes. It’s the Marina Towers. Apartment 325. But how did you—”
“I will be there soon,” he said quickly, and hung up.
“Who was that?” Tag asked.
“Wouldn’t say.”
“Mysterious?”
“Whoever he is, he’s coming by.”
“Now?”
“He wants to tell me something about Amara.”
“At midnight?”
“He sounded serious.”
“Could be he’s only serious about getting alone with you.”
“I doubt it.”
“That sort of thing happens when you get on TV.”
“We’ll see.”
Imad, outside the Marina Towers, heard the buzz of the lock. He rushed to the door and thrust it open before the buzzing could stop. The lobby was plush, with thick carpets, soft lighting, paneled walls. It smelled of pine-scented air freshener.
>
A little artificial, Imad thought. Not bad, however, if one must live in the confines of an apartment.
He slipped Callahan’s memoir under his arm and pressed the elevator button. He was surprised that the elevator didn’t open immediately. Considering the hour, one would hardly expect to find it in use. After a short wait, a bell rang quietly and the doors slid open.
He was prepared for the possibility of finding a person inside. He was not, however, prepared for a person like this. She simply didn’t belong in a clean and ostentatious building such as the Marina Towers: she belonged in a dark, shabby tenement reeking of stale cigars and urine.
“Going up?” she asked.
Reluctantly, Imad stepped into the elevator. The doors rolled silently shut. Politely, he smiled at the filthy woman. She smiled back.
The smell of her filled the cubicle. A horrid stench like sour milk, sweat, and something eminently suggestive of… well… Imad swallowed to keep himself from gagging. Until the elevator stopped, he breathed only through his mouth. Even then, something of her odor secreted itself on his tongue.
The doors rolled back.
He stepped out.
The woman stayed.
Thank heaven.
Relieved, Imad breathed deeply.
A small sign on the wall indicated that Apartments 301-335 could be found by following the corridor to the right. As he turned that way, he glanced back at the elevator. Its doors were still open.
The woman must have one of her stumpy thumbs on the “door open” button.
Was she waiting for him?
Did she have an accomplice hiding nearby?
Feeling uneasy, he quickened his stride. The hallway was narrow and dimly lighted. It turned. He followed it, watching the door numbers. He was passing 319 when he heard a sniffing sound behind him. He looked back.
The woman stepped around the corner. She waved at him, wiggling the thick fingers of one hand. The other hand, he noticed was behind her back.
He hurried forward. Past 321, 323. At 325 he quickly knocked.
The woman was getting closer. She had a peculiar way of walking, head forward and tipped slightly to one side, legs far apart.
He knocked again. Still, the door didn’t open. He plucked a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. He held it at arm’s length to catch the poor light. Read it again. Yes, 325 was correct.
He smiled nervously at the woman. She was close enough now to smell.
Her eyes fixed on him. They were dull, filmy, yet he saw some powerful emotion there.
But what?
He knocked again.
Open the door.
Please.
The woman licked her lips. A squishing sound that turned his stomach.
“Who ya want?” she asked.
“The occupant of this apartment,” he replied.
“Me too.” The woman balled her fist. Then pounded on the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Grace Bucklan looked out through the windshield. The bright lights of Hollywood. They burned in front of her, but they might as well have been on the dark side of the moon. As the man said: so close yet so far.
Okay, so tomorrow we start knocking on doors, she told herself. Agents, production offices. Hey, in a pinch maybe even some movie extra work. That should bring in cash until they could…
“I can’t sleep,” Pix complained from the backseat.
“Try,” Grace said.
“It’s past midnight,” Cody said, looking at the clock on the dash. “We should all try and get some rest.”
“Any more salami left, Grace?”
“No, just crackers.”
“There was one piece left. You said that was mine.” Pix’s voice got all whiny. “You promised, you greedy pig.”
“You ate it twenty minutes ago.” Cody made an effort to sound calm. But the kid sister was really starting to eat him up. “Do you want a drink of water?”
“No, I want some proper food. I’m hungry.”
Grace snapped, “We’ve got crackers and that’s it.”
“We’re gonna starve.”
“We’re not going to starve. I’ll find some work tomorrow.”
Pix snorted. “Yeah, Grace. You’re gonna be a movie star by the end of the week.”
“I will find work.”
“All you’re gonna find is some guy who’ll pay you fifty bucks a throw to video you with your jugs out.”
“Pix.” Cody’s patience was all gone. “Just cool it, this isn’t easy for—”
“I want to go home!” Pix slammed the back of the seat with her palm. “We can’t live like this… sleeping in a parking lot? Geez!”
“We can’t go home.”
“Can.”
“You know we can’t go home.”
“Yeah, because you say Mom’s boyfriend took a shine to you.”
“He tried to rape me.”
“Drama queen.”
“Pix—”
“He thought you were giving him the come-on.”
“It wasn’t like that. He—”
“If you didn’t flirt with him—”
“He’d have raped you too. Don’t you understand, Pix? We were both in danger.”
“Danger, huh?”
“Yes, in danger. The moment he got you alone he’d have—”
“Danger. We’re in more danger here. Sleeping in a beat-up truck in a deserted parking lot. We’re gonna get mugged; we’re gonna get raped; we’re—”
“Pix!” Cody slammed both hands against the steering wheel. “We’re not happy about sleeping like this. But this is the best we can do until we can earn some money. Then we’ll find a hotel.”
“Wuppy-do.”
Grace rounded on her sister. “That’s your problem. You’re never satisfied. You just want more and more. Nothing’s good enough for you. Why don’t you take your things and just—”
“Hey, ssh… Cops.”
Cody pointed.
A black-and-white cruiser pulled into the parking lot. Without any fuss or hurry, it glided across the blacktop toward them.
“Oh, shit.” Grace groaned. “They’ve seen us.”
Pix said, “So we took a crappy old truck without permission. It’s hardly the crime of the century. They’re hardly gonna throw us in—”
“Pix.” Cody pointed at the sleeping bags. “Hide under there; don’t let them see you.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
Grace pleaded, “Do it, Pix. Otherwise they’ll send us back home. You know what Joe will do to us.”
“Drama queen,” Pix grumbled. Nevertheless, she lay down on the backseat and pulled the sleeping bags over her.
The cruiser slowed down. A brilliant light filled the pickup as the cop shone his flashlight at them. Cody glanced back to see Pix’s foot showing from beneath the sleeping bag. Reaching back, he thwacked it.
“Hey!” Pix squeaked.
But she withdrew her foot from the edge of the seat. Cody reached back and adjusted the sleeping bag so no part of the sixteen-year-old could be seen.
The police car pulled up alongside so they were side-window-to-side-window. The cop twirled a finger, signaling Cody to wind down his window.
Immediately a blast of light struck Cody in the eyes. He tried to shield them with his hand, but he could see nothing. But he knew what was happening well enough. The cop would be giving Grace and him a close look-over, probably taking a good gander inside the pickup too.
If Pix should move…
Maybe the cop would think Cody had kidnapped her?
He’d certainly realize something was amiss when he ran a check on their license plate and found that the vehicle was stolen.
The cop switched off his flashlight. Cody blinked. Looked into the face of a gum-chewing cop of around fifty.
“Okay,” he said. “Which one of you two are going to confess?”
Cody fixed a polite smile to his face, but his insides felt as if they’d just melte
d and run into his boots.
“Confess, Officer?”
“Yeah, confess to criminal insanity… or is it pathological stupidity?”
Grace spoke as pleasantly as she could. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. We—”
“Yeah, yeah,” the cop growled. “Don’t take me for stupid. I’ve seen your plates. You’re from North Carolina. How long does it take me to figure out what two kids from North Carolina are doing in Hollywood?”
“We were just—”
“Yeah, taking a nice vacation.”
“We thought—”
“And now you’ve booked yourself into the luxurious Rodeo Drive Parking Lot.”
“We were just taking a break, we—”
“Kid.” He fixed Cody with a steel-eyed look. “Do I seem that stupid?”
“But—”
“No, listen to me, kid. I’ve seen this happen a hundred—a thousand times before. A couple of kids from the boondocks decide to make it in the movies, become big stars with a million in the bank and a house on the beach, so they ship out from Wyoming, or Illinois, or”—he nodded in the direction of the license plate—“or North Carolina. They come to Hollywood. They spend all their cash. They live in their car or sleep on a park bench. Before you know it they’re into prostitution; into drugs. Guys like me are pulling them off the streets and throwing them in jail. Not long after that the paramedics are pulling them out of some ditch where they’ve been dumped after being shot or beaten to death. Now, you tell me, am I just stupid and you really have driven thousands of miles to make out in a parking lot, or am I somewhere close to the truth?”
Grace didn’t take this lying down. “But I’m not like the rest. I’ve got acting experience. I worked on TV.”
He shook his head. “Sorry to bust your dream, miss. But most of the kids that come here are all like the rest. They’ve all got good reviews when they starred in the school play or they’ve earned a few bucks appearing in some TV commercial for Mighty Joe’s Cattle Feed or whatever. They all come here so full of optimism you think they’d crack open from head to toe.” He wagged a finger. “But give them twelve months and they wind up blowing some guy with the pox for twenty bucks. And guys like you…” He nodded at Cody. “Have to learn to take it up the butt or go hungry. Now, am I painting a clear enough picture for you?”
Grace was about to protest, but Cody clasped her hand. Nodded. “We get the picture, sir.”
TO WAKE THE DEAD Page 24