by Ray Garton
Before he fully realized what he was doing, Benedek dove toward the man from behind; a strangled sound squeezed from his throat as he joined his hands together and raised them to begin beating on the back of Macy's neck.
The soft little man spun around with surprising speed and grabbed Benedek's arms, holding them up firmly. Macy snapped his mouth open wide and hissed like a cat.
Two long, sharp teeth gleamed.
Benedek tried to pull back, but Macy's pudgy hands were stronger than he anticipated.
“Relax, Walter,” Macy whispered. “Let's talk."
Benedek stared with disbelief at the now unfamiliar face. “What the fuck's happened to you, Vernon?” Benedek breathed. “What's wrong with you?"
He smiled, slowly lowering Benedek's arms. “Nothing is wrong, Walter."
“You killed your wife and daughter,” Benedek snapped, pulling his arms away and stepping back, "something's sure as hell wrong!"
Macy's smile faltered as he moved away from the refrigerator, letting the door slowly swing closed. He went to the counter, to rows of empty, clean tubes laid out on a cloth. He began putting them, one by one, on an empty tray. “I had to do that. She kept hounding me and ... prying. I wanted to just walk out. Quietly. But she got hysterical and I was ... hungry."
Benedek swallowed a lump in his throat. “You were..."
Macy turned to him again and smiled. It was such a warm, friendly smile, incongruent with the cold eyes. “There are a lot of things you don't know about, Walter. Now that you're here, you'll have plenty of time to learn."
“Others know I'm here. If I don't go home, they'll start asking questions."
“And we'll tell them you never arrived."
“There are witnesses. Customers. It'll draw attention to the place. And if I can find you, the police will, too."
Macy leaned back on the lip of the counter with a sigh. “First of all, Walter, you were allowed to come back here. All the employees know who you are. You're going nowhere. Secondly, do you know how many important people come here? How many wives of important people? Very lonely wives. They come here to meet their friends, have a few drinks, and go in the back rooms for a little much-needed companionship. I suppose you noticed that, didn't you? These are the wives of city officials, politicians. And you know how much influence wives have over their husbands.” In a whiny, feminine voice, he said, “'Oh, dear, the Midnight Club is a delightful place, a charming place, the girls and I meet there all the time, surely there's nothing untoward going on there, all the people are above reproach.” He leaned forward and whispered, “'And they eat pussy like you never could, husband dear.'” Then he threw back his head and laughed. “You're no threat, Walter."
Benedek wanted to step forward and squeeze the man's throat with his hands, but decided to pursue the conversation. “And what's all this?” he asked, gesturing to the refrigerators and the trays of tubes.
“This is their payment for our favors. Oh, they think their money is what's important to us. You know, it's amazing how much more people appreciate and value things if they have to pay good money for them. I learned that long ago. But...” He walked to the refrigerator and opened it, showing Benedek the shelves of trays, the rows of dark red tubes. "This is what we really want. They just don't know they're giving it."
“And who are 'we'? Who are the people who run this place?"
“They aren't people at all. They're gods. And they've made me one of their own. My life was a small sacrifice to get here. Killing Doris? Killing Janice? Very, very small prices to pay, Walter.” There was a sparkle of challenge in his eyes.
Benedek could take no more; he threw himself on Macy, grabbed his fleshy throat and squeezed. Macy smiled as he flung his hands up and snapped Benedek's arms away from him effortlessly. Before Benedek realized he'd lost his edge, he was pressed against the open refrigerator door and Macy's hands were on his neck, squeezing just enough to make his breath gurgle in his throat.
“Walter, Walter,” Macy whispered, shaking his head slowly, smiling like a disturbed child taking pleasure in breaking a toy, “I'm not the same man who married your sister, Walter.” He tilted his head back slowly, opening his mouth, exposing the two deadly sharp teeth. “Not the same man at all.” He pressed his thumbs harder into Benedek's throat as he slowly leaned forward.
Benedek swung a fist into Macy's soft stomach with no effect. His right arm hit one of the refrigerator shelves and the vacutaners clattered together noisily. His hand brushed cold glass, his fingers wrapped around one of the tubes, pulled it from the tray, and hit it against the inside wall of the refrigerator. A splash of red dribbled down the shiny white surface and speckled the lightbulb, and shards of glass snickered against the metal shelves. Benedek pulled his arm from the chilled air clutching the remaining half of the broken tube. His face felt swollen so he could not take aim; he stabbed blindly and felt the vacutaner's jagged edge sink through doughy flesh, cut through cartilage and muscle.
Macy's hands fell from Benedek's throat and the man staggered backward with a dreadful hawking sound. Benedek held on to the glass tube; it slid from Macy's throat as he moved away. A dark gout of blood cascaded down the front of the pink shirt and spattered onto the white floor. Macy backed against the counter and leaned forward, clutching his throat and gagging. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and continued to flow from the hole in his throat.
Gulping air like water, Benedek looked at his right hand. A small piece of flesh had caught on one of the sharp points; the hand was striped with red. Bile stung the back of his throat, but he held it back and sidestepped Macy, nearing the door.
Macy suddenly stood straight and grinned at Benedek, still holding his throat. Blood glistened on his mouth and chin, but the flow from the wound had stopped. He sucked at the air, pulling his hand away.
“Jesus Christ,” Benedek rasped.
Macy's throat was healing before his eyes.
Benedek felt light-headed and realized he was hyperventilating. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadily. He closed the door and turned to his brother-in-law.
Macy was still coughing and wheezing, but his breath was coming easier. His throat was closing quickly.
Clenching his teeth, not wanting to but knowing he had to — for Doris, his mind screamed, I'm doing it for Doris and Janice, I have to! — he stepped forward and swung his arm in an arc, plunging the bloody tube into Macy's throat again, then pulled it out just as quickly.
There was another rush of blood as Macy curled his fingers into claws and fell forward, grabbing at Benedek, who stepped aside, letting the man thud heavily to the floor. Macy rolled over, reached up, and babbled. There were no words, only blood and a ragged hissing as he snapped at the air, flailing his arms helplessly.
Benedek stood at a safe distance, watching him writhe. Macy's eyes rolled toward him and he reached his hand out to Benedek, wheezing ... wheezing.
Benedek knew he would never rid himself of the memory of that awful, nightmarish wheeze.
The wheeze thickened and became a gasp, and the gasp began to sound like a voice.
Walking around Macy, Benedek stood at his head and watched the wound begin to heal once again.
“Oh God,” he grunted through clenched teeth, “oh Jesus, oh God!"
He got down on one knee and tried to hold down his gorge as he stabbed the tube into Macy's throat again. Then again. And again...
A black, ragged-edged hole opened beneath Macy's chin and he began thrashing like a fish on land. His hands slapped on the linoleum and his legs kicked as his blood pooled around him. When he tried to cover the hole, his fingers slipped through and disappeared in the black-red gash.
The convulsions stopped. His arms and legs became still.
A smell like rancid meat rose from Vernon Macy as his skin began to darken. His eyes bulged and his stomach bloated, straining the buttons of his bloodied shirt.
His skin became purple, then slowly blackened as tiny splits a
ppeared in the puffy flesh of his face.
A sound like an enormous belch came from the body and the smell of excrement mixed with the rotting odor, making Benedek wince.
A thick, viscous mixture of pus and blood oozed from Macy's nostrils and rolled slowly down the sides of his face.
The broken tube slipped from Benedek's hand and shattered on the floor. He pressed the sleeve of his suitcoat to his mouth and nose trying, unsuccessfully, to block out the smell as he stepped to the counter and grabbed the crumpled smock. He wiped as much of the blood from himself as he could and hurried to the door. Turning slowly, he looked once again at the bloated body.
Macy's eye sockets were empty and his fingernails were blackened.
It made no sense; he'd died less than a minute before, but looked like he'd been dead for weeks.
Benedek spun around, knowing he would vomit if he didn't get away from the smell.
He knew he couldn't go out the way he'd come in; they would be waiting for him. In fact, they'd probably be sending someone into the room any moment.
Benedek looked around the room frantically. At the other end was another door; when he looked through it, he found a small storeroom. Boxes were stacked neatly against the walk and there was a high window across from him. He stepped inside, closed and locked the door, then hefted a few of the boxes, one at a time, until he found one that was packed solid. He put it beneath the window, stepped up, and struggled with the latch. It loosened, and he pushed the window open.
He fell to the pavement in an alley outside. Wincing and panting from exertion, he got up, ran down the alley, and hurried around the corner of the building.
Three women were climbing out of a cab, laughing and chattering. He wanted to tell them to stay as far away from the Midnight Club as they could, but he knew they would think he was crazy. Running a hand through his thick hair, he waited for them to leave the cab, wishing the cold night air would take the clinging, putrid smell of death from his nostrils.
When the women were gone, Benedek got into the cab and snapped the address of his apartment loudly through the transparent partition.
Once the cab was moving, Benedek tried to calm himself, knowing Jackie would be upset if he came home in such a state. He leaned his head back and rubbed his eyes, breathing deeply. Then it hit him. His head jerked up and he stared openmouthed out the windshield of the cab, not seeing what was ahead but, instead, the face of Cedric, the tall waiter in the club.
Those deep eyes, that cocky smile, and, most importantly, the scar on his neck, all fell together in Benedek's head.
“Shit on a stick,” he muttered, leaning forward and banging on the partition. “Driver! Take me to the New York Times. Hurry!"
12
____________________________
BY THE TIME THE LIBRIUM HAD SETTLED FULLY INTO Davey's bones, he was lying naked in bed drifting in and out of a murky, restless sleep. Occasionally, he opened his heavy-lidded eyes and looked at the clock radio only to find that minutes had passed when it had felt like hours.
He rolled away from the clock with a deep sigh and closed his eyes again. His mother came to him in his sleep. She wore her Sunday best and smelled of cocoa butter hand lotion. Clutching her old ragged-edged Bible to her breasts, she leaned forward to speak to him but could only make a strangled gagging sound. She spit up a half-chewed lump of blood-flecked meat. It landed beside Davey on the bed where it began to pulsate quietly.
“Remember, Davey,” she said hoarsely, “no matter who you fall in love with, no matter how right it seems, she'll hurt you. That's the way love is."
He wanted to scream at her, to curse her, but he couldn't speak up.
She leaned closer to him and he saw that her lips were blue and puffy. “Jesus is the only medicine,” she said. Turning from the bed, she sang off-key at the top of her lungs as she left the room. “There's power in the blood, power in the blood..."
When she was gone, he looked down at the piece of meat to find his old dog Brat lying beside him. White, fat worms moved sluggishly in the animal's split-open stomach.
Davey grimaced, sickened. He was confused. The smell that came from the scruffy corpse was the same as it had been on that hot summer day so many years ago, but something about it seemed pleasant. Inviting...
As his stomach gurgled hungrily, Davey lowered his hand, trembling, until his fingertips touched the sticky edge of the gash. Then his hand slid into the squirming mass of maggots. His hand was swallowed by the moist warmth; the movement of the worms tingled against his skin. He wriggled his fingers a bit, then pulled his hand out. Flecks of dark, bloody meat clung to his fingers and he raised his hand to his open mouth.
Davey awoke suddenly and found himself chewing on his pillow. His tongue felt like a thick strip of leather. The sheets were damp with his sweat. Looking at the clock again, he saw it was a quarter of ten. He was supposed to be at Anya's.
Even if he were physically able to go, he told himself he wouldn't. He couldn't. Whatever she was doing to him had to stop. And whatever she was...
Those pictures had been yellowed and blurred with age, and yet Anya had been as beautiful as ever, her skin just as unblemished, her breasts just as firm today at the age of...
How old was she? Surely she wasn't old enough to have been in those pictures. The reviews must have been referring to her mother...
The window shade was up and the glow of a street-lamp rose from the sidewalk below. It was raining again. Raindrops pattered against the pane, and as Davey drifted off again, the sound incorporated itself into his dream in the form of white empty shoes that tap-danced on darkness...
Voices spoke to him softly over the tapping.
You have no spine...
...by the short and curlies...
She'll hurt you. That's the way love is...
Scratching ... scratching ... Mice in the walls?
Davey turned his head toward the window and gasped.
Anya smiled at him through the wet glass. As if she were underwater, her long black hair floated around her head. She smiled as she pressed her palms to the window.
Can't be, Davey thought. Nine floors up...
She ran her nails down the glass with a harsh grating sound, leaving behind long scratches as she silently mouthed his name:
Daaaaveeeeyyy...
Her smile broadened and she opened her mouth wide. Snakelike fangs caught the light like small knives.
“Oh, Jesus, Jesus,” Davey gasped, closing his eyes, but instead of comforting darkness, the backs of his eyelids flickered with grainy yellow images of Anya, images from decades ago, images that couldn't possibly be.
When he opened his eyes again, he could see that she was naked. Her breasts rose above the bottom edge of the window.
Daaaveeey, she mouthed, her perfect lips sliding over the deadly teeth, let meee iiinnn. Her nails scratched against the pane, cutting trails in the glass.
She'll cut right through, he thought, Jesus Christ, she'll cut right through it!
“Leave me alone!” he croaked, trying to sit up in the bed. “Stay away from me!"
Her lips moved again: It's toooo late...
Floating gracefully in the mist, she rose until he could see her belly, her thighs, her knees. She slowly spread her legs and touched the patch of black hair and ran two fingertips along her pink, glistening lips...
As if he were in the booth again, watching her through the smudged glass, Davey slowly became erect. A deep warmth spread through his body as he sat up on the edge of the mattress.
Anya smiled at him as she touched herself.
It's just a dream, he thought as he stood on weak legs. It's impossible so it has to be a dream, I'm sick and I have a fever and I'm dreaming...
He pressed the heels of his palms to the sash and opened the window. In a rush of rain and icy air, Anya's arms were around him and her lips were brushing his cheeks, his ears, his throat as she whispered, “You didn't come to me, Davey, so I came to y
ou."
Their bodies tangled together on the bed and Davey lost himself inside her.
Benedek raced around the desks in the city room on the way to his small office in the back.
“Hey, Walter!” someone called. “Thought you were on vacation."
Sal Burkett fell into step beside Benedek. He was small and wiry with long blond hair. He was a staff photographer, but in the three years Burkett had been at the Times, Benedek had never seen him carrying a camera. Nor had Benedek ever seen him without a wad of bubble gum in his mouth.
“I am on vacation,” Benedek said, a bit winded, “but I missed the place so much, I had to come in and look around."
“You okay?” Burkett asked, following Benedek into the small office. “You look like you just caught the pope beating off."
Benedek sat down at his desk and faced his computer terminal, lighting a cigarette.
“You know I don't bother with that small-time stuff anymore, Sal. Carlysle in?"
“Left a couple hours ago. What's up?” Burkett blew a large pink bubble; it popped and left behind it a sugary smell.
“Need some info, that's all.” Benedek typed in STABBING/PIMP and started to add a month, but paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Maybe I can help you,” Burkett said, stepping behind Benedek and peering over his shoulder.
Benedek's chair squeaked as he leaned back and puffed on his cigarette.
Looking at the screen, Burkett said, “Looking for a dead pimp, huh?"
“I'm not sure he's a pimp, but I'm pretty sure he's dead."
“Well, it's not like it's a rare thing in this city, you know. Dead pimps, I mean.” He chuckled. “Those're the best kind. When did it happen?"
“Not sure of that, either. Maybe, uh, April? May? I remember seeing a picture of the guy. Hispanic. Cocky looking. I think he was found in a trash bin just off of, um..."