They pulled up behind Sid's and parked the cruiser behind the dumpster and out of sight from the street. Everyone there knew they were cops, but it didn't matter. Tommy and Mac didn't know this psycho, and he didn't know them. If he were there it wouldn't matter. Even the types who frequented Sid's wouldn't support a freak like that. Criminals had some honor.
The doorman waved them through with hardly a glance. Tommy knew signals would be flying all over the place, letting the regulars know they were there, letting the management know. It didn't matter. He wanted them to know. Maybe they would help. In most cases that would be out of the question, but this guy was different. This guy was a psycho, and that was as much a danger to Sid and his business as to anyone else.
Tommy was hardly ten feet in the doorway when he saw Terri vault over the corner of the bar, rushing frantically toward him. He moved to meet her halfway, all senses on the alert, and his eyes sweeping the bar.
"Tommy," she cried, "I've been trying to reach you at the station . . . I have something."
With all his heart, he hoped that she did. Somewhere in the night, a freak was loose. It was time to put him down. Down hard.
FOURTEEN
Christian could hardly believe his fortune. It was fate; no other explanation fit. He was destined to achieve his goal, to succeed where only bleak failure had stared him in the face. It was like a grand, glorious jigsaw puzzle, put there for he alone to finish, where the pieces magically snapped themselves together and aligned in the proper patterns with no effort at all on his part.
He'd gotten off the phone with the woman, Madeline, and he'd gone to the darkroom. The pictures, the unfinished film, had called to him. He needed to finish them, all of them. He'd worked as quickly and efficiently as his churning mind would allow, and he finished quickly.
The prints hung, dripping the embryonic fluid of his developing vat, gleaming in the red glow of the lights, and he'd seen it instantly. His vision was gaining clarity and precision. He didn't have to pore over the prints to know there were flaws.
They were, of course, beautiful. There was no mistaking his master's touch, no way around the allure of the prints that would follow the negatives into existence. They were beautiful, but again, not perfect. This time the realization was instantaneous, as quick as the initial inspiration had been. It was obvious, if only because the answer was himself.
His vision had fallen short once more. He'd gone from one end of failure to the other without a break in between. This time, however, there was no fault in his model. The photos of Cherie had been marred only by the remnant of her spirit, soaking in through his skin, through his mind to warp his vision. It had been his own weakness, he'd thought, that had allowed this, but now he saw the truth.
These photos were better. The vision was true and exacting, even calculating in its perfection. That, he realized, was the problem. Mechanical precision and true art were not compatible. These photos were all him.
There was nothing left but flesh from the girl, no spark of beauty to add to his ability, no inspiration. True, his own talent was what created the images from which he worked, but he’d forgotten one important concept. The girl's features had been the catalyst. Until he'd seen her, his mind had not had the raw material to work with.
In each of his models there had been something that called out to him and launched him on the trail of the perfect image. These photos, the ones of Veronica, were vacant beauty, shells of what they could have been. He'd emptied her out, rebuilt her form, but left out the spark.
So the answer was simple; for true art, he required both. He had to know the model before her death, and after. He had to know the flesh, its turns and light tricks, but he had to understand what had molded it, what had filled it out and walked it about the earth. He had to understand what had sparked his interest in the first place.
That he had given in, that something inside him had been willing to settle for Veronica when his true vision was of Madeline, he took as a sign. Somewhere deep inside he must have known, must have felt that he was not quite there. He hadn't wasted his best images on this lesson, but only another substitute. Nothing could stop him, not now, not with the truth so freshly imbedded in his mind.
While the first set of prints dried he went to his bathroom and took a hot shower, making himself presentable as quickly as possible. He dressed in one of the new pairs of slacks he'd bought the day before and picked out a pull-over shirt to match them. He didn’t want to over-do it this time. He wanted her to feel comfortable.
The lack of sleep had been a problem at first, but he felt renewed enough by the shower that he could overcome it. Next he had coffee, lots of coffee, and that helped. He knew that his mother had sometimes managed to go days without sleeping, sometimes with chemicals, and other times without. He wished he had some of those drugs now, but there was nothing to do but to go on.
As soon as he felt ready, he picked up his phone and dialed the number Madeline had left. She picked up on the second ring, a hint of excitement in her voice.
"Yes?"
"Madeline? This is Christian Greve. You wanted me to call?"
"Yes," she said, her excitement growing. "I want to pose for you, Mr. Greve. I know this is out of left field, and I know you have a lot of important clients, but this would be a surprise, for Hiram?
"I know you want to work with him, and I thought maybe using me as a model would help with that. Besides, I want to surprise him, and I thought, after seeing what you can do with a camera and all, that maybe you could help?"
He'll be surprised, all right, Christian thought. Aloud he said, "Well, I'm free this evening, if you can make it? I only have a very few days off, but you've caught me at a good time. I think photographs would make a splendid present."
Sounding pleased, she said, "I thought so, too. He seems so fond of your work." She hesitated for a second, and then added, "It was really amazing what you did with that one girl. She must have been very beautiful to start with."
"Oh, not more so than yourself," he said, hoping he wasn't being too forward. "I'd mentioned on more than one occasion to Mr. Gates that I'd like to photograph you – he didn't seem to think you'd be interested. You have what I call a 'film flattering form.'"
"Oh, I am," she said eagerly. "Interested I mean.” She hesitated, and Christian could almost see the quick, embarrassed flush. “I've always wanted to see if I stacked up, you know? I mean, all my life I've seen pictures of models. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a model, almost tried after high school. Things didn't work out. My brother was always looking at pictures of women in bathing suits. He had quite a collection. I always wanted men to look at me the way he looked at them."
"I believe it is never too late to chase a dream," Christian said, smiling to himself. There was a note of nostalgia in her voice, almost a wistful quality. "So, you'll meet me this evening?"
"I will," she answered promptly, "but I have to be back early. Hiram is probably already worried sick. I called and told him I didn't feel well. I don't want him to get mad. This surprise is supposed to be for him."
"How about five, then? We can meet at one of the tables in the back of Big Sid's, you know the place?"
"Sure," she said. "I've been there a lot of times. I love the music they play. I guess the band won't be in that early, though, huh?"
"No, I don't believe so. I'll see you there, then. I have a room downtown where I've been working; we can go there after we have a drink and talk about what you want from your portraits."
"Five it is. I'll see you there, Mr. Greve, and thank you."
"The pleasure is mine," he told her, hanging up slowly and letting his mind drift into visions. "The pleasure is all mine."
Five o'clock didn't leave him much time. He was going to have to get downtown, get a room, set up his equipment so it looked as if he'd been using the place, and then get over to Sid's in less than three hours. He had just enough time to pull it off, he thought. Just about enough.
>
* * *
Christian got to Sid's, as it turned out, a little bit after five. He was hurrying, his face flushed, and he barely noticed the wave from the coat-check girl as he entered. This night he had no time for frivolity. He wanted to get in and get out before Gates had a chance to guess what was going on.
He paused just inside the door and let his eyes adjust to the poor lighting. He saw Madeline, waving at him across the dance floor. She was at the very table where he'd met Cherie and Gates himself, and he took it as another sign. It seemed that everything was a sign these days, an indication that fate was truly behind him.
He rounded the club, bypassed the bar and skirted the dance floor. He slid into the booth across from her with a grin.
"Sorry I'm late," he gasped, "I had some errands to run, and I didn't expect them to take so long."
"Oh, that's okay," she smiled at him nervously. "Terri over there has been feeding me drinks, helping me get my courage up for this."
She pointed at the bar, and he saw the same bartender with the long, dark hair that had caught his eyes several nights back. The woman waved slowly, her eyes focused on them, and Christian's heart gave a nervous lurch. She had seen him before, with Cherie. Did she know about the girl? Did she recognize him?
"So," he asked hurriedly, ordering a scotch without thinking, "what exactly do you want to do for these photographs? Did you have anything special in mind? Suggestions? I'm still a little uncertain as to what it is you want to try."
"Well," she said, and she blushed beautifully before going on, "I've always had this notion, and I know this is going to sound weird, that I'd like to be photographed nude."
His grin widened, but he kept it as subdued as possible. Like clockwork. Just like before, it was almost too easy.
"I would have suggested it, if you didn't" he smiled at her. "You have the body for it, the kind of beauty that will stand up to the camera's eye. Not everyone who looks good clothed is as attractive ‘natural.’ It would be a shame to let such fine lines go to waste without recording them as art."
Her blush deepened. "There's more," she admitted. "I told you about the magazines my brother had, back when I was a little girl? I found one of those magazines under his bed once. It was a pretty sleazy one, full of lewd pictures, sex scenes, that sort of thing. There was one photo in there, though, that always comes back to me.
"It was this woman, a woman who sort of looked like me, to tell you the truth, and she was nude, lying on a bed. Her hands and legs were tied, not with ropes, and not tightly, but tied with silk scarves. They matched her makeup and the little sandals she wore perfectly.
"I don't know why that has stuck with me so long, don't know at all why such a pose appeals to me, but I've always wanted to know if I could look that beautiful. She seemed so out of place — the woman I mean. The picture was too good for that magazine."
Christian stared at her, his mind working up the image she had described, filling in the details, filling in her features. It was perfect, another sign. Somehow she shared a bit of the vision herself, the ability to create from her own form.
"I . . . I even brought some scarves?"
Catching himself before his stare became rude, Christian smiled at her. "That is definitely something we can work with," he told her. "I can almost picture the image as you describe it, and I may even have a few ideas to improve upon it.
"I have my makeup kit in the room I'm using for a studio, I'm sure we can match whatever you've brought along with you."
She smiled back at him shyly and took a long pull on her drink. She was drinking some sort of rum concoction through a straw, and Christian marveled at the contours of her throat as she worked the last of it up into her mouth. When his scotch arrived, he downed it in a gulp. He was really looking forward to this one.
"We'd better get going," he told her, rising quickly. "I want to get started as early as possible. You've given me quite an image to fill out before you have to be home with Hiram, and not that much time in which to do it. I want to give you the best I can offer."
Nodding, she rose alongside him. She wobbled a little, and he saw that she'd had quite a few drinks already. Fine. That would make everything that was to come simpler, easier for him to handle.
He wasn't at top form, having had no sleep in two days, and he needed every break he could get. As before, it seemed that fate was going out of her way to provide those breaks, almost inundating him with them.
They walked together past the bar, and he saw the bartender, Terri, staring at him pointedly. There was something odd in her eyes, and she had her hand on the phone. Christian hurried, steering Madeline through the crowd and making his way quickly onto the street.
He had no way of knowing if the woman had recognized him, or what that might matter, but he wasn't going to hang out and find the answers. It seemed that his welcome at Sid's might be at an end.
Christian pulled Madeline around the side of the club and into the alley immediately, heading for his car. He'd parked closer tonight, not being as worried about being spotted. Madeline had said she came here often. Seeing her here would not be the type of shock that Veronica had been able to induce.
"Hey," she said, giggling a little, "slow down. I'm going to fall and get dirty."
Fuming at the delay, gazing over his shoulder at every other step, Christian slowed a bit and helped her to his car. He held the door for her as she flopped inside onto the passenger seat. It was strange seeing someone there; he'd never driven the car with a passenger before.
"This isn't a very fancy car for a rich photographer," she giggled. "You must be one of those starving artists."
"That's me," he smiled at her. "I don't believe in wasting money on frivolous things. It is my art that is important, after all."
This sent her into fits of laughter, and Christian almost lost his temper. He hadn't been kidding. If it hadn't been for the perfection of the vision that was forming in his mind, the quality of the inspiration she had given him, he might have struck her. It also put into perspective the trap that Gates had been laying. The more Christian had become intrigued by the fine things he was buying, by the scotch and the nicer clothes, the less he'd concentrated on his vision. It was a poison, seeping through him.
It was the same with sex. His mother had controlled him that way. He should have seen it coming. He should have been stronger, been able to resist them. Shaking his head, he returned the best rendition of a smile he could muster to his lips.
"So," he said, pulling out into the street and heading for the hotel, "you and Hiram are seeing one another? I always hoped you were just his receptionist. That would have given the rest of us a chance."
She giggled again. "Hi and I go way back," she said. "It wasn't until a couple of days ago, though, that he actually began to see me, I think. I've been there all along, been by his side through the worst and the best, as that marriage line goes, but he never really appreciated it."
"That's hard to believe," Christian commented, turning off Broadway and onto fifty-first. He'd intentionally moved further downtown in case Gates figured out what was going on. He wanted time to finish, time to get done what he had to do and get out before someone found him.
"Why?" she asked, turning quickly to him.
"Because," he answered, reaching over quickly to pat her on the thigh, then pulling his hand away as though fearing to be slapped, "If a woman like you was in my life, in any manner, I would find it very hard to pay attention to anything else. I noticed you the first time I saw you. How could it take him years?"
"You," she said, pointing a wavering finger at him, "are a flatterer."
"No," he replied, pulling into the hotel lot and threading his way around to the back of the lot, "I only speak the truth. Flattery is for people you want something from."
"You don't want anything from me?" she asked, pouting. He knew she was drunk for sure then, but it still hit him where it hurt. Of course he wanted something from her. He wanted
everything.
When he got a stricken look on his face, she laughed uproariously, and once again his face reddened with anger.
"I'm sorry," she choked, getting herself under control. "You're very sweet, Christian, that is your name? Christian?"
"It is," he replied, getting out and coming around to hold her door for her. The parking lot was deserted and it returned his good spirits. The room he'd rented faced the back, on the ground floor. They could walk right up to the door and inside without anyone seeing them at all. It was perfect.
As he led her to the door, one arm lightly on her shoulder to help her balance, he looked once over his shoulder and back at the city. The lights had come on all over, illuminating the skyline.
Somewhere Hiram Gates was sitting, probably oblivious to everything around him, ignorant of what was to come and wondering if Madeline was coming to work. After this, he would have to be dealt with. Christian thought it was high time he moved out on his own and made some new contacts. Maybe it was even time to move to a different city where nobody knew him at all. After all, he was going to be famous, way out of Gates’ league.
He turned back, and he caught a whiff of Madeline's hair. He felt himself stiffen against the material of his new slacks, and he smiled, turning slightly so that Madeline wouldn't feel it. Not yet. The night would be full of surprises for everyone.
SIXTEEN
For the first time in all the years he'd been going to Sid's, Tommy found himself amazed. He'd always felt at home there, always felt as if he understood the place. It had never really surprised him, even when he'd had to chase psychos through the doors and back out.
Tonight was one for the books. It seemed that Terri had been talking to Sid, and to the others on the staff, letting them in on just what kind of a freak had been using their club as a meeting place, and the consensus was, this once, that it was time to help in any way possible. As it turned out, the possibilities were nearly endless. It was dawning on Tommy just how powerful a figure Sid was in downtown San Valencez, and how smart.
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