Shella

by Andrew Vachss

  I got up to dance with Misty again. We moved closer to Carlos. I watched him over Misty’s shoulder. His eyes were closed.

  In between dances with the woman, he hit the spoon again and again. The woman never got up by herself, never went to the ladies’ room, never left his side.

  I figured it out, finally.

  I pulled Misty’s chair right against mine, put my arm around her, moved her close so I could whisper to her.

  “I’m going to do my work soon,” I told her. “Walk out, like we had a fight or something. Get them to call you a cab. Go back to the motel, check out. Take a cab back home.”

  “What’re you …?”

  “Ssssh, Misty. Just do it, okay?”

  “Baby, couldn’t I … help you or something?”

  Her bare shoulder was warm under my hand. I rubbed her flesh with my thumb, making a little circle.

  “Is there a window in the ladies’ room?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I mean, I didn’t see one. But I could go and look.…”

  “Yeah. Do that, okay. I’m going to take a look around myself.”

  She went off. I gave her a couple of minutes. Then I walked across the dance floor, found the corridor to the men’s room, went inside.

  It was fancy, like Misty described. But you could see it had been a corner of the basement, once. Maybe there’d been a restaurant upstairs. I went into one of the stalls, last one on the end, near the wall. Pipes running all around the base of the wall. I saw a paper tag wired to one of the pipes. Brooklyn Union Gas, it said.

  I came out of the stall, washed my hands, looked in the mirror so I could see the place. In one corner, two pipes running floor-to-ceiling. On the side of the pipes, a round valve. For the kitchen that used to be upstairs?

  I got back to the table before Misty did. She sat down, waited till the waitress brought us some more drinks. “There’s a window, baby. But it’s a real little one, with bars on the outside.”

  “It’s okay. People watch you real close in there? Could you maybe do something before you leave?”

  “Honey, I could do anything…. It’s like an orgy room back there. They’re all snorting up, making a mess. I saw two girls going at it in one of the stalls, right in front of everybody. This one girl was standing on the toilet with her dress up and the other one was lapping it up. They didn’t even close the door.”

  “Yeah, they’re doing it at the tables too.”

  “Not coke, baby, sex. This one girl was standing on the toilet with her dress all the way up and this other one was eating her. It was disgusting.…”

  “Okay.” I handed her three books of paper matches. “Put a lighted cigarette in the matches, like this.” I showed her. When the cigarette burned down, it would hit the match heads, make a little flash flame. Shella taught me that trick. “Is there a trash can, for tissues and stuff like that?”

  “Yeah. There’s a couple of them.”

  “You think you could throw a lighted cigarette in there, wrap the matchbooks around it first?”

  “Sure.”

  We got up to dance again. The floor was so crowded now, people kept bumping into us—especially Misty. I put my lips real close to her ear, holding her tight.

  “When we go back to the table, you just sit there and wait. When I come back, you go to the ladies’ room, do what we said. Soon as you dump the cigarette, walk right upstairs and step out on the sidewalk. Like you need some air. Grab a cab.”

  “What’re you …?”

  “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  She pulled my face down, gave me a deep kiss.

  It took me a while to work my way through the crowd to the men’s room. I waited till it was pretty empty. Waited some more until I was alone. Then I stepped out of the stall. The attendant was cleaning up near the door. I stepped over to the pipes, grabbed the valve, and twisted hard. It wouldn’t move. I pulled in a deep breath through my nose, got a better grip, then let it out as I twisted it again. I felt little pinpricks in the back of my neck, pain around my eyes … felt the valve give. I twisted it open all the way, heard a little hiss.

  I went back outside. Misty got up, rubbing her head like it hurt. She went off.

  I smoked two cigarettes, slow and easy. It was about fifteen minutes before I smelled it, just a faint undertrace, but I knew what it was. Couldn’t move yet. Carlos was still sitting down.

  Finally, he got up to dance. I got up too, started across the floor. The woman was wiggling against him, hands behind his back. I heard someone say “Gas?” I guess it’s the same in Spanish. People were moving around, the music was loud…. Some of them could smell it.

  I stepped behind the woman, hooked her as hard as I could in the kidneys. The blow knocked her into him. He spread his arms and she went down, crumpled. I could see the gun in her hand, but she was gone. His mouth was open. Somebody screamed. I shot a left into his ribs, my right hand knife-edged against his neck as his head came down. The gas smell was strong now. “Fire!” I heard someone yell. Everybody started running for the exit, a crazed crowd, stomping over each other.

  I got out in the middle of the mess, running. Found the car where I left it.

  When I got back to the hotel, Misty was already there. Still in the red dress. She hugged me real tight, told me she got out of the club without any problem. The TV was on. She’d been watching the news. There was nothing.

  I took off my clothes, took a shower. When I came out, she was still in the red dress.

  “I wanted to keep it on, baby. It looks so pretty, doesn’t it?”

  “It looks perfect,” I told her.

  Early in the morning, just before she fell asleep, Misty moved against me. “Will I ever get to wear my dress again, honey?”

  “Sure,” I said, holding her till she nodded off.

  In the papers the next morning, they just called it a gas leak in the social club. One unidentified dead man, broken neck. And a woman, broken ribs and internal injuries. They’d interviewed the woman when she came out of surgery. She said she hadn’t seen anything—everybody panicked, it was a mob scene.

  I thought about the gun in her hand. That woman, his bodyguard, she wouldn’t say anything, ever. She wasn’t his woman—it was business.

  I waited a couple of days, then I went to see Monroe. He was sitting where he was before. All the same people with him, except for the redheaded guy.

  “Ghost! Like a fucking ghost, just like I said. How’d you do it?”

  “Did you find her?” I asked him.

  “I got feelers out all over the place. Don’t worry about it. She’s out there, I’ll find her for you. Where do I …?”

  “I’ll come back,” I told him.

  When I came back in another week, he asked me if I had a picture of Shella. I never had a picture of Shella.

  Two more weeks went by. I went to see Monroe. I just stood there, looking down at him.

  “You scare me sometimes, Ghost,” he said. “Look, I can’t come up with the girl, how about I just pay you the money instead?”

  “No. That’s wasn’t what you said.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m still looking, got feelers out all over the place. Remember what I told you? Maybe she’s not working…. She’s in jail or married or something, it could take a long time to track her down. It ain’t like you got any ID on her.”

  “I know. I’ll wait.”

  I told Misty I’d be going soon. On a trip. Somebody was looking for an old friend of mine. When they found her, I’d go out there to see her.

  “In Chicago? Is that where you’ll be going?”

  “I don’t know. Wherever she is.”

  “Remember when we first talked about it? In the car? I always wanted to try Chicago.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  The next morning, Misty got home from the club, took her shower, got in bed with me. I was awake.

  “Honey, remember when I was telling you about the ladies’ room? In the club where we wen
t dancing? I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

  “About what?”

  “What the girls were doing in there. The lesbian stuff. When I said it was disgusting …? I didn’t mean doing it was disgusting … just, in the toilet like that, in front of everyone, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean … some men, they think it’s the most beautiful thing. To watch. You ever notice that? Like in porno movies …? Guys’ll watch two women going at it, really get turned on. But you never see women watching movies of men doing each other. How come you think that is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You ever … go to one of those movies?”

  I did, once. A gay movie. The guy I was paid to do, he went there all the time. Cruising, they call it. It was the easiest one I ever did. I just sat in the back where they told me. The guy came in, sat down next to me. Didn’t say a word at first. I just watched the movie, didn’t answer when he started talking to me. I let him unzip my fly. When he put his head down, I broke his neck.

  “No,” I told her, rubbing her back.

  “You think maybe you’d like to … someday?”

  “No. I got nothing against them. I knew one. From when I was inside. Real hard guy, kept to himself.”

  “I don’t mean men, honey. Girls.”

  “I don’t go to the movies much.”

  “I know. But you liked that time we went, didn’t you?”

  “Sure.” It was called Goodfellas. A movie about gangsters. The guy who wrote it, he knew what he was doing, how they work. It didn’t seem like a movie at all, except for the music. I wished I could have watched it without the sound.

  Misty put her hand between my legs, rolling onto her side, talking low against my chest.

  “I could bring a girlfriend home some night. From the club, after work. Would you like that, baby?”

  “Bring her here?”

  “Or someplace else, if you want. There’s a girl works at the club, Chantal. She goes both ways. I know she likes me, I can tell. We could put on a little show for you. I’d like that, if you would. I’m not the jealous kind, I know how to share.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “You don’t want me to?”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  It was a Thursday night when I saw him again.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Ghost. Your girl’s working in Cleveland, a joint off Euclid Avenue, downtown. You know it?”

  “I’ve never been there,” I told him. It wasn’t true—I did some work there once. Don’t know why I didn’t tell Monroe.

  “It’s called The Chamber, this joint. Real hardcore, the way I hear it.”

  He was watching my face as he was talking. He doesn’t usually do that. I put my eyes at the top of his nose, right between his eyebrows.

  He lit a cigar. “She’s using the name Roxie. She’s not on the books—the manager says she only works part-time, Friday, Saturday night, like that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, Ghost. I’m a man of my word. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting mad at me, coming back to see me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  He gave me the address of the club, asked me how I would get there. I told him I’d drive out, take a couple of days.

  I called Cleveland information from a pay phone. They didn’t have a listing for this Chamber place. It didn’t mean anything. Some of the clubs, they advertise in the Yellow Pages and all, some of them just have a pay phone in the back.

  I told Misty I’d be gone a couple of days, maybe a little longer. Packed some stuff in an airline bag. She sat on the bed, watching me.

  “You’ll be back?”

  “Sure.”

  “You promise?”

  “Why you asking me all this?”

  “I’m sorry. I mean … I know we don’t … just … I thought we could … keep on….”

  “It’s okay,” I told her.

  I took a plane into Cleveland, told the cab driver to take me to an address I remembered. On the West Side, near the water. They call it The Flats, this section.

  When I got out of the cab, it had all changed. Last time I was there, it was a rough neighborhood. Waterfront bars, strip joints, whores on the street, places where you could rent a room, nobody asked your name. Now it was all fancy restaurants, little shops where you could buy expensive stuff, looked all new.

  I went further along the West Side, out on Detroit Avenue. Finally, I found a place, little sign said ROOMS. I paid the man some money. Everybody had hillbilly accents. The room was small, bathroom down the hall.

  That night I went to the club. It was right where Monroe said it would be. No pictures of the girls on the outside. Man at the door, all dressed in black.

  “Members only,” he told me.

  I turned to walk away. I was going to wait until the place closed, talk to Shella when she came out.

  “Membership costs twenty bucks,” the man said.

  I gave him a twenty, went inside. It was dark, like a cave. A woman was standing next to a post, hands wrapped in leather straps high above her head. A little red ball was in her mouth, a strap around the back of her head like a gag. She had no clothes on. Another woman stood next to her, high black boots that came almost to her knees, a black corset pulled tight around her waist. When I walked past, she said “Fifty bucks.” I kept walking over to the bar, asked the man for a rum and Coke like I always do.

  I sipped the Coke, watched. Two women came over to the girl tied to the post. They gave some money to the woman in the corset. She picked up a leather handle with thin straps attached to it, whipped the other woman three times.

  People were all in costumes. Masks, chains. It smelled like a hospital where somebody was going to die.

  A stairway in one corner. Doors to rooms on the side. It felt like the ceiling was very low but I couldn’t see it.

  I looked around some more. No stage. No dancers.

  When the bartender came back, I asked him if Roxie was on tonight.

  He looked at me close, for just a second. Told me she wasn’t—wait there and he’d find out for me, when she was coming back.

  A man sat down next to me, another man with him, a studded collar around his neck. The first man held a leash to the collar. He asked me for a match.

  I gave him a little box of wooden matches. He said thanks. Struck a match, held it against the hand of the man on the leash. I could see the flesh burn, but the man on the leash didn’t say anything.

  The bartender came back. Said Roxie would be coming back on Tuesday. I thanked him, left ten dollars on the bar.

  I walked out. When I got on the sidewalk, I turned left, looking for a cab. A man in a raincoat came out of the alley. I was on him before he could get the sawed-off out of his coat—I heard the shotgun go off as my fingers went for his eyes, felt a stinging against my legs, twisted my body against the wall, and pulled him down with me. Shots came from in front of me, chipping the brick wall. The man’s body caught a couple of them, one nipped the fleshy part of my arm.

  A siren ripped out. I heard shoes slapping on the sidewalk. I bent down to make sure the shotgun man was finished. The sawed-off was on a leather strap around his neck so he could swing it free when he needed it. A photograph was taped to the inside forearm of his coat. My picture, black and white. I pulled it free.

  I left the man’s body there, kept moving through the alley. Came out on the next block. Started walking.

  I walked for a long time. A black girl came up to me, asked me if I wanted to have a party. I asked her how much. She said twenty-five, ten for the room.

  I told her okay, gave her the money. She took me to this hotel, signed the book for us. We went upstairs.

  Little room, one light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The sheets were yellowish, washbasin in one corner. There was no chair. I sat on the bed.

  “You want some half ’n’ half, honey? Get your motor started?” />
  “Unbutton my coat,” I told her.

  She did it. My shirt was red around the muscle. “Take it off,” I said.

  She knew what I meant. Was real careful about it. There was a slash across my arm—the bullet hadn’t gone in.

  “Can you get some hot water here?”

  “Down the hall, honey.”

  “Here’s what I want. You get me some hot water, okay? Real hot. I’ll put my arm on the windowsill, you pour the water across it. Then you tie my shirt around it. Tight. Tight as you can. Then I’m gone. I’ll give you another fifty bucks, okay?”

  She nodded. I gave her the fifty. Opened the window with my left hand in case she didn’t come back quick.

  But she did. She poured the hot water over my arm. It ran off clean, but it was bleeding a lot.

  She took some stuff out of her purse. Kotex. “It ain’t much, but it’ll be better than just that shirt, okay?”

  I told her thanks. She put the Kotex on my arm, tied the shirt tight around it, helped me on with my jacket.

  “Where’s the nearest city?” I asked her.

  “Big city? Akron, I guess.”

  “Want to make a couple of hundred bucks?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Can you get a car?”

  “No, honey. I ain’t got no car. My man, he’s got a car. Nice big car. You want I should …?”

  “No. Just give me a hand downstairs, hail a cab for me.”

  She did it, standing on the sidewalk in her bright-blue dress.

  I got in, told the driver to take me to the bus station.

  I caught the next bus out to Chicago.

  In Chicago, I found a room near the middle of town. The Loop, the cab driver called it.

  By the next day, my arm wasn’t bleeding anymore. I changed the dressing, used my undershirt.

  I went out, found an army-navy store, bought a couple of sweatshirts, a pair of pants.

  I got a razor and some other stuff in a drugstore.

  When I was clean, I took a cab to the airport, bought a ticket to Philadelphia.