Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  "I thought you were affected strangely by the concussion. Or going bonkers." They looked at each other and laughed nervously.

  When they exited the stairwell, policemen jammed the hallway. Yellow crime tape was being applied to the apartment door directly above Michelle's apartment.

  "I hope they caught the sucker," Heather said. "It was Martha." Her chin was quivering. Heather knew everyone in the building.

  They went to the nearest man in a blue uniform, a young Hawaiian, and asked what had happened. He said the woman had evidently allowed the killer into her apartment because the door had been locked, so it fit the description of the other attacks. He warned them not to allow anyone into their apartments.

  As they went down the stairs again, Heather said, "It may have fit what they think is a pattern, but Martha was a lot older than the other women. In her late-forties, I guess. She was divorced. A teacher. She used to say I was too skinny and give me cookies when I came over to visit."

  Heather was wiping tears on her cheeks with the back of her hands. "I'm scared, Michelle. I think someone's doing it to you. Warning you. Or threatening. Or playing some obscene game. This one was just too close."

  They both went to the balcony and stood outside, watching police cars departing the building.

  "I'm scared for you," Michelle said as they stood there. "You've had two very strange accidents in one week."

  A big black limousine careened in front of the driveway as they stood watching the activity. It screeched to a sudden halt, rocking slightly. Nakamura jumped out, slamming the door, and strode quickly to the building. Two security guards Michelle had never seen before hurried over to him. He was waving his arms and appeared to be giving them hell, although she couldn't hear what he was saying. The two men kept shaking their heads. He finally threw up his hands, after evidently yelling a lot, and slammed back into the car. When he squealed abruptly away, two of the police cars followed him.

  Michelle shook her head. He was going to get another ticket.

  Later that evening Michelle noticed that Lucifer's food was almost gone. She had ruined some of it in the microwave that morning. She decided to go to the store. When she left the apartment she saw one of the security guards who had been talking to Nakamura standing in her hallway near the elevators, as though he was personally guarding this one particular floor. Michelle saw him watching her curiously.

  When she returned the guard was still there. He had on the same khaki uniform as the regular guards, but she knew all of them. His impolite, unhurried and curious perusal as she went toward her apartment gave her the creeps. But then, she didn't like any man watching her in particular. It was an odd situation and she suspected that Nakamura had posted the guy there. It was certainly an unnecessarily expensive. There were uniformed cops all over the building.

  As she walked down the hall Michelle saw a woman standing in front of her door. She was tall, with curly short brown hair.

  "You're Michelle?" the girl asked.

  Michelle nodded.

  "Oh. Well, Omar thought you might not have enough of Lucifer's special food. He asked me to bring some over to you."

  The woman held out a plastic bowl. "He said for me to chop it up, but I'm staying in a motel on Kalowa, and I didn't have a knife."

  Michelle smiled and showed her the contents of the bag she was holding. Tender Vitals. Purina cat chow. Frisky's tender meaty morsels. Michelle had also purchased some raw liver. "Come in. But be careful. Lucifer doesn't like strangers."

  "I think Lucifer will recognize me. My name is Suzanne."

  Michelle unlocked the door and they entered. Lucifer was waiting and did indeed recognize the woman, or girl, as Michelle didn't think she was much older than eighteen. Lucifer rubbed against her ankles and purred.

  "Your apartment is beautiful," Suzanne said, looking around. "I'm living in a dump right now, but I wanted to stay in Hawaii for a couple of weeks. I couldn't afford anything nice."

  They went into the kitchen and Michelle started putting different kinds of cat food into bowls. "Let's see if Lucifer will eat regular food."

  Michelle lined the bowls up in a row and Lucifer picked the raw liver. He ate like he was starving.

  "You should be careful, Suzanne," Michelle said. "Hawaii is usually safe for tourists, but some parts of Waikiki can be rough."

  Suzanne nodded, laughing at the cat's antics. He was shaking each piece like he was killing it. Then he dragged hunks out of the bowl so he could eat on the floor. "I was staying at the Royal Hawaiian for a couple of days, but I had a disagreement with someone and had to leave."

  Michelle nodded. Boyfriend trouble. Nasty of him to throw the poor girl out. She would never ask Suzanne anything personal, but Michelle felt sorry for her and offered her a coke. They sat in the living room, watching the cat from there.

  "Are you one of Omar's sisters," Michelle asked, hoping to learn more about him.

  Suzanne nodded yes. "He made me a witch, night before last."

  "A witch!"

  "Yes."

  "All his sisters are witches?"

  Suzanne nodded and smiled shyly. "Omar is like the leader of a huge coven. He's a Necromancer. Didn't you know?"

  Michelle shook her head.

  "You look absolutely flabbergasted," the girl said, smiling.

  Michelle was still shaking her head in disbelief, unaware her eyes were like saucers. "I just thought he was some wealthy businessman with a vacation place here."

  "Oh, I suspect he is very wealthy. He travels all over the world. Omar has covens in many countries."

  "Well, I can understand that. Although I never, in a million years, would have guessed. He is very handsome..."

  "Oh yes," Suzanne agreed eagerly. "And so nice. He stopped over especially to give me Lucifer's dinner. He loves his animal friends."

  "He gave it to you this evening?" That was strange. Omar said he was going to be away.

  Suzanne nodded. "Just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. He asked me, because he's conducting a ceremony on the other side of the island tonight. All of his older sisters will be there. I guess that's why he chose me to bring the food."

  "Do you know Samson Stoker?" Michelle asked. "His chauffeur?"

  Suzanne stared at her and didn't say anything. Michelle watched her complexion blanch a dead white color. She looked petrified with fear for a second. Finally Suzanne shook her head and said she didn't think so.

  "You'd remember if you saw him," Michelle said. "He's a mute. An enormous man with a broken nose. Omar employs him as a driver."

  "That's not all he does," Suzanne said vaguely. "I don't want to think about him. I have to go..."

  As Suzanne hurried to the door she stumbled and almost fell. Michelle got up and followed her. The girl was acting strange and Michelle was disappointed. She wanted to ask Suzanne more about Omar. If Omar was a leader of witch covens did that make him a warlock? What was a Necromancer? It was all so incredible and intriguing.

  "Won't you stay for dinner? I have a huge tuna salad."

  "No. Thank you. I have to leave." Suzanne almost ran away down the hallway past the guard who was watching with lecherous interest.

  Michelle went into the kitchen and got out the salad. Lucifer was still eating his dinner. "Well, we have your special food for breakfast, Lucifer."

  The plastic bowl was on the counter where Suzanne had left it. Before Michelle put it in the refrigerator she opened the plastic lid and glanced inside. It looked like a chicken heart and a liver. Or maybe it was beef. It was too large for a chicken and too small for a cow. Michelle grimaced when she sniffed strange odors and put it in the refrigerator.

  She wasn't looking forward to chopping up that grisly, bloody stuff tomorrow morning when she got up.

  CHAPTER 16

  Vincent knew Omar Satinov's name and where he lived now, but with Suzanne gone it would be harder to expose the fake. Still, that was what he had come to the islands for and Vincent was determine
d not to give up. After what had happened to Suzanne though, he was uneasy. He knew he would have to confront Omar sooner or later, but he wanted to personally see him in action first. Preferably without his knowledge.

  Vincent found himself back at the House of Hermetic occult store that evening in downtown Honolulu. He stood, waiting for the old woman with the chin mole, to finish waiting on three women who were purchasing some merchandise. Vincent didn't mind at all. He enjoyed looking at the trio because they were young and each was gorgeous in her own way. The tallest had bright red hair and spoke with a pronounced French accent. One was skinny as a waif, with dead white hair and an angelic face. The third appeared pure Hawaiian, with curly black hair and a beautiful figure in a tight short skirt.

  The old woman finally raised hooded dark eyes to Vincent as the young girls turned to leave with their packages. "Back again?" She smiled, but didn't seem at all mirthful. "A magic potion? A love spell? An herb to regain your manhood?" She stared at him malevolently for a moment. "Ah, no. Information."

  Vincent nodded.

  "If you follow those women, you'll find what you want."

  Vincent turned and watched the three women as they filed out the door. A tiny bell attached to the ceiling struck the door and tinkled their exit.

  "I don't understand."

  "You want to watch witches in action?"

  "You mean those young girls...?" It was ludicrous. His first assessment of the old woman had been correct. She resided in bat city. He wasn't going to run after some strange young women like a love-struck boy, hoping they wouldn't notice the short fat man with the yellow buck teeth stalking them. The women were obviously tourists out for cheap thrills in an occult store. Probably buying Love Potion No. 9 for an erring boyfriend.

  "Oh, too bad. They left," the old woman said. She didn't sound sorry at all.

  Vincent turned around, following the old woman's gaze and saw the three women driving past in a topless red sports car. They all seemed to be oddly staring right back at him, even the driver, who was the redhead, although he was sure they couldn't see him inside the dark shop still illuminated almost entirely by candle light, even at night.

  "I've found the man I was seeking," Vincent said. "The one we talked of previously. His name is..."

  "Stop!" The old bag harshly interrupted. She was actually making the sign of the cross, and then poking three fingers at him. He had seen the gesture before, to ward off evil, in Italy.

  "Oh, come on," Vincent said, aggrieved by her attitude. "Let's not play games. Look, I'll buy some things. I just want a little information."

  Vincent started mindlessly picking up candles and figurines, tarot cards and a few more wooden Hawaiian deity dolls with gargoyle faces. Hell, he could buy the whole damned store if he wanted to.

  The old woman closed her eyes for a moment while Vincent busily picked up items and lined them up on the counter in front of her.

  "You're going to throw that stuff in the handiest trash can. Why don't you just give me the money?"

  Ah ha, the old bat wasn't as stupid as she looked. Vincent pulled out his wallet.

  She had closed her eyes and was making a deep humming sound. It sounded like a lion growling. Probably for effect, Vincent thought. She probably held phony psychic readings and ran bogus seances too, pretending to contact the long dead for her true believers. Not that he cared. It was good entertainment. If her clients had to sometimes pay, well, that was their loss. He only concerned himself with the truly malicious quacks who took their victims for all they were worth. This pathetic and rundown shop proved the woman didn't roll her clients for the big bucks.

  The humming grew louder and deeper.

  Not bad, Vincent thought, although he was becoming a little alarmed. The humming sounded like it was coming from all around him now. It was like a swarm of invisible stereophonic bees. Hard to believe it was from the larynx of the skinny old bird standing there with her eyes shut.

  Suddenly her eyes snapped open. "Get that young girl out of here. She's in great danger." The voice was deep and resonated eerily, but Vincent was sure she had practiced with a tape-recorder to get that peculiar effect.

  And that proved it. The woman was a charlatan. Suzanne was already gone. She had been in danger, Vincent knew, but she was probably back in her dorm room on campus by now. Or eating dinner with her parents. But, he wondered, how did the woman know that he'd had a young girl with him?

  "You must go to three tables. There will be great peril. You have to understand that the risks are exceedingly high. And you must not confront him alone. He will eat you. Literally."

  The woman cleared her throat and blinked several times, as though just waking up, or throwing off an alien persona. Vincent watched with admiration. It was a great performance. Not overdone, just perfect, and certainly worth the money he pressed into her palm and which disappeared under the counter.

  "Thanks," Vincent said off-handedly. "That was a big help. Now I need to know where to find those three tables."

  "I'm through." The woman turned her back on him. "Look at a map."

  There was a audible and collective in-drawn breath from about a hundred people as Omar drew out the Seven Black Candles of Death from the folds of his voluminous black robe.

  The ceremony was taking place at Three Tables Beach, located on the windward side of Oahu. It was a popular place for novice surfers to the crashing waves that slammed into this more unpopulated side of the island, because there were three large rocks in the lagoon that were almost perfectly flat, thus the name, Three Tables Beach. The rocks diminished the intensity of the surf, so that those coming to learn to surf, or just to body surf without boards, found the gigantic waves hurtling toward shore gentled in the big rocks just before they reached the beach.

  It was late at night, almost twelve, the witching hour, and the people in the circle performing the rituals were seated now. They were exhausted after the initiation of two new witches, the charms that were prayed over, the dancing, the drinking of sacrificial wine and the sex, which was encouraged during the ceremony. It was at this moment that Omar had taken the black candles of death from within his robe and all knew a death rite would be performed tonight.

  Those initiated into Omar's religion of witchcraft were within the gigantic circle, surrounded by several flame torches which cast warm flickering light within. The sand inside the circle had been raked perfectly flat and all inside wore white robes and were barefoot. Omar, as high priest, wore black.

  The onlookers were seated around the circle, watching. The waves crashed on the beach behind them rhythmically and were lit up by a full moon. The sand was damp and a bit cold but no one seemed to notice, so entranced were they with the tall man who had been leading the ceremonies. He held all enthralled, as though he were a mass hypnotist and the group on the beach a bunch of lemmings he could lead into the sea if he so chose. He was Peter Pan leading the mindless multitudes into an enchanted paradise.

  Omar's magic seemed to promise each individual in the crowd their fondest desire. Want a love potion? He had one guaranteed to work. Three of his highest witches were making special fluids in a cauldron over a bonfire just a few feet away, taking solicitations. Request a reversal of fortune? There were special charms made from animal skin and hair. Want your boss to give you a better position, higher pay, more power? It was all there for the asking.

  The ceremony was almost like a gipsy carnival. People brought their friends. Palm reading? Hypnosis? Charms? Potions? Beauty creams? A cure for your disease? A cure for impotence—or just a terrible hangover? All was available for a small pittance and the belief in the pagan religion expounded by the dark man.

  And who would not desire such a spectacular religion? It guaranteed all that heaven promised, right here on earth. And who among them could disbelieve? They had seen the joyous ceremony. The dancing. The drinking of spirits. Open sexual encounters. It was fun! It was natural. And the dark man said it was all good!

&nb
sp; His preaching espoused the love of life and the rigorous enjoyment of all. And now he was showing his domination and held all enthralled because he could take it all away. He had the power of Death.

  Ginger was Omar's high priestess during this ceremony, looking absolutely gorgeous in a white robe with her long curly red hair shifting seductively in the breeze. She had knelt before him, after bowing down devotedly three times. Now she held a long taper and started lighting each of the black candles ceremoniously, which Omar had placed on the wooden alter in the middle of the circle. It was at this time that there was usually the killing of a sacrificial animal, a goat or a lamb, or even a pigeon or chicken, but Omar would not tolerate such practices. He considered animals to be innocent and good. People were the beasts. But there had to be blood for this rite.

  The women in the circle started chanting. The sacrifice, a young women, was led to the center of the circle and Omar produced a long sword. He kissed it and held it high. The woman seemed mesmerized and did not scream or flinch when he sliced her robe open. She was not wearing any clothing beneath the white robe and her breasts and belly were exposed to the crowd, which was already in a lascivious mood from the sex rites during the witch initiations, and most were at least partially inebriated from the wine that had been passed around almost continuously during the entire time that the ceremonies had taken place.

  Omar would rather have had a virgin because it made the magic more powerful, but he hadn't been able to find one. He had to have enough blood to startle the crowd and virgin blood was more potent, but he would make do.

  Vincent, sitting atop the bluff, was watching the scene through binoculars. He knew about the candles of death and the belief that sacrificial blood would make the death rite more powerful, but he was sickened by the need for gore. So far it had all been fun and games as far as he was concerned. But now he was worried for the sake of the young girl who stood perfectly still as her robe was stripped from her body. She was beautiful in face in figure. Probably of the mixed blood so prevalent in the islands. She could have been part Caucasian and Hawaiian with a hint of Oriental mixed in too because of her straight, raven black hair, which reached almost to her buttocks. He thought she couldn't be much older than twenty.