An Absent God

by Vincent Wilde

  Although Virginia was a nice change from my usual city crawls, I missed New York and wanted to get outside. My claustrophobic apartment was unsuited for relaxing at home—unless it was dark or rainy and I wanted to settle in. And there were no Central Park views through my basement windows. Taking a trip to Ophelia’s was a much better option than sitting around the house. The smoggy New York air would do me good.

  I hadn’t felt the need to pack the Smith & Wesson .357 in a year, but today I reconsidered. Another gun I’d bought on the cheap at a Times Square pawnshop was gaining favor as my new favorite. I dug them both out from under my bed and decided on the six-inch IMI Desert Eagle. It was lighter than my other gun. Both were unloaded. The shells were on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.

  I put on my leather shoulder holster and jacket, gave a quick glance through my windows, and then opened the door. Rodney’s murder came rushing back to me and I shivered. The possibilities for getting murdered in New York were endless. How many rooftops, alleys, and cars could a sniper take advantage of? Something else bothered me as well. Tony and I didn’t have one strong lead. Murdering Rodney Jessup was like assassinating a political figure—any wacko among the millions out there was suspect. We had to catch a break, otherwise we would be glorified babysitters until Carol picked up the kids or something more tragic happened. The suspicion nagged at me that the solution to Rodney’s murder might be simple if we just knew what to look for.

  I glanced over my shoulder as I closed the door. I didn’t like living my life this way. I’d gotten used to a certain sense of tranquility after the Combat Zone murders. I put the key in my pocket and turned toward the street. Fortunately, I was able to get to the sidewalk, and then to the subway, unscathed. I breathed in the New York City air, that strange mix of exhaust fumes, sewer steam, roasted peanuts, and, depending on which way the wind was blowing, watery smells from the Hudson and East Rivers.

  I arrived at Ophelia’s apartment in the Lower East Side about thirty minutes later and rang the Martin/Cox buzzer. A sleepy voice crackled through the intercom.

  Robert buzzed me in and I took the creaky elevator to the fifth floor. He opened the door and peeked over the chain lock. Seeing me, he let me in. He was dressed in a long, filmy woman’s robe, rather like a peignoir, something Liz Taylor or Loretta Young would have worn in the comfort of their homes. His head was as slick as a cue ball after having shaved off all his hair. That look combined with the flowing robe made him look like a bald-headed exotic bird.

  His apartment was nice. It faced south and east, so the morning sun warmed the room with its yellow slanted rays. The furniture was okay, certainly nothing fancy. The rooms were clean and sparse and arranged artfully; Zen in their own way.

  I sat on the green couch, noting that it could easily fit two kids for sleeping. “How have you been?” I asked.

  “All right.” His voice was low and gravelly. He sounded lethargic and depressed.

  I took out my cigarettes, but he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

  “Please don’t,” he said. “I get enough smoke at the club. I think it’s making me sick.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I put them back in my pocket.

  “I’m losing a lot of weight,” he said and then thrust out his arms.

  His arms were beginning to take on an emaciated look, mostly bone and thin flesh. “Are you strong enough to work?”

  “Yes, but it’s a struggle. Most days I’m okay. I just get tired.” He looked at me and I felt the specter of death staring at me from the wan face.

  “I think you should quit. The job’s not good for you.”

  He laughed and his teeth showed white and skull-like, against his tight lips. “What am I going to live on? My good looks?” Tears formed in his sunken eyes. “I wish I could change the past, but I can’t. Now I have to live with this.”

  “I can lend you what you need.”

  He leaned forward in his chair and stared at me. “There’s a new drug out there, but it’s not even approved by the FDA. I heard about it on the street. It’s expensive. Someone said it’s a thousand dollars a pill.”

  I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say. I wished for the good old days when we were comparing makeup tips and laughing about tricks. Those days were gone. “That has to be a rumor,” I said and looked out the window toward the roof across the street.

  “Do you know how many friends have dropped me, left my life completely because of this disease? I’ve been called stupid, irresponsible, and a disgrace because I contracted this nightmare. One of them even told me he wished I’d die and get it over with. Many of them wonder how I could have allowed myself to get AIDS when we’ve known about it for fifteen years. Those people don’t understand anything about addiction.”

  I was dying for a cigarette. I fidgeted with my belt buckle. “Get as many pills as you need. I’ll pay for them.”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Yes, you can. I’m your friend—and besides, I’d like you to consider a favor.”

  He looked at me, puzzled, wondering what strings were attached. I filled him in on the entire story of the Combat Zone murders and then brought him up to date on everything that had transpired since Rodney Jessup had showed up outside my apartment. His eyes shone a little brighter by the time I had finished the story.

  “Do you think you’re up to it?” I asked. “I don’t want you to exhaust yourself. Tony can help out, too.”

  “Do you think they’ll accept me?” Robert asked, apparently without thinking about his condition.

  “Ruthie and John are excited about anything new in their lives. Outside of the church and some vacation travel, they’ve experienced very little. I know they would love it.”

  He thought for a moment and then said, “I have my good days and my bad days. Mostly, I’m getting by. Maybe the new drugs will help, but, in the meantime, I can’t mope around the apartment. I’d love to have them here. They’ll keep my mind off my troubles.”

  I held up my hand. “Before you say yes, consider that Ruthie and John are in danger and that puts you at risk, even though Tony and I are doing everything in our power to make sure nothing happens to these kids.”

  He looked down at his thin arms. “What have I got to lose? When do you want to bring them over?”

  “Tonight, after dinner.”

  “Good. I’m off today.”

  We firmed up our plans and I left. I lit up in the elevator on the way down. A gray-haired woman with two shopping bags gave me the finger as I stepped out in the foyer in a haze of smoke. She pointed to the no smoking sign pasted on the elevator’s back wall. I shrugged and said I was sorry.

  I was struck with a sudden case of nerves. I had a bad feeling and I didn’t like it. My gut was turning flip-flops big time. Maybe Tony was right—leaving the kids with Ophelia might be a mistake. But the apartment seemed very secure. People had to be buzzed inside from the lobby unless they had a key. Beyond that, no one would think to look for Ruthie and John here; the assailant would have to know who Martin/Cox was. Ophelia’s building was the tallest on the block. The roof across the street was one floor lower, so a sniper would have a harder time hiding, and an even more difficult shot upward instead of down or across. The arrangement made perfect sense, but I had a nagging feeling the murderer knew every step we were taking.

  The killer was waiting for the perfect moment.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  I BROKE THE NEWS ABOUT OPHELIA TO TONY. HE was a little more convinced after a day of babysitting. We hashed out all the reasons again for moving Ruthie and John. Apparently tramping around New York City had worn out the stud and the kids. It was about three p.m. Tony took off his shoes and put his feet up on the couch. Ruthie and John were stretched out on my bed taking a nap. We needed to eat so I thought I’d take the gang to Han’s for an early dinner.

  “It’s got to be something simple we’re mi
ssing,” I said, and Tony looked at me as if he couldn’t care less.

  “My feet have never been this tired, even in the army,” he said. “Why didn’t you warn me not to wear business shoes?”

  “I didn’t think of it,” I said offhandedly. I was more concerned about protecting the kids.

  “I’m pooped. It wasn’t easy playing father and protector. We must have walked every inch of Central Park. It’s beautiful and the sea lions are nice, but I’ve seen enough.”

  “Tony! Could you get your mind off your feet? Something’s not right. I know it!”

  He leaned back on the couch. “Okay, okay, calm down.”

  He only had to look at me with those big brown eyes and my heart slowed to a normal pace. That sexy look was getting to me. He pounded one of the couch pillows with his fist and curled up in the fetal position. I was losing him to sleep.

  I lifted his legs and sat down beside him. His calf muscles were bulging and hard. I massaged them and he moaned.

  “Help me,” I said. “Think about what we can do.”

  “Higher,” he said, pointing to his thighs. “I think we’re doing everything we can.”

  I crawled out from under his legs and knelt down in front of the couch. Tony stretched out and turned to face me. His pecs called to me. Where were the tit clamps when I needed them? I undid his shirt, button by button, opened it, and then ran my fingers in circles over his chest. His eyes fluttered after a sleepy moan. I cupped his head in my hands and slipped my tongue between his lips. He opened himself to my kiss. Then, he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me close.

  “We better be careful,” I whispered and pointed to my bedroom.

  “Uh-huh.” His mouth clamped down on mine.

  I massaged his cock through his pants. My god, it was big and as hard as an iron bar.

  “Careful is right,” he said after we released our lip-lock. “Accidents can happen. Are you sure this arrangement with Ophelia is the right thing to do?”

  “Yes. More than ever.”

  I imagined us alone in the apartment while the kids were off playing on the Lower East Side. A far-flung fantasy, but a nice one. My own erection was bursting to break out of my jeans. We kissed and played happily for several minutes until I heard a stirring from the bedroom.

  Ruthie appeared in the door, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

  “Uncle Des,” she said. “A man was standing outside on the sidewalk. I could see his feet.”

  My heart jumped. The bedroom looked out on the street, as did the kitchen. Both windows were barred and I knew there was no way someone could get in, but a man with a gun could fire through it. Tony and I leaped from the couch and ran to the kitchen window. We looked out, but there was nobody in front of the apartment. Mrs. Lonnigon walked by with a bottle of Irish whiskey in a bag, as she did nearly every day at this time. Her sensible shoes, support hose, and gray coat always gave her away.

  “Maybe it was just a neighbor,” I said to Tony.

  “Maybe.” He turned to Ruthie. “How long was he there?”

  “I don’t know. I woke up ‘cause I heard you making noise. He was standing there and then he left.”

  “What kind of pants was he wearing?” I knew Ruthie had to be looking up through the slats because the blinds were closed in the down position.

  “All kinds of different colors—brown and black and orange.”

  “Camouflage pants,” I said. “A bit out of the ordinary for Forty-Seventh Street, but nothing is impossible in New York.”

  “Come on,” Tony said. “Who wears camouflage pants in New York City?”

  “Anybody who gets off on army/navy surplus. There must be a dozen stores in Times Square that sell those things. I told you something was wrong.”

  Tony nodded and then said, “They’ve got to have better protection.”

  “Well, you know my plan,” I said, and patted him on the back.

  We were extra cautious when we took the kids to dinner at Han’s. We left the guns at home figuring we didn’t need to get involved in a shoot out in Midtown with children in the crossfire. I volunteered to step out first and scour the area. Han’s wasn’t that far from my apartment, but there were lots of buildings in between. I checked out everything in the immediate area—alleys, the rooftops I could see, anybody who looked as if they were loitering on the street, anyone sitting in cars—nothing seemed out of place. It was an ordinary November day in New York, but the thought of a murderer out to get the kids gave me the creeps. When I was fairly certain everything was okay, I went back for the others. We headed to the restaurant with me in front of Ruthie and John. Tony walked behind.

  Norm was going over receipts at the back register when we walked in. His eyes widened and his face broke into a big grin. He dropped the pieces of paper next to the cash register and ran toward me with open arms.

  He kept repeating my name and telling me how glad he was to have me back. Now he could get rid of his sister-in-law as dishwasher, he said.

  I hugged him. “It’s been less than a week, Norm.”

  “Seems like a hundred years. I told you it wasn’t going to be pretty.” Norm eyed the kids and Tony.

  The front of the restaurant was full of diners, but I didn’t want to be there anyway. I directed Tony and the kids to a booth near the back, away from the windows, and introduced them to my boss.

  “This is Tony,” I said. “And these are the kids, Ruthie and John.”

  John extended his hand and Norm, with a look of surprise, shook it. “What a little gentleman,” my boss said.

  “I think he turned out pretty well considering the circumstances,” I said.

  Norm smiled at Tony and then turned to me and whispered, “My, you’ve been busy. A husband and two kids in less than a week. How did you do it?”

  “Tony isn’t my husband and the kids aren’t ours.”

  Norm handed me some menus. “Oh, illegitimate.”

  “Cut the clowning and get us some pot stickers.”

  “Right away. But when are you coming back to work?”

  I handed the menus to Tony and then turned back to Norm. “When do you want me?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  “Bless you.” He winked and tilted his head toward Tony. “What a hot guy. You could do a lot worse. I’d keep him if I were you.”

  I sometimes wondered if Norm wasn’t a tad too gay friendly even though he had a wife and three kids. At any rate, Norm was ecstatic to see us. I could tell by the amount of free food he pushed our way. First, the pot stickers. Wonton soup. Egg-drop soup, egg rolls, shrimp rolls—and those were the starters. Then came the egg foo yung, chow mein, chicken with mixed vegetables, beef, and seafood. In an hour, we were stuffed. The kids had noodles down their fronts and laughed themselves silly trying to use chopsticks. I was shoveling down an order of moo shoo chicken when I noticed the television picture above the cash register.

  I poked Tony in the ribs and looked up at the screen. He took the hint. Fortunately, Ruthie and John were facing the street, looking in the opposite direction.

  Pictures of Rodney Jessup’s funeral flashed across the evening news. Tony and I watched as Carol arrived at the funeral home in a limo. She was wearing a long dark coat that covered her body from her throat to her ankles. A single strand of white pearls lay against her neck. Abby, also attired in black, followed her out of the limo. Both were wearing sunglasses and black hats.

  The camera scanned the crowd as the two women worked their way down the carpet toward the door. They looked as if they were attending a Hollywood premiere. Police lined either side of the walkway. The camera rose to an overhead shot and I stopped mid-bite.

  A woman wearing a black veil looked from side to side and then up at the camera. I wouldn’t have noticed, but she was the only female in the crowd whose face was covered and she seemed more intent on watching what was going on than crying tears for Rodney. Tony nudged me. He had not
iced her, too. The newscast repeated the clip of Carol exiting the limo once more and then cut to a long shot of the burial site, far away from the mourners. The telephoto lens picked up the woman with the veil. She was hanging back behind the funeral tent near a line of cedar trees. It was clearly the same person. The newscaster then moved on to a story about Thanksgiving air travel.

  “Did you see that?” Tony asked in a hushed voice.

  The kids’ ears went up after noticing that we were absorbed in something else besides food.

  “What’s wrong?” John asked.

  “Nothing,” Tony said. “Do you want dessert? How about fried ice cream and a fortune cookie?”

  Ruthie and John smiled like they were going to Disneyland.

  I put in the order and then turned to Tony. “I think we have a visual.”

  “They’re working as a pair, aren’t they?” Tony asked, knowing the answer to his own question. “That’s why Abby thought she saw a woman the night the doll was thrown in the backyard.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “We’re in double trouble.”

  I nodded. “After we finish here, we’ve got to get the kids to Ophelia’s as soon as possible. I’d suggest taking them by car rather than by subway.”

  Tony nodded, but his face drooped, signaling his lackluster enthusiasm.

  Something struck me after I saw the woman in the crowd, but I hadn’t mentioned it to Tony yet. A call to Carol Kingman Jessup was going to be my second priority of the evening.

  But before that thought left my head, I noticed something wrong. Ruthie’s eyes bugged out of her head. It was one of those “Oh, shit,” moments, but Ruthie wouldn’t have articulated it that way, unless she was on her way to appropriating Carol’s penchant for profanity.

  Before I could ask what was wrong, something zinged over our heads and a red-and-black lacquered lantern crumpled in an explosion of paper and dust.

  Glass cracked behind us in a shower of bullets. Then, screams and the sounds of chairs and tables overturning resounded throughout the restaurant.

  Tony and I jumped across the booth simultaneously, sending our bodies flying through the sticky remains of rice, chow mein, and chicken with mixed vegetables. I shielded John while Tony took Ruthie. The four of us landed in the rear of the booth. With our backs to the windows, we pushed the kids to the floor.