Black Widow df-15

by Randy Wayne White

  She was gone.

  I returned to the Lookout and gathered Fabron’s flashlight, his knife, and searched for anything else he might have left behind. As I searched, I imagined the woman out there, hurt, bleeding. Where would an employee of the Orchid go if the boss lady wanted her dead?

  Home, probably. Staff housing was down the mountain, not far from the road. Norma had told me her place was set off by itself. But that would mean climbing the fence. What about the dogs?

  Maybe there was someone inside the compound Norma could trust. Could be that she was safe, already being taken care of by a friend. I hoped so. I occasionally meet a person I dislike initially, but end up liking intuitively. She was one of those.

  A dog howled… then another. It came from the elevated darkness beyond the fence. Not far.

  Out of habit, I patted the back of my pants even though I knew I’d left my gun with Senegal. I had the radio, though. Maybe Montbard was still in the area… even somewhere on the mountain-no telling with him.

  I put the radio to my lips… then stopped and sniffed the heavy air. I pointed my nose at the stars and sniffed again, testing until I identified a familiar odor: cigar smoke. A combination of maple syrup and tobacco-a cigarillo.

  Wolfie.

  I crouched, pocketed the radio, flicked open Fabron’s switchblade, then looked for an ambush spot. The rope again? No… no way in hell was I going back to that cliff. My muscles were twitching-part nerves, part exhaustion. Wolfie wasn’t an athlete, didn’t have the look of a brawler, but I was running low on fuel. I had to come up with something better. My eyes came to rest on the carpet. Wolfie would expect to find a body there. I gave it some thought-decided he would find a body.

  I gathered the discarded duct tape and jammed a ball of it in my pocket-the stuff was still usable-then laid on the carpet. Instead of rolling myself into the center, I pulled a flap of it over me.

  A few minutes later, I felt a small glycogen charge as Wolfie came tromping into the clearing. Hunters get the same feeling when they hear the snap of a twig telling them the quarry is approaching. He was swearing and complaining about lazy French playboys, pissed off at Fabron for not dumping Norma’s body, his Caribbean accent so thick he was tough to understand. Then I waited through several seconds of silence before he said, “Dumb bitch!” and I pictured him looking at the carpet, thinking he’d have to carry Norma’s corpse the final few yards. Lazy.

  I felt the weight of his foot on the carpet. Expected him to give it a kick, and he did.

  “Bitch. Answer me. You dead under there? You not, you will be.” He was scared. I don’t know why I was surprised. Death is communicable, one of the oldest superstitions. It would’ve been funny-if it wasn’t actually happening. But it was.

  “Hey… you hear me?” He kicked the carpet again. Another long silence, then he began talking to himself. “Ain’t nothing to be scared of. If she’s dead, she already with the Gran’ Bois. She got no reason to do me harm. I got my beads and bones. I’m protected. Nothing evil’s gonna mess with me.”

  I heard a rattling noise, like dice-maybe Wolfie was clutching a necklace-but then he began second-guessing himself, whispering, “But where’s Fabron if there ain’t no danger? The Maji Blanc… could be. A damn anansi noir could be crawling on the woman’s body right now, eating the woman’s heart. Shit.”

  In a louder voice, I heard him say, “Gonna kill that French batty boy.” Then he yelled, “Fab-b-b-ron. Fab-RON! Better answer me, you punk-ass! You nothing but a whoring milk bottle with a dick-get back here and do your damn job!”

  I had the knife and blinding Triad flashlight ready. Wolfie had to pull the carpet back sooner or later.

  It was sooner. Because I’d been under the carpet, the night sky seemed brighter when Wolfie yanked the carpet away. When I moved, the man exhaled a muted scream and stumbled backward, as if Norma’s spirit had grabbed him. He jumped again when I rolled to my feet, blinded him with the flashlight, and pointed the knife.

  “Seen any good movies lately, Wolfie?”

  “Who… who the hell are you?” He used his hands to shield his eyes from the light.

  “A film critic. What’s it matter?”

  I lowered the light enough for him to see the knife. He put his hands up automatically, but still couldn’t see me. He’d been scared, now he was close to panic. He began moving sideways, trying to get an angle so he could run toward the safety of the monastery. I moved with him, keeping my back to the place.

  “You ain’t her. There was a woman here, she’s supposed to be-”

  “Dead? Maybe I am dead.”

  I pointed the light at the ground, and he squinted at me. “You can’t be dead. You’re bleedin’.”

  I touched the scratches on my face and looked at my fingers. “It’s not my blood.”

  Wolfie stopped trying to slip around me and began backing away. “You’re lying.”

  “Fabron said the same thing.”

  “Fabron? Did you…?”

  I swept the flashlight toward the Lookout. Because Wolfie expected me to say something, I said nothing. Instead, I switched the light off. Let the man deal with darkness now.

  “You killed him?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the hell you mean-”

  I said, “Rocks killed him when he hit,” as I pointed the light at Wolfie and touched the button. His face contorted as if he’d been shocked.

  “Man, why you doing this to me! I don’t even know you!”

  “I know you.”

  “How? Okay, man, you’re pissed off about something. Put that knife away, and we talk about it. Discuss what we do next.”

  I said, “There is no next. Not for you.”

  “But, man, we’ve never even met!”

  I didn’t reply. No way he could recognize me from our morning at the Bank of Aruba.

  I started toward him, not sure what I would do. Eighteen times, I’d been precisely where I was now, close enough to feel a man’s last breath on my cheek. But it wasn’t like Fabron, who’d done his best to kill me. And I wasn’t carrying out orders. This time, the decision was mine.

  Wolfie swung his head away. Behind him, the flashlight created a bright corridor of escape. Nothing back there but black forest, black sky, and the distant percussion of barking dogs.

  He yelled, “I didn’t do nothing, I swear!” Then he ran. I folded the knife and ran after him.

  Wolfie had speed for a man his size. Faster than me. For the first minute, I thought I was going to lose him. But he lacked endurance. There was also something else that slowed him-the chain-link fence where it curved in close to the Lookout.

  That’s where I caught him. By the fence. He’d slowed to a jog, winded, lungs whistling. He reminded me of a wounded rhino as he crashed through brush inside the fence perimeter. He was turning to face me when I lowered my shoulder and cracked him from behind.

  Cornered animals fight, and Wolfie did. I leveraged him onto his belly, then got my legs threaded through his, so he couldn’t stand. When he tried to elbow me off, I caught his left wrist. I had the tape out and ready, and I used a half nelson to control his arm. I got a couple of wraps with the tape. Then I caught his right wrist.

  I was taping his hands together when I heard a rushing, ascending noise that sounded like a mountain river. I swung the flashlight toward the fence just as two Brazilian mastiffs lunged for the top of the chain-link, trying to get at us, their orange eyes burning. Only then did they growl-more of a pack roar, really. It surprised me and scared me so badly that I vaulted off Wolfie. I rolled, and came up holding the switchblade, expecting the dogs to be over the fence.

  No… the fence was just high enough for them to get their heads and paws over, but they couldn’t lift their own weight.

  I used the light. There were four dogs, not two. Rabid, slavering-a horror movie shown by a projector’s bright beam on a screen that was black, not silver.

  I moved the light to Wolfie. He
was struggling to get his hands free. I’d used enough tape, so all he could do was look at me and yell, “I know those dogs, man! If I tell them to jump the damn fence, they’ll do it! You cut me loose! Hear?”

  I was afraid to take my eyes off the mastiffs. “They’re your animals?” I had to talk louder to be heard.

  “They’ll do any damn thing I tell them!”

  Wolfie the dog lover. I said, “You’d better hope so.” I knelt and used the switchblade to cut his hands free, then touched the point of the knife to the hollow spot under his ear. “Get over that fence.”

  "What?”

  “You heard me. Move.”

  “Why you doin’ this to me? Motherfucker, we never even met!”

  I wanted him to know. “A couple weeks ago, you filmed four girls, then blackmailed them. They’re friends of mine. One of them’s dead because of what you did.”

  I kept the knife to his neck as he got to his feet. He said, “Because of some damn women? That’s why you’re doing this?”

  “Four girls from Florida. I met you at the bank.”

  “Man… I remember you. Those girls, too! But here’s what you gotta understand: They come to this island asking for somethin’, and the boys just gave ’em what they asked for. And you blame me? All this over some damn split-tails? You’re shitting me, man!”

  You’re shitting me. Tomlinson had said almost the same thing the night hammerheads charged us. I would’ve rather dealt with sharks than the dogs. But Wolfie chose the dogs-once I convinced him I would use the knife.

  From the way he calmed the animals as he climbed to the top of the fence, cooing and calling their names, I thought I’d made a mistake. But then Wolfie made a mistake-he turned his back as he climbed down.

  Packs don’t have friends.

  That’s what I was thinking as I ran toward the monastery, sickened by the sounds.

  31

  When I opened the door to my room, a woman’s voice startled me, saying, “Leave the lights off.”

  I knew who it was.

  “I need a safe place. Is it okay?”

  I said, “Sure,” even though I wasn’t sure.

  She yawned. It sounded more like a groan. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.”

  I pulled the door closed, eager to be inside, then waited while the woman’s shape acquired definition as my eyes adjusted. She was in bed, under the covers. The sound of ocean waves still rumbled from the speakers, but not as loud now. I emptied my pockets on the table, then felt around until I found a towel. Used it to wipe my hands, my face, but what I needed was a shower. I stood at the foot of the bed, and my hand found her ankle.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just tired,” I heard her sniff. “Were you outside smoking a cigar? I can smell it.”

  I said, “No. I was… out wrestling with some old demons. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “You shouldn’t be outside. They say it’s safe inside the fence, but you didn’t hear those dogs? Ten minutes ago, I never heard anything like it. Like the whole pack was fighting over a bone. I was worried that you-”

  “It wasn’t me.” I saw her hand reaching for the reading lamp on the nightstand. “No, leave the light off. I can see fine now.”

  “Light’s okay if the door’s closed-I already used the shower. I’m thirsty. I’ve been thirsty all night.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes.” I didn’t need a mirror to know I was a mess. I wanted to stuff my clothes into a bag and throw them in the garbage.

  There was a carafe of iced tea on the nightstand. I filled two glasses, but she said she didn’t want the herbal stuff, it would make her sleepier.

  “That’s exactly what I need.” I took a sip. It tasted of mint, anise, and sandalwood. I emptied the glass on my way to the bathroom. I exchanged the glass for a bottle of water, then hit the bathroom light. Took one look at myself, and turned the light off fast.

  As I returned to the room, the woman said, “You found another bottle of water? Thanks.”

  I’d gotten it for myself, but handed her the bottle, asking, “The French guy, how bad did he hurt you?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Fabron and I got better acquainted today.”

  “Fabron, he’s a pig. Worse than a pig.”

  Returning to the bathroom, I was thinking, If pigs had wings… but didn’t say it because I’d have to explain. Later, though, maybe I would. It might put a smile on Norma’s pretty face.

  When I’d finished showering, I left the bathroom light on. It added pale angles and shadows to the room. I came out drying myself, a towel around my waist.

  “What happened? Do you mind talking about it?”

  Norma said, “It wasn’t Fabron so much. It was that witch, the White Lady. She’s a hundred times worse than the others.”

  She blinked when I switched on the reading lamp. She was sitting up, bottle of water in hand, the bedsheet tucked primly around her neck. In the afternoon, she’d looked like a thirty-year-old in training for the Olympics. Now, though, she was gaunt. Her eyes were dark, oversized, like kids in Ethiopia.

  I sat on the bed, and took the glass of tea I’d poured for her. “You’re not all right. You need a doctor.”

  “No, really, I’m better. Mostly, I feel lucky to be alive. She had them tie me to a post. You believe someone would do something so crazy? No… first she made me strip, then they tied me to a post. Only it wasn’t just a post, it was a cross. That’s how I lost my clothes. I’ll need to borrow some of yours because I have to leave soon.”

  I leaned to look in her eyes. She didn’t appear to be in shock. I said, “You’re not going anywhere. But if you don’t want to talk about it-”

  “I don’t mind. I can see you’re tired, though.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  Polite houseguests are deferential. This was a polite woman. I had to reassure her again before she settled back and began to tell me what happened. It took her awhile because she was processing it all for the first time.

  “I heard rumors of her putting demons in people, doing her magic. Some things even worse. But my God almighty, I never imagined how crazy she really is. She made them tape my hands and my mouth. I felt like I was going to suffocate. You think something like that, having tape over your mouth, is no big deal, but man. Things go through your head. They could drown me, throw me off the cliff… bury me alive. That feeling of not being able to breathe…”

  I put my hand on her leg, noting the line of tape stickum on her neck. Hysteria wouldn’t have surprised me. Her composure did.

  “There was a fire. They built it so close to the cross, I thought she was going to burn me, the way Catholics burned people in old times. The White Lady was speaking Latin, all dressed in her robes, carrying a crucifix she said would purify my evil. Talking like I was the evil one, not her.”

  “You really do believe she’s the Maji Blanc,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “But you won’t say the name.”

  It was more like a nervous reflex, the way Norma shook her head. “No. The Widow is what I call her. In my own mind.”

  “You’re still a believer. After what she did?”

  “How can you not believe something you know is true? When the sun’s up, she’s just a mean rich woman. After dark, though, things change. You don’t live on this island, but I know. The Widow, she has power. Six people watched me roast by that damn fire. Stood around me in a circle, because that’s what they were told to do, and didn’t lift a finger. That’s how bad she scares folks-and I’d given some of them men massages.”

  I said, “Guests?”

  “Two of them, yeah. She has some strange ones that come here four, five times a year. Crazy, sick people-but rich. The kind who’d pay anything to watch what she did to me tonight. Like I told you, I’ve heard the rumors. But my God!”

  Always men guests, Norma told me. Toussaint tolerated women, but she liked men.r />
  “That’s why there’re cameras in all the rooms. The Widow picks her favorites, watching on a monitor, and they don’t even know they’re being watched. She gets sort of bouncy and excited when a new man gets off the helicopter. I’d bet she’s seen all of you there is to see. There’s a camera over there in that clock radio. There was a towel or something over it, but I unplugged it, anyway.”

  I felt a creeping uneasiness, imagining Toussaint in her nun’s hood, smoking a cheroot, paintings of orchids everywhere, studying me as I stripped to take a shower.

  I said, “Fabron and Wolfie were there?”

  She nodded.

  “What about a couple of guys name Ritchie or Clovis?”

  “How do you know those two? They’re the ones tied me up.”

  "They hang out at a bar called the Green Turtle,” I said, as if that’s where I’d met them.

  “Um-huh, the Turtle Bar, along with all the other no-goods on this island. Those two, they’re gangsters. Only come up here when she needs something bad done. Fabron and Wolfie, they showed up late. That made the Widow mad because she’d already stuck the needle in my arm, and it caused her to drop the tube when she looked to see who was coming.”

  I said, “Tube?”

  “Same as the plastic IV tubes they use in hospitals. The Widow picked it up, me with that needle in my arm-didn’t even wipe the dirt off. Then the bitch drank my blood, like sucking it through a straw. The whole time, her eyes were watching me, wanting me to be afraid, like that was something she could feed on, too.”

  Norma gulped the last of her water, already looking around the room for a fresh bottle.

  I checked Norma’s eyes, tested the elasticity of her skin, scrubbed her arm, then coated the needle mark with disinfectant from my shaving kit.

  Norma appeared all right physically except for bruises on her wrists and a tape burn on her face. There were no symptoms of debilitating blood loss. But the psychological trauma had to be significant-she’d come this close to going over the cliff.