by Ray Garton
"You got my message on the board. You heard from me then."
"Yes, yes, I suppose so," the voice said a bit breathlessly.
"Your pup will be ready soon."
"Soon? How soon?"
"We're working on him. Soon is all I can tell you."
"I've never had to wait this long before for a — I mean, you've always been so prompt with — "
"Soon. Soon. But for ten percent more than the usual price ... as well as the usual exchange."
"You want a copy?"
"That's right," Dr. Corbus whispered. "I want a copy." He replaced the receiver and stared at the computer screen, hands folded beneath his chin. As he stared, he considered calling R.C. about the girl; the man had been very useful and had served them well. But Dr. Corbus decided against it. That could wait until later. For now, he was busy ...
6
As Dr. Corbus scanned the messages on his screen, made notes, and typed in responses, the man he had referred to as R.C. lay on a bed watching a videotape on the thirty-two-inch television built into the opposite wall. The bed was enormous, with sheets of black silk. He held the remote control loosely in one big hand. The very tip of his tongue moved slowly back and forth across his lips as he watched the girl.
She was in her room, lying naked on the bed, with a masked man standing on each side doing things to her. The camera angles changed occasionally. With the volume low, her whimpers were barely audible.
And yet, in spite of the whimpers and the futile attempts to resist — it was an early tape — she was beautiful. He could imagine her cleaned up, in the proper clothes — or out of them — with some makeup and the right people to work on her hair ... stunning, she would be absolutely stunning. He could use her. He could make a lot of money off of her. He could make her a star.
Just like Corbus, he enjoyed watching the surveillance tapes from the complex, and Corbus knew it. So he always made up some copies, had them neatly edited, and brought them over. They were entertaining; they were also exciting. These days, it took a good deal more to excite him than it once had, and the things that happened in the complex fit the bill.
But aside from their entertainment value, they were very useful ... because every once in a while he was able to find someone like this girl — Lacey was her name — whom he could use in one way or another ... or, sometimes, in many ways.
If he didn't hear from Corbus again soon, he decided he'd give him a call and find out when Lacey would be ready.
The telephone on the nightstand purred and he reached over to hit the speaker button.
"Yes?"
A sultry female voice said quietly, "The people from A Current Affair are here."
"I have to get dressed," he said. "Tell them I'll be there in a moment." He hit the button again, then lifted the remote and turned off the VCR and the television; another button on the remote closed a panel over the set, making it disappear into the wall.
He sat up on the side of the bed, took a look at himself in the mirrored wall, ran a hand through his hair, then took his tinted glasses from the nightstand and put them on as he stood. He slipped on his robe over his silk pajamas, tied the belt, and left the room, still thinking of Lacey ...
PART TWELVE
In The Desert,
The City
and The Dark
1
Bent and Coll caught a plane late that afternoon and arrived in Los Angeles at dusk. They rented a car — a maroon Dodge hatchback that they both hated on sight, but they were in a hurry — then went for dinner at a Thai restaurant Bent knew.
"I don't understand why you want to eat now," Coll said on the way. "I thought you were in a big damned hurry to get out to see the Liberace lady."
"We'll eat and we'll talk, then we'll go see them."
"Talk about what?"
"I want you to understand these people before we go. They're very nice and very vulnerable. They're going through some hard times right now and they're ashamed of their situation. I'd call them first if they had a phone, but they don't. They're living in that little trailer and can barely afford groceries, let alone a phone bill, however small. So. We're both hungry, so we'll eat. And we'll talk about them. And I'll make sure you're not going to add to their humiliation."
Coll chuckled coldly as he looked at Bent with wide eyes. "What kind of asshole do you think I am, anyway?"
"The same kind of asshole I am. You're a journalist."
Coll tilted his head and turned the corners of his mouth down in mock sentiment. "Awww, isn't this sweet. Bentley Noble, the tabloid reporter with a heart ...”
After they finished dinner, Bent drove them into the desert in silence. They turned on the radio and listened to call-in talk shows, picking up a station as far away as Denver in the crystal-clear night.
Neither of them said anything until the gas station's sloppy sign, with a light shining down on it, became visible and, beyond it, the small trailer, with soft light flickering in its windows.
"So, this is it, huh?" Coll asked.
"This is it. And if you ask me, they're making the best of a bad situation. What time is it?"
"A little after ten, I think."
"Late. I hope they don't mind. Course, by now ... they probably hate my guts anyway, so what difference does it make?"
Bent parked the car in front of the trailer, led Coll to the door, and knocked.
"What're you gonna do if they don't want to talk to you?" Coll whispered.
"Lie my ass off until they do."
Footsteps thunked toward them inside the trailer, then the door opened and David Kotter looked down at them. He gave Coll no more than a glance, but looked at Bent for a long time before giving him a weak smile.
"Hey, Mr. Noble," Kotter said with a nod. "Nice to see you again."
Bent flashed his friendliest smile. "Hi, David. And remember, I told you to call me Bent. I'd like you to meet my friend Coll."
Kotter gave him a nod, too, then turned to Bent again. "I hope you're not expecting to come in. I don't think my wife would appreciate it."
"Well, David ... actually, I was hoping we could come in. I really need to talk to your wife. I have a lot of explaining to do ... about the story, I mean. And I need to ask a big favor. It's very important."
Kotter glanced back over his shoulder, then said, "You mind waiting out here a minute? I'll see what I can do. But, I, uh, can't make any promises."
Once the door was closed, Bent and Coll listened to Kotter's footsteps ... then his muffled voice ... then his wife's shouting.
"Boy," Coll whispered, "sounds like she really is pissed at you."
"I thank you for your support."
The shouting went on for just a few moments longer, then stopped suddenly. There was a long silence in the trailer, then two sets of footsteps headed for the door.
"C'mon in," Kotter said, holding the door open for them.
Bent went in first, Coll following right behind. Bent spotted Nattie Kotter standing at the far end of the trailer, across from the sofa, her back to them, arms folded, staring out a small window. She wore a ratty red, white, and black plaid robe.
"Hello, Mrs. Kotter," Bent said, being as friendly as he could.
" 'Sa little late, ain't it?" she asked quietly, rather firmly.
"Well, I'm sorry about that, but this is kind of an emergency. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to tell you about it. I think you can help us."
She spun around, her arms snapping down at her sides. "How could you? You wrote exactly what I told you not to write! You didn't care about what I wanted you to write! About what Liberace wanted you to write! And now he's disappointed in me, like it was all my fault!"
Bent and Coll exchanged nervous glances as Kotter gestured toward the sofa and said, rather sheepishly, "Um, why don't you guys have a seat there, huh?"
Once they were on the sofa, with Nattie staring them down, Bent said, "Look, Mrs. Kotter, I owe you a big apology. Really. Remember when I told you that my editor is th
e one who decides what does and doesn't go into the paper? Well, I gave him the information, then he wrote the story. After I told him what you really wanted us to emphasize. It was his decision, I assure you. I tried to tell him, but ... well, he liked that particular story better. The one that was printed, I mean."
"Then why was your name on it?" she asked, folding her arms again and jutting her jaw.
"Only because I gave him the information."
"But he's not the writer, you are!" she snapped, no less angry.
"I did write the story you wanted me to write, the story Liberace wanted. But my editor's the boss. And he didn't want the story you told me. He wanted the story your husband told me. Like I said, he makes all the final decisions. I'm very, very sorry, I can't apologize enough, Mrs. Kotter, but it was out of my hands. You'd be surprised to know how often that happens. If you want, I could send you a copy of the story I wrote, the one you told me," he lied,
Nattie's eyes grew narrow and her face screwed up a little as she slowly lifted a hand, pointing a bony index finger at Bent. "You mean to tell me that some of the stories in your paper aren't true? That they aren't written by the people whose names're on 'em? That they aren't real?"
Never had this particular problem before, Bent thought, glancing at Coll, who seemed to be fighting back a smirk. "I'm afraid so, Mrs. Kotter. They aren't all lies, but some, yes. The ones the editors take into their own hands. And it's not just our paper, either. Others do it. They all do it. It's more common than you think."
She lowered her arm slowly and her anger relaxed into a look of deep disappointment. "We had such faith in the Inquisitor," she said quietly.
"Well, like I said, I'm very sorry. To you both."
"No, no," Nattie added, frustrated, jerking her head toward her husband, "not him. I mean me and Liberace and his mother. They trusted you and your paper."
"Uh, well, I ...” He looked at Coll, as if for help, reaching up to scratch his head.
"That's why we're here, Mrs. Kotter," Coll said. "Bent and I have come to make up for the embarrassment that the paper caused you."
She looked at him. "You with the Inquisitor, too?"
"No, no. I write books. True crime, that sort of thing. I'm helping Bent with, um, something he's working on."
"Oh, really?" She folded her arms again. "And what might that be? Somethin' else about our private life?"
"No, not at all," Bent insisted. "In fact, I'm here investigating the very thing you told me about the last time I was here. The Satanists you've been seeing out in the desert."
"You mean, the Satanists you were supposed to write about the first time," she said, quietly but with a sneer.
He lied again. "Yes, well ... like I said, I did write about them. The article was completely rewritten by my editor."
"How do I know he won't rewrite this one?"
"Well, because this isn't really for the paper."
Nattie frowned curiously, seated herself in a chair, and said, "Then what's it for, anyways?"
Bent and Coll gave them a brief version of the story, emphasizing the information that had led them back to the Satanists Nattie had claimed to see in the desert ... and completely deleting the possibility that Nattie had hallucinated everything in the first place.
"You mean ... with what I told you," Nattie said quietly, her anger considerably diminished now, "you might be able to save a little boy?"
"We hope so," Bent said. "That's why I wanted to come back. And I hope that in spite of what happened, you'll help us."
She thought about it awhile, turned to her husband, who looked at her with eyebrows raised encouragingly, then she stood.
"Okay," Nattie said. "But you might have to wait a few nights before they show up. They don't keep to much of a schedule."
There was a hard knock at the door of the trailer, hard enough to be felt through the floor beneath their feet.
"Probably Tex," David said, heading for the door.
He let in a tall, lanky man wearing a filthy pair of overalls over a T-shirt that, at one time, had been white.
"Bent, Mr. Colloway," David said, "this is our friend Tex Spears, the fella owns the gas station next door and the property we're livin' on. Sam, these're a couple writer friends of ours."
Tex towered over them, looked down at them as he reached up to scratch the stubble on his jaw, and gave them a half smile, revealing dirty, crooked teeth with two missing in front, one on top, one below. His hair was a greasy mess of brown curls that stuck to his head like a skullcap and his eyes, set deep in their sockets beneath wiry eyebrows filled with flakes of dry skin, were dark brown and sparkling.
"Nice t'meetcha," he said after staring at them for a long time. Then he turned to David. "You got any cheese? I was gonna make m'self a omelette, but I ain't got no cheese. Can't have a omelette without cheese, now can ya?"
"Well, let me look," David said, rushing to the refrigerator.
While David was in the kitchen, Tex stood in front of the sofa, scratching his stubble and looking down at them with that lopsided grin. He smelled of axle grease and of too much time between baths.
"So, you two're writers, huh?" he asked. "Whatta you write?" His unflinching stare made both of them nervous, made their mouths dry.
"I write books," Coll said. "True crime books."
"And, uh, I'm a journalist. I write, um, articles," Bent said hoarsely, "stuff like that."
"Writers," Tex said flatly. "Never understood 'em. Don't do a whole lotta readin' m'self. Don't see no sense in it. Wastuh time."
Bent and Coll exchanged a glance, then Bent looked up at Tex and smiled as he shrugged, saying, "Well ... we're out there, you know ... doing what we do."
Tex said quietly, "Guess that's good for some people."
"Yeah, we got some cheddar," David called from the kitchen. "Will that do?"
"Hey, cheddar's the best," Tex said, turning toward him. "Don't have to give me a lot. Just enough t'grind up for an omelette, is all."
David wrapped up some cheese in plastic wrap and gave it to Sam with a smile.
"Thank ya much," Tex said with a nod. Holding the chunk of cheese in his dirty fist, he turned back to Bent and Coll before leaving. He smiled broadly, showing all of his crooked, dirty teeth, and said, "You writer fellas, now ... you take care y'selves."
Then he left, his odors lingering for a short while like dirty ghosts.
"Well," Nattie blurted to Bent and Coll as if they hadn't had a visitor at all, her arms folded tightly again over her breasts, "if you wanna watch for 'em, that's fine with me. But don't expect much, 'cause they aren't exactly punk-shull ...”
2
Behind the trailer, the night sky stretched out over the desert in a sparkling display of stars that cast a bluish hue over the barren, rocky ground. The moon was three-quarters full and very bright, and bats flitted back and forth like tiny black blurs through the velvety purple glow.
They stood behind the telescope, which was still covered with a black tarp, as Nattie stared out into the desert.
"Nah, I didn't think they'd be out here tonight," she said.
"Why's that?" Bent asked.
"Like I said, they don't have a schedule to speak of. Sometimes they're out here, usually not. I figured, since you wanted to see 'em, they probably wouldn't show up tonight. That kinda thing, y'know? That's how things work out, usually."
"Where exactly do you see them when they show up?" Coll asked.
"Usually never the same place. Just somewheres out there, sometimes off to this side, sometimes to that." She pointed a finger and swept it over the horizon. "You can see their fire without the telescope — just a little flame, like a match, way out there in the dark — but not much else. The 'scope brings 'em in, though. You can see every move they make. Course, you can never see their faces 'cause of the hoods they wear with them robes."
She removed the cover from the telescope and set it aside in a heap. Coll leaned forward to take a look as Bent ask
ed, "How often did you say they show up?"
"I don't think I did say," she replied, dusting off her hands and putting them on her narrow hips. Some of the tension had returned to her voice, as if she hadn't yet decided whether or not to trust them. " 'Cept t'say that they don't have a schedule. They come when they come,' that's all I know. Y'know, they've been back once since you were here last. If you'd been interested in 'em the first time you came, you might've been able to see 'em. Now you're just gonna have to wait, I guess."
"Well, you couldn't be any sorrier about it than I am, Mrs. Kotter," Bent said with a quiet sigh in his voice. "Uh ... I don't suppose you'd mind if Coll and I camped out here for the next few nights ... or for however long it takes them to show up?"
Coll stood up straight all of a sudden and said, "Bent, you have got to be kidding! Who knows if they even — " He cut himself off and glanced at Nattie. "I mean, uh ... who knows how long that'll be?"
"We don't know, but we need to give it a shot, at least."
"What about me?" Nattie asked. "I don't always sleep so well. I come out here most every night and look around, watch the animals. You know, there's lotsa animals out there at night. Sorta like they're puttin' on a little show just for me. So, you guys wanna take my telescope away from me now, is that it?"
"If you'd like, we can go out and get our own first thing tomorrow," Bent said.
"But I meditate, too. I come out here at night to be alone, watch the animals, and meditate. I can't very well do no meditatin' if you're out here with me."
Bent closed his eyes a moment and hoped she couldn't see the uncontrollable grimace on his face in the dark. "Okay, Mrs. Kotter. If you don't want us out here, just say so. That's why I'm asking. We can always get a telescope and go to the other end of the trailer to keep on eye out. We won't bother you, I promise. You won't know we're here."
"Fine, then. You just do that, if you want. But how do I know you're tellin' the truth?"
Kotter stepped forward then and put a hand on Nattie's elbow. "Uh, honey, whyn't you go on inside and I'll have a talk with these guys, okay?"