He finished slicing the pepper, then moved on to the mushrooms.
“And after I bring her in, I’m going to track down her mother and start prying into what went on in Monroe in February and March of sixty-eight to cause that so-called ‘cluster’ of freaks nine months later.”
He would do that for Annie. It would be his way of saying goodbye and I’m sorry to his sister.
“But why does she take their faces?” Martha said.
“I don’t know. Maybe because theirs were beautiful and hers is no doubt hideous.”
“But what does she do with them?”
“Who knows? I’m not all that sure I want to know. But right now—”
The phone rang. Even before he picked it up, he had an inkling of who it was. The first sibilant syllable left no doubt.
“Ish thish the Detective Harrishon?”
“Yes.”
Harrison stretched the coiled cord around the corner from the kitchen into the dining room, out of Martha’s hearing.
“Will you shtop me tonight?”
“You want to give yourself up?”
“Yesh. Pleashe, yesh.”
“Can you meet me at the precinct house?”
“No!”
“Okay! Okay!” God, he didn’t want to spook her now. “Where? Anywhere you say.”
“Jusht you.”
“All right.”
“Midnight. Plashe where lasht fashe took. Bring gun but not more cop.”
“All right.”
He was automatically agreeing to everything. He’d work out the details later.
“You undershtand, Detective Harrishon?”
“Oh, Carly, Carly, I understand more than you know!” There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence at the other end of the line. Finally:
“You know Carly?”
“Yes, Carly. I know you.” The sadness welled up in him again and it was all he could do to keep his voice from breaking. “I had a sister like you once. And you . . . you had a brother like me.”
“Yesh,” said that soft, breathy voice. “You undershtand. Come tonight, Detective Harrishon.”
The line went dead.
Wait in shadows. The Detective Harrison will come. Will bring lots cop. Always see on TV show. Always bring lots. Protect him. Many guns.
No need. Only one gun. The Detective Harrison’s gun. Him’s will shoot. Stop kills. Stop forever.
The Detective Harrison must do. No one else. The Carly can not. Must be the Detective Harrison. Smart. Know the Carly. Understand.
After stop, no more ugly Carly. No more sick-scared look. Bad face will go away. Forever and ever.
Harrison had decided to go it alone.
Not completely alone. He had a van waiting a block and a half away on Seventh Avenue and a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, but he hadn’t told anyone who he was meeting or why. He knew if he did, they’d swarm all over the area and scare Carly off completely. So he had told Jacobi he was meeting an informant and that the van was just a safety measure.
He was on his own here and wanted it that way. Carly Baker wanted to surrender to him and him alone. He understood that. It was part of that strange tenuous bond between them. No one else would do. After he had cuffed her, he would call in the wagon.
After that he would be a hero for a while. He didn’t want to be a hero. All he wanted was to end this thing, end the nightmare for the city and for poor Carly Baker. She’d get help, the kind she needed, and he’d use the publicity to springboard an investigation into what had made Annie and Carly and the others in their ‘cluster’ what they were.
It’s all going to work out fine, he told himself as he entered the alley.
He walked half its length and stood in the darkness. The brick walls of the buildings on either side soared up into the night. The ceaseless roar of the city echoed dimly behind him. The alley itself was quiet—no sound, no movement. He took out his flashlight and flicked it on.
“Carly?”
No answer.
“Carly Baker—are you here?”
More silence, then, ahead to his left, the sound of a garbage can scraping along the stony floor of the alley. He swung the light that way, and gasped.
A looming figure stood a dozen feet in front of him. It could only be Carly Baker. She stood easily as tall as he—a good six foot two—and looked like a homeless street person, one of those animated rag-piles that live on subway grates in the winter. Her head was wrapped in a dirty scarf, leaving only her glittery dark eyes showing. The rest of her was muffled in a huge, shapeless overcoat, baggy old polyester slacks with dragging cuffs, and torn sneakers.
“Where the Detective Harrishon’s gun?” said the voice. Harrison’s mouth was dry but he managed to get his tongue working.
“In its holster.”
“Take out. Pleashe.”
Harrison didn’t argue with her. The grip of his heavy Chief Special felt damn good in his hand.
The figure spread its arms; within the folds of her coat those arms seem to bend the wrong way. And were those black hooked claws protruding from the cuffs of the sleeves?
She said, “Shoot.”
Harrison gaped in shock.
The Detective Harrison not shoot. Eyes wide. Hands with gun and light shake.
Say again: “Shoot!”
“Carly, no! I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to take you in, just as we agreed.”
“No!”
Wrong! The Detective Harrison not understand! Must shoot the Carly! Kill the Carly!
“Not jail! Shoot! Shtop the kills! Shtop the Carly!”
“No! I can get you help, Carly. Really, I can! You’ll go to a place where no one will hurt you. You’ll get medicine to make you feel better!”
Thought him understand! Not understand! Move closer. Put claw out. Him back way. Back to wall.
“Shoot! Kill! Now!”
“No, Annie, please!”
“Not Annie! Carly! Carly!”
“Right. Carly! Don’t make me do this!”
Only inches way now. Still not shoot. Other cops hiding not shoot. Why not protect?
“Shoot!” Pull scarf off face. Point claw at face. “End! End! Pleashe!”
The Detective Harrison face go white. Mouth hang open. Say, “Oh, my God!”
Get sick-scared look. Hate that look! Thought him understand! Say he know the Carly! Not! Stop look! Stop!
Not think. Claw go out. Rip throat of the Detective Harrison. Blood fly just like others.
No-No-No! Not want hurt!
The Detective Harrison gurgle. Drop gun and light. Fall. Stare. Wait other cops shoot. Please kill the Carly. Wait.
No shoot. Then know. No cops. Only the poor Detective Harrison. Cry for the Detective Harrison. Then run. Run and climb. Up and down. Back to new home with the Old Jessi.
The Jessi glad hear Carly come. The Jessi try talk. Carly go sit tub. Close door. Cry for the Detective Harrison. Cry long time. Break mirror million piece. Not see face again. Not ever. Never. Thejessi say, “Carly, I want my bath. Will you scrub my back?” Stop cry. Do the Old Jessi’s black back. Comb the Jessi’s hair. Feel very sad. None ever comb the Carly’s hair.
Ever.
Great Noir Fiction Page 54