"You know all the chicks, Duke,” someone complained.
"And not all o’ them's cool,” Ja Ja said, continuing to glare at her.
"I know her too,” Honker finally said from the card table. “She's okay."
Ja Ja looked at Honker and then back to her. “What the fuck's goin’ on around here?” He tromped to the door in the back, opened it and slammed it behind him.
Gloria glanced back at Duke, who tipped his white hat to her. Then she asked, “Is the Rainbow Killer real?"
Milo chuckled and lifted himself out of his chair. He walked dramatically over to the sofa, put a foot on its arm, and leaned over her.
"My brother really dead?” he asked. “Hey, Rin Tin. Your aunt and sister. They really dead?"
A black man wearing a yellow bandana on his head gave her a hard look.
"Diddy. What about your cousin? And Rico. Your—?"
"Lay off, guys,” Shakes said. “She just in from the West Coast."
"I don't care if she's from the North Pole! It's none of her fucking business."
"West Coast?” Rin Tin said. “Hey, mahn. We got ourselves a California girl."
"Where's her surfboard?"
She ignored their comments. “Is he real?"
"Make-believe,” said one of the card players.
"You don't know fuck, Deadhead,” Milo said.
"You ever seen the guy?” Deadhead countered.
"Shakes did. Didn't you, Shakes."
Shakes squirmed. “Come on, guys. You know I ain't never seen ‘im."
"Just a matter of time. ‘Cause you're way overdue at the Brick."
"The Brick?” asked Gloria.
"Gulfton Ghetto's worst tenement. That's Shakes's pad."
"Come on, guys,” Shakes said. “I'm trying to watch the fight.” But he wasn't even looking.
"So. Who exactly is this Rainbow Killer?"
Milo gave her another hard look, then tilted his head back and crooned, “Some-where, o-ver the rain-bow."
"Tha's his song,” Deadhead shouted over him. “A big muthafucka, three maybe four hundred pounds. Walks easy-like, all relaxed, out for a stroll in the park, and he's singing that song. Only he's got an axe. Carries it like a briefcase. Yeah."
"And it's dripping blood,” Rin Tin said.
"Awh shit, Rin Tin. There ain't never been blood around. Not from his axe, anyway."
Several more had joined in the song. The rest argued about the axe. Some thought it left a trail of blood. Others didn't think he carried one at all.
"Hey, Princess,” said Milo. “Maybe you get lucky and meet him on the way home."
"Shit, going home's the safest part,” Deadhead said. “It's once you're there you gotta watch out. Ain't that right, Shakes?"
"There ain't no Rainbow Killer,” said Shakes, sinking deeper into the sofa.
"Yeah, right,” said Milo. “That's why you don't sleep in the Brick no more."
Several people laughed.
"Don't like the bedbugs is all,” he grumbled.
"Take our advice, Princess,” said Milo. “Go back to La-La Land fast as you can, ‘cause nobody's safe around here, not from the Rainbow Killer."
Gloria leaned close to Shakes. “You okay?"
"Fucking make-believe,” he quivered. “You think I'm afraid of him? Goddamned Rainbow Killer can't even make hisself real."
"Nobody's seen him all that clear,” said Rin Tin. “Never know, maybe he's just a midget in the end."
"Might be at that,” said Deadhead, “'cause he don't do the actual killing. He's just a bad influence. A fucking bad influence."
"Puts evil thoughts in your head."
"No, no, he don't put nothin’ in! It's already there. He just helps pull it out. That's what happens when he's around. You do what's deep inside."
"Yeah, and you know what that means, Princess,” Milo said. “Shakes here, he Deep Red himself. Bad company, Princess. Ba-a-a-a-d company."
"Come on, guys,” Shakes said. “I ain't like that no more. I hardly ever think bad stuff now."
"It's still in there,” said Honker. “You just buried it deeper."
"The killings, though,” Milo said. “The ones Mister Rainbow Killer facilitates. They ain't normal. They're bigger than life."
"Spectacular."
"Supernatural."
"Yeah, that's the word. Supernatural."
The singing intensified, some people humming, others whistling, some mumping at the lyrics.
"Christ, Soup. Learn the words!” someone said.
Even Gloria joined in, her well-trained voice resonating above every-one else's.
"Hey, the chick's got lungs!” Rin Tin said appreciatively.
"Shhh!” someone said.
Everyone fell silent. A whistling came from outside, following along.
"Oh come on,” Rin Tin said. “The Rainbow Killer ain't a whistler. He got a voice."
"Oh? You heard him, Rin Tin?"
"I know people have. He got a real deep voice. Sings off-key, too, and he don't know all the words."
People started singing again. Gloria saw that Shakes had sunk deeper into the sofa.
At last Loon finished with the fan. No sooner had his hands cleared the blades than Milo hit the wall switch. A collective sigh rose. Loon sat down in the chair and stared upward at the spinning dolls.
"Hey, Loon. What you think of the Rainbow Killer?"
Loon slowly unfocused from the fan and looked about. “Don't exist,” he said. “Just a cartoon."
"See? Even Loon don't buy it."
After a third beer, Gloria excused herself to use the restroom. There was only one, off to the side of the tiny kitchen. It smelled of piss, and she had to wipe off the seat before using it. Looking about, she saw crude graffiti scribbled over everything within reach. As she finished, she glimpsed a fluorescent orange scrawl down low behind the toilet, nearly hidden by the plumbing. She carefully knelt down and read it: arcs are failed circles.
Emerging from the restroom, she ran into a blaze of color. It was Duke.
"Thanks for pretending to know me,” she said.
"I wasn't pretending."
She waited.
"Amazing what a change in styling and color will do. A different application of makeup. It transforms the features, puts them just enough out of kilter that you're suddenly unrecognizable—to the untrained eye."
"You seem to know a lot about makeup, Duke,” she said. “You a tranny?"
"I've got my disguises, Gloria, but that's not one of them. You're Gloria Whiting, aren't you."
She bit her lip.
"I've seen your photo around. Not the cover of Rolling Stone, but you're getting some notice. Multimedia performance artist, right? You do it all. Paint, write, act, dance. You were in the papers a couple weeks ago. Something about going into the hospital. Nothing serious, I hope."
"You've got me mixed up with someone else."
He shrugged, sipped his drink. “Okay, suppose you're not who I think. Still, I'm curious what you're doing here."
"One has to be somewhere. That seems to be an underlying principle of existence."
"You don't belong here,” he said, growing impatient.
"And you do? What makes you so sure this isn't my world?"
He looked her up and down. “Gloria, take a hint. This isn't the night to be at Ja Ja's."
She studied him a moment, beginning to understand. “Maybe I'm a cop, too."
He looked quickly about and gave her a harsh look. “You're not, that's for sure.” He hesitated. “You are Gloria Whiting, aren't you?"
"You persist in being mistaken.” She turned to leave.
"Listen. I'm sorry. I guess I mixed you up with someone else. You seem like a nice person, and—well, I just don't want you getting unwanted publicity."
"I'll take my chances.” She started past, only to be blocked by his arm.
"One last bit of advice. That Shakes over there. He's not exactly Mister Nice Guy. He
goes off at regular intervals. And he's due. If I were you, I'd stay clear of him."
"What did he do? Kill his wife or something?"
He gaped at her. “You know?"
She started to walk off again, but then came back. “What do you know about the Rainbow Killer?"
He snorted. “You heard it from the others. He's a huge man with an axe who's killed dozens of people in the Houston slums."
"And you believe that?"
He sighed. “Last November a guy named Harry Cole killed three people in the Bottoms. He tried to beat the rap by blaming someone else—a big man with an axe who was singing Dorothy's song. That's who made him do it. Since then, every killer's been using him as a scapegoat. Sure, the Rainbow Killer made ‘em do it."
"What about the witnesses? Hasn't there been quite a few?"
"You bet. Only when you start asking them questions, they don't agree on anything—except the one thing: the song. They all heard a man singing ‘Over the Rainbow.’ Well, hello-o. Ever since Harry Cole's story hit the papers, everyone's been singing that goddamned song. Christ, just listen!"
A half-dozen people still sang it.
"But how do you explain the clustering? You know, several murders occurring at the same place and time."
Duke gave a smug grin. “Back in high school I saw this corny film that explained fission. You know, how the atom bomb works. They had this roomful of mousetraps all with Ping-Pong balls in them. You set one off, and it sets off others, and pretty soon they're all going off. That's the slums. Too many fuckups with too many guns living too close together. It sure doesn't take a Rainbow Killer to set them off.” He paused. “Why are you so interested in him?"
"I'd like to get home alive tonight,” she said. “People keep telling me it's not safe."
"I'll take you home."
"I'm in capable enough hands—” she nodded towards Shakes “—as long as there's no Rainbow Killer out there waiting for me."
"In that case, maybe I'm wrong and he does exist."
"Now you're patronizing me.” Again she started to leave.
"So how about we get together some other time?” he pressed. “Some-where classier."
"Classier?"
"Dinner at Adagios? Tomorrow night at eight?"
She studied his handsome face. “I'll think about it."
"How do I get in touch with you?"
"You don't. I'll either show, or I won't."
She returned to Shakes's side to find him nursing another beer.
"Long talk,” he said. “How's it going with Mister Soul Train?"
"He's a cop,” she said.
Shakes sat up straight. “What did you say?"
"He's a cop,” she repeated, louder.
Shakes and others close by looked over at Duke. Whispers quickly spread. The room grew silent, except for the rap music in the background. Duke looked very self-conscious as everyone stared at him.
"Shit,” he said, starting for the door. “Shit!"
Ja Ja emerged from the back room in a huff, having been told. “Out!” he shouted, even as everyone marched for the door. “All of you, out of my fucking life! Christ! Fuckin’ cops everywhere!"
Just outside, Gloria and Shakes ran into Honker.
"Shakes,” he said. “Get rid of her. She's trouble for everyone she meets."
"Come on, Honker,” he said. “She helped us out, don't you see?"
"She don't read right, Shakes. She don't read right at all."
"Yeah? Well, maybe it's time I got literate. So lay off."
Honker left, cursing aloud.
Gloria had drunk three beers, and her walk was unsteady as they headed back to the hotel. By her count, Shakes had downed six. He ranted about Duke being a cop, and what he'd do to him if they crossed paths again.
"You weren't kidding about killing your wife,” she said as they walked down the street.
"Heck no,” he said. “I did her in. Just like I told you."
"You're okay now?"
"I was always okay. See, the way people behave, it's like rolling dice. You roll dice long enough, sooner or later you come up homicide. Doesn't mean anything's wrong with you.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Just a roll of the dice."
Gloria noticed that a car was following them, keeping its distance, its lights off.
"Have you seen him?” she asked.
"Who?"
"The Rainbow Killer."
"Yeah, sure, talk to him every day. Know what he told me? He don't exist."
A moment later he added, “I killed my wife all on my own. I mean, there wasn't no ‘Over the Rainbow’ playing in my head. Same with all those other motherfuckers. They just wants a scapegoat. Fucking cowards. You do something, you take responsibility. Know what I mean?"
She dropped her purse and stooped to pick it up, stealing a glance behind. The car kept its distance. “So you live in a tenement?"
"A dump. A real dump."
"I want to see it."
"No!” He walked faster. “You're crazy."
"Come on, Shakes. I saw some more graffiti."
He stopped and turned to her. “Fluorescent Orange?"
She nodded. “Show me your place. Then I'll tell you what it said."
"Shit.” He dug his hands deep in his pockets, then started to walk. “You don't play fair, you know that?"
* * * *
In a large dilapidated tenement building, six stories up, he kicked hall-way debris aside and opened a battered, numberless door. Several notes lay on the floor just inside. She recognized some as rent notices.
"You haven't been home in a while,” she said.
"Been on vacation,” he grumbled.
Stepping inside, she looked around. Clothes were scattered every-where, mixed with newspapers, empty food containers and porn maga-zines. Gnats churned the air, and several roaches fled before her. Graffiti covered the walls, all done in fluorescent orange. She studied it.
"You want something to drink?"
"A glass of water is all.” She stepped closer to the wall. “Shakes. This guy you're looking for. You sure it isn't you?"
"Naw.” He brought her the glass of water and then busied himself straightening up. “That stuff was just practice. I thought maybe if I could think like him, I could find him.” He tossed pornzines under the bed. “Only it's not that easy, I guess. You said you found more o’ his graffiti?"
"An arc is a failed circle."
He repeated it several times to himself. “What the fuck? What's he trying to say? Shit, he's so deep sometimes."
Everywhere she looked, she saw pornzines. She walked over and sat down on the bed.
Shakes fidgeted and started mumbling to himself.
"Something wrong, Shakes?"
He dipped deeper than usual across the room, waving his hands. “Why're you here with me? Duke, he's the one for you. But you squealed on him. I mean, this is fuckin’ crazy."
"You really wanted me to go with him?” she asked. “Are you that afraid of him?"
"Shee-it. I ain't afraid o’ that muthafucka. I shoulda bopped him good back there. A goddamned cop. Pretendin’ to be one of us. He better never ever show his face again."
Getting up, she strolled over to the open window and leaned back against the sill. In between sips of water she let loose with a bloodcurdling scream, being very nonchalant about it.
Shakes stared wide-eyed at her, completely flabbergasted. A car door slammed. The tenement door squeaked open below, and footsteps clanged up the stairs. Soon there was pounding on the door.
"Open up, Shakes! I'm counting to three. One. Two."
Having sauntered over to the door, Gloria now unlocked it. Duke barged in with gun leveled at Shakes, who stood in the corner with hands up and eyes wide.
"You okay, Gloria?"
"I'm fine,” she said. “And you?"
He looked at her uncomprehendingly. “I—I heard someone scream. I thought it was you.” He began to look apologetic.
/> "It was."
He was at a loss. “Why did you scream?"
"I just had the urge. Something primeval, I guess."
Furious and bewildered, he lowered his gun, then backstepped to the door. There he hesitated, glaring at her. “Lady.” His voice quavered. “You've got one lousy sense of humor."
He slammed the door so hard that she jumped involuntarily. She listened to his rapid footfalls, the pinging on the staircase, the slam of the tenement door below. A car door opened and shut, an engine roared to life, and tires squealed time and again as he raced off into the city.
"You could've got me killed!” Shakes cried. “You—!"
She went over and lay down on the bed. “So. Who are you more afraid of? Duke? The Rainbow Killer?” She gave him a provocative look. “Or me?"
He just stood there with his mouth agape.
"Well? Which is it?"
"Christ, you're fucking with my mind. You're really fucking with my mind!” He paced back and forth, clawing the air to either side of his face. “Why don't you leave me alone?"
"I've got business with the Rainbow Killer. Something tells me this might be the place to find him."
In a softer but still irritated voice, punctuated by hard breathing, he said, “Shit. Why you keep fuckin’ with my head? Why you wanna do that?” He ran his hands through his hair. “I gotta think. I gotta—” He turned to her. “You a cop? Is that it? You a cop too?"
"What makes you think that?"
"All these questions about the Rainbow Killer. You working with Duke? The pair of you double-pumping me? You think I'm him?"
"No, Shakes. I'm not a cop."
He stood there, looking dizzy. “Then what the fuck are you?” He gripped his head. “I—I gotta get out. I can't stay here."
"Go on. I'll watch the place for you."
He looked back at her. “Hey, no. No. You can't be here alone. I got friends might drop in. Sort of friends. You don't wanna be here if they do."
"But they won't drop in, will they,” she said. “Because they're just as afraid of the Rainbow Killer."
He tossed pornzines across the room. “I'm not afraid of no fucking Rainbow Killer!"
Lying on the bed, watching Shakes pace back and forth, she realized she was getting sleepy. “You do believe in him, don't you,” she murmured.
He ducked his head in exaggerated nods. “He's out there. He. Is. Out. There."
"Why do you suppose he sings ‘Over the Rainbow'?"
Crimewave #9: Transgressions Page 6