Five O’Clock Shadow

by Susan Slater

  Grams was lying on the floor. Dead? There was no movement. But it was Grams’ face, her lack of makeup, of hair that made her stare. Instead of the bushels of white-blond tresses that always cascaded over her shoulders, there were just wisps of gray, funny wiry strands twisting upwards at intervals from her scalp with a fringe over her ears. Her grandmother had no hair. She’d never seen her grandmother without a wig. So this was underneath, this balding, slick-pated skull shrunken and tissue-thin across the crown.

  Pauly burst into tears. She must be dead. She couldn’t stand to think Grams had suffered. The skin on her face looked sallow in the light, completely devoid of color. And something else was wrong. Her grandmother had no eyelashes or eyebrows. The years of constantly painting and pasting everything in place had probably denuded her.

  Pauly ran to her and dropped to her knees, cursing her bound hands which kept her from touching, taking her grandmother’s hands in hers. She leaned forward and put her cheek in front of Grams’ mouth. She was breathing, raggedly expelling soft puffs of air.

  Before Pauly could comprehend what was happening, Sam knocked her flat, face down, grabbed her ankles and wound clothesline around them. “We wouldn’t want you to try to escape now, would we?” Then he stood up and kicked her grandmother in the hip.

  “Come on, Lulu. You have to act lively. Our friend here doesn’t like his food dead.” But her grandmother didn’t move.

  “Leave her alone.”

  “And just what is this little pretend hero going to do about it?” Sam gazed down at her, bemused, fully in control.

  Pauly hated his smile. She squirmed onto her back and digging in her heels sat up. Sam was filling a bucket at a sink in the corner. Then he turned off the tap, picked up the bucket and calmly walked back to stand over her grandmother. Pauly suddenly realized what he was going to do.

  “Sam, no.” She shrieked and scooted towards him.

  But it was too late. He tilted the bucket then tossed its contents in her grandmother’s face. The gallon of water washed down the front of Grams’ blouse, soaking her and plastering the thin material to her chest. The grapefruit-perfect breasts were suddenly displayed in graphic detail, taut nipples pushing through soaked cotton. Grams sputtered, thrashed around, rolled to her side and tried to sit, but her hands were tied the same as Pauly’s.

  Pauly bent over her, trying to say something soothing. But her grandmother pulled away. She didn’t open her eyes, just muttered incoherently.

  “What have you done to her?” Pauly was screaming.

  But the question was addressed to an empty room. Pauly heard the door close and a key turn in the lock. They were alone. Pauly tried to get her bearings. She was alive. Grams was alive. Then the horror of the situation flooded her consciousness. They were not alone. The rustling coming from the top of the cage along the north wall forced her to glance up.

  She screamed. The head of a python pushed over the rim of its cage. His eyes never left them. They were only fifteen feet away, sitting like stunned prey. And he was hungry. Was there any doubt of that? Someone had kept this reptile lean and mean, prepared for just this kind of feast.

  Huge shiny black eyes watched her, nostrils flared. He was pausing, head reared, weaving slightly. He had to be eight to ten inches wide at the midsection. He opened his mouth, a gigantic yawn, then his jaws snapped shut. Did snakes smell their food? Or was it sight? Were they drawn to something that moved? She couldn’t remember, but did it matter?

  Suddenly, her grandmother struggled to sit up, feet flailing wildly, her head banging against the cement floor. Before Pauly could move, the first snake struck. With a speed that seemed impossible for its length and bulk, it rushed them, ducking its wedge head under her grandmother’s waist, pausing to wind itself around her grandmother’s torso. Slowly its length turned into coils and her grandmother’s body was lifted off the ground, rolling with the movement of her killer.

  Pauly was immobile, staring, trying to comprehend. Then she acted. She pushed back out of the snake’s way and struggled to her knees, then to her feet, falling heavily against a workbench that kept her upright. Then she hopped towards the cage in front of her, butting her shoulder against the glass. Nothing. It must be some kind of industrial thickness. If she could break the glass, she’d have a weapon—something to cut the ropes at her wrists and ankles—and the snake. She tried again and again, and only managed to make her shoulder go numb.

  She frantically looked around. She needed a heavy object—something to shatter the glass. The snake was oblivious to her actions and continued to wind around her grandmother, slowly, a rhythmic, mesmerizingly, deadly advance.

  There was no time. She dropped to the floor and wiggled her way towards the tangle of snake and human and tried to lever her feet between a coil and the body of her grandmother. But it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t get any leverage. The splintering of the outside door pushed through her concentration. Someone was battering the thing, tearing it off its hinges.

  Then Steve was beside her, cutting the bindings at her wrists, her ankles. But what did this mean? Whose side was he on? She started to struggle.

  “Pauly, listen to me.” He shook her. “You’ve got to help me. Now. There’s no time. Just do what I do. We’ve got to carry your grandmother outside. The snake will release in the cold and wet. But we’ve got to hurry.”

  She didn’t ask questions. And she didn’t allow herself to think of the snake—nor whose side Steve was on. He was helping, wasn’t he? She followed his example and wrapped her arms around Gram’s legs and the tail-end of the snake and hoisted the bundle off the floor. It almost staggered her. But she kept her footing, straddling the bodies. Steve had grabbed the front and, with her waddling along behind under the weight, he started towards the door.

  “Hang on. Don’t let them drop until we’re outside. We can save her, Pauly. It’s not too late. Just a few more steps. We’re going around the corner, now straight ahead.”

  Pauly kept her head down for balance, but she knew Steve was leading her out of the garage through the open space where the jeep had been. Had Sam gotten away? Did she care? She fell backwards as Steve suddenly dropped his end at the edge of the drive and began to roll the snake and her grandmother in the snow. He was down on all fours tugging and using two hands to push the writhing mass forward and then over, moving them slowly into a four-foot-deep drift along the side of the garage.

  “Hurry. Pack snow around him.” Steve was pulling the snake’s head back away from its prey. “Don’t worry about your grandmother. The cold will be better for her than these jaws.”

  Pauly did as she was told, frantically mounding the wet stuff with bare hands and not feeling a thing. The snake slowed its thrashing. She could feel it relax then slip into a stupor.

  “I need your help.” Steve was motioning her to move to his side. “I want you to apply steady pressure here along his body by pulling back when I do. Ready?”

  She didn’t even grimace. She was beyond repulsion. They were winning. She put two hands around the smooth live coil and pulled, once, twice, a third time. Steve was pulling and unwinding, starting with the snake’s head, twisting it back, around, back some more.

  “Okay. I want you to go to your grandmother’s shoulders and pull when I tell you to.”

  Pauly followed instructions, slipping her arms under her grandmother’s shoulders, not thinking about the snake, forcing herself to concentrate on her grandmother and Steve’s orders.

  “Now. Pull.” He twisted, bracing with a knee against the snake’s body. “Again.” Steve slipped sideways but scrambled back upright to clasp the snake tighter, using raw strength to keep the suffocating coils from winding tighter. Pauly could see his muscles strain the fabric of his jacket. “That’s right, get a good grip on her shoulders, ease her straight back.”

  Pauly strained to drag her grandmother out of the snake’s grasp. Her body moved a few inches, then a foot, then stopped. “Just ke
ep going. Don’t let up on the pressure.”

  Pauly wanted desperately to wipe the sweat off her forehead, keep it from stinging her eyes, but she didn’t. She tugged again. More movement. She inched backwards.

  “You’ve got it. She’s free.”

  Steve was beside her now, lifting her grandmother, running towards the house. “Put her in the living room. I’ll start a fire.”

  Pauly ran to open the back door, then up the stairs to her bedroom to gather blankets, a heating pad and one of her flannel nightgowns. Feathers and satin just weren’t going to cut it this time, and she figured that Grams would understand.

  “I’ll call 911,” Pauly said as she tucked another blanket around her grandmother.

  “Already have. I put in a call when I found Hofer. Can you handle the fire? I’m going to go put Herman back in his cage.” Then seeing her look, he added, “It’s not his fault that he was hungry. Speaking of hungry, there’s a couple of kids in the kitchen waiting for hot chocolate. I just happened to find them tied up in Hofer’s darkroom. Other than a few scratches, they’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pauly sat by her grandmother’s bed in the hospital. It was a private room, and they had brought a cot in for her. But she wasn’t tired. She was past tired, exhausted but just sitting there, warm and safe. Knowing that Grams was going to be all right was bringing her back to life. Grams had broken ribs, a concussion, and had been drugged; but she was going to make it. Pauly couldn’t believe how lucky they’d been. Lucky to have had Steve find them in time.

  Tony had looked in the door shortly after they got there but had been shooed out by the handful of nurses and a doctor. Finally, the hospital personnel left, leaving in their wake the tubes and beeping monitors that meant intensive care. And she continued to sit there watching her grandmother, holding her hand, whispering that everything was all right. The doctors didn’t think she’d wake up for a few more hours, but that didn’t dissuade Pauly from being reassuring. She had a feeling that Grams could hear her.

  Steve came in a little after midnight with a sack full of Lotaburgers and motioned for her to follow him back to the lounge. She hesitated, but curiosity was beginning to kick in. They hadn’t had a chance to talk, and she had about a hundred questions. She ran a comb through her hair, put on lipstick and a touch of mascara. The effect was good, but she wondered at the effort. Who was she trying to impress? She thought she knew. She only hoped she wasn’t trying to impress a hired killer.

  Steve had arranged burgers, fries, and drinks on a coffee table and hadn’t waited on her before digging in. He was obviously famished, but then so was she. She picked up a hamburger and found herself staring at him. Something was different. For one thing, he was wearing an open-collared shirt. She’d never seen him without a turtleneck.

  “Most people think I’ve lost weight or shaved my mustache.” He was grinning.

  “You never had a mustache,” Pauly began, then gasped, “The tattoos. The tattoos are gone.”

  “One nicely appointed spider’s left on my ass.” Cheshire-cat smile.

  She didn’t take the bait, if it was that; she just shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Semi-indelible tracings. These were in pretty good shape for about six weeks. They do this kind of thing for the movies all the time.”

  “So, your tattoos were just part of the act?”

  “Got me in the door but kept me out of your shower.” He grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re going to miss them?”

  She made a face. “I might not be able to live without the Rape of Europa inked into a bicep.”

  “If it means that much to you, I could always get the real thing.”

  “Let’s try it this way for awhile,” she kidded back.

  “Which sounds like I might have a chance at a friendship.”

  He was serious now, watching her face, searching for some reassurance.

  She took a deep breath. “Is any of what I know about you true?”

  “All of it.”

  “Even the part about being a PI hired by Archer?”

  “Especially that part. But someone hired me before Archer did. He came into the picture later.”

  He put his hamburger on the coffee table and bent forward in earnest. “Pauly, I’ve got to say this first. I can’t stop thinking of you, thinking of you standing naked in front of the shower. Do you know what it took not to join you? Not to just climb in the shower and say to hell with a few fading tattoos? I wanted to tell you then. Who I was, what was going on. But when the two boys disappeared, I couldn’t take the chance. Things were too close to winding down. I needed to get to the authorities.”

  “What was going on?” She wasn’t ready to let him see that he’d said about the most wonderful thing that she could think of, that she hadn’t been rejected Christmas morning, that he had wanted her as much as she wanted him. “Is there a beginning? Some starting point that would make sense?”

  “Yeah.” He picked up his soft drink and sat back. “I was in prison for pushing steroids. That part was true. With no prior record, I was subjected to a little white-collar treatment, minimum security facility, access to a few amenities, it wasn’t bad.” The smile was unconvincing but he continued, “I met a man there. Nice guy, former priest—”

  “Sosimo’s brother?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Your turn first. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Manny was great. Compassionate. Really into revamping the prison system. We worked out in the gym together; I did a little coaching. He swears that he was set up by his brother. That it was Sosimo who anonymously sent information to the bishop, as well as to the newspapers. Can you believe that? His own brother? Sosimo framed him. Even got children to testify. He felt his life was ruined. His family had disowned him. A defrocking is tantamount to murder in the small New Mexico town where he grew up. His mother suffered a stroke, no doubt brought on by the publicity of his case.”

  “Couldn’t he have done anything?”

  “Not after the testimony and the pictures.”

  “Pictures? Sophisticated fakes—I’ve seen some of Hofer’s handiwork.”

  “Pretty graphic, I guess. The Church didn’t waste time. They couldn’t be liable.… They cut him off. He had the choice of a retreat or choose to work in the prison.”

  “What did Sosimo have to gain?”

  “Cover his own tracks. Divert attention. It was a great ruse. No doubt, it garnered sympathy. If you prove the firstborn brother is unfit for society, and a priest to boot, who’s going to suspect that the other brother, an elected official no less, is out procuring? That he’s also a pedophile? Maybe this state puts more faith in their congressmen than in their priests. Anyway, it seemed to work.”

  “It seems like setting his brother up would be inviting Manny to retaliate.”

  “Who said he didn’t?”

  “A priest?”

  “Last time I checked they’re all human.”

  “And that’s why he talked to you? Hired you?”

  “Hired may not be the right term. He begged me to help him. Pauly, this was a man tormented by the fact that his brother had stripped him of everything he’d ever had to live for. When I first met him, he was in the clinic after an attempt on his life. Knowing that I’d try to help seemed to keep him from trying again. I told him I could hold out for two months without having to work. I’d give him that.”

  “How did you know where to start?”

  “Manny had found out about the carnival. That is, I should say he suspected Sosimo had access to a pipeline of young victims and thought the carnival was the source. It seems Hofer had been Sosimo’s bodyguard at one time. So when he found out that Hofer was a partner in your grandmother’s operation, he put two and two together.”

  “What were you supposed to do?”

  “Gather information, prove that Sosimo was involved, prove that Hofer was procuring.”

  �
�And then what?”

  “Manny was going to use the information to prove his innocence. At least he’d have concrete ammo to show why Sosimo might have wanted him out of the picture. And I think he wanted to ruin Sosimo. An eye for an eye. Priest or not. Between Paco and the rest of what we know, I’d say Manny’s exonerated.”

  “What did Archer have to do with all this?”

  “I questioned him at Randy’s funeral. Just a long shot because there was a tie-in to Sosimo. I mentioned the water project and the South Valley, and said that I was working on a case that seemed to overlap and that I thought we should talk. He jumped in to say that he thought his partner had been murdered, said that he thought Randy had foolishly threatened Sosimo with some pictures. He wasn’t explicit, but said he’d thought that Randy had dropped them in the mail. Said he’d be in touch, would try to help. Then when Sosimo showed up looking for a package, I got a frantic call from Archer saying that he’d bet anything that you had them or at least copies, and might foolishly try to use them in some way.”

  “After I gave him the envelope, why didn’t he turn them over to you?”

  “He had second thoughts. He was scared of how I might handle things. Exposing those pictures could have really been a problem for MDB. They didn’t trust me and needed to gag you in the worst way.”

  “So he hired you to keep an eye on me?”

  “Seemed like I was robbing him of a thousand dollars a month just to do something I would have done anyway.”

  He grinned. She didn’t think it was all that funny.

  She paused before blurting out, “Did you kill Randy?”

  “What?” He seemed truly startled.

  “Did you shoot the pilot of the hot-air balloon?”

  “Why would I do that?”