The Sudden Star

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The Sudden Star Page 20

by Pamela Sargent


  He found himself in the lobby. It was almost empty; no one except Titus' guests and residents was being allowed in, and most of them were at the party. The doorman and three bodyguards were near the desk. Feeling weak, he sat down in a chair and closed his eyes. He had to do something soon. This strain was going to make him sick. He was beginning to realize that Isabeau wasn't likely to let him live once Titus was dead, and she wouldn't have to be subtle about it either. No one was going to worry about how an insignificant doctor died.

  "What's the matter, Doctor?" He looked up into the yellowish eyes of Kathleen Ortega. "Aren't you enjoying the party?"

  "I'm not feeling so good."

  "I know. Isabeau's married now. Isn't that just too bad. Makes things hard for you. Well, you'll just have to live with it, won't you." She hooked her fingers over the top of her khaki pants. "There's going to be a show later, singers, dancers, everything, but I guess you're going to miss it, aren't you."

  A police officer, a lean, beak-nosed man, was approaching them. Ortega spun around. "Anita Gilberto?" the policeman said. Ortega, watching him suspiciously, nodded. "I want to talk with you, I've got some questions."

  She glared at him, then at Simon. "What questions?"

  "You'd better come with me."

  "I won't until you tell me what's going on."

  The man pulled out his revolver, pointing it at her stomach. "March," he said. "We're going to take a walk, and you're going to answer those questions or be very sorry."

  Her eyes narrowed. She looked at Simon as if he was to blame. He shrugged; it wasn't his worry. She walked away with the policeman. Simon leaned back in his chair, watching them go out the front door, wondering if he would see Ortega again. He imagined her in the jail, and smiled.

  Someone was tapping at his door. Simon, sprawled on the sofa in his waiting room, struggled into wakefulness. His shirt, covered with sweat from the summer heat, stuck to him. He fell asleep often now, sometimes unable to make it to the bedroom. Sleep had become his drug, his only means of escape.

  He heard the tapping again. It was probably Aisha. The party might be over by now. He dragged himself off the sofa and stumbled to the door. "Aisha?" he shouted.

  "Open this door before I shoot the fucking lock off." It was Ortega's voice. Stunned and still sleepy, he began to open it before changing his mind. He tried to close it again; Ortega had her foot in the crack. She pushed and the door swung open, propelling him toward the desk.

  She slammed it shut. Her forehead was streaked with red, her shoulder was bleeding. She said, "You talked, didn't you. You talked to somebody. You were waiting in that lobby to be sure, weren't you." He shook his head, puzzled. She came closer. "René sent you down here, didn't he. I guess I got scammed. I didn't think you could do it, always using someone else to do your work, aren't you. You coward."

  He was completely bewildered. "What are you talking about? René's dead, isn't he?"

  Her face contorted. She kneed him in the groin. Groaning, he doubled over and fell to the floor. He moaned, clutching his abdomen; he could think of nothing but the pain. He felt a foot on his shoulder. He tried to roll away but could not. Ortega was saying something else, but he couldn't make out the words. He struggled for breath.

  She leaned over him. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth. "Who'd you tell? Who'd you tell about me?"

  "Nobody," he managed to say.

  "You better say more than that or you'll get a good kick."

  He closed his eyes. The odds weren't with him. If he hadn't been incapacitated, if she weren't armed, they might have been matched, her training against his greater height and weight. Every nerve in his body was humming; he was going to be sick. He swallowed, trying to control himself. "I don't know anything," he gasped. She kicked him in the chest. His lungs emptied and he choked.

  "I don't know anything," he finally managed to say.

  She stood up. Her booted feet retreated over the beige carpet. He forced himself to sit up, leaning his back against one of the desk legs. Ortega was seated on the sofa, next to one of his lighted lamps. Oddly, he found himself thinking about the kerosene he had wasted leaving them on. Ortega's gun was pointed at him.

  "You really don't know anything, do you?"

  "No," he said.

  "What'd you mean when you said René was dead?"

  "Just what I said. You had him killed, didn't you? Aisha was sure you had, and then you came here, probably because you couldn't hold the organization."

  "Listen, Negron, I want to make something very clear to you. Isabeau doesn't want to see you dead, don't ask me why, but I'll do things to you, make you wish you were. You better think about that before you tell me one more thing, and it better be the truth. Did you know that policeman was sent to kill me?"

  "No."

  "Did that girl know, that Aisha?"

  "Of course not. She's scared enough of you, she just wants to keep out of your way. She ran all the way down here because she's afraid of you, she was sure you'd kill her and her friends."

  "That's real funny." Ortega rested one foot on a knee. "They're still alive, at least they were last I knew. That old man's still trying to kill me. I've been trying to find out who he hired to do it."

  "What happened," he said, "to the policeman?"

  She chuckled. "Don't ask. He was the second, they sent a dope after me the first time. I'm going to send a message to René, the only one he'll understand. I'm going to find out who's in back of all this and I'm going to kill him."

  "I don't care," he said, hating her for beating and degrading him. "It has nothing to do with me."

  "You better see that it doesn't. Isabeau's trying to find out, and she will, she hears a lot. You better see your name doesn't come up, and you better be sure if you find out something, you tell me,"

  "I can't find out anything."

  "Then just keep out of the way." Her voice was raspy. Something in what she had said made him realize she didn't know what Isabeau was planning for Titus, didn't know why Isabeau needed him alive, at least for a while. Something could go wrong. Isabeau might need him to cover it up. Suddenly everything seemed clear to him, obvious. Isabeau would kill him once she had what she wanted. Kathleen Ortega might kill him out of rage, if someone tried to kill her again or if his name, however innocently, came up during her investigation. Titus might kill him; he might not. Simon had been pushed into a corner and had only one way out. For some reason, the dim hope cheered him. He had to go to Titus and take his chances. Isabeau would fall; Ortega would be without her protection. Titus might kill her too.

  Ortega rose. "A bullet grazed my shoulder," she said. "I need something for it."

  "I can fix it." He got to his feet, slowly and painfully. He would pay her back for everything. He hoped it would all be very clear to her before she died. He kept his eyes focused on the carpet, as if she might read his thoughts if he looked directly at her.

  "Don't. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

  "You still don't trust me." He lifted his eyes and glanced at her.

  She smiled.

  ELEVEN

  Werner Takaishi

  Aisha trembled. She closed her eyes, trying to sort out what Simon had told her. A voice inside her head was whispering: They're alive, René, Ildico, Juan, they're alive and safe, I ran for nothing. She clasped her hands, trying to stop them from shaking. Ildico had been right, she was always right. She bent forward and rested her head on her knees. Her face was wet. She couldn't bear it now, thinking about her journey, surviving here, worrying about when Takaishi would get tired of her and what she would do then. It was all crushing her, twisting her up.

  She raised her head and looked across the room at Simon. He sat at her small table, drinking the bottle of wine he had brought with him. Behind him, her faucet was still dripping into the sink, plop, plop. She leaned back against her couch. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her made everything seem too bright; the gold rug in the center
of the floor glowed, the red couch she sat on burned. Simon's white shirt shone. He lifted the bottle again and drank from it.

  She said, "They're still alive. Ildy's still alive." She wished she could feel happier about it, but then, even when she had assumed they were dead, she hadn't really felt it; it had seemed too far away. Now they were alive, and she couldn't feel that either.

  "It doesn't matter," Simon responded, putting down his bottle. She blinked; the pale yellow of the wall behind him hurt her eyes. "That doesn't matter to us one way or another. I have to warn Titus somehow." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You were right about Isabeau all along. I should have listened to you, you always stuck by me, I just didn't appreciate it."

  He looked appealingly at her. She stared back and did not respond. "Look," he went on, "I need you now. I promise I’ll make it up to you."

  "What do you want?" she said tonelessly.

  "You've got to go to Titus, tell him everything, convince him."

  She sat up straight, clenching her fists. "You want me to go," she said as quietly as she could. "He'll think I knew about it too, if he believes it, and if he doesn't, I get in bad with him and you can deny the whole thing. That's good. And if he tells Takaishi, I'm finished." She was shaking again. She pressed her arms against her sides. "Well, I don't have to go to Titus. I paid off my debt. Takaishi's taking care of me now. There's no reason for me to get mixed up in any of this. Tell Titus yourself."

  "Don't you want him alive? He never did anything to you."

  She considered that. It was true. It didn't matter. Anyone who had risen as high as Titus had climbed over dead bodies on the way. It was only fair that someone else climb over his. "Yeah, you're right," she said at last. "He didn't do anything to me, he didn't even ask me to pay him off in bed. But I can stay out of all this. Who knows, Titus is smart. Maybe he'll find out anyway."

  Simon's lips were a straight line. "All right," he murmured, "you say you aren't involved in this. Titus might not think so, and Kathleen Ortega's had suspicions about you. If Titus goes, she'll kill me, and she'll probably kill you too, just to be safe. If Isabeau's caught, Ortega falls. Think of it that way. Ortega'll be gone forever, and you won't have any worries any more. Someone's trying to kill Ortega anyway. Titus might be able to collect for taking care of her."

  She felt angry. If it hadn't been for Simon's stupidity, she wouldn't have to worry about any of this. "When is Isabeau supposed to—supposed to—" She stopped. She heard a high-pitched whine. She shook her head. Her temples were pounding.

  "I don't know. She's only been married two days, so she can't move too soon. I'd say at least a month, maybe longer, but we can't count on it."

  "Titus could find out before then," she said, wishing it were true.

  "He won't. He's fixated on her, he won't even suspect. I know exactly how he feels."

  "I have to think about it." Her headache was suddenly worse. "I have to think about it!" She put her hands to her head; she had screamed the words.

  Simon was next to her, holding her hands. "I'll give you something for it. Come to my office, I'll give you something." She closed her eyes and saw pinpricks of light.

  Aisha lay in bed, trying to read. She had set up two lamps on the table next to her, in front of her mirror, so that she wouldn't go blind. She stared uncomprehendingly at the pages, then closed the book. She couldn't concentrate, she couldn't escape with her books anymore. She wondered if she would go to Titus. She recalled the first time she had spoken with him; he'd been hard to convince at first. He was always nice enough to her now, greeting her, asking after her health, but she doubted he was all that concerned.

  She sat up and folded her legs. Her headache was gone, at least for now. She'd been in bed all yesterday and today. Simon had even brought her some food when she was better. Nice of him. She gritted her teeth. Of course he was going to be nice now, sending her in to Titus, making sure he was somewhere else in case Titus took it the wrong way.

  She looked at the book she had been reading. The people in the book had friends whom they trusted. She thought of Ildico and sighed. She turned out one of the lamps and sat silently in the dimmer light. Voices from the apartment below hers penetrated to her. The voices rose and fell, like music, like ocean waves, oddly soothing.

  She heard knocking at her door, a series of sharp, short raps. She got out of bed and padded into the next room. "Who is it?" she shouted.

  "Corazon." She opened the door and Corazon Huff hurried inside, looking around. "Are you alone?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good, I was afraid you'd be with old Snaggletooth." Corazon was next to the table. She picked up the small jewelry box there and peered inside. "Pearls, how nice. I don't know if they're really your sort of thing, though."

  "Takaishi sent them over this afternoon, sort of as an apology. He was going to come over, but something came up, and he knew I'd been sick, so—"

  "Pearls for an apology, huh. You sure are set, Aisha." Corazon sat down, smoothing her green caftan over her plump legs. "I hope you're better now. Lou-Lou's having a party, so I came to get you."

  "I don't think I really feel like it."

  The redheaded woman spread her hands on the table, palms up. "But you must. Arne Fraydo sent me all the way down here to get you, I didn't have to come, I did it as a favor to you. He just got in some beautiful things. He brought a portfolio with him. He says you have to see them."

  Aisha sat down across the table from Corazon and lit a candle. "I can always go to the store," she said wearily.

  Corazon drew her thin eyebrows together and frowned. "I came all the way down here, when I could have been having a good time, and you don't want to go. Arne insisted, he says you have to come, he's holding this stuff just for you, and he wants to show it to you now. He said it makes everything else you bought look like shit." She peered at the pearls again. "I hope you don't leave all your jewels lying around like this."

  "Of course not," Aisha replied, knowing if she admitted it, Corazon would sell the information to someone. "Besides, I don't know Lou-Lou that well, and you know Arne's always trying to sell something."

  "Damn it, I came all the way down here to get you. There's a horse and cart outside waiting to take us back up, come on."

  "Well, I don't understand why Arne didn't come here himself, or send a note and tell me to come to the store."

  Corazon let out a loud sigh. "If he had, and old Snaggletooth was here, it might have looked funny. Did you ever think of that? He might have wondered why Arne was coming here in the night, you know? And he said he didn't want to show the stuff at the store because they're holding it back until they sell other jewelry first. This is kind of a private deal for him. God, Aisha, if someone was going to buy jewels for me any time I wanted, I wouldn't be sitting around here."

  Aisha was silent for a few moments. There was something more to all of this; she would have to go whether she wanted to or not. "All right," she said at last. "I'll get dressed."

  Lou-Lou lived in an old, sprawling, two-story motel north of Haulover Beach Park. The area around the motel wasn't as lush as Bal Harbour; it had been over- paved and overbuilt many years before. The only green things left were the palm trees, shrubs, and weedy grass on the thin islands bisecting Collins Avenue. The motel itself was in disrepair. Several large windows facing the street were cracked and had never been repaired. But it was cheap and, in some ways, safer than living farther south. Up here, the residents didn't wait for the police to do what they could do themselves; Haulover Beach had been cleared of crazies years ago.

  Many of the partygoers had moved out of Lou-Lou's room, too small to hold them all anyway, into the pool area. Aisha and Corazon wound their way past the chaise longues by the pool, waving absently at those who sat dangling their legs in the water. No one swam. The water was too cold, and becoming stagnant as well; a green film covered half of the watery surface. A few businessman types lounged around the poolside bar, which was de
signed to look like a hut. They were shabbier than the businesspeople farther downtown. One tall, bony man had on a baggy blue suit; a short, stocky fellow wore a white suit with rips in the too-tight shoulders. None had bodyguards, but all were armed with revolvers as well as knives and the bony man had brought a rifle as well. They were sucking up a lot of gin and beer, which was good for Lou-Lou, Aisha thought. Lou-Lou, always practical, made sure they paid for it; she owned a share of the motel.

  Aisha and Corazon passed the bar. Lou-Lou's room was left of it, facing the sundeck that overlooked the ocean. The wind was warm, but strong. It ruffled Aisha's thick short hair and plastered Corazon's caftan to her round body. Kerosene lamps hanging from the railing outside the second floor rooms lit the sundeck with an eerie, flickering light. The ocean was a dark, almost threatening, expanse; Aisha could hear the waves rolling in and occasionally slapping the wall beneath the sundeck. She found herself shrinking away, hovering closer to the motel.

  Lou-Lou met them at her door. "Aisha," she said in her foghorn voice, "you haven't been here for so long.” She brushed back a lock of platinum hair and planted a dry, impersonal kiss on her forehead. "Glad you brought her here," she said to Corazon, giving the redhead a quick hug. The small room was packed. People sat on the two beds, the dresser, and a few were on the floor of the walk-in closet. Aisha, propelled inside by Lou-Lou's lean reptilian arm, searched the room for Arne Fraydo.

  He was in the back, in the corner, with a folder under his arm. He was surrounded by three women Aisha didn't know but whom she had seen at Titus's parties. One of them, a tall dark woman dressed in red, was draped around Arne, trying to pull at his folder. He saw Aisha and waved. He began to pry himself loose from the tall woman. "Come on, Arne," she shouted over the din, "I'm one of your best customers."

 

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