Orfeo

by M. J. Lawless

  On the other side were two doors: one leading to a kitchen area, the other to his personal sleeping quarters. In front of the latter Papa was standing, hands crossed in front of his impeccable suit. Even here he kept his hat on, the broad brim of the fedora casting a shadow across his face.

  “How is she?” Earl asked.

  “Sleeping, but she’s not harmed.”

  Before Earl could respond to this, there was a knock on the door behind him. When Snake opened it Horse entered, a sly grin on his face. Frowning, Earl crossed to him and barked: “I thought I told you to keep watch out the front!”

  Horse’s grin faltered and his hands began to flash in front of his chest. Fucking idiot, thought Earl. He hated it when he had to concentrate like this, and generally he preferred it when Horse didn’t speak at all. The tall native’s hands were moving too quickly for him and he turned with a disgusted curl of his lips back to Papa.

  “What is this idiot saying?”

  Papa’s face was impassive. “He’s telling us that there’s no need to worry about the singer. He turned up, but he won’t be coming back in a hurry.”

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?” This question was addressed to Horse who shook his head.

  “Good.” A tic began to etch its worry line across Earl’s face and he lifted up a gloved hand to mask it. He didn’t want any of the other seeing his nervousness.

  “What’s the problem with killing him? Wouldn’t it just be easier?” Snake asked.

  “Listen to me,” Earl said, dropping his hand from his face and pointing to each of them in turn. “That cocksucker’s to stay alive until I say so.”

  “Why?” Snake was gearing up to remonstrate with him.

  “Don’t fucking question me!” It was good to transfer his anxiety into anger and for a few seconds Earl let it show clearly on his face. Pointing to each of them in turn, he stared hard into their eyes. “I won’t repeat myself again. That fucker is to stay alive until I’ve decided what to do with him. Understand?”

  Horse nodded slowly while Snake looked as though she would protest before agreeing grudgingly. Papa simply shrugged and remarked: “As you say, boss.”

  Something about Papa’s tone irritated Earl—as it so often did. Nonetheless, at the thought of Ardyce asleep in his room he became agitated again. He needed to see her—he needed her with a burning desire that threatened to overwhelm him, but at the same time the sickness he had felt before returned to the pit of his stomach. “Have you got what I asked for?” he asked Papa. The older man patted his jacket and nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go. You, Horse, come with me. Snake, stay out here and make sure nobody disturbs us.”

  She scowled at this but turned to go and stand guard by the main door. As he led the way into his private chamber, Earl was surprised that his heart was beating harder than before, as though echoing the deep, pervasive throb of Hades itself.

  His room was surprisingly large and spacious, decorated with fur rugs and with mirrors lining one wall and ceiling. Across from them was another entrance to a bathroom, but his attention was fixed on the large bed that lay in the center of the chamber.

  Ardyce was still asleep on it. Papa had removed her coat and shoes but she was still in her dress, the light fabric rising and falling with her breath, her chest swelling in nervous dreams. She was turned on her side, her bare feet curled away from him, and her face looked troubled in sleep, her pale cheeks flushed to match her brazen hair. Hearing Horse let out a mumbled sound behind him, Earl turned and glared at the hulking man whose fingers were moving almost unconsciously.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  Papa looked at Horse for a few seconds then returned his serious gaze to Ardyce, refusing to catch Earl’s eyes. “He says the red-winged moth is the messenger of our dreams.”

  Earl’s mouth fell open for a few seconds as he struggled to understand and failed. “What is it with this Indian shit?” He shook his head and then growled another command at Papa: “Wake her up.”

  Sitting gently on the bed, Papa placed a hand on her shoulder and softly shook her. “That’s it, little moth,” he said quietly as Earl paced around at the end of the bed. “Time to wake up.”

  After a few moments of this, Ardyce began to stir. As her eyes opened she looked confused, staring around her at first in bemusement and then in fear. As she fixed her gaze not on Papa who was still only a few inches away from her, but on Earl who stood pensively at the end of the bed, she acted as though electrified, shooting up the bed and drawing her legs to her chest in a defensive posture.

  “It’s been a long time, Ardyce,” Earl said quietly.

  “Where am I?”

  “Hades. Like I say, it’s been a long time.”

  He was struggling to keep the tone of his voice as neutral and soothing as possible—just as he struggled with the urge to send all these people away and throw himself on the bed beside her and beg for forgiveness. Weakness, that was all it was, as was the strange desire he had to leave with his men and lock the door behind him, safe in the knowledge that Ardyce would be confined away from the world. Perhaps that was all that was required: he didn’t need to see her himself, just to ensure that no other man could touch her.

  She looked at him suspiciously and then, reassured somewhat by his tone, she looked around her. “Interesting, what you’ve done with the place,” she said, the slight trembling in her voice the only betrayal of her nerves. He loved her for that: any other woman would be terrified in her position, but not Ardyce. She had always been braver than most. She was the strong one, he the coward—not that he could ever let his followers know such a thing.

  “I remember when you never wanted to leave here.”

  Her face dropped slightly. “That was before,” she told him.

  “That was before,” he agreed. “But it can be the same again.”

  Instead of replying to this, she looked up directly at him, all nervousness gone now from those green eyes, which narrowed icily as she regarded him. It was his turn to quail slightly but he forced himself to meet that gaze. Papa, the bastard, glanced across at him with a small smile. He’d pay for that later.

  “Where’s Orfeo?” she asked directly. “What have you done to him?”

  “Your...” he paused, swallowing back his profanity. “He’s safe. You won’t see him again, and as long as you do as I ask, he won’t be harmed. I promise that.” A lie, perhaps, but it would suffice.

  At this, her face looked miserable for a few seconds, but she mastered herself quickly, her expression becoming stony. She no longer looked at him but instead stared into the distance. For the first time, Earl noticed clearly the odd necklace she wore, some bizarre collection of trash.

  “What is that?” he snapped at Papa, pointing toward the necklace. “Take it off her.”

  As Papa moved, Ardyce pulled herself away with a sharp motion, her hand reaching up to her neck and her face contorted in a ferocious snarl. “Don’t you touch it!” she hissed, utterly fearless now. “Take this and you can forget any deal.”

  Papa hesitated, looking back toward Earl for guidance. He in turn shook his head, genuinely confused. This woman could have anything she wanted: diamonds, emeralds, pearls—all of Earl’s riches were at her disposal—but instead she chose this rotten string of nails and bones.

  “Leave it,” he said. “Get the stuff ready.”

  Moving away from the bed, Papa crossed to the table which lay in a corner of the room and sat himself on the chair placed before it. Ardyce’s nervousness returned as she watched him take a seat. “What stuff?” she asked.

  Coming forward, it was Earl’s turn to sit beside her. Reaching forward to place a hand on her, she pulled away from him, her face convulsing with disgust and he felt his stomach churn with anger and self-loathing. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said as quietly as he could, spreading his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “I know what you need. Something to calm you down.”

  Ardy
ce did not reply but instead glanced across to Papa. When she saw him draw out a small package of yellow-white powder, as well as a syringe and spoon, she let out a groan. Her face formed a picture of misery as she turned back to Earl, her green eyes pleading with him now.

  “Please,” she begged, her lip trembling and tears starting to form in those beautiful eyes. “You don’t need to do this, Earl. Please, I’m begging you.”

  “I do need to do this,” he replied, the tic in his cheek pulsing now, moving he suspected in time with the far-off beat of Hades itself. “Both you and I know what you want.”

  Across from them, Papa had tipped a little of the powder into the spoon and was heating it with a lighter. Ardyce’s face moved from misery to despair to anger, but her eyes betrayed her, fixed as they were not on Papa or Earl but the silver spoon and the slight curls of smoke that began to rise from the bubbling liquid it contained.

  “Hold her,” Earl told Horse, brusquely. The large man moved to obey and, as he came to the bed Ardyce lashed out with her feet, screaming and scrabbling at his face with her nails. Batting these aside easily, Horse forced himself behind her and held her in place, one of her soft, white arms outstretched.

  Earl watched, his face gnawed by strange emotions as he paced by the bed, observing Papa move to the pair with the needle before him. His left hand was itching like crazy in his glove, his body remembering things his mind chose to forget. For her part, Ardyce was no longer struggling, but instead lay there in despairing resignation as the elegantly-clothed black man came closer and sat beside her, taking her arm almost tenderly in his hand. Her face was miserable, but for a second Earl caught another expression in her eyes, a deep-seated hunger. Yes, he knew what she wanted.

  As the needle penetrated her skin, so a flower of blood rose up for a moment into the syringe as Papa drew it back, a tracery of petals mingling with the yellow-white fluid. As he depressed the plunger, so Ardyce let out a small cry and then turned her eyes, fearless and full of sorrow, onto Earl.

  “It’s okay, little moth,” Papa said gently. “Go with it. It’ll be easier that way.”

  She turned her green eyes toward him. The drug was already coursing through her veins as the older man massaged her arm soothingly. Her lips parted as she watched him, and moments later a vague look of ecstasy began to suffuse through her face. Earl wished he could stab his loa through the eyes in that instant for daring to look on this most precious of women, but he was frozen to the spot, watching her and unable to believe that the moment he had dreamed of was almost here.

  “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,” she murmured. She lifted up her hand and tenderly stroked Papa’s cheek, staring at him with those glittering, green eyes. It was his turn to be confused now, and he looked back at Earl: for the first time that Earl could remember, the black, slightly rheumy eyes that faced him showed an expression of fear.

  “Get out! Get out both of you!” Earl hissed. Both Papa and Horse moved away from the bed and obediently stepped toward the door as Earl took off his jacket and threw it to one side. “Make sure that nobody disturbs us—nobody!”

  Chapter Eleven

  When Orfeo awoke, the world around him was gloomy and twilit. His body screamed in agony, but in the seconds following this grinding realization that he was, at least, still alive, he also perceived that he lay on a soft bed. The mattress was finer than the cot he was used to in his own garret, and for a moment he wondered if he had been brought back to Xanadu. “Ardyce?” he called out, lifting his head and groaning as pain seared through his chest which seemed to be tightly bound.

  “So, you’re awake at last.” He did not recognize the voice—a young man. Where was he? Surely Earl wouldn’t have him beaten and then bring him into his home?

  A motion attracted his attention and he looked in the direction from which the voice came, seeing a dark figure moving across the room. The stranger pulled at the curtains and the dim light was replaced by the day streaming in through the window. Lifting a hand to shade his eyes, Orfeo stared at the figure, a man of a similar age to himself and evidently with Creole blood that darkened his skin. The man was handsome, with a small beard at his chin but no moustache, and tightly cropped dark hair. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and was a muscular build.

  “I must say,” he continued, shaking down each curtain, “that this is the first time that old bioque has dared bring a young man into this house, no matter how good looking he may be.” This latter was said with one eyebrow raised. “I don’t mind Baptiste playing away, but I don’t like him rubbing my nose in it.”

  “W-who are you?” Orfeo managed to gasp at last. “Where am I?”

  “Well,” the man said, coming to take up a seat near to the bed, “I don’t need to ask who you are. Baptiste has told me all about you. You were beat up something bad, though I reckon you ain’t such a peeshwank as all that. Mind you, from what he told me you showed yourself up as a real cooyon.” He paused and looked around the room and Orfeo followed his gaze, taking in the finery of the bed and the gracious furniture. When the young man had completed a survey, his gaze returned to Orfeo and fixed him there. “I’m Emile,” he said, finally answering Orfeo’s question. “Baptiste brought you back here the other night, and I’ve just been making sure that horny old bastard doesn’t creep in here to jack off over such a pretty young thing, for all that he tells me you’re thoroughly heterosexual.” A slight sneer of distaste played across Emile’s lips as he said the final word.

  “Other night?” Orfeo asked, lifting a hand to his head. “How long... how long have I been here?”

  “You’ve been out cold for two days. Baptiste got the doc in pretty much immediately, and he fixed you up alright. You may not be quite as pretty as you were before, but I think the worst of it should pass.” Emile paused and stared at Orfeo intently. “And you are definitely straight, aren’t you?”

  Barely able to follow what the other man was saying, Orfeo nodded his head in confusion. “Oh well,” Emile muttered. “What a waste—such a pity. Anyway, I can’t sit here chatting all day. I’ll tell Baptiste you’re awake and he can decide what to do next with you.” Standing he began to walk toward the door but paused before exiting. “I think even in your current condition that horny old toad won’t stand a chance if you take against him.” With a smile he was gone.

  After he had left Orfeo collapsed backwards into the soft bed, his fingers moving across the bandages. His ribs burned and ached but he was becoming used to the pain. Two days? It was clear that Horse had intended to damage him severely, but Orfeo felt inside that nothing had been injured permanently. Instead, his thoughts turned immediately to Ardyce: what was happening to her? He had to find out.

  Not willing to rest for a few moments, he struggled to lift himself up and turned sideways in the bed. He was naked beneath the sheets and realized that he had been cleaned and tended to very effectively. With a wry smile, he wondered whether Baptiste or Emile had rendered that attention. Stumbling to the mirror he nodded grimly when he saw himself. His face was covered in a number of cuts while one eye was swollen and his nose appeared to have been broken—a fact he confirmed when he gingerly lifted a hand to touch it. Yet it was not as bad as it could have been—he had seen worse himself when running with gangs.

  A television was placed near the end of the bed and, after searching for a remote, Orfeo switched it on and sat down tentatively on the bed, trying not to move his torso too much. The news was dealing with the damage reports caused by Hurricane Emily in Yucatán several weeks before, with the presenters speculating on whether this would be a particularly boisterous season for storms. Orfeo, however, was not interested. Instead he flicked through channels, looking for news programs that might shed some light on the abduction of Ardyce.

  “I see you’re finally starting to recover.”

  Looking up, Orfeo saw Baptiste standing in the doorway. The older man was dressed in some kind of
silk dressing gown and stared at Orfeo with frankly appreciative eyes. Looking away, Orfeo caught sight of himself in the mirror, his strong, muscled chest wrapped around with white bandages, the rest of his skin ebony and shining. His cock rested between his thighs, thick and heavy. Suddenly embarrassed, he pulled a sheet across his lap.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Baptiste remarked with an amused smile. “Whatever Emile may have told you, I wouldn’t have taken advantage of you. Well, not so much. How are you feeling?”

  Orfeo nodded to himself before answering. “Better, I guess. Where’s Ardyce? What’s happened to her?”

  “I see,” Baptiste muttered with a sigh. “So much for the small talk. Where she is, you know as well as I do. She’s still in Hades, as far as I can tell. As for what’s happened to her...” His voice trailed away and he shrugged.

  “I have to get to her.”

  “You have to get to her? Now? In the state you’re in?” Baptiste’s bonhomie suddenly disintegrated and he looked angrily at the young man in his bed. “You were lucky not to get yourself killed—and me too, for that matter. Sousson-Pannan, Baron Kriminel indeed,” he spat. “The only person nearly to meet Samedi that night was you.”

  Orfeo bowed his head, ashamed of the taunt. When he lifted his head, however, his expression was one of fixed resolution.

  “Thank you for your help,” he said. “I won’t get you into trouble again. I’ll get my things and go.”

  Baptiste sighed, repenting his harsh words. “You’re not going anywhere, young man, not in that condition.” He came forward and, bending slightly, retrieved the remote control and turned off the television set. Orfeo was aware of the smell of his cologne as he leaned forward.

  “You’re lucky. The doctor said that you have a couple of cracked ribs and severe bruising, but nothing serious seems to have been ruptured and there was no internal bleeding, which is fortunate. You’re a tough one, and that’s no mistake.”