‘Mr Erskine? I have some good news and some not-so-good news.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I didn’t need a police detective to tell me my fortune. I could do that myself, although I probably wouldn’t believe me.
Detective Blezard paddled his hand to indicate that I should sit down, and then he sat down himself, dropping a blue Manila folder on to the table in front of him. He was short and podgy with thinning, corrugated hair and a scarlet, corrugated forehead to go with it. He was wearing an orange shirt with dark semicircles of sweat under the armpits and khaki chinos that were two sizes too small for him.
The female police officer on the other hand was quite pretty, with blonde pixie-cut hair and a little snub nose and a very generous bosom underneath her smartly-pressed blouse. I kept my eyes on her the whole time that Detective Blezard was talking, and every now and then she glanced back at me and blushed. I really like women who blush. It shows that they’re thinking the same as I’m thinking.
‘We’ve talked to Father Zapata now that he’s come around after surgery.’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine. He’ll recover, but it’s probably just as well that he’s a priest, if you get my meaning.’
‘OK. So what did he tell you?’
‘He told us that you had invited him around in order to discuss religion. He said that during that discussion he suffered a psychiatric breakdown for which you were in no way responsible. He said that you did everything you could to prevent him self-harming, but you were unable to do so.’
‘That’s what he said?’
Detective Blezard opened his notebook, studied his scrawly writing for a moment, and then nodded. ‘That’s right. He also said that psychiatric breakdowns are not uncommon in the priesthood, on account of the demanding nature of their calling and the stress placed upon them by suppressing their natural urges and staying celebrate.’
‘Celibate, detective.’
‘What?’
‘Celibate, not “celebrate”. It means eschewing the wild thing in order to concentrate on serving the Lord.’
‘I know what it means, Mr Erskine,’ said Detective Blezard, testily. ‘Anyhow, it appears that the Reverend Father Zapata’s injury was self-inflicted with no assistance or encouragement from yourself. He is making no accusations of assault against you, so as far as we’re concerned no charges are going to be brought and the case is closed.’
‘OK, great,’ I said. ‘I presume that’s the good news. What’s the not-so-good news?’
Detective Blezard picked up the blue Manila folder and produced a large black-and-white photograph. He handed it across to me and said, ‘Recognize that, Mr Erskine?’
I studied it carefully, frowning as if I had never seen it before. Of course I recognized it. It was Mrs Ratzenberger’s diamond bracelet, the one that despite all of my protestations she had given me for reading her cards for her. The diamond bracelet about which I had known that Frank Ratzenberger would go all colors of ape-shit if he discovered that she had given it away. ‘So, what is it?’ I asked Detective Blezard, handing the photograph back to him.
‘You’re denying you ever saw that before?’
‘I’m not saying I have and I’m not saying I haven’t. What’s the deal?’
‘This is a diamond bracelet that belongs to Mrs Rosa Ratzenberger, of East Star Island Drive. Mrs Ratzenberger is a client of yours, am I right?’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’ I asked him.
‘It depends. Mrs Ratzenberger is claiming that after your last little fortune-telling session, she discovered that this bracelet was missing from her dressing room. Since you were the only visitor she had that day, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that it was you who lifted it.’
I sat there for quite a while without saying anything. I looked across at the female police officer, but this time she didn’t blush. Instead, she raised both finely-plucked eyebrows, as if to say, Well, did you? I hate fickle women. One minute you think they’re going to slide all over you like warm syrup, and the next minute they’re unjustly accusing you of God knows what.
Detective Blezard said, ‘I’m giving you an opportunity here, Mr Erskine, to do this the easy way. If you did take Mrs Ratzenberger’s bracelet, why don’t you admit it? If you won’t admit it, you realize that we’ll have to get a warrant to search your home, and if we search your home and find it there, it’s not going to look too good for you in court, now, is it?’
I still said nothing. I had to think about this very carefully. Something similar had happened to me before once, back in New York, except that time I had been accused only of purloining a fake Chinese vase with a chip in it, worth approximately zilch, not a Van Cleef & Arpels diamond bracelet that must have been valued at well over one hundred and fifty large.
‘So?’ asked Detective Blezard. He dragged a stringy red handkerchief out of his chino pocket, bunched it up and dabbed the perspiration from his forehead. ‘What’s it to be, Mr Erskine? Truth or consequences?’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Mrs Ratzenberger gave me the bracelet for reading her cards.’
‘She gave you the bracelet just for reading her cards. Are you serious? Is that all you did for her?’
‘Come on, detective! What are you suggesting here? I’m a well-respected predictor of personal destiny, not some bling-decorated Collins Avenue gigolo. Besides, have you seen the woman? She looks like the ghost of Hannukah-Yet-To-Come.’
‘That bracelet was insured for nearly a quarter of a million bucks, Mr Erskine. Apart from that, it was an anniversary gift from her husband. She told our officers that its sentimental value was beyond rubies.’
‘Well, of course its value was beyond rubies, it was diamonds. I didn’t want to take it, detective, believe me. But the old bat insisted. She said that she wanted to spite Mr Ratzenberger because he pretty much gave her the cold shoulder these days. According to her, he spends all day at the golf club giving the glad eye to some well-upholstered hostess, and even when he comes home he never speaks to her and he isn’t exactly attentive in the bedroom. To quote her verbatim: his rope never rises.’
At this, the female police officer blushed again, but I wasn’t sure that I had forgiven her yet for raising her eyebrows at me.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘the woman is suffering from early-onset senile dementia. She’s also bored, and she’s lonely. Somebody like me comes along and gives her a little attention, a little flirting, and she overreacts and gives me more than I would ever ask her for.’
‘You didn’t make any attempt to contact her husband and tell him what had happened and arrange to return the bracelet, no questions asked?’
‘No, I didn’t. It’s not my place to interfere in other people’s marital spats. For all I know, he might have strangled her if he’d found out that she had given it away, and what would that have made me? Accessory to marital manslaughter?’
Detective Blezard tucked the photograph of the bracelet back into its folder. ‘You still have the bracelet in your possession, Mr Erskine?’
‘I’m not wearing it, if that’s what you mean. It’s hidden in my freezer compartment, in a bag of peas. Quite frankly I haven’t had the time to think what to do with it. I’ve been a little distracted by some other stuff, would you believe, like priests coming around to my house and chewing off their own manhoods.’
‘Well, I’ve been checking up on you, if you must know,’ said Detective Blezard. ‘Apart from this accusation of theft, I have sufficient evidence already to arrest you under Florida statute eight-one-seven-eleven.’
‘Florida statute eight-one-seven-eleven? And what does that say, exactly? I’m not allowed to tell fortunes in all-night convenience stores?’
‘Florida statute eight-one-seven-eleven says that it’s a criminal offense to defraud people out of things of value by claiming to have secret, advance or inside information about persons, transactions, acts or things, when in reality you don’t have any information about those persons, transa
ctions, acts or things, or even if you do. I would say that fortune-telling pretty much comes under that heading, wouldn’t you?’
I looked at the female police officer. Her eyes had narrowed a little, as if she were waiting for me to say something. Beg for mercy, maybe, or offer to read their cards free of charge. Whatever it was, I sensed that a deal was in the offing.
‘Of course I’ll give the bracelet back,’ I said cautiously.
‘Yes, Mr Erskine, you will. And if you do that, I won’t pursue a prosecution for fraud.’
‘That’s very reasonable of you, detective. I’ll go home and get it for you right now.’
I was about to stand up when Detective Blezard raised his hand to stop me. ‘There’s one more condition that I’m going to insist on, sir. Within the next twenty-four hours I expect you to leave the City of Coral Gables and never return. And by that I mean ever. In fact, I expect you to leave the state of Florida altogether and never return.’
I was stunned. ‘Come on, detective, I don’t think you can legally demand that I do that.’
‘It’s your choice, Mr Erskine. Either you quit this city and this state, or else I collar you for fraud. I’d rather not arrest you, because it would take up a whole lot of valuable time when I would rather be arresting somebody for some serious offense like drug-smuggling or pimping. It would also involve a whole mess of very tedious paperwork, and I hate paperwork. But if I have to, I will, and you can count on that.’
‘Come on, detective, I have appointments to keep. What are my clients going to do if I just disappear and never come back?’
‘Maybe you should read your own cards, and then you’ll find out.’
I turned to the female police officer. ‘Did you know about this?’ I asked her.
She blushed again and nodded.
‘Well, that’s a very great pity,’ I said. ‘I was going to ask you if you wanted to come tuna fishing with me this weekend. One of my clients owns a fabulous sixty-five-foot fiberglass Viking.’
Detective Blezard stood up and said, ‘Officer Kelly here will accompany you to your home, Mr Erskine, along with Officer McBride. You’ll probably find you have quite a crowd of media folks waiting to talk to you. Another condition of this deal between us is that you keep your lips zippered and don’t say a word to any of them.’
‘How would you like a mystic motto?’ I asked him. ‘No charge, of course. I wouldn’t like you to think that I was defrauding you under Florida statute eight-one-seven-eleven.’
‘A mystic motto? What’s that?’
‘Just a little aphorism to keep in mind as you machete your way through the tangled jungle of your humdrum daily life.’
‘Go on, then,’ he said suspiciously.
‘“Make sure you know which game you’re playing. No matter how many sixes come up, you don’t win at chess by rolling dice.”’
‘And what in the name of all that’s holy does that mean?’
I tapped the side of my nose. ‘You’ll find out, detective. You’ll find out.’
Detective Blezard was right. When we arrived at Triangle Park there were three TV vans parked outside the house and a crowd of maybe twenty or thirty reporters and cameramen and sound guys, not to mention inquisitive bystanders and stray dogs.
Officers Kelly and McBride escorted me round to my cottage. Officer Kelly may have been petite and pretty, but Officer McBride had a gray buzzcut and forearms like Virginia hams and he barged his way through the crowd as if they were skittles.
‘Mr Erskine! Mr Erskine! WPLG News! Is it true that Father Zapata castrated himself with his teeth?’
‘Did you actually see him do it, Mr Erskine?’
‘How much did he bite off? Did he spit it out, or did he chew it and swallow it?’
‘Did he scream? What did you do afterward?’
‘You’re a fortune-teller, Mr Erskine. Didn’t you see this coming?’
I unlocked the cottage door and let the two officers inside. Even when I had shut the door behind us, the reporters kept hammering on it and knocking at the windows and shouting questions through the mail slot.
‘Can we see the room where he did it, Mr Erskine?’
‘How did you stop him from bleeding to death?’
‘Did he pray? Or did he have his mouth full?’
I went through to the kitchenette, opened the freezer and took out the bag of Walmart Great Value frozen peas. ‘Here,’ I said, handing over Mrs Ratzenberger’s bracelet. ‘I have the case for it, too.’
Officer Kelly said, ‘Thanks.’ And then, ‘Why did he actually do it?’
‘What? Bite off the end of his thing? Don’t ask me.’
‘He said he came here to talk to you about religion. So why was he naked?’
‘I decline to answer that question on the grounds that what happened made me sick to my stomach. All right, maybe I seem to be making a joke about it, but it was terrible and it was tragic and I’m still upset about it.’
‘Father Zapata – were you and he—?’
‘Having a love affair? No, Officer Kelly, we were not. I have a very lovely girlfriend here in Miami who works in a bar, and if I wanted to be unfaithful to her I certainly wouldn’t go for a priest. I don’t know … maybe if the Pope made eyes at me.’
‘You’re very defensive, Mr Erskine.’
‘I’m being accused of something I didn’t do, that’s why. Apart from that, you’re much too pretty to be a police officer, and I guess I’m being defensive in case you think I’m coming on to you.’
‘You have a very lovely girlfriend who works in a bar, and I’m married.’ She lifted up her left hand to show me her wedding band.
‘Oh, well,’ I said, giving her the bracelet case. ‘Maybe in another life.’
‘Do you believe in other lives?’ she asked me. At this point Officer McBride came into the living room. He didn’t look impressed. When I die, I want a headstone that looks like Officer McBride’s face. He had obviously been having a sniff around my cottage to see if he could find anything interesting, like ten kilos of Peruvian coke or two naked bambuco dancers tied up underneath my bed.
‘Other lives?’ I told her. ‘You bet I do.’
Officer McBride checked his stainless-steel wristwatch. ‘You got twenty-two hours and six minutes, Mr Erskine. In twenty-two hours and six minutes we’re going to be coming back here, just to make sure that you’re history.’
I went to the main house to tell Marcos that I was unexpectedly leaving and why. Marcos was short and stubby with a glossy black comb-over and a droopy black moustache and a mass of black curly chest-hair struggling to escape from the front of his splashy orange shirt. He hugged me up against his hard round belly and offered me a Corona, with a Tres Sombreros chaser, and then another Corona, with a Tres Sombreros chaser, and then another Corona, with a Tres Sombreros chaser. By early evening he was playing Esclavo Y Amo for me on his guitar and I had almost forgotten why I had come to see him.
‘So, when did you say you had to go?’ he asked me.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You have to leave, that’s what you said. The police insist that you get out of Florida and never come back.’
‘Oh, yeah, well, that.’
‘So what are you going to do? For a living, I mean? And where will you go?’
It all began to come back to me. ‘Well, I don’t know, Marcos. I’ll make a living like I always make a living. Telling fortunes, playing poker, working in bars. Doing whatever needs to be done.’
‘Where will you stay? Do you have enough money?’
‘I have a friend in New York, Rick Beamer. I’ve done him a few favors in the past. He’ll put me up for a while, until I can find someplace permanent.’
‘What about Sandy?’
‘I can ask her if she wants to come with me, but I doubt she will. We were never that serious, after all. And would you trade Miami Beach for Manhattan, unless you really had to?’
‘I guess not, bato.’
We sat on his veranda for a while longer. I didn’t really feel like going back to my cottage, not even to pack. I kept on thinking about the nun standing in my bedroom, and about what Father Zapata had done on my bed. Like – supposing I got possessed in the middle of the night by some malevolent spirit and did the same thing to myself, or worse?
I kept on thinking about the tapping I had heard, too. Maybe it had been my imagination playing tricks on me, but it had sounded so much like the tapping that I’d heard from the medicine sticks of Native American shamans. It was the complicated tapping that some of them used to summon up spirits, either good or bad, and some of those Native American spirits could make Old World demons like Pazuzu and Belial seem no more scary than neighborhood kids dressed up for trick-or-treat.
Eventually, though, I had to weave my way back across the yard to my cottage, unlock the door and let myself in. I stood in the hallway for a while, listening, but all I could hear was the faint sound of traffic on the South Dixie Highway. When I closed the door behind me there was total silence.
I lifted my two battered suitcases out of the closet. In spite of what had happened to Father Zapata, and in spite of the tapping noises that I’d heard, I really didn’t feel like packing up and leaving Florida. Life for the most part had been pretty damn good to me here, what with the climate and the wealthy old jaybirds who had wanted me to read their cards for them. In the past couple of years I had also begun to feel relaxed, and safe, as if I had left all the weirdness of my past life behind me.
The nun appearing in my bedroom and Father Zapata’s self-mutilation had been frightening and upsetting, but I couldn’t see how they had anything to do with me. From my own experience with spirits, I thought it was more than likely that the nun had been nothing more than the resonance of something very nasty that had happened in my bedroom sometime in the past – probably years ago, because Marcos would have known about it otherwise. It occasionally happens that during a truly dreadful event like a rape or a murder the walls of a room can absorb extreme emotions, and these emotions can later resurface and create a ghostly action replay.
Plague of the Manitou Page 13