by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 7
Hans von Oerschott didn't show up at the lab the following day, or the day after that. He failed to answer his phone. By week's end, his secretary had called the police. His palatial apartment on the top floor of Dominion Towers was empty, although there was evidence of his secretary having been there—as well as other women: in the guest bedroom a closet was filled with diverse negligees and a dresser filled with assorted undergarments. His wife, living alone in the country, knew nothing of his whereabouts. She had neither seen nor talked to the nasty man for days. If he had disappeared, so much the better.
And where did I get all this information? If you have to ask then you've never worked in a small and gossipy laboratory with inhabitants bored out of their skull.
Then I discovered that one of the vials of Dermafix was missing. Dermafix was the name I had given to the lemon-colored jelly which contained the juices of the miracle weed. There had been precisely fifteen vials; now there were fourteen. It didn't take long to evaluate the evidence. I was sure that Hans had taken a vial the night I caught him creeping into my lab. Just checking, he had said. Screw him, I thought.
I went to the lab early Monday morning to speak to Josey, his secretary.
"When was the last time you saw Mr. von Oerschott?" I asked.
"Listen Honey, I already done this scene with the cops." Josey was filing her nails and chewing gum. I had seen this movie before.
"Did you go to his apartment?" I asked.
"Hey! I take notes, dictation, like that. Sometimes I work late," Josey whined.
"Work late ... on his sofa no doubt. Look sweetheart, everybody knows you're screwing the boss. I couldn't care less." Josey looked pained. "What I want to know is, did he take a vial of Dermafix?"
"Derma-who?"
"Don't act dumb, kiddo. It's dangerous stuff. One whiff and you're dead." I said it loud, exaggerating the word dead.
Josey put down her nail file and leaned forward against her desk. "No kiddin? Ohshit never said that. He said we would look young, forever, with skin as smooth as a baby's ... hey!" She straightened up and shook her head. "I ain't seen the bloody vial. I told everything to the cops. Ask 'em."
I frowned. It seemed the thing to do. Then I turned and walked to the door.
"Fran?" Josey whimpered, removing the gum from her mouth. "Could the stuff hurt me? Lordy, I got some on my hands, that's all."
"On your hands? Doing what?"
"Rubbin down Ohshit."
I smiled, spun on my heel and left. A nice scene.
A week later, on a cool and windy day in September, Hans von Oerschott's naked body was found in a dingy motel on Hanover Beach, hairless and cream-colored. The police and coroner were confused. I was dumbfounded.
"It's Dermafix, I'm certain," I said. "Hans took a vial, he used it, he lost his hair and his skin turned pale." I stared at Charles, wanting some explanation, hoping for a sensible interpretation of the facts.
"But his entire body was pale," Charles said. "Can you imagine that he covered his entire body, Miss Fleetsmith? Would one small vial have been sufficient?"
"No, no, of course not. But it grows, the area treated with the ointment. We know that. Yet ..." I hesitated. I wasn't sure. "To grow to that extent? Impossible. It's never happened in mice. Look at my hand. The area has remained more or less static for some time now. What would accelerate the growth?"
I held up the back of my hand for Charles to see. He sucked in his breath. I frowned at Charles' reaction and looked at my own hand.
"Shit! What's this?"
For weeks there had been a pale, smooth blemish. Now it had changed, almost imperceptibly. The creamy satin skin was coming off. It must have happened recently ... I mean, within the last hour or so. I would have noticed it … surely.
I peeled the layers of glossy skin and beneath it lay the barely perceptible remains of a scar, the wound inflicted by the baling wire, that first day in Brazil.
"Shit!" I jumped to my feet. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"I say," Charles muttered, "the miracle weed merely covers the wound. Is that a correct conclusion? Your Dermafix is a veneer. A thin, cream colored veneer."
"Shit!"
"Is it all that bad?" Charles got to his feet and gestured dramatically. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dermafix, the miracle skin. Beneath its healing surface fester the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Protected from the elements, shielded from the vagaries of spirit, the wound mends." He looked at me for reassurance. I was smiling. Encouraged, he continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, from this day forth Dermafix for burns, for scars, for birth marks, for warts, to seal beneath its creamy surface the blemishes of being. No longer the outward spoor of a rigorous life, but the—"
"Okay Charlie boy," I interrupted, "I get what you're saying and I like it. Perhaps the healing isn't quite as rapid as I thought, but who cares? Healing is taking place beneath this miracle skin, and if there's no pain and no visible signs of a wound then it's as good as healed. Eh? And that's worth something. Right?"
Charles smiled and bowed from the waist. I turned quickly and stalked to the front door. I had practised this quick turn and stalk routine quite well, I thought. Anyway, speaking to Charles had given me an idea.
"Miss Fleetsmith, may I ask where you are going?" Charles said.
"To the coroner's office. Want to come?"
Charles coughed slightly. "I ... uh, have another lesson scheduled for Penny."
"Yes, I'm sure you have." I left immediately.
"English," Charles added, just as the door closed.
When I arrived at Barney Bernside's office, the coroner was smoking on the small balcony. He looked a little embarassed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel, then slid back through the glass doors into his office.
"Well, well, if it isn't the energetic Miss Fleetsmith," he said.
"Hi BB. Came to see von Oerschott ... or Ohshit as Josey calls him."
"Josey?"
"His most recent gal-in-bed, his secretary, your typical dumb blonde."
"Aah. Don't have a dumb blonde. Still lookin'. Care to apply for the job?"
"Where's Ohshit?"
"Sorry. Got approval from the police? They're still investigating, y'know."
"C'mon Barney. Just show me the body. Have you done the autopsy yet?"
"Nope. Looking for his next of kin. Wife, I think. Lives in the country. Seems to have vanished."
I walked to the far wall and read the labels on the body-drawers.
"Uh, uh. Naughty girl," Barney said. "Don't open that drawer." I pulled the handle. "Fran! Stop that!" Barney stumbled across the room and grabbed my arm with one hand, slid the drawer closed with the other then leaned heavily against the body cabinet. I spun about and leaned heavily against him. He was only slightly taller than I, and was panting like a steam locomotive.
"Aw, c'mon BB," I moaned. "You and me, we're old friends. Remember?" I ran my hand down his back, down his leg, up his crotch. "Just one peek? Pretty please?" Barney stood motionless, stepped forward, smelling the perfume in my hair: Adelle Adore. I abhor perfume, but it works miracles. I reached out and slowly pulled open the drawer behind him. Barney closed his eyes. I looked past his shoulder, pulled the sheet aside and gazed at the white, glossy body of Hans von Oerschott. "Look, hon. Want to see something sexy?" I said. Barney gazed down at me, moved away, staring, breathing hard, his lips wet. Then he closed his eyes, expectantly. "Watch," I whispered, then reached inside the drawer and began scratching at the smooth and hairless skin of the corpse. Barney opened his eyes.
"Hey! You can't do that!" Barney pushed me aside, but I held up a long, pale membrane stripped from the body. "Jesus Christ!" he cried. "What the hell is that!"
"Dermafix, miracle skin." I turned and stalked away. At the door I spun on my heel and said in a Dietrich voice: "If I were you baby, I'd strip away the epidermis and see what he looks like underneath.
You'll see all the bruises ... and maybe determine what done him in."
As I closed the door behind me, Barney was staring down at the corpse, dazed.