American Nocturne Page 8

  “Ask him yourself.”

  Lance dropped the sword and backed away. He started to speak, saying something that sounded to Cory like you little, but his attention seemed to wander and his gaze drifted down. His shirt was crimson, and his hands grasped at his stomach as if they were holding internal organs at bay. He blinked several times before taking a few steps toward Samael. He collapsed at the man’s feet, sputtering.

  “I need a doctor. Hos… hospital.”

  Samael looked down on him with the same pitiless eyes Cory had seen in the creature. “I’m afraid not. The Behemoth will take care of you now.”

  Lance coughed up blood. “But, I’m your warrior. My destiny…”

  “Has been fulfilled.” Samael removed a handkerchief from his pocket and rolled Lance’s torso off of his foot. “And for the record, I never said you were the warrior.”

  Lance wheezed as Samael bent over and wiped the blood from his shoe. Samael glanced at Cory and gestured toward the Mercedes.

  “He should have read the license plate,” Samael said. “I was referring to the both of us. Letting them know. Wouldn’t be cricket if I didn’t give them a sporting chance, now, would it?”

  Cory’s eyes slid toward the back of the car. YY2DI4U. Two Y’s. 2DI. 4U. Too wise to die for you.

  “Of course, if things go according to plan, it also refers to Him. We merely need to convince Him they’re just not worth it. No sense in making the same mistake twice.”

  A final few gasps escaped Lance’s mouth and a bubble of saliva and blood popped, leaving him with a vacant stare. Samael had already stepped over his body by then and was approaching Cory. He placed a gentle hand on Cory’s shoulder.

  “I don’t understand,” Cory said.

  “Part of you does, I’m sure,” Samael said. “I spotted you instantly that day. Pegged you in a heartbeat.”

  “Pegged me? As what?”

  “A corruptor. An infiltrator. One who mixes, but does not mix. One who tears through others like a wrecking ball.”

  “But, that’s not true.”

  “No? Tell me, who put the idea in the one you called Pepper’s head about how he needed to get even? Who suggested to him how poetic it would be if the punishment fit the crime? Who dropped hints about making me eat my words, so to speak?”

  Cory said nothing.

  “And who made comments to manipulate him each time it appeared he might back out? Subtle psychological ploys that gave you complete deniability? All as part of some little game you play with people, half the time not even realizing it.”

  Cory’s eyes drifted over to Pepper’s body, then to Lance’s. “What… do you want from me?”

  “I want you to do what you were born to do. Nothing more, nothing less. The world has sown the seeds of its destruction in the soil of decadence, in the fields of its own inhumanity. Now, it must reap the Behemoth. His time has come. And so, my son, has yours.”

  Samael turned, gently prodding Cory toward the hangar. “There is so much we have to discuss. Tomorrow, you take your first steps into history. We mustn’t dally. So many souls, so little time.”

  The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, its outline twisting and undulating in the shadows. It settled onto its haunches as they approached, slouching vaguely to the east. Cory glanced in that direction, wondering at what point he had realized there was no turning back.

  Bone Daddy

  LEVI NEVER THOUGHT of herself as a whore.

  Whores couldn’t afford to pick and choose, to limit themselves to an occasional trick. They couldn’t command half a grand – sometimes more – for two hours, and didn’t have apartments nestled in tranquil residential neighborhoods where crime was rare and smiling people walked their dogs wearing plastic baggies over one hand. Whores were nothing like her, and she never thought of herself that way. She certainly never felt like one. Never that she could remember.

  Until a moment ago, for just a brief flicker of an instant, when the word erupted inside her head, uttered in her mother’s caustic voice. And she didn’t like it.

  “So, are you saying you want to film me?” Levi asked, legs crossed, thumbs fidgeting at the sides of her glass, leaving moist streaks and smudges. “Doing it with someone else?”

  “More or less.”

  She took a sip from her drink. The ice made a clinking sound as it shifted. It was Grey Goose, she reminded herself. So the guy had that going for him. Not to mention the sprawling estate house. Lots of stone and glass and columns in the front that looked like they were taken from one of those famous ruins in Greece. Or Rome – she wasn’t quite sure. Or maybe off of a building in DC.

  What was it Bobby had said? There’s a guy with a wad like a roll of Charmin came by earlier, asked me to give you his card. Wants a little one-on-one time. The card was on some kind of waxy paper that felt like a soft egg shell, with just an address and phone number printed on it in black ink that looked shiny and wet. It was attached to a crisp C-note by a golden pin. Even Bobby had to admit it was pretty classy. He told her that paper stock cost about two bucks a card, but she’d been more interested in the cash. So the guy had that going for him, too. And there were also the French doors and the wood-panel walls and the square-bottomed glass in her hand that refracted the light through the faceted design on its sides like a prism and felt like it cost its weight. She remembered not to be too impressed; he’d already confessed to not owning the place, which meant the cash may have not have been his. Probably came from the guy wanting to star in his own little fuck flick.

  But, still.

  “Well, sorry. I don’t do that kind of thing.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t done a good job describing the proposal. I am not talking about a pornographic movie, the way you’re thinking. This will be a short, private piece only to be viewed by a very small number of people. Only one copy will exist. It shouldn’t take very long. Maybe a half-hour. No retakes.”

  “Still, I’m just not into that.”

  “Look, I know about that little piece you did a while back. The one with the mice. It’s one of the reasons I think you’d be perfect.”

  Levi dropped her gaze and stared into the ice of her drink. Jesus Christ. That was seven years ago.

  It was what they called a ‘crush movie’. Levi and one other girl, both sophomores, each naked atop a pair of open-toed stiletto high heels. A thousand bucks between them to stomp the life out of a few rodents while striking a variety of sexy poses. Both of them were expelled when word of it got out and school officials discovered it was filmed on campus. Oh, well, she’d thought. She’d barely been passing anyway. She’d started dancing a few months later.

  “Yeah, well… that didn’t turn out too well.” She let out an abbreviated laugh as she lifted her drink to her mouth, remembering the final break it caused with her mother, the threats from animal-rights groups, the way so many people she thought were her friends stopped communicating. She still didn’t understand what the big deal was.

  The man slid his hand across his chest and beneath the lapel of his blazer. When he removed it, it held a large, rectangular wallet.

  “Regardless of what happened, this proposal is different. This will remain a well-kept secret.” He withdrew a spread of crisp bills and thumbed them slightly apart. “I’m prepared to offer you two-thousand in cash.”

  Benjamins, Levi thought, eyeing the corners where the denominations could be partially seen. There looked to be more than twenty of him.

  She placed her glass on the coffee table in front of her. Only a sucker would offer her that much out the gate. “Four.”

  “Three,” the man said, after a pause. He held the money out and stepped forward, dropping the stack onto the couch next to where she was seated. Stepping back, he leaned toward the coffee table and placed her glass onto a coaster. “I’m afraid it’s all the cash I have on me.”

  Levi looked at the money. He was lying. But it still wasn’t bad for one night’s work. A short night’s work,
no less. She thought about how nice it would be to have that much in her checking account at one time. Her mother would probably resent that more than anything. Assuming she was still alive.

  “Who’s the guy I’d be doing this with?”

  “Not a guy, exactly.”

  Levi raised an eyebrow and gave her best you-naughty-little-boy smirk. “A woman?”

  “No…”

  “I’m definitely not doing some animal!” She uncrossed her legs as she pushed herself off the couch. “And I’m not stepping on any, either.”

  “No,” the man said. He lifted his hands, palms out, patting the air in a calming gesture. “Nothing like that.”

  Levi eased herself back onto the couch, barely having left it, and perched herself on the edge. “What, then?”

  “An ancient set of mummified remains.”

  Levi blinked. “A corpse? You want me to screw a corpse?”

  “No, no. It’s not like that. Nothing rotting or smelly. Or still carrying any of the remnants of life that make it seem dead. More like… a relic. Think of it this way – the leather of your skirt pressed against your buttocks. That was once an animal’s flesh. Do you consider that perverse? How about the fine leather of this sofa you’ve been running your hand over? And I don’t mean to insult you, but I would hazard a guess you’ve used leather sex-implements on at least a few occasions in your life. A great many people do. Certainly you don’t think of that as bestiality.”

  “I don’t care. Yuck! No way!”

  “Listen. My… group is very particular. Particular people with particular… tastes. I realize this must sound bizarre to you, but if you think about it, if you think it through, it is not that big a deal. Ancient, treated leather is really what we’re talking about. Think of it like a… statue. What’s the harm? It would be perfectly safe.”

  “I don’t think so…”

  The man slid his hand into the side-pocket of his sport coat. “I said I don’t have any more cash to offer you. But in anticipation of your reaction, the group has authorized an extra incentive. If you’ll agree, you can consider yourself the next owner of this.” He held out his hand. Hanging from his fingers was a sturdy chain with a medallion on the end of it. Levi had handled enough gold to know it when she saw it, the way it gleamed, the way it held the light. It had to be worth several thousand bucks. Maybe more.

  “This is a rare piece you’re being offered. Quite valuable, I can assure you.”

  Levi raised her hand until the dangling medallion rested in her palm. It was engraved with a geometric symbol she didn’t recognize. It looked like two chevron arrowheads facing opposite directions, one up, one down, overlapping each other, their tips coming to a point at each end and their lines interconnected the way a child draws a star, crossing at the sides and making another pair of smaller arrows. She noted its heft. Solid gold. No doubt about it. Almost no doubt.

  “Why me?”

  The man’s lips creased into a slight smile. “The group is very picky. It wants a healthy, nubile woman. Curvy, you might say. And, of course, approachable. I was sent to recruit one. You fit the bill.”

  Good answer, she thought. Very diplomatic. Treat me like an actress. She let her eyes drop back to the medallion. “What is this design?”

  “It’s called an ‘unincursive hexagram’. Do you like it?”

  Levi shrugged. “It’s interesting. How much would you say this thing is worth?”

  “More than you would dream. We were fortunate enough to have it donated.”

  The medallion gleamed in the artificial light of the living room like a piece of pirate treasure. She heard her mother’s voice again, telling her how there was no level to which she wouldn’t stoop for money. How she was just like her father. That was the last time they ever spoke. Her mother’s last words were that if there was any justice in the world, Levi would live to see her own child be so wicked.

  “Look, I don’t like any of this. But I suppose I’m willing to be persuaded. That is, if I still get the three grand.”

  The man bent forward and scooped up the splayed pile of bills, holding out the necklace like a carrot on a stick as he stuffed the cash into his pocket. “If you agree, I’ll put this on you now. You’ll get the money when you leave.”

  Before she could respond, he took a seat next to her, holding the ends of the necklace between his fingers. He raised one arm over her head and gently lowered the necklace until the medallion rested near her cleavage. Her eyes dropped down to study it. She had to struggle to keep from gasping. Not the most practical piece of jewelry, but God it looked valuable.

  From the small purse beneath her arm she removed a compact mirror. She lifted the medallion to her head and rubbed it once firmly down her cheek, glancing over to catch the man’s eye as she did. Then she opened her compact and turned her head slightly to the side for a look. A vertical slash of black divided the side of her face. She caught herself smiling in her reflection. Make-up never failed. It was gold, all right.

  “Well?”

  She returned the mirror to her purse and gave a small sigh before leaning forward and pulling her hair up. The man brought the two ends of the gold chain together at the back of her neck and fastened the clasp.

  “Excellent,” he said.

  “I need to check in with my manager at the club. He’s expecting me to call.”

  “I understand. Do you need a phone?”

  She reached for her purse. “No, that’s okay. I have one.”

  “Cell phone reception is atrocious out here.” He stepped across the room and retrieved the handset to a cordless phone. She took it from him and pressed in a number.

  “Hello.”

  “Bobby, this is Levi.” She clenched her bottom lip between her teeth. This man knew her by a stage name. A few rules were universal, and she just broke one of them. Anonymity tended to keep you off the cops’ radar. Would-be stalkers were a concern, too.

  “Hey. How’s it goin? Everything alright?”

  She heard the loud music and distinctive din of the cabaret in the background. Unbidden images flicked through her mind, pictures of the dark glitz of the club, the girls on various walkways spinning and sliding around poles, the sparkling of glitter balls. “Okay, I guess.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Just checking in.”

  “The address checked out and everything?”

  She felt a sudden swell of gratitude for Bobby. He was relatively new at the club. Unlike most of the other managers, he was easy to get along with. The occasional out-call was a reliable source of extra cash, but other managers usually wanted a steep cut, and freelancing was asking for serious trouble in a world full of psychos. Bobby offered to watch her back for a measly ten percent. She was also pleased that her safety seemed to be his chief concern. He was definitely interested. They hadn’t slept together yet, but she was certain it would happen. She would see to it.

  “Yes. And I saw his license, too.” She glanced over at the man and gave a perfunctory smile. “Norman Pope. Just like he said. I’ll call you when I’m through. Maybe an hour or so.”

  “Okay. I’ll be here. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll come find you.”

  “Thanks, Bobby. You’re a doll. Talk to you later.” She pulled the receiver from her ear and pressed the button marked ‘end’, handing the phone to Norman.

  “Any problems?”

  “No. But I’d be lying if I said I liked the idea. I still may say no.”

  The man stood and held out his hand. “Come. Let’s get started.”

  He led her to the front of the house and up the huge winding staircase that had greeted her when she entered. She followed him to the end of a length of hallway where he opened a door and began to descend a set of stairs that gradually disappeared into an oil slick of darkness below. A gust of cold air swept over her.

  Great, she thought. The place has its own morgue. She pulled her hand away and started to tell him she changed her mind when he flick
ed a switch on the wall beside the staircase. The light from the bottom of the stairwell glistened off the medallion near her breasts.

  “Something wrong?” the man asked.

  How much is this worth, she wondered, looking down at the medallion, thinking the answer was probably a very large number, lamenting how despite the dozens of tens and twenties that passed through her hands in a given week, she never seemed to have anything in the bank. C’mon, girl. You’ve seen mummies. Real ones. On TV. And in that museum when you were a girl. The whole deal probably won’t be much more than you laying on the thing, moaning at the camera. Bouncing your tits off its face. Still better than having the lips and hands of some sweaty, fat creep with greasy hair and warts all over you for twenty bucks at the club. This is no different than your first lap dance, or your first trick.

  She swallowed before she spoke. “No. Nothing.”

  The man nodded then resumed his descent.

  Levi followed.

  The room didn’t seem like it should be part of the same house. A cement wall opposite the stairs sported a coat of red paint and the floor was carpeted in black. A vintage leather chair, cracked and faded, sat in one corner with a small table next to it. Several rectangular sections in the center of the red wall looked like they had been filled in before being painted, and she realized there were no windows. A camera set up on a tripod faced a green velvet curtain that concealed everything past it at one end of the room. As she stepped off the final stair she saw that the opposite end of the room was just another plain wall, this one solid brick, with a door in it

  She looked at the camera, then to where it was pointed. “Is there really a mummy behind that curtain? For real?”

  The man’s mouth curved at the edges into a polite frown. “If, as I suspect, by the term mummy you mean to imply an Egyptian pharaoh or nobleman ritualistically eviscerated and wrapped in cloth for entombment, no. But these remains are well preserved by similar, albeit different, means.”