5 Bad Moon (6 page)

Ivers smiled pleasantly as he shook Stacy’s hand, but Lorraine and Cummings eyeballed her like a couple of border guards.

All of a sudden Lorraine turned and glared at Gibbons as if she knew what he was thinking. Cummings was glaring at him, too. Gibbons glared right back at her. Whatever he’d done wrong, it was between him and his wife. What the hell business was it of hers?

Stacy must’ve felt all the bad energy they were generating because she looked a little dismayed all of a sudden.

“Don’t mind these two, Stacy,” Gibbons said. “They went to Barnard.”

“Really?” Stacy wheeled around to face the border guards, but she moved too fast and the aftershock bobbled her boobs. She did that hair flip thing again. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, like dark amber jewels. “God, I went to Barnard, too. I graduated last year.” She ran a hand through her hair and looked at Lorraine and Cummings in disbelief. “Wow, alumnae.”

A mean grin stretched across Gibbons’s face. The boarder guards were not amused. But neither was he, really. His face sank as he remembered that he was gonna have to live with the two of them for the next month and a half. He balled one hand inside the other and looked for another knuckle to crack, but he was all cracked out.

Crap.

The hallway smelled like rotten fruit, and the walls were spray-painted with graffiti so stylized Sal couldn’t make out what the words said. Probably kids’ names, he figured. They always do their names, these kids. Somewhere in this dump someone was playing a stereo loud enough for Sal to hear that it was that shit rap music. He could never make out those words either. Two o’clock in the morning and some jerk’s playing that shit like that. He shook his head as he followed Charles down the scuzzy hall to the
moolinyam
’s apartment. Things crunched under his feet as he walked. Sal frowned. They live like animals, these people. Animals.

Charles was jingling a big key ring that was on the end of a chain attached to his belt. “Man, I hope he being good. He shoulda had his pill two hours ago.”

“He better be good,” Sal muttered. He needed Emerick. Christ, this whole thing hinged on him.

“This gonna be all your fault if he gone cuckoo in there. There ain’t no reason for you to be coming out tonight. Just a waste of time. We ain’t gonna do nobody tonight.”

“No, Charles, this is your buddies’ fault. Ramon and Buster. What the hell took so long? You guys were supposed to get me out by midnight.”

“I already told you, Sal. Cops brought some guy down from Newark who shot his wife, then wanted to kill hisself. We didn’t know they was coming. Couldn’t get you out with all them cops around.” Charles turned down another long corridor.

“Jesus. Where the hell is your place?” Sal was anxious to see Emerick. He had to see for himself if the nut was all right.

Charles started picking through his key ring as he walked. “It’s true, you know. You ain’t got no business being out tonight, Sal.”

“I got plenty of business. You keep telling me Emerick’s a problem for you. I’m gonna have a little talk with him. Nut or no nut, Donnie boy’s gotta start listening.” Sal chewed on his bottom lip. Emerick had to straighten up and fly right, at least for a little while. If he acted too nuts, no one would ever believe he pulled off all the hits Sal had planned. You had to be at least partly rational to shoot four people and give them the sign of the cross.

“You gonna talk to him, huh? You think it’s easy handling Donnie. You wait. You’ll see.” Charles stopped in front of a dented metal door. The apartment numbers were gone, but the outline from the last paint job was still visible. 5L.

Charles unlocked the door and opened it a few inches. He put his mouth to the crack. “Donnie. Donnie. It’s me, Charles. I’m home.” He looked back at Sal. “Gotta let him know I’m here. He starts screaming if you sneaks up on him.”

Sal could see that the lights were on inside.

“I’m home, Donnie. It’s me
…
”

Charles opened the door all the way, and they both saw it together.

“What the—”

“Shit!”

Sal had to squint against the glare. It looked like every light in the apartment was on, and the shades were missing from all the lamps. The living room walls were covered, baseboard to ceiling, with pictures cut out of magazines and newspapers, all pictures of women. Crotch-shot pinups from raunchy nudie magazines. Housewives from Betty Crocker cake-mix ads. The Breck girl. A cute telephone operator with headphones on. Madonna. Mrs. Gorbachev. Leona Helmsley. Dr. Ruth. They were pinned up with all kinds of things—straight pins, safety pins, nails, forks, knives, the handle end of spoons, a corkscrew, wooden matches, pencils, pens, screwdrivers, anything that would go through the plaster walls—and each picture was pinned four times, through the forehead, the belly, and each shoulder. A
Playboy
Pet of the Month had an open pair of scissors piercing both her shoulders. An unwound coat hanger was sproinging out of the Pump-It-Up Girl’s belly button in a newspaper ad for Knickerbocker Spas. An aluminum turkey baster was embedded in the forehead of the vice president’s wife.

Donald Emerick was squatting in a corner of the room, his shirt off, staring at them like a kitten, total innocence. His skin was so white it was less than white, and he was so skinny his chest looked like it was caving in. His light brown hair was all mussed on top. A gooney smile crept around his face, but his eyes stayed dull and ignorant. He started nodding his head and his hair flopped around like a rooster’s comb. “God is happy,” he whispered.

“Goddammit, Donnie. I’m gonna break your muthafuckin’ head for this.”

Charles rushed the little guy, but Sal reached out and grabbed a fistful of jacket. “Leave him alone. Lemme talk to him.”

Charles shrugged his shoulder away and huffed. “Muthafuckin’ little geek.” He wanted a piece of the kid, but he wasn’t gonna get it. Sal didn’t want him messed up.

“Go get his pill,” Sal said. “Go ’head.”

“I’ll get him a fucking cyanide pill.” Charles grumbled as he went into the kitchen.

After Charles left the room, Sal looked the little fruitcake in the eye. “You remember me, Donnie?”

The kitten eyes just stared back at him.

“You don’t remember me? Sal? From the hospital? We took a ride together last week. You remember? We were in that basement and you were on the couch watching TV?”

Sal took a step forward, and out of the blue the nut case freaked. He jumped up on the couch and started screaming like a broad. “Get away, get away! You’re bad! You want to kill me!”

“No, Donnie. No.” Sal held his palms up to show he wasn’t up to anything, but he kept inching toward the guy. “I don’t wanna kill you. I’m your friend, Donnie. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Get away! Get away!” he screamed. Emerick started to press up against the back wall, but there was too much junk sticking out of it.

“Stop yelling, Donnie. C’mon, it’s too late for this. People are trying to sleep.” Sal moved closer. He figured he’d get the little nut around the neck and pin him to the couch. Hold him down so he could talk to him. “C’mere, Donnie. I wanna talk to you.”

Sal reached out to grab Emerick by the hair, but the nut suddenly bounced on the cushion and kicked Sal’s arm.

“Why, you son of a—”

Sal snatched Emerick’s arm, but the nut leapt on him and sent him toppling back. He crashed over the coffee table and broke it, banging his head hard on the floor. Sal saw red. He was ready to break this little shitass’s nose. Then he stopped himself. He needed this guy.

Charles ran into the room. “What happened?”

“He’s crazy,” Sal said, getting to his feet.

“Shit, I know that.”

The skinny nut was running around the room, jumping on the furniture, screaming like a monkey in a cage.

“Shut him the fuck up before someone calls the cops.”

Charles knew how to handle nuts. He went after him, got him into a corner, and grabbed his wrist, but Emerick was wiry and he wormed his way out, screaming as he jumped up on a wooden chair.

Sal moved in fast and tried to kick the chair out from under Emerick, but the guy dove into the air like he thought he could fly, and would’ve sailed right over Sal’s head if Sal hadn’t caught him by the ankles and tackled him to the smelly rug.

“Gimme a hand here, Charles. I can’t hold him by myself.”

“Wha’d I tell you? I told you he strong when he off the pills.” Charles threw his body over Emerick’s.

Emerick screamed and struggled, got one leg free and started kicking.

Sal took a heel in the face before he was able to grab the ankle again and hold down both legs. “Christ Almighty, together we must outweigh this guy by about four hundred pounds.”

“I told you.”

Emerick let out a scream like he was Ella Fitzgerald trying to break a glass. It startled Sal, and the nut broke free from his grip. Kicking his legs, Emerick was able to squirm out from under Charles’s weight and retreat to the couch. On his way he picked up a hammer from the pile of splintered wood that had been the coffee table. He must’ve used it on his decorating job.

“You’re bad! Get away! You’re very bad!” Emerick swung wild with the hammer.

Sal scowled. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

“I think he remember you. He remember you killing Mistretta and that other guy. He scared.”

“He should be.” Sal snatched up a leg from the broken coffee table on the floor. “You got the pills?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Charles had a capsule in his palm. Sal recognized the colors—orange on one end, pink and white granules on the clear end. It was Thorazine, but this one looked a lot bigger than the ones they used to try to give him at the hospital.

“Get away! Get away from me! You’re bad!” The guy’s eyes were frantic, like something out of a monster movie.

Sal kept his eye on that swinging hammer. “Okay, listen to me, Charles. I’ll grab the hammer, and you pull his feet out from under him. Then we sit on him and get the pill down his throat. Okay?”

“Okay. We can try it.” Charles moved away from Sal and positioned himself for the attack, but he didn’t sound hopeful.

Sal watched the hammer swinging right and left, right and left. He waited for Emerick to swing left again, then he made his move. As Emerick started his backswing, Sal lunged forward and batted the nut’s hand with the coffee table leg. Emerick screamed and Sal clubbed his hand again, then grabbed the shaft of the hammer.

Emerick’s eyes were white and his mouth was wide open. Suddenly thinking of Dracula, Sal panicked and raised the table leg over his head. The fucking freak was gonna bite him. He was just about to bash Emerick’s brains out when the vampire vanished. Charles had pulled the rug out from under him, and Emerick was on his back on the couch, flashing the whites of his eyes.

“You’re bad!” Emerick shrieked. “You want to kill me! You’re bad!”

Sal dropped his knee to Emerick’s chest and slapped the nut’s clawing hands away as he worked the wooden hammer shaft into his mouth. Emerick bit it like a mad dog.

Sal was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. He’d almost bashed Emerick’s head in. Christ Almighty, he could’ve killed the guy and fucked himself royally. He needed Emerick. Emerick had to take the rap for killing Mistretta, Bartolo, Juicy, and Tozzi. That’s why they were bringing Emerick along on the hits, to make him leave his fingerprints. Emerick was Sal’s made-to-order psycho. If they asked, Sal was gonna say Emerick got the idea when they were on the ward together. Emerick heard him mumbling about things and took over his personality, flew the coop, and killed all Sal’s enemies. That’s exactly what Sal was gonna have his old shrink say when the cops came around asking why this nut Emerick did Sal’s dirty work for him. But Christ Almighty, Sal couldn’t believe he could be so stupid. He almost killed his baby here, his ticket to freedom, to power. He swallowed on a dry throat as he struggled to keep Emerick down, trying not to hurt him. He needed Emerick, but he needed him under control, and not next year. Sal had to finish off his hit list this week, especially Juicy and Bartolo, before their hit man found him first.

“Give him the goddamn pill, Charles. Hurry up.”

Emerick was struggling, screaming like he was being raped. Charles was sitting on his thighs. He reached over and tried to figure out how to get the pill down Emerick’s throat, but his teeth were clenched on the hammer handle.

“Whattaya waiting for? Just stick it down the side.”

“That won’t do no good. He won’t swallow it.”

“We’ll hold him here till it melts in his mouth.”

“Can’t wait that long. People be calling the cops pretty soon. Think we killing some girl in here.”

“Shit.” Sal gritted his teeth. Then something caught his eye on the wall. With one hand holding the hammer steady in Emerick’s mouth, he reached over and pulled the aluminum turkey baster out of the vice president’s wife’s head. He shook out the plaster dust, then worked the small end into Emerick’s mouth between the hammer and his lower teeth, prying his jaw open.

“C’mon, Donnie. Open up. Be a good boy now.”

Emerick fought him, his eyes squeezed tight, but Sal put his knee to the skinny nut’s face and managed to pin his head against the back of the couch. Sal worked the metal tube in little by little, getting it down farther and farther until Emerick started to gag.

“Okay, drop the pill in. Hurry up.”

Charles dropped the capsule into the wide end of the turkey baster, then he reached around and clamped Emerick’s nose closed. “Swallow, you goddamn little freak. Swallow it.”

Emerick stopped struggling and started gurgling and grunting. They couldn’t tell if he had swallowed the pill or not.

“Blow on it,” Sal said.

“Wha’?”

“I said blow on it. Like a blowgun.”

Charles made a face. “Man, what if he got AIDS? What if he blow back and spit in my mouth?”

Sal growled in his face. “Hurry up and blow that goddamn pill down his throat or you’re gonna fucking wish you had AIDS.”

“Aw, man
…
” Charles complained, but he did what he was told, bending forward and blowing on the wide end of the tube.

“Did he get it?”

“I dunno. What you want me to do? Stick my finger down there?”

Emerick was bucking and choking, his face turning blue. Sal pulled out the baster, afraid that he was gonna choke to death and ruin everything. He dropped the baster but kept the hammer in place, still afraid that Emerick might bite.