Calypso (22 page)

    Drove him out there, she had a Jaguar, terrific little white car, he wondered what she drove now. Left the car at the dock, had herself this Chris-Craft tied up there at the dock, looked too damn big for a woman to handle, even a woman like her who drove that car like she was in a race on some French track, terrific, she was exciting as hell then, back then. Same boat, it must've been. He caught a glimpse of it when he almost escaped that time, almost made it, almost escaped. He never thought of escaping anymore. All he thought of was dying.

    She'd left him enough food this time, he wasn't worried about starving to death, not this time. She'd come in before she left for the city, told him she had something to take care of, little errand to run, that strange smile on her face. Had a little box in her hands, asked him if he remembered the box. Expected him to remember every damn thing, every little gift she ever gave him. Told him the cologne had come in that box, didn't he remember the cologne? Her first Christmas gift to him, seven years ago? He told her yeah, he remembered the cologne, but he didn't remember the fuckin cologne at all. Brought him enough food to last a whole damn week though. He wondered how long she planned on being gone this time, but he didn't ask her. She had a habit, when you asked her for something, she made you pay for it later. Simplest thing. Like the clock. Just asking her for the clock. Things she made him do before she gave him the fuckin clock. Things she made him do even after he got the clock. He'd learned not to ask her for anything anymore. Just kept quiet most of the time. Did whatever she wanted. Anything she wanted. Knew she could drug his food whenever she felt like it, had to eat whatever she brought him or else starve to death. Knew she could knock him unconscious for days, if she felt like it, and then do whatever she wanted with him when he was unconscious. The time she did that with the… with the needles. He trembled even now, just thinking of the needles. Woke up with all those needles in him. Fiercest pain he'd ever known in his life, a dozen needles, he'd… he'd seen the needles and almost fainted just seeing them. She told him the needles were punishment. That night, she drugged him again. There was a period there when he was drugged more often than he was conscious. When he came to the next day, she'd taken all the needles out. Told him he'd heal in a while, and when he was better she expected him to perform again. That was a word she used a lot. "Perform." As if he was still a musician, playing for her amusement, performing the way he'd performed that night long ago, dancing with her when the other band was playing, close up against her, smooth white gown, naked flesh above, held her close, held her very close, the pain of the needles in his cock.

    He heard the lock turning on the inner door. He could never hear the lock on the outside door, the wood was too thick, he only heard the inside lock, and then the door opened, as it was opening now, and she stood there with the dog's leash in one hand, smiling.

    "Good evening," she said.

    "Hello," he said.

    The dog looked at him. He began to shake every time he saw the dog. She told him once that if he misbehaved again, if he did anything to displease her, she would drug him and then let the dog do something to him while he was unconscious. She did not say what she would let the dog do. He… he kept remembering the needles. He kept thinking she might have the dog bite him while he was unconscious. Have the dog hurt him, wake up later to find himself chewed… chewed to pieces or something. The dog frightened him. But she frightened him more than the dog did.

    "Miss me?" she asked.

    He did not answer.

    "I see you haven't finished your food," she said. "There was a lot of it."

    "Yes, but I knew I'd be gone overnight. That's why I left you enough food. Would you have preferred less?"

    "No, no, it's just…"

    "Then why didn't you eat what I left you?"

    "I'll eat it all now, if you like."

    "Yes, I think I'd like that. I'd like you to eat all your food. I go to all the trouble of making sure you're properly fed…"

    "If you let me go, you wouldn't have to feed me anymore."

    "No," she said, "I'm not letting you go."

    "Why do you want me here?"

    "I enjoy you here. Eat your food. You said you were going to eat all your food."

    He went to the couch, sat, and began picking at the food on his tray. He was not hungry, he had really eaten enough. But she was watching him.

    "Would you like to know why I've been going to the city so often?" she asked.

    He watched her warily. Too often, she set traps for him, and he was sorry later.

    "Would you like to know?" she asked again.

    "If you'd like to tell me," he said cautiously, and poked his fork at the food.

    "To protect you," she said.

    "Protect me how?"

    "To save your life," she said.

    "Sure," he said, "to save my life."

    "Eat your food, Santo."

    "I'm eating it."

    "Or don't you like what I prepared for you?"

    "I like it fine."

    "You don't seem to like it."

    "I'll eat it. I said I'll eat it, and I will."

    "Now," she said. "While I'm here."

    "All right, while you're here."

    "I don't want you flushing it down the toilet, the way you did with the liver that time."

    "I don't like liver."

    "Yes, but I didn't
know
that when I prepared-"

    "You knew it. I told you I didn't like liver. You made it on purpose. You made it because-"

    "If I did, then it was because you displeased me somehow."

    "I always seem to displease you somehow."

    "No, that isn't true. You please me enormously. Why would I keep you here if you didn't please me?"

    "To torture me, that's why."

    "Have I ever tortured you?"

    "Yes."

    "That's a lie, Santo."

    "The needles…"

    "That was punishment. And you were asleep, remember."

    "They were in me when I woke up!"

    "Yes, to strengthen you."

    "How did you expect them to…?"

    "I don't like to talk about sex," she said. "You're a fuckin sex fiend, but you don't like to talk about it."

    "I certainly don't like to talk about what was becoming your inability to-"

    "My inability,
shit!
You beat me, you torture me, you drug me, and then you expect me to get a hard on every time you walk in the room."

    "Yes," she said, and smiled. "That
is
what I expect, that's true. Eat your food, Santo."

    "I don't want any more," he said, and pushed the tray away from him. "I'm full."

    "All right," she said.

    Her voice was oddly mild, it frightened him. He watched her. She was standing just inside the door, one hand in the dog's leash. She was dressed in black from head to toe, black slacks, a black silk blouse, black boots.

    "I'll give it to the dog instead, would that please you, Santo? Giving your food to Clarence?"

    "If I'm not hungry-"

    "Tomorrow I'll prepare food for the dog instead. I'll prepare
your
food for Clarence, would you like that, Santo?"

    "Look, I really enjoyed what I ate, I really did. But I'm not hungry anymore, you can't expect me to-"

    "Yes, I can, Santo. I
can
expect you to."

    She dropped the dog's leash and walked to the coffee table. She picked up the tray, carried it back to the door, and put it down before the dog. He sniffed at the tray but did not touch the food until she said, "All right, Clarence," and then he began eating.

    "He's better trained than you are," she said.

    "I'm not an animal," Santo said.

    "I should let you die," she said. "Instead of going to all this trouble."

    "What trouble?"

    "In the city," she said vaguely. "Here. All this trouble trying to save you." She watched the dog eating. "How do you feel about C. J. not coming here anymore?" she asked.

    "I like C. J.," he said.

    "Oh,
yes,
how you like C. J.," she said, and chuckled.

    "Why isn't she coming anymore?"

    "Perhaps she doesn't want to."

    "I thought…"

    "Yes, she
seemed
to be enjoying herself, didn't she? But perhaps she was getting a bit tired of your behavior. Not everyone has my patience, you know."

    
"My
behavior? You were the one who-"

    "Anyway, I don't want to talk about sex. You know I hate talking about sex. I thought I could trust C. J. Are you finished?" she asked the dog. "Are you finished, darling?"

    "What do you mean? Why
can't
you trust her?"

    "She was very young,
too
young, in fact. Young people don't seem to realize-"

    
"Was
young? What do you mean
was
young?"

    "I'm going to explain something to you, Santo. Come here, come undress me."

    "No, I don't want to. Not now."

    "Yes, now. Do as I say."

    "I just finished eating, I don't feel like-"

    "No,
you
didn't finish eating,
Clarence
finished eating for you, didn't you, darling? And I'm sure you don't want to annoy Clarence further by not doing what I'm asking you to do. I would hate to have Clarence…"

    "All right," he said. "All
right,
goddamnit!"

    "Especially since you seem so
very
sensitive about scars and bruises on your
glorious
body."

    "Yes, very sensitive."

    "Even when they're for your own good."

    "Yes, my own good, sure."

    "Unbutton my blouse," she said. "Yes, your own good."

    "The cigarette burns…"

    "Slowly, Santo. Button by button. Yes, that's it."

    "… were for my own good."

    "Yes, to teach you to quit smoking. Do you like me without a bra, Santo?"

    "I
enjoyed
smoking."

    "Yes, but cigarettes were bad for you. Do you like my breasts, Santo? Kiss my breasts. Kiss my nipples."

    "Burned me all over my body."

    "Yes."

    "Drugged me, and then-"

    "Isn't it better that you've quit smoking? Let's not talk about things that
had
to be done to make you a better person, Santo. You're a better person since you stopped smoking. You're healthier, you're-"

    "You didn't have to burn me with those fuckin cigarettes! I'm your prisoner here, all you had to do…"

    "No, no."

    "… was quit
bringin
me cigarettes, that's all you had to do! Look at these scars all over me! You burned me all over my body! All over me."

    "No, not all over you," she said, and smiled. "Finish undressing me, Santo. I want you very badly."

    "When
don't
you want me?"

    "Hush, now. Carry me to the bed."

    "Fuckin sex fiend," he said.

    "Don't say that."

    "It's what you are. A fuckin female rapist."

    "No," she whispered, "no, I'm not, really. I want you to do what C. J. loved to do."

    "C. J. loves to do
nothing.
She's a whore who gets paid for whatever she does."

    "Yes, she was nothing but a whore. She didn't understand, Santo. If she'd understood, she wouldn't have told."

    "Told? Told what?"

    "In the beginning, no one knew. Not even the man who changed the locks on the doors. I told him I wanted to lock my dog in here. I told him I had a vicious dog."

    "You
do
have a vicious dog."

    "Gently, Santo, you
do
enjoy it, don't you? Tell me you enjoy it."

    "What'd she tell? What'd C. J. tell?"

    "About us, I'm sure. Her
experiences,
she said. Can you imagine? Told me in the boat going back last Thursday. A whore's experiences. Mmm, yes, Santo, that's very good. I'm not even sure about the man who changed the locks, anymore. Do you think he suspects? Do you think he'll tell the way she did? I just don't know, Santo, oh, God, that's delicious. I don't want anyone else to know about you, ever again. I'm not going to make that mistake again."

    "Who'd C. J. tell?"

    "Someone who isn't going to bother us anymore."

    "Who?"

    "Do it to me, Santo,
do
it."

    "Who?"

    "Yes, that's it, yes. Oh, Jesus, yes."

    

    

    By Thursday morning, everything in the squadroom was sticky and soggy. D.D. report forms clung moistly to each other and to the carbon paper that was supposed to be separating the triplicate copies. File cards pulled from the drawers grew limp within minutes of exposure to the dampness. Forearms stuck to desk tops, erasers refused to erase properly, clothing seemed possessed of spongelike qualities- and still the rains came. They came in varying degrees, either as torrential downpours or relentless drizzles, but they came unabated; the city had not seen a patch of blue sky for the past eight days.

    When the call from Gaucho Palacios came at 10:00 a.m. that morning, Meyer was in the middle of a joke about rain. His audience was Bert Kling and Richard Genero. Genero had no sense of humor, although Genera's mother thought he was a very comical fellow. The funniest joke Genero ever heard in his life was the one about the monkey humping a football. Every time Genero told that joke, he cracked up. He did not think many other jokes were funny, but he listened to them politely, and always laughed politely when they were finished. Then he instantly forgot them. Whenever he went to his mother's house, which was every Sunday, he pinched her on the cheek and comically said to her, "You're getting to be a little fatty-boo, ain't you, Mama?" which his mother found uproariously funny. Genero's mother loved him a lot. She called him Richie. Everybody on the squad called him Genero, which was odd, since otherwise they all called each other by their first names. Even the lieutenant was either Pete or Loot, but certainly never Byrnes. Genero, however, was Genero. He listened now as Meyer came roaring down the pike toward the punchline.