Fat Tuesday (39 page)

Tense and watchful, he had stood at the door for at least half an hour after the men in the fishing boat departed. He hadn't sensed any menace from them, merely curiosity over the priest whom they had rescued from certain disaster, only to have him vanish during a wedding celebration.

But preferring to err on the side of caution, Burke had refrained from relighting the lantern and had stood vigil until he was satisfied that they posed no threat.

Finally, he had suggested that he and his hostage turn in. He had handcuffed her to him again, which had sparked another argument, which he had won by citing that she had a possible means of escape now that the boat had been repaired. In light of her nightmare, he felt pretty rotten about keeping her shackled, especially since it wasn't entirely for safety's sake that he wanted to lie beside her.

She drank from the glass so greedily that water dribbled from the corners of her mouth. When she had drunk it all, he returned the empty glass to the table."Better now?"

Again, she didn't speak, but only nodded.

His eyes touched on her brow, cheekbone, nose, and mouth. After only a moment's hesitation, he whisked the pad of his thumb across her chin and lower lip, and it came back wet.

"I'm not going to kick you, Basile."

Something, desire maybe, had made him muddle-headed."What?"

She shifted uncomfortably, and he realized that his leg was still lying across hers, trapping them against the mattress. His foot, his calf, even the inside of his thigh touching her as a lover might. His crotch was pressed snugly against her hip. His eyes lowered to her lips again.

He had touched them with his thumb. They were wet. And incredibly soft.

"Don't, Basile. Please."

Five words were whispered, but they couldn't have been clearer.

Her plea for him to desist covered about six transgressions that sprang immediately to mind. With more self-restraint than a man should have to exercise in a lifetime, he withdrew his leg and lay back down.

For a time, he was absorbed with his own misery. But he became aware of her massaging her right wrist with her left hand.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"A little."

"You were yanking on it hard. That's what woke me up. Do you need something for it?"

Now, wasn't he being a good Boy Scout? Not only was he keeping his hands off her at her request, he was also offering to render aid.

Either he deserved a medal of commendation or the Pussy of the Year award.

"If you're so concerned about my wrist, you could remove the handcuffs."

"Not a chance."

"Please."

"No. Don't ask me anymore." Screw Boy Scouting.

They were close enough for him to feel every breath she took, and desire wasn't something that retreated upon command. But there were barriers between them more impenetrable than a steel bolster. Not the least of which was that she had said "Don't, Basile," and, although he was a kidnapper, he wasn't a rapist. Second, she was another man's wife. True, adultery was a popular, "aCceptable sin. If public stoning were still the punishment for extra marital fun and games, the planet would have been depleted of rocks a long time ago. As sins go, adultery was a huge yawn.

Religious aspects aside, there was the moral implication. He would like to think himself a notch above Barbara and her football coach And, anyway, the lady candidate had said no, so it wasn't going to happen no matter what, so he ordered himself to stop thinking about it and go to sleep.

He lay there for a long time, wide awake and about as relaxed as a two-by-four. He sensed she was finding it equally difficult to fall asleep again. He wasn't particularly in the mood for a chat, but he feared if he didn't break the strained silence, his jawbone was going to crack."Was it a nightmare?"

"Not exactly," she replied."More like a ... Yes, I guess you could call it a nightmare."

"Associated with your fear of suffocation?"

He felt her nod.

One didn't have to think about it too long and hard to figure it out.

"What happened to you?"

She took so long to answer he thought she was going to ignore the question. But then she did begin to speak, haltingly."I was twelve.

He was one of Angel's regulars. I had learned at a very early age that when a man was in the house I was to keep still and quiet. Not to cry.

Not to whine. Not to ask for anything or draw attention to myself. I tried to make myself as small as possible, first to avoid punishment, then later to avoid being noticed. I wished to be invisible so they wouldn't look at me.

"But this one wouldn't let me ignore him. He always placed himself in my path, teased me, made remarks to Angel about me that I didn't understand at first, then came to understand too well "One night she brought him home with her after work. It was very late, and I was already asleep, but their laughter woke me up. They were high, of course, and continued their party without paying any attention to me.

Eventually they passed out in Angel's bed, and I went back to sleep.

"I'm not sure how much time passed. If I'd come awake sooner, I could have fought him off and run out of the apartment. But when I woke up, he was already on me, holding my arms above my head. I was wearing a T-shirt and panties. He had pushed my shirt up and covered my face with it."

Burke closed his eyes and lay perfectly still.

Several moments elapsed before she continued in a faraway voice, "I had just begun to develop. My breasts were tender. He ... he was I whispering ... horrible things. His breath smelled bad, and his fingers [ pinched, and I couldn't breathe. He pushed his hand inside my underwear and ... Well, he was hurting me. I tried to call out, but my face was covered and I couldn't breathe."

Gasping again, she laid her left hand on her chest. Gradually, her rising panic subsided."Angel woke up and saw what he was doing.

She raised a ruckus and threw him out."

"Did she report him, have him arrested?"

Simultaneously they turned their heads toward each other. Remy gave him a strange look."Angel wasn't angry at him. She was angry at me.

I got a lashing for luring her boyfriend into my bed."

"Jesus Christ."

"I was lucky she woke up before he could do more than fondle me.

Actually the episode gave her the idea of putting me to work.

I guess she saw more earning potential from a child prostitute than a child pickpocket. She never actually shared the idea with me, but I knew what she was thinking. I'd catch her watching me with a thoughtful, speculative expression.

"After that night, I began sleeping with a butcher knife. I cut two of her friends and threatened several more. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them raped me.

"Then Angel got pregnant. She was furious because she didn't realize she was pregnant until too late to have an abortion. As her pregnancy progressed, she dealt more drugs to make up for the lost income from dancing and ... the other. When Flarra was born, she put me in charge of the baby so she could go back to work. She never got around to implementing her plans for me. I was lucky."

"Wasn't any of this ever reported? Where were the child protection people?"

"An agent from social services came around regularly." Wryly, she added, "She bought drugs from Angel until the agency found out and fired her. They never assigned a replacement."

Burke covered his eyes with his right forearm. A good part of his childhood he'd been without a father, but, as he recalled, the main challenges facing him had been to get his homework turned in on time and to keep his half of the room he shared with Joe reasonably straight to avoid a lecture from their mother, who was affectionate and attentive even though she had to work very hard to support them.

Remy had faced daily challenges just to survive. The creep who'd fondled her when she was twelve years old had left her with a legacy of nightmares, a pathological fear of suffocation, and self consciousness. The story explained why she frequently crossed her arms over her breasts.

But that didn't gel. She wore low-cut dresses and outfits that emphasized her bosom.

Lowering his arm, he sat up and looked down at her."Why'd you tell me that story? Did you make it up so I'd feel sorry for you?"

"It's the truth, but I don't care whether or not you believe a word of it."

"So long as it kept me off you, right?"

"Go to hell," she said angrily.

That was the first time he'd ever heard her use even a mild curse and it stunned him into a more rational frame of mind. He believed her story. Three times he'd seen her panic when her breathing was hampered.

Besides, who could have invented such a tale? It was too horrific not to be true.

Slightly mollified, he asked, "Okay, why'd you tell me?"

"Because you're the man who has me handcuffed," she shot back.

"I've been a victim. I didn't like it. I refuse to be your victim, Mr. Basile."

"Have I harmed you?"

"Harmed me?" she repeated on an incredulous laugh."You don't understand anything, do you? For a street-savvy narcotics officer, you're not very smart. No, you haven't beat me, or raped me, or starved me, or physically hurt me. But, after this, do you really think a man as fastidious as Pinkie will have me back?"

"Why in hell would you want to go back?" he asked, angry in his own right."He's got you locked into a relationship that's goddamn medieval.

I didn't know such a thing existed in the free world. Why in God's name do you stay with the son of a bitch?"

"Don't you think I've tried to leave?" she cried."I did. Once. I saved enough money to buy a bus ticket that's right, Mr. Basile. I don't have any money of my own. I get an allowance. Spending money.

I can afford to buy oranges in the market, but not much more than that.

"It took me months to scrape together enough to buy that ticket, and I did so by stealing money from Pinkie's wallet a few dollars at a time so he wouldn't notice. My bodyguard at the time was a man named Lute Duskie. I slipped away from him inside Maison Blanche.

"I got all the way to Galveston, Texas, where I got a job watering plants in a nursery. I found an inexpensive boarding house that rented rooms by the week. I took long walks on the beach, relishing my freedom and making plans on how I would send for Flarra and we'd start a new life. I was on my own for four whole days.

"On the fifth day, I glanced up to see Pinkie walking toward me down the aisle of the greenhouse where I was watering flats of begonias.

I'll never forget the expression on his face. He was smiling. He congratulated me on my cleverness. It wasn't often that someone put something over on him, he said. I should feel very proud of myself.

"Naturally, I was flabbergasted. I expected him to be furious.

Instead, he said if I no longer wished to be married to him, he had no intention of holding me. If I'd only asked, he would have let me go with no hard feelings. If I wanted my freedom, I could have it."

"There was a catch."

"Yes. There was a catch," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"He asked me to walk back to the car with him. I only had to look beyond the tinted windows in the backseat of the limousine to know the price I must pay for my freedom. Flarra.

"He'd brought her with him. She was about the age I was when my mother's johns began to notice me. I was free to go my own way, Pinkie said, but Flarra would remain with him." Finding his eyes with hers, she said, "You talk of choices, Mr. Basile. Tell me, what choice did I have?"

He expelled an expletive."She would replace you."

"That's the best I could hope for her."

"The best?"

"From the day Pinkie became my guardian, he coddled me because, in his mind, he loves me. He has no such feeling for Flarra. He's generous and kind to her. But his kindness is extended only to pacify me and has nothing to do with an emotional attachment to her.

"Pinkie knows I love my sister more than anything in the world. If I ever left him, he would use her to punish me. And I'm afraid that for getting myself kidnapped, that's what he'll do.

"Oh, one more thing. On our return trip home from Galveston, we stopped for something to eat. Pinkie took Flarra inside the cafe, but asked that I remain behind and lend a hand to Errol, Lute Duskie's replacement.

What Errol did was take several heavy plastic bags from the trunk of the limo and throw them into a Dumpster behind the restaurant I never saw or heard of Mr. Duskie again." She paused and looked at him insistently. "I think, Mr. Basile, that the best you can hope for is to die quickly."

This was a night for firsts. She began to cry. Throughout the ordeal, if she hadn't shed a single tear. He'd seen tears well up in her eyes, but she'd never actually wept.

He almost touched her, caught himself just in time, and withdrew his hand. But then he saw tears leaking from the outside corners of her eyes and rolling down her temples into her hairline. He moved his hand nearer, until his knuckles barely touched the side of her face and brushed the tears away. She didn't recoil, so he wiped the tears from the other side of her face as well.

"I can't let Flarra be damaged on my account" she said in an urgent whisper."I love her. From the day she was born I've loved her and tried to protect her. She's all that is mine on this earth. Even my baby was taken from me."

Burke suddenly understood that, when he'd seen her in the gazebo, what he'd mistaken for a display of her sensuality had actually been an expression of unbearable loss. She repeated the gesture now, splaying her left hand over her lower abdomen.

Reacting impulsively, not stopping to think about it first, he covered her hand with his. Stunned by the intimacy, she stopped crying instantly. Burke was rather astonished himself. He stared at their stacked hands to confirm that what he was feeling was real.

A stillness settled over them. Each was aware of the other's suspended breath, of heartbeats, chaotic but oddly in sync, of spreading heat beneath their skin, of the pressure of his hand covering hers.