The Black Marble (38 page)

They didn't have to wait long. She picked it up on the first ring. “Yes.”

“Okay, you cunt,” he snarled. “Now listen to this.” And Philo Skinner held Vickie's mouth to the receiver and pinched the tender flesh around her vagina.

The little schnauzer yelped and began to whine.

“That's your Vickie, mommy. You recognize her voice, you cunt?” He had to drop the phone and cough until he spit a wad of phlegm in the wastepaper basket.

Madeline was trying to suppress a scream and it was only Valnikov's strong steady gaze and his reassuring nod that kept her from doing it.

“I … please … I don't know what Vickie sounds like … on the phone.”

Which caused Natalie Zimmerman to put her phone down on the bed and walk downstairs to the drawing room, because she was absolutely certain now that she was the only sane person left in Los Angeles County. They were talking to the kidnapped dog.

“Listen, mommy, you miserable cunt!” And he pinched the animal brutally and Vickie yelped louder and began to cry.

“I take your word!” Madeline cried. “I believe you! I believe it's Vickie! Please don't!” And Valnikov couldn't hold her back this time. She began sobbing. But she was still holding the phone. Still listening and trying to answer.

“YOU LIED TO ME!” Philo shrieked. “Twenty thousand! You miserable cunt. It ain't enough. It ain't enough to get me
anywhere
. I'm going to do it. I swear to you I never hurt an animal in my life but I'm going to kill this bitch. NOW!”

Madeline said, “Wait! Wait! You've already killed once. Don't do it again. The little schnauzer you drugged. It's dead. Don't hurt another one!”

Then Philo gasped and had to cough and wheeze and catch his breath. And Valnikov listened.

“You're lying!” Philo finally said.

“I'm not,” Madeline said. “The drug you gave her was too much. She died. There was nothing I could do.”

“Dead?” Philo mumbled. Tutu was dead? The only creature in the world who loved Philo Skinner?

Valnikov was astonished. He motioned Natalie over to his phone. They stood together cheek to cheek and listened. The extortionist was crying!

“You rotten lying welsher,” he sobbed. “You lied to me. You been lying to me all along. You been lying to me!”

“Please …” Madeline said. “Please!”

Philo Skinner threw the phone down on the desk, and still holding the whimpering schnauzer in his arms, ran crying into the grooming room and pinned Vickie on the metal table. The plucky little animal sensed danger and began to growl fiercely. When he removed one hand she bit him on the other and hung on. But Philo felt little pain, only rage. He reached for the instruments on the counter as Vickie snarled and chewed. He tried for the stripping knife. He couldn't reach it. He got his hand on the straight razor. Vickie growled in panic now, and still sobbing, Philo Skinner aped notorious kidnappers of recent history. Philo Skinner was a copycat.

He held Vickie's head on the metal table with his bleeding arm and sawed through the gristly flesh of her right ear. The gristle crackled when the razor sawed through. Vickie released her bite involuntarily and blood from Philo's hand ran down her throat as she screamed at the incredible pain. Philo didn't stop sawing until the razor was screeching across the stainless steel of the table. Then he looked down in horror at the bell-shaped schnauzer ear lying in blood.

Philo threw Vickie off the table and she hit the tile floor, still screaming, getting up, listing, staggering, falling to one side, instinctively trying to rub the devastating pain away on the slippery tile floor, leaving a trail of blood across the tile as she flopped like a fish on her bloody head. When she found herself in the corner of the room she rammed her head against the wall several times trying to escape. She let loose with a whine so loud and shrill that Philo had to hold his wounded hand over his left ear when he picked up the telephone. Then she balled up and tucked the amputation far beneath her as though she were ashamed of it.

Philo Skinner was panting and sobbing and gasping for air. “I … did it, you miserable woman!” he said. “I … you … you
made
me do it!”

“Vickie's dead. You killed Vickie,” Madeline said, knowing it wasn't true, able to hear a dog screaming in the background.

“I cut off her ear!” Philo Skinner cried. “You
made
me do it! It's
your
fault!”

“Spare her
life!
” Madeline begged, and even Natalie Zimmerman was impressed. Madeline Whitfield was on her feet, wiping her eyes. She was gaining control and the extortionist was going to pieces.

“Spare her
life
, Richard,” Madeline repeated. “I'm going to take the twenty thousand dollars tomorrow. Tonight. Wherever you say. I don't care when. I'll pay it for Vickie's life. Where shall I take the money, Richard?”

Philo couldn't think. His hand hurt like hell. He was afraid for a moment that the tendon was severed, but he saw he had good finger movement. Vickie was still screaming piteously and Philo slammed the office door shut. Still she screamed.

“No, not tonight,” he said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow. I'm going to call you tomorrow morning. Eleven o'clock. I'll tell you then. Bring the twenty thousand then.”

“Yes, Richard,” Madeline said, nodding at the mouthpiece. “Yes. I'll be here. I have the money. I'll do whatever you say. Yes.”

When the phone went dead, Madeline sat down. She stared at Valnikov. Then at Natalie. Then at the phone.

Valnikov said, “We'll be here at nine a.m. with some other officers. Tomorrow he'll want the money. He'll decide that twenty thousand is better than nothing. In any case, you can observe the precautions we're going to take, and then you can decide whether or not to let us keep you under surveillance when you make the money drop. It'll be up to you. I promise.” When he finished talking, Valnikov walked over and knelt in front of Madeline. “Do you understand me, Mrs. Whitfield?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she said.

“I'll be with you tomorrow morning. Don't be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid,” she answered bleakly.

“I know that.” Valnikov patted her hand and said, “You're a very strong woman. Do you hear me?”

“Mrs. Whitfield,” Natalie said. “If what we heard was … well, if he did what he said, then your dog is … mutilated. She's no longer a champion show dog. My God, Mrs. Whitfield! You don't want to give him the twenty thousand
now
, do you?”

“I want to give it to him even
more
,” Madeline Whitfield said. She looked evenly at Natalie. “I'd give him the eighty-five thousand if I had it. I'd give him anything. Now more than ever.”

“Now more than ever,” Natalie echoed.

“You don't understand,” said Madeline Whitfield.

“I understand, Mrs. Whitfield,” Valnikov said, patting her hand again and standing up. “I understand perfectly. Good night, Mrs. Whitfield.”

Like Madeline Whitfield, Philo Skinner had to sit and stare for a while after hanging up the phone. But the worsening pain in his hand brought him around faster. He took off his bloodstained polyester jacket. The
last
of his polyester leisure suits would end up in the trash-can this night. Vickie was no longer screaming. He opened the door to the grooming room. She was whimpering quietly in the corner.

Philo Skinner ran to the sink and began tearing out paper towels to wipe the grooming table and the floor. There was too much blood. He went to the closet and got the mop and pail. Then he cursed when he saw that he trailed his own blood to the closet and back. First things first, Philo! He went back to the sink and rolled up his sleeves and washed the blood from his hand. Vickie had really ripped him this time. He could close it with a butterfly bandage, though. No doctors. This one looked too much like a dog bite. No doctors. No explanations. He poured disinfectant over the wound and cried out in pain. His voice made Vickie whimper louder. He wrapped his hand in gauze for now. The butterfly bandage could come later.

He had the room cleaned in ten minutes. Except for the table. He hadn't touched the table yet because of the ear. Now it was time. He was dizzy. For one nightmarish second he imagined that it moved! That the frayed bleeding nerve ends made it twitch. He could hardly bear to look at it, but it was time. He got a paper towel. Then another. Then three more. With the padding between his fingers and the ear he reached for it. The ear slipped out of his grasp. It slapped on the table and splashed drops of blood.

“Oh,” Philo said. “Oh.”

Then he picked it up again. He held it away from his body like a poisonous snake. He ran for the toilet and threw it splashing into the bowl. He flushed the toilet and balled the paper towels up in a wad. The ear refused to go down in the Los Angeles sewers.

Philo looked in horror at the ear floating in the toilet bowl. Then it sank slowly. Then it bobbed up when the toilet gurgled.

“Oh!” Philo cried, holding his wounded hand to his mouth. “Oh!”

He ran back into the grooming room. He sloshed water on the bloody grooming table and washed it clean. He waited until the toilet filled. He ran back into the rest room and without looking in the bowl flushed the toilet. Then he staggered back in the grooming room and lit a cigarette. He washed his hands once, twice, three times in the deep sink. He washed them in water as hot as he could stand.

Then he felt a tingling around his skull, at about the hairline. The tingling wouldn't stop. He was wheezing and put the cigarette in the ashtray. His face started burning. He went back to the toilet. The ear was floating in the water.

Philo cried out and backed into the door, almost falling down. He flushed the toilet again and again. He stood over the toilet and watched it.

He watched it go down and disappear from sight while the toilet swooshed and gurgled. Then he watched it come back up.

It floated on the water like a dead bat.

“Oh,” Philo said, then he started crying again. He was getting sick. He went back to the deep sink. He pulled out ten paper towels from the dispenser. He took the handful of towels and ran back to the toilet. He fished up the ear. He held it in front of him in horror, an arm's length from his body. He felt a bat crawling up his spine, clinging to his neck.

He loped out of the kennel, heading straight for the street. A car slammed on his brakes when he caught Philo in the headlight beams. The driver cursed and drove on. Philo ran shuddering to the sewer by the curb and threw Vickie's amputation down the black hole.

Philo was holding his arms and shivering when he came back inside the kennel. He couldn't stop shivering, but there was one task remaining. One more unbearable job to do. Philo looked fearfully at the bloody bundle in the corner. Philo had been unable to look there. Had been avoiding that corner, but now it was time.

He thought she would try to bite him for sure when he reached down beneath her. She didn't. The overwhelming pain from the razor had cut away her courage. Vickie whined and cried when he picked her up in his arms. Vickie's blood put stains on Philo's orchid shirt. She cried and licked Philo's tobacco-stained fingers.

As he bandaged her head, Philo Skinner was bawling louder than Vickie. Philo took her back to her dog pen and left more boiled liver than she could possibly eat even if she didn't vomit at the smell of food. He poured some warm milk in her bowl and even the smell of milk made her bilious. Still crying with her, Philo placed her gently in her bed and tried desperately to get her to accept a codeine pill in some ground beef. She retched when the food touched her whiskers. Then Philo started to retch. Philo Skinner slammed the chain-link gate and upchucked outside Vickie's pen. All twenty-five dogs began barking in joy, excitement, or fear, depending upon their dispositions, as their keeper crawled on all fours and vomited. Sick as a dog.

12

Charlie Lightfoot

It was eight o'clock by the time they were driving back to Hollywood Station.

“We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow morning before he calls,” Valnikov said.

Natalie was riding silently, smoking, looking out at the headlights on the freeway.

“I think a phone trace for tomorrow would be useless even if we
could
arrange it,” he said. “It's payday for him and he'll be careful. I think we should have three surveillance teams. If we can't get them from downtown our own guys'll have to do. We'll have a chopper standing by and one of our own people riding shotgun.”

She shrugged without comment and Valnikov continued: “I just hope he's not too fancy with his money drop. I want to get him, but we can't endanger Vickie.”

“Valnikov …”

“I
really
want to get this guy.”

“Valnikov.”

“Yes?”

“Vickie is a dog.”