The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (55 page)

“And why do you seek that?”

“Look, Sister, you either give me the info or you don’t.”

“Do your friends in the Press want the information?”

“It’s got nothing to do with them.”

A cunning glint came to the Sister’s eyes.

“It’s an ancient story. It happened more than eight years ago. I doubt if we have records that old.”

Wolf breathed deeply.
The fucking cunt wants to play now,
he thought.
That Pentium 3 is eight years old. Surely it has the records.
But he kept quiet.

“Perhaps I may just be able to retrieve the material,” she said craftily.

Wolf felt an urgent urge to sock her in the solar plexus.

She suddenly sat upright. The cunning look widened.

“But I need something in return,” she said.

“Say.”
Ask, whatever it is you want, you old fart, and be done with it.

She studied him for a second. “I want you to drop the cases against the Home.”

“Only if I’m allowed to meet Robin for a few hours every day,” he said promptly. He had anticipated it.

A horrified look came to her face. “That is simply out of the question!”

“Then ditto for dropping the cases,” he said coldly.

“You wanted this information. Please do not digress!”

“I’m getting too little for too much, Sister,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You well know I cannot do that even if I wanted to. It is President Grant’s orders that you’re not to see the girl.”

“No one need know.”

“How is that possible?”

“Your house is very private.”

“What…?!” Her eyes began darting…darting here and there like a trapped animal looking for an escape. Wolf perked up.
Ram it in, Holly-boy.

“I’m sorry, Sister. Those are my conditions. I get the info, plus the right to see Robin. In return, I’ll drop the cases,” he said. “You’re aware how damaging the trial can be. If nothing else, it’ll irreparably injure the good name of the Home. Moreover, it’ll hurt
you
personally…hurt you big time. Robin lost her arm and almost died because of your negligence. I’ll bring this matter up and see to it your career, together with your reputation, is ruined beyond repair. I have very good friends in the Press now, as you are well aware, and I’ll go to court too against you personally.”

Her face turned red. The darting eyes had become frenzied.

“That’s blackmail!” she blurted desperately.

Wolf smiled to himself. For the first time, he had begun to enjoy this.

“Blackmail versus blackmail. That’s fair. Ask even Mr. Jesus if you want.”

Her shoulders wilted. “Alright,” she said in a small croaky voice.

Wolf’s smile widened. He felt triumph course through him.
Sweet!

“I want to see her an hour in the morning and two hours in the evening,” he said.

Her eyes threatened to leap out of their sockets and her jaw dropped to her belly.

“That’s ridiculous! You’ve completely lost your mind!”

Keep quiet, brother, say nothing,
he told himself.
You have her by her sagging tits.

She began studying something nonexistent on the desk. Rows of deep furrows lined her brow. Just when he thought she’d never speak again, she addressed him.

“At best I can allow you half an hour in the evening, every alternate day.”

“Make it an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. Every day.”

“That’s too much!” she cried. “At the most I can allow you an hour in the evening. Every alternate day.”

“An hour and a half. Every day.”

She seemed absolutely scandalized.

“What’s this? You are bargaining with me!” she croaked.

He didn’t answer.

“A half hour every day,” she said lamely.

“An hour every day. That’s my final offer. Take it or…” He let it float.

They looked at each other. Slowly defeat came into her eyes and she lowered them.

“But only if you solemnly promise that you shall be very discreet.” She was desperately trying to mask her misery.

“Don’t fret about it. I shall be totally inconspicuous.”
For Robin and my sake, not yours, you shriveled cunt. Did you or anyone else have the faintest clue when I visited Robin jumping those walls?

“And I want you to drop the cases for with,” she said, in a pathetic attempt to regain the upper hand.

“As soon as I get the info,” he said. “And if you go back on your word about Robin, I shall re-file on the double.” He checked his watch. Four-fifty pm. “Now, I’d like to see my daughter.”

“She’ll be immersed in her homework. It wouldn’t be sensible to upset her studies.”

“It’s Saturday evening, Sister. She shouldn’t be studying.”

She gave him a nasty look. He looked back in kind. She got to her feet now.

“We’re going to your house, are we?” he asked, with just the slightest tinge of sadistic pleasure.
That’s what’s called turning the tables on someone.

She nodded curtly. Wolf chuckled within as he followed her out of the office. First it was an ordinary Sister of the Home as his coconspirator, now it was the chief of the Home herself.
Now that’s some progress!
Oh, he felt so good.

.

He
had sent Stan Knott earlier in the day, to establish the address.

Now, it was ten-forty on this Sunday evening of May 18, when Wolf rang the bell to Ceecee Sandford’s seventh floor apartment, in a rundown building called Flora Towers. He was a bit nervous, but at least the woman still existed. The nameplate on the door said so. He had been apprehensive he would find her at all. Eight years was a long time. She could’ve so easily moved, or be dead.

The door was answered on the third ring.

“Who in fuk’s name is it?” a male voice exploded from behind the door and Wolf flinched.

The door was opened on the safety chain. A mid-forties man with an unkempt face and an equally rumpled mood scowled out at him.

“Who in fuk’s name is you? What you want?” he demanded.

Wolf recoiled sharply as a solid blast of putrid stench smacked his face.

“Ms. Ceecee Sandford?” he managed to say.

“Do I look like fukin female?”

Wolf ground his jaws. “Can I see her, please?”

“Sure you can. Go right up there, guy.” He pointed upward.

“But the nameplate says she lives here,” Wolf said, completely missing the point.

“It does, eh?” he grinned, showing brown teeth. “Who in fuk’s name is you, guy?”

“My name’s Butcher.”

“Oh, you sellin meat, eh? At this time of fukin night? You crazy, guy?”

Wolf’s face tightened. “Look, sir, may I talk to Ms. Ceecee Sandford, please. I…”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere, guy?” the man squinted. “I fukin seen you someplace… Oh, blessed lord, I don’t fukin believe it! You look like that fukin moviestar…what’s his fukin name…yah…some fukin animal name…yah, Jackal…you so much look like that Jackal Butcher chap!”

Wolf flushed. “That’s me. Now please may I…”

“Bless my fukin soul…cunt be!” He shook his head fiercely. “Jisis, in holy name of Chris…cunt be, man!”

Somehow, Wolf bit back a savage urge to reach forward and grab the man by the neck. The door was banged shut, then thrown wide open. The man lurched toward Wolf, who automatically took a hasty step back.

“In holy name of Chris, I don’t fukin believe this! Big moviestar himself at my fukin nest. Jisis Chris!”

Wolf’s head hit the landing wall as he ran out of place to retreat. The man snatched his arm.

“Jisis Chris…I swear!” He slapped his own face, as if to snap himself out of the illusion. But the moviestar remained. The man began to scream now. “Tawny! Hey, Tawny! Tawnyyyyy…!” He rushed back into the house, yelling for
Tawny.

Wolf almost fled down the steps.
Where have I fucking landed?!
But his desperate need to see this woman, Ceecee Sandford, made him stay put.

The man was back, this time dragging a wildly protesting woman by her wrist. She was in her early-thirties, and she was nude.

“Can you fukin believe this one fukin bit, Tawny? Look who’s here! The fukin big-shot moviestar himself! Jisis Chris, see for yourself…”

The woman’s frown disappeared when she saw Wolf. Her mouth opened into an O and her hands went to her mouth.

It was fifteen minutes before some sanity was restored. Most reluctantly, Wolf had stepped into the house on the couple’s insistence. He now sat on a battered sofa in what seemed like a living room, facing the odd duo and cocooned in the reek of liquor.

“Ceecee was my mom. She kicked the fukin bucket last month,” the man, who told Wolf his name was Rudy, said. He had sobered up a speck.

Wolf’s heart sank.

“Did she leave anything behind?” Wolf asked.

“Yah, sure,” Rudy grinned. “Me.” And he slapped his thigh, roaring with laughter. “And this fukin little nest. It’s worth ten million bucks. Want to buy it? I’ll sell it to you for a million. Special favor for big shot moviestar. What say?”

Wolf was aware of the woman’s eyes on him. (“My name’s Tawnia. But call me Tawny; even I call myself that.”) The expression said it all: she was raping him mentally. It made him feel sick. He tried to ignore her, like he tried to ignore the stench around him.

“She didn’t keep a diary or something?” Wolf asked, almost despairingly.

Rudy roared again. “Diary? What’s fukin that? She not even been to fukin kindergarten.”

“So she left nothing behind?”

“Sure. Her rags…fukin underwear and all,” Rudy laughed heartily. “Want to buy it? I’ll fukin sell it to you for a thousand bucks.”

“Can I see her stuff? I might buy it,” Wolf said gravely.

“Really? What’re you—some fukin pervert? You like to shag on old bitch’s underclothes? I heard big, famous people have kinky habits in private, especially moviestars.”

“Do I get to see her stuff or no?” Wolf snapped, suddenly angry.

“But it’ll cost you. Say a hundred bucks. Just to see. What?”

Wolf dipped into his pocket and brought out a wallet. He fished out a hundred bill.

“Jisis Chris!” Rudy exclaimed, getting to his feet. “Follow me, guy!”

They went into a small bedroom, Wolf very conscious of the woman’s hot breath on his nape.

Rudy opened a wall cabinet. It was a mess of old clothes and sundry things, from toothbrush to hair clips. Rudy waved.

“All her fukin stuff’s in here. You want to go through it? If you want I can lay it out on the bed. Only, it’ll cost you a hundred more. What?” A greedy look lit up his eyes.

Wolf glanced at the woman standing by his left shoulder and fished out another hundred.

“Jisis Chris, I don’t fukin believe this! You got a big hart, guy,” Rudy said, pocketing the bill. He began setting the stuff systematically on the bed, as if laying out a kerb-side stall.

“You can buy any of it you want. You just point what you like and I name the price. And I promise you not a fukin word to anyone about this. I’ll keep your fukin secrets for you. What?”

There wasn’t much there, just simple things needed for basic human existence. Wolf looked closely at each item, a man grasping at straws. He wished the woman would give him some space to breathe—she was crowding him, although there was no reason to. Then his eyes fell on a rectangular cardboard box. He picked it up. It was partly open at the top and it was empty, except for a blank sheet of paper. He looked at Rudy and saw his eyes become shifty.

“What’s this?” Wolf asked.

Rudy pouted. “Don’t fukin know, guy,” he said, looking away. “Found it that way.”

Wolf studied him.
The man’s lying.
Surely, there must’ve been something in it. Why keep an old cardboard box amongst other belongings? It occupied unnecessary space. Absentmindedly, he picked the blank paper up and flipped it over. And he froze. Scribbled in red ballpoint ink were the words:

Her name is Mary. Please look after her. I also enclose my life’s most precious belongings. They are for Mary. Give it to her when she grows up. God bless you.

Wolf felt his skin bristle. He waved the paper at Rudy and pointed to the cardboard box.

“There was nothin in it beside. Jisis swear,” Rudy said, his eyes darting around like electrons.

Liar,
Wolf thought. “Look, if you give me what was inside the box, I can pay you good money. Very good money.”

A brew of emotions began bubbling on Rudy’s face. Greed, suspicion, hesitation…

His eyes whizzed over the things spread out on the bed. He picked up a pink dress that was ironed and neatly folded.

“This,” he said. “This was in the box.”