Book of Shadows (22 page)

He would dispose of it as he did of most of his unwanted clothing, which was to patiently and methodically slash the clothing to ribbons. The strips and pieces of material would then be placed in boxes, sealed, and sent to the incinerator. Bofil believed in ending a thing completely—finish what should be finished.

It was a matter of being decisive and precise. A decisive man avoided chaos. A precise man avoided wasting, time, money, energy, and other valuable resources. As a changeling Bofil had to be on guard against the one mistake which might lead to exposure. All of his habits were geared to preventing that.

The dirty infighting of politics also helped create caution in him, and the result was a shrewd and clever man who covered his ambition with charm and had the reputation of never making a mistake. He was also a man who never forgot his enemies or what they had done to him.

When he’d finished dialing he listened to the ringing at the other end. He brought the palm of one hand to his nose, inhaled, and winced as though in pain. He shook his head, wondering whatever possessed him to purchase that scent in the first place.

Then …

“Hello?” The voice at the other end was thick with sleep.

“Cornell, this is Solomon,” said Bofil, using his coven name. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Can’t it wait? Jesus, I’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep.”

“It’s past noon, Cornell. If you’re going to debauch yourself all night it’s a good idea to take the phone off the hook. I’ve just received a call telling me the
Book of Shadows
is now in the hands of Marisa Heggen.”

Cornell Castle yawned in Bofil’s ear. “So? I mean, why tell me? Oh, I see. You want me to tell the Comforts. They still think Seldes has it.”

“I want you to get it and I want you to bring it to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Listen carefully. Get the book from Marisa Heggen and bring it to me. And do it now. Kiss that pretty boy sleeping beside you goodbye and get your ass over to her apartment. Might be a good idea to take someone with you. Heggen’s probably alone, but why take chances?”

“Whoa. Run that by me again.”

Bofil shook his head. “You can be dense at times. I want the book. I don’t want the Comforts to have it. You and I have gone through this before. No one owns me, Cornell. No one. I don’t like the idea of my name being in the kind of book that could cause me a lot of trouble were it to fall into the wrong hands. My plans don’t call for anyone pulling the strings on me or my career. I’ve got too much to lose, and I’ve worked too hard to share what I’ve got with anybody. Now I want you to bring that book to me. When I’ve got it, I’ll be in a position to finesse the Comforts into a situation they can’t get out of. In other words, Cornell, the book is the bait in a trap I’m setting for our English friends.”

“I see.”

“I certainly hope so. When’s the last time you spoke to them?”

Cornell Castle snorted. “As a matter of fact, this morning. They called just before you did. They’re still pissed about what happened at the airport yesterday. I’ve got to tell you they definitely don’t like Marisa Heggen. Our English friends, as you call them, were all set to grab Seldes and get the book when the actress shows up, spots them, and calls in airport security. Sent the Comforts running away with their tails between their legs. Really shook them up. They’ve changed hotels and Mrs. Comfort’s arm is acting up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Has nothing to do with Gregory, I don’t think. Rupert—Christ, what a name! Rupert says he thinks the earth they used for a poultice is probably impure. They took some dirt from Central Park and he thinks the dirt’s probably filled with chemicals, additives and shit like that, and that’s why her arm’s infected. He told me they’d be resting at the hotel at least until tonight.”

Bofil smiled. “Which means they’re not watching Miss Heggen.” ’

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Cornell Castle yawned then said, “Hey wait a minute. Aren’t she and that cop—”

“You don’t have to worry about
that cop.
He’s not with her at the moment.”

“How do you know?”

“Cornell, please.”

“Okay, okay. If you say he’s not with her, he’s not with her.”

Bofil smelled his palm. “I’ve arranged for Detective Sergeant Joseph Bess to close one of my accounts for me. He’s busy with that at the moment.”

“Which account is that?”

“Raymond.”

The understanding crept into Cornell Castle’s voice. “You’re a fox, man. An ever loving fox. You’ve got us all moving around like we’re pieces on a chessboard. Wow! A cop taking care of business for you. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“He’s not aware that he’s taking care of Raymond for me, but what does it matter? The job’s getting done and Raymond will shortly cease to be a source of potential embarrassment.”

“And after him come the Comforts.”

“Exactly. They’re a danger to the coven and they’re a danger to me. Unless the Comforts are removed from our lives pretty soon, someone’s going to connect their string of homicides with you, me, and our associates, and none of us are going to be happy about it. Joseph Bess is the kind of man who could do just that. So far he hasn’t. We’re being helped by the fact that Bess knows he can’t convince anybody to believe tales of black magic and dark forces at work. I’d like to remove the Comforts from the scene before someone starts believing Bess and Miss Heggen. My plan begins with your getting the
Book of Shadows.”

Cornell Castle chose his words carefully. “What about Marisa Heggen?”

“What about her?”

“She’s not going to hand over the book without a fuss.”

“No, she’s not. She’s waiting to hand it over to Bess. If you’re asking me how to handle it, all I can say is get the book, Cornell. Get it any way you can. Miss Heggen is of no consequence.”

Cornell Castle said, “She put up a pretty good fight with Gregory. I just might have to off her.”

“Goodbye, Cornell. The lady has the next three days off. However, I expect to hear from you within the hour.”

Bofil hung up. He smiled as he thought of the perfume he’d poured down the toilet.

J
OSEPH BESS LED THE
way, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he walked quietly down the dark, narrow hallway toward the last apartment on the left. When he reached it he flattened himself against the wall to the right of the door and pulled his .38 Smith & Wesson from his belt holster, thumbing off the safety in the same motion. Felix Plante, who’d been behind him, took a position against the wall on the other side of the door.

Inside the apartment a dog barked and a man laughed and said, “Fuckin’ dog. Who told you to eat that garbage?”

Another male voice, this one muffled by the music from a televised disco show, said something, and the first man replied, “Maybe tomorrow. Depends. You’re dealing with other people and you know how that is.”

Joseph Bess looked at Felix and held up two fingers. Two men in the apartment. At least two, maybe more. Felix held up one finger and mouthed the word
dog
and rolled his eyes.

Bess shrugged. Dog or no dog, he and Felix were going through the door and they were going to get Raymond. According to Princess Grace, Raymond and Fancy were hiding out with a small-time pornography dealer who kept a guard dog in his apartment to discourage ripoffs. The porn dealer was Murray Train, who owned points in a couple of massage parlors and dealt in X-rated video cassettes, the hottest item in pornography. Murray’s record listed charges of armed robbery, counterfeiting, rape, pimping, and suspicion of murder.

Murray had a nasty temper. He could be a problem with or without his dog. As for the dog, Joseph Bess would cross that bridge when he came to it. Princess Grace had said it was a Doberman, a vicious animal that hated the world and obeyed only Murray. It was Murray who was helping Raymond and Fancy get out of New York and to Atlanta, where tomorrow they were to “entertain” at a private party given by a wealthy industrialist in that city.

Murray’s apartment was on the top floor of a walkup on Fifty-third Street just off Eighth Avenue, a rundown building tenanted by Puerto Ricans, prostitutes, and a few pimps. Bess suspected that somewhere in Murray’s collection of video cassettes for sale were a few featuring Fancy and Raymond in action. If Bess had his way, Murray would be taking a fall along with Raymond. Both men deserved jail time.

Bess nodded to Felix, who nodded back. Time to get down.

Bess used the butt of his .38 to knock gently on the door.

Inside the talking stopped.

“Yeah?”

Bess said, “I hear you got merchandise. I want to do business.”

Murray managed to sound both bored and cautious.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, fella. Besides, it’s Saturday and I don’t do no business on a Saturday.”

“I hear different, Murray. I hear you do business every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

“Ivy. Says he bought from you a few times and you’re okay.”

“Ivy said that?” Interest trickled into Murray’s voice. “How is Ivy?”

“How the hell would you be if you only got one leg?”

Murray chuckled. “Yeah, that’s Ivy all right. He let his diabetes go until that shit got to him. Okay—”

The telephone rang.

Fuck me,
breathed Plante, his dark face glistening with perspiration.

“Just a minute,” said Murray. “Lemme grab the phone.”

Bess frowned. Soon, soon …

They heard Murray walk a few steps and heard the ringing stop as he picked up the receiver and said, “Yeah? Yeah, this is he.”

Silence.

And Murray’s voice was suddenly soft, edgy. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks a lot. Appreciate it.”

He hung up.

Silence.

Bess put his ear to the door. He mouthed the words to Felix,
he’s whispering.

Bess didn’t like it. Something was wrong.

He whispered to Felix,
They know. They fucking know.

Go for it,
whispered Felix.

“Police!” yelled Bess. “Open up!”

Inside, a small girl’s voice said, “Are they really going to kill us, Daddy?”

Bess heard the movement on the other side of the door, the sounds he’d heard many times before. Panic. Confusion. An attempt to escape.

“I said open up, Murray! Don’t make it tough on yourself!”

The dog growled and began to bark. Felix lifted his arm with the wrist cast and gave the dog the finger.

Bess jerked his thumb at the door. “Go!”

Felix stepped in front of it, lifted one big foot and kicked at the lock. The dog barked and barked while Felix kicked repeatedly.

Fancy shrieked. Raymond yelled. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

With the uncanny sense of timing he’d had all his life, Bess pushed Felix aside, quickly throwing himself back against the wall. A fraction of a second later three shots tore through the wooden door.

Felix, down on one knee and out of the line of fire, looked up at Bess. “Love you, baby.”

Waving him away, Bess shouted, “Murray, you stupid son of a bitch! You want it hard, you got it hard!”

Murray screamed, “Wasn’t me! I didn’t shoot no gun!”

From within the apartment came sounds of a scuffle and the dog barked and Murray shouted, “Goddam it, gimme that thing! You fuckin’ outta your mind? You don’t shoot at cops!”

Bess and Felix moved at the same time. Murray and Raymond were arguing and would be occupied for a few seconds.

The two detectives hit the weakened door together, driving their shoulders into the cheap wood, and it crashed open, slamming against a wall, sending pieces of locks and chains flying through the air.

And then the Doberman was on Felix, knocking him into Bess and driving both detectives off balance and back, back. Both men went down to the floor, Felix fighting the snarling dog, Joseph Bess grimacing with pain, a hand on his injured ribs. Bess struggled to his knees, his gun somewhere on the floor and forgotten.

He looked up to see Raymond rushing toward the open door and Bess reached out for his ankle, tripped him up and brought him down. Raymond swung his gun around and Bess flopped on him, both hands catching Raymond’s wrist. Wild eyed with fear, Raymond, his finger still on the trigger, pushed Bess’s wrists up, up, the gun barrel inching towards the detective’s throat. Raymond was lean, but taller and stronger than Joseph Bess.

Raymond spat in his face and kicked out, painfully scraping Bess’s ankles. Leaning forward and dangerously closer to the gun, Bess dug his teeth into Raymond’s ear, twisting, grinding, tearing at the flesh. The pornographer screamed and Bess shoved the gun down, felt it make contact with Raymond. The gun went off, a flat, slight crack no louder than a toy.

Raymond stiffened, then abruptly relaxed. Bess, the smell of scorched cloth and flesh in his nostrils, rolled off, breathing heavily, eyes on the bright blood flowing from the hole in Raymond’s stomach.

Crack.

Another shot, this one from the hallway.

Bess looked around. The apartment was empty. There was Bess and Raymond and no one else, not even the dog.

Bess crawled to his gun, grabbed it. He stood up and, ignoring the pain in his side, staggered from the apartment and out into the hall. Felix was at the other end, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down. When Bess reached him, Felix pointed at the landing below.

Fancy lay on her side. Curled up near her was Murray.

“Murray?” asked Bess between deep breaths.

Felix shook his head. “No. They ran out, him and the girl, and the dog followed them. When they reached here, Murray pushes the kid out of the way so he can go first, but she trips and falls down the stairs and the dog gets tangled up in Murray’s legs and the next thing you know, they’re all falling down. Goddam dog get up, sees me, and he starts growling. Then he’s running back up the stairs like he really wants to kill me.”

Felix held up his wrist cast. “Back there, when that dog came at me I let him chew on this. Saved my ass. Damn dog went crazy trying to bite through this thing. But I wasn’t going to try it twice. This time I just blew his ass away.”