Brides Of The Impaler (27 page)

“I think so.” Cristina found the proper white carryout box and passed it to her.

Britt sniffed the aromas from the box. “Just the way this stuff
smells
drives me nuts. I love classy Asian cuisine.”

“Me, too. This is just what I need after…”

Britt grinned in the white refrigerator light. “After mongo sex? Oh, we heard you in there.”

Cristina blushed. “Yeah, well you and Jess weren’t exactly low-key either.”

“It was great,” she said with a mouthful of ostrich. “He definitely got the job done.”

Cristina’s eyes drifted to Britt’s bare stomach and legs but she dragged them off after a moment. Britt obviously noticed but didn’t say anything. Suddenly Cristina broke away and loped for the living room. “I want to look at it again…”

“Look at
what?
” Britt came after here.

“You know. The thing. The bowl.”

“Centerpiece,” Britt said. “Bowls aren’t lopsided, little sister, but—”

At once Cristina was frantic. The coffee table was empty save for several beer bottles. “Britt! It’s gone! I know I left it here!”

“Calm down, you nut!” Britt almost raised her voice. “Jesus, you’re always such a live wire!”

“It’s gone!”

Britt sighed. “Jess put it in the trunk so he doesn’t forget it tomorrow. You heard him, he has to go to the office for a little while.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Cristina slumped.
Overreacting again
. “So the secretary can show it to her jeweler friend.”

“You’re always on pins and needles, Cristina.” She padded back to the kitchen for more tidbits. “You’d think that after getting laid, you’d have simmered down.”

She’s right…as always
. Again she caught her gaze lingering over Britt’s well-toned body. “But it is weird, isn’t it? Sure, maybe I did meet the priest briefly months ago, but why would I dream about that bowl to the extent that I’d incorporate it into my next figurine?”

“Because it’s all subconscious imagery,” Britt nearly snapped. She was obviously getting tired of her foster sister’s obsessions. “Everybody has fucked-up dreams.”

“And the dog skull? Come on. Lately there’s been a dog in the nightmare.”

“So
what
! Stop with all this! You’re going to drive everybody nuts. A fucking animal skull in a hole in the ground. Who knows why it’s there and who cares?” Britt looked at Cristina with some scrutiny. “You know, a little Prozac would do you a world of good. Stop obsessing.”

Cristina gave a sheepish nod. “And what was the design? On the cement patch? What do you think that is?”

“How the fuck do
I
know?” Britt flared.

“Maybe I should ask the priest.”

“Well then do that. Nobody gives a shit, Cristina. It’s just some stamp in the cement with some Latin on it. It’s some church seal.”

“Well…” Cristina fidgeted.
Why can’t I let it go
?
“Isn’t there something that neither of us told Paul and Jess?”

Britt’s eyes narrowed as she tried to rein her anger. She whispered, “What, that we both got a wild hair last night and made out? We can
never
tell them that. Are you crazy?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant last night. It was you and I who broke that cement up, and we didn’t even remember it. I’m not the only one who had a blackout. You did, too. Last night.”

Britt grabbed her shoulder and shot a fierce whisper in her ear. “I know that, Cristina. And it probably is some flashback shit from the Goldfarb days, but we agreed to ignore that. If we don’t, it’ll screw both of us up in the head. The past is past. It doesn’t matter! After what we went through, we can’t
let
it matter, otherwise we’ll never have our own lives. We’ve been through this and through this. So just stop!”

“I’m sorry,” Cristina offered, a tear in her eye now. “It just…bothers me.”

“Don’t let it. And we can never tell the guys about last night. It’s none of their business anyway.”

Cristina fidgeted some more. “Let’s go down in the basement, just to look around. Maybe there’s more stuff in that hole.”

Britt glared. “Cristina, if you go back in that
fucking
basement, I’ll kick your butt. I’m not kidding. I don’t care if Davy Jones’s Locker is in that hole. We’re not going down there. The place is bad luck.” She squeezed Cristina’s shoulder. Hard. “You hear me?”

Cristina nodded.

“Good. We’re going to have
fun
this weekend. No more of this bullshit. And don’t be talking to that priest, whoever the hell he is. With all the shit you read about priests these days, who knows what kind of weirdo he might be. Let’s go back to bed now.”

Cristina knew it was the best idea but, still, she hesitated.

“Look, Jess is going to the office tomorrow.” Britt put the leftovers away. “What’s Paul doing?”

“I think he’s playing golf.”

“Good. Tomorrow, let’s you and I get dressed up and go to lunch at the Four Seasons, or maybe D’Amato’s, okay?”

“I’d like that.”

“I brought some killer dresses with me, and you can wear that red dress I gave you last Christmas. We’ll
turn
some heads, girl!”

Cristina smiled, knowing that Britt had probably only suggested it to get her mind off these other things. Britt’s arm slipped around Cristina’s back; she urged her toward her and Paul’s bedroom.

“Sorry I’m such a pain in the ass,” Cristina peeped.

“Forget it. Now go to bed.”

In the dark, then, they joined in a “sisterly” peck on the cheek but after a moment…

Was it Cristina who refused to let go?

Cristina’s mouth drew to Britt’s, and she pressed her breasts forward. She had no awareness of her intent yet she found herself doing it anyway. Their tongue tips touched; Britt paused breathless, but when Cristina sought to kiss her more deeply, it was Britt who nudged away.

“We can’t. It’s not right.”

Cristina kept her hands on Britt’s hips.

“What happened last night was just a fun accident,” Britt whispered almost inaudibly. “But I love you. You know that, right?”

Cristina nodded in the dark.

“Go to bed.” Britt smiled, let her fingers trail down Cristina’s arm. “See you in the morning.” Then she returned to the guest room where Jess could be heard snoring.

Cristina remained in the dark hall a moment. Did she shiver? She thought of the basement again, but cringed.
I
have to try to be better
. She went back to bed and fell into what would be a very welcome
dreamless
sleep, and she was happy by her final resolve. She had never burdened Britt with her final worry: that maybe the house was haunted.

Mark Funari was the security account and personnel manager, a bristly man with dull dark eyes and steel-wool hair, short in height and temper. He didn’t like site calls unless it was an emergency. But this?

Laura Eastman stood sleek at the front glass doors, tapping her foot. “Finally,” she said when Funari debarked from his company car.

“Did you knock?”

Lines creased Laura’s pretty face when she frowned. “No, I yodeled. Of course I knocked. I’ve been knocking for a half hour.” She pointed through the glass to the security desk. “His stuff’s not on the desk, and neither is the Detex clock.”

“He probably fell asleep!” Funari barked, grimacing at the desk. “Did you call his—”

“Cell phone? Of course,” she sputtered. “Just voice mail. I think he split.”

“Split as in quit, you mean.” Funari had never liked her; she was too snooty like so many women with the right looks. He liked her even less after she’d twice had sex with him in return for a buck-an-hour raise.
They’re all whores,
all of them
. “What about his car, brainchild? Is his car here?”

She shot him a look that could kill. “Mark, Gemser doesn’t have a car, for the same reason I don’t and damn near everyone else who works for you. You don’t pay enough.”

“Watch that.”

“Anyway, I knocked for a half hour; then I called you,” she said, and the way she stood, at a slight angle, allowed the nipple of one perfect breast to be half-seen in the loop between two buttons of her security shirt.

Bitch is doing it on purpose
. Funari was so mad he could barely get the keys in the door, but eventually they opened and after a quick search of all the desk drawers, he realized that Gemser probably did quit without telling anyone. His knapsack was gone, along with his bag lunch and thermos. The site keys were gone as well but at least Funari had duplicates.

“Gemser’s got his shit together too much to quit,” Funari asserted. “He’s worked for me ten years.”

“And…
how
many raises?” Laura made the snide remark.

Funari leveled his gaze. “You better watch it, sweetheart. Your company record ain’t exactly setting the world on fire. You need this job.”

Laura laughed and sat down sloppily behind the desk. She put her feet up. “You’re gonna fire me for making honest comments? Go ahead. I’d sue you for sexual harassment, and you know I’d win. I’m a minority, a downtrodden woman in a man’s world, forced to subject myself to sexual debasement to keep from starving.”

Funari felt like he was broiling.

Laura grinned. “And if you want another go, for another dollar an hour…” She parted her legs on the desk and winked.

“Get your smart ass out of that chair. We have to search the building. My bet is you cock-teased him one too many times and he just got sick of it so he walked out—”

“I think Gemser’s too
big
of a man to do something like that.” She winked again.

Funari got the innuendo.
Don’t take the bait
. “I’m too busy to let you piss me off, but one thing I’m sure of,
Gemser’s at least enough of a class act that if he quit, he’d leave the keys and leave a message. You take the first and second floors, I’ll take three and four.”

Funari strode off, heel snapping. Laura laughed and casually got to the task.

An hour later, they were done, and there was no sign of Gemser.

“Fuck this. That mother
fucker!
” Funari growled back at the desk. “I have to find a substitute fast. You’ll have to work a sixteen-hour shift.”

“You know me, Mark. I’ll do anything for triple-time.”

“Bullshit. Time and a half.”

“Have a good day.” Laura grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

“All right, triple-time!”
Bitch, bitch, BITCH
! Funari tossed her the keys and now
he
headed for the front doors. He didn’t look at her when he said, “And if that scumbag shows up here tonight with his dick in his hand, have him call me.”

Laura offered a light, spiccato chuckle. “He’d need both hands, Mark. Unlike, well…”

Funari banged out the doors and stalked to his car. He reminded Laura of a toddler about to have a tantrum.

“What a loser,” she muttered. She locked up after him. But now that her pathetic boss was gone, the empty building seemed immense, and she was alone in it. She began her first round, wondering where the
hell
Gemser could be.

Gemser wasn’t quite dead yet, proof of the resilience of the human body. He’d been stripped and erected on the sharpened pole and now hung there as if mounted, and in truth, he’d never even gotten a good look at the people who’d done this to him. Only a few candles lit the stench-filled
room, and he could see their shadows squatting aside as they seemed to divide his lunch among the three of them—egg salad sandwich, chips, and a tangerine—chug his coffee and riffle through his wallet. He could feel his heart thumping hard and slow as the pain coursed through him like dull electricity. In deeper shadows, he saw several other figures who’d suffered the same fate. They were all macabre mannequins now.

“Suh-suh-suh…someone’ll come,” one of the figures said.

Another. “The New Mother will protect us. She protected us from
him
, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” A third female voice. “But it’ll all be over soon anyway.”

“That’s right!”

More eating sounds, then:

“Francy, when will you have to leave?”

“Soon. The guy with the goatee has to go to his office in a little while, but I’ll already be there. I’ll take the subway.”

“I-I-I wish I could go instead-instead-instead—”

“Be quiet! And how could you go anyway, Stutty? You don’t talk right—he wouldn’t believe you.”

“Yuh-yeah? How do you know he’ll buh-buh-buh—believe you?”

“Because the New Mother said he would! We must have faith! We have to
believe
!”

“Shut up, Francy. We do. You’re too bossy.”

“I am n—”

“Huh-hey! This guy has four hundred bucks in his wallet.”

“That’s great. We’ll put it with what’s left of Doke’s money. Is there any sandwich left?”

“No.”

“Shit.” A chuckle. “It’s funny, though. He made it but we ate it!”

Crazy
, Gemser’s half-firing brain managed to think.

“Wuh-wuh-we should agorn him now.”

“
Adorn
, Stutty!”

“That’s what I said!”

Gemser felt like he’d been shuddering for hours. When would he die? His body seemed to minutely toss around the stake each time his heart beat. Feet scuffled, and now his eyes could dimly detect the three shapes crowding around him. Gemser tried to scream but all that came out was a rough, wet rattle.

“He’s still alive!”

“The New Mother said that sometimes the Prince’s enemies would live for days on the pikes.”

“Wuh-wow!”

Madness
, Gemser thought.

A sharp, familiar smell reached his nostrils, and though his nervous system was growing less and less responsive, he could feel something, too.
Magic marker
, came the insane thought. They were drawing lines up and down his body with magic marker.

“I think it’s cool he’s still alive.”

“Hey, I wonder if…”

Now Gemser felt a hand plying his terror-and pain-shriveled genitals.

“Sandrine, you weirdo! He’s almost dead! He can’t—”

“I…just wanna see if…” And next Gemser felt a mouth down there. Gemser blinked.

“Told you, Sandrine, you perv.”

The shadows all cackled.

I’m…in hell
, was the last thought to drift through George Gemser’s mind before he died.

Jess was used to hangovers; it scarcely impeded him from getting up at eight, showering, and dressing. As he knotted
his tie he paused to stare at Britt who lay asleep and belly-down on the tousled bed. The sheets were mostly off, and what Jess was musing over was her nearly bare body just lying there for him to view, the sweep of her back, the sleek legs, and her buttocks barely covered by the tissue-thin pan ties.
Nope
, Jess thought.
I ain’t gonna do better in a million
years
.

“You’re up early,” he commented when he came out to the kitchen. Cristina puttered at the coffee machine, wrapped in a robe. She seemed perturbed.

“I got a coffee craving,” she said. “I didn’t sleep much but I slept great.”

“Then how come you look pissed off?”

Cristina reflected. “I guess because I sort of am. Britt and I are going to lunch later, and I wanted to wear that red Dolce and Gabbana dress she got me. But I can’t find it anywhere.”

“It’ll turn up,” Jess small-talked. He grabbed his briefcase. “Has Paul left for the golf course yet?”

“He’s in the shower.”

“Tell him I’ll try to meet him for the back nine, will ya? I have a little paperwork to do.”

“Sure,” she said, distracted. “Why don’t you and Britt stay tonight, too? We’re not doing anything.”

“We’ll probably take you up on that.” Jess chuckled. “Paul and I’ll bring back a couple fifty-dollar pizzas from Barbetta’s.”

“That would be great. Oh, and don’t forget to show that bowl-thing to your secretary.”

“Are you kidding? I’m dying to know what the stones are.”
Probably paste
, he figured, but the lawyer in him couldn’t resist. “See ya tonight.”

“ ’Bye.”

Jess rushed out, jumped in the car, and twenty minutes later was at the office. His eyes gave a sexist bulge when he entered the office and saw Ann already at her desk. He
could see her runway model legs beneath the glass-topped desk, black leather skirt hiked up high enough to just barely betray the fact that she rarely wore pan ties.
Jesus.
These Lipstick Lesbians LOVE to rile up middle-
aged straight
guys
. At least she was good at her job, too. “Here’s the rest of those lease reports you wanted,” she said. She frowned within a banged frame of blonde hair. “I’ve been at it since six.”

“What a gal.” He thumbed through the papers. “You sure it’s all here?”

“Of course.”

“Good, then you can go—”

“Serious?”

“It’s Saturday, Ann. No sense both of us being here if we don’t have to be.”

“What a guy!”

“But could you do me a favor?” He pulled the three-gemmed bowl from his briefcase. “That chick you know who has a jewelry business? Could you give her a call and get me an appraisal appointment?”

“Sure…” She dialed, then peered at the bowl. “Looks old. Where you’d get it?”

“It was buried in Paul’s basement, believe it or not. We just want to know what the stones are.”

Ann eyed the object further, then began talking on the phone. When she was done, she said, “She’ll have someone here within an hour to take a look.”

“Thanks, Ann. Now you get out of here and have some fun.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely do that,” she said, batting big lashes. She got up but paused to take one more glance at the bowl. “Yeah, it looks old, all right.
And
…creepy.”

Jess reglanced at it through narrowed eyes. A vertigo seemed to shift his vision, the three stones flashing. “Yeah,” he murmured.

Ann bade her grateful farewell, while Jess chose to sit at
her desk to go over the paperwork. But only minutes later, there was a tap at the open door.

Jess looked up, slightly taken aback by a wan woman with medium blonde hair that looked poorly combed, late thirties, probably, and kind of pallid. Red lipstick looked overly applied, but she wore a stunning scarlet dress that must’ve cost a bundle.
That’s what I call worn around the
edges
, he thought. The dress clashed with the rest of her, and only a smidgen of prettiness seemed to struggle beneath the weathered veneer, and to top it all off, she wore uncomely pink glasses. “Oh, hi,” he said. “You must be Ann’s friend, the jewelry appraiser.”

“Um-hmm, right. I’m Francy.” Her eyes seemed to spark when she noticed the bowl atop the glass desk. “Is that it?”

She looks more beat than a rented drum
, Jess thought,
but
she sure got here fast
. “Yes, and come in. I’m Jess Franklin.”

The woman seemed to walk sheepishly, as if unused to the classy high heels. With each step, her eyes grew wider on the bowl. “Wow,” she said, coming right around to where Jess sat and leaning over. Her bare arm rubbed his shoulder at once.
This is…weird
, he thought, just the immediacy with which she brushed against him. He felt vaguely uncomfortable.

As she leaned, she picked up the bowl. The three rounded stones gleamed in their mounts. “It’s…interesting,” she said, though her voice sounded as worn as she looked. “Looks like an old cistern…Eastern Orthodox…maybe, about five hundred years old.”

Another thing bothered him: the way she stalled before each group of words, almost as if reciting something. She pronounced each word slowly. Her arm rubbed him more overtly as she continued to look, half-spellbound. “We see these every now and then. They’re worth about three or four hundred dollars to collectors.”

Damn
, he thought, his greed stifled. He glanced aside, was about to speak, but noticed the woman’s small breasts
almost fully visible due to the angle she leaned in.
Yeah,
she’s beat, all right. Rode hard and put away wet
. Her broken teeth looked stained as well.
But she’s got to be for real if
Ann’s friend sent her
…

“So the stones aren’t valuable?” he finally asked.

“Not on their own…”

Now Jess’s discomfort merged with something else when she absently put her left arm around him and pointed to each stone with her right index finger. He noticed the nails were shabby and bitten down.
Ann’s friend sure sent
me a piece of work. I think she’s putting the make on me
…

“See. Obsidian, green garnet, and red garnet,” she said, then squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t take them out, then the bowl would be worthless.”

In the leaning gap of her dress top, Jess saw that her nipples looked raggy, as if chewed. He felt half-repulsed by her, but then something primal in him stirred. He offered a fake chuckle. “And we were thinking black diamond, emerald, and ruby…”