Trifecta (88 page)

A
s Omar examined each of his witches in turn, his
anger was reaching gigantic proportions.  Ginger couldn't even walk.  He probed
her knee with long fingers as she cried tears of rage, pain and frustration, vowing
she would kill Michelle herself.  Ginger was in no condition to be his high priestess
tonight.  She couldn't kneel or genuflect.  Considering the way she was limping,
she would be in no shape do anything for a long while.  Maybe never.  The whole
kneecap had exploded, shattered like glass.

Omar might be a sorcerer, but he was no healer.  And who
had perpetrated this neat little trick?  Michelle.  Playing dirty.

The rage was growing as he looked at his dark haired witch,
Leilanie.  Both the radius and ulnar bones were broken in her arm.  She would have
to be sent to a doctor, along with Ginger.  And a witch performing magical rites
with a broken arm was ludicrous, even if the bones could be set in a couple of hours.

Suzanne, his newest witch, didn't know enough to help him
much tonight.  Luckily she had several layers of adipose tissue, or fat, over her
stomach muscles so that she had not been disabled too badly.  She had an enormous
bruise and was in some pain, but otherwise had not sustained dire injury.  He would
teach her what to do and use the white haired witch, Genelle, whom he considered
a whining, piteous excuse for a real priestess in the ceremony.  He would have to
make do with the two of them and six others whom he had trained and brought over
to Hawaii for the ceremonies.

What really infuriated him, though, was that his four witches,
discerning his intention from the death ritual on the beach last night, had decided
to take matters into their own hands.  He had not understood the extent of Ginger's
fury at his interest in Michelle. 

There was no doubt that Ginger, with her insane jealousy,
had been the ringleader in this little escapade.  She had stolen his most potent
drugs and fed them to Leilanie, Genelle and Suzanne.  Drugged up, they then attacked
Michelle's friend, Heather.  In her presence! 

For that inexplicably stupid act their injuries were deserved
and he wished they were much more horrible.  For now it was apparent that Michelle
had probably figured out his role in the plot to get rid of her best friend.  Omar
wanted Michelle weak, vulnerable and distraught; a beautiful emotional stage for
gaining access to her.  Now though, Michelle was a dangerous threat.

The other thing eating at him was the fact that he would
have to move the ceremony.  It was too dangerous to go back to Three Tables Beach. 
He had until midnight to contact everyone about the change in location. 

On top of that, Samson Stoker had not disposed of the witch
hunter, Vincent Middleton, who had been snooping at the ceremony last night.  Samson
had merely clubbed him and left him on the roadside without clothes or identification. 

There had been a leak at police headquarters.  Reporters
had somehow appropriated the story Vincent Middleton had told the police; that he
had been beaten over the head and that the body of a young girl had disappeared
at a secret religious ceremony.  It was being reported breathlessly all over the
island, on the radio and television news.  At least the reporters had been cautious
enough not to mention it had been a witch's ceremony.  But it was too dangerous
for a repeat performance.

Innately superstitious, Omar wondered what the third inauspicious
omen would be.  He knew that the Honolulu Advertiser and Star Bulletin would have
exaggerated accounts of the incident tomorrow morning. 

Omar tore at his hair and paced the marble floor of his
apartment.  He was surrounded by incompetents and invalids.  No more Mr. Nice-Guy
routine for Michelle.  He had been patient, actually letting her escape when he
almost had her.  He should have used hypnosis, or tried another vehicle for the
hallucinogen he had put in the tea, but he had wanted her bewitched by her own volition. 
He cursed his stupid masculine pride.  He had wanted her to physically succumb without
the use of force or heavy sedatives.  Not that it would have given him his ultimate
prize, but it was a beginning.

Now Omar vowed revenge for what she had done to his disciples. 
He really had no choice.  The lethal punishment drifted into his mind when he glanced
at his son.  Yes, she would suffer terribly.  But not until he had use of the parts
of her that he needed.

Omar left his apartment to begin preparations for
his alternate location.  The tent had to be erected and the rock base for the fire
had to be dug, where the 'witch's caldron,' a large pot that one of his witches
would stir, would be placed for maximum effect.  Then the fire had to be started. 
The whole process took some time, but the rubes expected a big old black pot, bubbling
with what they imagined were toad guts and lizard brains.  The stakes for the torches
had to be carried to the beach.  All the drugged herbal potions, along with charms
and talismans, had to be put on display at the front entrance of the tent for easy
access for the witches to sell.  He smiled when he thought of how simple it was
to get people addicted to his potent herbal potions that were reputed to cure baldness,
cause weight loss and ensure masculine potency.  He calculated that he had at least
a hundred new lifetime addicts here in the islands, after only a couple of weeks.

Omar left Suzanne making calls to his devotees in his apartment
about the change in location.  Samson Stoker was driving around the island in the
van with all the religious witch paraphernalia.  He only had a few hours to get
everything ready.

When Omar arrived in the lobby of the building he was distracted
from his immediate plans when he saw two uniformed policemen leaving the building. 
One of them was holding a plastic container as though it was poison or possessed
an odious smell.  The policeman's elbow was crooked at an odd angle to keep the
contents a distance away from his person. 

Omar drifted nearer because he knew that plastic container. 
It belonged to a set from his own kitchen.  He hurried across the lobby and managed
to jostle the policeman as he was exiting through the glass doors.  The man almost
dropped the container and Omar steadied him, looking down inside.  He cursed under
his breath when he saw the contents.  It was Lucifer's food.  The organs were unused
and intact.

Omar cursed again.  He would have to go and get Lucifer
right now.  The cat's special abilities could be reversed if he didn't get his unique
food.  That meant another sacrifice tonight.  The plentiful frozen supply in his
freezer wouldn't be potent enough to negate the damage.  He had to suppose Michelle
had been feeding Lucifer regular food for almost two days.  Which meant she knew
that his food was something other than animal organs.  If so, she was doubly dangerous.
 A real threat.  She would wonder where he had obtained it.  He had to do something
about her quickly. 

He needed fresh blood.  The window of time was only a few
hours until Lucifer would lose his demonic abilities. 

Omar calculated and quickly went over his choices.  Suzanne
was a logical option.  She was turning into more of a problem than an asset.  She
seemed to remember the witch initiation whenever she caught a glimpse of Samson. 
Then she would start crying uncontrollably until Omar fed her more of the tea that
she loved, laced with barbiturates.  After that she would go to sleep for several
hours.  When she awakened from her drugged sleep she would hiccup annoyingly and
uncontrollably for another few hours from drug withdrawal. 

Omar had to keep Suzanne on drugs though, or with another
person, because she wanted to call her parents to let them know that she was no
longer with Vincent Middleton, when she was lucid enough to remember.  He couldn't
let that happen.  If she disappeared he didn't want his name associated with her. 
Omar thought Suzanne might have a psychotic break from all the chemicals she was
ingesting, but he didn't care if she went mad.  He might implicate the professor,
Vincent Middleton, in Suzanne's very grisly death, kill two birds with one stone.

Sometimes having several women around each other all the
time was a nuisance, Omar thought, feeling sorry for himself because of all the
silly, petty jealousy and anger.  He needed a high priestess who could really kick
ass, keep his women in line.  Michelle would be perfect now that he knew how physically
powerful she was.  He had to admit he felt some admiration at the way she fought
his witches on the beach. 

Keeping several women under control was such a silly
waste of his time and energy.  Take Ginger for example.  She hated Suzanne,
even though he hadn't used her sexually.  Ginger was jealous of Suzanne because
she was young and new, and she had the added burden of taking care of Suzanne
when Omar wasn't around.  Suzanne, on the other hand, disliked Ginger and was
jealous of her because Ginger was the High Priestess and she knew that Omar had
sex with her.  Suzanne obviously wanted to sleep with him, and he didn't desire
her.  He might have to because she was becoming increasingly unmanageable. 
Then, if Ginger found out, she might kill Suzanne herself.

All of his women plotted against each other and viciously
gossiped about the others.

The whole thing reminded him of a stupid goddamn soap opera.

But Lucifer needed his food and Ginger herself might be
the logical choice.  She had outlived her usefulness.  She was getting older, not
as beautiful, besides being a wild card with the extent of her raging jealousy toward
any other woman Omar professed an interest in.

And then there was Michelle, who had to be punished for
her attack against his disciples.  The other outside choice was the red-haired Oriental
sneak who was with Michelle and Heather right now.  Or Heather herself.  He had
meant to do her anyway.  In spite of her small stature she was a fighter.  He might
even take her on himself.  Let Samson watch.

Yes, Omar had choices.  But now he had to deflect an investigation
into Lucifer's food.

Omar immediate activities were successful.  The specimens
en rout to the police laboratory never reached their destination.  There was a terrible
automobile accident that night which pushed the religious ceremony Vincent Middleton
had witnessed right out of the news.  Two policemen were killed in a freak accident
when a boulder toppled on top of their car.  The specimens they had been taking
to a lab inexplicably disappeared from the scene.

T
he policemen had finally left with the plastic container,
which held God knows what.  Michelle was grabbing a light linen stole, as the weather
on the other side of the island, where Henry's house was located, tended to be more
chilly than here in Waikiki.  Large parties in the islands could last until the
wee hours.  Henry's yearly bashes usually reached gigantic proportion.  Indeed,
he would probably have hung-over guests to feed in the morning.

There was a knock on the door and Michelle hurried to answer
it.  She suspected it was the police with more questions.  Luckily, Nakamura was
there.  He had been very good at deferring their curiosity.  Michelle glanced at
her watch.  It was already 8:00 p.m.  They were going to be terribly late.

Omar stood in the doorway, smiling, and Michelle almost
reeled backward, as though from a blast of cold air when she saw his face.  She
actually felt goose-bumps erupt on her arms, where the hair was standing straight
up.  His smile was pure malevolence.  She took a deep breath and invited him in. 

"Thank you, Michelle.  I came to collect Lucifer."

God he was angry, Michelle thought, although he was a study
of politeness as he strolled in.  His body looked thin and lethal and tight as a
board.  She realized she was very afraid of him now that she thought he might be
committing rape and murder, harvesting organs to feed his cat.

Michelle introduced Omar to Nakamura and Heather.  He was
still smiling, the perfect gentleman, but he must be furious about what she had
done to his witches on the beach this evening.  Even Heather seemed subdued as she
smiled politely, giving no indication that his witches had tried to kill her.

The curious thing was that Nakamura, a person who handled
even unpleasant social occasions with ease, was openly hostile.  The men were sizing
each other up, practically snarling like belligerent wolves.  Neither smiled or
shook hands during the introduction.  It was perfectly obvious to Michelle that
Nakamura suspected this man was feeding his cat human organs.  He didn't even try
to hide his dislike.

"I'll get Lucifer," Michelle said, looking around
the room for the cat.  She went into the kitchen but he wasn't there.  She had to
go back through the living room, in which everyone was standing in frozen silence,
Nakamura and Omar still directing hateful glances at each other.  Heather was seated
on the couch and had lit a cigarette, which she puffed on furiously.

Michelle found Lucifer under her bed.  She had to crawl
under it to get him.  He seemed fine as she picked him up and backed up on hands
and knees.  She petted him and gave him a tiny kiss on his little pink nose before
she walked into the living room and gave him to Omar.  She felt she was committing
a dreadful act in handing Lucifer over to him.

Omar was still giving his awful smile to everyone.  Then
he bobbed his head politely at Michelle and thanked her for taking care of his pet. 
As he exited, it almost seemed like he had the cape on again; the exit was so theatrical
Michelle almost saw it swish.  She turned around and leaned against the door, feeling
more drained than she had been after the fight on the beach. 

"That was certainly uncomfortable," Heather said,
shakily taking another drag at her cigarette, which glowed red from her furious
puffing.

"I feel like I've met the devil himself," Nakamura
said into a loud silence. 

"It was perfectly obvious you didn't like him,"
Michelle said.  "I'm not criticizing.  I was surprised."

"Wouldn't matter," Nakamura said.  He picked
up Heather's cigarettes and lit one.  He puffed and coughed.  Michelle knew he didn't
smoke.  "He would have known it anyway."

Heather nodded agreement.  "I've just met him informally
in the lobby and hallways.  Seems like the temperature goes down drastically when
he's around.  Gives me the creeps."

"He's furious at what I did to his sisters tonight,"
Michelle said.  "He's really mad at me."

Heather and Nakamura glanced at each other and were shaking
their heads. 

"No.  He likes you.  It's perfectly obvious,"
Nakamura said.  "And I suspect he can be very charming.  He looks like a movie
actor."

"Handsome, yes.  Like Dracula," Heather said,
with a little shuddering laugh.

"Hell, let's go to the party," Nakamura said. 
"On the way I want to hear all about those sisters of his.  And tonight I'm
going to get you both rooms at the Sheraton Hotel, where I'm staying.  He's angry
and I believe he's very dangerous."

Almost as soon as Michelle got out of the car and
started walking up Henry's driveway she could smell delicious aromas.  She realized
she was starving.  As they knocked, Henry and his wife, Nora, opened the door and
beautiful Hawaiian music spilled out.  Nora was holding flower leis, made of plumeria,
ginger and orange blossoms.  As she kissed each of them on both cheeks she placed
a wreath of flowers over their head.

Nakamura was surprised at the intimate greeting.  Michelle
whispered to him that this was the traditional way Hawaiians greet guests into their
homes, as they all took off their shoes and put them in racks by the door.  Now
Nakamura was an official guest, even though he was a stranger, and he would be treated
to real aloha hospitality.

Nora led them through the living room, which was casually
decorated in natural rattan furniture with many large plants and pictures of native
Hawaiians, to the lanai that overlooked the back yard, where the pig had been roasting
all day in a pit.  Colorful paper lanterns had been placed into the palm trees for
light and there were about seventy-five people eating, listening to music, gossiping
and drinking.  The backyard was not large, as it abutted directly onto the beach,
where more guests were enjoying the balmy evening, but it was lush with tropical
fruit trees bearing coconuts, mangos and bananas. 

There were sturdy redwood tables loaded with food and Nora
handed them plates, urging them to try some of the island delicacies.  Michelle
hardly ever ate meat and she skipped the Kalua pig and Teriyaki beef and the poi,
which was a starchy, pasty staple made of tarot roots that she had never acquired
a taste for.  She chose Lomilomi Salmon, mahi-mahi, lobster of the clawless species,
known as spiny lobster from the local reefs, salmon steaks which had been roasted
over the fire in tea leaves and wonderful salads made with sweet Maui onions and
shrimp.  The tables were decorated with edible fruits; guava, mango, papaya, pineapple,
lychees and coconut, and beautiful orchid and anthurium flowers.  Hawaiians love
food and when they have a luau, unrefined gluttony is good manners.

While Michelle, Heather and Nakamura ate they listened
to Hawaiian guitarists singing the traditional songs of the islands.  The lanai
was a large open wooden structure overlooking the garden and a few couples were
dancing to the music. 

Some of the children were still swimming in the water,
but the night was becoming cool and most had gone inside.  The littlest ones were
already asleep.  A full moon lit the beach outside, lighting the waves into phosphorescent
rolls.  Some of the neighbors from adjoining homes had come over too, so the gala
was not like a stiff formal office party for Heroshi, although all of Michelle's
co-workers were there.

In Hawaii there are no private beaches.  No one can own
beach property outright, it belongs to the island and everyone who lives there,
so there were probably a few poachers at the party who had wandered in from the
beach, but no one minded.

Michelle smiled when she saw Tom Mitsuto, her former boss
and the head of Heroshi Hawaii.  He was absolutely plastered and making passes at
all the beautiful women, as he did at every party.  He was inoffensive and comical
and no one minded, as he was not selective, but made the rounds to every available
female.  Tom was especially enamored of Heather, who finally became uncomfortable. 
Nakamura took her off to dance on the lanai to get her out of his clutches.

Henry's little four year old son, Sammy, climbed into Michelle's
lap and promptly went to sleep, a cute warm bundle she wished momentarily and fiercely
was hers.  Tom Mitsuto eventually made his pass at Michelle.  He had tears in his
eyes, sentimental with drink, and was telling her she was the best property manager
he had ever worked with.  Michelle surprised herself by finding tears in her own
eyes.  She really like Tom, even though he had been ready to sacrifice her to save
himself earlier in the week.  But the tears were also for the island she had learned
to love, and the gentle people, like Henry and his wife Nora that she would have
to leave. 

Michelle had always been intensely ambitious about her
career and now she wondered why.  She could stay here with her friends instead
of traveling half way around the world into the competitive and exhaustively
busy city of Tokyo, where she knew she would be treated with polite arrogance
and never totally accepted.

Michelle looked down the beach and noticed there seemed
to be another party that night.  She could see a fire in the distance, about a mile
away.  Nora came over and took the sleeping child from Michelle to put him to bed. 
When Michelle asked her about the other party Nora frowned and said that it was
some kind of pagan religious gathering.  She had heard rumors of witch ceremonies.

Henry's surprise later that evening was a troop of professional
dancers and a real Hawaiian band.  The guests sat down and watched the beautiful
island girls do the hula.  Then the music got louder and drums thrummed the air. 
Several native men jumped into the firelight and started dancing athletically. 
Finally they were juggling and throwing flaming torches while they jumped around,
some leaping across the wide roasting pit where the embers were still burning, holding
the crowd breathlessly enthralled.

Nakamura was sitting between Michelle and Heather.  When
the music became more quiet and everyone was sitting on the grass, singing and swaying
to the soft sounds, he put an arm around each of their shoulders.  Michelle couldn't
help but flinch at his touch.  He probably thought it was because of her sunburn
and murmured he was sorry, his breath touching her cheek he was so close.  He put
his arm around her waist instead.  She glanced at his side view, his eyelashes looked
golden in the firelight.  She was surprised when she realized he was very attractive,
with his high cheekbones and slightly slanted blue eyes. 

Tom Mitsuto was sitting on the other side of Michelle
and also had an arm around her as they sang and swayed.  After a while she felt
her breathing slow down and she became comfortable at the proximity of the two
men.  Really, Michelle thought, surprised, she felt wonderful at the
closeness.  She was so content here with her friends, listening to beautiful
music, feeling the gentle breeze of the island and watching the hypnotic waves
crash into the beach, she felt like crying.  She thought she had never been so
happy.