Down in the Zero b-7 Page 21

  "They're beautiful."

  "Strong, that's what they are. They live much longer than we do. In Japan, they pass them on from generation to generation."

  "What's that one?" I asked, pointing to a hanging pot with a fragile network of stems and leaves.

  "That's a bromeliad. They're epiphytic…air plants. They grow without roots."

  Something flashed on the screen in my mind. I changed channels quick— I'd already seen the movie.

  I watched her for a while. She pruned branches with a tiny scissors, reset the wires she was using to train them to hold a position. She finished with a light mist of water, bending close, using her own breath to distribute the moisture once it settled. When she was finished, she made a little bow in the direction of the bonsai.

  "You want to sit outside for a while?" she asked.

  "Sure."

  She led me over to a small, elaborate deck. The wood was a weathered white, like a beached sailing ship. Flowering plants were set into the corners, in tubs built into the structure. We each took a chair next to a round table with a pebbled glass top.

  "I want you to do something for me," I said.

  "What? I mean, yes."

  I explained what I wanted.

  "I'll have to make some calls," she said. "But I can get the perfect thing, I know."

  "In time?"

  "Oh sure. All that ever costs is money."

  "How much?" I asked, sliding my hand toward my pocket.

  "Oh, I'll take care of it."

  "No you won't. You can front the cash if you want to, but I'll make it up soon as you tell me the toll."

  "Is that like an ego thing?"

  "Huh?"

  "Because you're the man, you have to pay? That's what my tricks think too. The man pays."

  "It's not that. I have to pay for this because it has to be from me, understand? And as for your tricks, that's not a man–thing either. When you do women, they pay too, right? That's what lets them call the shots."

  "When I'm a domina, I call the shots."

  "Do you? Then you'd be the first one I ever met who did. That's all bullshit, Fancy. just a game. Whatever you do, it's what they want…or they'd go someplace else. If money's in the game, you're the one dancing to their tune— they hold the key to their own handcuffs. It's more complicated than you think it is."

  "Or less than you do— if you'd just close your eyes, you could see me better."

  "Fancy— "

  "I don't want to argue," she said, standing up and walking over to the railing, facing away from me. "I want a tattoo," she said, right–angling her body at the waist, standing on her toes so her elbows rested on the railing. She flicked up the yellow skirt in a sassy gesture. I first thought she was nude underneath, but then I saw the black thong barely covering her sex, the string buried deep in her buttocks. "Right here," she said, looking over her shoulder, patting her right cheek. "Can I?"

  "Come over here," I told her. She padded over obediently, light dancing in her gray eyes. I pointed at the chair. She sat down, keeping her skirt up so her bare bottom was on the seat, a little pout on her face.

  "A tattoo is permanent, Fancy."

  "I want one," she said, a stubborn little girl, insisting.

  "Okay, I got an idea. How about if…"

  We both heard the tap of high heels, coming toward us from inside the house. I turned just as a woman stepped through the back door onto the deck. A willowy woman, in a skimpy pair of tight white shorts, long legs ending in a pair of red spikes worn over little white anklets with a border of red hearts on the cuff. She had on a white bippy top ending just below her breasts, exposing a flat stomach. Her hair was long, worn brushed straight back from her forehead, trailing past her shoulders, dark with reddish highlights from the sun. Her skin was a rose–flushed white. She looked about twenty–five.

  "Oh, you've got company," she said to Fancy.

  Fancy didn't move, didn't take her eyes off the other woman. "Burke," she said, "meet my sister. Charm."

  I got up, held out my hand. She took it, looking straight at me, a knowledge–glint in her china blue eyes, like the glimpse of a shoulder holster under a coat. A slip? Or a warning?

  I returned her look. My own eyes were flat, but I had some knowledge of my own— I'd seen this woman before.

  Across Fancy's lap, with her skirt up.

  It was a long minute before anyone said anything. "I just came over to see if you wanted to go shopping," Charm said to Fancy.

  "I'm busy right now," Fancy told her, looking off into the distance.

  "I see," Charm said, her eyes glancing down at her sister, taking in the yellow skirt bunched in Fancy's lap, the exposed hips. She stepped behind Fancy, stroked her sister's hair, bent over and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "Sure you won't change your mind?"

  "I'm sure," Fancy said, still looking away.

  "I thought you guys were twins," I said to Fancy, trying to break the spell.

  "We're not monozygotic," Charm answered for her. "In fact, there were originally three of us. If our bitch of a mother had gone for an abortion, it would have been megacide. As it was, only two of us made it out alive."

  "So you're fraternal twins?"

  "It's not a fraternity," Charm said, her voice deeply veined with something flirting with contempt. "It's a sorority. Sisters, not brothers."

  "I get it."

  "Right," she said dismissively. "You know him long?" she asked Fancy.

  "Long enough," Fancy told her, shifting her shoulders, turning away from Charm's touch.

  "He been behaving himself?" Charm smiled. "Your Mr. Burke looks like a bad boy."

  "You sure you know the look?" I asked her, holding her eyes.

  "You're not from around here," she said, as if that was the answer.

  "I work here, now."

  "Oh yes? Doing what?"

  "This and that."

  "Oh, you have secrets, do you?"

  "Lots of them."

  "I'll just bet," she smiled again. "See you later, sis," she said, bending forward to give Fancy another kiss. She went out the way she came, swaying her hips, not wiggling. A threat, not a promise.

  I reached over to the table for a cigarette, caught Fancy in the edge of my vision. She was nibbling at her lower lip, face bathed in sweat.

  "What is it?" I asked her.

  "She always…thinks she knows. You're very good. I didn't know things were going to be like this. I mean, I knew you'd meet her. That's why I showed you the video. I thought it would be a good trick. On her, for a change. But you didn't show a thing on your face. Didn't you recognize…?"

  "Sure I did."

  "Oh. Burke? Can we…go somewhere?"

  "Where?"

  "Anywhere. Away from here. Could we?"

  "Let's go," I said.

  She climbed into the front seat of the Miata, strapped herself in without a word. I started the engine, drove off. She held her silence, looking down at her lap. I headed toward town, found a place to park.

  "Stay here," I told her. She didn't reply.

  I was about a half hour putting together everything I wanted. Nice thing about rich towns— the deli displayed a massive selection, and the art supply shop had just what I needed. I carried it back in a couple of environmentally correct paper bags with store logos plastered on them, put it all in the trunk.

  Fancy was just where I left her, still looking down at her lap, her seat belt still buckled. I opened her door, reached across her and unsnapped the belt. "Come on," I said, taking her hand, pulling her up. "Give me a hand with this," I told her, pointing at the canvas top to the Miata.

  She dutifully unhooked her side of the top, helped me fold it back behind the seats. We climbed back inside and took off. Out of town, meandering until I found the back roads that led to Crystal Cove. I played with the Miata on the curves a little bit— the little car seemed happier higher up on the tach.

  Fancy still hadn't said a word. We were on a smooth stra
ight stretch of blacktop. "Unbutton your blouse," I told her.

  "What?"

  "Unbutton your blouse, bitch," I said again, smacking my hand lightly against the side of her thigh.

  She undid a couple of buttons, not speaking. "Do another one," I said, reaching inside her blouse as she obeyed, feeling for the clasp. It was in the front, a solid notch between her heavy, thick breasts. I popped it open and they came free.

  "Very nice," I said, reaching my hand under her loose skirt. She looked straight ahead. I found her plump sex under the cotton, pinched hard. She made a little squeal. I pinched harder, feeling the wetness come.

  "You gonna behave yourself?" I asked her.

  "Yes sir," she said, still looking down.

  "You gonna do what I want?"

  "Yes, sir. Oh!" she yelled as I pinched her harder.

  "What I want, I want a bouncy, merry girl to go on a picnic with me, see?"

  "Yes."

  "Then act like you understand. Close up your top. And give me a kiss."

  She closed the bra, buttoned the blouse, twisted in her seat and kissed me on the cheek. I patted her knee, kept driving until I found the same spot we'd watched the hospital from. I pulled the Miata off the road. If anyone ever asked me another time, I'd been there before, legit.

  I opened the trunk and took out some of the stuff I'd bought. There was no blanket back there— I guess rich kids didn't use them.

  We walked away from the car until I found a spot under a tree. I took off my jacket, spread it out on the ground. "Sit, bitch," I told her. "I hope this is big enough to keep your fat butt off the grass."

  "Close enough," she giggled, some color back in her face.

  I unpacked the big paper bag. Handed Fancy a thick, stuffed croissant.

  "What is this?" she asked.

  "Halibut salad. The guy at the deli assured me it's the latest craze."

  "Ummm," she said, taking a deep bite. "It's delicious. What did you get for yourself?"

  "Roast beef and chopped liver" I said, biting into my pumpernickel bread sandwich.

  "Ugh. Cholesterol City!"

  "Shut up— it's good for you."

  "Oh sure," she said, her mouth full of sandwich, gray eyes alive again.

  I handed her a small bottle of champagne, opened a bottle of Ginseng Up for myself.

  "You don't ever drink?" she asked me.

  "No."

  "How come?"

  "I was overseas. In Africa. During some stupid war, a long time ago. I got malaria and some other stuff. Damaged my liver. Booze feels like acid running through my guts."

  "Oh, you poor man.

  "Because I can't drink alcohol? Big deal."

  "No, I mean…a war. And all those diseases. It must have been terrible."

  "It's over," I told her. "That's what happens with things. You survive them, then they're over.

  "Some things," she said.

  I held up my bottle of soda, acknowledging the truth.

  The sun was warm. We finished the meal. I lay on my back, head in Fancy's lap, smoking a cigarette, watching the clouds. Waiting.

  "She always thinks she knows everything," Fancy said. "She always has to be on top. Charm…she's had a charmed life, all right."

  "What was bothering you so much?"

  "Did you see the way she looked at you? At me?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's what I hate about the scene so much— you can't ever have anything private. Anything to yourself. That's why the videos don't matter— they all know about you anyway. They say it's like a family…the hanky–spanky people say that, anyway. Us against Them, you know?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, it isn't. It just isn't. It's a way of having…sex, I guess— it isn't all you are. But with them, that's all there is. That's the way Charm sees it— if she knows what you like, she knows you. She saw me, sitting there like that…I wanted to confuse her, just for once."

  "Why couldn't I just be a friend of yours?"

  "I wouldn't have a friend at my house. Not a man friend. I never had one, anyway.

  "Not a boyfriend? Even in school?"

  "Sometimes. But never for long."

  "Why would it bother you so much if Charm thought I was a trick?"

  "Because you're not, that's all. She always wants to find out about things. How they work. Keys, she calls them. She's a biochemist. She even has her own lab."

  "Where?"

  "In her cottage. She has one just like mine, but she doesn't live there. She lives in the house."

  "All alone?"

  "Except for the staff."

  "Your parents are…?"

  "Dead. My mother had a stroke of some kind. A blood vessel broke in her head. It was a long time ago."

  "What happened to your father?"

  "He killed himself," Fancy said, fingers playing idly in my hair. "He left a note. On the computer. Then he took sleeping pills. A lot of them."

  "I'm…sorry."

  "Don't be," she said.

  She had her door open almost before I brought the Miata to a stop in her driveway.

  "Where's the fire?" I asked her.

  "I forgot," she said, sounding forlorn. "Remember what you asked me to do? I have to get going, make some calls, find out— "

  "Slow down, little girl. It's not a matter of life and death."

  "It is to me. I said I'd do it. I told you I'd do it. I want you to trust me."

  "I do trust you," I said, grabbed the front of her blouse, pulling her close for a kiss. Thinking about other videotapes she'd starred in— ones she'd never showed me. I handed her the other paper bag I'd picked up. "Put this in your front room. And don't open it, bitch."

  "What's in there?"

  "You'll see."

  "When?"

  "Tonight. After dark."

  The Plymouth was missing. I went upstairs. Found a note neatly taped to the outside of the door.

  "Be back by 5," it said. Signed: "Sonny."

  I changed my clothes, glad I hadn't been wearing anything Michelle bought— I wouldn't want to face her with grass stains on the fancy duds. I took the Lexus, drove till I found a pay phone. Dialed the Mole. He answered the way he always does, with silence.

  "It's me," I said. "Best time to go in is this Sunday. Anytime between eleven in the morning and four in the afternoon. I'm going to leave a car in the parking lot of the Three Trees Mall, right outside of town. Terry's seen it— he's got the key."

  The Mole grunted— I couldn't tell if he was surprised.

  "Tell them to take that car when they go in. Return it to the same spot when they're done. Anyone sees it in the driveway, they won't get excited."

  "Okay."

  "I'll come back, late Sunday, all right?"

  "Yes."

  "I've had it with take–out," I told the kid. "How about if we go someplace, have a meal for dinner?"

  "Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?"

  "Anyplace someone else does the cooking, preferably right on the premises."

  He flashed me a grin. We took the Lexus. "It's only a couple of days until the races," he said by way of explanation.

  "You giving the beast a rest?"

  "It's not that. I just don't want anybody to see her until…"

  "I got it."

  The place he took us to looked like a giant diner from the '50s, all glass and chrome, every seat near the windows. The parking lot was half–full, mostly with the kind of sports cars rich people buy their kids. We found a booth near the back. The joint was packed with twenty–something children, all working hard to be too hip for the room.

  "Did you see Gaby? She's all glam'ed out. That cat's–eye makeup, it's so razor," one girl twittered at another. "I just skeeve her, the bitch!"

  "Yeah, that's wicked cute, all right. But, that makes me, like…what?" her pal replied.

  I sure as hell didn't have the answer.