“But for Christ’s sake, Lieutenant, look at him! The Mallet? More like the goddamned Marshmallow! Schmoozing with Krylov, of all people, and the Zombie, and Vasquez. Vasquez had his sister’s boyfriend wrapped up in razor wire, stark naked, and dangled from the overpass at the Hollywood Split. I cut the poor bastard down myself.”
Lieutenant Harris tried to settle everybody down, but the conference room remained in uproar. Dan, however, walked slowly over to the TV screen, so that he could see the pictures from the Parker Center more clearly. There was Michelange DuPriz, smiling at him as if she could sense that he was watching her, haughty and erotic and almost skeletally thin. There was Lida Siado, smiling and laughing, as if she were hosting a party. And Miska, the white-haired Russian witch, in a black puffball dress decorated with black ostrich feathers. She had a sly, cold look in her eyes, her irises as reflective as liquid mercury.
The young freckle-faced officer came over to switch off the TV, but Dan said, “Hold up!”
He had seen somebody else in the background, another strange woman. She was standing by the window with her back to the conference room, facing northeast, so that she was mostly in shadow. On her head she was wearing a floppy, wide-brimmed bonnet, almost like a nun’s wimple but made of soft gray fabric. Over her shoulders she wore a long gray cloak, which was either tattered with age or deliberately torn, with feathers and knots and beads tied all over it. Dan guessed from the way that she was stooped over that she was elderly, but he couldn’t see her face. He could only see a single hand in a long gray leather glove—a hand that was holding a long wooden staff with a knob on top of it about the size of a man’s clenched fist.
Ernie came up to him. “What are you looking at so hard, man?”
“This old woman. What the hell is she doing there?”
He turned to the young officer and said, “Can you record from this TV?”
“Sure. It’s fully digital. You want me to?”
Dan nodded. “You remember I told you that Annie and I located a fourth witch, an extra-powerful witch? Or at least she located us.”
Ernie took his heavy-rimmed eyeglasses out of his shirt pocket, put them on, and peered closely at the TV screen. “You think this could be her?”
“Well, she sure looks like a witch, you have to admit.”
Ernie’s nose was almost touching the screen when the elderly woman snapped her head around and glared at him. Ernie jolted back. The woman’s eyes were milky white, like a boiled cod’s, and her skin was shriveled, as if she had been hung out in the sun to dry.
She raised her staff toward him and screamed something, although they couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her teeth were a jumble of brown and blackened stumps, and there were clusters of warts all around her mouth.
The clenched fist on top of her staff wasn’t a fist at all, but a stuffed cat’s head with empty eye sockets.
“Madre mia,” said Ernie, crossing himself twice. “If I didn’t know she couldn’t see me—”
“Oh, I think she can see you,” said Dan. “I think she can see you clear as day.”
The elderly woman had turned back to the window now, but Ernie still kept his distance. “That’s one real genuine witch, muchacho. I mean, that’s like your storybook witch.”
“Where do you think that storybook witches came from, man? My grade-school teacher always used to say that everything you read about in stories is based on something that really existed. Dragons, giants, demons. At one time, they were all walking the earth, and some of them still are.”
Ernie said, “Now you believe in fairy stories? What happened to Dan the skeptic? Something to do with what happened today?”
“You’re a perceptive man, El Gordo.”
“My brother is a Capuchin monk. I know when a man has found faith.”
The debriefing went on for another forty minutes. Lieutenant Harris cautioned his officers not to overreact to Chief O’Malley’s announcement or his apparent truce with three of L.A.’ s most notorious mobsters.
“What happened at the Vasquez joint last night—the massacre of all those men—it probably required a very diplomatic response from the chief, so as to prevent any more slaughter. We may not understand what he’s doing. We may disapprove of what he’s doing. But he’s a very experienced chief of police, and I believe he deserves our loyalty.
Lieutenant Harris clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin. “All the same, I want this division to make it our business to gather as much incriminating evidence on Artisson, Vasquez, and Krylov as we possibly can. I want those scumbags followed twenty-four seven. I want to know every deal and every single act of intimidation, no matter how petty. I want to know what they eat for breakfast. I want to know what their mothers eat for breakfast. I want every house bugged and every phone call tapped. I want to know when they park two inches over a red line. I want to know what their shit weighs.
“As far as other felons are concerned, give them only your minimum attention. I want these three. I want so much evidence against them that all the symbiosis in the world can’t keep them out of the slammer.”
The room broke out into spontaneous applause, with whooping and whistling.
“Maybe as law enforcement officers we have fallen behind. Maybe we’re not as morally tolerant as we ought to be. Maybe we don’t show enough respect for ethnic groups like the Crips and the Bloods. Maybe we’re too authoritarian and we enjoy kicking people too much.
“But we have eighteen of our brother officers to avenge, however they died, and that’s what we’re going to do. That’s all, gentlemen and ladies. Get to it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dan rapped on the door of Lieutenant Harris’s office.
Lieutenant Harris was talking on the phone to one of the LAPD media directors, and he gestured to Dan to sit down.
“Yes, George. No, George. We’re sticking to the same line, George. All for one and one for all. Absolutely, George. Symbiosis, that’s the word.” He put down the phone and said, “Asshole.”
Dan pulled a very tight grimace. “I’m afraid he has a point, Lieutenant, in a way.”
“What, with this symbiosis shit? I don’t know why we don’t hand over our weapons and our patrol cars to the mobsters and go on vacation.”
“I know how you feel, sir. I saw those SWAT guys, all torn to pieces. I had to wade through them, up to my ankles.”
Lieutenant Harris tilted his chair back. “But? There is a but coming, isn’t there?”
“Yes, sir. Those guys were killed by something totally unstoppable. Not men with machetes. Not rottweilers. Things from someplace else. Things that appeared, ripped them all up, and disappeared in minutes.”
“‘Things’? ‘Things from someplace else’?”
Dan held up both hands. “Let me tell you straight, sir. Whether you believe me or not, that has to be up to you. But so far I think there’s enough evidence to prove that this is what happened. In fact I don’t think there’s any other explanation.
“Krylov and the Zombie and the White Ghost have all brought in women with occult powers. Witches, for want of a better word. They’re using the women to take over all the criminal activity in Los Angeles and to render the police completely impotent.
“Michelange DuPriz, the Zombie’s witch, burned Cusack, Knudsen, and Fusco. She put those toads in Chief O’Malley’s gut, too. Those are voodoo specialties. Lida Siado, the White Ghost’s witch, blinded those guests at Chief O’Malley’s party, and she was the one who called up those creatures who massacred our SWAT guys. That kind of magic, that comes from Colombia.
“I don’t know what Vasili Krylov’s witch has been up to, but it won’t be anything but mischief.”
“Dan,” said Lieutenant Harris. “Have you heard yourself? Witches?”
“I know,” said Dan. “I didn’t want to believe it myself. But Michelange DuPriz gave me a personal demonstration of what she can do. You remember that old slot machine routine I used to
pull? Bringing up a mouthful of quarters? Well, Michelange DuPriz made me do it for real. She made me puke up thirty dollars in change.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to tell you that this is real, Lieutenant, no matter how insane it sounds. Real witches, real magic. Chief O’Malley knows it’s real, and so does Deputy Chief Days, and that’s why they’re giving the Zombie and Krylov and the White Ghost exactly what they want. There’s no point in fighting a fight we can’t possibly win. Those three women—they could wipe out the entire LAPD in minutes if they had a mind to.”
Lieutenant Harris stood up and went to the window. “Witches?” he repeated.
“They could cremate us on the spot, Lieutenant. They could tear us to ribbons, or they could turn us all mad. They could choke us on toads or bugs or cicadas or cats or any other kind of animal they felt inclined to. The only reason they haven’t is because they need us to keep the city running and keep all their rivals in order.”
There was a very long silence while Lieutenant Harris stood with his hands in his pockets, thinking. Eventually, he said, “Okay, okay. Suppose I accept that you believe in all this?”
“I do, Lieutenant. After what I’ve seen.”
“Suppose I accept that you believe in all this, and I ask you to find a way to take out those witches. Exorcize them, or burn them at the stake, or whatever it is you do with witches.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll try, anyhow. I have one or two ideas already.”
“Right, then. That’s your assignment. Witch hunter. If there’s anything you need—bells, books, or candles, just ask for them.”
Dan stood up. “Lieutenant—”
“No, Dan. That’s what I want you to do, just in case by some mathematically infinitesimal chance you happen to be right. Meanwhile, me and the rest of the division will work on gathering substantive evidence against Krylov, Vasquez, and Artisson in the traditional out-of-date, non-occult way.”
“Sir, what I’m trying to tell you is that if you try to arrest any of those three or interfere in any of their activities, they will have their witches kill you. And I mean wholesale.”
Lieutenant Harris came up to him and carefully adjusted Dan’s flowery red necktie, the way a wife would adjust her husband’s necktie before he went out to a business meeting. “In that case, Dan, you’d better make sure that you do your witch-hunting stuff pretty damned quick.”
The young freckle-faced officer was waiting for Dan outside Lieutenant Harris’s office. “Here’s the DVD you asked for, sir.”
“Thanks, officer. Appreciate it.”
The officer hesitated for a moment, frowning, and then he said, “Did I hear you and the lieutenant talking about witches?”
“Think you misheard us. Snitches, that’s what it was. Snitches.”
It was well past 8:00 pm before he arrived back at Franklin Avenue. Annie was sitting outside on the steps, waiting for him.
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“You said you had stir-fried orchids on the menu. How could I forget?”
Annie was wearing a simple cream linen dress. Dan could almost see the dark rose smudges of her nipples, and her black hair was wound with colored beads.
“Listen,” he said, “I’ll just drop my stuff in my apartment, and I’ll be straight back down.”
“Okay…but don’t be long. There’s nothing worse than overcooked orchids.”
He helped her up. As he took hold of her hand, he felt a prickle of energy, almost like an electric shock. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his shoulders tingle. “Hey,” he said. “You’re all full of static.”
“I know. I can’t touch anything without it going snap! When I picked up my wok I even got a spark. I thought it was the weather.”
Dan looked up. The evening sky was completely clear, and a light, warm breeze was blowing. “It’s not the weather. It’s you. You’re all charged up.”
“Go dump your stuff,” she told him. “There’s a brewski waiting for you when you come down.”
Dan went up the steps to his apartment and unlocked the door. Please let Gayle be here, he thought. But he was also seriously frightened in case she was. No matter how beautiful she was, no matter how tantalizing their lovemaking had been, she was dead.
He switched on the lights. There was nobody in the living room. In the kitchen, his note was still on the message board. Of course, there was no way of telling, but somehow it looked unread. He went through to the bedroom and there was nobody there either. The purple-and-blue throw was still twisted, the way he had left it when he went out.
He stood in the bedroom doorway for a long moment. You’re losing it, Dan. Why don’t you face it—you had a dream or some kind of hallucination, probably brought on by post-traumatic stress. You didn’t want to think of the mashed-up bodies of those two SWAT teams, so you imagined that you were making love to Gayle to blot it all out.
He walked around the bed and switched on the bedside lamp for when he came back later. It was then that he stepped on something hard and round on the floor, right on the ball of his foot. He looked down, and beside the bed he saw a scattering of beads. Cloudy, dark blue beads, like blueberries. Beads from Gayle’s necklace.
He carefully picked them up, eight or nine of them, and held them in the palm of his hand. He bent his head forward and smelled them, and they smelled like Gayle’s favorite perfume, Noa by Cacharel. Without warning, his eyes filled with tears, and he had to wipe them with the heel of his hand, like a small boy. Gayle must have been here, dead or not, and here was the proof.
“You’re very quiet,” said Annie, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Don’t you like it?”
Dan picked up his fork. “It’s terrific, all of it. The eggplant, the beansprouts, the oranges. What do you call this stuff with lentils?”
“Sambaar. It’s Indian. Cauliflower and cabbage and carrots in a red dhal sauce.”
“Terrific. I even enjoyed the orchids.”
“Like I said, they’re really good for the soul. If your soul is troubled by anything, especially things you should have done but didn’t, orchids will always help you to see things more clearly. Have you looked inside an orchid? It always has lines, showing you which direction you should travel.”
Dan said, “Listen…I have to talk to somebody about this. I think I’m hallucinating.”
“What, now?”
“No, this morning, after I came back from Silverlake. I saw Gayle again. Well, I didn’t just see her. She was sitting on my bed. Goddamn it, Annie, she was alive.”
Annie reached across the table and held his wrist. “Dan, she’s dead. You know that.”
“I know. Logically, I know. But I could see her, and more to the point, I could feel her. She talked to me.” He hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath through both nostrils. “We had sex.”
Annie didn’t release her grip on his wrist. “How real did it feel?”
“What do you mean? It was totally real. She was warm…she felt like she always felt. She breathed in my ear.”
“In that case, you have a serious problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
Annie stood and walked across to her bureau. She opened it and started to rummage through the drawers, bringing out glass balls and skeins of wool and playing cards and lacquered skewers that looked like Japanese chopsticks.
“When we’ve finished eating, I’ll do some divining. If this woman felt real, Dan, then she probably was real. But Gayle is dead, so it couldn’t have been Gayle. So it was somebody else, impersonating Gayle.”
“How could it have been? Come on, Annie—I’m sure it was Gayle. One hundred and thirty-eight percent. You get in touch with dead people, don’t you? Can’t they ever cross over from the other side, something like that? Can’t they come back, even if it’s only for twenty minutes?”
“No, Dan, they can’t. Or at least they’ve never been known to, no matter what anybody says.”
<
br /> “But how can somebody make you think that they’re somebody they’re not?”
“It’s done by a kind of hypnosis. It’s like Capgras Syndrome in reverse.”
“What syndrome?”
“Capgras Syndrome. It’s a kind of paranoia, when people believe that their friends and even their family are all impersonators. Only in your case, somebody else is making you believe that she’s Gayle.”
“You think it could be one of those witches?”
“I don’t know who else it could be. But I can’t think why she’s doing it.”
They ate in silence for a while, and then Dan laid down his fork. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.”
Unlike his own bathroom, which was starkly decorated in black and gray, Annie’s looked like a Santería shrine—crowded with painted statuettes and candles and colored glass bottles and exotic seashells. He went to the washbasin and stared at his face in the mirror. He could almost believe that he was an impersonator, too—an impersonator who badly needed a shave.
He splashed cold water on his face and reached for a hand towel. When he looked in the mirror again, he gave a jolt of shock. A bald black man was standing close behind him. The man had a coronet of brown human teeth tied with twine around his forehead and pale gray ash smeared all over his face. The man grinned and revealed that his own teeth were filed into points.
“Bon swa, mesyé,” the man greeted him. His voice was as dry as the ash on his cheeks. “Komon ou ye? Tout bagay anfom?”
Dan looked around, breathing fiercely. He hadn’t heard the bathroom door open, hadn’t heard the man walk in. And the reason was—there was nobody in the bathroom but him.
Immediately, he turned back to the mirror. The man’s reflection was still there, grinning at him, his eyes scarlet-rimmed and wildly staring.
“Don’t be afraid, mesyé.”
“Who are you?” Dan asked unsteadily. “What are you? What the hell do you want?”
The 5th Witch Page 13
