Touchy and Feely

by Graham Masterton

  She glanced sideways at the deck of cards on the coffee table, as if she didn’t want them to catch her looking. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to consult them again, not tonight. She had always known that they were powerful, but she had never realized that they could not only predict the future, but intervene.

  The cards had told her that somebody was going to die, and Ellen Mitchelson had died, in just the way that the cards had foretold it. The cards had told her who had done it, and where to find them. All she needed now was proof.

  She placed her hands on the arms of Gerry’s chair, where his hands used to rest, and said, ‘What would you do, darling?’

  The clock ticked, and the fire hissed, and she could hear Mr Boots’ claws scrabbling on the kitchen floor as he finished his food; but that was all. She believed that Gerry was here, and that he was listening to her. But he was telling her that this was a decision which she had to make on her own. She could leave the cards in their box, and try to forget about Les Trois Araignées, or she could see what tomorrow had to bring.

  She lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. Then she reached across the table and picked up the deck of cards. She didn’t have any choice. Gerry knew that, as well as she did. If she didn’t read the cards, she might as well give up, like Sam.

  She opened the box, tipped out the deck, and shuffled them. ‘Pictures of the world to be,’ she whispered. ‘I beg you now . . . please speak to me.’

  She didn’t lay out a full arrangement. All she needed to know was what was going to happen next—something factual that she could take to the police, to convince them that she wasn’t a dotty old woman. She turned up three Ambience cards, and stared at them in resignation rather than disbelief, although they were scarcely believable. The two storm cards again, and the man in the chest. This was no coincidence. The odds against these three cards coming up together were astronomical.

  As she picked out the fourth and last card, the Predictor, Mr Boots came in, licking his lips. He stood next to her, and shook himself, and shivered.

  ‘What do you think, Mr Boots? Do I turn this card over, and see what it says, or do I call it a day? I could still go to Florida, you know, and forget all of this.’

  Mr Boots cocked one ear. Then he barked, once. He hardly ever barked, even at the mailman.

  ‘What does that mean? Should I turn this card over or not? One bark for yes, two barks for no.’

  Mr Boots continued to stare at her but didn’t bark at all.

  ‘OK, I get it. I have to make up my own mind, just like Gerry told me.’

  She took a deep drag at her cigarette, and blew out smoke. Then she closed her eyes tight, and turned the card over. When she opened them again, she was looking at Le Cocher Sans Coeur. It showed a horse-drawn coach, driving along a country road. Inside the coach sat three people, two men and a woman, and they were all laughing and making merry. But their coachman, who was sitting up above them, had been struck in the chest by a spear. It had passed right through his body, and his heart was impaled on the point.

  The coach was rolling on its way, with the team of horses still oblivious to the coachman’s death. A sign by the side of the road said Catastrophe, 3 milles.

  So what did this mean? A man would be killed while he was driving a vehicle, but the vehicle would carry on going—much to the hilarity of two other men, and a woman.

  She stared at the card for a long time and then she put it down on the table. Mr Boots made a whining sound and shook his head. ‘You’re right, Mr Boots, this is very bad news. The thing is, what the hell am I going to do about it?’

  Steve Gets Angry

  As the van approached them, it slowed down, and steered to the left of them, and stopped. It was too dark for them to see the driver, not yet, but they could clearly see that the side-panel had a laughing tree painted on it, with its leaves blowing away, and the faint words ‘Waterbury Tree Surgeons’, painted over in white.

  Steve said, ‘Pull up here.’ He pulled his gun out of his shoulder-holster and opened the Tahoe’s door. Doreen opened her door, too, and jumped down onto the snow.

  ‘Cover me,’ said Steve. He ducked down and ran across to the rear of the van. Then he made his way toward the front, holding his gun in both hands and pointing it directly at the driver’s window.

  ‘State police!’ he shouted. ‘Come on out with your hands up!’

  There was a long moment of silence. Steve looked across at Doreen, who was crouched down behind the Tahoe’s door. He was just about to shout again when the van door was opened up.

  ‘Come out of there real slow!’ Steve called out. ‘I want your hands out in front of you where I can see them!’

  The door opened wider, and a big man in a bulky blue windbreaker appeared, with both of his hands held up. He was wearing a brown furry cap with flaps that covered his ears, and a stripy scarf that covered most of his face.

  ‘Comin’ out!’ he said, in a surprisingly high voice.

  ‘Hit the dirt!’ Steve told him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me! I said hit the dirt!’

  ‘But it’s snow,’ said the man, plaintively.

  ‘Hit it!’

  The man got down on one knee, and then the other, and then reluctantly laid himself flat on the ground, with his arms and legs spread. The snow was over four inches thick, and he was half buried. He spat snow out of his mouth, and complained, ‘I’m freezin’ my nuts off here, officer. What am I s’posed to have done?’

  Doreen came out from behind the Tahoe’s door and kept the man covered while Steve quickly patted him for weapons, and then went through his pockets. All he found in his windbreaker was a Swiss Army penknife, a half-empty pack of Juicy Fruit chewing gum, a broken ballpen, two M&Ms wrappers and a ring-shaped metal clip that looked as if it had something to do with automobiles.

  In the back pocket of the man’s jeans he discovered a worn-out red-leather wallet. It contained a Connecticut driver’s license in the name of William Kenneth Hain, 566 Pequabuck Road, Plainville, CT; an Exxon card with oily fingerprints on it; forty-seven dollars; a photograph of a round-faced girl with a mole on her cheek; and a green novelty condom that had been there so long that it had left a circular impression on the leather.

  ‘You’re William Kenneth Hain?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Put your left hand behind your back, William.’

  Hain did as he was told and Steve handcuffed him. ‘Now your right.’

  ‘Can I get up now?’

  ‘Sure, you can get up now.’

  Steve helped him onto his feet. He pulled William Hain’s stripy scarf down from his chin and shone his flashlight in his face. He had bright blue near-together eyes, and bushy blond eyebrows, and a hooked nose. He was clean-shaven but his cheeks had several cuts on them, and his skin was rough, as if he needed to buy some new razor-blades.

  ‘What’s this about, officer?’ he asked, in his high-pitched voice.

  ‘William Kenneth Hain, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the homicide of Mrs Ellen Mitchelson. You have the right to remain silent—’

  ‘Homicide? What is this? You’re suggestin’ I killed somebody?’

  ‘—but anything you do say can and will—’

  ‘I didn’t kill nobody. How am I s’posed to have killed them? You just been through my pockets . . . you think I killed somebody with that little bitty penknife? The big blade snapped off years ago.’

  ‘Will you just shut up and let me finish telling you your rights.’

  ‘But I’m innocent. I didn’t do nothin’.’

  ‘Tell me later, OK? Do you own a rifle?’

  ‘No, sir. I used to have an airgun once but it got busted.’

  ‘Do you own any kind of firearm? Handgun, maybe?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Is this your van?’

  ‘Sure it is. Why?’

  ‘You want to tell me where your documents are? Insurance, pink slip, all t
hat stuff?’

  ‘I lost them. I didn’t get any replacements yet.’

  ‘The truth is you stole this van from Middletown Auto Spares, didn’t you? It was supposed to be dismantled but you took it home?’

  ‘OK, I admit it. But they was only going to take it apart. That doesn’t mean I killed nobody, does it?’

  Steve said, ‘Get in the vehicle. We’re taking you in. Doreen, would you call headquarters and ask them to send out a crime scene unit to go over Mr Hain’s van, and his property; and would you call Trooper MacCormack up at Canaan and tell him that we’ve picked up our suspect.’

  ‘I have pets,’ William Hain protested. ‘I can’t just leave my pets.’

  ‘You mean that roomful of creepy-crawlies?’

  ‘There’s a red-striped hobo spider in there, and that’s a real rare arachnid; and there’s a dusky slug; and a swallowtail sea-hare, too.’

  ‘Well, William, if you’re telling the truth, and you didn’t kill anybody, you’ll be able to get back to them before you know it.’

  ‘I didn’t kill nobody, I swear to it.’

  Steve escorted him over to the Tahoe and put him in the back seat. ‘Now, you’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?’

  ‘You won’t let my pets go hungry, will you? I know that some people don’t care for them too much, but they got feelings, just like dogs and cats.’

  ‘We’ll take care of them, don’t worry.’

  ‘You’ll even take them walkies, won’t you, Steve?’ said Doreen, as she climbed back behind the wheel. ‘Come on, slug, come on boy! Fetch!’

  ‘I think you missed out the bit about the lawyer,’ said William Hain, helpfully, as they settled into their seats.

  Back at headquarters in Litchfield, Steve left Doreen to book William Hain while he went upstairs to see what had happened to Alan.

  He walked with squeaking shoes along the second-floor corridor, looking in one door after another, until he found Alan sitting in one of the interview rooms with Roger Prenderval. He opened the door and said, ‘Hi. Sorry I took so long.’

  ‘Steve,’ said Roger, getting up from his chair. Steve had known Roger since they were rookies together. Roger was short and stocky with gray brushcut hair and he always wore a natty little bow-tie, but you always got the feeling that if he hit you, he would hit you very hard.

  Steve said, ‘Hi, Roger. Thanks for sticking around.’

  ‘No problem. Least I could do. How did it go? Did you get your man?’

  ‘We got him all right. I’m not so sure he’s the guy we’re really looking for, but we got him.’

  Alan looked pale and spotty and his hair was all messed up. There were several buttons missing from his shirt and the shoulder of his red Adidas top was torn. He kept his eyes fixed on the wastebasket in the corner of the room, and his only acknowledgement that his father had just walked in was a loud, catarrhal sniff.

  ‘Alan?’ said Steve. Alan continued to ignore him. ‘Are you OK, buddy? Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  Alan said nothing, but sniffed again, and shuffled his feet. Steve turned to Roger and said, ‘What’s the situation here? Are the Kessners still pressing charges?’

  Roger nodded. ‘Mr Kessner says it was attempted rape.’

  ‘And what do you say?’ Steve asked Alan.

  Alan shrugged.

  ‘Come on, Alan, this girl must have invited you into her home. Were you dating her before?’

  ‘Depends what you mean by dating.’

  ‘I mean, were you going out together? Were you having sex?’

  ‘Today was the first time.’

  ‘OK, but she invited you into her home. Then what?’

  Alan shrugged again. Steve said, ‘I’m trying to help you here, Alan. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.’

  ‘I tried to get into her pants, all right? Satisfied?’

  ‘OK . . . but was she willing or unwilling? Did she say no?’

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember. What do you care?’

  Steve pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. ‘Have you been smoking dope?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Alan, turning his head and staring at him like Johnny Rotten. ‘What if I have? Are you going to charge me with that, too?’

  ‘Alan, for Christ’s sake, this is serious. You could get five to fifteen years for this.’

  ‘Dad . . . I was smoking puff and Kelly was smoking puff and we went upstairs to her bedroom and I told her that it was time that she and me got physically connected. You know, pole into hole. I was trying to do exactly that when her parents came home early. I tried to get out of there but Mr Kessner caught me in the kitchen with no pants on. I mean it was me that had no pants on, not him.’ He sniffed again, and then he said, ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘No, I’m damn well not satisfied. What I have to know is, was Kelly a willing partner or did she at any time say no?’

  ‘I don’t remember, OK? She might have said no and then again she might not.’

  ‘Alan—how the hell can I help you if you won’t help yourself?’

  Alan swiveled his head round again. ‘Hasn’t it occured to you that I don’t want your help? In any case, you’re not interested in me, you’re only interested in you. You don’t want to see it in the papers, that’s all. “Decorated detective’s son sent to slammer for pulling down turquoise see-through panties of unwilling daughter of pillar of the community.”’

  Steve took a steadying breath. ‘Listen to me, Alan.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘I said listen to me! You and me, we haven’t been getting along too well for quite some time now. I’m not going to pretend that we have. But father and son butting heads, that’s natural. It’s all part of growing up. So let’s try to be grown-up about this, shall we? You don’t want to be convicted of a sexual offense, believe me. It’ll stay on your record for the rest of your life.’

  ‘And yours too,’ Alan retorted.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you get it, you idiot? If they find me guilty, then everybody will know who’s really to blame. You—because you’re a crap father, and a hypocrite. You go around judging people like you’re God, but what are you? Just a boring, plodding, uninspiring loser.’

  Steve lifted his right hand but Alan pointed to the red bruise on his cheek and grinned at him. ‘Don’t have any answers, do you, Dad? If people upset you, all you can do is hit them. Very articulate, not.’

  Steve glanced up at Roger and Roger pulled a face that meant ‘leave it.’ Steve stood up and pushed his chair back in. ‘Just think about what I’ve said,’ he told Alan. ‘I’ll be here for most of the night if you want to talk to me again.’

  Alan shook his head as if that was the most desperately pathetic thing that anybody had ever said to him. Steve knew that Alan had got the measure of him, and what made him feel inadequate. He wondered if his own father had ever stood and looked at him and felt such anger and such helplessness.

  Cataclysm Time

  Feely was having a dream that he was back in the family apartment on 111th Street. It was utterly silent, and cold, and through the grimy windows he could see snow falling. He had the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

  He walked out of the kitchen into the living room. There was nobody there. Bruno’s three-legged chair was empty. The candles clustered around his mother’s shrine had all burned down.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he called, but his voice didn’t even echo.

  Suddenly, however, he heard a toilet flush. He looked around and Bruno appeared from the bathroom, carrying a newspaper, his beige suspenders hanging loose from his waistband. When Bruno turned around, his eye sockets were empty, and his face was a glistening mask of blood.

  ‘Feely?’ croaked Bruno.

  Feely shouted out ‘Aaaahhhh! Aaaaaahhhh! Aaaaahhhh!’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Robert. ‘That was right in my ear.’r />
  Feely sat up, panting. At first he couldn’t think where he was, but then he looked around and saw the pink wallpaper and the little pink-upholstered armchair and the dressing table, and he realized that he was in the guest bedroom in Serenity’s house. In bed. With Robert. There was no sign of Serenity.

  Robert rolled onto his back, and looked up at the ceiling, and let out a groan. Then he lifted his left hand and stared at it. The fingertips had gone, and the BandAids were thickly crusted with black blood. ‘God, this hurts. You don’t even know.’

  ‘I said you should have gone to the emergency room.’

  Robert turned his hand this way and that. ‘I couldn’t, could I? They would have wanted to know who I was.’

  ‘Sure. You have your anonymity but now you’re doomed to be a cripple.’

  ‘What are you talking about, cripple? I’ve lost the tips of my fingers, that’s all.’

  Feely looked down at him, and smiled.

  ‘Something funny?’ said Robert.

  ‘No . . . I was thinking how one seminal event can change the way you look at your destiny, overnight.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Last night . . . the three of us together.’

  ‘Well, I guess you could accurately say that was a seminal event.’

  ‘But didn’t it make you feel different?’

  Robert frowned at him. ‘I got to take some more painkillers. This is throbbing, you know?’

  ‘I’ll get you some, OK?’

  Feely found his pants on the floor and went to the bathroom. He took a long pee, admiring himself in the mirror in the bathroom cabinet. He was sure that he looked different, slightly more handsome. He turned his face sideways, and lifted one eyebrow.