Salsa Nocturna: A Bone Street Rumba Collection

by Daniel José Older

  Jimmy just nods slowly. He's fighting to get that man mask on, the one that doesn't cry or feel anything, but he can't do it fast enough. His eyes get shiny. I'm sure he'd suspected as much, but it can't be easy to hear.

  "The dolls kept your soul. Without it, your body won't last long. When you go," I feel horrible dumping this all on him, but it has to be said, "your soul'll be trapped in that house, probably in one of those dolls."

  This is more than Jimmy can take. He starts trembling and tears flow freely now. "For how long?"

  "It doesn't matter," I say. "Because we're gonna bust up in there and stop it before it happens."

  * * *

  Staten Island really is a pain in the ass to get to, especially late at night. I'm fast on land, even with my crook-leg, but that damn ferry goes from occasional to barely-ever after midnight and time is slipping quick for Jimmy. It's damn near 3 a.m. when Riley and I show up to stake out the premises. The quiet little suburb is all dark patches and occasional foreboding mansions with high walls and security systems. We perch on a hill just outside the gates of the Satorius house and take in what we can.

  "It's bad," Riley says. "I don't like any of it."

  "You think the girl's in on it?"

  "Only by proxy. I'm guessing the old dame got the youngin involved in her shit, but baby Barbie prolly don't know it."

  "Sounds about right," I say, "but here's what I really don't like: Let's say granny's stealing dudes' souls and keeping 'em in the dolls." Riley nods. "Now you and I bust in there, swords a-flashing, and me – I'm a body and maybe I got half a soul, give or take."

  "Sad but true."

  "But you, Riley, you're all soul."

  "That's what they tell me."

  "You know what I mean. It won't be a slow decline for you; you don't have a body. If things don't go our way in there, and there's a good chance they won't from what I can tell, it's gonna be a wrap for you quick."

  "Now hold on a minute..."

  "Second of all," I say, "I need you on the outside. I'm guessing a whole lotta souls gonna get released when things start getting hot, and I need you to be out here with Jimmy to figure out which is his and get it back to him. Feel me?"

  "I feel you," he says. "But I don't like it. You wanna go in there all by yourself and you're not even sure if both of us could handle it. That don't make no damn sense either."

  I'm opening my mouth to get into it when a voice behind me says, "Who's that?"

  I look up, and then further up, at Jimmy's face. He'd walked up through the underbrush while we were arguing.

  Riley says, "Uh-oh."

  "What do you mean, 'Uh-oh?'" Jimmy demands.

  "You can see Riley?" I ask.

  "If that glowing floating dude you're talking to is Riley, yeah. What's that mean?"

  "It's bad," Riley says. "The living can't see me."

  Jimmy says, "Oh," so sadly I almost have to sit down.

  "It just means we don't have much time," I say. "Even less than we thought." I look at my partner. "Stay with him, man. That ain't no place for you to be with your dead ass."

  "That's true for so many reasons," Riley says. "But I still don't like it."

  Halfway down the hill I pause and look up at them. "You wanna call the COD for backup?" Riley and I toss the idea back and forth silently for a second. You never know what you're gonna get when you call in the Council of the Dead. They might come in all heavy, spirit blades a-rattling or they might not come at all. Usually it's whatever would be least helpful in the given situation.

  "What's COD stand for?" Jimmy asks.

  "Corpulent Old Dickheads," I say.

  "Corporation of Ongoing Douchebags," Riley says.

  "Nice one," I say. "Let's not. They'll find out soon enough." Jimmy just shakes his head at me as I turn and head off towards the mansion.

  * * *

  Normally, we have all kinds of slick moves we do to get in a spot we're not supposed to be. I have my grumpy cop routine down pat and a range of fake badges and IDs in my coat pockets. But that's for when we have some time to find out what's going on. I hop the fence, limp-sprint across the lawn and kick the door in. One thing about houses that are heavily spirited up, they rarely have much in the way of earthly protection, A) 'cause they don't need it, and B) 'cause they don't want a bunch of cops up in there anyway.

  Ornate is the right word. The kid was also on point about the icky, too-many-eyes feeling. I can almost hear them whirl around in shock and focus that sick stare on me from their perches. I pull a no-nonsense blade out of my cane and advance slowly forward, imagining ghouls lurking in every shadow. The next room is the doll house, but when I walk in, the shelves are empty. I don't like that at all. I move through quick; don't need to linger to know about all the bad things that've happened here. The room still echoes with lost soul screams.

  Next comes a dark corridor with two doors at the end. One goes to Mina's room, I'm guessing, and the other probably gets me to grandma's. The energy seeping out of the room to my right is hot and old – a crude mix of fevered sepsis and sterile medical equipment that can't have much to do with Mina. I click open the door and walk in, blade first.

  It's all dark but for a muted TV in the corner by the door. The screen projects shuddering, colored lights that dimly illuminate Grandma Tess. She's sitting up in a steel outpatient bed on the far side of the room, staring at me. Long, loose-flesh arms wrap around the guard-rails. Her tightly wound bun and heavy makeup give her face that old-lady/demented clown look. The room is boiling hot.

  "Ah, a visitor!" she croaks when I walk in. "How lovely! Come, sit by my bed. I do get so lonely these days."

  "You know why I'm here," I say. Sweat has begun running unrepentantly down my face and back.

  "I'm sure you're here to keep me company, my dear. You can put that sword away."

  "You have quite a little operation going, lady." My eyes are jumping around the room, from her forest of see-through orange medication bottles to the stacks of sterile sheets and catheters, but nothing seems about to pounce. "Where's the dolls?"

  "My children? I have quite a collection, you know. You'll meet them soon enough."

  "This is what I figure," I say, winding a slow orbit around the room. "You're a lonely old lady..."

  "Tut-tut," she chirps. "Where are your manners, young man?"

  I pick up an old black and white photo of a beautiful smiling woman. "You used to be all the rage, when you weren't busted and bed-bound."

  "I had my heyday, yes."

  "Probably quite the man-killer. And then..." My eyes scan the family photos decorating her bedroom wall and land on a fading image of a teenage girl with her hair in a horrific topknot. "You had a pretty young daughter."

  "Celeste."

  "And you inducted her into your ways. Taught her the art of luring a man in. And once she had him here, you went about your creepy soul-trapping business."

  "Nothing creepy about it, my dear. They all came willingly enough. Celeste was quite the little nymphette I'm afraid."

  The air in the room is getting heavier. Things shift nervously in the dark corners above my head. "You trapped their souls in those damn dolls, and when their empty bodies decayed they belonged to you."

  "Like I said," grandma's breathing comes in fast labored wheezes now, "it gets lonely up here. No one comes to visit. The young don't give elders the respect we deserve. Such a shame, really." Her edema-heavy hands reach over to the bedside table and retrieve a gold-lined, velvet jewelry box with dancing clowns on it and a crank sticking out of one side. "Such a shame." She absent-mindedly starts twisting the handle, staring at me with that bright red smile all the while.

  The music seeps out in lurching, timid jolts at first. Jimmy'd had the melody down perfectly, with all its eerie, off time elegance. It comes from all around me, envelops me in a hazy cloud of uncertainty.

  "Pretty song, no?"

  I shake my head no, trying to steady myself. If I speak I might puk
e, and that wouldn't be a good look. "What happened," I gasp, "to Celeste?"

  "Bitch got a conscience," Grandma Tess laughs. "Or more precisely: She fell in love. Broke the Golden Rule. I told her: 'Celeste baby, never, never fall in love. You can have all the men you want, my dear, just don't fall in love.' It worked for so many years. I thought when she had Mina, something would change, but when I placed Mina's father on my shelf with the rest of them, Celeste took it all in stride. I was so proud of her."

  I let myself sink into a chair at the foot of her bed, because otherwise I would sprawl out across the floor. The melody trudges on around me like a dying ballerina.

  "But then, a few years later, this Maurice character starts coming around. A mailman, of course. I knew from the start he would be trouble, with all his good natured smiles and gentle ways. She should've known better. Soon enough, it's 'Mommy, not this one, don't take this one from me, please.' And what did I always tell her? There's only one Golden Rule. A mother must be firm with her teachings in this day and age."

  I have to stop the room from spinning or I'm toast. The walls swim with movement, and I can't tell if it's the dolls lurking towards me or my own weary head.

  "Mina was eight at the time. I told her it was cancer that took her mommy and she was too young to question it, poor dear. Now I've spent nine long years with the same old irritating companions, waiting for my granddaughter to come of age and my daughter's ghost to stop moaning underneath my house. She's given me at least two strokes and probably caused the renal failure, the bitch."

  It's definitely the dolls. I stumble to my feet and slash out haphazardly with my blade. They're moving faster than I thought they would, swaying and scurrying towards me like porcelain roaches.

  "Now, now, young man," the old lady's voice rings out sing-songy and fierce. "No need for violence. We just want to help you sleep. I know you must not sleep very well, all that hard work you do. Sleep, my friend." The music won't stop. The dolls are everywhere.

  Something deep inside me is calling out to get my attention but I'm too busy trying to swat away those tiny hands to notice. Finally, it gets me: Jimmy and Riley, waiting outside. In this moment of utter desolation, my soul has coughed up a stern reminder that folks are depending on me not to get myself taken down. People I care about. If I fail, not only will Jimmy be sucked forever into this Hell house, Riley will surely come in after me and get his ass evaporated too.

  I force myself to stand up straight, block out the swirling melody with all my mental might and focus my eyes. Those shiny little porcelain faces glint up at me in the flickering TV light. I pick one and smash its head off with my blade. A bright ball of light issues forth, one of Celeste's poor lovers, and scatters frantically towards the ceiling. I slice again, crack another, and swing my body backwards, almost toppling, as the light bursts out and swooshes past me. In the new illumination, I see there are many more American Girls than I had thought, and my mind is still swimming, in spite of my best efforts. I begin whacking viciously at the crowd with both my blade and the cane sheath. Porcelain explodes around me as lights burst upwards.

  I'm ignoring both the creeping melody and the old woman's screams but my energy is waning quickly. The dolls keep coming. Their little hands are grabbing at my ankles and their skin is cool and soft like dead flesh. It chills me, drains my drive. I have the notion that I'm hemorrhaging somewhere, which would be a quick wrap up to the situation 'cause I'm damn near anemic. But there's no blood. I tumble towards a window and smash it with my cane. The swirling balls of light flush towards it and burst out into the night like an explosion of stars. Hopefully, Jimmy's is in there somewhere. If so Riley will sort it out.

  Meanwhile, the room has fallen back into darkness now that the shimmering souls have flooded out and the old hag switched off her soap operas. I swing my blade blindly for a second before an icy mound lands on my back and then another on my shoulder. I've lost all sense of direction. Tiny, frigid hands are working their way up my ankles. How many can I smash before I succumb? My knees are giving way, so I try to gauge where the majority of the little fuckers are gathering and aim my collapse that way. A terrific shattering greets my fall and for a second all I see is a giant flash of light, rising into the air. It illuminates the room just enough to afford me a glimpse of more legions of dolls scattering forward. As the world gives way to that horrific crawling feeling scrambling over my whole body, I hear Grandma Tess cackle and then the sound of a young girl screaming.

  * * *

  My lady friend is sad tonight. We linger together like extras waiting for our cue, somewhere between asleep and awake. I have the vague notion that something horrible is going on all around us, but right now, I am safe. As long as she's here, it's inconceivable that anything bad could happen to me. Her light is just that bright. But she's been crying, or is about to – who can tell? She reaches out a hand towards me and for the first time in all the years that this beautiful morena has been blessing my dreams, she touches my face. It feels like I'm walking out into the afternoon sun after being in a basement for weeks. The warmth spreads over my whole body and I want to laugh and yell with joy but my friend looks so worried I clam up. I raise my hand to touch her face but there's blood laced between my fingers. It's my blood. That warmth all over my body...

  I roll my head back to scream and then wake up pinned to a wall in the flickering lights of the damn soap operas. The dolls are standing perfectly still around me. There are noticeably fewer than there had been, but I'm still outnumbered, surrounded and bleeding. Grandma Tess is talking urgently into an old antique telephone, and the thought that she's in communication with people outside of this house fills me with dread.

  I'm trying to gather my strength and figure out where I'm bleeding from when Mina appears in the open doorway. She's absurdly skinny, has big gawking kitty-eyes and is still rocking that spaghetti-whatever tube top. Jimmy has some work to do on his descriptive powers. From the way Grandma Satorious says, "I'll call you back," into the phone, I gather Mina had been here earlier – scream-ing I vaguely recall – and wasn't welcome back.

  "Can I help you, Mina?" the old woman says icily.

  "I don't know what it is you do in here, Grammy," Mina says, "but it has to stop." Not bad for a mousy chick.

  Grandma's not having it, though. "Go to your room!" she hollers with all the fury of a runaway elephant. "Get out of my sight! I'll deal with you later!" Mina has a lot to learn from this one. If I wasn't chained to the wall I'd be cowering to my room, but the girl stands her ground. Then I see why: All six and a half feet of Jimmy step firmly into the doorway behind Mina. For some reason, the first thought that comes to my head is: How did these two ever possibly get it on? Then the flood of relief kicks in. He looks good and solid so Riley must've gotten him his soul back.

  Grandma Tess reaches frantically for her music box and begins cranking it as fast as her worn out old limbs will let her. That horrible song tiptoes eerily out. I'm about to yell to Jimmy when he pushes Mina to the side and launches across the room. The dolls clutter towards him. A few drop from the ceiling and find their mark on his shoulders and Jimmy misses a step and crashes forward. I'm pulling at my binds with everything I got but that's not saying much. Blood is still leaking steadily from somewhere.

  Jimmy's up before too many dolls latch on to him, and he rips a few off and tosses them roughly at the walls. They shatter, sending light balls scattering out the window. Mina screams and runs towards him but he's already lurched the rest of the way across the room and is wrenching the music box from Granny's hands. "No!" she screams hoarsely. "No! Give it back, boy! That's mine! Mine!"

  "Break it!" I yell. "Millions of pieces!" Little colorful bubbles are clouding my vision, which I take to be a bad sign, but I'm desperate to stay awake and see what happens. Jimmy aims at an attacking doll and brings the music box down hard on its head. Gears, springs and shards of wood explode across the room as the song finally grinds to a halt. I laugh drunkenly and
am about to let myself slip into nothingness when a tall, glowing form steps into the doorway. I squint at it until the old bearded soul from Garvey Park comes into focus. Was he spying on us the whole time? If he's in on it with the fat witch, the deal is done; Jimmy wouldn't stand a chance. I'm about to say as much when the happy colorful dots mount a full takeover of my eyesight and I pass the fuck out.

  * * *

  She's smiling now, my friend, but the sadness waits just behind her eyes like a persistent lover. Her hands are on my face, all that good warmth spilling sloppily over my cheeks, down my throat. I look at her longingly. I'm so tired now, I want to let the world slip away but only if she's coming along too. And her face tells me sternly that she's not. That we have to stay. If I was in bed I would roll over and pull the sheets over my head and then wait for her to come find me. Maybe I'm a child again. I just want to let go, let the darkness keep closing in, but then she smiles and I can't. I can't be anywhere if that smile's not with me. I fight the bleariness away and reach out, put my hands on her waist and pull her close to me. Turns out she's naked and that sacred warmth wraps around me like a steamy bath as I enter her. We move in slow motion, find our rhythm and then fall into a breathless, joyful, steady fuck that seems to go on forever. I wonder what base this is and then I wake up drooling, grinning wildly and staring into an ancient bearded face.

  I scream and the face curves its little O shaped mouth into what must pass for a smile in old spirit expressions. Riley peers curiously down at me. He looks truly concerned, but he's not worried about old beardy being there, which means I don't have to be either. I become vaguely aware of the forest breathing in and out around us. Riley speaks but it just sounds garbley to me. He's looking at the park spirit. Then the spirit says something garbley to Riley. Why can't they bring back my new girlfriend and garble at each other somewhere else?

  "How you feeling, bruh?" Riley asks me.

  "I feel like God stepped on me."

  "You lost a lot of blood."

  "I didn't have a lot of blood."