Spider

by Unknown

  ‘Remember, Howie, the primary sexual organ of the male and the female is not the genitals, it’s the brain. Fantasy and planning happen in your head, not in your pants. Whatever these goons physically act out is merely a manifestation of what they mentally crave.’

  Howie still didn’t know whether to write homosexual or heterosexual. He just couldn’t figure out what turned this weirdo on. And then he found the word he was searching for. Underneath Intelligent, Ruthless and Meticulous, he wrote a word he’d never written before:

  Necrophile

  Death was just the start of the killer’s turn-on.

  27

  Siena, Tuscany

  Jack’s heart sank as his train arrived in Siena. The station was swarming with tourists and he suddenly remembered why: it was Palio day.

  Jack and Nancy had never been to the famous Palio alla Tonda horse race through the streets of the city, but they’d heard all about it. Paolo had urged them to go, but Carlo, their quiet and far more conservative hotel manager, had begged them not to. The differing opinions pretty much coincided with how most of Italy viewed the controversial and highly dangerous spectacle. Some people loved the sense of tradition. It dated back to the mid seventeenth century and had historic echoes of the traditional Roman games of archery, fighting and racing. Others simply hated the fact that the horses often got badly injured and sometimes even had to be destroyed. Carlo had told them that years earlier one of the ten competing horses, each representing a local ward, fell and was trampled to death while the race was allowed to carry on. After that, he vowed he would never let his family watch the Palio again.

  Outside the station, Jack could already hear the clop of horses’ hooves as several members of the carabinieri trotted past. He guessed they were heading off for a rehearsal of the dramatic sword-wielding charge that they would stage in the pageant at the Piazza del Campo. Jack could also spot bookmakers on the pavements, pocketing fistfuls of euros as the betting built up for the big event.

  With traffic virtually banned from the entire city, getting a taxi was even more difficult and pricey than usual. Finally, Jack collapsed into the back of an old Renault Megane that seemed to be missing certain luxuries, such as rear suspension or a window that would roll down. Somewhere on the outskirts of Siena he fell asleep and was pleasantly surprised to wake as the taxi pulled up noisily on the gravel outside La Casa Strada in San Quirico.

  As they rounded the side of the hotel, his heart lifted when little Zack clambered off his pedal trike and dashed towards him with open arms, shouting, ‘Daddy, Daddy!’

  ‘Hello, tiger, come here and give your old man a kiss,’ said Jack, sweeping the toddler up into his arms and kissing his beautifully smooth face. ‘You been good for Mommy?’ he asked, walking towards Nancy, who was sitting on the patio with paperwork spread out over a metal garden table.

  ‘Hi there, stranger,’ she called from her chair, holding down some papers as a surprise gust of wind threatened to blow them away.

  ‘Hi, hon,’ said Jack, bending down to kiss her, Zack still tucked under his right arm, as though he were a football.

  ‘Down, Daddy, down!’ urged the youngster.

  ‘How was the train?’ asked Nancy, slipping off her sunglasses to take a closer look at him.

  Jack swung his son down and felt a warm glow as he watched the youngster dash back to his trike. He sat on the chair opposite his wife, tucking the plastic bags containing her presents surreptitiously beneath his seat. ‘Palio day in Siena. It was so crazy there; I had to walk miles to get a cab.’ He pinched an olive from a round, white dish on the table. ‘I know what Carlo said, but I think I’d like to go see it some day.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nancy cautiously. Her mind was on other things. ‘What about the case? You done with it? Everything finished? Or is that too much to hope for?’

  Jack let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. ‘Sheeesh, Nancy, am I that easy to read?’

  She nodded.

  ‘They’ve got something they really want me to look at.’

  Nancy frowned. ‘That girl, Olivetta, or whatever her name is?’

  ‘Orsetta,’ he said, noting her sensitivity. ‘No, not her, Massimo.’

  Nancy’s eyes lit up a little. ‘You spoke to Mass? He say how Benny and the kids are?’

  ‘No, we didn’t have time to talk about that,’ said Jack, remembering how well Nancy and Mass’s wife Benedetta had got on when they’d met in Rome. Benny had shown her all the tourist sites, while he and Mass worked long hours together. ‘I’m going to call him back in a minute, when I’ve freshened up and maybe grabbed a coffee.’

  ‘I’ll get the kitchen to send one up for you. You want anything to eat?’

  ‘Yeah, could they do a panini of some kind?’ he said, gathering the bags and getting ready to walk away.

  ‘They’re chefs, honey; they could do you a six-course lunch if you want.’

  ‘Mozzarella and some salad would be just fine.’ Jack pushed his chair back under the table and was about to leave when he caught the expression on his wife’s face. ‘You look like you’re fit to burst, Nancy. You want to tell me what’s eating you?’

  Nancy took a deep breath. She’d have preferred to have this conversation later, in the cool of the evening when she could control their moods and there was nothing else to distract them. ‘I don’t want you to do this. I know it’s probably connected to the murder of that young woman that’s been in the news, and you feel that you should get involved, but you shouldn’t, it’s not going to be good for you.’

  ‘Say all that again,’ said Jack, a little crisper than he intended.

  ‘It’s all starting up again, isn’t it?’ said Nancy, knowing the day was about to be ruined.

  Jack twisted his shoulders away from her, as he always did when he tried to show her he was exasperated and she’d got everything out of proportion. ‘Honey, I’m going to look at some papers and photographs, see some maps and reports, and give some advice, that’s all.’

  She looked at him distrustfully and rolled her tongue over the front of her teeth, one of the traits Jack always recognized as a sign that she was holding out on him. ‘What else?’ he said in the tone he usually reserved for suspects in an interview room.

  ‘Howie called from New York.’ She studied his face for a reaction, before adding with a sigh of resignation, ‘Something’s happened over there. He wouldn’t tell me much but he mentioned BRK, said they were reopening the case.’

  ‘He say why?’ asked Jack, his pulse quickening.

  ‘Like I said, he wouldn’t tell me much. Just that the press were going to be all over it again, probably all over you too.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘Honey, we don’t need this.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Actually, this is the very stuff that we came all the way here to get away from.’ She looked to her left and then to her right, taking in the peace of the garden and the beauty of the view across the hills. ‘Please don’t put it all at risk, Jack, don’t get drawn in again.’

  Jack leant across the table, trying to make a connection. His face was uncompromising, but to the trained eye of his wife it betrayed vulnerability as well. ‘Nancy, this man might be killing again. He may already have taken at least one young woman’s life, right here in Italy, maybe the girl you referred to, and from the sound of what you’ve just said, he could well be active again back home.’ Jack reached across and took hold of her other hand as well. ‘I can’t keep running away. The impotency of doing nothing is driving me crazy. I have to try to stop him.’

  ‘Even if it hurts you?’ said Nancy, feeling that this was a conversation she’d had over and over again. ‘Even if it hurts us?’

  Jack said nothing but Nancy could read the answer on his face. She pulled her hands free of his. ‘I’ve got to see Paolo in the kitchen. I’ll have him send some food over to you.’

  Jack stood motionless as she pushed her chair away from the table so hard that it clattered on to the patio. He bent ov
er and picked it up, then watched her walk quickly towards the restaurant. He knew from the shape of her back that her arms were up at her face and she was crying. And he knew that there was nothing in the world he could do to stop it.

  28

  Marine Park, Brooklyn, New York

  Lu Zagalsky is in a shallow, fitful sleep when Spider slips off the gag and slams the needle of undiluted bleach directly into her voice box. The chemical will burn out her vocal cords and render her incapable of a squeak, let alone ascream. Keeping the gagon would be to run the risk of her choking on her own vomit, and he doesn’t want her to die. At least, not just yet.

  ‘Shh, shh, don’t struggle,’ says Spider, dropping the needle and holding down her shoulders.

  The wrist-chain has worked a notch loose on her right-hand side and Lu instinctively tries to punch him. The metal links snap tight and nearly dislocate her arm.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’ he shouts, quickly putting his right hand around her neck. His fingers are steely strong and they stab like knives into her throat. Spider feels enraged and aroused. His vice-like grip tightens around the tender tissue where the bleach is already eating through her larynx.

  Lu thinks she’s going to die. It’s now! He’s going to kill you right now! There’ll be no Ramzan, no life outside the Beach, nothing more than this.

  Despite the agonizing pain she manages to bend her neck and snake her mouth round his hand just enough to bite him.

  Spider feels her teeth snap shut and sink deep into his left hand.

  Her mouth locks closed on his flesh like the savage bite of a wild street dog. He tries to stay calm but this woman’s jaw-power is extraordinary. Her bony canines are cutting their way into him, grinding through skin, slicing into the bones around his thumb. He frees his right hand from around her neck and punches her.

  Lu barely feels the blow. Her mother brought her up on a daily diet of beatings a hundred times more brutal than the one this ebanat’s trying to dish out. She ignores the dull throb on her left cheekbone and chews down hard on the flesh in her mouth. She can feel his skin bursting around her teeth, his stinking vonuchaya blood seeping into her mouth.

  ‘Fuuuuck!’ Spider screams.

  He punches her again, but he can’t get any uplift to deliver a proper blow. The little bitch’s teeth have bitten into nerves and tendons and the pain’s so intense it sparks a bolt of agonizing electricity up his elbow. Spider falls on top of her and uses the momentum and his body weight to try to suffocate her, to try to jam his hand deep into her evil little mouth. Little bitch will either let go or choke to death, he thinks, as he pushes through the pain and bears down on her.

  Lu doesn’t lose her grip. Even as his weight collapses on her, she grinds her back teeth.

  She can’t see now and is struggling to breathe. His body heat and weight are overwhelming, there’s no air to suck in.

  Everything begins to go black and fuzzy for Lu, as once more he rams the palm of his right hand across her face and again leans all his weight upon it.

  She starts to retch as he forces his left thumb deeper into her mouth, deeper into her bite.

  She knows what he’s doing; knows that he can’t pull his hand free without severe damage, so he’s trying to choke her. Well, you give it your best shot, mister, it’s gonna take a lot to choke Lu Zagalsky; therehavebeen biggerthingsinthis mouthandheavier people on top of this body than a creep like you.

  Lu drills deep into her childhood memory; the nightmares of abuse flood into her brain, the anger boils up and over. She bites so hard she feels one of her teeth crack and splinter away. The latest wave of pain is so severe that Spider falls off her and crashes to the floor.

  Lu spits out his blood and her broken tooth. It feels good, it feels wonderful! She feels like Rocky when he beat Apollo Creed. Bloody, battered but victorious. Only she knows that this victory is going to be horribly costly. Her mind flashes back again to her bedroom in Moscow and the last time she bit a man like this.

  You don’t have to take this shit.

  Whatever happens, you don’t take this kind of shit.

  Fight for your life, Lu, fight for every second you can draw breath. Whatever happens he can’t take your spirit away from you.

  Spider cradles his left hand in the palm of his right one. Jesus Christ, how did she do that? The flesh is open and he can see inside his own hand. He can see bones and veins, blood and tissue oozing from the crescent-shaped wound caused by her vicious teeth.

  He wipes sweat off his head with his right forearm and looks across the basement for something with which to make a tourniquet. His eyes settle on a sink in the far corner and some cotton rags that will be okay if he washes them first.

  He turns on the single mixer tap and lets cold water pour over his damaged hand into the deep ceramic trough. The water is red with his blood but it is cool and helps ease the pain that is roaring through him. He soaks one of the rags, the type he usually uses for gags and facial bindings, and squeezes it out as best he can. Spider wraps the sodden cotton around the bite wound, makes a loop and then grips one end of the rag in his teeth so he can pull tight. Further up his forearm he ties a second tourniquet across the veins he suspects may feed blood into the wound.

  Lu watches helplessly from the bondage table. She’s thinking of when she was a small child watching snowflakes for the first time from the window of her parents’ tenement building, thinking of when she was free and innocent, running in the meadows of Gorky Park.

  She’s thinking of what life with Ramzan might have been like.

  She’s thinking of anything other than what might happen to her next.

  Spider dries his left hand on his trousers and looks straight at her.

  ‘Bad Sugar,’ he says, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Bad, bad Sugar.’

  Lu’s eyes are fixed on his hand. Not the hand she’s bitten, but his good right hand. In it, gripped tight, is what looks like a large bone saw.

  29

  San Quirico D’Orcia, Tuscany

  From a green-shuttered bedroom window of La Casa Strada, Jack looked down on a garden filled with apple, plum and pear trees. The row with Nancy had drained him and made him reflect, but deep down he knew he’d crossed the point of no return. Whatever his wife said, or did, he was going to help Massimo. And if necessary, he was going to help Howie too. Being truthful to himself, he now accepted that he’d never really managed to get BRK out of his system. In fact, because he was so totally removed from the case, it had preyed on his mind more than ever. Now, at least, by getting involved, by trying to do something, the mental anguish would be worthwhile, instead of just pointless.

  Jack stared again out of the window. The only guests walking around the garden were an elderly couple; probably about the same age his mother and father would have been if they’d still been alive. They wandered along the stone pathway, holding hands and pausing every now and again to point out various fruits and plants to each other. Jack tried to recall their name: Giggs, or Griggs, something like that. Anyway, Nancy had said that they were here to celebrate his seventieth birthday and her sixtieth, which fell within five days of each other. How beautiful to have reached that age and still be so in love. Jack looked closer at the man, his sunburned face smiling from beneath an ivory-coloured Panama hat. The old guy seemed perfectly happy with his life, content to be slowly pacing it out, hand in hand with his soulmate. The couple stopped beneath the shade of a cherry tree and admired Zack’s pet rabbit as it bounded around their legs, before darting off to the far side of the orchard. The old man brushed leaves off a nearby steamer chair and helped his wife into it, before settling in another one alongside her. No sooner was he comfortable than he stretched out his gnarled old arm so they could hold hands again. Jack would have loved to have brought his parents here, to have had them stay for a month or two each summer and watch their grandchild growing up. He would have given almost anything to be looking down from that very window on his own mother an
d father. They’d seldom travelled out of New York State, let alone America, but Italy was on their ‘To Do’ list and deep down he was certain they’d have loved the place. It was sad and ironic that it was the money they’d left him that had enabled him and Nancy to buy La Casa Strada, mortgage-free. For a moment he pictured all three generations of Kings walking together, down to the centre of town, to the Piazza della Liberta’, where they could sit on long stone steps, while Zack and the grandfather that he had never got to know could choose ice cream from the nearby gelateria. Afterwards, they’d walk through the Renaissance gardens of Horti Leonini and Nancy and his mother would wait while Zack played hide and seek in the miniature maze. Somehow the argument with Nancy and the prospect of distance opening up again between them made him ache once more for his own mother and father.

  Jack stepped back from the window, and from all his musings on what might have been. It was time to put Tuscany, and any thoughts of his parents, his wife or his child firmly to the back of his mind.

  There was work to do.

  He dialled the number of Massimo Albonetti.

  30

  Marine Park, Brooklyn, New York

  Spider holds the bone saw in his hand and looks along the blade towards Lu Zagalsky as she thrashes about on the bondage table, desperately trying to break free of her chains. In his hand he holds sixteen inches of brutal steel that had once belonged to his father and for years had been used to butcher sides of beef and pork that the family bought wholesale. In later years, Spider had found more dramatic uses for it. And right now, he’s thinking how fitting it would be to repay Lu’s violence towards him, by cutting her up, limb by limb – while she’s still alive.