by Julie Smith
When I was done, Warren asked me to come to him. I had to drop off the bed and slither like a snake. When I arrived, he made me turn around, facing Julio. He wrapped his legs around my body, holding me down, digging his heels into my abdomen, and holding me by the hair. This time, for Julio’s benefit, he brought out a new weapon—my nail scissors, taken from my makeup bag.
“Later tonight I’m going to be asking you to do something for me,” he said. “And while you’re doing it, I’m going to keep Rebecca and Libby with me. I’m showing you these so that you’ll understand what we’ll be doing while you’re busy.” He took the scissors and started to jab them into my eye. Julio lunged. “Don’t do that.” Warren raked my face. I felt the sting and the wet of the scratch. Involuntarily I made a little sound. “Ohh. Just like Libby. I guess we’ll have to stuff you, too. Bring me a sock.”
I slithered till I found one, brought it back, and let him stuff my mouth. Julio’s rage filled the room, thick as motor oil. I could feel it, erratic and dangerous, building steam.
“Now back to business, Rebecca, dear. Close your eyes.”
Julio tensed. It was as if someone had played a high-frequency note that wouldn’t stop.
“I’m going to give you an eyelash trim.”
From my end, it wasn’t so bad. Not being able to see the scissors, I hadn’t a sense of sharp-pointed things close to my face. In fact, it was kind of a relief to be able to tune Warren out for a few minutes. But from Libby’s whimpering and Julio’s heavy breathing, I guess watching was a little nervous-making.
“Open your eyes now.” I obeyed. “You’re ugly, Rebecca. That really made you ugly.”
I nodded in a way that I hoped he’d find properly submissive. Who cared if I was ugly?
To Julio he said, “You know, I really enjoyed that.”
“You’re sick.”
“Yes. Before we leave here, I want to make sure you know who you’re dealing with. I have killed two people and I enjoyed it. I will kill more if I need to. I just want you to know that. We’re leaving now. Rebecca will drive. You will ride in the front seat with her. I will ride in the back with Libby. It would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot this child through the heart and watch her die.”
My ears rang. Dear God, he couldn’t be saying that.
“If I see that you have jeopardized my chances, I have nothing to lose by killing her—and I will have the pleasure of claiming a third victim. Is that clear?”
Julio said, “Warren, you don’t sound like yourself.”
I didn’t know him well, but that was my impression, too. He sounded pompous and professorial. I didn’t realize he had such presence, could be so sure of himself.
Warren said, “I’m not myself, Julio. I have come into my own.”
“Where are we going?”
“Your house, of course. But one question. Where is Esperanza?”
“At Amber’s. Sleeping over.”
She was safe. It was something to hang on to.
Warren ungagged me, untied my ankles, and let me rub them awhile before attempting to drive. They hurt a lot. While I recovered, he ripped out the phone.
“Rebecca, pick Libby up. We’re going in your car.”
“I need my keys.”
He searched my purse, tossed it over.
He made Julio walk ahead and get in the shotgun seat. Then he got in the back with Libby, holding the spear gun on her, as I walked around to my side, and started the car.
When we arrived, he made me tie Julio’s ankles, and then he tied me, wrists and ankles. He sat us on Julio’s pathetic couch, and then, taking Libby and the spear gun for insurance, went on a tour of the house. He came back pointing a revolver.
“Shit!” said Julio. “My mama told me not to buy that thing.”
“Cut the conversation. Where’s the pizza?”
“Pizza?” said Julio. “I thought that was a joke. Rebecca and I—”
“You didn’t get the pizza?”
“No.”
“You idiot!” He slapped Julio’s face with the pistol. Libby made an animal sound. “I was going to ungag her,” he said. “But you can forget that now.”
Warren went into the kitchen.
“Warren! I could make you something.”
He came back with chips and salsa, stuffing them into his mouth mechanically. “You can cook, Rebecca?”
“Some things.” The salsa gave me an idea. “How about huevos rancheros!''
“So you can cook, can you? Very interesting.”
“Shall I make you something fabulous?”
He looked at his watch. “Oh, by all means. But not yet. We have to go out again—as soon as the party’s over.”
That had a nasty sound to it. “What party?” I asked.
“The one at the aquarium. What do you think this charade’s about?”
For a long time he didn’t say another word—just stared into space. That was okay. He wasn’t torturing Libby.
But after a while, she began making urgent noises in her throat.
“What does she want?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
He pulled the gag out. For a moment Libby didn’t speak, seemed to be adjusting to the feeling of having her mouth to herself. Warren said, “What is it, kid?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Wee-wee in your pants.”
I had a weird sense of deja vu. There was something familiar, but I couldn’t think what.
I said, “I have to go, too. Shall I wee-wee in my pants?” I was being deliberately crude, hoping to gross him out.
He grimaced. “All right, all right, you can both go. You, too, Julio?”
Julio shook his head.
He left Julio where he was, untied my feet and Libby’s. At the bathroom door, he untied Libby’s hands and told her to go while we watched, the gun trained on my ear.
Cheeks flaming, she turned slightly away so at least he couldn’t see her face. When it was my turn, I took a different approach. I stared at him as I unzipped, not sexual, just boldly immodest. Then I dropped my drawers and pretended to examine them.
I cried out in high alarm, “Oh, yuck, I’ve got my period! Jesus, what a mess.”
The man who could stick a letter opener in another person’s eye and apparently not bat his own practically turned pea-green before my eyes.
“I’ve got to get a Tampax.”
“Shut up and pee.”
“Warren. I’m not kidding. I’ve really got to. It’s going to be all over my jeans, on Julio’s couch. …” I held up a piece of toilet paper, thinking chances were good he’d never find out there was nothing more revolting on it than a saccharine flower design. “Look at that.”
I was right. He averted his eyes. “Okay, okay.”
“I’ve got spares in my purse.”
“Go get them.”
I got up and started to waddle, jeans around my ankles. “Pull up your pants, goddammit!”
I complied, virtually hearing the creak of wheels as he tried to figure a way to avoid witnessing unimaginable grossness, yet keep me in sight. I made a big show of tearing off a wad of toilet paper and stuffing it in my panties to catch the overflow.
Warren brought Libby with us to find my purse, keeping her covered while I rummaged for the Tampax. While my hands were out of sight in the purse, I took three of Mickey’s Seconal capsules—all I had left—out of my plastic pill container and stuck them under the sleeve of my turtleneck.
Triumphantly I extracted a tampon, waving it in his face. He looked as if he were witnessing ritual butchery.
Good.
* * *
When he’d destroyed the last of the chips and salsa, he glanced again at his watch. “Time to go. The travel arrangements will be the same. Only this time I will be threatening Little Miss Muffet with this example of modem weaponry.” He waved the gun. “She’ll go first; then Rebecca; then Julio. All three of you will be dead in about five seconds if anything untoward hap
pens.”
He sure was talking peculiarly—like a schoolteacher. His mother had been one; maybe he’d picked up the habit from her.
Suddenly I remembered the story Ricky had told me and realized what the déjà vu was about. Like mother like son, I guessed. She sounded bonkers, and Warren certainly was.
Before we left, he filled up the bathtub. And then he hunted up a plastic trash bag to bring along.
Mercifully, he untied Libby’s feet before we left, and slung one of Esperanza’s jackets around her shoulders, hiding her tied hands. Julio, too, was given a shoulder-draped jacket. I was untied for driving.
* * *
The aquarium seemed nearly deserted, though it’s never completely so, I’d learned the other night. There are always security guards at the very least, and lots of people work late. This part of the operation would depend partly on luck—whether ours or Warren’s remained to be seen.
We slipped in the back door and behind the scenes to aquarist territory. “To the dive lockers,” said Warren.
He opened Julio’s locker, tossed his equipment on the floor, and had me pick it up. Then we all took the elevator to the roof. The lights weren’t on.
“Could I ask what this is all about?” asked Julio. “Because I’ve got the feeling you’re going to send me down there, and I can’t go in the dark.”
“Yeah, you can ask. Suit up while I tell you. Rebecca, untie him.”
Warren kept the gun trained on him, not letting his eyes stray for a millisecond, as Julio undressed and put on the wet suit. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me—this was my first look at a very fine body I wanted to live to see naked again.
“You know what the Sheffield Pearl is?”
“Yes.” Julio stiffened.
“Ever seen it?”
“I can’t remember; I’ve seen so many pictures of it… .”
“Good enough. It’s down there. And you’re going to get it.”
“That’s what all the killing is about? That’s what you’re threatening us for right now? That ugly thing?”
“No,” said Warren. “That isn’t what it’s about at all. It’s just a loose end I have to tie up. We don’t want any loose ends, do we?”
Julio sighed. “Could we have some light, please?”
“I’m afraid not. That wouldn’t be keeping a very low profile. But Libby and Rebecca have seen it. They’ll tell you where it is.”
Libby said, “Near the round window. You know that little sandy place? Near the back.”
“Can you manage okay?” I said.
“That area’s small. I can just rake it with my hands till I find it.” He spoke to Warren. “But it’s a long way down. You’ll have to give me plenty of time.”
“Just remember one thing. I’m up here with Rebecca, Libby, and a gun. And these.” He displayed the nail scissors.
With a soft splash, Julio went over the side. Warren took us into the rooftop lab to wait. I knew he’d taken us inside because he didn’t want to encounter a guard. He could explain our presence with no trouble—after all, he was acting head of the institution. But I knew he didn’t want to be the last person seen with us.
He drummed his fingers. “Rebecca, you got any more cough drops?”
I shook my head.
“I’m starving.” He started to range about the lab, opening cabinets. I feared for the baby invertebrates—he might decide to eat them raw. But he didn’t lapse into such lack of professionalism, though he seemed to have dropped his pedantic speech mode.
I was glad he’d found something to occupy his mind. With the sadistic streak he had, I was afraid he’d decide to pull Julio up too fast just to watch him get the bends. In fact, I was very much afraid of that.
I sat down and took Libby in my lap, an action Warren allowed, I surmised, because it occupied both of us and guaranteed neither would make sudden moves.
“Did you kill Sadie for the pearl?” I asked, more to keep him occupied than anything else.
“Of course not. Why would I care about the damned pearl?”
I could see it was going to be one of those conversations. Fortunately, Julio began to climb out of the tank, the creature from twenty thousand leagues, dark and alien in the moonlight.
Warren had me take the pearl and hand it over. He put Libby and me in front of him as Julio resumed his street clothes.
It had been a weird evening, but it got a lot weirder. Warren had Julio put water from the tank in the plastic bag we’d brought.
“Now,” he said, “Let’s get the puffers.”
Julio stared.
“Don’t just stand there, goddammit. Let’s go get the puffers.”
It still didn’t seem to compute. “We’re kidnapping the puffers?”
“Yeah. Maybe we’ll hold them for ransom.”
So we all trooped to the third floor while Julio got a net and transferred the fish to the bag. I could grasp the theory, sort of like the goldfish you buy in Baggies, but puffers were weird pets.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When we’d put away the diving equipment, Warren retied Julio and forced him in the front seat again, but, wonder of wonders, he untied Libby. She was to have custody of the fish. Julio, who was supposed to be such a pal of marine animals, had been all for putting them in the trunk, but Warren was afraid they might get bruised. He was awfully particular about the damn puffers—and I had a bad feeling I knew what he wanted them for.
Warren said, “Rebecca, find a supermarket, will you? I could eat a Doberman.” The guy was almost comical if you didn’t know how dangerous he was.
All we could find was a 7-Eleven, but Warren went for it (after first making sure Julio already had the ingredients for huevos rancheros).
He took me with him, the gun out of sight in a coat pocket, digging into my hip. He’d issued one of his standard warnings. “Julio and Libby, leave the car or make a disturbance and your friend’s a former lawyer. Got it?”
We got two six-packs of Pepsi, chips, bean dip, jalapeno-and-cheese dip, cookies, and salsa in a jar, Warren complaining like a kid that they didn’t have the fresh kind.
As we paid, I looked out at the two in the car, hoping for signs of activity. Surely they could see what I could see: This is it, guys. Probably our only chance. He’s never going to kill me in here. The worst he’ll do is hold me hostage. Lean on the horn, goddammit! Get us out of this!
But you can’t get good help anymore.
Libby waved. Just like Mom and Uncle Warren had popped in for some TV snacks instead of our last meal on the planet. Waved! I still can’t get over it.
After we dumped the puffers in the bathtub, Warren said, “Now. Food. Rebecca, get in that kitchen.” He started murdering chips and Pepsis the instant we were in there, but he had great concentration. He could eat half a bag of chips while tracking me like a man in love. The opportunity I needed didn’t materialize.
“I really can’t tell you what a marvelous night it’s been. What a splendid four days, for that matter. Do you know you three have really made my day?”
I said, “Why’d you kill Sadie, Warren? You said it had nothing to do with the pearl—so what was it?”
He lifted a know-it-all finger. “Ah-ah, young lady, I said no such thing. It had everything to do with the pearl. Just not the usual thing.”
“So are you going to tell us or not?” He was having such a great time I already knew the answer. Even if we didn’t want to know, we were going to.
But before he could get up a head of steam, I heard a funny clicking sound—outside, I thought; running steps. Then the familiar household sound of metal against metal—a key in the door. It could be only one person.
“Run!” yelled Julio. “Esperanza, run for your life!” Warren crossed the living room in three or four steps, jerked the door open. Esperanza must have frozen. Warren pulled her inside, fat fingers circling her upper arm, gun pointed at her head. I could hear a car driving away.
Julio started to c
oo the usual dumb things: “It’s all right, baby. Everything’s going to be—”
I could have cried.
“Shut up, Julio.” Warren slapped Esperanza’s face. “You’ve been a bad boy.”
I flew out of the kitchen like a mother wolf, flung myself at Warren. Warren squeezed Esperanza’s arm so tight it turned red as I watched. He leveled the gun at the bridge of my nose. Esperanza screamed.
“Everybody cool out!”
He meant chill out; I prayed she wouldn’t correct him.
She didn’t. Everyone froze.
Finally I said, “Esperanza sometimes faints. Let her go, please.”
He flung her into my arms. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
I stroked her hair. How did you explain madness to a ten-year-old? “Why are you home?” I said.
“Amber got sick. We went to the emergency room and then Ricky dropped me off.” She was still whispering.
Julio kept quiet, knowing, I suppose, that anything he said would be used against his daughter.
“Okay, okay, we’re going to make a few changes. First, we tie up Esperanza.” Warren tied her to a chair with some clothesline he must have found on his search. “And now, we hogtie Julio.” He had me do it while he held the gun to Esperanza’s temple. To make double sure, he didn’t let me untie the wrists and ankles. I had to do the hog-tying above the other bonds, which had now turned Julio’s skin an ugly purple.
Pretty soon it became clear why he was doing it—he was going to amuse himself with the rest of us, and he was afraid of Julio, even tied up.
That meant he wasn’t all that much afraid of me, which might be good. I had a secret weapon now. When Julio yelled and Warren left me alone, I’d worked a Seconal into my palm, pulled the capsule apart, dumped the contents into the salsa for the huevos, and tucked the empty capsule halves back into my sleeve. With luck, the salsa would mask the taste.
My hands shook as I built the huevos rancheros. The eggs had finished poaching during the excitement, a good thing considering Warren’s eagerness. It was all I could do to keep him at bay while I put together my version of the dish: the eggs served on a tortilla smeared with refried beans—in this case, bean dip—the whole thing topped with lots of salsa and tomatoes, then sour cream and cheese.
