The Sudden Star

by Pamela Sargent

  "After Aisha," he shouted back. "I'll let you look, I promise, don't go away." The woman glared at Aisha, smoothed back her stiff cloud of black hair, and turned away. Arne made his way over, stepping over those seated on the floor. He reached her and took her arm; his fingers were cold. "Corazon, you're a darling," he said, patting the redheaded woman on the shoulder. "Come in tomorrow and you'll have that ring on discount."

  Aisha sighed, exasperated; no wonder Corazon had made the trip. She stooped and picked up the folder; in the middle of Arne's greetings, it had fallen to the floor. She began to leaf through it. "After dragging me here, it better be good," she muttered.

  "Don't look at them here," Arne said, pulling the folder away from her. "Let's go outside. When you see what I have to offer, you won't be able to resist."

  She turned and followed him out. He led her to the deck chairs facing the ocean. "There isn't much light here," she said as she sat down. The dark rolling ocean slapped the wall and retreated, revealing a narrow strip of beach. She felt a terror as she looked; she saw a vision of the sea topping the wall, flooding the sundeck, lapping at the motel doors and windows, rolling past the poolside bar and into the enclosed courtyard that held the pool, rising as high as the second-floor balconies.... She shook her head. The vision was gone. She turned away and faced the motel, startled to see a group of gulls, still and malignant, perched on the edge of the roof.

  Arne positioned himself on an adjacent chair. "Hey," he said, poking her gently in the arm. "I said, don't worry, I have a flashlight."

  "A flashlight! How can you afford it?"

  "I don't have any choice. I need it for my work." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the slender cylinder. The warm wind caressed her back. Suddenly she longed to push Arne away and leap over the railing into the water. She would swim out, let the sea carry her along the shore, past the buildings, past the piers. She trembled, frightened by the impulse. She didn't know how to swim; she would drown. Arne opened his folder, placed it on her lap, and turned on his flashlight. She saw how stiff he was, how tense. He wasn't here to sell jewelry. She should have seen that before. She stared at his shadowed face and thought she saw fear.

  "Look at the photos," Arne said fiercely. "And stay calm, no matter what I say." She looked at the picture of a heavy gold bracelet studded with rubies.

  "I can't afford that," she whispered. "I'd be afraid to ask Takaishi for something that expensive."

  "You can't afford not to buy it," he whispered back. "I have something of great importance to tell you, and then you'll see what a bargain it is."

  She looked back at Lou-Lou's lighted room, only fifteen feet away. It seemed very distant, an island of safety she could not reach. "Go ahead," she said to Arne.

  "Someone is trying to kill Isabeau Rasselle's female bodyguard, the one she recently hired."

  Aisha peered at him. "Your bracelet is still too expensive. I already knew that."

  "That isn't all. Now that she's under the protection of the Rasselles, and of Echeverria, at least indirectly, the assassin must be careful that any attempt isn't traced to its source. And the woman is determined to find out who's behind it so she can settle matters. Two attempts have already failed against her." Aisha tensed, wondering exactly how much Arne could know. "She will find out, you know. She's working hard at it and she will find out."

  "This has nothing to do with me," Aisha said.

  "I'm very much afraid it does." He gestured at the photo in her lap. "It's a lovely bracelet, and a small price to pay since I'm putting my life in your hands. I know who is behind these assassination attempts."

  "I don't want to know," she said. "There's nothing I can do."

  He took her arm. "Damn it, stay calm. Look at the picture. This concerns you intimately. If I could find out, totally by accident, that woman will find out eventually. And if you don't want to hear this, others will, especially those who were close to people who died suddenly because someone was willing to pay the price. Personally, I'd rather keep you as a customer. You're a good one, but I can find others."

  "All right," she said fearfully, feeling trapped. He reached over and, still holding the flashlight, ruffled through the folder. He removed an invoice and placed it over the photos. He handed her a pen. The bracelet's number and price were written on the form. She read the price and blinked in surprise.

  "Sign it." She signed. He turned off the flashlight. "Werner Takaishi is trying to kill the woman."

  She was still, unable to move. The folder began to slide off her lap. Arne caught it and clutched it to his chest. "It was entirely accidental, you realize, my discovering this fact. I won't go into details. I happened to be in a particular spot, it was dark, I wasn't seen, I waited until I was sure no one would see my departure, every muscle in my body was tight. I didn't need to hear much. One of Takaishi's employees is very loose-lipped. His setup is elaborate. It's hard to trace anything back to him, and he always seemed innocuous enough. As you see, the bracelet is actually quite cheap."

  Aisha's nails dug into the palms of her hands. She was lost, adrift, unprotected. "What can I do?" she said at last. "I can't tell Takaishi, and there's no one else I can turn to."

  "That's not my problem," Arne whispered harshly. "Just make sure he pays for the bracelet."

  "If he knew I knew this—" she began.

  "And what do you think would happen to me? You'd better make sure you keep my name out of this."

  She leaned forward, bewildered. She was beginning to realize that as soon as the bracelet was paid for, Arne would sell his knowledge to someone else, if only to protect himself. He might even sell it to Ortega. He had only sold her time to figure out what to do. She folded her arms over her abdomen, hugging herself.

  He said, "Damn it, look happy. You just bought a beautiful bracelet. Corazon's waving at us."

  The redheaded woman was standing in the doorway. Aisha waved back limply; her arm was weak. Arne stood up and offered her a hand. She took it as she rose. "Look happy," he said again. "You whores ought to be used to acting, come on." She walked with him toward the party, forcing herself to smile.

  Although it was still night, the sky seemed brighter. Aisha climbed out of the cart and waved good night to Corazon. "Now aren't you glad you came?" the small round woman said, sinking back against the seat.

  "Oh, yeah," Aisha responded, straining to smile.

  Corazon said, "See you. I want a look at that bracelet before you stash it." The driver flipped his whip lightly and the horse clomped away from the curb.

  Aisha strolled toward her entrance, exhausted by the effort she had made to be cheerful. Arne had been smart, he had himself covered, and by asking her to Lou-Lou's party, he'd made sure no word was likely to leak about their meeting. The motel dwellers were tight, unwilling to talk much with the more affluent types living farther down. He'd covered himself and cut her loose at the same time. She knew now she'd have to cooperate with Simon. Her only hope was that Titus would take care of Ortega before she found out about Takaishi.

  The night watchman greeted her. "You got a visitor," he said, pointing at the entrance. "Arrived just a few minutes ago."

  "Mr. Takaishi?"

  "Nope, some guy I never seen."

  "You didn't let him in?" she said, thinking about her pearls.

  "Nope. He has police papers, though. He's waiting in the hallway." He shook his head. "Hope you ain't in trouble."

  She shook her head, hoping she wasn't either. She went in and climbed the stairs wearily. She was getting a headache again and she was beginning to resent the unknown visitor.

  She stopped in front of her door, fumbling in the darkness for the key in her pouch. A dark shape moved toward her. "Hello, Miss Aisha."

  It was Officer Rabe. Clutching her key, she stepped back. "What do you want?"

  "Open the door."

  "We can talk out here."

  "Open the door." He grabbed her arm and twisted it. She unlocked her door and s
tepped inside. The room was gray and shadowy, lit only by the dim light outside the window. Rabe slammed the door behind him. She backed away.

  "What do you want?" Her voice shook. She swallowed.

  "Oh, well, it's just a personal visit. I been meanin' to see you again, but I just couldn't find the time before. Remember, you owe me."

  "I don't owe you anything any more."

  "You're always goin' to owe me," he said softly, "and you better just think on that, and be nicer, or I'll have to teach you how."

  She stood still, suddenly conscious of the heat in the room. It enveloped her, almost burning into her skin. Rabe was aglow. A red aura clung to his big body and shimmered. She blinked. Her hands were shaking. Her ears buzzed. Can do what I want, just like before, just do what I say, always goin' to owe me, so get over here, get over here. The words were inside her, scraping against her brain. The part of her mind she had always pushed outside herself before, to protect it, to keep at least part of herself untouched, was deep inside her now, a tiny bright spot being crushed and ground up by the words scratching at her. She felt Rabe's breath and smelled the beer and sweat. She had given in passively enough before, it didn't matter, it would be over, he would go. Her ears buzzed more loudly. The bright spot inside was being destroyed. Frantically she tried to save it, push it from her. Rabe's fingers touched her left arm, searing it.

  She jerked away. He's killing me. Her right arm came up and fell toward his chest, lifted and fell again. The nerves along her spine screamed.

  Rabe bellowed. Blood spurted over her arm. She gazed at it in shock, realizing she held her knife. Rabe bent over, clutching his chest; his right arm reached for his holster. Her arm came up again, then down, stabbing him in the back. He screeched and fell heavily to the floor. She stumbled against the wall, clinging to it. Her body hummed and shook. The wall felt cool. The glow around Rabe disappeared.

  She was unable to move. She heard a loud tapping; someone in the apartment below was banging on the ceiling. Her arms seemed pinned to the wall. At last the banging stopped.

  Her back was against the wall. She was seated on the floor, arms around her knees. Morning sunlight gleamed obliquely through the window, brightening the red of the couch. Her eyes burned. She saw the body and closed her eyes. She tried to stand, but could not move. She put out her hands, tucked her legs under her rump, and crawled slowly toward her bedroom. She was suddenly weak.

  She curled up on the floor, stretching her arms out. She felt numb; there was a gap somewhere inside her, a void. She tried to locate it, unable to tell whether it was inside her head or her chest. It seemed as though she should feel more than that. It wasn't me, she thought desperately, it wasn't me, it was someone else, I didn't, I didn't.

  Someone was knocking on the door. She lifted her eye toward the bedroom window. The sun was higher in the sky, its warmth bathed her arms. She heard the knocking again. It sounded like Simon. Her arms were stiff, her leg paralyzed. The knocking stopped. After a while, she heard his sandals slap the floor as he returned to his own apartment. His door clicked shut.

  She gazed down her outstretched arms at one leg of her bed. It was an old iron bed, painted gray. The paint was streaked. She squinted, peering at the streaks. At first they reminded her of reeds, the reeds she had seen near shore as she and Simon traveled downriver in their boat. They wavered as she looked. The blotches and tiny bumps along the streaks suggested shapes; the tilt of a nose, a slim female body, a bent knee, a man's muscular leg.

  She moved her legs. One foot felt prickly as she moved her toes. It was still light outside, but she could no longer see the sun. She bent her arms and moaned. She rolled over slowly, then sat up. She was dizzy, she clutched her head. Slowly she got to her feet, pulling herself up by clinging to the bed. She took a deep breath.

  There was a tap at the door. Startled, she smashed a leg against the bed and cried out in pain. The gentle tapping resumed. Takaishi, Werner Takaishi, the gentle knock of a quiet man. "Aisha?" he said through the door. He had heard her, he knew she was here.

  At last she was feeling something; she felt fear. She wrung her hands. "Aisha?" he said again. She was going to answer the door. She forced herself to move toward it. It wasn't me, she cried to herself, it wasn't me. She reached for the knob and opened it.

  He peered at her with his small eyes. She heard him take a quick breath. He slipped inside quickly and closed the door. He looked first at her, then down at Rabe. She turned away, unable to look at what she had done.

  "What happened?" Takaishi said softly. She couldn't speak. She opened her mouth and heard a high whining sound. He took her by the shoulders and propelled her back into the bedroom, seating her on the bed. "What happened?" he said again. She shook her head.

  He left the room and came back with a glass of the whiskey she kept for guests. He thrust it at her. "Drink it."

  She stared up at him. "But I don't drink."

  "Drink it."

  She took the glass. Her teeth clattered against the rim. She gulped some whiskey, then gasped and choked. Takaishi patted her back. "It was self-defense, wasn't it? His hand's still on his holster." He sat down next to her and for a moment she was afraid he would touch her again. She shook her head.

  "Wasn't it?"

  She said, "I don't know. He was waiting for me, I owed him, he did it once before, but I thought he wouldn't want me again, but he did, and I—" She crumpled, pressing her hands against her knees.

  "It was a kind of self-defense, then," he said. "Listen, you have to answer me. Did anyone else see him come in here?"

  "I don't think so. The night watchman did. He told me a policeman was here, but nobody else."

  "Did anybody else hear you?"

  She tried to remember. "I think the people downstairs did." She stared at Takaishi's scuffed brown shoes, unable to look at his face. "You're going to turn me in, aren't you?"

  He sighed. "No. No, I'm not."

  "But he's a policeman. They'll find out."

  "They won't find out, I'll take care of it." She glanced sideways at him. He still looked meek, but thoughtful. He ran a hand over his graying hair. "Now listen to me. You're going to go into your washroom there and clean up, and put on clean clothes, and then we're going to lock this door and I'm going to take you over to the Americana and get a room for us. We'll have dinner in the room, and you'll stay there while I come back here and take care of things. If anyone asks why you're there, you're going to smile and say I decided to surprise you with some new furnishings, and that is all. Do you understand?"

  She nodded. Then she remembered the night watchman, the only witness. She reached out a hand to Takaishi. "The night watchman," she said quickly. "You won't do anything to him, will you? He's old, he probably won't even remember, he just runs his mouth if you ask him a question anyway."

  His eyes grew even smaller. "Why do you think I'd hurt him?" he asked in his quiet voice.

  She drew back, recalling what Arne had said and afraid to speak. '"I don't know," she said finally.

  He got up and helped her to her feet. "You'd better get ready."

  At first, Aisha didn't know where she was. She lay under a sheet, staring out a large window at a beach and the ocean beyond. She rolled over on her other side, her back to the window. She heard the sound of panting. She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Takaishi, naked, was doing push-ups on the floor. His muscles bulged as he strained, his veins were long, thin, blue tubes entwined over his pale brown skin. She remembered where she was and why she was here. Her head drooped. She thrust her hands under the sheet.

  Takaishi got up and walked over to the window on his short sturdy legs and stood there, gazing out at the ocean. She considered how he usually appeared in his wrinkled suits; short and meek, a little out of shape, ugly pocked face on a squat neck in a too-tight shirt collar. Too bad, she thought, that he can't just walk around naked. He turned and came back to her. He patted her shoulder.

  "I'm going over
to your apartment to finish up," he said. "I'll be back this afternoon."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Move some more furniture in, of course. That's what I said I was doing there. I had to get rid of the rug and the table anyway. They—" She winced. "Anyway, I have to show the guys where to put it."

  She said, "I can't go back there."

  "It won't even look like the same place, Aisha. It won't bother you."

  "I can't."

  He sat down next to her and held her arms. She kept her hands under the sheet. "Look, we'll go over this afternoon. If you still feel that way, you can stay here a bit longer."

  She hung her head, feeling ashamed. He was risking something for her, and she hadn't really paid him back. She was in his hands now anyway, she had to speak. She took a deep breath and said, "I was at a party the other night."

  He drew back, looking confused. She peered at him from under her half-closed eyelids. "I was told something about you," she said quickly. "You're trying to kill Isabeau Rasselle's bodyguard, Kathleen Ortega. I knew her in New York. This person found out about you by accident, and Ortega's trying to get to you first, but she doesn't know it's you yet, but this person does, and I think sooner or later he'll sell the information to someone else too." She sank back against a pillow. "I didn't know if I could tell you, I thought if I did, you'd get rid of me too, but it doesn't matter now, after what I did, and then I thought you should know so you could do something about it, you probably thought she couldn't find out, but now she can." Now that she'd finally spoken, she was babbling. She waited, wondering what he would do, not really caring.

  He sat stiffly and silently for a few moments, staring past her. He was very still. The wrinkles near his tiny eyes were deeper. At last he said, very quietly, "Who told you this?" and she knew he was angry. She did not speak. His arm suddenly snaked toward her; his fingers gripped her arm. "Who told you?"