"I was there for fifteen minutes when I heard her gurgle. Smiley wasn't dead after all. Smiley was still very much alive. We called the paramedics and they came and took her to the hospital. You can see the airway tube." Cassiletti grimaced at the picture and studied it closer. "The next day I took her statement." Mace paused for effect. "Written, of course."
Cassiletti only nodded. He wiped his palms on his pants.
Mace continued. "Seems she wanted to kill herself. That much I had figured. First she tried to slash her wrists with the razor. She really meant to do it. A lot of times you can see hesitation in the cut marks. Most suicides don't really want to do it. A call for help and all that. This lady was determined. She just cut across instead of down the center." He stopped and pointed to where the arteries ran in his own arm. "She also lifted each breast and made deep half-moon cuts, then she lay on her bed and waited to die. When it didn't happen, she got up and washed the sheets and the razor. Then she went in the kitchen and got the knife and the hammer and did the damage you see here."
Cassiletti stole another look at the photograph.
"She lived?"
"You bet. Unluckiest lady I've ever met. She took that knife and drove it into her throat with the hammer, then ripped it across. Missed both jugular veins by a quarter-inch and then lay there on the floor for three days."
"Why is it all white?" Cassiletti asked. He still couldn't believe that a throat could gape open that far and a person live through it.
"Staph infection," Mace answered.
"Why do you carry this around?"
"I show it to young girls I catch hitchhiking."
Cassiletti shook his head. "Do you know if she tried it again?"
"As a matter of fact, I talked to her about a month ago. Shes doing good. She said God wasn't finished with her yet." Mace reached behind his chair for his coat. "Let's take a ride over to the bar. I want to talk to that bartender again."
When they arrived at the Venture Inn, Benny wasn't happy to see them. "Man," he told Mace, "your people have torn my place apart. I warned you to stay away from that little broad. She's nothing but trouble. I hope you find her before any of the Pride does."
"Why are they looking for her?"
"She gave a few of the boys the clap. They don't appreciate that."
"How many?"
"At least six of them."
"She was having relations with six different bikers?"
"I don't know if I'd exactly call it relations."
Mace looked up and down the deserted bar.
"Did we scare away all your customers? Where are all the bikers tonight?"
"Tonight is meeting night, so we won't see them till later."
"Where are all the women?"
"Meeting night ain't a good night for the women to be out." Benny winked. "The boys get a little stirred up, if you know what I'm saying."
"Was it a meeting night when Munch gave all the boys the clap?"
"No, it was this last weekend. The boys were just having some fun. I know most of them. In fact, I served with their president, Crazy Mike, at Chu Lai."
Mace pulled a photograph from his notebook. It was a more recent picture of Victoria Glassen, one that hadn't been released to the press. Her hair was lighter and she was heavily made up, making her appear older and far less innocent. If Potts had gotten hold of one of these, it would soon be plastered all over the place. That was an old trick of his when an investigation was going badly—discredit the victim.
Mace took a gamble that the patrons of the Venture Inn didn't keep up on local news and wouldn't recognize the girl as a victim. He handed the picture to Benny, who studied it quickly and then declared: "She had ID. I'd swear on a bible this broad was twenty-one."
Mace's pulse quickened but his voice remained even, almost slowing to a drawl. "When was she in here?"
"A few weeks ago."
He scratched the back of his ear. "Any reason you remember her so vividly?"
"Yeah, she made it to the trophy wall." Benny pointed to the back wall. Next to the dartboard was a large cork bulletin board filled with memorabilia: Female underwear, personalized license plates, and courtesy cards from other bike clubs. Benny limped out from behind the bar and took the detective on a tour. He lifted a pair of torn red nylon panties and showed the detective the photograph underneath. A very much alive Victoria danced. Her arms were above her head and her mouth was open in a lopsided grin. Her blouse was unbuttoned and her tits were on the upswing. Her dance partner had his back to the camera. The red panties were on his head.
"Who's the dude?"
"Shit, I don't remember" Benny laughed. "A prospect. You see he doesn't have his full colors
yet." He shook his shaggy head in admiration and said almost reverently "She was one game bitch, that one."
Mace studied the picture. It showed a side to Vicky he hadn't seen yet, but was quickly imagining. "Mind if I borrow this?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"There's always choices." Mace stretched out his throat, tilting his head back and pointing his chin towards the rough-hewn ceiling. He sighed as if bored, exhaling through his nostrils. When he brought his head back down, it was to stare directly into Benny's eyes. "This girl is nineteen, I really don't think you want the picture of an underage girl on your trophy rack."
"Take it."
Mace pulled the thumbtack out that held the photograph to the cork board. He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket. Using his pen, he lifted the torn panties and dropped them in the bag. Another picture caught his eye. It was a group shot of the whole club. The biker in the center of the group, the one who had a "Prez" patch sewed over the pocket of his Levi's cutoffs, stared back at him. A familiar tattoo peeked out from the sleeve of his t-shirt, "Death Before Dishonor." One below that read, "FTW," which Mace recognized as standing for "Fuck The World." The biker wore his dark blond hair shorter than most bikers, just to his ears, and unlike the other club members, he was clean-shaven. "Is this Crazy Mike?"
Benny nodded uncomfortably
"How long did you serve with him?"
"Only for a month, then I was wounded. Take my advice, you don't want to mess with him."
"I'll keep that in mind," Mace said dryly
"Thanks for your help."
"Don't mention it," Benny said. He gave the detective a sober look. "I mean that."
Cassiletti was waiting for Mace in the car. Mace sat down next to him and flipped open his notebook. He made a few memos. Satans Pride. Check moniker file.
"Where to now, Sarge?"
"I want to drop this off at the lab. Hopefully our boy left a calling card." He showed Cassiletti the photograph and panties. "We'll get a blowup of this picture, too. I need an ID on this guy then we'll put some pressure on him."
"You think the bikers are involved?"
"I think we need to turn over a few rocks and see what crawls out."
10
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, HAPPY JACK CALLED his newest mechanic into the office. "Close the door behind you," he said after Munch cleared the doorway
She closed the door with the uncomfortable feeling that she was busted. Life had been good for three days in a row. Of course it wouldn't last. I don't care, she told herself. Her own personal mantra. If you don't care, who can touch you? The back of her neck burned with sudden anxiety as she realized that that particular piece of wisdom had been taught to her by Flower George.
"Daisy," Jack began, "I know you don't live at the address you gave me. Lou drove by there today and there is no such address."
"Lou was checking up on me?"
"Listen, I just want to help. I can't do that if you're not straight with me. Lou said you were on something. He says that's why you sweat so much and your pupils are so big. I won't have drug use here. I'm gonna ask you once. Do you use drugs?"
She looked him directly in the eye. The secret to good lying is to first convince yourself. "No," she said. If he asked her if she'd ever been
arrested, she would answer no with equal sincerity Daisy Signman had never been arrested. Still, she was glad when he didn't ask her. The question had been on the job application. It had asked if she'd ever been convicted of a crime and she had written, "None."
As in, "None of their fucking business." But he had asked her about drugs and she wasn't doing drugs, so it wasn't a lie and that was all he needed to know. He just wanted to help her, huh? Where had she heard that before? Her probation officer, Miss Rhinehart, had said the same thing. They all started out that way But when it came right down to it, you only had yourself. George had taught her that. She compressed her mouth to a thin line. Why couldn't people just leave her alone? She'd be fine if they'd just stop hassling her. He thought she sweated a lot? So what? It's a free country right?
"Maybe I'm sick," was all she said.
He put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Are you living in your car?"
"Does it matter?" Suddenly the nagging cramps that had been pestering her for the last few days grew teeth. A searing flash of pain, like an electrical shock, darted across the walls of her abdomen, knocking the breath from her words.
"What's wrong?"
She felt the color drain from her face. "It's just the flu." Her voice sounded funny "I'll be okay in a couple of days." She started to think maybe she was wrong, maybe there was something else the matter with her. She'd never had withdrawals that felt like this.
"It's more than the flu." He rushed to her side.
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
She wanted to say that she'd be fine, but she was scared now and too busy concentrating on breathing. She nodded her head and allowed him to help her to his car.
At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The first doctor ordered blood and urine tests. The nurse came into the examining room to draw her blood. Munch offered her right arm; the woman would never find a vein on her left.
"Have you ever had your appendix out?" the doctor asked loudly
"No." The nurse helped her out of her coveralls and into a hospital gown. Munch lay on the table with her knees drawn to her chest. The nurse waited in the corner while the doctor slipped on his gloves. He gently laid her back and began to probe her stomach.
"Are you on your period?"
"No."
"Do you think you're pregnant?"
"I don't think so."
"Do you feel pregnant?"
"How the hell am I supposed to know?" She grimaced. "I feel like someone stuck a beer bottle up me and broke it."
"I'd like to do a pelvic exam," he said. "Scoot down and put your feet in the stirrups."
She did as he asked. She didn't wince as the cold instrument entered her. She had learned long ago to detach from that part of her body Let them do what they wanted, they were never getting the real her.
"I'm seeing some discharge at the opening to your cervix," he said. "It looks like you have a pretty severe infection here. Is it possible you were exposed to a venereal disease?"
She laughed then, a bitter bark that ended in a coughing fit. "Is that what this is about? I might have the clap. I didn't know it could hurt so much."
"If the infection reaches your fallopian tubes and ovaries, it can be very uncomfortable. You should quit smoking," the doctor said. "Those. things will kill you."
She laughed again. "When I'm old, right?"
The doctor and nurse left the room. Munch listened to their footsteps retreat down the hall and then rolled off the table. The first drawers she opened were filled with syringes. Her hand hovered over them. They were clean, still in the packages, and not those orange disposable kind that get so dull after a while.
Her last outfit had been a disposable insulin syringe. Every time she coaxed one more usage out of the flimsy paraphernalia was a miracle in itself. The needle had been bent and reshaped so many times that it had more bends than a corkscrew. The worst was when the hollow metal needle bent right at the plastic. After straightening it out, praying it wouldn't kink, she always worried how many times she had before it broke off. And when it broke, would the needle be already embedded in her vein?
She wasn't so much concerned that the sliver of metal would enter her bloodstream and swim into her heart, as that the dope would squirt out the broken syringe and be wasted. A dribbling rivulet of bitter brown smack going somewhere where she couldn't lick it up.
She grabbed a handful of syringes and stuck them in the pocket of her overalls lying on the floor. The drawers in the examining table yielded nothing of interest. Her fingers had just slipped around the stethoscope hanging on the door when she heard footsteps returning. She hopped back up on the table.
"We won't have the results back on your tests for a couple of days," the nurse said when she entered the room. "I'm going to give you some penicillin and we're going to send you home with some pills. It's very important that you take all of them."
"What kind of pills?"
"Antibiotics. Roll over, please." The nurse took the cap off a large syringe and swabbed Munch's thigh with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "You're going to feel a slight sting."
"I don't mind."
The doctor knocked before entering the room, which she thought was kind of funny considering.
"Assuming this infection is gonorrhea, I'm afraid there's a good chance that you might have some scarring on your fallopian tubes." The doctor had trouble meeting her eye. "You might not be able to have children."
"I don't care." She hopped down from the table. "That's good when you think about it. I mean, who wants kids anyway?" He acted like it was the end of the world or something. She rubbed her butt where they had given her the shots, kneading the two hard knots that had formed there. She didn't want to say anything, but they burned like hell. "Can I go now?"
The nurse took her hand. "Before you go, you need to talk to a lady from the health department. She's very nice. Her name is Mrs. Canopolis." The nurse paused at the doorway and gave her a long, sad look. "Daisy, take all the medicine. Come back in a week and we'll take another blood test. No sex until then, all right?"
"No problem. Sew it shut if you want. I don't care."
The woman from the health department took her to an office. She had Munch look at graphic photographs of people in various stages of infections. There were men with swollen testicles, women with rashes, and babies born with holes in their palates. Munch studied the pictures with interest. "We're trying to head off an epidemic," the woman said. "Do you understand the importance of treating this disease?"
"I guess so."
"I need you to write down all the sexual partners you've had contact with in the last six weeks. Addresses and phone numbers would be very helpful, too. Don't worry; well be very discreet. If and when we contact these people, we never reveal the source of our information. If you want, you can contact them yourself and they can seek treatment."
"You want last names, right?"
"Yes, dear."
"I don't know any."
"Can you give me physical descriptions?"
"You're asking a lot." She looked at the pictures again. "They'll know soon enough, right?"
"With gonorrhea, men can develop symptoms within a few days: pain with urination, discharge."
"Serves the bastards right, don't you think?"
"I'm not here to make judgments." The woman smiled kindly and then shook her head. "Regardless, even if they seek treatment, it might not be until after theylve infected new partners. Women can go longer without knowing anything is wrong. They can be totally asymptomatic, like you probably were. By the time the disease is detected, the damage to their bodies can be devastating. Besides, what about the man who infected you? Don't you wish he had gotten himself treatment?"
Munch didn't answer; she just fixed an unfathomable look on the woman, her big orphan eyes wide and glistening. Which man? Which time? Flower George would say that everyone had to look out for themselves, period. All you had to ask yourself was what was in it
for you, made life simple, he said. Yeah, and she wanted to be just like him, right? She reached for the form Mrs. Canopolis offered. "How far back do you want me to go?"
"Two months."
"l'll need more paper."
Jack was waiting for her in the reception area, as nervous as a new father. The nurse held Munch's arm protectively and helped her walk to where he waited. He grabbed her other arm and hovered over her anxiously
"Remember," the nurse said, handing Jack the bottle of pills, "take them all."
"Don't worry" Jack said. "I'll make sure she does."
They drove back to the station. Munch explained that she had an infection. It was no big deal, she assured him. He watched her walk bent over to her now-operational GTO.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.
I'm feeling better already I'll be fine. I can handle it," she reassured him with a little smile. She was anxious to get to the DMV before it closed.
***
"What are you doing here?" Happy Jack asked her the next morning. He frowned, and the skin between his eyes folded in on itself.
"I still work here, don't I?" Munch asked guardedly.
"How are you feeling? You could barely walk yesterday"
"I'm much better, really" She walked back and forth to prove it. "That medicine they gave me yesterday fixed me right up."
"Are you taking the pills?"
"Yeah, I even doubled up on them. Figured they'd work faster that way."
"I don't think that's a good idea. Just take them like they said."
"Don't worry, I can handle it," she said. "What I need right now is some work. What have you got for me?"
He went inside the office and grabbed a clipboard. "We got a Dodge Charger with a rough idle. I think the guy dropped a cylinder." He handed her the keys and asked again, "You sure youre up to this?"
"Believe me, I'm good as new." She turned from I him as a stab of pain hit her somewhere just over her bladder. She took a breath and the spasm passed. The Dodge was parked under the pine tree.
No Human Involved - Barbara Seranella Page 9
