Secret Society

by Stuart R. West

  “Ah, no. I like meat.” Many years of wining and dining accounting customers taught Leon how to be a well-practiced social butterfly. Everything he learned went out the window. Extremely uncomfortable, his gift for gab dried up in his throat.

  “Fantastic.” Gustav clapped his hands together. “We’re having Moroccan lamb basted in a sweet Shiraz honey sauce.”

  “Sounds delicious.” And it was. Throughout the meal, Delilah darted in and out of the kitchen, occasionally joining them at the table. She appeared uninterested—openly so—while they discussed mundane details such as the weather or Midwestern landmarks. By the end of the dinner, she had an elbow propped up on the table, her chin resting in her hand, practically dozing off. The surrealistic gathering confounded Leon—three people with “like-minded interests” sharing a civil, refined meal, yet skirting the obvious elephant in the room.

  Once they finished their meal, Gustav put his hands together again with a smack. “Now, onto business.” Delilah perked up. “Leon, I understand you want our blessing on your usage of the Missouri River?”

  Leon dabbed a napkin across his mouth. “Yes.”

  “The mere thought of someone having the good grace to ask for our permission makes me feel…warm. Very warm, indeed.” He bowed his head, bobbing his approval. “You may use it to your heart’s content.” He raised his hands, spreading them to the rafters. “Now if I’m not being too intrusive, may I ask how you dispose of your projects?”

  Leon’s eyes twitched as if from an allergic reaction. Discussing such matters—particularly his mode of operandi and especially, his reasoning—made him uneasy. “Gustav. Delilah. I certainly hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a private person. Please understand I’m very discreet, and you don’t need to worry about my attracting any attention toward yourselves. I cover my tracks well. In my many years of…business, the authorities have never realized my work is that of a…consistently working like-minded person. My projects usually are listed as ‘missing.’” Delilah shifted her attention between Gustav and Leon as if watching a tennis match. Gustav narrowed his eyes, a redness blossoming in his cheeks. They sat in silence.

  “Splendid,” Gustav finally bellowed. “Remarkable. We respect your need for privacy, Leon. Don’t we, Delilah?” Delilah smiled, the only way she seemed to communicate. “We, on the other hand, relish shop talk. I’m sure you have questions about our work?”

  Although ready to escape this strange tableau, Leon had to admit to a certain morbid curiosity. “If you don’t mind, yes, I’d like to know more about you.”

  “Let us retire to the den and sample your wine.” Gustav pushed back his chair and left, Delilah following behind. They led Leon into a dark room. Flames snapped over logs in a fireplace. In sharp contrast to the sleek, airy style of the rest of the house, this room sat shrouded in dark reds and suffocating browns. Two plush chairs faced one another. Delilah flopped down into one, while Gustav crawled into her lap. She rested a hand on Gustav’s back, while he sat smiling serenely, his feet dangling. It reminded Leon of a perverse ventriloquist act.

  Two glasses of wine awaited them atop matching end tables. Gustav took a swig and said, “Ah, sweet nectar of life.” Delilah slugged back a power drink, the plastic bottle thumping hollowly when she released it from her lips. “Leon, I see you haven’t touched your wine. Is there something perhaps wrong?”

  “I don’t drink, Gustav.”

  “Nonsense. Please. It would be an insult if you were not to share wine with me.”

  Leon took a small sip.

  “Splendid. Now, what would you like to know?”

  Leon took in a deep breath. Where to start? “How’d you two meet?”

  Gustav craned his head up to meet Delilah’s loving gaze. They shared a giggle. “Several years ago, I was driving through a Chicago suburb.” Leon’s eyes widened. Apparently Gustav recognized the tell. “Yes, Leon, I can drive. I have a fully equipped car. It was late at night, and I saw Delilah standing by the road, hitching a ride. I pulled over. We spoke a little. She told me she was a runaway. Then she pulled a knife on me! Can you believe it, Leon? A knife! On me!”

  They roared over their inside joke. Heat from the fire blanketed Leon, his underarms starting to dampen. He drew a finger around the inside of his collar, wishing he could shed the tie. He figured Gustav would probably consider it rude.

  “Anyway, I laughed! I told her she didn’t want to do this. She asked me, why not? I told her I’d faced down worse things before. And I was capable of far worse things.” The flickering fireplace flames shed dark shadows over Gustav’s face. He no longer looked so harmless. “Anyway, I intrigued Delilah. I don’t know why I did it, but I became an open book to her. We were kindred spirits. We shared stories—some of them surprisingly similar. Ever since, we have become a team—one to be reckoned with.” Delilah stroked Gustav’s hair with long, even-handed passages. “And the way we met? It just seemed natural, formed our future. Our mutual hobby.”

  Leon took another drink to wash down the lump in his throat. “May I ask…what your hobby is?”

  A slow smile burned across Gustav’s face. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? The sensationalistic media has dubbed us, ‘The Good Samaritan Killer.’ Although, to this day, they believe our actions are of one individual.” Delilah tittered like a schoolgirl.

  The glass trembled in Leon’s hand, the wine threatening to spill over, so he set it down. “I’ve heard of you. Police have found bodies in cars parked on isolated roads. A hitch-hiking girl had been sighted on more than one occasion. The police believe the, um, ‘projects’ picked up the hitchhiker before being…stabbed. So…your doing?”

  “Indeed it is.” Gustav lolled around on Delilah’s lap, giddy as a rock star groupie. “Only, they still haven’t discovered the best part of our ruse.” Gustav turned to Delilah. “Tell him, sweetheart.”

  Delilah smiled, her lips straining wider than her small mouth looked capable. “Gustav dresses in a baby’s jumper, complete with a bonnet. I wrap a blanket around him. No one—no one—passes up a young girl carrying a baby on a deserted road at night. Once we get in the car, Gustav springs on them. The looks on their faces.” Delilah shook her head wistfully as if remembering a fond, nostalgic summer day.

  Against the wall a grandfather clock ticked off slow seconds. A log cracked, sparks spitting above it. Leon sat speechless, horrifying images running through his mind. Gustav and Delilah stared at Leon, expectant smiles on their faces.

  Leon coughed into his fist, fishing for a natural segue way into a new topic. “You seem to be extremely well off. Might I ask what it is you do? To supplement your work?”

  “Wealth is another thing we have in common, Leon,” said Gustav. “I come from German royalty. I’m financially secure for life. And Delilah…Delilah is an heiress.”

  “I haven’t gotten my inheritance yet. I tried to hurry things along by taking care of my parents.” Again with her emotionless smile. “Made it look like a burglary gone bad. But I still have to wait ‘til I come of age.”

  “In the meantime, I have more than enough money to keep us afloat, doing what it takes to makes us happy.”

  Shadows leapt across the walls, living creatures dancing in a midnight ritual. Leon looked at his watch. An obvious ploy, but anything to leave. “Ah, it’s getting late. I must be going. I have to get up early tomorrow for work.”

  A frown tightened Gustav’s face. “I…hope we haven’t said anything to upset you, Leon.” He hopped off of Delilah’s lap. Delilah draped one of her legs over the arm of the chair, idly kicking her foot out.

  “No, not at all. I just really must be going.” Leon stood up. “Thank you so much for an excellent dinner. And for giving me permission to use the Missouri River.”

  Gustav approached Leon with his hand out. “It was our pleasure.” Delilah nodded in lazy agreement. “Let me see you to the door.”

  “No need to bother. I can find my way out.” Leon thought he
’d been toughened, fortified to face anything. As his stomach roiled, he realized how naïve he’d been.

  “Nonsense, Leon. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t see you to the door?”

  Leon followed Gustav down the corridor, his hand swiping against the wall for support, his knees threatening to fold.

  “Thank you again for the wine, Leon.”

  “You’re welcome.” He barely heard his own voice—it sounded tinny and distant like one of those megaphone singers from the ‘20s

  As Leon stumbled down the sidewalk to his car, Gustav called after him, “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Leon didn’t look back.

  The unadulterated joy they’d taken in recounting their work nauseated Leon, even though it alternately—perversely so—fascinated him. Something else nagged at him. He had to wonder about the extent of their relationship. If their relationship is of a sexual nature, was Gustav a sexual predator? Preying on children? An abuser? Delilah certainly seemed a willing party, but Leon knew how appearances could sometimes be deceiving.

  He managed to drive two blocks before his stomach demanded he pull over and sacrifice the Moroccan lamb into the street.

  * * *

  While driving to Independence for the second time, Leon recalled Gustav’s parting words: Don’t be a stranger. He hoped Gustav meant it. Even unlikely allies were better than none.

  Delilah appeared shocked—definitely a new look for her and not a very reassuring one—when she answered the door. She dashed a finger to her lips, suggesting Leon remain quiet. “Gustav,” she called out.

  Leon heard the patter of little feet. Gustav, dressed in a silk robe, popped around the door. He blinked at Leon, a child awaking from a nap. Once Gustav’s initial surprise passed, he mouthed, “one minute,” and closed the door.

  Leon stepped back into the yard, studying the neighborhood. A Cadillac sat underneath a streetlamp down the street, two figures in the front seat. He rubbed his eyes, looked again. This time he couldn’t see anyone. Just shadows—and paranoia—playing tricks on his addled brain.

  Several minutes later, Gustav and Delilah came out, pulling the door closed behind them. They had both donned overcoats; his, a London Fog miniature; hers, a black fur coat. Brushing by Leon, they made their way to a large oak tree in the center of their vast yard. Leon followed.

  “What are you doing here, Leon?” Although Gustav whispered, panic registered in his voice.

  “I’m sorry to intrude unannounced, Gustav.” Leon stuck his hands in his jacket, fighting a sudden cool breeze. “I’m in trouble. I wanted to see if you know anything. Or if you could help in any way.”

  Delilah leaned up against the tree and crossed her arms. “Yeah, we’ve heard about your troubles.”

  “Tell me exactly what you’ve done,” Gustav said.

  “I haven’t done anything. What ‘troubles’ did you hear I’m having?”

  “Delilah and I received a phone call from Mr. Wyngarden. He said you’ve been black marked and by no means, are we to have further contact with you. And now, here you are, showing up on our doorstep.” On tiptoes, Gustav tapped his finger into Leon’s chest. “So, I ask again, Leon. Out of courtesy of our prior social repast, what have you done?”

  “I have no idea. I’m searching for answers.”

  Gustav glanced at Delilah, who shrugged indifferently. “Do you understand what a huge risk we’re taking, even talking to you, Leon? I fully suspect our house is bugged. And you never know if they’re watching or not.”

  Leon squinted toward the Cadillac down the street. Gone. “Gustav, I realize I’m putting you two at risk. I appreciate your taking time to talk with me.”

  “And?”

  “And I have no idea what I could’ve possibly done.”

  Gustav scrunched his shoulders up and looked at his teenaged muse. Delilah flashed the scantest of Mona Lisa smiles, saying nothing.

  “Please. I’m desperate!”

  “Okay, Leon, fine. I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, friend Leon. I told you it’s not much. I’ve been with LMI for a long time. Even longer than my association with Delilah. In my many years of being a member, I’ve only seen three instances of ‘black marks.’ LMI didn’t tell us your specific details; however, they don’t make mistakes, either.”

  “Gustav, I think they have made a mistake.”

  “Delilah, did you hear that?” They chuckled, another private joke. “Leon, I repeat, LMI doesn’t make mistakes. They never have, nor will they ever. The reason they’ve been around as long as they have.”

  “How long have they been in business?”

  “From what I’ve been told, close to ninety years.”

  Leon felt dread germinating in his stomach and rising like dough. Mr. Summers had led him to believe LMI was a relatively new concept. What else had they lied to him about?

  “Leon, if I were you, I’d think carefully—very carefully—about your last several projects. Your black mark has something to do with one of your recent projects. Otherwise, well…” Gustav opened his hands, palms up, “you wouldn’t just now be black marked. My advice? Go over everything with a—how do you Americans quaintly put it—thin-toothed comb.”

  Delilah giggled.

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Have there been any deviations in the way you’ve handled your recent projects?”

  “No.”

  Delilah stepped away from the tree. “Gustav…” she dropped a hand on his shoulder, “tell Leon about the other black marks. About what happened to them.” Delilah expressed something bordering on pity, maybe even genuine concern.

  “Two of the three black marked individuals are now dead. Murdered under what we’ll call ‘strange circumstances.’ Yet the police never discovered they were like-minded individuals. Thus…LMI remains in the clear, and all obstacles have been eliminated.”

  “What happened to the third black mark?”

  “No one knows. Maybe you’ve heard of ‘The Mad Doctor’?”

  “I’ve read about him. The Mad Doctor works out of Boston. He enters his projects’ homes at night and operates on them, usually taking a small organ. Police suspect he’s someone with extensive medical training. His work’s neat and very precise. They call him a modern day Jack the Ripper. So…he’s a like-minded individual?”

  “He was at one time,” continued Gustav. “The Mad Doctor was the third black mark— the only other I’m aware of, at least—and the grapevine has it he’s gone underground. I’ve heard LMI is still searching for him. Now I don’t know this to be true or not. Could be LMI eliminated him, and we haven’t found out about it. Rumors are he’s still out there, threatening to take LMI down.” Gustav drew in his lips and clicked them. “But if this is true, he’s either quit his lifetime work, or he’s changed the methods of his work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious, Leon. There haven’t been reports of any ‘Mad Doctor’ styled projects since he became black marked!” Gustav glared at Leon like a frustrated parent explaining common sense to a child.

  “Gustav, do you know how I can get word to The Mad Doctor to set up a meet? Tell him we have something in common?”

  Gustav let out a laugh, much deeper than his speaking voice. “Now you’re having one over on me, aren’t you? It’s impossible to find him. If LMI can’t, what chance do you think you have?”

  “Okay, fine... Do you know where LMI’s central offices are?”

  “No. No, I don’t. And even if I did, Leon, I could not—would not—tell you. If you think you can go waltzing in there and demand to speak to Mr. Wyngarden, well, let’s just say you have the proverbial death wish. They’re untouchable.”

  Delilah nodded in agreement, one corner of her mouth hitched up, as to let Leon know his expiration date was up.

  “I don’t know what to do…”

  Gustav patted Leon’s belly
. “Leon, my friend, if I were you, I’d follow The Mad Doctor’s lead and vanish. I know it’s not an ideal solution, but, if you value your life, it’s the only solution.”

  It sounded like sage counsel, of course. Leon had unfinished business, though, Rachel topping the list. He couldn’t leave, not yet.

  Gustav turned to Delilah and said with a sigh, “Oh, Delilah, I don’t think friend Leon here is going to heed my advice.”

  “Doesn’t look that way, Gus.”

  “Fine. Do as you wish. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gustav walked back toward the house. “Come along, Delilah.”

  With her arms still crossed, Delilah nudged Leon’s shoulder with hers. “You should at least think back about your recent projects, Leon. Maybe you can figure out what it is you’re supposed to know…or have done.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  Gustav called back from the doorway. “I don’t think this need be said, Leon, but this conversation never happened.”

  “I understand.” A gust of wind overpowered his words. “Thank you.”

  Gustav and Delilah stood framed in their doorway, the blazing lights behind them capturing them in a spotlight. As they stood side by side, waving and looking quite grim, Leon thought of the classic Grant Wood painting, American Gothic. The heart of America’s traditional couple, representing fine familial values.

  Leon laughed, near the verge of tears, as he drove home.

  * * *

  Mentally and physically exhausted, Leon trudged up the sidewalk. Numerous threats pummeled him from every direction. Nowhere to turn. No one to help. Sleep sounded like a grand idea, a temporary salve. If sleep came.