Five
Jennifer drove a quarter mile along the four-lane
thoroughfare facing the Carvelli estate, then turned down a side street at
random. Her headlights hadn’t survived the impact with Dimitri’s car or
the gate. She’d be stopped by the first cop that spotted her. She was
lost and had no idea how to find her way back to familiar territory.
She pulled to the curb when oncoming traffic zipped
past, then crept forward block by block toward the glow against the sky
that advertised the center of the city. Eyeing a pay phone alongside a convenience store, she pulled to the curb and
searched the glove compartment for change. She fed the phone quarters and pecked out
a phone number burned forever into her memory.
“Peugeot Secretarial Services,”
murmured a husky voice struggling from the depths of sleep.
“Francis, this is Jennifer!” Her teeth chattered so
that she could hardly talk. “Dimitri Carvelli killed Cathy! Fran, he
stabbed her with a sword!”
Francis took a long time to answer. “Jennifer? My
God!”
“I’ve got Cathy’s car, but he’s chasing me and my
headlights are broken!”
“Who’s chasing you? Dimitri?”
“Yes!”
“And you’re driving Cathy’s car?”
“Yes!”
“Address, quick.”
Jennifer recited the closest highway junction.
Francis would know what to do. Francis would make everything okay again.
But poor Cathy. . .
“Jennifer, stop crying this instant. Go to Wanda’s
apartment. Do you understand? Borrow Wanda’s car, but take Wanda with
you to the safe house. I’ll phone the police and call the other girls
now.”
It hardly seemed necessary to send everyone into
hiding, but Jennifer agreed. Wanda lived nearby. All the main
thoroughfares were at least familiar to her. The safe house was a
place of refuge in times of crisis, an old, out-of-place Victorian
structure on the south side. Ed was caretaker. Ed was an ex-cop, private
investigator and body guard, one of Francis’ old flames and her only male
employee. Ed would take care of her and Wanda until the crisis passed.
She crept through back city streets, pulling to the
curb whenever traffic approached from either direction. The radiator
began to steam. A red light flashed on the dash and then stayed on. She
passed Wanda’s apartment building and circled around back.
A car crept up behind her a half block away and
turned off its headlights. She watched it in her rear view mirror for a
time, but it seemed unlikely that it could be Dimitri Carvelli. It was a
miracle Cathy’s old Monaco had made it this far, and Dimitri’s car had
sustained more damage than her own.
Once she shut off the rattling engine, she knew it
would never start again. The sky was overcast and the night heavy with
shadow. She felt vulnerable and defenseless sneaking through the alley
between the ominous brownstones. She went up three flights of rickety
wooden stairs and down a balcony to the end apartment, feeling like a
mouse sneaking through a den of sleeping cats.
She tapped on the glass of the door and waited.
And waited.
“Wanda, please!”
The door to the adjacent apartment creaked open. An
old man stuck his head out and looked both ways.
Jennifer clenched her fist and pounded the window
furiously. “Wanda, let me in!”
The man stepped onto the balcony cackling to himself.
“Wanda!”
The glass broke beneath her pounding fist. Shards
rained down and stung the top of her feet. But she had only to slip her
hand through the empty window frame to unlatch the chain and slide the
deadbolt back. The door swung open. She slipped inside, relatched it and
yanked the shade down.
She turned and leaned against the door and waited
with her heart pounding in her chest, listening to the creaking of
footsteps outside grow close, and then retreat. Only then could she afford to
turn her attention to the silent apartment.
The kitchen stank of unwashed dishes and half-eaten
meals piled high on the table and sink counter.
“Wanda?”
She crept through the darkened room to the short
hall. Dim, flickering light of a television was coming from the living
room. Even before she entered the room, she caught sight of the
hypodermic needle, spoon and candle on the coffee table.
Wanda was sitting on the floor, leaning against the
couch, a rag doll propped up in front of the television. She looked
around sleepily as Jennifer moved into view.
“You know Francis told you that you had to stop doing
that,” Jennifer said.
Wanda smiled sleepily.
“I need to borrow your car. We have to go to the
safe house.”
Wanda pointed to the car keys on the television.
“There’s no sense in bothering Miss Piggy about getting a little high,”
Wanda murmured soothingly. “I’m not addicted to the shit like I was the
last time.”
“Wanda, you don’t understand!”
Wanda climbed to her feet, moaning in protest. An
attractive mix of black and white blood standing a good six feet in
height, she wore nothing but a pair of panties and an unbuttoned,
oversized flannel shirt draped to either side of her magnificent breasts. Still, she
had lost weight in recent weeks. It was the major reason Wanda hadn’t
been working lately. Francis worked by rules, strict rules and lots of
them. Wanda violated most of them, and to top it off, she was getting too
old, just as Cathy had said.
“Francis says you gotta come with me,” Jennifer
reiterated. But she stopped short of telling her that Cathy had been hurt
and maybe even killed. She was shaky and on the edge of hysteria
herself. Wanda would be uncontrollable if she knew.
Wanda shook her hand loose angrily. “I ain’t going
nowhere just because that bitch tells me.”
Jennifer snatched Wanda's car keys off the television. “I’m
going to the safe house. Francis says to take you with me.” She blinked
back tears. “Please!”
Wanda grimaced. “No way. Take the car and go. Just
don’t tell Francis I’m high. Promise?”
Jennifer nodded, sniffling back her tears. Ed would
give her a hand with Wanda.
Wanda gave a strained smile. “Get the hell out of
here and leave me alone. The car’s out front. Put gas in it before you
bring it back.”
Jennifer left by the front way and fled down dingy
halls and a narrow flight of stairs. She paused before exposing herself
to the night. Nothing moved in the patterns of light and shadow cast by
the streetlights. But the shadows were deep. Anything could be lurking
in them.
She shook off her creeping paranoia. Dimitri would
ever catch up to her. It was a big city, and the world was not so evil
that it allowed killers to roam free for very long. Once rolling down
city streets in Wanda’s little Toyota, she took what comfort she could in
the thought that he would be arrested and jailed for the rest of his life
for what he had done. As for the rest of her own life, Jennifer feared
that her teeth would be chattering uncontrollably forevermore.
