Cry Havoc (23 page)

“It’s more like a shield, really. It envelops you and protects you for the work you do. You see, you’ve always been a warrior. For a very long time. Maybe always.”

Marguerite’s words jarred loose the image of the dream soldier, forever fighting.

“You’re in a battle now,” the mambo went on. “And it’s not the first time. I can’t see all your enemies, but I feel Mother Love so strongly upon you. And just as strongly, I can feel your courage and compassion. You will fight because you
have
to, not because you want to. You don’t like to fight, but it’s what you must do and you do it well. It appears to be your destiny.”

Just like the soldier’s, Frank thought. He didn’t like it either, but it was what he had to do. He left the dead in the blowing sand and went on. Father Merrin, running after him, out of time. The dogs snarling in the desert. The red dog.
“Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.”

“And Lieutenant?”

Marguerite brought Frank back.

“Make no mistake. This is a battle to the end.”

Sure it was. Frank could see that with the soldier’s eye. Her mind still tripped in puddles of confusion, but her
bones
knew. They understood what her brain couldn’t. Darcy had said he accepted without understanding. Yeah, she could go that far. It all made sense in a way that couldn’t be made sense of.

“A battle,” Frank repeated.

“Yes.”

And though she was sure of the answer, she had to ask.

“Who’s winning?”

Lucian had the gift too. And it had been getting stronger. He hadn’t told his mother that. Though he worshipped her with the awe of a child, like a child, he had come of age.

“You know, that decided it for me when Mama made me lay which you,” he said to Lavinia. “Don’t matter that we was already. She didn’t know about that. That was what decided my mind for me. That she could go against her own children like that. It ain’t right.”

Lavinia snuggled into his ribs. Marcus was out collecting receipts and Mama Love was at the church. She had Lucian all to herself. Her silence helped Lucian justify his decision.

“She gonna bring us all down, she keep goin’ on like this. I tried talkin’ to her, but she just give me that bug-eye stare like she about to pop sense into my head. I love my mama, I do, but she won’t listen to sense no more. Her head’s got too big, n’mean? This seems harsh but it’s the only way I can think of that you and me can be free and that this family can go on, n’mean?”

Lavinia’s head rubbed assent against his chest. He felt himself getting hard again. Lavinia felt it too and her fingers encouraged his erection.

“Girl, what you doin’?” he asked.

“Takin’ your mind off your troubles,” she leered.

He slid down the sheets and took her into his big arms. He’d loved Lavinia from the first time he’d seen her. She knew after meeting Lucian she was dating the wrong brother, but by then it was too late. Marcus was already sweet on her. When she’d suggested breaking up Marcus had tattooed fist marks on her body. She and Lucian had tried to pretend the other didn’t exist, but it had been impossible, living in the same house like they did. Finally they gave in.

Holding her hand against his heart, he said, “Not now, baby. We got to plan this out to the last detail. It all gots to go perfect or we fucked. And it’s gotta go down soon.”

Lucian rolled onto his back and Lavinia followed. Teasing him with her thigh, she asked, “Why’s that? She ain’t got nothing on us. Why it can’t wait?”

“Cause that one-time’s getting stronger. I can feel that, and I think Mama can too. And Mama’s smart. She get her nose in this and I don’t even want to think what could happen. Or if Marcus found out? Shit, girl.”

Lucian shuddered under his brother’s wife, “Uh-uh. It’s gotta be soon. This weekend.”

“Marcus don’t know nothin’. He all about being a hater. He can’t see nothing past his own anger.”

“I know. He always been that way. And I’m countin’ on that anger. We gonna turn it against him. And soon, baby girl. We can’t wait no more.”

“I can’t wait no more,” Lavinia corrected. Moving her hand down Lucian’s broad belly she guided him into her waiting wetness.

The next morning Frank showed up at Gail’s with lattes and croissants. It was a cheap bribe but it got her in the door.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was an asshole.”

Gail didn’t say anything, but Frank thought it was a good sign that she plucked a croissant from the bag. She took a bite and flakes fell on the floor. Crumbs drove Frank nuts, but Gail never saw them. She seemed to be deliberately making a mess, but Frank refused the bait. Gail opened the lid off a coffee, and said, “You know, I’m still peeved. We hardly have any time together and then one of the few nights we do, you fly out of here on a broomstick.”

Frank took due admonition with a small smile.

“I know. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“And that’s supposed to make it all okay?”

Instead of asking,
Now who’s being the asshole?
Frank said, “It’s over, Gail. I can’t take it back. Do we stay mad or do we move on?”

Gail pouted. “I want to stay mad.”

“If you were really mad,” Frank wheedled, “you wouldn’t be eating the food I brought.”

“You’re right.” Gail sulked, dropping the croissant into the bag.

Frank waited a beat.

“You know you want that.”

Gail cast a longing eye over the greasy paper. Plucking the croissant back out, she declared, “Fight’s over. I’m right. You were an asshole. I forgive you.”

Frank smiled. Seeing as she was staying, she opened the other coffee.

“Look,” she sighed. “I gotta tell you something. Might make my reaction last night a little more sensible.”

“Well, in case we start fighting again, can I get a kiss first?”

Frank was happy to comply, after which they took breakfast out on the balcony.

“This is pretty bizarre, and it’s probably going to sound as strange to you as it does to me, but here goes.”

As she had a few hours ago, Frank admitted the events of the past few weeks. She added the last visit to Marguerite and their phone conversation. When she finished, Gail asked, “Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You were worried enough when I told you about the Mother the first time. I figured this would just worry you more. Besides, I didn’t think it was anything worth mentioning.”

“You didn’t find any
of
this rather odd?”

“Not really. I mean it is in retrospect, and all put together, but at the time I just thought it was so much coincidence. Weird coincidence, but coincidence nonetheless.”

Gail sat back with her feet on the railing while Frank considered the doc had cornered the market on great legs.

“Are you telling me you’re
possessed?”

“No,” Frank laughed. “At least I don’t think so. I mean, from what I can gather, the Mother’s just putting some bad vibes on me. It’s like two phone lines getting crossed. Marguerite says—”

“And don’t you think that’s kind of odd that you
just happen
to hire a cop
who just happens
to have a wife that’s a mambo priestess?”

“Ex wife. Again, in retrospect, yeah. That’s one more thing that’s got me thinking this isn’t coincidence. That maybe there really is a pattern to this. A reason I can’t understand or explain, but that it’s happening nonetheless.”

“Gee, you think?”

“Come on, Gay, you’ve got to admit it’s pretty hard to swallow.”

“Oh, I’m the first to admit it’s bizarre. But what I find even more bizarre is that you didn’t tell me about this until now. If somebody took a shot at you or stabbed you with a hunting knife, would you tell me? Am I a part of your life or not?”

“You’re the best part,” Frank replied without hesitation.

“Then why don’t you talk to me? This all sounds pretty serious.”

Frank saw Gail was hurt. She put herself in the doc’s place, trying on how she’d feel if Gail was holding back on her.

“I’m sorry. You know, the main thing is, I probably didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hear what you’d have to say about it. I didn’t want to deal with it. I still don’t, but it’s looking like I don’t have much choice.”

Frank remembered Marguerite’s dream words. She edged away from the memory, adding, “By not talking about all this I didn’t have to admit how uncomfortable it makes me. I don’t like dealing with stuff I can’t touch or see. It’s hard to fight something I don’t even believe in.”

Gail took Frank’s hand.

“And the reason I still keep you around is because your candor, when it finally arrives, is completely disarming.”

Frank acknowledged the comment with a mirthless smile. Swirling the dregs of her coffee, she admitted, “It’s scary. I still don’t know whether I’d rather believe this or that I’m flipping out. I was thinking I’d call Clay on Monday.”

Frank had wanted to call the shrink last night, but he worked regular office hours. She continued, “He doesn’t need to know about Glenda the Good Witch or the Wicked Witch of the West. I’ll just outline what’s been going on with me, see what he’s got to say.”

“It couldn’t hurt. What did Glenda say about all this?”

Frank looked for derision in Gail’s face, but found none. She drained her cup and sighed again.

“She told me to pray.”

Frank had to go to the office. It was the center of her comfort zone and where she thought the best. She kissed Gail goodbye, making plans for an early dinner, then resigned herself to an hour in early afternoon traffic. Chin in hand, steering with her elbows, Frank reflected on Marguerite’s advice.

She had told Frank she had to combat the Mother on a psychic level. When Frank had balked, Marguerite had spelled it out for her.

“Have you ever been with someone who knew what you were thinking even before you said it?”

Thinking of Noah, Frank had answered yes.

“How do you suppose that happens?”

“Shared history. Experience. Coincidence.”

Coming to dislike that word, Frank had amended, “We just happen to think the same way.”

“Fine. Can you include the possibility that you may have a connection deeper than that which appears on the surface? Would you be willing to consider a metaphysical explanation for why you have the same thought patterns?”

“Sure,” Frank had caved. “What the hell. Why not?”

“I know I’m asking you to stretch, but remember, you called me.

Rub it in, Frank had thought.

“If you can have this unspoken bond with one person, what is there to say you couldn’t have it with another?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly. And if this person is aware of that metaphysical connection, and using it, don’t you think you’d be apt to feel it? Somehow?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe you can understand it easier as instinct. Don’t all cops have some sort of instinct?”

“Good ones. But again, that comes from experience. It’s developed over time.”

“When you were a rookie you never followed your instinct? You played it by the book always or did nothing?”

Frank remembered a couple good calls she’d made early on, but she also remembered some real boners.

“Look. Just tell me what I need to do. I don’t have a lot of options right now, so I’m willing to follow your lead.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve gone this far,” Frank said, recalling the taste of blood in her mouth.

“I want you to get on your knees, Lieutenant, and pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes. It doesn’t matter to whom. It can be Mickey Mouse or Joe Dimaggio. Just pray.”

“Been a long time since I’ve done that.”

“Yes, I know. Even if you don’t believe it, or mean it, I want you to pray for help in defeating this woman. Because believe me, you can’t beat her alone. I will do what I can but at some point that’s not enough.”

“I have to believe,” Frank had finished for her.

“Exactly.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I wouldn’t say.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

“You said you’d follow my lead, Lieutenant. Will you or won’t you?”

Then it was Marguerite’s turn to hang in the space between words.

“Guess I don’t have a choice,” Frank had conceded.

“That’s ridiculous. You always have a choice. Either you will or you won’t. This is as far as I can go with you, Lieutenant. The rest is up to you.”

You always have a choice,
Frank had silently repeated. That’s what Marguerite had said in the dream last night when she was thinking of pulling the trigger on herself.

“Fine,” Frank had relented. “I’ll pray.”

Frank cleared papers and folders off her desk pad. The pad was a monthly calendar where Frank usually scribbled phone numbers and names. She looked at today’s date. There it was. In red pen.

Bembe 1730—Slauson

She stared a long time at the careful print. She remembered the Mother inviting her, but didn’t remember writing down where or when. Maybe she
was
losing it. Which is easier to accept, she wondered, insanity or the idea that some crazy old broad was fucking with her head? Couched that way, the latter option looked more attractive.

At least Frank could do something about that. It was almost two o’clock. The way traffic was, she should give herself at least forty-five minutes to get to Slauson. That left her plenty of time to think about why she should go.

Danny Duncan’s murder book was on Lewis’s desk. Frank studied it, thought about calling Noah. What would she say? I want to bust the Mother today—what have you got on her? She’d just lectured Lewis the other day that homicide was a waiting game. Thing was, Frank didn’t have much time to wait. How many more deja vus would she have? Frank had been
gone
last night; she was somewhere out of herself and didn’t care to repeat the experience. Was she just supposed to let them get stronger and longer until she didn’t come out of it one day?

And what other weird shit was going to happen? What followed the crazed dog attack and The Thing in rags? Frank didn’t even want to consider it. She
had
to beat the Mother, even if it meant playing on her own court, by her own rules. She always had a choice, Marguerite had said. She could choose to engage the Mother or not. Lying back and taking whatever life handed her wasn’t Frank’s style. Fighting was. She was good at it. Marguerite had said that too.