Devil Dead (18 page)

Claire stood up, too, and followed Novak outside. They stood on the curb together. It was late, after two a.m. now, the sidewalks nearly empty. Just a few drunks staggering their way back home, or more likely to the next open bar. The street cleaners were hard at it but still pretty far down the way. It was sprinkling rain, making everything look shiny with blurry lights reflected on the damp pavement.

“Let's tail them, Novak. They're both lying through their black lips.”

“You read my mind. My truck's right across the street.”

“Let's go.”

“What about Nick? He good for this?”

“He doesn't really have a choice. Not to worry. I left him a note. He's gonna be gone awhile anyway. Probably most of the night. His patient's really having a hard time. Why are you worrying about him so much? You're not my babysitter, remember?”

“Nick just wants a normal life.”

“Yeah, who doesn't?” Claire looked around some more and then she looked up at him. “What about you? You got a wife you need to call?”

Not anymore
, he thought. “I'm good.”

Novak followed Claire over to his truck, beginning to feel right at home with her. Yep, they could make it as a team. No doubt about it. She was something else, all right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later on the same night that Diana had seen the poor man named Frankie in the little house in the swamp, Mommy climbed up the steps, came into Diana's room, and shook her awake. “Come, child, time for a lesson. You get to help me prepare our bath tonight. It will be the one best ever, too. You'll see.”

So she led her daughter downstairs, humming a happy little tune. Diana didn't want to go with her, but the moon was bright and full so she would have to take another bath and pray for hours to the god and goddess of the earth and sky and air. Or, maybe now it was that Satan they would have to pray to. She never knew what Luna was going to do next. She just wanted to go back to sleep and not do anything. Once they had followed the trail through the swamp to the Sanctuary, they went inside. That's when Diana saw the man named Frankie lying on the ground next to Luna's bathtub. He was watching them and looking very afraid.

“You ready, honey?”

“What are we gonna do, Mommy? We aren't gonna take a cleansing bath with him in here with us, are we?”

“I'm Luna. Stop calling me Mommy. Do you understand me, girl? Why, oh, why, are you so dense and stupid all the time?”

“I'm sorry, Luna.”

“He has agreed to be our bath tonight, sweet. Can't you figure anything out?”

Diana didn't understand what that meant but she sure didn't like the sound of it, either. She didn't want anybody else in that cold tub with them, especially some man. She told her mother as much.

Luna stared down at her. Her face looked hard and unforgiving. “He is not bathing with us, you silly goose. He is donating his blood for us. That's why I invited him home with me and kept him safe out in the swamp.”

Diana shook her head, still confused. “But how can he do that?”

“Just sit there and watch and listen, and then you will learn. Someday Satan will need you to procure human blood for your own cleansing baths. So I will show you how it is done.”

Blood? Did Luna mean they were taking a bath in blood? Surely not. That just couldn't be possible. But Diana sat down on the dirt floor while her mommy lit all the candles and the incense and then put all the sacred objects on the sacrificial altar. Then she watched her tug and jerk and grunt as she dragged the heavy, bound man closer and then over the empty tub. Then Luna picked up her curved blade, the one that she used to call the Bolin, the one she cut up herbs with, but this time she used it to slit the sleeves of the man's white dress shirt, all the way up to his elbows.

The man was moaning softly now, and Diana felt real sorry for him. Then she stiffened and watched in shocked horror as her mommy just suddenly plunged the knife really hard into the side of the man's neck. She heard the terrible groan and the soft gurgling in his throat as his blood spurted out his neck and mouth and into the tub. Her stomach rolled, and she felt sick and she knew she had to stop Luna from hurting him. Surely this was not right. Surely this was evil. “Mommy! You said Wiccans never hurt people! Remember, all was possible if no harm was done! I remember you sayin' that, Mommy, I remember that!”

“Well, I'm not a Wiccan anymore, you little fool! I am a Disciple of the Devil, so I will do exactly what Satan tells me to and exactly how he says to do it. And so will you. Satan visited me and commanded me to kill this man. He told me where to find him and how to kill him and how to drain his blood. So you will shut your mouth and you will watch me kill him, because you will have to do this someday for your own sacrifices.”

Diana put her hands over her eyes, but when she peeked through her fingers, she saw that the blood was still running out of the man's neck and from some long cuts down his arms, too. It was flowing down into the tub. She gagged then, way down in the back of her throat, and thought she was gonna throw up, but then her mommy grabbed her and forced her to step down into the tub of blood. Diana started to cry, but her mommy got in behind her and held her tightly in place and began her long moaning prayers. Diana stared at the man's white face and opened veins and knew that the devil really was inside her mommy now, not the Wiccan Moon Goddess and the Horned God that only did good things. Only evil could do the horrible things that Luna was doing. Only evil things could kill people and drain them of their blood. She was scared, so scared that she didn't move a muscle, not once through the entire ritual. She just sat there in the blood and stared at the corpse of the man and knew inside her heart that her mommy was sick with evil.

After that horrible night, Diana tried to avoid her mommy. But her mommy now wanted Diana by her side, night and day. She had started sleeping with her in her little bed, then taking her out to the Sanctuary where she could teach her everything about their evil witching rituals, making her memorize all kinds of strange Latin words and say odd spells and chants, and then it was the full of the moon again.

Though it was late at night, Diana did not get to go to bed. Mommy came into her room and she had a hypodermic needle in her hands. Diana watched Luna strap a rubber band kind of thing around her own arm and then stick the needle inside her elbow and put something into her body. Diana just sat there and watched, hoping Luna wasn't gonna do that to her, too. Instead, Luna opened her palm and showed Diana some white pills and forced her to swallow them with a glass of water. After that, Diana began to feel awfully woozy, but really good, too. Everything was lovely and colorful and bright and she felt like laughing all the time. Mommy laughed, too, and told her to come, that she was gonna get to meet the devil that night.

Somehow, like in a dream, they ended up in the Sanctuary out in the swamp. There was a man inside again, just like last time, and he was trying to scream for help, but Mommy had taped his mouth shut with the silver duct tape. He kept yelling something that sounded like
pleaseeeee
, but Diana found that very funny. She and Mommy laughed and laughed at him, and then Mommy had a great big sharp knife—one that Mommy had tied a pretty black velvet bow around the handle.

Mommy started chanting weird words in that low voice of hers, and then somehow the man's arms had blood on them. This time Diana found it so amusing that she laughed and giggled until she felt so dizzy that she fell down on the floor and just lay there, feeling ill. Spirit wagged his tail and lay down close to her side, licking her face, but he was whining some, too, as if he couldn't quite understand what was happening. All the different colors of the world were swirling around the inside of the barn, making different designs, in and out and around and between, beautiful, beautiful things. While she watched, the man's blood turned to purple, then yellow, and it glowed so brightly that she had to shut her eyes because it hurt her head.

After a little while, Luna gave her another little white pill and the colors intensified and spun around, and then the man was gone and she thought she had dreamed him, and then her body felt like it was on fire, and all the colors were burning and pulsating and her mommy's voice was so soothing. She relaxed and listened to Luna's chanting for a long time. Then all the colors faded and so did all conscious thought and she entered the darkness and slept.

After that night, Luna gave Diana one of those white pills every morning with her breakfast, and Diana danced in the colors and warmth and felt wonderful. It got to the point that she wanted the pills all the time but Mommy wouldn't let her. But Mommy didn't make her go out to the Sanctuary when the moon was full anymore and Diana didn't have to see any men with tape over their mouths anymore, and she was glad. So she and her mommy hunted together and stuffed the animals and sometimes Diana waded around in the bayou, but now she felt free.

The years grew and Diana grew. Luna homeschooled her, and they even began to see the neighbors now and then, and they brought them good food and Luna gave them some of the animals they stuffed if they admired them. She even met some other children who ran through the woods to play, but she didn't really want to play much anymore. Because when they came Luna wouldn't give her the pill, and more than anything now, Diana loved the little white pills that made her feel so good and see all the swirling beautiful colors. That's all she ever really thought about, but that was okay. Luna liked for her to take the pills. It made her happy, and when she was happy, she was never mean. Maybe Bad Luna was getting better. Maybe the devil had found somebody else to make sacrifices to him.

The next morning Novak drove up in front of Claire's house in the same dark green Ram pickup truck he'd driven to the French Quarter the night before, the one that looked like it had been built circa 1990 and driven down the south face of the Grand Canyon at a high rate of speed. It didn't have satellite radio, either, unfortunately. A point in its favor was the fairly comfy passenger seat. Claire knew that because she had sat inside the cab alongside an almost nonresponsive Novak for a long, long time while waiting for the devil duo to exit Devil Dead, but didn't end up with a whole helluva lot of new information. Zero, in fact.

The two smart-alecky, witch-loving satanic kids had finally put down their drinks around three o'clock, tottered outside, and grabbed a cab straight back to Clarence Carver's apartment in the dark and quiet Garden District. She and Novak stayed outside the house until the upstairs lights went out and then they headed home, not thrilled at their gargantuan waste of time. Nevertheless, Claire managed to make it back before Black dragged home, exhausted and pretty much wrung out mentally. She was almost asleep when he finally crawled into bed with her and pulled her close and then fell fast asleep. So all was well on the home front with no bitching from Black about her late hours on her new job, but the investigation front was definitely another story and left a lot to be desired. Every hour that Andrea Quinn remained missing made it more likely they would not find her alive. And that was unacceptable.

So, gung ho and ready to roll, Claire settled back in Novak's passenger seat, now molded into the exact contours of her own derriere no doubt. One good thing, the interior of Novak's vehicle was scrupulously clean and neat as a pin. Hell, he must scrub the thing every single day with Clorox wipes and spray a ton of Febreze everywhere. Even her brand-new Range Rover wasn't that clean. Nope, no soda cups or fast food bags or candy wrappers littered the floor, or anywhere else. Novak took good care of his stuff. At least, the inside of it.

Incongruously, Claire found herself wanting to find out where he lived, who he lived with, and what he did in his spare time. Yep, and pretty much everything else she could dig up on him. Something about the guy mightily fascinated her, but she was fairly certain she wasn't gonna find out squat about his life, not now, not later, not ever. He kept his personal data held very close to his proverbial vest. And yes, that made her wonder why. On the other hand, she also now felt like she could trust him through thick or thin, regardless of his reticence and their short acquaintance. So go figure.

“Where do you live, Novak? Or is that a great big national secret?”

Novak kept on looking straight ahead. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Thought I'd come out and spend the night with you, you know, once in a while. Just to make Black jealous. Maybe I could chat you up some and drink all your beer and ask lots of nosy questions about your personal life.” Since she got no reaction to her smartass remarks, she sighed. “Oh, that's right, I'm not your type. I remember that from our three-second job interview.”

Novak managed a tiny charity twist of his mouth. She supposed that was his gut laugh when he was so filled with hilarity that he couldn't think up a quick reply. “My place is hard to find. You call my cell when you need me. I'll find you.”

“Know what, Novak? I thought I was pretty damn unsocial, but you take the cake, you really do.”

“I like my privacy. Just like you do.”

Claire was beginning to think they were alike in more ways than one. She just wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing or a horrible thing. Good, she was pretty sure, but time would tell. Today, her new partner had on an oversized gray polo shirt, which he probably picked out at a store that catered to the Jolly Green Giant and/or the Unjolly Giants of Beanstalk fame. Dark jeans and black and gray tennis shoes, and in fact, dressed pretty much just like her, except her oversized polo shirt was black and Black's. His was untucked to cover the .45 she knew he always wore stuck into his back waistband.

Maybe she should start wearing her Glock there, too. Maybe that's the way all private eyes wore their guns, sort of an unwritten, macho, Sam Spade rule. Great, if one didn't shoot off one's bottom. Or maybe she wouldn't need the Glock as much as she had in the past. Maybe everybody would cooperate when they saw the sheer size of her buddy boy. Worked for her, oh, yeah, except for yesterday, when she'd been scissors stabbed and most of their suspects had run like hell or jumped out windows. Now that was just not the best way for their investigation to start out. Still, they were both alive and relatively undamaged. So good, and more good. Their little partnership wasn't exactly going gangbusters, to be sure. Not yet, anyhow. Didn't seem to bother Novak. Her, either, actually.

Lo and behold, Novak was actually the next person to break the dead silence. “I got you a cup of Starbucks. There, in the cup holder. Dark Roast. Black. Twenty ounces. And there's some Morning Buns in the sack.”

Claire snatched the sack off the console. “Oh, yum, this's the kind with orange and cinnamon.”

“Figured you liked them.”

“How'd you figure that?”

“Just watchful. You know how we private investigators are. Observant.”

That was a joke, Claire was pretty sure. All of a sudden, she had the almost uncontrollable urge to do something outrageous, like stuff all twelve of the Morning Buns in her mouth at once, just to see if she could make Novak crack a real smile. Or maybe she could imitate a howler monkey and jump around in the bed of his truck, something like that. She refrained. He probably wouldn't notice. He was a guy who kept his eyes on the road, and on everybody in every passing car. But that was a good thing. She did that, too. Helped to see trouble incoming at them, which she feared might be often and plentiful if her new gig was anything like her past ones.

Once they hit the Tulane campus again, it appeared to be its usual busy self, despite the recent nosedive suicide, with lots of college kids walking around with backpacks or running to and fro in shorts and tank tops or making out against trees, and all with the ever-present earbuds firmly attached to their heads. “So, Novak, tell me, did you like goin' out here at Tulane? Learning all about law and stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“I, for one, am particularly impressed with the way you converse in such depth. It's so very enlightening. Just chitchat to the nth degree. I'm surprised you don't have a sore throat from all your incessant chattering.”

“If you wanna talk, call Oprah.”

“Well, actually, I don't like big talkers much, but I like somebody who says something once in a blue moon, you know, comments on the weather, say, or offers a polite hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Nice day. No rain. How you doin'?”

Claire had to laugh at that and gave up with the need to communicate with the Big Quiet One. Maybe she'd call him BQO for a code name. Okay, he was tacit, quiet, silent, wordless, noncommunicative, verging on mute. Or maybe he was just one of those weird people who were slow to come around but would talk up a firestorm of crap once he got to know her. Yeah, right. As if that was ever gonna happen.

She said, “Well, actually, I called ahead and talked to the guy in charge of Wall Residence College. Asked him about Andrea. Guess what he told me?”

“That she worked at a place called Tit Tats.”

Claire stared at him. “Wow, good guess. How did you know that?”

“Got a contact on campus who owes me a favor. He pulled her file and did some snooping for me.”

“Well, good for you. But Tit Tats is the name of the place? Seriously? You ever been there, Novak? Sounds a bit tawdry to me. The name alone, you know, somehow doesn't sound so classy.”

“It's not particularly classy, no. The waitresses there wear those little bitty Daisy Dukes.” Novak kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah, maybe a time or two. What about you?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Black insists on taking me there every night. It's all so elegant and refined.”

“Want to?”

“Afraid I wouldn't have much appetite being served by half-naked girls. You know, that pesky exploitation of women thing, and all that.”

“I mean, how would you like to work there?”

What the devil? “Well, Novak, think real hard about that. Do I want to work in a joint where the girls are treated as sex objects, or not? I know it's hard to figure out, but give it your best shot.”

“Yeah, well, Andrea worked there, and now she's gone. Maybe other young women have disappeared outta there or know what happened to her. Sounds like it could be a major lead. Bet you wouldn't have any trouble getting hired on. You probably look good enough to wait tables in there.”

“You mean go undercover as a bimbo Tit Tats waitress? Seriously, Novak? Seriously?”

Novak shrugged one shoulder. “You don't have to act like a bimbo, unless you want to. It'd just be for a couple of days. Chummy up to the other girls. Find out if anything funny's going on.”

“I know. Why don't we just go in and ask around about Andrea, like we've done everywhere else?”

“Because they probably won't talk to private investigators, especially if any of them are involved. Or afraid of whatever is going on.”

Claire knew he was right but still didn't exactly jump at the idea. Novak didn't push it, probably clued in by the not-ever-in-a-million-billion-years expression on her face. He said, “Well, I'd do it, but I don't think those skimpy little outfits would work on me.” He did grin then, a big one, one that changed his face a lot. She liked his smile, but she better enjoy it while she could. She wouldn't see it again until 2030, no doubt.

She stared across the seat at him. “You think I won't do it, don't you?”

He shrugged. “Will Nick let you?”

Okay, that really rubbed her the wrong way. “Black doesn't tell me what to do. Or maybe I got a better idea. Maybe you oughta go inside and proposition those girls. You look like you could do that well enough.”

“They aren't allowed to date customers, and guys who come in there can't touch them. So you don't have anything to worry about. Somehow I think you could handle yourself if anybody bothered you anyway.”

Claire considered him a moment. “You seem to know a whole helluva lot about Tit Tats girls and their rules and regulations.”

Novak just shrugged. “Suit yourself, Morgan. I know a girl who might do it for us. She's freelanced for me on cases before. No need to degrade yourself if you're uncomfortable with it. I'll call her. See what she says.”

“Well, hell, Novak, I guess I've degraded myself often enough when I dressed up like a street whore and nabbed twenty or so johns off the stroll. A Tit Tats girl sounds a lot less hazardous to my health than working vice on the streets in the dead of a Missouri winter, which I've done plenty of times. So hey, why not? Bring it on.”

“Okay, how about this? How about you puttin' on some kind of wig? Short and black, maybe, something that makes you look completely different. Seems like a lot of people around here end up recognizin' you. We don't want that to happen. Might scare off somebody useful to us.”

Now Novak was talking to beat the band. Bad thing was, Claire wasn't thrilled with anything that he was saying. She was okay with the change of appearance but chagrined that her picture had been plastered on the front pages of newspapers all over Louisiana, and more than once, and not so long ago. “Okay, I can see that. I'll dig up something to wear.”

“You need to try to look sexy.”

She gave him a look. “Okay, Novak, I'll try my very best not to look like a dog.”

“No offense, but you do dress like a man.”

“Yeah? What would you have me wear to work this case? A frilly dress and heels so I'll look nice when I chase down felons, like we did yesterday?”

“No, but Tit Tats caters to sex. That's what that place is all about.”

“Okay, that sounded unbelievably patronizing. But you're using more words and making complete sentences. That's good.”

“How about this? We go out and interview the rest of Andrea's professors this morning, and then I'll take you back to your house so you can get yourself ready for the job interview. While you're doing that, I'll go down to Tit Tats, have lunch, and check the place out before you go in. Make sure everything's kosher. Can't see it being overly dangerous, though.”

The words were really gushing outta the guy now. “Yeah, too bad for you, Novak. Gotta go in and ogle the good-looking help. Everything hinges on my getting hired, though. They might not like me.”

“Oh, they'll like you.”

Claire considered whether that was a compliment or an insult, but really didn't care. If dressing up like a hooker would help her find Andrea Quinn, then it was worth the effort. Claire had never in her life heard of a Tit Tats restaurant. Hey, maybe she could earn some big tips from all those lonely and/or horny guys who apparently dined there. Black's birthday was coming up pretty soon. And he had everything a man could ever want, and then some, which made her gift buying a bit of a challenge. Hell, maybe she'd just get him a gift certificate to ogle her soon-to-be fellow Tit Tats girls. She'd probably get a discount there, too, if they even hired her.