Evil Dreams (19 page)

“Not now, Sam. Please,” she said huskily, turning to face him.

Her brown eyes stared at him with an air of sincerity he had never seen before and for the first time since they had met, he felt completely at ease with her. The brief sensations of inferiority he had always experienced in the past whenever he thought of their educational backgrounds, each of which had left a tiny scar on his ego, were things of the past. They suddenly evaporated as though they had never existed, allowing a feeling of security to rush in.

“I’ll make you a promise,” she said after several minutes passed, during which she saw a subtle change come over him. “Next week, I feel I will be able to clear the air once and for all where you and I are concerned. You can believe this or not, but you can thank Jon Ward and his dream.”

“What? How do he and his dream figure into this?”

“Until then,” she said, ignoring his question, “in addition to thinking about us, I intend to determine why the first part of his dream seems familiar to me. I think I know why, but I don’t want to explain it now until I can do some research. If I’m unable to do so, I’ll place a call to a friend of mine in Vienna who can possibly help jog my memory. Perhaps I will have more than one answer to both your problems.”

“Both my problems?” He decided to accept her elusive attitude concerning the first part of the dream. He knew any speculation at this juncture might influence the manner in which he conducted the next hypnotic sessions. But what did she mean about both of his problems?

Marie nodded, “The solution, or at least the meaning to the first half of the dream—if not both parts. I may also have an explanation as to why I have been so reluctant to make a commitment where you’re concerned.”

His mind raced. The dream, all but forgotten, seemed insignificant at this moment if she were going to finally explain her own reserved attitude where their future was concerned.

Before he could voice a question, she held up her hand and said, “Don’t ask me anything now. You’ve waited this long, you can wait until next Tuesday.” He would have to be patient with her. If Helmut could help solve his patient’s dream, she swore she would dispose of her own ghosts at the same time.

“Why Tuesday? Why not Monday night after Ward’s appointment?” he asked.

“You’ve forgotten I leave the day after tomorrow for a five day tour of colleges in Wisconsin and Iowa. If you wish, we can get together Tuesday evening at my apartment and go over everything you have on Ward.”

He mentally scolded himself for not remembering the tour she had mentioned several weeks before. He had even marked the dates on his calendar. Noting she had regained her professional aplomb, he paid her the attention he felt she deserved. “I have copies of his initial examination along with the results of the hospital tests. Do you want to see those, too?”

“Yes. Everything you can lay your hands on. Your day off is Wednesday and I had planned to surprise you next week by taking that day off also to recuperate from the tour.”

“You’re sure you won’t be too tired to look at the records?”

She smiled demurely. “I’m expecting you to stay the night. It’s up to you if I get tired—or bored.”

Sam could not repress the grin crossing his face. “What about the telephone call you mentioned before? The one to Vienna.”

“Let’s see what luck I have with my own recollections first, Sam. If I can solve the first segment, either in part or completely, my call will be of a different nature. If I can’t remember the correlation, then I’ll have more questions to be answered.” She almost mentioned Helmut’s name. But there would be no need to worry Sam about something as spectral as her dead romance with Helmut Rosenspahn.

Rising from the couch, Marie offered her hand to Sam who stood. They encircled each other’s bodies with their arms, kissing deeply. Despite their sudden aroused desires, each was thinking of swastikas, directions and
Zozobra
as they walked into the bedroom.

CHAPTER 10

Tory slowly mounted each step leading to her fourth floor apartment. Howie would be waiting anxiously to see what she had taken from the office files and she didn’t want to be out of breath when she faced him. Anticipating few interruptions because of the psychiatrist’s day off, she had made good use of the time, concluding that Howie would be more than satisfied with her choices.

After reaching the top floor, she took the time to pat her hair into place. She inhaled deeply before walking the few steps to their apartment door. She felt in control of herself and would not allow him to intimidate her. Just as she turned the knob, the door suddenly swung open.

“Where the fuck you been?” Howie demanded, glaring at her.

“Working. I’ve got some things for you to read,” she said, handing him the large manilla envelope.

Without a word, he grabbed the parcel, tearing it open. Withdrawing three file folders, he pulled his attention away to rivet Tory with a menacing stare. “These better be good, goddamnit! I don’t know how long I can stand it without getting some weed or booze to keep me going. I need something to keep me occupied.”

“They’re good. They’re real good,” she said, confidence ringing unfamiliarly in each word.

“They’d better be,” he snorted, throwing the folder on the bed. He studied the names on the index tabs: Sterling Tilden, Carole Nelumbo, Jon Ward. “Tell me which of these is the hottest item—the most ready for my
service.”

“Probably Mr. Tilden or Mrs. Nelumbo.”

“What’s wrong with this Ward?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t think there’s anything there you could blackmail him on—now.”

“Then why the hell bring the folder along? Christ, can’t you get anything through your stupid head? They’ve gotta be loaded and they’ve gotta have something they’re ashamed of—something they wouldn’t want anybody to know about. Understand?”

Each word struck with a familiar ferocity she knew too well. “I understand that, Howie,” she offered lamely. “I only brought it along ‘cause I thought you might find his dream interesting. That’s all. Besides—”

“Dream? How the hell can I blackmail somebody because he dreams? Christ! You’re stupid. Tell me about the others.”

“Mrs. Nelumbo is having an affair with her husband’s younger partner.”

“Okay! I remember her,” he snickered, opening the file. “What about the other jerk?” His eyes flew across the page catching key words and phrases but listening intently while she continued.

“Mr. Tilden is a vice president at First Federal Security Bank and—and—he likes boys.”

He looked up at her, momentarily forgetting Carole Nelumbo’s guilt complex. “He what?”

“Likes boys. He’s married, and holds this responsible job and all—”

“And the sonofabitch likes guys,” he finished, gleefully whooping the words. “He’s a fuckin’ faggot and sure as hell doesn’t want anybody who’s straight, to find out. Oh, Christ, Tory! That’s a gem. Beautiful.” He threw Carole Nelumbo’s file to the foot of the bed replacing it with Sterling Tilden’s. Opening it, he paced up and down the small room, stopping every once in a while to shake his head and mumble, “Unbelievable!”

Several minutes passed during which she watched his triumphant expression. Smiling proudly, she knew she had finally pleased him in some way other than when they made love. Even then, she couldn’t be certain, since most times he finished in seconds, quickly growing more indifferent toward her than he had been before.

He stopped to look at her. “Listen to this:
If you understand the jeopardy you are placing yourself in, not only with your career hut with your wife as well, why do you persist in leading a cloaked homosexual life, Sterling?
That’s the question the shrink asked him. Listen to his answer:
Because I love the feel of their cocks in my mouth. J feel like a real person when I have sex with a man. My wife and I haven’t been intimate for quite some time. Years, in fact. I don’t even remember the last time we slept together. I don’t fear her so much as I do for my position at the bank. No, that isn’t true. I fear them equally. After all, her father got me my job and was chairman of the board right up until the time of his death. She still wields a lot of influence with the current chairman and the president. I’d be ruined if either the bank or Millicent found out.
Oh, shit! This is dynamite. And a fuckin’ banker yet. Fantastic, Tory! You’re incredible.”

Grinning broadly, she stepped closer to him. She hoped he’d take her in his arms, demanding to make love to her. Turning his back, he crossed the room to retrieve the other folders. Her look of disappointment escaped his attention while he concentrated on the other folders.

“If these are half as good,” he gloated, “we’ll really score big and who knows, maybe we’re closer to leaving this dump then either one of us thinks.” Settling down on the edge of the bed, he studied Jon’s first and second session. He found the dream’s exploration while Jon was hypnotized interesting, but not material for his scheme. “Why the hell did you bring this one along?” he asked again after finishing.

“Apparently, his wife has money, and it must be a lot if he doesn’t have to work. He’s trying to be an author or something. At any rate, I thought if a reason to blackmail him came up later, we’d have a full set of records on him.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice softening a bit when he realized she had had an idea when selecting Jon’s records. “We’ll save it ‘cause it’s no goddamn good now.” He opened Carole Nelumbo’s file, studying it. After several moments he whistled softly and mumbled, “Oh, shit! Do you know what business her husband and lover are in?”

“No,” she said, looking at him quizzically. How could he know if she had been the one who copied the transcriptions? What had he seen that she hadn’t? She knew of the case and the bare rudiments but had never paid much attention to the tapes’ contents, not until she and Howie had thought of extorting money from some of the patients.

“I thought the name Nelumbo sounded familiar. Her husband’s a fuckin’
don
in the Mafia, or something. Guido Nelumbo.”

“So?”

“Big people! Crooks. But loaded, respectable people on the surface.”

“What’s a
don,
Howie?”

“The big man. The head honcho. His word’s law.”

“So why are Carole and her lover important?”

“So the young guy she’s screwin‘ is one of her husbands
peons,
that’s what. Another good one, baby!”

Her mind raced. The Mafia? Hoodlums? Gangsters? Crooks? She didn’t want Howie getting involved with people like that. If they didn’t like someone, they’d machinegun him and throw his body in the Chicago River or in Lake Michigan. She gave voice to her fears.

“No stupid! They’re not gangsters and hoodlums. Not anymore. They’re big businessmen, trying to keep a legitimate front to hide all the bread they take in from gambling and hookers and shit that’s hustled on the streets. I think Carole-Baby’s lover will be more than willing to come across with a hefty bankroll to make certain her old man don’t find out about them. They still play dirty when it comes to certain rules of theirs.”

“Won’t he play dirty with you? Hurt you when you ask him for money?”

“Not the way I intend on running this gig.”

“Tell me about it and then I’ll decide if I should worry.”

“Okay. First I tell you what to write and you prepare two or three copies of the same letter.”

“Who do the letters go to? Who are they addressed to?”

“In Tilden’s case, to his wife. She must be a bitch to have him so concerned about his job. Probably leads him around by the nose. In Carole-Baby’s case, to the big cheese, her husband.”

“What happens then, Howie?” Her eyes shone, concealing any genuine doubt she still harbored about the plan. But his detached enthusiasm proved infectious, bringing her to listen eagerly to each detail.

“I approach Tilden, for example. I hand him a copy of the letter to his wife, telling her all about his suckin‘ cocks. How he likes boys better than her. Then, I top it all off by using a few quotes from his own mouth to convince him I know what I’m talking about. Of course, if he doesn’t want to play ball, I just threaten to mail the letter to his wife. That should bring old Sterling around. I’ll do pretty much the same thing with—what’s Carole’s lover’s name?” He picked up the folder, scanning it quickly. “Shit! No last name. Only a first, Ed. Well, I’m certain Carole can lay her hands on some bread if it comes to me telling her old man about Eddie-Boy.”

“How much are you going to ask for?” she asked, slowly becoming convinced the scheme would actually work.

“In Sterling’s case, I’d say about ten thousand for openers. If he comes across fast, I’ll go back in a few weeks and hit ‘im up again.”

Picking up the Tilden folder, she began reading it. She had not taken the time to study each case, except Jon’s in complete detail. The confessions of a man who preferred other men as sex partners mystified her. She could understand how they were able to satisfy themselves sexually but could not begin to comprehend the why of Tilden’s problem. “Did you see this part?” she asked, handing the page to Howie.

He refused the paper with a shake of his head, preferring to hold Carole Nelumbo’s file open on his lap. “Read it to me.”

“He says he’ll kill himself if the truth ever comes out.
I could never stand the humiliation I would suffer if the truth about my lovers ever became known by anyone. For years I have served on the Board of Directors at Langley’s School for Boys. The institution would be ruined because of me, if the fact I am a homosexual ever came out. The bank would suffer. Everyone would suffer because of me.
Then Doctor Dayton asked him, what he would do if the truth became known. He says,
I’d kill myself.”
She looked up to find him grinning.

“That’s a good way to start the letter,” he said. Closing the Nelumbo file, he slammed it to the floor. “Get a pen and paper. I’ll tell you what to say. Let’s see, today’s Wednesday, I want to call on Tilden by Friday. Get his home address and type one letter to his wife with two carbon copies; one for the bank president and one I can give him. We’re going to open the closet door a crack and threaten to push him out.”