Flesh Gothic by Edward Lee (12 page)

A dead person.

He recognized the woman's face at once, matching it to
the mug-shot and the post-mortem shot from the records
that Karen had given him. And her real name wasn't
Gabrielle Cox, it was Jane Johnson, five-six, 119 pounds, twenty-four years old, born of a solid middle-class family
from Green Bay, Wisconsin, quit college after two semesters
to follow the yellow-brick road to Hollywood stardom.
The pretty face and stunning body was contracted posthaste
by a mediocre Redondo-Beach-based adult video company
called T&T Enterprises. Shortly thereafter, she acquired a
$4,500 breast-implant job, developed a mounting addiction
to cocaine, had three abortions, engaged in sex acts with
over 500 men and a 100 women, and appeared in 106 hardcore adult DVD's, until her career ended three weeks ago in
an eccentric's mansion located on the other side of the
country.

And now this is all that's left of Gabrielle Cox akaJaneJohnson
of Green Bay, Wisconsin, Westmore thought, still unable to take
his eyes off the cover photo. Apiece of paper on a plastic box.

Her body had been found in the Hildreth Mansion on
the morning of Saturday, April 3rd. Hands and feet severed,
evidence of vigorous sexual intercourse with multiple partners. Cause of death: "strike-trauma by six-inch-wide
lower-abdominal impactation," the autopsy report coldly
informed-an ax buried in her belly. "With possible perimortal transvaginal evisceration."

Westmore closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The place was dark, smelled sweet with something-some
fashion of air-freshener. Westmore had only been in this
porn shop once-oblivious-in order to buy an appropriate
gag gift for a friend's bachelor party. He was as familiar with
pornographic videos as he was with Euclidean geometry.
He'd read somewhere once that the porn business comprised
a multibillion-dollar-per-year industry now And now, in the
shop, he looked around at wall after wall of X-rated videos
and DVDs. It's a world to itsef An under orld, he thought.

A rough but feminine voice drifted across the shop.
"We've got more of hers."

Westmore saw the proprietor, from a high checkout area.
"What's that?"

"More films by Gabrielle. I can check on the computer
to see which ones are in stock."

Westmore walked over. A large-breasted woman with
awful-looking dirty-blonde cornrows, weathered and
chunky. Rode hard and put away wet, he deduced. "I'll take
this one, and, yeah, could you check the computer for more
films by T&T?"

"Sure." She was smoking a black cigarette. Stapled to the
wall behind her were scores of ad posters sporting more
preposterously attractive woman in striking poses, either
naked or barely clothed. A stark sign at the top of the wall
read ASK ABOUT OUR LINGERIE MODELS! Westmore didn't get it.

"Yeah, Gabrielle was cool. You want me to run just her
films or-"

"Anything by T&T," Westmore said. "You sound like
you knew Gabrielle."

"Not well. Every now and then she and the other T&T
girls would come to the store to do autographs." She
pointed behind her, to a poster bearing several signatures,
four nude woman in a Charlie's Angels-type pose "Wild
bunch but they were all cool. You may not know this but all
their main stars were murdered early in the month."

"Yeah, I ... heard about that. Some guy named Hildreth."

"Um-ham."

"But explain something to me." He was looking at the
back of the first DVD. "T&T Enterprises is a Florida-based
company, according to the papers. Why does this disc say
Redondo Beach?"

"That's where they were based before Hildreth bought
them. Psycho billionaire. He bought the whole company
because he saw one of their DVD's and liked their looks.
Moved the company to his house, for God's sake. Before the
buy, T&T released fifty movies a year, but since Hildreth
bought them out, they only release a few." She paused.
"Er-well, now they don't release any."

"Why is that, though? It doesn't make sense for a rich
guy to buy a successful porn company and then not capitalize on its value. When rich guys buy businesses, it's for a return on their investment."

"It didn't matter that's how rich Hildreth was." She
clicked down on the computer screen, the black cigarette
hanging unbecomingly off her lips. "It was an impulsebuy-seriously-because he liked the look of the girls. He
moved them all into the house to live for free, like the damn
Playboy Mansion. Gabrielle said 'he was obsessed with
beautiful women, they were his furniture."

Furniture, Westmore thought, depressed by the notion.
And then he put an ax to it all.

He wound up taking four more DVD's, T&T's final releases, which all starred most of the victims from the murder. He pulled out his wallet. "How much are these each,
by the way?"

"$49.95."

Westmore about had a cow. DAMN! The five discs
wound up costing more than half of his rent. He looked at
the last one she'd taken out. Another stunning woman-a
redhead with a tongue stud-standing with nothing but
whipped cream over nipples and pubis, while four muscular
men grinned behind her. CREAMING ON JEANNIE, it
was called. He recognized the cover-model's face from a
police post-mortem photograph of her severed head sitting
on an autopsy table.

"Thanks. Come back again," the woman said. She'd put
his purchase in a black plastic bag.

Unlikely, Westmore thought.

"Oh, and if you're interested," she added. She pointed back
to that sign: ASK ABOUT OUR LINGERIE MODELS.

Confusion. "What is that?" he asked.

"Thirty bucks for a half hour, fifty for an hour ..." She
stood on her tiptoes, leaning over the counter, looking out.
On the side of the store was a black-curtained doorway.
"Hey, Natalie?" Then, to Westmore, "She's probably in
there crashed. We're both pretty hungover from last night."

Westmore had no idea what was going on until the curtain parted and out stepped a Gothy young woman with
black bowl-cut hair tinted by metallic pink and purple
highlights. Dark eyes and eyeshadow, red lipstick. She was
large-boned but not overweight, and when she came out
and looked right at Westmore, she offered him a wolf-like
smile. Fresh white skin radiated around lacy black lingerie.

"What, I go in there and she poses or something?"

The woman laughed. "Well, yeah, if that's all you want.
But she's got a lot of repeat customers."

A stiletto heel tapped when she parted one leg. A hand
drifted up to a lace-cupped breast and unseated it, showing
a pert nipple.

The woman continued, "You tip for whatever extra you
want. She's pretty reasonable. Handjob, blowjob, straight lay."

Westmore looked back at the woman, astounded.

"Or if I'm more your type," she finished.

This place must get busted a lot, he thought. "How do you
know I'm not a cop? Just because I bought some DVDs? I
could be undercover. Are you nuts?"

The woman laughed. "I know you're not a cop. I used to
see you all the time, couple years back."

Westmore was sure this couldn't be true. "Where did you
see me?"

"Pretty much any bar around here." She smiled. "Any
guy who parties that hard can't be a cop."

Jesus. She remembers me from the bad old days. Probably saw
me passed out in half the neighborhood bars ... He was standing in a porn parlor, being propositioned for prostitution,
yet he was the one who felt morally bankrupt. "Well, I'll
pass on the offer." He held up the bag of DVDs. "But
thanks for your help."

He turned to leave. He took a last look at the model in
the curtain and smiled, embarrassed. She nodded, put her
breast back in the bra. Then his eyes shifted in a vertigo. He
stopped, focused. He knew it was just a trick of dim light
but when she smiled, her face seemed to broaden and form
grooves. Her mouth looked full of fangs ...

I new should have taken that LSD in college. He rushed toward the entrance door, gratefully winced at the explosion
of sunlight when he finally got back outside.

"You're the last person I'd peg as a porn-addict," someone said the second he stepped through the door. A black
silhouette stood before him, forged by the glare of sun.
Westmore shielded his eyes. It was Karen.

He didn't like not being able to see her; it unnerved him.
He walked to the side to get the sun out of his eyes. "How
the hell did you know I was here?"

"I'm psychic," she said baldly.

A moment ticked by. "Come on! Are you serious?"

"Well, no. I was a little early on my way to pick you up
so I went over there." She gestured to the coffee shop across
the street. "Saw you walk in." She chuckled. "You're really
funny."

He felt doubly embarrassed now. "I went in there to pick up some DVDs by Hildreth's company. Most of the girls in
these are all victims of the murders. I don't know much
about the adult video industry, kind of wanted to see what
it's all about."

"Hardcore sex is what it's all about. But you should've
saved your money. There're DVDs all over the house-you
can watch 'em till your socks blow off."

Westmore felt perturbed by her tone. "You don't understand. I don't want to watch pornography; I'm not interested
in it, and I didn't buy these to blow my socks off. I wouldn't
want you to think I'm some pervert who's obsessed with
that kind of thing. I bought these DVDs just to have a better understanding of that whole scene."

"Sure," she dismissed and turned. "Go get anything you
want to bring. I'll wait for you in the car."

Westmore ran across the street to his cottage, grabbed his
travel bag and laptop, then jogged back. Only now did he
take any detailed notice of Karen, a delayed reaction-perhaps from the jolt of being caught walking out of a porn
store. Her sandy-blonde hair was tied back now; she wore a
field-gray tube top and black-leather jeans which, if anything, were too tight and bordering on more trampish than
enticing. Sunglasses somehow de-personified her, made her
appear even more stolid. But Westmore dragged his eyes
away from her tube-topped bosom and the ghosts of nipples shadowed by the tight fabric.

He frowned when he noted the car she was getting into:
a brand-new black Cadillac ETC convertible.

"That's funny," he joked away his jealousy. "I have the
exact same kind of car ... in the shop."

They got in, chunked the doors shut. "Really, Mr. Westmore. One of the first things we learned about you was the
fact that you lost your driver's license for driving intoxicated."

"It was just a joke," he groaned. The car's passenger seat
felt more comfortable than any chair he'd ever owned.
"None of my business but-well, judging by these wheels, I
guess Hildreth paid you pretty well."

"You're right. It is none of your business, and, yes, he
did." She pulled out of the lot; Westmore jerked in his seat
when she accelerated through a yellow light and soared over
the bridge. "Mrs. Hildreth will retain me-if I'm lucky. I
know she's keeping me on for a little while, at least."

"You're an accountant," he said. His hair was blowing
around in the wind. "You'd be able to find work anywhere."

"I'm not an accountant, I'm a washed-up porn star," she
clarified, looking ahead. She drove fast but not cockily. "I
only learned how to do T&T's books by looking at them
enough times. Years of doing fuck-flicks doesn't look great
on a resume."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," he said for lack of anything
else.

"Oh, and I'm sorry about last night," she added, and
changed lanes around a slow truck.

"Sorry about what?"

"About coming on to you. You must think I'm a total
tramp. I can tell you're pretty business-oriented, no nonsense. It must've made you very uncomfortable."

"My fragile psyche's not injured," he said. "It made me
uncomfortable and it made my day."

She didn't laugh. "I was drunk and depressed. I always
drink too much when I'm depressed."

Westmore found her sudden openness inspiring. "We all
get drunk on occasion-take it from a guy who spent most
of his adult life in the bag." He thought about it, then decided it couldn't hurt to ask. "What were you depressed
about?"

Her lips seemed pursed as she drove. "I can't say that I
was really friends with any of the girls who got murdered.
But a lot of them were nice, and now they're all dead."

"What about Hildreth? Were you friends with him?"

"Good question." She seemed the most unreadable now,
the sunglasses camouflaging her thoughts. "Before he
bought T&T, we did a lot of movies .and barely held our
own against the competition. Nobody made much money.
Next thing we know all that's changed, we're living here,
the company's revitalized, new equipment, new studio, and
all of a sudden we're making great money and living the
high life. So when a person does that for you, you consider
him a friend ... but.. . "

"But something wasn't right," Westmore concluded.

"Nothing was right, and we all chose to not face up to that.
We weren't really even a movie company anymore; we'd do
a few releases a year because it's what Hildreth wanted, and
nobody asks questions when the bills are paid. They shot
enough footage in that mansion to make a couple hundred
flicks a year, but almost none of it was ever distributed because Hildreth didn't seem to care much about it. He didn't
want a porn company as a business investment. He wanted us
for something else and we never acknowledged that. We
were too busy partying and not seeing the light. So, yeah, we
all wanted to think of him as our best friend because he gave
us a new life. Then we all found out the hard way that the
new life was phony. He was just an eccentric psychopath
with a ton of money who was using us for his madness." She
paused, stared dead-ahead. "He seemed like the nicest guy in
the world, but in truth he was the most evil man I've ever
met. "