Live Girls (42 page)

Davey collapsed against the door, wiping the perspiration from his face.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “I didn't think...” He turned to Casey. She was slumped between the two men, her head back, eyes closed, a look of euphoria on her soft face. “Casey?” Davey said softly. “You all right?"

She didn't reply.

Davey saw Benedek's bloody wrist and noticed the drops of blood on Casey's chin, and he knew what had happened. “Walter, I'm sorry."

Benedek shook his head. “It's okay. I know she didn't mean to hurt me, and
”—
he looked down at her
—“
I think she needed it."

As Benedek leaned forward and gave the driver his address, Davey leaned close to Casey's ear, holding her to him.

“Casey? You okay?"

She nodded slowly.

“We're out. We're out of there now. The place is in flames."

She opened her eyes a bit, smiled for just an instant, and breathed, “Good.” Then she leaned on Davey, squeezing into the crook of his arm.

“No!” the driver snapped at Benedek. “Next corner I'm lettin’ you clowns out, you hear me?"

“Look, this is important. Another ten bucks if
—
"

"Hey!
You already owe me twenty for
waiting."

“Jesus,” Benedek sighed, fumbling in his pocket. “Okay, all I've got're two twenties. That okay?"

The driver thought about it, then shrugged. “Okay."

They were all silent as they rode. Davey finally felt the pounding in his chest subside, and as he calmed, he began to notice the beginnings of his own hunger.

B
ENEDEK STOOD BEFORE HIS MEDICINE CABINET IN HIS
bathroom, gingerly putting two Band-Aids over the wounds on his wrist. The ringing in his ears had not stopped, and pain throbbed up his leg from his injured foot.

He looked at his reflection for a long time, noticing how trapped it looked within the chrome frame around the mirror. Trapped, as he was. Trapped with the knowledge of what was growing in the city. He knew he could not use the paper to spread the news. The editor would chuckle, and say something like, “Take it to the
Post,
Walter."

If the
Times
did anything at all with the story, it would be a small piece discreetly tucked away somewhere near the back of the paper with a headline like: POTENTIAL HEALTH CRISIS IN MANHATTAN.

Benedek rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw, toying with an idea.

Davey sat on the sofa with Casey lying against him. He stroked her hair gently. The relief of having her with him, alive
—
as alive as
he
was, at least
—
almost outweighed the horror of what had happened.

“You're trembling,” she said.

He nodded. “I'll have to feed soon."

She pulled her head away and looked into his eyes. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

Davey sighed. “I don't know. We'll have to leave the city. The police are still after me."

“Why?"

Chad Wilkes's fearful eyes flashed in Davey's memory for a moment. Stella Schuman's strangled scream echoed in his memory. He knew the police would connect her death to him, too.

“I killed Chad,” he said softly.

Casey's eyes slowly widened and she touched a knuckle to her lips, stifling a laugh.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It just, well, it just, you know, conjures up some humorous images."

Davey smiled. It was good to see that Casey had not changed too much.

“He thought he was being raped by a homosexual,” he added.

She put her whole hand over her mouth and her eyes crinkled as she tried to hold the laughter in.

“And
”—
Davey looked away for a moment
—“
Miss Schuman."

She laughed out loud, but her laughter collapsed into chest-heaving sobs and she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.

“Davey, I don't want to be like this,” she cried, her voice muffled in his shoulder.

He embraced her and a large knot formed quickly in his stomach. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, “I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

They held one another until Benedek came into the room.

“How are you, Casey?” he asked.

She looked at Benedek with sorrowful eyes. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't worry about it.” He smiled and held up his bandaged wrist. “See? All better. I'm just glad you're okay."

“Are
you
all right, Walter?” Davey asked.

Benedek sat down in a chair facing them. “Now. Right now, I've got about a truckload of adrenaline shooting through these veins.” He held his arms up for a moment. “But I suspect that in a while, I'm probably gonna be a mess."

“Sorry."

“I think there's been enough apologizing for tonight."

“What are you going to do?"

He shrugged.

“You going to write the story?"

“I'm going to write it, but not for the
Times
. They'd give me another vacation. A permanent one. But don't worry; the story will be printed. I don't know how well it will be
received,
but it will at least be printed."

Davey smiled at Benedek, standing. “Thank you,” he said, shaking Benedek's hand.

The tall man stood, looking somehow weakened, wounded.

“You want something to wear?” Benedek asked, frowning as he looked at the thin robe Casey was wearing.

She shrugged as she stood. “What difference does it make?"

Benedek closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Guess so."

Casey stood and the three of them walked to the window to say their good-byes.

Benedek went to the phone after they were gone. He picked up the receiver and punched Ethan Collier's number.

“Yes?” Collier cooed.

“Ethan? This is Walter."

“Walter, my friend, how are you?"

“Fair. How about you?"

“You know me, Walter. I'm always happy and gay."

Benedek chuckled.

“What can I do for you?” Collier asked. “I'm on my way out and don't have much time. The evening has just begun, you know."

“I have a favor to ask."

“Oh? So soon after the last one? How was your evening at the Midnight Club, by the way?"

“Enlightening."

“Good. I hope it loosened you up a bit. I think you could use some loosening. Did Jackie enjoy it?"

Benedek cleared his throat. “She didn't go."

“Ah. How is she?"

There was a long pause. “Jackie's dead, Ethan."

“Good God, Walter, when?"

“Late last night."

“Dear Lord, how
—
"

“Actually, Ethan, that's why I called. I have a story for you."

“A story? I don't understand."

“I'm going to write a story and give it to you. It's for the
Post
."

“
You
have a story for the
Post!
The paper you've spent so many years degrading? The paper you've said is far worse than a rag? What kind of story
is
this? Won't the
Times
print it?"

“No. It's kind of ... unbelievable."

“Does it have anything to do with Jackie's death?"

“Yes, but I don't want my name on it. I'm going to write it under a pseudonym. I'd like to give it to you when it's done so you can put it on the right desk."

“The story is true?"

“I'm afraid so."

“And you think people will believe it if they read it in the
Post
?"

“At least they'll read it,” Benedek replied. “And if they don't believe it, I can only hope they won't
dis
believe it.” He sniffed. “Will you help me?"

There was a thoughtful silence at the other end of the line.

Collier said quietly, “Of course."

The city stretched out beneath them like a blanket of glitter.

The rain had stopped and there were breaks in the clouds that revealed twinkling stars.

The air was cold and still damp.

The sounds of the city reached them as a whisper.

Its lights fell away from them as they moved on toward someplace safe. Anyplace at all.

A place safe for them.

And safe for others.