Queen of Angels (7 page)

Raise your head Mother of the single hanging breast. Raise that great slumbering Egypt and look around. What have you done to your children? are you a.shamed? You did not cry out when they were ripped from you. Did you know what would come. Withered bones walking you lift your skirts no shade even. And then you give a plague of love. Sweep, harvester; half are dead, Mother. Your breast still hangs and on its tip, a drop of bitter. white milk, white milk on a black breast. Sweep, harvester. Pink milk, red.

14

Eleven thirty morning in her temporary quarters Mary Choy received the Goldsmith apartment analysis through secured pd optic on her slate. She scrolled through it with thoughts half focused, drinking strong tea and thinking about Hispaniola, formerly Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Colonel Sir John Yardley. Trying not to think about the early morning jiltz and the hellcrowns; poor nasty Lon Joyces scream upon waking. She closed her eyes then looked up from the analysis and frowned, angry that her concentration had weakened. The stark cot room offered pastel blue gray walls forest green carpet bed already made sheets quarter bouncing tight. Mary touched stylus to lips. How it was done. Goldsmith (90% probability) waited in outer room having invited guests to arrive at fifteen-minute intervals and stressing punctuality. Mary read facsimiles of the invitations nine cards hand delivered by special courier one young acolyte escaping (reference vid interview). Party promised unveiling reading of new work from the master and celebration of three birthdays among the acolytes sharing with Goldsmith. Goldsmiths birthday. She had not known that until now. For some reason it shocked her and she had to take a deep breath. Goldsmith (90% probability) led them one at a time to sitting room concealed weapon assumed but Mary flashed on him actually revealing the large Bowie knife gold pommel and ivory grip gleaming steel blade a century old owned by his father who used it to defend himself against honkie cops (reference ninth acolyte vid interview). Reached around gripping one shoulder with free hand as if in fatherly hug from behind severing long list of essential plumbing blood pumping heart-surprise out and away. Goldsmith likely not spattered perhaps merely an arm to be rinsed and cleaned for the next victim. Abattoir efficiency. Strike them down one by one like steers. She closed her eyes again and held them closed brows drawing together lids flicking. Opened them, viewed on. Diagrams graphs simulations of supporting evidence from various criminal techs forensics experts, bugs on tracks, arbeiters, assayer prefreeze heat pattern photos giving four dimensional track of warm bodies in motion, bodies falling arcs of warm liquid (splash analysis from walls), each victims blood layered in multiple colors assault by assault, time markers for soaking in, cooling, clotting, cell necrosis and bacterial growth, CG simulations of bodies dragged and heaped up in corners, icon clocks ticking precise time of death in each body outline, muscular activity before death (this an unnecessary detail but provided for thoroughness) and discharge of body fluids (agonal relaxation) besides blood mostly limited by clothing; cooling of bodies (details on cell necrosis, internal decay, bacterial growth in intestines) And so on. She grew almost ill. Mary turned to the analysis of human organic detritus in carpet and floors. All major deposits partially digested by carpet within past forty eight hoursepidermal keratin hair artificial fiber Trelon Chinoi Nylon Brazil Silk, saliva mucus semen (masturbation; no correlate or mixed sexual fluids from other male or female)belonged to Goldsmith. He lived alone or very nearly so. Plumbing: shower and bathtub revealed no nonGoldsmith cell traces or hairs. No dropby lovers or intimates privileged to bathe. Sink, Cendarion toilet ash and analysis of nonGoldsmith detritus indicated Goldsmith lived alone, had frequent (two to three times weekly) social occasions involving eight to twelve visitors lasting less than two hours. Distribution of detritus: 34% identified (overlap) of which 35% is from victims, 66% unidentified (IDs in progress for all traces laid down within period of thirty days prior); conclusion: no longterm residents besides Goldsmith. Goldsmith kept no animals. His apartment was (typically within the combs) devoid of domestic insect life except for five airborne insects. Goldsmith used approved insect viruses and kept his apartment clean. All nonhuman debris were within normal levels in the metabolic carpet. Goldsmith did not smoke or use powder or aerosol drugs. Guests brought in detritus consistent with their travel paths through apartment and points of origin. Clothing and other fiber matches consistent with above conditions and patterns. Analysis of nondomestic nontailored microbes consistent with above conditions and patterns. Routine searches based upon direct human cell evidence and analysis of territorial mitochondrial drift and evolution of nonsymbiotidnonparasitic microbial traces expected to soon give leads on homes (breakdown by known city microbial environments) of all unknown visitors to the apartment. For thoroughnesss sake there was also a list of three past occupants of the apartment going back ten years compared with their debris lodged in crevices in the bathroom and in areas not covered by the metabolic carpeting. All evidence still pointed to Goldsmith. Mary turned off the slate. Goldsmith might go to Hispaniola but why would Yardley accept him? Outwardly Hispaniola obeyed the diplomatic formalities; all knew the islands nature but inclined to this outward politeness, providing safe resorts and safe havens for Norths and Souths anxious bourgeoisie. Crime-free Hispaniola itself a crime. Cracks in the federal attitude showing. Flying her there black stylish Mary into the heart of darkness. Darker than Africa that quiet land war and plague emptied last century. Colonel Sir John Yardley sending some of his own foster children to repopulate Nigeria Liberia Angola. Repopulation big business, needs organization and Yardley has a genius for that. If Yardley harbors Goldsmith old friend compatriot and like thinker, the cracks can be split open and federal can rid itself of Yardley and Hispaniola, of the chafing Raphkind promises and treaties. Would that be the maneuver? Mary knew herself to be more than a pawn. She was a knight angling her way into Hispaniola where she might make any of a swastika of moves; lance here take there find violations force a confrontation, executing federal schemes through a lowly pd detective. Perhaps because Colonel Sir John Yardley supplied illegal equipment to the Selectors in America north and south, and the Selectors had become more ambitious, begun to target executives politicians Senators and Congressmen, applying Draconian justice. In the end it might not matter whether Yardley harbored Goldsmith or not. She specked the nation shivering from its damp night of Raphkind, flinging soil and drops of offal around the globe. If Vardley refused her entry, that violated treaties. If she died while in Yardleys care, victim of some grotesque uprising, lie will raise his hands commiserate what can I do they are young and I have only so much power. This for that, action for reaction. Mary gathered up her equipment buckled her belt sealed the seams on her uniform with expert finger touches looked at herself briefly in the cubicle mirror wondered how her melanin deficiency patches were doing ordered the door open and walked long gait steady down the white and gray halls to the research center. She smiled at Ensign J Meskys whom she had met perhaps three times before. Meskys returned Marys ,smile. Long night, sir? Blear blear, Mary said. Please pass my sincere thanks to the criminalists in jag twelve. LAs neighborhoods around the combs had been split as if made of pitchforked glass. They were called jags by pd and those who coordinated transit territories. Jag twelve covered the neighborhoods around the third foot of East Comb One. Done, Meskys said. Will you be leaving your cubicle today? Mary nodded. Im off to make a query at Oversight. Meskys displayed sympathy. No pd enjoyed visits to Oversight Thanks for the hospitality. Silky, Meskys said. Come again. Pd hotel at your disposal, sir. Along Sepulveda century old buildings stretched between patches of central markets and highrise apartments; shopways and shade entertainment, a neighborhood that catered to combs clientele anxious for a touch of risk, still attractive to the therapied; risk without risk, all the truly therapied would want. She walked for a while, enjoying the winter warmth twenty C and climbing perhaps to twenty two, dry cloudless LA City of Angels deep of winter. The air was clear but for an ozone alert. Onshore breeze. She could smell a touch of the distant sea, kelpfarms and salt. Across the street she saw a bar designed to look like a rough scarred concrete block, facade old and decayed, with balfdark neon of a naked woman riding a rocket, nipples red circles flashing dim contrast with bright daylight. Plastic square packing crate red letters leaned mock decrepit above the facade: Little Hispaniola. Mary averted. She did not relish the thought of visiting the original of this shabby barfront, glittering and gambling Hispaniola, exporter of pain and terror, once loyal servant of the willing but fastidious nations of west and east. She would not need pd transit. In two hours, Oversight; tomorrow she would move to the combs. But first for an hour or two she would visit E Hassida.

I sometimes know no friends better than they know themselves. Call it megalomania or call it a curse; its true. I only wish I knew mys4f so well.

15 Richard listened to Nadine preparing brunch. He had heard her in the bathroom urinating into the old ceramic bowl high pressure low altitude and had wrinkled his nose. Entering a second fastidiousness fully the equal of his adolescence, Richard did not appreciate displays of human frailty of human limitation to biology especially not when they concerned himself. He had enjoyed the sex with Nadine the night before; she kept herself fastidiously dean, but he disliked his own bathroom sounds now, much less the sounds others made. When married this had never bothered him. + Therapy myself. Wife made such noises; wife is dead. Those who make such noises can die. Is that it? + No. He rolled off the frame bed, listened to the electrical suspension humming with relief, saw through the yellowed lace curtains of the dusty silled bedroom window comb reflected sunlight on a distant yellow stone building, smelled cheerfully the odors of coffee reheated shepherds pie. All might be dear today normal perhaps even pleasant. Then an acute dark intrusion. Nothing had changed. He had not solved his problems or anybody elses. Today once again he would not write and his sham would continue his affectation of being a writer when in fact he was a parasite a sycophant an acolyte of those with higher energy levels greater charge greater ability to plunge their thumbs into the world and emerge with success. His life was a simple repetition of what ifs and what might have beens. Youre awake, Nadine said poking her head around the doorjamb black hair cheerfully awry. Unfortunately, he said. Still down? Down down, he said softly. Then Im a failure, she said lightly taking his funk lightly and why not. Not such a harlot as to brighten your nights into day, am I? Not that, he said. Im still.. She waited and when no adjective came pushed her lips into a moue backed out of the door frame and said Leftovers await. He could at least be grateful her mood was no match for his. Two of them down would be more than he could take. In truth he was glad someone was here and glad that that someone was female and he had enjoyed the sex the night before and he was hungry. He shook his head and put on a robe wondering how many seconds again before the teeter would totter. With his hand halfway down the robes left sleeve he stopped, hearing the door chime. The home manager announced nothing; a not unexpected failure. Shall I? Nadine inquired archly, expression implying a fallen woman should not be exposed to morning visitors. No. Me. He answered the door after putting on slippers. Beyond the antique eternal plastic screen was a young man he had never seen before: red haired, pleasantly round faced and intent with a quick smile and the air of a salesman. Salesmen did not come to this section of the shadows. Youre Richard Fettle? Yes. He pulled on the other sleeve. My name is not important. I have some questions to ask. For societys sake I hope you will answer. That formula For Societys Sake had become a nervous joke in the shadows and even in the combs but this was not a joke. Of course they would become interested. There was news here and he was a part of it. Celebrity publicity sensation. Excuse me? Richard fumbled, hoping he might be allowed to close the door. May I come in. For societys sake. In the kitchen Nadine stood like a cat with fingers spread shaking her head. No. Dont. The untherapied so seldom called pd. Here was statistical safety a perfect ground to ply their trade of perfection rooting out correcting. He hoped he was wrong and the formula and posture were part of a sour joke. I beg your pardon. Mr. Richard Fettle. Yes. The red haired man lifted an eyebrow as if to say quid pro quo you are you and the rest is formality. Come in, Richard said. He could not think of a way to dissemble. Please dont get in a rough, the man said. I only have a few questions. + Want to say Who do you think you are? Self appointed God of all? Hate this cowardice Dont get in a rough keep silent my gut You were a friend of Emanuel Goldsmith? Nadine had backed into the kitchen doorway, leaning against the thick enamel covering the doorjamb eyes cautiously blank. Richard wished to concentrate on her and on the age creamed white paint. + Puzzle that out think about the century old wood here before any of this. But he forced himself to look at the man. The visitor wore a simple black suit, cuffs rising a few inches above shiny black shoesocks, narrow red tie against green shirt, sleeves short above wrists making him appear tall and lanky but in fact he was shorter than Richard by six or eight centimeters; about Nadines height. I was, Richard said. Did you know he was capable of murdering people? I did not know that. + Would you punish me for that? Its the truth; I told the pd; did not know. Did he ever tell you he was going to do such a thing? No. I dont recognize this woman. Was she a friend of Goldsmiths? + Perverse honesty here; hate this man but spill my guts to him. She knew him. Not as well as I did. Do you know what I am? the man asked Nadine. She nodded like a child caught eating forbidden candy. She didnt know him well at all, Richard said. Shes part of de Roches clique, isnt she? Like you? Yes. Arent you all a little culpable for what happened? Swallowing. Not my brothers keeper. We are all our brothers keepers, the man said. I live for that truth. You should have known what your friend was capable of. What we do or neglect to do affects all; what anyone does affects us. + Punish us all then. You do not know where Goldsmith is? I assume the pd have caught him. The man smiled. Our reluctant colleagues havent the slightest idea where he is. Colleagues. Richard managed a brave but brief smile. The man returned the smile. + Admires my stage presence. Our local chapter is interested in this case because it seems possible that a man of fame and privilege might be able to escape justice. You know. Hide out with friends and become a folk hero. Get in silky with the blandly ignorant. Heavens. I hope not. The mans smile thinned. We are not thugs. We are not fanatics. We are vitamin supplements to justice. Please do not misunderstand my visit. Never. His fear put him on the edge of giddiness. + Suicidal. I doubt youve done anything wrong in this case, the man said. We cant always know the souls of those around us. But I warn you: if you do hear about Goldsmith, if you learn where he is and do not tell the pd or your local chapter for societys sake, that would be very wrong indeed. You would hurt a lot of people who are hungry for justice. Theyve hired you, contracted you? Richard asked v hoarse coughing swallowing back the roughness. Nobody hires us, the man said calmly. He returned the door and nodded politely at Nadine. Thank you for your time. Youre welcome, she said small mouselike. The opened Richards door stepped out of Richards apartment and walked down the long balcony to the stairs. Im going, Nadine said, spinning suddenly and running to grab her few clothes toothbrush handbag from the and bathroom. Unbelievable, she said. Unbelievable. You. What about me? Richard asked, still stunned. Theyre after you. I dont know why! You defended him! Youre bin friend! Christ, I should have known. Anybody silky with Goldsmith. Christ! Selectors. Im going. He did not try to stop her. In all his life he had never been visited by a Selector before, had never attracted their attention. Call the pd, Nadine said as she reached for the doorknob. Her body arched as if it would take substantial puli to open the door. The door swung free and she tilted off balance for a moment then glared at him. Call the pd or do something. Miserable moaning softly to himself Richard went to his bedroom and lay back on the bed, turning away from the streaks of dried fluid at the edge of sheet where Nadine had sat up after they had made love. He stared up at the earthquake cracked plaster of the old ceiling. + How many people have died since that ceiling was put in or the wood how many millions have suffered horribly even since we made love last night hundreds per minute around the world punish them all. He stilled, slowing his rapid breath. One hand gripped the sheet. He turned his head to one side neck tight corded, drew his mouth into a horrid smile and sat up abruptly, one fist pounding the bed rhythmically, looked around the apartment stood up and twisted his upper body threw head back raised fists shook them at the ceiling mewed faintly the mew turned into a howl swung his arms around stamped his foot crouched eyes showing dear blue through a mask hair before them gray and stringy he danced pranced around the bed lifted fists stumbled back at the bed stood again kicked the mattress with bare foot ran into his small living room with a sudden pumping of long skinny bare legs howled reached for an old vase full of dead flowers swung scummy water glittering in a silver crescent fingers released the vase it whirled on its long axis parallel to the floor across the living room into the kitchen hit cabinet doors beneath the sink shattering brown dried flowers fanning out in a clump on the floor still circled by the neck. Richard turned to the bedroom and leaned forward, walking and stumbling until he lay back on the bed again cyde complete nothing accomplished but the most primitive useless release. He sucked back his own inadequacy and helplessness in negative sobs. Then, falling silent, with sudden calm deliberation he rolled over and reached for the drawer handle on his nightstand, pulled it open and removed a notebook, lay back, rolled over again groping for a pen found one behind the lamp, dusty, rolled the dust on the sheets near the dried fluid stains thinking them similar in color and meaning and hoisted himself onto the pillows. Opened the notebook to a fresh page; the last entry two years before. Dry empty pages dry empty years in which he had written nothing. + Dont even think dont wonder just go this is the urge just