Sips of Blood Part 8

Chapter 17.

From his bedroom window Louis watched Cecelia helping her mother in the garden. He had not bothered to tell Matilda that it didn't matter whether the vegetables were organic or loaded with insecticides. But he did notice a difference in flavor. So maybe organic was better, even if the ugly vegetables had to be inspected for infestations. Louis still enjoyed an occasional meal of vegetables, meat, and fruit, although his life-long hemorrhoid problem dictated temperance.

Cecelia wore denim cut-offs cut off as high as she could go without revealing a completely bare bottom. For hours the girl would kneel on the fertile earth, leaning over frequently to plant, trim, fertilize, or weed with her glorious a.s.s saluting his window. He thought he noticed a slight pinkish sunburn creeping up each cheek. Not as pink as he could make them if that emmerdeuse mother would disappear.

"Ah!" he sighed as the girl jerked the spade back and forth into the ground.

He could stand here all day regardant fixement la jeune fille. However, he had a project to complete, and it must be done soon or his own dear jolie fille would continue to waste away.

Louis blew a kiss to Cecelia and crossed the room to his bonheur-du-jour and sat down to write out his shortened list. He had looked up the name of David Petry in every reference he could obtain. He believed he did know something very important about Monsieur Petry. The young man had said that his niece needed a psychiatrist more than an accountant. Therefore, Louis had narrowed the list of David Petry's down to three listings. One lived in Fort Lee, New Jersey, a possibility since they had met on the Jersey side of the Hudson. Another lived in Astoria, Queens, and the least promising lived on the G.o.d-forsaken tip of upper Manhattan. Since the first two had not answered their home phones, it was the third with whom he had the evening appointment. As it turned out, the individual answering the telephone was an accountant.

At seven-thirty Louis climbed a staircase to the neighborhood called Park Terrace, which sat upon a hill overlooking the drudgery of working-cla.s.s life. He had driven around the middle-cla.s.s enclave for fifteen minutes before giving up and finding a parking s.p.a.ce at the bottom of the hill. Dinner time on a weekday was the worst time to park in a New York City residential neighborhood. He had noticed an obvious difference in the age and brand of the cars he had viewed. On top of the hill cars seemed to be less rusted, newer; more cars retained their hubcaps. At the bottom of the hill he had parked between an orange Pinto and a dented Chevette. He doubted that his feminine-voiced alarm calling for help would attract anyone, but he made sure it was turned on. Besides, the frail voice crying out his name, asking him to "Please stop the rogue," turned him on.

At the top of the steps an elderly woman tugged a miniature mutt out of his way. The dog gnashed his teeth and yanked hard on his collar.

"Bad dog," the woman kept repeating without much enthusiasm.

One of the dog's back legs seemed paralyzed, and Louis wished he could put the animal out of its misery. Despite the warmth of the evening, the woman wore a knit hat and black raincoat. He hoped flas.h.i.+ng was not one of her sports. Her brittle stick-like figure waved him on. Annoyance added additional lines to her already well-creased face.

"Move on, for heaven's sake. I can't be walking Ginger all night. She can't s.h.i.+t while strangers are watching. Move on. Hurry!"

Louis halted. The dog's gray muzzle s.h.i.+vered around its yellow teeth, and the gravelly growl inspired little fear.

"Perhaps your dog needs a purgative."

"She needs privacy while she takes a good s.h.i.+t. That's what she needs."

He noticed that the woman's eyes were a cloudy gray-blue. Her nose was long, thin, and pointed, while the lips caved into her mouth. He had seen many of these kinds of women huddled around the guillotines of the French Revolution. Matter of fact, this particular woman had an uncanny resemblance to a Madame Charlotte Chenier, who sold fruits and vegetables to the voyeuristic crowds.

He didn't like either woman, but his errand took precedence over a petty grudge. As Sade moved on to his destination, the dog began yapping. Sade's ears rang with the timbre.

The heavy doors leading to Petry's lobby did not silence the sound but did at least m.u.f.fle it. Sade checked the names listed on the intercom. David Petry's apartment was on the fourth floor, and he answered Sade's ring immediately with a long buzz. Sade opened the inner door and headed to the elevator.

Out of service, a four-by-six yellow index card informed him. On the way up the stairs, Sade hoped that this would not be the David Petry he was looking for, since he felt a bit famished from all the exercise.

Petry's door was painted the same dark green as all the other apartment doors, except his had a coat of arms pasted directly under the peephole. A coat of arms Sade recognized. But it would be too coincidental, too simple, too pretentious to be Stuart.

Suddenly the door opened. Cet espece de cretin, Stuart.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Sade?"

"Oui."

David extended his hand. "I'm David Petry." The handshake was limp, not surprising to Sade.

"Is it getting chilly out there?"

"Pardon?"

"Your hand feels cold. But come in."

"The coat of arms?"

David laughed. "A souvenir of my trip to England. I don't know why, but I liked it, even though I know it's kind of kitschy."

"Sometimes the past haunts us," Sade said.

The apartment seemed to be full of souvenirs and yard sale items. The Persian rug was well-used and fake. The sofa was draped in a deep purple Afghan that barely hid the tattered material beneath it. Two uncomfortable director's chairs faced the couch. Sade sat on the center pillow of the sofa, away from the stained and dirty armrests.

"Excuse the place. I spent four years in the armed services and then went back to school, so I'm a little strapped for cash. Not that my business isn't picking up, but I do have some hefty loans to pay off."

"Armed services? Monsieur, let us hope you do not repeat all your follies."

"I never thought of serving in the army to be a folly."

"It depends on what side you are on."

"I suppose you're right. Have we met before?"

"Mais non, I would remember. I'm very good at faces."

David shrugged. "Over the phone you mentioned that you needed a.s.sistance with some financial planning."

"Oui. My last accountant left the books in disarray. And I'm looking for someone who can make sense of the mult.i.tude of numbers."

David rattled off his rates.

"Your cost does not frighten me, monsieur. Of course, I may ask you to start with one set of books first. The ones dealing with my U.S. possessions. The European investments could be taken care of later."

"Do you have any immediate questions?"

"No. I will try to have most of my books available to you on Sat.u.r.day evening."

"Excuse me?"

"This Sat.u.r.day when you come for dinner."

"It's really unnecessary..."

"If I am to feel comfortable with you, monsieur, I would like to get to know you on a social level."

"If you want references, I can give the names of a number of my clients."

"No, monsieur. I need to get to know you on my own, not through the eyes of someone else." From the looks of the apartment, Louis didn't think that Petry could afford to turn away any job.

Grudgingly David agreed to a seven o'clock dinner engagement for the coming Sat.u.r.day.

After leaving the apartment, Louis felt an enormous thirst. Luckily, David Petry did not appeal to Sade's sensuous side, or else he would have found it impossible to leave without sampling the accountant's blood. But now that he descended the steps, he realized all the exertions and stress of the day were weighing him down into a sluggish fog. His mind still had its edge; however, physically he began to move more slowly, yet not so slowly that he couldn't capture a stray human.

"No, no, no. That's enough, Ginger. We must go back inside now."

Easy prey, Sade thought, but how unpalatable. The woman and her dog came into view just as Ginger decided to crouch down for a p.i.s.s. Sade was uncertain whether he disliked the woman or the dog more.

"Bad, Ginger. Naughty." The woman gave no indication that she knew anyone was coming down the stairs.

Perhaps, thought Sade, she herself wanted to be invisible at this point in time, and she hoped the person would pa.s.s by without acknowledging her.

"Ginger has gotten over her shyness, I see."

The dog immediately started yapping.

"Merely an accident. She's ten years old and sometimes she misjudges where she is."

"Ginger does not know whether she is outdoors or indoors?"

"You startled her, and that's why she wet herself."

"She not only wet herself, madam, she seems to have flooded the hall."

"Are you leaving, sir?"

Sade hesitated.

"I could stay. Would you like me to stay, madame?"

"I would like you to leave. Who buzzed you in, anyway?"

Sade drew closer to the woman and smelled the odor of age. He encountered the smell every day when he rested inside his coffin. He hated the smell. This would be a violent killing, one that would surely cause him d'avoir l'estomac barbouille. Already he thought he felt a burp coming on.

Just when Sade had come to a decision to find a tastier morsel, Ginger snagged onto the cuff of his trousers and began to rage.

"See what you did now? You have Ginger all upset."

Slowly Sade stretched out a hand while keeping the woman within his constant glare. He settled his thumb deeply into her voice box and spread the rest of his hand around her neck.

"Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s, if you can't keep Ginger quiet..."

The voice came from behind Sade. He judged that whoever it was could not see the hold he had on the old woman.

"Can I be of any help?" The voice tinkled in his ears. Young, he thought, probably a good deal younger than his current pitiful sack of a meal. But if he let Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s go in order to take the fresher meal, what would happen? What chaos could this old woman reek in the soggy hallway? He noticed that he stood fully in Ginger's puddle. Quickly he twisted the woman's head, and she fell dead into his arms.

Free of the leash, Ginger tried climbing his leg, gnawing holes in his trousers.

"Madame is ill, and I'm afraid the dog misunderstands my intent."

A woman in her mid-twenties rushed to his side. When she saw the limp body of her neighbor, she immediately offered to call 911.

"I think it would be better if I could lay her down somewhere first."

"Of course." She began to move away from him.

"The chienne"

"What?"

"Gin--ger," he p.r.o.nounced the name slowly to keep from screaming.

"Of course." She scooped up the dog and beckoned him to follow her.

"Maybe I could take her from you. Can she walk at all?"

"Mademoiselle, she is unconscious. True, she is tres thin, but still a dead weight."

"Are you related to her?"

"Merely a Good Samaritan who needs to lay his burden down."

She opened the door to her apartment, and Sade brushed past her before she could ask any more questions.

The living room glowed with the flickering of the television. A settee with a white lace coverlet stood opposite the flickering picture. Gently he placed the body down on the lace.

"Will she be all right?"

The dog emitted a low growl and snuggled into the young woman's bosom. The woman seemed to be wearing nothing under her cotton robe. The material defined every inch of her body, revealing a full-bosomed, narrow-hipped redhead. He could tell her hair color was true, because even in this dim light he could make out the cl.u.s.ter of red pubic hair under the translucent robe.

Sade looked down at Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s.

"No."

The young woman moved in for a closer look at her neighbor.

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps you should lock Ginger in the kitchen with a bite to eat."

"The h.e.l.l with Ginger!" She dropped the dog to the floor, and to Sade's relief the animal ran out the apartment doorway, which still stood open.

"Oh my G.o.d, what did I do? Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s will be furious when she wakes up and can't find Ginger." She started for the door. Sade followed closely behind. He reached beyond the young woman and swung the front door shut.