Sips of Blood Part 9

Some mail sat on a table near the door. Sade noted that the mail was addressed to Evie Springer.

"Evie, I don't think our first concern should be the chienne. I mean Ginger." He hated it when an English word escaped him.

"You're right. What am I thinking. I'll call 911."

As she walked to the phone, Sade noted the thrust of her a.s.s, not broad but certainly shelf-like. He moved forward, and his arms circled Evie's waist.

"There is no more we can do for poor Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s."

"You mean she's dead."

Sade kissed the back of Evie's head.

"I don't want a dead body in my apartment."

"Where do you think we should put her? She must have the keys to her apartment in a pocket." He let go of Evie in order to rifle through the dead woman's raincoat.

"I can't have the police finding a dead person in my apartment. There'd be too many questions. They might even search the apartment."

Sade wondered what Evie had to hide, but it didn't matter as long as she wanted to be rid of the body.

He found the keys pinned with a safety pin to the inside lining of Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s' raincoat.

"Voici!"

Evie gave him a blank look.

"Take the keys."

"Why?"

"Mademoiselle, I cannot open la porte, ce que je veux dire c'est, the door and carry the old... Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s."

"You want me to help you?"

"I could leave her ici... here."

Evie grabbed the keys. Sade lifted his burden and followed Evie to the door.

"Perhaps I should take a peek into the hall first. Don't see anyone through the peephole." Slowly she opened the door.

"Hi, David."

Mais non. Sade wanted to pounce on them all and end this in a serious blood orgy. Liliana, never doubt that I love you.

"Hey Evie, have you seen Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s? She doesn't answer her door, and Ginger seems to be stranded in the hall."

"Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s? Gos.h.!.+ I can't imagine where she would be."

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra key to her apartment, because I'm thinking it might be a good idea to check on her."

Evie quickly brought her right hand behind her back. Sade could see the golden-colored keys sparkle in her palm.

"She'd never give me a key. Are you kiddin'? You know how she is. She trusts no one. I doubt she has any friends to hold a key for her. Besides, I think it would be too soon to barge into her apartment. I did see her earlier in the day. Maybe Ginger snuck out while Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s was locking the door or maybe Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s is asleep. Who knows how Ginger managed to get into the hall? She can be quit mischievous. Ginger, I mean."

Tais-toi!

"I guess your right. I'll take Ginger up to my apartment and check in again with Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s later in the evening. By the way, Evie, could I stop by later tonight?"

"Not a good idea."

"Already booked with another client?"

Client? wondered Sade.

"Sort of. Good night." Evie closed the door, leaned her back against it and signalled Sade that he should be quiet.

Sade didn't plan on revealing himself to David while holding a dead body and cavorting with a soon-to-be-dead young woman.

Several minutes pa.s.sed with both of them barely breathing.

"Let's try again," Evie finally said.

This time the hall was empty. Sade waited inside the apartment while Evie unlocked Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s' door. As soon as he heard the squeak of the door hinges, he rushed Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s back to her apartment, depositing the body on the first object he saw, an old pine dresser. He stepped back and thought about how inappropriate she looked. The floor would be better, but did it matter? If they do an autopsy, which they probably will, they'll see she has a broken neck. Hmmm.

"What will the police think when she's found?" asked Evie. "I mean, I can't afford to have the police knocking on my door asking questions."

"What are you doing?" Evie watched Sade search through several closets, finally pulling forth an aluminum stepladder.

Sade had decided to ease Evie's qualms and to make it look like Mrs. MacMa.n.u.s had fallen from the ladder. He undid the raincoat, removed it from the body, and hung it up in the closet. He set the ladder up so that it appeared that the old woman had been searching a kitchen cabinet. Easily he hoisted the body up the ladder and dropped her from the top step. He paused to look at Evie.

"What the h.e.l.l..." Evie's mouth and eyes were round.

He walked past her to the outside hall while suggesting she lock up. Evie followed and did as she was told.

"The keys. What do I do with the keys?"

Sade grabbed the keys from her hand and dumped them down the garbage shoot.

"She won't be needing them again. And I expect after a week or two someone will suggest breaking down the door. L'odeur de la mort never fails to attract the scavengers."

Evie s.h.i.+vered and padded her way back to her apartment with Sade following closely behind. At the door she stopped and looked at Sade.

"I hope to never see you again."

"I have a.s.sisted you in being rid of a body."

"There wouldn't have been a body except... What did you do to her?"

"Moi! Nothing! I merely came to the aid of someone who appeared ill." Sade brushed back a red curl from Evie's right cheek. "Mademoiselle Evie." He brushed his thumb across her deep red lips. "It is obvious you are truly a beautiful, sensuous woman. Une femme de pet.i.te vertu." She watched his lips form the sound of French poetry without comprehension. "I could promise to never speak of your contribution tonight if..."

"The pound of flesh."

"Literally."

Evie guided Sade into the apartment and immediately into her bedroom, a room draped in black and red with a standing bondage post. A wall rack and padded bondage table were to his right. Upon the opposite wall hung an a.s.sortment of whips, canes in a variety of materials, leather hoods, and on the aluminum table various piercing devices.

"Mademoiselle, the acoustics?"

"Three layers of soundproofing."

"C'est le paradis!"

"...I am in a state of the most violent agitation: I shall not describe the night I pa.s.sed: my tormented imagination together with the physical hurt done by the monster's initial cruelties made it one of the most dreadful I had ever gone through."

Justine.

by the Marquis de Sade.

Chapter 18.

The Vault. Paddles. The h.e.l.lfire Club. Garrett had made his way down to the meat packing district, a part of Manhattan bustling during the day with humans cutting and packing meat and at night with rats licking up the sc.r.a.ps and blood left over from the day.

Garrett took a turn onto a dark side street. A dim streetlamp revealed the presence of a few rats scurrying across the blood-stained surface of the sidewalk. The rodents didn't appear to fear him; they were busy seeking dormant flesh. Uncomfortable with the sight, Garrett stepped down from the curb into the street to avoid confrontation. Once past the rats he stepped back onto the sidewalk. He wanted to find Rapture, the fourth club on his list. Business a.s.sociates had talked about their slumming at s.e.x clubs. Just to watch, of course, they always added. Garrett decided to browse alone in case someone caught his interest. He also left his chauffeured car at home, fearing it would attract attention. If an acquaintance saw him at one of the clubs, he could turn on his machismo att.i.tude and join his friend in having a drink while sharing a laugh over the scene they viewed. He had scanned all the s/m magazines and noticed that several of the clubs were grouped together in Chelsea and the Meat Packing District. Rapture seemed to be the hardest to find.

No one walked the streets. It amazed him how desolate the streets near the clubs were, since the clubs themselves were crowded. He wondered whether an underground tunnel existed, or whether the players never left the scenes.

An oasis of a restaurant appeared in the midst of the sweltering silence of the summer night. A cab pulled up in front of the restaurant, and a man and a woman stepped out. Perhaps they would know. But he hadn't moved quickly enough, because the couple rushed into the restaurant.

He moved closer to the restaurant and peeked in the window. On the inside the restaurant looked like a pretentious diner. Formica-topped tables with chrome-frame metal chairs crowded in on each other, and at every table customers ate their meals elbow to elbow. The young, professional couples appeared to be dressed down in their designer jeans and environmental T-s.h.i.+rts. Several people waited near the door for a table.

Garrett mulled over whether he wanted to go in and ask about Rapture. He didn't. He couldn't say whether his hesitancy was because he didn't want to appear out of the loop in the midst of a crowd that obviously thought they made up the loop, or whether he would be embarra.s.sed if someone did recognize the name of the club.

The people at the table directly in front of the window started waving at him and beckoning him to come in. He knew they didn't want him to join them, since he couldn't have squeezed himself in anywhere at the table. He guessed they felt as if he were gawking at them. When he looked down at the food on the table, he saw what he expected. Meat loaf, fried chicken, and Salisbury steak. Old-fas.h.i.+oned diner food being served up as a culinary experience.

A deep bark distracted him away from the restaurant. A tall, baldheaded man in leather walked his Great Dane. The dog and the man wore matching spiked collars. If anyone would know...

"Excuse me." Garrett approached the stranger. The man's pale blue eyes inspected Garrett's clothing. That day Garrett had worn his undertaker special, a plain black single-breasted suit with a white s.h.i.+rt and a black and white paisley print silk tie. "I wonder would you know where the Rapture Club is."

The man stopped, and the Great Dane sniffed Garrett's crotch.

"Are you a member?"

"I didn't think a person had to be."

"Only for the locked portion of the club."

"So I can get into at least a part of the club."

"Anyone can. Regrettably." Garrett expected the man to sniff, but he didn't. "I should say any male with forty-five dollars can get in. Females, of course, get in free. But you look like you'd like that idea."

Not wanting to antagonize his source of information, Garrett simply asked again for the location of the club.

"You're standing in front of it."

Garrett turned around and peered at the restaurant's window.

"You mean..."

"It's right above Ernie's."

"Ernie's. I take it that's the restaurant."

"Yes."

"And the entrance?"

The man pointed to a fire door nestled in between the restaurant and a packing house.

"Hard to find. There's no name on the place."

"People usually don't need to see the name to find it."

"This is my first time." Brilliant statement, Garrett. He felt the weight of the dog's paw settle on the tip of one of his new Ferragamo shoes. If he pulled his foot away, the leather would definitely be scratched; however, if he waited, his big toe might fall asleep. Brusquely he pulled his shoe from under the dog.

"I'd better get Rin Tin Tin home. He's getting a bit antsy."

Garrett laughed. "Rin Tin Tin?"

"That's right." The man didn't crack a smile, but he continued. "Perhaps I'll see you later." He winked and walked off with the dog.

Garrett went over and knocked on the fire door. It swung open an inch and then all the way.

"Good evening." The voice sounded like a bad impression of Marlon Brando. The body looked like Mr. America on a double dose of steroids, and instead of glistening with oil his body neoned in bright-colored tattoos. "Member or a guest?"

"Guest."

Immediately the man spun around and lifted a xeroxed sheet from the table behind him.

"That will be forty-five dollars, please."