Mother Love's low voice, Eddie Mae's faith in her, the sticky heat—they all combined to make Eddie Mae drowsy. She watched sleepily as the Mother washed a rope of black and white beads in the blood, didn't protest when she folded the sticky strand into her hand.
"Take those to Tyrell," she ordered. "Put 'em on him. Don't let no one take 'em off. They got Babaluaye's power now. You take 'em offa him, I can't tell what'll happen."
Eddie Mae's chins waggled their understanding. Mother Love barked, "That'll cost you two hundred dollars, Eddie Mae. And cheap at that."
"Lord, don't I know it."
Eddie Mae pulled a wad of wet, crumpled bills from her cleavage. She smoothed them out against her thigh, laying them gently, one by one, into the Mother's bloodied palm.
15
Driving home one late night, Frank had heard a telepathic spy on a talk show share his vision of the world's end. He saw the jet stream swooping down close to earth and wreaking havoc with agriculture. He predicted mass starvation, particularly in Third World countries. Even more gruesome, he warned that as this time approached, it would be heralded by an unprecedented number of children killing other children.
Reading the Los Angeles Times, she wondered if the end was indeed nigh; the Santa Anas had been bellowing wildfires for a week, and another high school kid had decided to settle a pubescent score by shooting half his classmates and a teacher.
Sprawled half naked on a chaise lounge, Frank found the almost empty Corona in the chair's shade. The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the news was always bad. World without end, amen, Frank thought, but if it ended today she was going out a happy woman.
Dinner was ready—pink shrimp in avocado halves, sliced ruby tomatoes from the farmer's market, fresh bread from the Old Town Bakery, all accompanied by an icy bottle of pale Fume—and Gail would be here any minute to share it with her. Frank shook the newspaper into place, amazed she'd actually admitted to, and accepted, being happy.
She came in from the patio for a fresh beer, just as Gail burst through the front door. Her entrances were fast, breathless, and usually scared the shit out of Frank.
"Hurricane Gail has made landfall," she greeted.
"That's me," the doc laughed. "All awhirl to see you."
Gail dropped her fat briefcase onto the tile floor and hurled herself at Frank, who found the doc's physical enthusiasm as unsettling as it was charming. In her office or cutting in the morgue, Gail's passion for her work was obvious, but she maintained distance from the cops and detectives she worked with. Maybe because she'd never thought to, Frank had unwittingly bridged that distance. She'd accepted Gail's friendship, and then diffidently, her courtship. Frank's hesitance wasn't related to Gail, but rather to her own doubts about being a lover again.
There'd been the fling with Kennedy but that was just what it was—a fling; something they had both needed at the time, but which was never meant to last. It felt different with Gail. Less urgent, more thoughtful. She felt like she wanted Gail rather than needed her. That was reassuring, in that it lulled Frank into a sense of control over her emotions.
They cooled off later in the shower, still unwilling to part. Wearing only loose robes, they ate the plump avocados on the patio and satisfied the last of their hungers. Settling into one of the side by side lounge chairs, Frank poured the last of the wine, luxuriating in the peace that comes with perfect satiation. Gail's hand rested on her thigh. Frank stroked it, asking, "Think you'll get to the Colonel tomorrow?"
"The Colonel?"
"Lewis's slit throat," Frank reminded her. "I know you're back-logged. Just curious."
"Ahh, right," Gail nodded dreamily. "Barring any unforeseen disasters, we'll probably get to him tomorrow. I can't cut him for you though. I have to chain myself to the desk in the morning, then have lunch with Sartoris, and there's the Health Department meeting after that. Isn't your Colonel just a slice and dice?"
"Don't know."
Frank explained about Mother Love, after which Gail murmured through her drowsiness, "She sounds nasty. You should be careful."
"Don't tell me you believe in that sort of hocus-pocus."
"Well, I do."
Frank waited for the punch line. When it didn't come she craned her head to see if Gail was joking.
"You serious?"
"I just think you should be careful. You could be getting into something much bigger than you think."
Frank laughed, "You sound like Jill. She's terrified of all that mumbo-jumbo. Me? I'm pretty confident I can hold my own against an old woman with dead cats and graveyard dirt."
"Laugh now, but still, watch your back. Let's go to bed."
"Wait a sec. You're a medical doctor. A rational, twentieth-century woman trained in scientific method and you're telling me you believe in the Psychic Hotline?"
In a fairly decent Jamaican accent Frank imitated the TV commercial, saying, "Call now, fuh yuh free readin'."
Gail scowled. "All I'm saying is that if someone's truly intent on hurting you, they can. That's all."
"How do you figure? Mother Love's going to make a doll with blonde hair, dress it in a miniature Armani suit and stick pins in it?"
"Who knows? Not that the pins in the doll would work but the intent she harnesses might."
"I'm not tracking."
"All I'm saying is don't be too cocky. There's energy in the world —some of it's positive, some of it's negative—and I think it can be channeled for good or bad purposes."
"So you think she can put a spell on me? Turn me into a toad?"
"Don't be silly. I just think she can tap into negative energy and apply it with mal intent. Good God, don't we see enough of that every day?"
"I don't think what I see on the street is evil. I think it's stupidity. People get carried away by greed and jealousy. Anger. They're not evil, just ignorant. Or chemically imbalanced." She shrugged.
"What about a guy like Delamore?"
Frank flinched at the name, but quickly rationalized, "He's not evil. He's sick. He didn't develop normally. At some point kids learn compassion, but if they're never taught it, then they grow up to be quote/unquote evil. I think what you call evil is a profound developmental and/or physiological failure. The Delamores never learn how to relate to anyone other than themselves."
"Do you deny that evil exists?"
"Why do I feel like I'm being cross-examined?"
"Do you?"
Concealing her exasperation Frank answered, "Yeah. I don't believe Satan's sitting in a fiery cave at the center of the earth eating lost souls any more than he's hangin' out at the corner of Florence and Normandie."
"Do you deny the existence of good?"
"Yeah. Good is just like evil. If a child is treated well, and taught goodness, then he or she grows up to do good things. They get perks and rewards and feedback that encourages the positive behavior just like a neglected child creates the sick perks and feedbacks that keep him in his loop. It's all they know. Nice, not nice, it's all learned behavior."
Gail swung her feet off the lounge chair to turn and face Frank.
"What about kids like that eleven-year-old who disemboweled his baby sister? By all accounts he came from a wonderful, loving home."
"Organic," Frank explained, tapping her temple. "Something didn't come out right as he was developing. The right gene didn't get turned on. Or off."