I looked at his thin face, animated by avarice. I let go of his wrist. He wouldn’t run now.
“So where’s my money? I told you-”
I opened the pouch and took out two denarii. “Here. You deserve a tip. But don’t talk about lead so much around strangers. It might give people ideas.”
His eyes opened, and so did his mouth. I plonked the coins on the table and walked away.
Grattius and the mine. Faro and the mine. Now Bibax and the mine. Another web-and it stretched across the town.
* * *
Thunder drowned out the pounding on the door. I tried again. Sestius lived in a quiet town house, not too far from the baths. Convenient when you wanted to roll out of bed for a massage and some wine, and then roll back in it for a three-way poke.
Even the doorknob smelled like sex. Large and small pricks made of terra-cotta hung from strings in the entranceway, either as good luck or an advertisement. Or maybe a want ad.
I knocked again. Eventually feet answered on the other side, and it opened. The face was middle-aged and sullen, and beyond that I couldn’t tell.
“Yes? What do you want?”
“Sestius. Is he at home?”
It looked at me again and squinted, and then a flash of lightning made it squeal, and it tried to shut the door on my foot.
“Julius Alpinius Classicianus Favonianus. I’m here on the governor’s authority.”
My Roman name was long enough to frighten everyone but the bureaucrats. The face looked up to see if it could see rain. Maybe it hoped I’d melt.
I wedged my knee against the thick oak. “I said the governor’s-”
The door flung open suddenly. The face belonged to a small man with sallow skin and an equally bilious expression. He was holding on to his stomach as if he were afraid it might run away. “Wait here. I’ll announce you.”
I smiled nastily at him to prove how important I was. He clutched his midsection harder and scurried down a dark corridor to the right.
The foyer was covered with sea paintings and various naked sea nymphs, who had somehow lured five satyrs underwater without drowning them or diminishing their erections. A chair and table were new, expensive, and poorly made, the cheapest kind of the latest fashion. An empty pedestal stood against the wall, missing its god.
I was trying to figure out what one of the satyrs was doing to one of the nymphs when Stomach Ache walked back in. “This way. The master will be a few minutes.”
He showed me into an inner room, furnished with the same kind of material. Lots of reds and browns, with garish highlights to make the paintings look more “real.” There were gaps in the arrangement: empty display shelves, a missing dining couch. Sestius was running out of money. He would never run out of bad taste.
I sat on one of the couches and felt something hard. Reached underneath the cushion and pulled out a leather dildo. I decided to stand up. I walked around the circumference of the room a few times until I got bored. Then I got angry.
I headed down the corridor the servant came from. I figured the bedroom would be at the end; they usually were. And I figured the bastard would be in bed.
Stern portraits and busts sculpted in a severe style lined the passage, wrinkling noses at their wastrel heir. I reached the end of the hall and looked at the door. To knock or not to knock? I decided to kick it open.
A huge round bed filled the room. On top of it was a man about twenty-five, flabby in the middle with a jiggly ass, sleeping heavily on a woman with enormous tits. He was using them as pillows. She was awake and still, staring at the ceiling, an expression of profound disinterest on her face. Until I walked in.
She prodded Sestius with her knee and tried to cover herself, though I wasn’t sure there was anything in the room big enough. She hissed at him. “Sestius! Wake up! Wake up, goddamn you!”
Footsteps outside. More servants. I slammed the door behind me. The woman succeeded in rolling him off of her and onto his back. He was naked, and the reason for her ennui was obvious.
She swung her legs over the side of the mattress, clutching a small blanket. “Who are you?” She said it as if she didn’t expect much.
“My name’s Arcturus.”
The eyes got interested. “The one who found the dead guy?”
I wondered which one she meant. “Yeah. I’ve got some questions for your boyfriend.”
She looked bored again. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She saw my raised eyebrows. “I mean, not regular. Once in a while-when he buys me something…”
She left it in the air as if I might make an offer.
“What does he buy you?”
“Dresses. Jewelry. He bought a cow for my father once. He’s a cheesemaker.”
With a prizewinning milker for a daughter. “He still buying?”
She shrugged, and the blanket slipped. She let it dangle a little more than necessary before pulling it up again.
“Not so much. Shoes and perfume. Says there’s no more money.”
“Did he say why?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “He said somethin’-somethin’ in his sleep. Somethin’ about a payment. Owes people.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Don’t ask. I just let him do what he wants, and he takes care of me.” She gave me a quick appraisal and a longer preview of the merchandise. “You got money?”
“Not enough for you, honey. And I’m not in the market to buy. No offense, of course.”
She shrugged again and this time stayed covered. “None taken. You mind if I get up and get dressed?”
“You mind if I walk to the other side and slap that bastard awake?”
She giggled and stuck her hand underneath the covers looking for something to wear. She pulled out a transparent sheath, then took it and herself to the corner of the room. I took myself to the other side of the bed, where Sestius was lying spread-eagled and snoring.
On a small table beside him was a jug. I looked inside. Still some wine left. The girl turned around to watch me.
It rained and spattered all over the pillows and into Sestius’s open mouth. He started to choke and sat straight up. He wasn’t used to the exercise.
I slapped him in the face. I was getting tired of slapping people. He rubbed his eyes, coughed some more, shook his head like a wet dog. Groped for a blanket or sheet and whimpered. The girl was laughing. I was still standing. I wasn’t going to sit on the bed.
He stank. Rich food, rich wine, rich sex, night after night. It oozed from his pores like sweat. His eyes were as small, soft, and red-rimmed as the rest of him. “Wh-who’re you? Whaddya want?”
“To talk to you. Your slave left me in the dining room too long.”
He pulled the brown blanket up to his chest. Even his breasts sagged. “Whaddya wanna talk to me for? I don’ know you.”
I glanced over at the Farmer’s Daughter. “Honey, why don’t you go on outside? He’ll need you again when we’re through.”
She looked disappointed, and the bored expression came back. Her shoulders slumped underneath the tight tunic. “He needs something, but it ain’t me. Be seein’ you. ’Bye, Titus. Don’t forget to send the cloth you promised.”
Panic over losing his pacifier. “Wait-Hortensia-”
She slammed the door on her way out.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me, fully awake. “Who the hell do you th-”
I slapped him again, a little harder. “Call me a friend of your aunt’s.”
His pale flesh froze like a fat cut of meat on a slab of ice. “M-my aunt? W-what about my aunt?”
“Maybe you have more than one. I mean the one you had murdered.”
He stopped breathing for a few seconds, and I was worried that I’d accidentally killed the bastard. A few brisk thumps on the back and another light slap on the face brought him back. He started to cry.
“S-she was gonna die-I swear on Jupiter-she was gonna die anyway, and I-I didn’t want her to suffer-”