We stared for a moment or two. There was nothing else to do. I let myself drink her in. She was beautiful. She wore a heavy yellow terrycloth bathrobe. I looked at the baby, dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. Then looked up. I said the first thing that came into my mind.
"Your picture didn't do you justice."
She pulled the baby close and smiled like an angel.
Chapter 65
Van Reydner was draped across the bed. Smoke curled up from her cigarette. She had placed the baby in a large steel bassinet, which closed up at the top. It would look like a suitcase when fastened that way. I glanced at the baby momentarily-like looking at the Loch Ness Monster, so just a peek-then sauntered over to a mahogany bar. I felt real fear at the apparition. Its pink chubby arms flailed the aroma of sour baby oil around the room like incense. I mixed two drinks. Both were straight whiskey, room temperature. I set my gun on top of the bar and studied Ms. Van Reydner. She did have something in the flesh that a picture couldn't carry. Call it presence: her perfume was sticky with hormones. Call it personality: her eyes seemed to pierce to the very soul when fixed upon me. They moved rapidly, pausing only for the moist and silent supplication, before flitting away like deer. Call it acting: there was something about her mannerisms that seemed practiced-almost overly so. As genuine as they appeared, her gestures were tired. One too many nights in the spotlight. The cynical actress in front of a gullible mob, more concerned with entertainment than art. I had to remind myself to call it sex appeal. She had too much for the average man to resist if he didn't know she would use it on him. No wonder Adrian picked her to work with. That was also something that I had to remember. She was a murderer-at least an extremely guilty accessory.
"Is Richard dead?" she asked, puffing her cigarette with apparent indifference.
"I didn't do it, if that's any consolation." I gave her the hard news over the rim of my glass.
"I suppose he had it coming." Her voice held a noticeable pang of regret. She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"We all do." I peeled my eyes off her with both hands. "Tell me. Did you ever do the killing? Did you ever pull the trigger?" There was a part of me that wanted to believe she wouldn't, but I knew a part of me would never believe a word she said.
"No, never. That's the only reason I ever agreed to work with Richard."
"The siren." The whiskey from the drive had loosened a few screws. "Luring men to their deaths."
"There are worse crimes." She looked at me with a melting pity in her eyes. I wanted to kiss away her pain. "And most of them were bastards."
"If you hadn't turned on me, I could have let you go. I really could have." I shook my head and lit a cigarette. "There has been too much death today. Too much. I'm sick of bodies. There's flesh under my nails and it isn't mine." I took a deep drag. My body throbbed. "At the Arizona, why did you plant the rubber nipple there? If you just wanted to get the competition fighting among themselves, the room and the note should have been enough."
"Richard wanted to make sure that everyone involved, who knew what they were looking for, knew that the baby existed. He said it was a teaser, to get commitment from any of the interested groups. He called you a catalyst."
"If only you hadn't called me into it like that. I could have turned a blind eye."
"Richard made me. He said he'd kill the baby if I didn't help." Terror played across her features.
"You can do better than that…" I said, unimpressed by her act. "I've been flayed today. All the human parts are stripped away. As I came in, you were too happy for a woman who lived with a man who threatens or controls her. I've seen the type, and there's always a frightened timidity behind the eyes that can't be hidden. My vision's clear today. That's what makes it sad."
"But you don't know Richard. He could change in a second…"
"Come on, that's enough…" I cut her off. "The only reason any of these events have taken place is because that baby exists. I find it impossible to believe that he would threaten to destroy the motivation for his actions."
"Then let me go." A shiny tear was forming in the corner of her eye. "Who would you give me to anyway? There is no justice. You know it, and I know it. No law." She cast her eyes down and worried at the cord that closed her bathrobe.
"I guess you were kind of scared after the Billings murder. Adrian said you hadn't checked in. Was that genuine fear or were you contemplating a double-cross?"
"I just left Greasetown for a while. I had to get the baby somewhere that I could take him out of that box. I wanted to take a couple of days to get used to things." She smiled. "You don't think I'd double-cross Richard."
"I'm trying to imagine someone you wouldn't double-cross." She pouted at that one.
"Look," new excitement entered her voice. "You and me are the only ones left, right? We could go anywhere. We could be rich! As it stands, what will you do? Give me and the baby to Authority so that they can exploit the situation? Take it! Or someone else will! You're smart enough to figure this whole thing out. And no one's going to pay…"
"I agree. I'm probably the most cynical character you're going to meet when it comes to Authority. I don't trust it. But, I have this belief system that carries me through times of complete apathy. Of course, the same belief system causes the apathy, but that's beside the point just now. I believe that regardless of how insane something may sound; there is still a good chance that someone is doing it. I'm not explaining myself well, am I? What I mean is, I believe in everything, and because I do, I believe that there really is some justice to be had. It may not come in truckloads, or by the bushel, but there is justice. And while there is, someone will mete it out."
"Like you?" I wasn't certain, but I detected a slight edge of contempt to her tone.
"Sure," I poured myself another. "But there are others. And I'm sure that there are some in Authority. Do you have a phone?"
She seemed hesitant, and then waved a sultry arm to the far side of the bed. "If that other drink is for me, why don't you bring it?" She smiled, showing a lot of teeth, framed by a succulent oval of red. I set my glass down, picked my gun up in one hand and her drink in the other. I walked over to her. She reached out to take the glass, making sure she stroked my fingers as she grasped it. I smiled and walked over to the phone. I dialed the number of the Greasetown Gazette. I had memorized it for just such an occasion. I glanced at a little gold watch on the bedside table. It showed five minutes after midnight. It was the fourteenth of May, spring, and Monday too. Another weekend gunned down.
It rang. As it rang, I watched Van Reydner lick the side of her glass with a serpent tongue. She smiled again, her eyes flashed; then, she giggled. The phone rang. I detected some strange sensations that had very little to do with justice just then. Van Reydner tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and slowly poured whiskey over her tongue as it writhed in the potent shower. Lucky whiskey, I thought. One of her hands came up and loosened the bathrobe ever so much, just enough so she could pour whiskey on her palm and rub a nipple with it. A knee glided out of the terrycloth pulling a creamy thigh after it. All I'd have to do is walk over and take her.
"Hello, hello, come on, is someone there?" I suddenly realized I had been listening to a voice say hello for about a minute.
"Hello," I said while I tried to remember my reason for calling, in fact, I paused and wondered whom I had called.
"Greasetown Gazette, how may I direct your call?" The voice sounded happier.
"Is Mary Redding there?"
"No sir, she's not in the office." A pause. "She's on assignment, but I can get her for you, if you give me a minute."
"Tell her Wildclown is at Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased. He has a story for her. It's extremely important, so if you can reach her, reach her." I hung up the phone, my eyes still staring at Van Reydner. She had slid up onto the bed during my call slipping out of her robe in the process. The material formed soft and enticing manacles for her wrists. Her thighs moved silently together and apart-the skin white as innocence-her bare toes reached out toward me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I noticed she had moved on to treating the whiskey to a ride on her pelvis. A natural red head. At that moment, the baby started crying. Van Reydner was unmoved, and continued the gyrations. There was something wrong. She was trying too hard. She was either trying to catch me quick, or she was stalling.