Chapter Eight:
I was still waiting by the car for Alexandria and Gina, when a started backing out of the two Winters garages. It was an expensive car, a really expensive car, German made and black as moon covered night. Who do you think was driving this car? None other than Sonny Winters himself. I was prepared to let him pass by me unnoticed, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to start something up with me again.
“Are you still here?,” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m waiting for hell to freeze over. I’m just standing here watching the house, waiting------.”
“This isn’t a game Caterski.“
“I didn’t say it was.”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“Physically, you mean?”
“Is there another way?”
“Mentally, emotionally, psychologically.”
“My memory isn’t what it used to be. Could you do me a big favor and tell me all of the cases where someone was prosecuted for mental murder? Why don’t you go home and accept the fact that there is no case here. You’re playing a game you just can’t win.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a game.”
Winter’s hands wrapped tighter around the steering wheel and squeezed themselves into a tight, white knuckled grip. By the look on his face, I believed him to be fantasizing about wringing my neck. He was deep into this fantasy until I brought him out of it by kicking the front passenger door. Winters jumped as if he’d been zapped with an electric cattle prod. A quick smile touched my lips.
“You were off in la la land,” I said.
“You’re the expert on la la land. You’ve lived your whole life there.”
“Not all of it. Just enough of it to get me from one day to the next.”
“Poor Caterski. He tries so hard, but he just can’t seem to get anywhere. He has his own rules, but he just can’t get anyone else to play by them. Not the rich he despises, not the poor he admires. Poor, poor Caterski.”
I was smiling. At the time, I didn’t know why. It was a smile filled with menace and the thought of revenge. My subconscious was obviously up to something, but hadn’t let my conscious in on it yet.
“I’m telling you,” he said, “no good can come of this for you. The more you pursue this, the more uncomfortable it’s going to get.”
“You’re repeating yourself again. You really should stop doing that.”
“You don’t understand the gravity of what I’m saying.”
“You’re wrong. I know exactly what you’re saying. I have ears. I can hear. You know people. You know people who smoke cigars in darkened rooms. Evil people for whom no act is too vile, too degenerate, to walk away from. People without one microscopic piece of humanity or conscious.”
‘You’re babbling Caterski.”
“So, you’re threatening me, is that it?”
“I’m not threatening anyone. I’m-----.”
“Cautioning me.”
“Right.”
“You’re concerned about my health.”
Just then Alexandria and Gina came out of the house. Gina, walking slightly out in front, was talking to Alexandria in a loud, angry voice. Alexandria, a step and a half behind, stared at the ground and gave nothing except indifference to anything being said to her.
“Look Winters,” I said, “two more members of your fan club are coming to see you.”
“What?” He couldn’t see Alexandria or Gina. I was blocking his view.
“Alex and Gina. They’re headed this way. Oh, and Gina looks like she’s in the mood to snap someone’s neck.”
“Where? Where? I can’t see a thing. You’re blocking my view.”
“You couldn’t see if had maps, a compass, binoculars, and arrows pointing the way.”
“Bullshit. I have perfect vision.”
“Perfectly selective.”
“I’ve got to go. I’ve already wasted too much time talking to you.”
“What about my time?”
“What about your time?”
“Doesn’t it count?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a nobody.”
“And you’re a somebody.“
“Right.”
“A rich somebody.”
“An unbeatable combination.”
“So, time is only precious for people with big wads of cash stuck up their ass.”
“Go home, Caterski. Go home and give up this investigation. You’re a loser. Go home and lose.”
“Winters, when this is all over, we’re all going to lose.”
Then, without another word between, Winters puts up his window, turns the stereo on high, throws the car inrto gear, and starts to drive off. My car keys are in my hand. Somehow, just then, the keys gain a life of their own. They jumped forward and bit into the passenger side door. By the time Winters had pulled fully away, there were a pair of long jagged scars covering most of the right side of his very expensive German made car.
“Naughty, naughty,” Alex said in a voice of subtle playfulness.
I turned halfway around to answer her and saw her leaning on the passenger side of the car. She had her back to me.
“How long have you been standing there?,” I asked
“Too long.”
“Facing that way?”
“Yeah.“
“Where’s Gina?”
“The back seat. I think she’s thinking up new ways to murder her brother-in-law.”
I walked slowly toward her and she, in response, turned slowly around to face me.
“And maybe me too,” I said.
“Just because she cracked you once in the face.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Something to do with Donna.”
I tossed her the keys to the car.
“You drive.” I said.
“Is that an order?”
“Get in and drive Alex. And don’t ask any more questions about Donna and me. Not today.”
With a quick, upward glance she looked at me with a registered and restrained acceptance. She let the matter drop. I knew she was pissing mad at me though. She was as mad as a backed up wolverine in fear of its life. She believed my not opening up about Donna was my simple revenge for her not opening up about her drinking, She could’ve been right about that. Hell, she probably was right.
I could’ve been trying to get even with her and not even realized it. Or maybe I had realized it and just wouldn’t admit it. Revenge, after all, doesn’t have to be obvious, violent, and full of murderous intent. There are many different types of revenges with smaller, subtler, less physically destructive natures. Natures that exhibit themselves every day against people you care deeply about, people you want and need in your life, and people you‘d even give up your life for. Like Alexandria now, or Sarah and Shelley in the past. Or maybe even----.
Alexandria had just turned away from me when it started to rain. A heavy rain. Not a cats and dogs kind of rain. No, this rain was heavier than that. More like horses and buffalos. Hoping to avoid a thorough soaking, Alexandria ran around the front of the car and got into the car and out of the rain in three seconds flat. Me, I didn’t give a goddamn about getting out of the rain. I just stood there for about thirty seconds or so, then calmly walked over to the driver’s side of the car and tapped on the window. Alexandria slid the window down halfway.
“What’s wrong with you?,” she said.. “Get in the damn car. Now!”
“Give me your gun.”
“What?”
“Give me your gun.”
“What the hell for?”
“I’m not getting the car until you give me your gun.”
Confused but compliant, she reached under her left arm, took out the gun and handed it to me. I took the gun from her, thanked her, pointed the gun in the air, systematically fired off the entire clip. I then got in the car, gave her back her gun, and closed my eyes before she could examine me with a cold, impassive stare. I waited for her to say something. Anything. A scold of some kind. A good, old fashioned ‘What the fuck is your problem’ or something along those lines. Alex didn’t say anything like that. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. Instead, it was the ever judgemental Gina who spoke up instead.
“A pervert, a pagan, and a lunatic. A real triple threat.”
Sliding easily into the world of dreams, I ignored Gina’s insult and fell fast asleep. Alex, bless her, took my part and defended me. How do I know? My tape recorder was on the seat between us and still running.
“We can drop the case right now,” Alex said.
“But I paid you all that money.”
“You paid? I thought you said it was your sister’s money”
“It, it was Donna’s money. I just meant----.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know what you meant. You don‘t like the company you‘re keeping Gina Wilson, goddess of purity and light.”
“That is not I meant.”
Alex may have turned to look at me at this point. I don’t know for sure, but it seemed like a logical conclusion given what she said next.
“Can’t you see he’s all twisted up inside. Or haven’t you noticed? Or have you ever noticed anyone beside yourself.”
“He’s a-----.”
“He’s been good to me. And good for me too.”
“Good for-----.”
“All you want to see are his faults.”
“Well, he’s got----.”
“I’m telling you Gina. He’s unique. The good kind.”
“How is he different than any other kind of man?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll tell you.”
“You have one minute, starting now.“
“Wise ass.”
“You just wasted two seconds.”
Alex grumbled a little under her breath, then fell completely silent. She was thinking. Time passed. Fifteen seconds. Thirty seconds. Forty five seconds.
“Okay,” Alex said, “I have an answer for you.”
“Well?”
“His eyes. That’s what’s different about him. His eyes.”
“His eyes?”
“Yeah.“
“What about them? They’re brown just like billions of other people in the world. So what?“
“Look inside them.”
“I have.”
“No, you haven’t. All you’ve looked at is the surface.”
“Blah, blah, blah. You’re talking jibber jabber.”
“Look inside his eyes damn you. Then you‘ll see.”
“See what?”
“Everything.”
“What exactly is everything?”
“The whole wide world.”
“Bah, you’re playing word games. It’s something both of you like to do. But I have no taste for it.”
“No skill at it either.”
“Go to hell. I told you. I’ve seen his eyes. There’s nothing special about them or him.”
“Is it that you can’t see or don’t want to?”
“Maybe you see too much. Things that you want to see, but aren’t really there.”
“No, I see it because it’s there.”
“And why can’t I see those things.’
“Simply because you don’t want to.”
“Really! Then if you’re so good seeing things, you must’ve seen that you’re in love with him.”
That pointed accusation not only killed their conversation, but it also buried any desire to talk to each other for the rest of the day. I, of course, hadn’t known at the time what had caused this mutual agreement not to speak to each other. I didn’t find out to the following day when I played back the tape.
Anyway, when we arrived home my mood was as black as the back end of a three mile cave. I was in a rare mood to get good and goddamn drunk. I had a bottle of Jamaican rum(the dark stuff) in my liquor cabinet that had barely been touched. I pulled out the bottle and poured myself a quick drink. Alex stared for a minute or so, studiously searching my face for answers. At first, she thought I was acting out some sort of sick joke.
Soon enough, she realized I was as serious as a man could be. I was tired, cold, angry, heartbroken, and depressed all at the same time and all to an alarmingly high degree. I was, as they say, in a bad, bad way. I knew it. And looking at me in a close extended way, Alex knew it too.
“You’re going to feel guilty about this later, you know,” she said.
“I know, I know.”
“And do you know why?”
“Because I’m encouraging you to drink, instead of trying to talk you out of it.”
“Well, I’m telling you, you shouldn’t feel any guilt. It’s not your fault if I drink. It’s mine, all mine. You have no say in whether I drink or not. It’s up to me. Not you, me.”
“Yeah, I know. Still I-----.”
“Listen, we’re both going to drink. Why not together?” Drinking alone is hell. I know. You don’t want to drink alone.”
“I haven’t got drunk in a long, long time. I barely drink at all, but there are at least seven different storms flaring up inside my head right now.“
“And if you don’t find shelter?”
“Then they all might come together and kill me.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.“
“Then let’s find shelter together.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you can go back to being yourself.”
“Which is?”
“A godless, perverted, lunatic.”
We both laughed.
“Somehow that sounds better coming from you,” I said.
“Maybe that’s because you’re in-----. Maybe that’s because we’re such good friends.”
“Is that it?”
“What else could it be?”
I got the rum, Alex got the amaretto and the two of us sprawled out on the living room floor and drank. And drank. And drank some more. With each drink, the storms raging inside my head calmed. For a brief time, all of the torment was dead, buried, and forgotten. But this alcohol induced state of existence didn’t last long. It couldn’t have been more two hours after I’d gone to sleep when I began to dream. A strange dream.(Of late there had been no other kind)
It was cold. Seven different kinds of cold. I was clothed, but not enough to protect from the bitter, swirling winds blowing in from the west. I was down on my knees looking for something. I don’t know what. Then it began to snow. The flakes weren’t white as normal flakes are. These flakes were black. Then I saw that they really weren’t flakes at all.
They were leaves. Leaves from thousands of dead withered roses. Black roses. Then the petals came down. Dead petals. Dead petals and dead leaves were pouring down on me as if to cover me completely and bury me alive by sheer relentless volume. I tried to stand, but my normally powerful legs wouldn’t support me. My entire begins shaking uncontrollably. There is a presence hovering over me. I look up.
I see a small winged shadow pass over my head again and again and again. There’s no body to see. Only shadow. With each pass, the shadow drops lower and lower to the ground. This thing, whatever it is, has come for me. My body is now shaking in equal measures of cold and fear. Again, I try to stand. I want to run, run like a frightened cheetah fleeing a pack of pursuing hyenas. Again, my legs fail me.
I am weak. Too weak to stand and flee. So, I crawl. Yes, I crawl. To where, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m crawling. Crawling, crawling, crawling away from this shadowed thing that’s pursuing me. What is this thing? What, in the name of life, is it? What is this thing that’s pursuing me?
I still can’t see it, but I know it’s there. Yes, its there. Terrifying. Terrifying not just it’s there, but also because there’s nothing I can do to make it go away. I am helpless. I can’t wish it away. I can’t reason it away. I can’t curse it away. There’s no physical strength left in me to fight it. I can’t think clearly. I can’t think at all. There’s no way out. There’s no chance of escape.
I reach out a blind hand, but there’s no one there to take it. My eyes and head are heavy, weighed down by some crushing unseen force. I can’t keep either of them up. I haven’t the strength to even do that. My head is the first to fall, dropping down on the hard, ungiving ground. My eyelids, like a pair of heavy marbled mausoleum doors, slam shut. My searching hand is still airborne, flinging wildly about and waiting vainly for someone to take hold of it and take me far from harm’s way.
I realize, in time, what has come for me. What has stalked me with a firm emotionless indifference. Death. She’d arrived by way of a team of smelly, half blind, ball less old dogs. This description came, as she stood over me, from Death herself. In came in a colorful, darkly humorous fashion.
She’d just arrived on the scene and she, being Death, wanted to say something profound. To her, saying something profound was a part of the job. A necessary part of her daily comings and goings. She couldn‘t come for someone and not say something profound. It just wasn’t done.
Every time she opened her mouth, though, the dogs would interrupt her train of thought with a mixed chorus of whines, barks, and howls. These interruptions went on for quite some time. Longer than I could’ve possibly measured laying on the groundin a cold, nearly comatose stupor. Death was, to put it mildly, a little upset.
“Goddamn you dogs! Here I am, Death herself, and look what I am forced to tolerate. A bunch of smell, half blind, ball less old dogs dragging me through the coldest, snowiest hell on earth. And for what! A pathetic loser of a Polack detective. Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, and Vishnu. I have had it! I am not hauling this son a bitch’s carcass anywhere.”
“Do what you want with him,” she said to the dogs. “You mangy, four legged excuses for transportation. Eat him, lick him, hump him, or piss on him. I don’t care. I’m leaving. Do you hear! I’m leaving without him and without you. Goodbye and bad luck to every damn of you. That includes you too Caterski. If somehow, you still happen to be breathing.
Then death, full of prideful indignation, turned on her heels and left. At first, her steps were heard easily, crunching into the thinly sheeted snow with extreme and bitter force. The steps die quickly in my ears and the only sounds left to my ears were noises made by the pack of dogs. The damn things were sniffing me, damn them. Were the animals hungry I thought? I hoped not. How recently had they eaten? Had Death purposely starved them? Maybe they’d sniff me, decide they liked what they sniffed, and make a raw, hearty meal out of me.
Would I feel it if they did? Or were my legs to cold even feel being eaten?
Hell, did I even really care if they ate me or no? Somehow managing to open my left eye a half an inch, I saw the dogs. I watched them as they circled slowly around me. Soon af ter, it became easily apparent, that the dogs weren’t going to eat me. Why? I don’t know why. Maybe eating human flesh is against their religion. Maybe the were some sort of strange breed of wild vegetarian dogs. Or maybe it was simply a digestive problem. Maybe humans were just too hard to swallow.
Do you want to know what those dogs of Death actually did do? They pissed on me, that’s what. They pissed on me until their bottomless urine wells ran dry. After that, they laid down and went to sleep. Snoring all the way too, the smelly, half blind, ball less little sons of bitches.
I woke up then and the strange dream of Death and dogs ended. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep the rest of the night. So, I dug out an old book and spent the rest of that early morning reading. Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’. Appropriate choice, I thought. I read the entire book straight through without pause. And when I was done, I shut off the light, laid in the dark, and waited for the rise of another morning sun.