Coven (9 page)

“
The address is here. It’s
about fifteen minutes off campus, a fourth floor apartment,
nice place. Lease expires September first.”

Jervis cleared his throat. “You got a
schedule on the guy?”

“
He works out regular at
Brawley’s Gym, ten until three every day. I got a look at the
sign in sheet.”

“
What else? I need
more.”

Czanek had more, plenty more. “He picks the
girl up at six every night. They eat out, go shopping, like that.
Then he brings her back to his place, or they go to hers.”

Jervis lit another Carlton, finished the
first beer, and started the second. Czanek’s three day
surveillance was exemplary—it drove Jervis’ despair to new heights.
He’d asked for it, though. He’d asked for all of it.

“
He’s been in the States
two years, got his citizenship right away. Two vehicles in his
name, a Porsche 911 and the white van. He buys a lot of stuff for
the girl. There’re some Xeroxes of his credit card invoices. He’s a
big spender, and…”

“
What, Mr.
Czanek?”

“
There’s one more thing I
don’t think you want to know.”

“
What?” Jervis repeated.
“I’m not paying you to be my shrink.”

Czanek removed some papers from his sports
jacket. “These are some additional credit card invoices. Lots of
jewelry purchases and restaurant tabs from the same places on the
invoices there.”

Jervis looked at the invoices in the folder.
They all had recent dates. “What’s the difference between these and
the invoices in your hand?”

Czanek hesitated. “The invoices in my hand
go back six months.”

Jervis stared.

“
Six months, Mr. Tull. I’m
sorry to have to tell you that.”

Jervis wanted to die. She’d
been dating Wilhelm six months before she even broke up with
Jervis. Behind his back for
six
months.
Jervis felt minuscule in his seat,
blackened by a shadow more vast than all the broken hearts in the
world. He must seem pitiful.

He took out his wallet. “A hundred fifty per
day, right?”

“
That’s right, plus
ex—”

Jervis gave him six hundred. “And keep the
retainer for expenses.”

The money disappeared into Czanek’s jacket
like magic. He left the folder and invoices on the table. “Thank
you very much, Mr. Tull. You have my number in case there’s
anything else I can do.”

Anything else.
Jervis was staring. “What else
do
you do?”

Czanek leaned forward. “Let’s just say that
my services are not exclusively limited to the parameters of the
law.”

Jervis didn’t quite know
what to say.
What am I
thinking?

“
I don’t kill people,”
Czanek said.

Had that been what Jervis was thinking?

“
And I don’t break legs.
I’m a P.I., not a thug. Besides, I’d have to be out of my mind to
try anything against that meat-rack. However, there are some things
I can do that you might be—”

“
I want something…close,”
Jervis said. “I want—”

Was Czanek smiling? “You want a bug in her
place.”

A bug?
Jervis wondered. “Keep talking, Mr. Czanek.”

“
I got a great little
wireless crystal, eight hundred foot range. Only problem is it
runs on a battery and the battery only lasts ten days. The crystal
costs a hundred bucks, I charge five hundred to put it in and three
hundred for each battery change. I’ll only change batteries twice,
then I’m out. Too risky.”

Ten days? That was plenty of time. That was
his whole life.

“
You can find guys who’ll
do it cheaper, but not better.”

Jervis nodded. He wasn’t
about to go hunting in the
PennySaver.
“I don’t have a key to
her dorm anymore, but I got a funny feeling that you’re not
particularly troubled by the inconvenience of locks.”

“
Don’t worry about locks.
Does she have a burglar alarm?”

“
No,” Jervis
said.

“
Then anything she’s got on
her door I go through in two seconds.”

“
When’s the soonest you can
have it in?”

“
Tomorrow night,
max.”

Jervis passed him six more
hundred dollar bills. “Do it,” he said.

««—»»

Jervis drove half drunk back to campus. His
arrangement with Czanek would only lead him to further despair, he
realized, yet he looked forward to it, as a masochist looks forward
to the whip. It didn’t make sense. Why was he pursuing this?

His driving began to falter. The yellow line
looked like a smear to oblivion. His thoughts spoke to him like an
alter ego, a secret sharer of despair.

I’m crazy,
he thought.

Of course you are,
his thoughts answered.
You’re an English major; English majors are crazy to begin
with. It’s all that existential shit they made you read, all that
Sartre and Hegel—what a pile of crap. You took it seriously,
Jervis, you thought it would save you. Jesus Christ, you’ve become
obsessed with this girl. Private investigators? Bugs? It’s crazy.
Your love has made you crazy.

“
I know,” Jervis whispered
to his id. “I’m crazy, and I still love her. What am I going to
do?”

The black thoughts seemed
to snicker.
Kill them,
they said.

“
Kill them?”

Kill them. Then kill yourself.

««—»»

Wade’s first day as toilet
cleaner proved as expected: shitty. His clothes reeked of mop
water; it permeated him. Back in his dorm room, he turned on all
the lights and the TV, let the room surround him in familiarity. He
sat on the bed with a bottle of Samuel Adams lager, pushing the day
and its myriad toilets from his mind. He needed mirth, he needed
cheer. The TV picture formed, a cable flick called
The Louisiana Swamp Murders.
Raving toothless hillbillies chased topless blondes through
the bayou with hatchets.

So much for mirth.

At least the day was over. He hit the Play
button on his answering machine, hoping more girls had called, or
friends, or anyone to make him feel better. Instead…

Beep:
“Wade, this is your father. Call home at once.”

Oh, no,
Wade thought.

Beep:
“Wade, this is your goddamn father. I know you’re there;
you’re probably sitting on the fucking bed with a beer right now.
Call goddamn home at once or you’ll be goddamned sorry.”

Wade dialed the phone in slow, comatose
dread.

“
Hi, Dad. This
is—”

“
I know who it is, goddamn
it. What the hell are you trying to pull down there? Three traffic
tickets? On your
first
day back?”

Wade flubbed. “How did you find out
about—”

“
Dean Saltenstall told me
all about it.”

Wade seethed.
Why that blue blood no dick piece of
garbage! So help me, I’ll—
“Dad, I can
explain.”

“
No, you can’t. There’s no
excuse for irresponsible shit like this. You’re supposed to be
shaping up, not fucking up.”

“
Really, Dad,
I—”

“
Heed my words, son. You’re
at the end of your own rope. One more fuckup and you can start
packing for the Army.”

Click.

Nice talking to you
too,
Wade thought.

There was a knock at the door. Tom entered,
dressed for town and bearing a bottle of Spaten Oktoberfest. “Hey,
Wade. Here’s an old one. Carter walks into the White House
groundskeeping office. He’s holding a pile of dogshit in his hands,
and he yells, ‘Goddamn it! See what I almost stepped in!’”

“
That’s the worst joke I
ever heard. Anyway, dogshit, bullshit, it’s all the same to
Republicans. They’ve got plenty of both.”

Tom stopped midstep, sniffing. “What’s that
smell?”

“
I don’t smell anything,”
Wade lied.

“
Smells like that stuff
janitors use to clean toilets.”

“
Don’t worry about it,”
Wade said. “We partying tonight?”

“
Of course.” Tom looked at
the TV and frowned. Inbred psychotic bumpkins were yanking the
pants off a bug eyed blonde. “What’s this? A new campaign ad
for the Democrats?”

“
No, it’s the reruns of the
last Republican Convention. Don’t you remember?”

“
Hey, I’m laughing… See if
you can drum up Jervis for tonight. I haven’t seen him all day.
And… Jesus, that smell’s really strong. You been cleaning
toilets?”

“
I’ll tell you about it
later,” Wade balked. “Much later.” If anybody—
anybody
—found out he was cleaning
toilets for minimum wage, his reputation would be…flushed. “I need
some time to get ready. Meet me at the inn in an hour.”

Tom nodded, sniffing, and
left. Wade finished his Adams and dropped the bottle into the trash
compactor. The sound of it being crushed made him picture
himself
being crushed by
Dad, the dean and Besser. He quickly gathered his shower gear, but
stopped. On the TV a girl with large breasts was being dismembered
by an obese, drooling slob in overalls. Wade grimaced. Whatever
happened to happy movies? He knew it was only the power of
suggestion, but the grimy hillbilly madman on the TV screen bore a
distressing resemblance to Professor Besser.

—

CHAPTER
8

P
rofessor Besser!
The name screamed in
her head.

Had she been sleeping? Penelope wasn’t sure.
Nevertheless, the image remained, crisp and bright as neon. The big
face in the moonlight… It was the last thing she remembered before
blacking out—being carried into the woods by…Professor Besser.

She pressed against her memory. What had
happened?

The power failure. The stables and…my God,
the ax! The horses!

She remembered escaping, but she hadn’t
escaped, had she? She’d made it to the car, but before she could
drive away—

There’d been someone in the car, hadn’t
there?

Someone waiting.

The woman,
Penelope remembered.

Something clicked, a snap like a tiny bone.
Then the rest of the memories siphoned back into her head.

—
Hello, Penelope,
the woman said.

“
How do you know my…” but
Penelope’s words languished. Her hand never turned the ignition.
The woman was looking at her now, and all Penelope could do was
look back.

—
You can help
us.

The woman was dressed in black, a black cape
with a hood. The hood made the woman’s face hard to see. Oddest of
all, she wore sunglasses in spite of the night.

—
Don’t be afraid. I want
to be your friend.

Within the drooping hood, details of the
woman’s face seemed to shift beneath a fine blur. Her skin was
vibrant white, bloodless.

Penelope didn’t understand anything now.
There was only this. “What do you want?” she peeped.

—
We want you.

At once Penelope was drowning in her whole
life. Tears came. All she ever wanted was to be cared about, to
be…wanted.

The woman’s luminous smile
eased close.
—You’re very special,
Penelope. I can show you how special you are.

It was something like credence, an awareness
rather than a conclusion. It would be wonderful to be special, to
be loved.

—
Love.

The woman touched Penelope’s cheek. The warm
hand seemed to seal the promise of trust.

—
I’ll protect you,
the woman in black promised.
—I
have something to give you,
something you’ve never had before.

Penelope’s whole world now was the woman’s
touch. The warm white hand began to probe her breasts. The
sensation was delicious. But what had the woman said? Something to
give her?

—
Destiny.

“
Wh what?”

—
I can show you destiny,
Penelope. I can show you love.

“
Show me,” Penelope
moaned.

The woman’s blurred face hovered close. The
scarlet lips parted. The mouth opened wide, full of teeth like a
dog’s.

««—»»

Tom poured the Spatens with the exactitude
of a master. “We’ll give Jervis an hour. If he doesn’t show, we’ll
split.”

Wade nodded. No one could remember seeing
Jervis all day. Wade had a bad feeling.

“
You’re worried about him,”
Tom commented. “You don’t believe he’s over this Sarah thing even
though he said he was.”

“
Well…”

“
You think he’s gonna lose
it, shoot himself, or climb to the top of the WHPL tower and do a
double gainer.”

Could he picture it? “It’s just not like him
to disappear.”

Was he being unreasonable? He couldn’t cast
off the gut feeling, the presage that Jervis’ emotions were too
rampant for his selfhood. How close was he, really, to cracking
up?

“
Hey, Wade. Here’s an old
one.”