Kaleidoscope (18 page)

“Tryout time,” said Max, and went out and alerted her cotton-candy neighbor Andy. Once back he said, “Okay, press the buzzer.”

Madame Karitska, still kneeling, did as she was ordered and heard a distant voice shout, “Okay, Max— okay!”

“Very clever,” she acknowledged.

With a nod he said, “There'll be customers for you soon—good luck.” And he strode away, leaving her in a dim tent in which its original occupant had either fled for some unknown reason, or had been kidnapped or murdered. Not a pleasant thought, but bringing out her tarot cards—just in case—she saw that her first customer had arrived, an eager young girl in blue jeans with a knapsack at her back. Her job had begun.

Although the tent was dim the crystal ball picked up what light there was and added sparkle. And people came . . . a whole strata of people came, and she felt at first overwhelmed, accustomed as she was to five or seven clients a day, and discussions in depth; overwhelmed, too, by questions she could scarcely answer without psychometry. The young women and the teenage girls wanted to know if love, a career, a marriage awaited them; the men—but there were few of them—whether a better job could be had, or if their wives were really faithful. Knowing a little of palmistry she began to read palms, and if she found a disturbing lifeline it was easier, given a distinct clue. . . . “You must be more careful of your health; there could be an accident or illness waiting for you in”—frowning—“six or seven years if you do not cut down on stress.”

At the end of the evening, at midnight, she drew a deep sigh of relief, and hung Shana's blue robe on a hook. In the space of seven hours she must have seen over twenty-five people; she had learned how fashionable knapsacks had become, whether leather purses slung over the backs of virtual dowagers, or canvas knapsacks worn by the young—it was not a style that had reached Eighth Street yet—and she had learned how many troubled and confused people there were in the world, but she had learned nothing that could help Max or the police.

Max had summoned a cab for her; she handed him the bag containing the profits from her evening and said, “Any news yet?”

He shook his head. “Not a word.”

The next day was less pressured; calls for an appointment that day she moved ahead a week, and there were only two clients whom she'd been unable to cancel, not knowing how to reach them. She was able to rest, meditate and clear her mind for the work that lay ahead. Pruden called once, to report no progress on finding Shana; he himself was still busy investigating yesterday's robberies but he hoped she was having that pleasant change that she'd mentioned.

She admitted only to its being a change, and did not mention that it had proven unexpectedly demanding after a day with clients of her own.

On the second night, however, she reached the carnival feeling far more prepared and relaxed. The sun was bright, the air was crisp and cool, and arriving a few minutes early, and seeing the merry-go-round halted, she bought a ticket and experienced an exhilarating ride on a black horse that galloped slowly up and down to the beat of “In The Good Old Summertime.” Thoroughly refreshed, she walked to Shana's tent and hung the sign over its entrance. It was five o'clock, and she was ready for business.

After a short wait a young woman peered into the tent, and once assured that it was occupied she entered with a knapsack that she deposited just inside the entrance. “Heavy,” she explained as she sat down across from Madame Karitska to ask if there was a better job in her future. “All I do is file things,” she complained, “but in high school I got A's in shorthand and business.”

Madame Karitska studied the girl's face and then the crystal ball, and at last told her that yes, she could feel her discontent, but within the space of two years she would experience a happy change in her life, but she must be careful about the men in her life until then. Feeling like an utter hypocrite she had to remind herself that she was doing this for Shana as she struggled to find more to say.

When the girl left, Madame Karitska saw that she'd forgotten the knapsack that she'd left at the entrance, and this prompted Madame Karitska to think wryly that if she was this absentminded she'd do well to remain in her existing job.

Two customers later a young man thanked her for her advice and as he left he picked up the girl's knapsack and vanished. She would have run after him and rescued it for the girl but her next customer was already seating herself, a woman whose anxiety seemed to fill the tent as she poured out a story of a husband who beat her, and with tears in her eyes asked if she should leave him when she had no money. In this case, thanks to Jan at the Settlement House, Madame Karitska was able to give her the names and addresses of two safe houses for shelter once she felt strong enough to leave.

There was next a fidgety and very nervous young man in hiking boots, with a knapsack that he dropped at the entrance. Once seated he explained that he'd been offered a guide's job at a state park but he was afraid he'd lose his girlfriend if he should take it. Studying her crystal ball she assured him the experience would be good for him, and a bright future lay ahead, and he left, looking gratified, but leaving his knapsack behind him. Again her first instinct was to call after him, because in spite of the dim light his knapsack remained clearly
there
.

A curious coincidence, she thought, suddenly alert, and determined to keep an eye on this second knapsack so absentmindedly left behind.

Two customers later a stout man in his fifties sat down to quiz her about his wife's faithfulness, and after she'd managed a few predictions, and the suggestion that he send his wife flowers and pay more attention, he nodded politely, rose, and as he left he picked up the knapsack that had been left by the nervous young man in hiking boots. Again she resisted that first instinct to call to him that it was not his knapsack, but another man had already entered, surprisingly well dressed for a carnival in suit and tie, and a vest as well. He was also carrying a small suitcase that he put down beside the entrance, and she eyed this with interest before transferring her attention to this man. He said he
knew
it was nonsense, this fortune-telling, but he was a traveling salesman and did she see in his future a better job than the one where he felt overworked and underpaid.

“I do, yes,” she told him, and after adding reassurances and a few encouraging predictions she waited to see if he carried his small suitcase out with him, but in leaving he ignored his small suitcase and vanished.

This was one too many coincidences for Madame Karitska and this time she rose, left her chair, and brought the suitcase to place out of sight under the table that was so heavily draped in silk satin that it reached the floor.

An hour later a woman with brassy blond hair and a heavily made-up face arrived, wearing a red-flowered knapsack that she left just inside the entrance before seating herself opposite Madame Karitska. She gave her a shrewd but not unkind appraisal. “You're not Shana,” she told her. “She promised me a real flashy guy loaded with cash.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Madame Karitska pleasantly.

She shrugged. “Last week. And he ain't shown up yet.”

Madame Karitska smiled and said, “Ah, but patience is needed; dates are always difficult in the psychic world.”

After Madame Karitska's few remaining words on the psychic world, and much staring into the crystal ball, the woman rose, left a tip on the table and walked out, leaving the bright red-flowered knapsack behind her, at the entrance.

Again Madame Karitska walked to the entrance and brought the red knapsack back to shelter under her table, next to the suitcase. The evening, she thought, had begun to be very, very interesting, and she wondered just who would arrive to retrieve the flowered knapsack, or to leave something else behind.

It was an hour before closing time when a rough-looking man entered the tent and stopped at the entrance, looking puzzled. “Hey,” he called to her, “my wife left a suitcase here. I've come for it. Small brown one.”

If he had asked for the brassy blond woman's redflowered knapsack the suspicions she harbored might have diminished; she might even have given it to him. But no wife had left the suitcase; it had been left behind by the man who had described himself as a traveling salesman and who inquired about his future. Definitely it had been his. She said in a mild voice, “It doesn't seem to be there.”

“You never seen it? A small brown suitcase?”

“It's been a busy evening,” she told him, and with her left foot she felt for the buzzer under the table and pressed it.

He gave her a hard glance and withdrew, but she could hear him talking angrily and loudly to someone just outside the tent. She hoped the next man to enter would be Max or possibly Margolies, but it was instead a stranger, a very confident-looking man in a suit and tie, with a smile that did not reach his cold blue eyes that flicked over her dismissively, as if she were a mere object.

He was followed by the man who had just left. “This the woman, Ben?”

Ben said eagerly, “That's her, boss.”

His boss said in a dangerously calm voice, “So where's the suitcase? You kept it for yourself, maybe? Stole it from Ben?”

“On the contrary,” she told him coldly. “He mistakenly insisted that his wife left it, but it was definitely left by a man.”

“Then you have it here,” he said, and left the entrance to walk toward her. “Where is it? Under that table?”

It suddenly occurred to her that her neighbor Andy could have been too busy to hear the buzzer, and that she was going to be forced to give this man the suitcase. But there was still the knapsack, which didn't appear to concern him, and she said quickly, to prevent his seeing the knapsack, “I'll get it for you.” Moving the chair away from the table she knelt down, lifted the satin drape, pushed the knapsack farther to the rear, pressed the buzzer a second time, urgently, and dragged out the suitcase, at which point he gave her ankle a savage kick. Unable to stand up, her ankle throbbing, she had to watch him take possession of the suitcase.

“It isn't yours,” she told him angrily. “It's you who's stealing now.”

“One more insult, lady,” he said, “and I'll give you a hell of a slap.”

“I wouldn't do that, Bodley,” said a wonderfully familiar voice, and stumbling to her feet Madame Karitska gasped, “Pruden—thank God!”

The man called Bodley pulled an efficient-looking pistol out of his pocket and pointed it at Pruden. “I've never liked you, Lieutenant, and I'd really love to pull the trigger and shoot—and nobody'd hear it with all the noise outside.”

Madame Karitska sighed. She abhorred violence, but obviously this was a time to put aside her scruples; she reached for the crystal ball, and since Bodley's back was turned to her she took several steps toward him, lifted the crystal ball, and shattered it over his head. He fell to the floor, leaving Ben to make small whimpering sounds of protest at seeing his boss unconscious.

Pruden said incredulously, “Neat work! My God, you saved my
life
!” To Margolies, who had just caught up with him and was entering the tent, he said, “She knocked him out, bless her. Can you believe it? Watch Bodley will you?” and as Max followed Margolies into the tent he turned to Madame Karitska. “What was going on here? What brought Bodley here?”

She said unsteadily, “I think I've found how they do it. This tent has to be a dropoff for
something
. . . knapsacks left at the door, picked up later by someone else, a sort of relay system to throw you all off the trail. Mr. Bodley was after this suitcase. There's a knapsack, too. You really think you'll find drugs?”

“I don't expect Barbie dolls,” growled Pruden, and then, “Damn, this suitcase is locked. You say there's a knapsack, too?”

She returned to the table and drew out the knapsack. Pruden, keeping an eye on Ben, unzipped it and brought out one of many neatly wrapped white packages, and with his penknife slit a hole from which he drew out a handful of white powder. “Heroin,” he said. “Top quality, too. The best. Margolies, handcuff Bodley before he regains consiousness.”

“His feet are moving,” pointed out Madame Karitska, with a nod to Bodley.

“Thanks. You have something to gag him with, Margolies, so he won't tell us what good lawyers he has, and how this is police harassment?”

Margolies brought out a handkerchief and stuffed it into Bodley's mouth. “Sorry, Jake,” he said as a startled Bodley opened his eyes. “You'll have to breathe through your nose now.” And to Pruden, “So what's in the suitcase? You broke the lock?”

“I think we've got cocaine here. Between the two of these I'd guess we're looking at a million dollars' worth of the stuff.” To Max he said, “Clever, weren't they?”

Max shuddered. “Clever enough to have ruined me.”

Bodley, inert but conscious, made strangled noises of protest. Looking down at him Pruden said, “You realize, Bodley, the minute you claimed the suitcase, and with three witnesses, you've been caught at last . . . ?
Very
conclusive evidence, but it would go a hell of a lot easier for you if you tell us now what you know about Shana's disappearance,” and removing the handkerchief stuffed in the man's mouth, “We'd like to hear about that.”

“You can all go to hell,” Bodley told him furiously.

“Oh, I doubt that, I doubt that,” said Pruden. “Book him, Margolies.”

Together Margolies and Ben pulled a groggy Bodley to his feet, and one on each side of him, they escorted him out of the tent.