Down in the Zero (33 page)

"How does she know…that Charm is crazy?"

"
I
told her. Charm never wanted me to treat her—she had her own agenda. Still, she wasn't a difficult case to diagnose. Classic. She doesn't see people as people—they're just objects to her. Things to be rearranged, like furniture."

"Why did you let someone like her into your life? I mean, she's got some hanky–spanky films of you, so what? You're not running for office."

"I told you…it's nothing like that. I first met her as a patient. She self–referred. I probably wouldn't have seen her personally, but Cherry asked me to. My profession is founded on secrecy—I figured it out—Cherry wanted to learn Charm's secrets…through me."

"Did you?"

"Oh yes. At least I thought so. Charm is…capable of anything. Anything at all. She has no superego at all, no moral controls. She doesn't
feel
anything. Inside or out. Her pain threshold is incredible. I saw her once, right in this office, I saw her hold a finger over a burning match until I could smell the flesh burn. She never changed expression."

"You were afraid of her?"

"Everybody's afraid of her. She is a person utterly without limits."

"A lot of crazy—"

"Charm is not crazy, Mr. Burke. She's well oriented in all spheres; she has excellent reality contact. She's not psychotic…"

"Just dangerous."

"Yes."

"Dangerous enough to kill?"

He got up from his desk, walked in tight, agitated circles, dry–washing his hands. I watched his walk, timing my voice so it hit him as he circled just in front of me. "You remember the tape I just showed you, doctor? Diagnosis is your business. The question for you isn't whether Charm's dangerous, it's whether the man I just showed you is. The man on the tape. There's only one way out for you now."

He reached inside of himself, got a grip somewhere, sat back down. "She killed her father," he said. "Maybe her mother, too. I don't know that for sure, not about her mother, but she has the…knowledge to do it."

"Was that revenge? For the incest?"

"You know about that? How could… she would
never
tell anyone.

"She didn't. I put it together. From other stuff. Stuff Fancy told me."

"It wasn't for revenge. At least I don't think so. He was in the way, her father. That's what she said. That's all it takes. For Charm, that's all it takes. She told me… all about it. Sat right where you're sitting and laughed about it—she knows all about doctor–patient privilege—I could never testify against her."

"So you thought I was working for her? I was here to blackmail you?"

"I guess I expected it. I've been expecting it for years. I was trying to…protect someone."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. I'm going to tie up all the loose ends, or I'm not. If I don't, you can talk to Blankenship."

"Blankenship?"

"The man on the tape," I said. "Diandra's father. You don't believe me, check your own records."

He didn't say anything for a minute. I waited. Like Blankenship was waiting.

"Randy," he finally said. "She said she'd destroy him. I know she had a… relationship with him. When he was just a boy. I got her to promise to leave him alone."

"And she did?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I probed it fairly deeply. When he was in treatment with me. For a long time. He's very close to working it through. Once he finds something to connect with…"

"He already has," I said. "But what's the kid to you?"

"He's my son," Barryrnore said, meeting my eyes for the first time. "When Cherry wanted a child, she didn't want to go near a sperm bank—all those stories about tainted blood. Looks as though she was right too—look what's happened since. Bad screening for HIV. And that doctor who used his own sperm on dozens of his own patients. She was afraid. So I…did it myself."

"And Charm found out?"

"Yes. I don't know how, but she did. She swore she'd never tell, if only I'd…"

I stood up. "The experiments are over," I told him. "Charm's out of business.
Your
business, you go and do what you want with it—it's not my problem. This cost me and my associates a lot of money. You have to make it good. But it's a one–shot tap—I won't be back."

"How much do you—?"

"Half a million. Cash. It's a small bite—I got a good idea of what you all take in with this operation. You'll get a call—somebody'll be using my name. They'll make all the arrangements for the pick–up. You keep nice and quiet, so do I. You say one word, to anybody, and the list gets into circulation. Then people will die…and they won't go alone, understand?"

"Yes."

"Don't say one word to Charm. Not one word."

"I understand."

"Doctor, listen to me now. I'm going to walk out of here. And out of your life. You pick up that phone, it won't help you. You swallowed some poison—I'm the antidote. Got it?"

"Yes," he said, head down, looking at his desk.

I
drove the Lexus away from the grounds, feeling Blankenship's thermal track all over my back. I kept driving all the way to his house. Parked in his driveway and waited.

He was maybe fifteen minutes behind me. We went into his house. I almost didn't recognize it—the dump I'd seen before was transformed, as poison–neat as a monk's cell.

"It's not Barrymore," I told him. "I've got it down to a short list now. Few more days, couple of weeks at most. I'll be in touch."

"Take your time," he said. "Be sure."

H
alf a million was just the right amount. Enough so Barrymore would think it was the score of a lifetime for a small–time operator like me—not so much that he might think about other alternatives. I drove straight into the city. Told Mama as much of the story as she'd want to know. Michelle would make the call, get Barrymore to come into our territory with the money. Check into a hotel, go out for a walk. The Prof would do the rest. Very simple.

"Gems worth much more," Mama said reproachfully.

"Smooth is better," I told her.

M
ore calls. More arrangements. More deals.

"I need the Plymouth," I told Sonny.

"Sure. You want me to drive?"

"No, it's just a pick–up. I'll be back tomorrow."

"You want me to keep looking after Fancy?"

"No. She's going with me. But, Sonny, if Charm comes around, tell her that. Fancy went someplace with me. Nothing more. Got it?"

He nodded.

I
made another call from a pay phone. Listened to the arguments, ignored them.

"Where are we going?" Fancy asked, squirming around on the Plymouth's front seat.

"To pick up my girl. It's not far."

"Your…girl?"

"Shut up, Fancy. You like to play at being a bitch—you're about to meet the real thing."

I
t wasn't a long ride. Elroy's shack up in Dutchess County hadn't changed…maybe it sagged a little more. I pulled into the yard just as one of his pit bulls charged the car, running right up on the hood to glare through the windshield. Elroy came out in a minute, shambling forward, his prize beast on a chain. Barko, a white demon with a black patch over one eye.

I cracked my window carefully. "I came for my dog," I told him.

"Hey look, man, she never got pregnant. I mean, she won't even
tie
…even when she's in heat. I think maybe she's gay. But I got an idea. I know this vet—"

"Now, Elroy. She's coming with me now. Call off your mutts." As soon as he gave the signal, I stepped out of the car, crouched, cupped my hands, shouted "Pansy! Come here, girl!"

The monster cranked around the corner of the house like a rhino on methedrine, pounding toward me, ears flapping, huge mouth open, yipping like a pup. She piled into me, knocked me over, stuck her enormous snout in my face, nuzzling, tail wagging out of control.

"Pansy! Good girl! You look great!"

She finally let me up, running around in circles, a hundred and forty pounds of joyous muscle and bone.

"Pansy! Jump!" I snapped at her. She hit the ground prone, waiting. I opened the back door of the Plymouth, made the hand signal. She piled in. Saw Fancy on the front seat, parked her massive head on the seatback, drooling. I made a signal for "friend" and she growled happily. Fancy was rigid, eyes huge.

"This is my girl," I told her. "Pansy. The world's finest puppy, aren't you?" I said, rubbing the back of Pansy's neck.

"What
is
it?"

"Pansy's a Neapolitan mastiff. The best, sweetest, most loyal dog in the whole world."

Pansy growled agreement. "Go ahead and pat her," I said to Fancy. "She's cool."

Fancy gave the dog a halfhearted pat. Pansy immediately licked the entire side of her face in one huge swipe.

"Eeewww!" Fancy responded. I couldn't tell if she was happy or disgusted.

"You ready to do what I asked you?" I questioned Elroy.

"Okay, man. But look…"

"We'll talk later," I told him, gesturing for Fancy to come over to me.

We walked into Elroy's shack. It was all set up, the assortment of working tools I'd told him to buy on a flat table next to a chair. I sat on the couch, told Fancy to come to me. I pulled her across my lap, lifted her skirt, pulled the hem of her panties toward the center of her buttocks, off one cheek. "Right there," I told Elroy, pointing.

The tattoo needle hummed as Elroy did his work. He'd never done one before, but he had world–class hands, a master engraver, specializing in commercial artwork—stock certificates, bearer bonds, twenty–dollar bills…

Fancy lay still for the whole thing, holding my hand.

"Looks pretty good," Elroy said, admiring his work. "It'll probably scab up—better keep the bandage on for a few days. And try to stay off it."

"Thanks," I told him, helping Fancy to her feet.

Elroy walked over to the driver's window. "Look, man, I'm telling you—"

"It's not gonna happen," I told him. "You'll have to find some other way to breed your super–dog. The experiment's over.

I
stopped at a deli, left Pansy and Fancy together while I went shopping. Back at the apartment, I dumped a quart of chocolate chip ice cream into a giant mixing bowl Fancy brought over from the big house. I added a couple of pounds of gingersnaps, all crumbled up for a topping. Pansy watched the preparations, her eyes screaming with desire.

"Speak!" I told her. She hit the mixing bowl like a jet–fueled battering ram. Fancy watched, transfixed, as the huge dog made the whole concoction disappear.

"God!"

"Yeah. Isn't she beautiful?"

"I never saw anything like it."

"I had her with Elroy, that guy you met? He was gonna breed her, but I guess it didn't work out. But now she's back with me. Back home, right, girl?"

Pansy put her head in my lap, making her downshifting–diesel noise of contentment as I scratched behind her ears.

T
he next night, in the apartment.

"You ready?" I asked.

"Yes." Fancy was nude again, standing in the high heels, the white bandage stark against her right cheek. She bent over, dialed the phone.

"Charm? I'm back!"

…

"No, it's perfect. You were right. I'm really
out
now."

…

"No, he went off somewhere. I'm not allowed to move from the corner where he put me. He's…perfect, now. That's why I called. I want to…give him something. He's really into it now, the scene. He wants to do a double. The whole thing. Over the barrel. I have to bring him … another slave. I mean, maybe I don't
have
to, but it would be—"

…

"Yes! Do you think Sybil would—?"

…

"Really? Charm, you'd do that for me. Oh, that's perfect. Can I—?"

…

"Okay. It has to be late, though. He's not ready for a group thing. After it closes, all right?"

…

"And I'm in charge, Charm. You might have to really take it. He's—"

…

"Oh, that's great. Thank you so much. I'll see you."

T
he parking lot at Rector's was dark. A little past four–thirty in the morning. The white Rolls was the only car there, standing right next to the back door. I pulled Fancy's NSX in next to it.

She opened the door and we stepped inside. Fancy unzipped her dress. Underneath, she was wearing her domina outfit—all black leather—restraining, displaying, threatening. Her spike heels clicked on the floor as she walked over to the cabinet just past the long bench. She came out with a black whip, a cat–o'–nine–tails with a short stock.

She walked beside me, flicking the whip lightly against her hip. All the way down the hall to a room with a red door. I started to reach for the handle. She pulled at my hand, pointed to the back of her thighs, nodded emphatically. I took the whip she handed me, watched as she bent over, cracked it across the back of her muscular thighs a few times, more sound than fury, being careful to stay away from the bandage. She let out a moan, turned and winked at me. Then she took the whip from my hand and opened the door.

Charm was sitting in a straightback chair, facing the doorway, dressed in a schoolgirl's sailor suit, blue top over a white pleated skirt. She had on the Mary Jane shoes with straps, plain white socks. Her long hair was combed into pigtails, each one anchored with a white ribbon. Right out of the fetish catalog.

I nodded at Fancy. She stalked over to Charm, every scene–freak's fantasy, the domina turning submissive, following orders. Turning the tables.

"You're a bad, disobedient little bitch," she said. "Aren't you?" Charm hung her head.

"Answer me when I speak to you!" Fancy snarled, grabbing Charm's hair, pulling her face up.

"Yes," she said, looking just past Fancy's hip, catching my eye, in control. That's how she thought this was going to end…with a cluster fuck.

"Yes what?" Fancy demanded, slapping Charm hard across the mouth.

"Yes, mistress."

"You know what happens to bad girls?" Fancy said, slapping her again.