Heller (18 page)

I pointed at
Neil. “You! Back off slowly into that corner.” Surprisingly, he did
what I’d ordered. “I’m going to ask Lily to get off the bed and
come closer to me. Okay, Neil?”

He nodded, but
brandished the knife again, as if afraid I was going to rush him.
He had a crazy look in his eyes that I didn’t recognise, but knew
it spelt danger.

Neil had all
the power at that moment, so I addressed my comments to him. I
could see that Lily was superficially unharmed as she scrabbled off
the bed and stood behind me.

“Okay Neil,
why don’t you tell me in a calm way what’s going on? You seemed as
though you were having a pretty good time till now. What’s gone
wrong?”

He pointed the
knife at Lily. “That crazy bitch is trying to kill me!” he shouted,
spittle flying from his mouth.

Lily scoffed,
her arms folded under her small breasts, one hip cocked forward
aggressively.

“You dumb
fuck!” she spat out scornfully. “I told you I didn’t want to kill
you. I just wanted to cut you a little.”

I twisted her
way, incredulous. “What the hell, Lily? What do you mean you wanted
to
cut
him? You can’t go around cutting people.”

She licked her
lips. I noticed the crazy look in her eyes too. Damn. They’ve been
doing drugs. I quickly searched the room and noticed a baggie of
powder on the bedside table.

“I only wanted
to taste his blood.” She licked her lips again.

“I told you! I
told you!” Neil exploded. “She’s a crazy bitch! Keep her away from
me!”

“Oh man, do
you know how stupid that is, Lily?” I ranted. “You don’t just suck
people’s blood, especially a prostitute’s blood! He screws men,
Lily! Probably without protection. Do you want to catch a disease?
Do you want HIV? Or hepatitis?”

“Hey!” Neil
protested. “I’m an escort, not some cheap street whore! I’m clean.
There’s nothing wrong with my blood.”

“I paid for a
party boy and he wouldn’t party,” Lily pouted.

“You paid for
his body, not for his blood!” I screamed at her. “If you wanted
blood, you should have agreed upfront and paid extra! Or found some
weirdo vampire hooker.”

I’d had enough
of this and turned back to the knife-wielding man. “Neil, here’s
the deal. I’ll keep her away from you. You drop the knife on the
bed, pick up your clothes and you and your buddy get the hell out
of here. Have you been paid?”

He nodded his
head. “She paid in advance by credit card. It comes up on her
statement as ‘personal grooming services’.”

“Good. Okay
then, leave the knife on the bed and scram.”

He paused for
a moment, watching me with suspicion, but then slowly placed the
knife on the bed and snatched up his clothes, edging out the door.
I quickly secured the knife and stood aside to let him leave.

“Hold it,” I
demanded, and walked over to the baggie. I picked it up with the
edge of the sheet. I wasn’t getting my fingerprints on that. I made
sure it was secured and tossed it to Neil. “Here’s your tip.”

“Hey! I paid
for that!” Lily screeched. “That’s my shit! You are not giving it
to that motherfucker!”

I stared her
down. “Either you donate it or I flush it. Understood? You want to
go to jail?” I waved Neil away and could hear him and the other man
dressing hurriedly, before slamming the door behind them.

Lily plonked
down on the bed, her face sullen. “I was wrong about you. You’re
nothing but a fucking bore. Get me some more champagne,” she
ordered.

“No. You’ve
had enough. You’re going to bed,” I snapped back, reaching my
breaking point.

“Fuck off,
bitch!” she snarled and lunged at me. We tussled for a brief moment
and she spat in my face, her saliva dripping down into my eye,
disgusting me and blinding me temporarily. She snatched the knife
off me, and before I knew what was happening, sliced me down the
soft flesh on the inside of my left forearm. Blood spurted
instantly from the wound. She dropped the knife and quickly grabbed
my arm, bringing it to her lips and sipping on my blood.

I pushed her
away violently in revulsion with my other arm. She fell back
heavily against the wall and slid down, sprawling indecently on the
floor. She was laughing and laughing, my blood staining her lips
and teeth and trickling down her chin. I wrapped my injured arm in
the first thing I found, Lily’s discarded micro-dress, trying to
stem the rapid flow of blood, thinking a little hysterically that
it didn’t matter if I bled on the dress because it was already
blood-coloured. Lily suddenly stopped laughing, rolled over on her
stomach, pushed herself up onto all fours and started vomiting onto
the carpet. When she had finished, she fell face first onto the
floor into her own vomit. I almost cried in despair.

Somehow I
managed to rouse her, stand her in the shower to clean her off and
get her dried. I ignored my wound, which was still bleeding and
throbbing badly. I didn’t know what she’d taken, probably coke, but
put her into bed in the recovery position so she wouldn’t choke if
she threw up again. I’d not even bothered trying to get her to
drink any water. She was almost unconscious and fell into a heavy
sleep the minute I dragged her onto the bed. I cleaned up the vomit
as best I could and resigned myself to paying through the nose for
the extra cleaning that would be required.

At that
moment, I hated that woman sleeping on the bed, but it was my job
to look after her. I had no choice but to sit on the bedroom chair,
determined to stay awake until she woke safely and I could take her
back to her husband. I felt lightheaded, but wasn’t sure if it was
from the lack of food, loss of blood or complete emotional and
physical exhaustion. I slumbered fitfully in the chair. The room
smelt awful, an overpowering mix of vomit, alcohol, lubricant and
sex, but I couldn’t leave her alone. I longed to ring Heller, but
was afraid I was too emotional to speak professionally. I was also
afraid to admit to him that he had been right and that I hadn’t
been able to handle the situation properly. I didn’t want to be
fired for screwing up my first real assignment.

At midday,
Lily woke up, groaning and clutching her stomach. I struggled to
assist her to the bathroom, where she vomited repeatedly into the
toilet bowl. I watched her dispassionately before helping her into
the shower again. I could hear my phone ringing, but I was fully
occupied at that moment and concentrated on getting Lily cleaned
up. We re-dressed her in her modest clothes and she greedily gulped
down a bottle of cold spring water. We didn’t speak to each other
once. I didn’t even want to make eye contact with her.

I packed up
all of her belongings and shoved them carelessly into her oversized
handbag. My arm was still bleeding and I swapped the sodden
micro-dress for one of her head scarves as a dressing. I didn’t
know what to do with the blood-soaked dress, so shoved it in the
bottom of the rubbish bin, covering it up with the other detritus.
I pulled my shirt-sleeve down and gingerly put my jacket on,
needing to look respectable until I could get home. I went into the
bathroom and was shocked to see how pale and drained I appeared.
Makeup couldn’t completely disguise it.

We caught the
lift to the foyer and I made her sit down while I checked out. I
paid the bill and advised the clerk that my friend had been ill in
the bedroom and that extra cleaning would be required.
Professionally trained for all situations, she didn’t even blink.
She ordered a cab for us and it arrived in less than ten minutes.
Lily spent the cab ride leaning against the window, green with
illness. We finally arrived at her suite at the luxury hotel, where
the servant greeted us at the door anxiously. Fortunately I had
rung him last night to advise him that Lily wouldn’t be home, but
was staying with me instead.

“Mr Hayek has
advised me that he is on his way back now,” he told us, before
noticing how sick Lily looked.

“Mrs Hayek is
not feeling well,” I said, stating the obvious. “Stupidly, we
bought a kebab to eat from a sidewalk vendor after we went to the
movies. She’s been sick all night. She was too sick to bring home,
so that’s why I took her to my place which was closer.”

“Tilly warned
me not to get the chicken kebab, saying it didn’t look cooked
enough. But I didn’t listen to her. It smelled so delicious,” Lily
piped up weakly, clutching her stomach again. I had to admire her.
Even feeling like death, she rose to the occasion.

“Oh, you poor
thing,” fussed the servant.

“I’ll put her
to bed,” I said to him, “and you should call the hotel doctor to
come and examine her. Just to make sure she’s going to be okay.” He
rushed off to the phone while I took off Lily’s shoes and scarf and
settled her in her enormous king-sized bed. I brought her a cold
bottle of Perrier and sat on the regency winged-back chair to wait
for the doctor. She bustled in, gave Lily a cursory examination and
pronounced her dehydrated, but otherwise on the mend. She left a
prescription for a painkiller and advised Lily to rest and drink
water regularly.

While the
servant set out to have the prescription filled, I waited in the
bedroom with Lily in silence. She sat up, wincing, and looked at me
remorsefully.

“I’m sorry
Tilly,” she apologised. “Things got a bit crazy last night. I can’t
really remember much. Thank you for getting me home safely.”

I glanced at
her and then looked away. I wasn’t in the mood for chatting. My arm
was throbbing painfully and I badly wanted to go home. The servant
and Mr Hayek returned at the same time. We went through the dodgy
kebab ruse again for Mr Hayek’s sake and I returned Lily to his
care. I made a hasty farewell and headed down to the foyer.

I was about to
give Rumbles a call when a cab pulled up at the front of the hotel
to deposit a passenger. I jumped inside and asked to be dropped off
a block from the Warehouse as Heller instructed I must always do.
He didn’t like to draw any kind of attention to his premises. After
paying the fare, I walked the remaining distance, quietly letting
myself into the building. Dragging myself wearily up to the fourth
floor, I prayed that I wouldn’t meet anyone on the way. I was on an
emotional tightrope and didn’t think I could hold it together for
much longer. I didn’t want to answer any questions or speak to
anyone. Not now. Later, when I felt better. Maybe.

My flat was
cool, fresh and welcoming after the sordidness of the evening’s
activities. I fell onto my lounge, too exhausted to move, cradling
my wounded arm against my chest. Blood was tricking down my arm,
dripping onto my lap, smearing across the front of my shirt. My
beautiful new clothes were ruined. I needed food, I needed a
shower, I needed sleep and probably I needed some medical
attention, but I could only sit there staring down at the carpet,
my mind blank. I’d never been through an experience like that
before and my emotions were see-sawing between anger, pain and
shock.

There was a
loud knock on my door. Someone had noticed me arrive home on the
security cameras.

“Go away!” I
yelled tiredly. Another knock. I ignored it. And the next one, and
the next one. I heard fumbling at the door and Heller walked in
uninvited.

“Matilda,” he
admonished. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to contact you
for hours. It’s simply not an acceptable way to –”

He stopped
abruptly when he saw me. I hung my head, not wanting him to see the
fat tears that were trickling down my cheeks, dropping onto my lap
to mix with my blood.

“You’re
injured,” he exclaimed softly and crouched down on the floor in
front of me. I couldn’t look at him. He gently took my arm and
pulled it away from my chest, carefully unwinding the saturated
scarf dressing. He said something under his breath in another
language when he saw the knife wound, wadded the scarf and placed
it on top of the cut.

“Hold that
there for a moment,” he ordered and reached for the phone, punching
in numbers. “Daniel? Get the doctor over here urgently. Matilda has
a knife wound. We’re at her place.”

He went into
my bathroom and came back with a clean towel. He threw the scarf on
the floor, uncaring of the mess and replaced it with the towel,
pressing down firmly on the wound. It hurt like hell.

“Please don’t
be angry with me,” I begged. I knew I’d totally stuffed up my first
assignment and didn’t want him to berate me about it.

His expression
was tormented. “I’m not angry with you, Matilda. I’m angry at
myself for sending you into a dangerous situation without proper
training or equipment. But I’ll save my questions for when the
doctor is here,” he said and I nodded gratefully. I didn’t want to
explain everything once, let alone twice.

It seemed like
forever until Daniel arrived accompanied by a trim, florid, elderly
man with an enormous gray walrus moustache and narcissistically
bouffant gray hair. He introduced himself as Dr Kincaid, no first
name offered. Daniel told me later that he was Heller’s on-call
private doctor. He was a no-nonsense, unchatty man who examined me
in a gruff, business-like manner. As he did, I briefly noticed
Daniel hovering on the edge, a nervous expression on his face, his
body tense.

“When did this
happen?” the doctor asked, checking my vitals.

“About eight
hours ago,” I replied weakly.

Heller was
exasperated. “Matilda, why didn’t you ring me for help?”

“I couldn’t
leave Lily. She was unconscious. I had to get her back to her
husband safely. And then I just wanted to get home.”

“I could have
helped you with her. Or at the least I could have called Dr Kincaid
to see to her. And to you.”

I looked up
him, tears welling in my eyes again at his fractious tone. “I
didn’t know that. I didn’t know you have a doctor. You didn’t tell
me.” I couldn’t confess that the reason I dealt with it myself was
because of my huge fear of being fired again for failing at a
job.