Night Secrets (30 page)

Farouk nodded.

“Which would mean that her daughter's blood …”

“Would still be pure in the eyes of the Gypsy Christ,” Farouk said. He stood up. “I will go with you,” he said.

They hailed a cab and went directly to the Women's Center. It was almost four in the morning, and the front desk was empty. The small lounge to the right was also vacant, except for a single figure who sat, curled up at one end of the sofa, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was smoking a cigarette while she peered out the window, and she didn't bother to look around when Frank walked up to her.

“I need to see one of the women here,” Frank said.

“Go ahead,” the woman answered dully.

“She's on the sixth floor,” Frank said. “You know where the desk clerk is?”

The woman shrugged. “She pees a lot,” she said. “She's probably in the john.”

“Would you mind getting her for me?”

The woman suddenly whirled around to him, her body seemed to grow red around the edges. “Go get her your fucking self,” she screeched. “I'm not your fucking maid!”

Frank stepped back slightly, nearly bumping into Farouk. For an instant, he started to reply, then felt Farouk's hand drawing him away. “No need, my friend,” he said softly. “No need.”

Together they walked to the desk. The desk clerk returned almost immediately. It was Ruth, and she smiled cheerfully as she came down the corridor.

“You're back?” she asked.

“Maybe for the last time,” Frank told her.

“To see Maggie?”

“Yeah.”

She looked suspiciously at Farouk. “Who's he?”

“He works with me,” Frank explained. “On the same case.”

“Actually, I'm with Social Services,” Farouk said. He pulled out one of his fake identification cards. “The woman has been assigned to me.”

“You guys work late, too, huh?” Ruth said. Then she shrugged. “Well, okay, you can go on up.”

They turned and walked to the elevator. Frank stepped in first and pressed for the sixth floor.

Farouk remained silent for a moment, his eyes staring steadily at the lighted number. “We must think a moment,” he said.

Frank looked at him. “About what?”

“We cannot change her, my friend,” Farouk said. “She is still the Puri Dai.”

“What do you mean?”

“To save her daughter, she will do anything.”

“That confession won't hold together, Farouk.”

“Then we must put something in its place.”

“What?”

“Her daughter,” Farouk said flatly. “She would not accept anything else.”

“Do you think she knows where her daughter is?”

“I do not know,” Farouk said. “But if she does, she must tell us.”

The elevator doors opened and the two of them walked quickly down the corridor until they reached Room 603.

“This is it,” Frank said as he knocked lightly.

There was no answer, and so he knocked again.

“She is not sleeping,” Farouk said bluntly. Then he tried the door. It opened at his touch, and the two of them walked inside.

The light was on, but the room was empty.

“Do you think she is gone?” Farouk asked.

Frank's eyes shot over to him. “Right out the front door while the woman downstairs was …”

Farouk nodded. “Yes.”

“So she's out there,” Frank said as he walked over to the window, then peered through its slender metal bars, his eyes moving down toward the darkened alleyway. He drew himself back into the room. Everything in it was completely still except for the small blue note he'd brought her a few hours before. It lay faceup on the small bureau, rocking softy in the same breeze that drifted lazily through the curtains. He picked it up immediately.

“It's in another language,” he said as he handed it to Farouk.

Farouk glanced at the note, then handed it back. “Yes,” he said. “Another language. The Gitano tongue, Romany.”

“Do you know what it says?”

Farouk nodded. “Yes,” he said. Then he told him. “All things remain. It is not you who shuffles the cards.”

Frank took the note from Farouk's hand and stared at the incomprehensible script. “What does it mean?”

“It is the opposite of the Gypsy blessing,” Farouk said. “It means that you do not control things anymore, that your destiny has been tossed to the wind.”

“What would it mean to the Puri Dai?”

Farouk looked at Frank darkly. “That she has failed to change her daughter's fate, to make her daughter's destiny different from her own.”

T
hey walked quickly out of the center, then headed north, up Eighth Avenue. Farouk moved very rapidly, his enormous frame practically bounding along the cement walkway.

“Where are we going?” Frank asked.

“Back to the old woman,” Farouk said. He stopped at the corner of Forty-second Street and glanced to the right, his eyes moving up the neon canyon of porno theaters and burlesque houses. “The Puri Dai could not stay for long on such streets,” he said. “She would be too quickly noticed.”

“Because of her beauty,” Frank said.

Farouk shook his head. “Her dignity,” he told him. He glanced to the left, down the darker stretches of the street, along a seedy tunnel of old slum hotels and cheap diners, and then farther west, to the renovated theaters beyond Tenth Avenue. He drew in a long breath. “The Puri Dai would not think of food or shelter.” He smiled, as if in terrible and enduring admiration. “She would think only of love … and vengeance.”

“So where would she go?” Frank asked insistently.

Farouk shook his head. “I do not know,” he admitted. “But I know how to discover it.” He started moving again, this time even faster, with Frank traveling breathlessly at his side.

They didn't stop until they reached the door of the fortune-teller's storefront. It was entirely dark, but Farouk pounded at the door anyway, slamming his fist into it so hard that the metal grating which covered the adjoining window rattled with the blow.

“Please, madam,” he cried, “I must see you.”

Finally, a light went on in the back of the building, and Frank could hear footsteps moving softly toward the door.

“It is I, Farouk,” Farouk called. “I am in distress. Please, help me, madam.” Then, under his breath, “No questions, Frank. No matter what I say here. Yes?”

Puzzled, Frank nodded.

The door inched open, and the woman peered out. “What do you want?” she asked.

“The other woman,” Farouk said, “the poor murdered one. She read the tarot, and warned me of swirling waters.”

“Yes?”

“And she promised me that I could return to her,” Farouk added. “But now, there is only you, and I … I am a man of substance, madam … you would not regret assisting me.”

“Assisting you?”

“To complete my fortune,” Farouk explained. “I must know my destiny. I know the hour. I will pay you well.”

To Frank's surprise, the door swung open immediately, but began to close again when the old woman spotted him.

Farouk placed his hand against it. “Please, madam. He is a friend.”

The woman looked at Frank darkly. “You came before,” she said.

“But he is only with me now,” Farouk said quickly. “He will not harm you. Please, madam, you must help me.”

The woman hesitated an instant longer, then opened the door and allowed the two of them to pass in front of her.

“Take a seat there,” she said, as she nodded toward the small metal chair and the little table beside it.

“Yes, thank you,” Farouk said. He wrung his hands desperately. “I am sorry to trouble you, but …”

“I understand,” the woman told him. She took a seat on the other side of the small table. “Give me your hands.”

Farouk drew his hands up and laid them down flat on the table.

“Turn them over,” the woman commanded.

Farouk did as he was told, and the woman picked up his two large hands and stared at them closely.

“What do you see?” Farouk asked eagerly.

“A moment, please,” the woman said. She continued to concentrate on the hands while Frank watched her absently, his arms pressed up against the door which led back into the building, his eyes glancing randomly through the red bead curtain that still hung over it.

“You are a man of great troubles,” the fortune-teller said. She lifted her head and closed her eyes. Her voice took on a trancelike monotone. “Great troubles.”

Farouk bowed his head slightly. “Yes, yes. What are they?”

“Problems with health,” the woman said. One eye fluttered slightly. “Your stomach. Your digestion.”

“Oh yes,” Farouk groaned. “It is always hurting me.”

“And with money,” the woman added.

Farouk looked at her worriedly. “Money?”

“You must be careful,” the woman told him. “There are those close to you who would … who would …” She stopped, then lowered her head slightly, staring intently at Farouk's outstretched hands. “Who would betray you,” she said finally. “Who would take from you that which is not theirs.”

Farouk leaned forward instantly. “Who?” he demanded loudly. “Who would do that?” His eyes narrowed menacingly. “A woman? Is it a woman?”

The Gypsy appeared to think about it, then nodded. “An evil woman. She does not serve you as she should.”

“I knew of this,” Farouk said suddenly. His eyes shot over to Frank. “You know who she's speaking of, yes?”

Frank shook his head, bewildered.

“Josephina,” Farouk said. “She is cheating me.” He looked back at the fortune-teller. “That is right, yes? It is Josephina.”

Frank gave Farouk a quizzical look. Josephina?

Farouk glanced at him pointedly, instructing him to go along with the tale. Then he returned his attention to the woman. “It must be Josephina,” he said.

The fortune-teller said nothing.

“Tall woman,” Farouk went on, as if half-crazed with desperation. “Very thin. As they say, a shadow.”

The fortune-teller smiled. “That is the one, yes,” she said. “A woman full of bad feeling, bitterness. In her, all loyalty is dead.”

Farouk looked disturbed. “Loyalty? Is there another man?”

The fortune-teller hesitated again, staring more and more deeply into Farouk's open palms.

“With Gaston,” Farouk blurted. “With Gaston, yes?”

The fortune-teller continued to stare at his hand. “I am sorry. It is not clear who is this man.”

“It is Gaston,” Farouk said firmly. “Believe me. He is the one who has stabbed me in the back.” He shook his head. “And after all I have done for him.”

“Done for him,” the fortune-teller repeated. “Yes, I can see that. You are a generous man. You have done much for him.”

“He was like a son to me,” Farouk told her. His voice grew deep and mournful. “Like the son that God did not give me.” He took out his wallet. “Everything I had, it was also his.” He took out a small stack of credit cards. “See all these things,” he said.

The fortune-teller's eyes shot open. She stared hungrily at the cards.

“Gaston had all of these, as well,” Farouk said bitterly. He swept them from the table in a sudden, violent thrust. “The bastard!” he screamed.

“Do not worry, sir,” the fortune-teller said quickly. She dropped to her knees and began to gather up the cards. “Please, you must be careful with such things.”

Farouk sunk his face in his hands. “Gaston and Josephina,” he moaned. “It is more than I can bear.”

“No, no, you will be well,” the fortune-teller said as she got back to her feet. She plucked Farouk's wallet from the table and returned the cards he'd swept onto the floor. “Do not despair. All will be well.”

“Well?” Farouk groaned. “Never.”

The fortune-teller took her seat again, then picked up Farouk's hands and began to stare at them. “See, see there?” she said after a moment.