Orfeo (13 page)

“Good, good, I’m glad to see it.” Earl’s eye was glittering as he looked down at the three women still lounging casually on the sofas laid out in the room. One of them was particularly stunning, with big tits and a waist that narrowed ridiculously before flowing into wide, sensual hips. Her skin was like chocolate honey and he remembered fucking her just a few nights before. What was her name? Danielle? Was that it? He couldn’t remember her real name, not that it mattered. He was slightly more perturbed by the fact that normally, whenever he saw her, she gave him a boner that could raise a man from the dead but tonight there was nothing. His smile, when he looked at her, was feral and she glanced up at him nervously.

“You girls make sure to show... to show...” What the fuck was this guy’s name? “our friend here a good time. I’m sorry for busting in on you like that and all,” he continued, one arm around the muscle-bound singer’s shoulders. “As I said, I just wanted to check everything was okay. Now you go ahead and enjoy yourself: these ladies have some very surprising things that could make a sinner of any man. Snake and I’ll make sure no-one else disturbs you.”

Glad to leave behind the mini-Sodom he had prepared, Earl led Snake through to the next room. Here the artist’s entourage was waiting and the three, hulking men looked in shock as Earl entered the room. One of them unconsciously fumbled at his side for a gun, and Earl couldn’t resist a gleeful smile at this useless gesture: the only guns allowed in
Hades belonged to Earl’s men, and even then they were rarely required. There were plenty of other ways to dispatch unwanted company.

“Fellas, fellas,” he said graciously. “I was just checking in on our friend, making sure he’s having a good time.” He winked in a pantomime manner and the attitude of the three guards relaxed slightly. “Now, you just make sure to order all the drinks you need. I can send some girls up for you as well if you’d like. Or boys, if the fancy takes you that way.”

“You calling us faggots?” one of them snarled, a meathead who wasn’t worth Snake’s little finger.

I’m calling you a walking-dead assfucked queer nigger faggot, you piece of shit, Earl thought, his smile not faltering for a second
. Instead he accentuated the good ol’ southern boy drawl he used when he wished to gloss over his falsehoods. “Not at all. Just tryin’ to make sure you all enjoy yourselves. Now, me and my friend here have to do the rounds. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

His breath came shuddering out of him as they left the room and stepped into the main arena. Noises pulsated loudly around him, a throb that fed through his stomach and chest. Earl had little time for this shit they called music himself, but it drew the crowd and sometimes it had a strangely calming effect on him. If he couldn’t hear himself think, then he didn’t tend to think so much.

With a flick of his head, he summoned Snake to fall into step behind him and crossed a balcony that looked down over the huge dance floor at the center of Hades. Hundreds of people danced and writhed and squirmed in the pleasurable torments of the damned below, and it looked as though the club was close to its capacity. That was what people did here in New Orleans: they came to Hades, they took whatever drugs they needed, and they danced and perhaps fucked their troubles away, all their desires presided over by Earl himself.

His nerves eased slightly at the sight of this. It was precisely what
he
needed. Earl was a man of action not reflection, and the action of Hades would frequently serve as a substitute. Nodding to himself, he stalked to the bar and ordered a whiskey from the bartender who served him immediately—as well he should have. Terrible things tended to happen when there was any delay.

Snake leaned against the bar alongside him, pulling on a bottle which she grappled the bartender for when he attempted to pour her a shot. “Hey, boss!” she shouted, making herself heard above the din. “It’s all good. Take it easy.”

Earl flashed her a glance, feeling surprisingly irritated for a moment. Nonetheless, he had to admit it was good. Business was booming—there was always room in hell for plenty more souls. More importantly, however, his real prize was at hand and waiting for him upstairs. How long had he dreamed of this moment? How long had he waited for her? Now he had the means to compel her to his will.

And yet this thought disturbed him. Why the fuck did she have to go and choose that beggar? What the fuck was she thinking? What did that nigger have that he didn’t? The sickness in his stomach returned. Hades was his, and she was his now as well. He knocked back the rest of his drink and snarled at Snake: “Let’s go. We got business.”

His anxiety slowly gave way to grim determination as he left the main area and took another corridor, another flight of stairs in the maze behind the walls. He knew what needed to be done, and he was the man to do it.

Finally, he and Snake came to the door that led to his own apartment within the club. He gave the signal, a rapid series of knocks, then pushed it open. The room he entered contained a number of seats and expensive equipment, including a bank of CCTV screens, but the first thing anyone would notice was the large window that dominated one end, looking out over the dance floor below. It was soundproofed, blocking out the noise of the club, but even so a dull, regular beat was just perceptible. Earl did not mind this at all: Hades was more than a building to him. It was a creature, alive and full of energy, and that faint sound was its heart.

On the other side were two doors: one leading to a kitchen area, the other to his personal sleeping quarters. In front of the latter Papa was standing, hands crossed in front of his impeccable suit. Even here he kept his hat on, the broad brim of the fedora casting a shadow across his face.

“How is she?” Earl asked.

“Sleeping, but she’s not harmed.”

Before Earl could respond to this, there was a knock on the door behind him. When Snake opened it Horse entered, a sly grin on his face. Frowning, Earl crossed to him and barked: “I thought I told you to keep watch out the front!”

Horse’s grin faltered and his hands began to flash in front of his chest. Fucking idiot, thought Earl. He hated it when he had to concentrate like this, and generally he preferred it when Horse didn’t speak at all. The tall native’s hands were moving too quickly for him and he turned with a disgusted curl of his lips back to Papa.

“What is this idiot saying?”

Papa’s face was impassive. “He’s telling us that there’s no need to worry about the singer. He turned up, but he won’t be coming back in a hurry.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” This question was addressed to Horse who shook his head.

“Good.” A tic began to etch its worry line across Earl’s face and he lifted up a gloved hand to mask it. He didn’t want any of the other seeing his nervousness.

“What’s the problem with killing him? Wouldn’t it just be easier?” Snake asked.

“Listen to me,” Earl said, dropping his hand from his face and pointing to each of them in turn. “That cocksucker’s to stay alive until I say so.”

“Why?” Snake was gearing up to remonstrate with him.

“Don’t fucking question me!” It was good to transfer his anxiety into anger and for a few seconds Earl let it show clearly on his face. Pointing to each of them in turn, he stared hard into their eyes. “I won’t repeat myself again. That fucker is to stay alive until I’ve decided what to do with him. Understand?”

Horse nodded slowly while Snake looked as though she would protest before agreeing grudgingly. Papa simply shrugged and remarked: “As you say, boss.”

Something about Papa’s tone irritated Earl—as it so often did. Nonetheless, at the thought of Ardyce asleep in his room he became agitated again. He needed to see her—he needed her with a burning desire that threatened to overwhelm him, but at the same time the sickness he had felt before returned to the pit of his stomach. “Have you got what I asked for?” he asked Papa. The older man patted his jacket and nodded.

“Okay, let’s go. You, Horse, come with me. Snake, stay out here and make sure nobody disturbs us.”

She scowled at this but turned to go and stand guard by the main door. As he led the way into his private chamber, Earl was surprised that his heart was beating harder than before, as though echoing the deep, pervasive throb of Hades itself.

His room was surprisingly large and spacious, decorated with fur rugs and with mirrors lining one wall and ceiling. Across from them was another entrance to a bathroom, but his attention was fixed on the large bed that lay in the center of the chamber.

Ardyce was still asleep on it. Papa had removed her coat and shoes but she was still in her dress, the light fabric rising and falling with her breath, her chest swelling in nervous dreams. She was turned on her side, her bare feet curled away from him, and her face looked troubled in sleep, her pale cheeks flushed to match her brazen hair. Hearing Horse let out a mumbled sound behind him, Earl turned and glared at the hulking man whose fingers were moving almost unconsciously.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Papa looked at Horse for a few seconds then returned his serious gaze to Ardyce, refusing to catch Earl’s eyes. “He says the red-winged moth is the messenger of our dreams.”

Earl’s mouth fell open for a few seconds as he struggled to understand and failed. “What is it with this Indian shit?” He shook his head and then growled another command at Papa: “Wake her up.”

Sitting gently on the bed, Papa placed a hand on her shoulder and softly shook her. “That’s it, little moth,” he said quietly as Earl paced around at the end of the bed. “Time to wake up.”

After a few moments of this, Ardyce began to stir. As her eyes opened she looked confused, staring around her at first in bemusement and then in fear. As she fixed her gaze not on Papa who was still only a few inches away from her, but on Earl who stood pensively at the end of the bed, she acted as though electrified, shooting up the bed and drawing her legs to her chest in a defensive posture.

“It’s been a long time, Ardyce,” Earl said quietly.

“Where am I?”

“Hades. Like I say, it’s been a long time.”

He was struggling to keep the tone of his voice as neutral and soothing as possible—just as he struggled with the urge to send all these people away and throw himself on the bed beside her and beg for forgiveness. Weakness, that was all it was, as was the strange desire he had to leave with his men and lock the door behind him, safe in the knowledge that Ardyce would be confined away from the world. Perhaps that was all that was required: he didn’t need to see her himself, just to ensure that no other man could touch her.

She looked at him suspiciously and then, reassured somewhat by his tone, she looked around her. “Interesting, what you’ve done with the place,” she said, the slight trembling in her voice the only betrayal of her nerves. He loved her for that: any other woman would be terrified in her position, but not Ardyce. She had always been braver than most. She was the strong one, he the coward—not that he could ever let his followers know such a thing.

“I remember when you never wanted to leave here.”

Her face dropped slightly. “That was before,” she told him.

“That was before,” he agreed. “But it can be the same again.”

Instead of replying to this, she looked up directly at him, all nervousness gone now from those green eyes, which narrowed icily as she regarded him. It was his turn to quail slightly but he forced himself to meet that gaze. Papa, the bastard, glanced across at him with a small smile. He’d pay for that later.

“Where’s Orfeo?” she asked directly. “What have you done to him?”

“Your...” he paused, swallowing back his profanity. “He’s safe. You won’t see him again, and as long as you do as I ask, he won’t be harmed. I promise that.” A lie, perhaps, but it would suffice.

At this, her face looked miserable for a few seconds, but she mastered herself quickly, her expression becoming stony. She no longer looked at him but instead stared into the
distance. For the first time, Earl noticed clearly the odd necklace she wore, some bizarre collection of trash.

“What is that?” he snapped at Papa, pointing toward the necklace. “Take it off her.”

As Papa moved, Ardyce pulled herself away with a sharp motion, her hand reaching up to her neck and her face contorted in a ferocious snarl. “Don’t you touch it!” she hissed, utterly fearless now. “Take this and you can forget any deal.”

Papa hesitated, looking back toward Earl for guidance. He in turn shook his head, genuinely confused. This woman could have anything she wanted: diamonds, emeralds, pearls—all of Earl’s riches were at her disposal—but instead she chose this rotten string of nails and bones.

“Leave it,” he said. “Get the stuff ready.”

Moving away from the bed, Papa crossed to the table which lay in a corner of the room and sat himself on the chair placed before it. Ardyce’s nervousness returned as she watched him take a seat. “What stuff?” she asked.

Coming forward, it was Earl’s turn to sit beside her. Reaching forward to place a hand on her, she pulled away from him, her face convulsing with disgust and he felt his stomach churn with anger and self-loathing. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said as quietly as he could, spreading his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “I know what you need. Something to calm you down.”

Ardyce did not reply but instead glanced across to Papa. When she saw him draw out a small package of yellow-white powder, as well as a syringe and spoon, she let out a groan. Her face formed a picture of misery as she turned back to Earl, her green eyes pleading with him now.