Sailor & Lula (59 page)

“You like the pictures, lady?” asked Archie Chunk, walking in. “I love lightnin'. Back in Broken Claw, where I was born and mostly raised—that's in Oklahoma—is the best electrical storms. Come August, I'd stand in the field behind my granny's house and pray for the lightnin' to hit me. Never did, though, even when I held up a five iron.”

“Can I have a cigarette?” asked Lula.

Archie took a pack of Marlboros and a book of matches from the
breast pocket of his Madras shirt, shook one out to Lula and lit it for her before doing the same for himself.

“Kitty Kat and me don't mean to keep you in suspense,” he said, replacing his cigarettes and matches in the same pocket, “but you're a sorta unplanned-on part of the deal, you know? We gotta do one of three things: let you go, kill you, or ransom you. Them're the options.”

The black woman came into the room. She was holding a thick, foot-long clear plastic dildo in her right hand and the Colt Python in her left. She walked over to Lula and showed her the dildo, the head of which was smeared generously with some kind of salve.

“You ever use one of these?” Kitty Kat asked.

Lula shook her head no.

“Here,” Kitty Kat said to Archie, handing him the gun.

He took it and Kitty Kat hiked her skirt up over her naked crotch, bent her knees slightly as she spread her legs wide enough to admit the instrument into her vagina, then manipulated the dildo with both hands, inserting it slowly, a half inch at a time, until most of it was inside her. Kitty Kat stood directly in front of Lula while she pumped the toy into and partway out of herself. She began to sweat heavily, even though the temperature in the room was only fifty-three degrees. Lula felt the Marlboro burning down between the first and second fingers of her left hand, so she dropped it onto the floor. Archie Chunk stood by, intently watching Kitty Kat work out.

“Master! Master!” cried Kitty Kat. “Master, make me! Make, me, master!” she shouted, plunging the dildo deeper and harder.

Suddenly she stopped and extracted it, breathing hard, her legs quivering. Kitty Kat held the wet tool out to Archie.

“Gimme the gun now,” she said, and they exchanged weapons.

Kitty Kat inserted the barrel of the Python into her cunt and massaged herself.

“Got to be gentle with this,” said Kitty Kat. “Torn myself before.”

Lula remained motionless. Archie Chunk held the slimy stick in his left fist and grinned.

“Wish I could pull the trigger,” Kitty Kat whined. “Wish Kitty Kat push it up pussy, pull trigger. Pull pussy trigger. Open pussy, up pussy, pull trigger.”

Kitty Kat Cross swayed, shuddered, her mouth open, made a gagging sound and held the stainless blue steel cylinder tight to the left side of her cunt. She trembled and whinnied, then her contractions slowly tapered off until they ceased entirely. Kitty Kat withdrew the Python's nose and stood up straight. She held the gun to her mouth and ran her tongue along the barrel, first one side, then the other, licking it clean.

“Close as Kitty Kat get,” she said.

“You and Mama amaze me, Daddy.”

“How's that, son?”

“Way you been able to stay together all these years. Me and Rhoda didn't make it, and same goes for most couples I know or know of. Seems to me you-all're still in love, too. How you manage it, Daddy?”

It was one o'clock in the morning. Phil was asleep on the couch in the front room, a copy of
Obras completas de Federico García Lorca
folded open on his chest, his right thumb over the words,
“En mi pecho se agita sonámbula / una sierpe de besos antiguos.”
Pace and Sailor were still in the Florida room, unable and unwilling to sleep, sipping whisky and talking.

“Your mama's a special kind of woman, Pace. She don't hardly ever consider herself first. She's most always been concerned about how other folks around her are feelin' and what they need, not what she wants. That ain't to say she don't know how to please herself or even to get what she wants or needs. She'll take time for her own purposes, but Lula's always been the single most unselfish person I ever have known.”

“Grandmama Marietta wasn't that way, though.”

Sailor laughed. “Not nearly, though she had her good points, I suppose. She was always lookin' out for Lula.”

“How come you and Mama never had no kids after me?”

“Well, when you was born, of course, I was in the joint, and after I got out and Lula and I eventually come back together, there was a whole long time Mama and me just required to get to know each other again. We was in our thirties by then, and I guess my own priority was makin' up for all the time I'd lost with you, too. Tell the truth, we just didn't even give it a thought, plus Lula didn't get pregnant. By the time we mighta had another child we was older'n we woulda liked to be if we were gonna have to look after an infant. It was enough just bein' alive and the three of us bein' together. That's about all I could dream about them years at Huntsville. Sometimes I didn't think it was ever gonna happen.”

“I guess me and Rhoda just didn't love each other enough to make
our marriage work,” said Pace. “Neither of us is as givin' a person as Mama, that's for sure.”

“Tough to figure, son. Lovin' and bein' in love is two different things, of course. Best if you can keep both in the house, but it's love that keeps it goin'. People fall in and out of love regular, oftentimes with the same person. Your mama put up with a bunch from me, but I ain't never really lost sight of what it is attracted me to Lula in the first place. I don't mean looks, neither. That means more to some than to others.”

“If Rhoda hadn't kept so close to her family, I believe we mighta had a better chance. The Gombowiczes is fine people, Daddy, don't get me wrong, and they was swell to take me into the diamond business with 'em, but between Rhoda's therapy work and havin' to be with her folks so much, it didn't leave hardly no time just for us. Then her bein' spooked about bringin' kids into the world, always talkin' about how there's so many maniacs runnin' around loose and how some sand niggers is gonna get their hands on a nuclear device and blow up the planet anyway, shit. That tore it after too long for me.”

Pace poured himself a fresh shot of Jameson's and knocked it back.

“I was sure sorry when it didn't work out, boy, but with you and Rhoda bein' of such diverse heritage and all, can't say as I was entirely surprised. Your mama was surprised it lasted as long as it did, then she was upset about the divorce. You ain't the only victims of the seven year itch.”

“Eight, Daddy. We lasted eight years. I still think we'd of had kids it woulda worked out different.”

The telephone rang. Sailor and Pace looked at each other and let it ring a second time. Before it rang again, Sailor lifted the receiver.

“Sailor Ripley speakin'.”

“Hello, Sailor? This is Rhoda. I'm sorry to be calling so late.”

“Rhoda, darlin', how're you? Pace and I just been talkin' about you.”

“Is Pace there?”

“Big as life.”

“I didn't know where he was, Sailor. We haven't been in touch lately. I was calling you to find out. For some reason all of you have been on my mind the last two days and finally I just decided to call, even if it is past two A.M. here in New York. Is everything all right?”

“As a matter of fact, Rhoda, things ain't all right. Lula been kidnapped durin' a armed robbery. We don't know where she is, so me'n Pace been waitin' by the phone. I thought maybe you was her or the ones got her.”

“Oh, Sailor, that's terrible! I'm so sorry.”

“Pace is right here. You want to speak with him?”

“If it's all right for a minute. I won't tie up your line.”

“It's okay, Rhoda, we got call-waitin' now.”

Sailor handed the phone to Pace.

“Hello, Rhoda. How you been doin'?”

“Something made me call, Pace. The feeling was too strong to ignore. I didn't know where you were.”

“I'm livin' in L.A. now. Was in N.O. on business when all this happened. Your mental powers ain't diminished none.”

“I feel terrible about what's happened to Lula, Pace. I wish there were something I could do to help.”

“Don't even know what our move's gonna be yet, Rhoda, but thanks.”

“Pace?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you ever think that perhaps our separating was the wrong thing to have done?”

“We ain't just separated, Rhoda, we're divorced. And this ain't precisely the greatest time to be bringin' up this subject, seein' as how my mind's mainly on Mama right now.”

“Of course, Pace, certainly. I understand absolutely. I would very much like to talk to you about things, though, when this is all over and Lula's safe. Would you at least consider that?”

“ 'Course I will, Rhoda. You okay otherwise?”

“Yes.”

“How's the family?”

“There's nothing you need to hear about. Please call me as soon as there's news, all right?”

“Okay, Rhoda.”

“Good night, Pace. Give my love to Sailor.”

“I will. Good night.”

Pace hung up and looked at his father.

“Rhoda says to give you her love.”

Sailor nodded and scraped his right hand across his mostly bald head.

“Gotta admit, son, the girl has a gift, feelin' somethin' was up.”

“Likely just coincidence, Daddy.”

“Could be, boy, but keep in mind it don't never pay to underestimate a woman, 'specially one knows your sleepin' habits.”

“Been brought to my attention by Eddie Fange, the commissioner, that felonious crime, kidnappin' in particular, ain't altogether unfamiliar to you, Mr. Ripley.”

Sailor had telephoned Du Du Dupre to find out exactly what steps the police were taking to find Lula. It was ten-thirty in the morning.

“What's it got to do with locatin' my wife, Captain Dupre? Past is past.”

“You got two convictions of a significant nature, manslaughter in North Carolina, for which you done a deuce, and armed robbery in Texas, includin' a parole violation and a kidnappin' charge was dropped when you went down for a sawbuck on the AR beef. Then a woman you was involved with, a certain Señorita Perdita Durango, drove the getaway vehicle for you and your gun-totin' cohort at the time, Mr. Robert Peru, deceased, durin' this robbery attempt, from which she avoided prosecution, still got a federal warrant out on her for kidnap and torture of two college kids some thirty years back. Mexican authorities wanted her for murder, too.”

“I don't know nothin' about any of that.”

“Finally, your son, Pace Roscoe Ripley, was his self kidnapped thirty years ago. Five years later he was implicated in a armed robbery and murder right here in New Orleans, and another killin' or two in Miss'ippi, both charges he was cleared of 'count of his bein' held captive and forced to participate. Now your wife been taken prisoner durin' a violent crime. I didn't know better, Mr. Ripley, I'd be mighty tempted to conclude kind of a pattern been developin' here.”

“Ever'body's a prisoner of some kind, Dupre. People who learn some correct detail about another person's life are always drawin' conclusions from it ain't accurate, then they start seein' in this one fact an explanation of things ain't got no connection with it at all. A famous dead French author wrote that.”

“Can't argue the fact you had plenty time to read, Ripley, all them years you spent behind bars. I ain't been nobody's guest, so I've had to
make do with less high-toned material, like newspapers and police bulletins, which I can't hardly get to as it is, bein' that I'm kept pretty busy tryin' to protect citizens from one another.”

“I take it you ain't got no line on Lula.”

“We're workin' on it, Ripley. I got your number. They contact you, call me right away, let us handle it. Don't do nothin' stupid. I'm hopin' you got quit of that cowboy shit now you're a senior citizen.”

Dupre hung up before Sailor did. For some reason, Sailor suddenly remembered the first time he had ever called Lula “peanut,” his favorite nickname for her. He had driven over to Bay St. Clement High School in his yellow 1958 Buick Limited, the one his cousin, Jesse Stitch, later totaled in Rocky Mount while Sailor was serving his sentence at Pee Dee, to pick up Lula when classes let out. As soon as she'd spotted his car, Lula ran to it, opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat practically on top of Sailor, where she curled up with her head burrowed hard into his chest.

“Oh, Sail,” she had said, closing her eyes and pushing her nose into the black cotton Fruit of the Loom tee shirt that covered his upper body, “I'm so happy you came to get me! You just thrill me to death.”

Sailor had laughed, wound Lula's long black ponytail around his right hand and tugged gently on it. Lula was sixteen years old and Sailor sincerely believed that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a belief he had never come to doubt. Folded up on his lap the way she was had made her seem so small, so fragile.

“Hell, Lula,” Sailor had said to her then, “you look like a perfect little peanut.”

“I ain't so very little,” Lula had said, “but I am your peanut, for now and forever.”

That had been forty-four years ago, Sailor calculated. The telephone rang, startling him. His right hand was still on the receiver and he picked it up.