Devil take me down, p.26
Devil Take Me Down, page 26
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
She finally stopped when her throat began to burn in protestation against her sudden abuse of it. Sanger leaned against the side of the pick-up watching her in concerned silence. Her heart rate slowed and determined resolve took over. She walked back to him and pulled out her phone. Before she could change her mind, she called Ethan.
“Ethan,” she said after the beep in his voice mail, her voice raw. Sanger tried to take her phone away and she shook her head. “I know what you did. I know about Tracey and Strickland and Beth and Angela and all the rest. But I don’t care, because I know you did it so we could be together. I want us to be together, Ethan. Tonight. After the dress rehearsal party. I want to be with you. You have no idea how bad I want you.”
She turned off her phone and put it back into her pocket.
“What did you just do?” Sanger asked in horror.
“I’m not going to let him get away with this, Aaron. Not today. Not fucking today,” she said.
He looked at her in puzzlement. “What’s different about today, Clementine?”
“I was raped on October 24, 2003. Twelve years ago, today. Some motherfucker, just like Ethan, thought he could take something from me. And he did. And I let him go on taking it for years. Until Ben helped me see what I’d been doing to myself. Living like I did something wrong. No man is going to take something from me again. Ever. I’m not going to let Ethan take Ben,” she explained, her jaw set.
“There has to be another way, this is too dangerous,” he pleaded.
“No. I’m tired of this, Aaron. Ben’s out of time. We’re out of time. Once this goes to the grand jury, he’s going to be stuck in jail for months, years even, until it goes to trial. I’m not trusting a group of strangers to make the right decision and give Ben back to me instead of a capital trial.” She folded her arms in a futile attempt to calm her stomach and resume some semblance of composure. “It’s the only way. You know it and I know it. We can keep dancing around it for two more weeks until Halloween if it makes you feel better, but this is where it’s heading, so why wait? Let’s just get this fucking thing over with.”
“And if you get yourself killed? Or worse?” he asked.
“There is no worse, Aaron. There's no way I'll let that happen to me again. I’ll die fighting if it comes to it. And if I do, you get that motherfucker and get Ben out of O.P.P.”
The Ninth Circle of Hell
Like every good piece of theatre, The Nine Circles Ball had an exclusive dress rehearsal. Cherry picked members of the New Orleans’ art community were invited to experience Derek Sharp’s annual art installation. The understanding being, that his quid would be met with a pro quo of adoring reviews and compliments, so that the unwashed masses wouldn’t blink at the hundred-dollar premium they would have to pay to share the same experience.
By the time Q had arrived, crowds of party goers garbed in pretentiously creepy costumes were already filling the warehouse. She slipped backstage and found Charlie and JJ already dressed in golden masks and Bedouin robes.
“What are you two supposed to be?” she asked.
“Who the fuck knows. The entire band is dressed like this, even the back-up singers,” Charlie voice sounded muffled behind his mask.
“How in the hell are you going to play the trumpet?” she asked. “Gonna be hell to get an embouchure under that.”
Charlie circled the mouth cut out of his mask with his gloved hands. “Believe it or not, this is exactly enough room to get the job done. I can’t fault the man, he thought it through.”
Derek appeared in the hallway. “The band is the just the landscape, the archangel is the focal point.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “That would be me.”
He led her to a makeshift dressing area where her costume stood on a dress form next to a make-up table. Her jaw fell open in awe, despite herself. While she’d tried on the various components during the fittings, she hadn’t seen the full effect until now. The body of the costume was an intricate bodice corset woven with silver and gold metallic threads around black leather straps. Wide leather straps on either shoulder hid the harness that would connect to the suspension rigging. Where the bodice met her hips, it was joined to a thin, black fabric that gave the illusion of nudity once it was on. Q had been relieved that everything was covered and if not modest, at least concealed.
But the real stars were the wings. Long black feathers cascaded down forming the pair of four-foot wings. Each feather was painted with an iridescent lacquer creating shimmering movements of color as they moved through the light. Thick black leather bands wrapped around each of Q’s biceps so that when she held out her arms, the wings would snap to their full extension in an undulating cascade of varying shades of darkness.
“Do you like it, my angel?” Derek asked.
“Now, this is art, Cincinnati,” she said in appreciation.
He smiled and turned to instruct the make-up artist. “Remember, she should glow, but not look like she’s wearing anything.”
He salaciously kissed Q on her mouth before walking away.
Seriously, fuck this guy.
She spent the next forty-five minutes at the make-up table just to look like the more smoothly polished version of herself than she had been before several pounds of make-up were applied to her face. Hair and make-up complete, she went behind the screen to begin the physical and mental gymnastics it would take to get into the costume.
She had just completed phase one: make sure your ass is covered; when she heard Sanger calling her name.
She carefully pulled her t-shirt back on, letting the heavy bodice fall around her waist before peaking her head out of the curtain to see Sanger facing away from her.
“Aaron, what is it?” she asked.
Sanger turned and caught his breath. “Goddamn, woman. If looking like that doesn’t make him take the bait, I don’t know what will.”
He held up a Ziploc bag containing a coil of black wire and a thin plastic box. “I’ve come with presents.”
She gestured for him to come in. The curtained room was barely larger than a shower stall and they stood awkwardly close to one another.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A wire. A friend on the force owed me a small favor,” he replied.
“Thank god for small favors,” she said, eyeing the device in curiosity.
“Take off your shirt,” he instructed.
Q shook her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t have anything on under this.”
“Clementine, now is not the time for modesty. We need to get you wired before you go on stage,” he said in frustration. “Look, I’ll turn my back. You can cover yourself up with the t-shirt. I promise I won’t look.”
“If I had a dime for every time that line got used,” she muttered. Once Sanger had turned his back, she carefully pulled off her shirt, making sure her hair maintained the complex mass of coils the stylist had created. Once she confirmed that her breasts were adequately covered, she tapped Sanger on the back.
His eyes unconsciously dropped to her bare shoulders. “Okay, I looked. I didn’t see anything, but I looked.”
Q stepped on his foot as hard as she could. “Get on with it.”
Sanger attached the body mic and helped her into the bodice, using the harness to conceal the wire and the transmitter. He tightened the laces on the back of her costume and helped her into her wings.
“Stand right here and keep talking to me,” he said as he walked out.
She stood in front of the mirror insulting Sanger in a continuous string of graphic curses while making the final adjustments to her costume and testing the wings' functionality for nearly twenty minutes. Sanger returned breathless.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly is a cockthistle shit fucker?” he asked with an amused grin on his face.
“I don’t know.” She smiled and held up the phone. “I was reading from my insult generator app. We good?”
“As long as we’re both in the building, I think we’ll be fine,” he replied.
“And if we’re not?”
“Then we’re fucked,” he sighed in preemptive defeat.
“Excellent.”
She followed Sanger to the stage and allowed herself to be wired for sound. The headset mic and in-ear monitors were concealed behind coils of hair and the wireless transmitter and receiver were tucked into pouches that had been sewn into the back of the bodice, hidden from view by the wings.
Charlie and JJ stood nearby and she gestured for them to come over. “Keep an eye out for Ethan, would you?” she asked. “If you see him, tell me or Sanger.”
“Why?” Charlie asked.
“Just do it, please,” Q replied, annoyed.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t you get used to ordering me around come next month,” he glowered.
“Don’t worry, Charlie. On November second, it’s back to business as usual,” she said, hoping that she was right.
~~~
Q caught her breath, the black wings on her shoulders felt sticky and heavy. She forced herself not to fidget with the microphone below her mouth.
It’s a mic, not a mosquito.
She padded to the center of the stage and stood on her mark as the percussion began to pound the tribal rhythm of the final song in the set. The vibrations rose from the planks beneath her feet and through her body.
JJ’s bass growled to life, pulsing out an even downward arpeggio. Charlie blew a sweet and steady tone over the rhythmic bed, its honey fingers tickled her ears.
She spread out her arms, opening the wings ever so slightly, and stood on her mark before singing, in a low whisper:
Drifting listless in an endless sea
Suspended in the void
Quietly minding the eternal dream
Creation arising from pasts destroyed
Her voice soared louder, reverberating in swirling waves above the crowd:
The angel waits
Locked within herself
Seeking solace within her cell
She slowly turns away
She felt the hooks descend again above her and latch into her body harness, before lifting her above the stage. She fought the urge to look down and found a fixed point in the distance to maintain eye contact with:
Regarding life from a dark distance
Safe in isolation
Worship comes without resistance
Nothing remains but desecration
She raised her arms above her head, so that her costume wings spread to their full extension. Their embedded black crystals caught the spotlight, casting her in rainbows and shards of light. She crossed her feet at the ankles, pointing her toes downward:
The angel waits
Locked within herself
Seeking solace within her cell
She slowly turns away
Free from the binding of gravity
Free from the bounds of the sky
Free from a world full of depravity
Spinning silently in the night
The angel waits
Locked within herself
Seeking solace within her cell
She slowly turns away
The rigging pulled her higher as the room darkened to a single light, illuminating her from below. The tribal rhythms intensified in the dark and Charlie played a melancholy and wild counterpoint until, without warning, the music and the light ended simultaneously.
Q struggled in the darkness, momentarily blinded. Pre-recorded Moroccan drums erupted from the arrayed loudspeakers above her and she felt herself being lowered to the stage. Quick hands released her from her guywires and her various wireless audio devices. She ran backstage as belly dancers undulated into the crowd. House lights and music transformed the multitudes from audience to dancers.
Charlie took her hand and pulled her into the green room. JJ was already sitting on the couch inside. The cloying smell of marijuana made Q feel slightly dizzy. She sat on the arm of the couch and unhooked the leather bands on her arms, disconnecting them from the mechanisms that controlled the opening of the wings so that they would stay closed.
“I didn’t plummet to my death, so success,” she said, wanly, unzipping the black Roman sandals, their straps wrapping around her legs in regular intervals. She looked at the red rectangular welts running down her legs and tried to massage some feeling back into her thighs.
JJ said, “I’ve been watching the crowd, Q. No sign of him yet, but everyone’s wearing those messed up costumes, so who knows?”
“I saw someone in a wolf costume. He was standing awfully close to the stage,” she mentioned, taking the bottle of water that JJ handed her and quickly draining it. “Fuck, this costume is hot.”
“Don’t know how that could be,” Charlie said. “There’s hardly anything to it.”
The door burst open and Derek Sharp strode in, shirtless. His legs were swathed in glistening black scales. His torso was covered in rune inscriptions and other divinatory symbols. He’d added a clichéd goatee for the occasion.
“Is my Archangel ready to meet her adoring minions?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She reached down for her discarded Roman sandals leaning against the wall next to her and slipped her legs into them.
Derek knelt on one knee. “Allow me to zip those up for you, my angel.”
Before she could protest, his hand clasped her upper thigh, holding the topmost strap in the long series that encased her legs from her ankle up. His other hand slid down her bare skin on the back of her leg and pulled up the zipper.
“You want to speed this up, Cincinnati? This isn’t foreplay.” Q glared down at him.
“You say that now,” he said, zipping up her second sandal.
Derek offered her his arm and she reluctantly took it. A dance floor had been created in her absence and a D.J. had taken over the show. Smoke hung heavy in the room, regenerated regularly by the machines overhead. Q looked around, trying to find Sanger. She pulled Derek close enough for her voice to be heard.
“Where’s Aaron?” she asked.
“You mean ‘Spot’?” he replied in a blasé tone. “Oh I sent him to his little dog house. You won’t be needing him for the rest of the evening.”
“He’s my ride, you pompous fuckwad!” she exploded at him, not knowing what other argument to raise, now that Derek had sent her only means of protection away.
Derek took her hand and kissed her wrist. “And he can still take you home…unless of course, you decide to come with me. You really are spectacular, my angel.”
She pulled her arm away as they arrived at the bar. Derek snapped his fingers and the bartender instantly poured their drinks. Q looked at the crush of people, searching for Ethan, when an unexpected face appeared.
Urian stood next to her, looking like a body double for Apollo in his Roman soldier uniform. Q blinked at the shocking beauty of his minimally clothed body. He wrapped his arm around her waist and purred, “Hello, beautiful girl.”
“Where’s the misses?” she asked dryly, quickly recovering her sanity.
He looked around casually. “I imagine Karen is in the lust circle with one of those lovely dancers. I believe that was her plan, anyway.”
Derek slid her a martini glass, unsuccessfully trying to move Urian aside at the same time. Urian took the glass in front her and brought it to his nose, tisking, “Beautiful girl, did you want X in your martini? I always thought you were a little more straight-edge.”
She turned to Derek nonplussed. “You tried to drug me?”
“Please, half a dose of X is hardly drugging. I just wanted you to enjoy your triumph, my angel. Make the world a little more sparkly. I put the other half in my drink, for the same reason.”
She shoved him away from her and growled, “I don’t think you want to be anywhere near me right now.”
He kissed her hand, unfazed. “I love it when you’re vengeful, my archangel. Relax, have a drink, just stay put in your circle,” he chided, strolling away to a group of sycophants only too eager to tell him what a genius he was.
She moved closer to her unlikely protector. “Thank you, Urian,” she said, meaning it. “How did you get in, anyway? Thought this little party was just for the artistic elite.”
“The concept for the Violence installation is based on some of Karen’s work, apparently, she’s quite well known,” he said, unimpressed.
Urian moved her away from the crowd at the bar, placing his hand beneath the black wings of her costume. He leaned in and said, “I appreciate you arranging a lawyer for my boy. He got out yesterday.”
Disappointment washed over her. “Rodney is running drugs for you?”
He gave her a noncommittal smile. “He also thinks you might be in trouble. Says he made friends with your man in lock-up. I can only assume that’s your Mr. Bordelon, yes? Told me quite an interesting story when he heard I would be coming here tonight.”
Q looked around before nodding slightly. Urian continued, “I’d consider it a favor if you would let me help you. Karen has her heart set on you performing at our wedding and I’d hate to disappoint her.”
She smiled slightly, nodding again. And then she saw Ethan, wearing a shimmering green mask covering the top half of his head. A cobra’s face rested on top, its mantle inlayed with mother of pearl cubes. Long green robes of rippling silk flowed behind him, worn over a simple black suit.
She took Urian’s hand, momentarily. “That’s my date. I have to go with him, but if you want to help me…. Please just stay close. Don't let him leave the building with me.” She glanced back at Ethan, to see Sanger appear from behind the wolf mask she'd been worried about for most of the evening. He was standing by the security guards at stage right, scanning the crowd. She nodded in his direction. “If you lose me, go tell that dude over there in the wolf mask.”
