“The second time-and I'm just catchin' my breath, like maybe a minute went by, no lie-so the second time, I'm suppose to pretend like I'm his little girl. I been ast that before, lots, I guess on account of I'm small. And small here, you know. I tell him the second time's extra, and playin' let's pretend is double extra, and nobody hits me. He says my love, start the meter. I get called lots of things-‘my love’ ain't usually one.
“The spooky thing is, the second time, it's like he's a whole different person. He moves different, he talks different, he even fucks different…”
Of course, Pender didn't really need all the details. The trouble was, you didn't know which ones you needed until you had them all. Casey was priapic, a chameleon, liked to play games, carried a thick wad of cash. Nothing new in any of that; he'd had over two thousand dollars-hundreds wrapped in twenties-in his possession when he was arrested.
The third act of the drama was more revealing: this time Casey was the naughty little boy and Anh was the teacher…
“I dunno what I'm suppose to be spankin' him for, but he sure do. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.’ He's lying on his stomach, I'm whalin' on him pretty good, then he grabs me, turns me over, and fucks me like an animal. I don't mean just doggy-dog, I mean like you couldn' a got him off me with a bucket of cold water, you'd a had to blast him with a farhose. But it ain't personal-it's like I'm not even there. He starts off apologizin' to this teacher, then he's bangin' the shit outta me, then he wants to ass-fuck, where I do not go, I'm very sorry, but he don't care 'cause I ain't me, I'm this teacher. He knocks me down, he sticks it in, he says something like ‘Meet Max, how do you like Max,’ shit like that.
“Now old Wong might be a dickhead, but he do try to watch out for us. I start screamin', he sends Big Nig-his name's Ng but everbody calls him Big Nig-to check on me. Nig uses the passkey, all holy hannah breaks loose.
“And Big Nig, you gotta understan', his mama got raped by a black GI, so he's half ‘Mese, half black, and pure pissed off. Plus he's twice Christy's size, plus he's suppose to be a big karate expert and all. Anyway, he come bustin’ in, see if the john's killin' me or what. Two seconds later, Big Nig's on his back and Christy's sittin' on top of him bangin' his head against the floor. I mean, dayum, if the carpet in this place was any thinner, Nig's brains would of been all over it before Wong shows up with his horse pistol.
“Christy, he hears Wong drawin' the hammer back on that big ol' Colt, he climbs off. Says we had a misunderstandin'. I say well I don't think so. So he gets his pants off the chair, pulls his roll out, starts peelin' off Franklins-when he gets to five I say okay, I misunderstand now.
“But here's the part that really frosted my ass. Him and Nig start talkin' while he's gettin' dressed, Nig talkin' bout what the fuck move was that, man, I got me a black belt and I never saw it comin'. They start talkin', next thing I know they goin' out for a drink together like they best buds or some'pn. And I'm the one cain't siddown, know what I mean?”
“Sure do!” said Pender with absentminded enthusiasm, his attention having strayed briefly-he was planning his next interview in his head.
Anh Tranh giggled like the schoolgirl she should have been. “Why, Agent Pender, I would'n a figured you for the type.”
47
Tonight the silk dress is black. Black as her mask, black as her mood, black as the forest through which she moves. The woman has watched the sunset from the front porch, but it has brought her no peace. And afterward, she cannot bear to go back into that empty house again, so she throws a shawl over her shoulders and hikes down to the kennels.
It's a short hike, but she is winded by the time she arrives-her lungs were badly damaged in the fire. While she catches her breath, the dogs perform their eerily silent gambol to show their pleasure at this unexpected appearance (she rarely visits them at night), then line up for lovies. Dr. Cream joins Lizzie at the head of the line. Lizzie is the oldest, Doc the largest and fiercest-looking member of the pack, but beneath that black-and-brindle skin beats the tenderest of hearts. (Unless of course you are a stranger, in which case Doc, like the others, will be delighted to tear you into surprisingly small and numerous pieces, which, pending permission from his master or mistress, he will then devour.)
When the woman kneels, Dr. Cream assumes the kowtow position, forepaws extended, and slouches toward her to receive her first caresses, while Lizzie circles around behind her, pushes her muzzle under the tumble of red-gold curls, and nuzzles the nape of her neck. The woman drops her chin to her chest; her sigh is not unlike the sigh that issues from her after her nightly injection of morphine.
Suddenly her body stiffens; she raises her head.
“Hush,” she says, though the dogs aren't making any noise. Soon there's no mistaking the sound of an engine: a vehicle is climbing the blacktop driveway that zigzags up the eastern side of the ridge. The dogs rush into the sally port, prepared to greet their master or silently ambush an intruder. A headlight beam snakes through the trees, pointing this way, then that, as the road doubles back on itself. The woman crouches behind the kennel as the Cadillac pulls into view, stops in front of the sally port. The driver's door opens; Ulysses steps out. Relief-wild, manic joy-surges through the woman. In her mind she rushes into the sally port to open the gate for him and throw herself into his arms.
Then in the space of a heartbeat the relief gives way to fury. “How dare you!” she says under her breath, still crouched behind the kennel, as he walks around to the back of the car and helps a slender, unsteady woman out of the trunk. “How dare you leave me alone here while you go gallivanting around the countryside with some floozy.”
And as he helps the floozy around to the front seat of the car, the woman in the silk mask sees that she has blond hair. Frosted blond hair, not even close to strawberry blond.
“How dare you!” she whispers again, outraged beyond outrage. Her injured hands, in some atavistic reflex, try to clench themselves into fists, but feebly curled claws is all they can manage.
48
The office of the Sleep-Tite was empty, but Pender could hear voices in the back room. He rang the push-bell on the counter, and Wong bustled out.
“FBI, hunh?” He waggled his finger. “You no tell Wong truth.”
“Mr. Wong, why do I have the feeling that you speak English better than I do?”
“Ha ha, very funny, wha' c'I do fah you now, you wan' money back? I give you money back fah room.”
“Keep it-I need to speak with Mr. Ng.”
“Don' know, never heard.” But although Wong's eyes hadn't flickered, his body shifted almost imperceptibly toward the door he'd just come through.
“Big Nig, I believe you call him,” said Pender, strolling around the counter and heading for the back room.
“Not me, I don' call him that.” Wong hurried in front of Pender, not to block him but to precede him. Dropping in unexpectedly to Wong's nightly pai gow game was a good way to get yourself killed. “You bettah not either, you know what's good fah you.”
The door opened, Pender followed Wong inside. His first impression was one of disorientation, dislocation-it was not the sort of gathering Pender had expected to stumble upon in Dallas, Texas. He didn't know there were any Chinese in Dallas.
And the six Chinese gentlemen seated around the green baize poker table seemed equally surprised to see Pender materializing in the smoky haze. A seventh man, a mountainous, dark-skinned Afro-Asian in a jungle-print Hawaiian shirt, who'd been slouching on a stool in the back of the room, sprang up and was reaching behind him for his weapon when Wong gave him the chill-out sign, pushing down with his palms on an invisible table.
Pender waited in the doorway while Wong and Ng conferred, then Wong went back to his game while Ng
