Her eyelids fluttered. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Poor thing had probably been awake the whole time I was losing it. Now she was catching up. A little bit of drool slid from her half-open mouth, down to the rumpled pillowcase.
I pressed my dry tongue to the roof of my dry mouth and tried to remember what it was like to drool.
21
Turned out I’d slept through more than just morning. By the time I was on my way, it was late afternoon. The ride was nothing to speak of. My car was empty. There were flashes through the filthy windows whenever the power lines sparked. The train passed ticky-tack suburbs, trash-strewn woods where teens ran wild, before it squeaked and shuddered into Cherry’s End.
The only thing visible from the station was the forest. I got off the platform and still didn’t see much of anything. Why? Because that’s how Colby Green planned it. A few years ago, there was a court case over whether or not Cherry’s End was even part of Fort Hammer. Green was rich enough to muddy the jurisdiction. Even got his own area code.
The huge stone wall surrounding his property sneaked up on me. That’s hard to manage with something so big, but this was no Collin Hills, protected by cinder block made pretty with a trowel swish. Consumerism is a superficial sin for superficial people. Ninety-nine percent of the folks living at Collin Hills couldn’t tell you what cinder block was made of. Green knew exactly where his Italian marble came from, the city, the quarry, the name of the foreman. Not that he cared about architecture. From what I understood, he was like that with everything. He knew the world inside and out and now wanted to play with it the way a cat likes to toy with a mouse, amused at the way it hovers between life and death.
Which is probably why he likes chakz so much.
I followed the wall maybe ten minutes until I spotted the front gates, iron monsters buttressed by Italian marble columns. Sneaking around a lion’s den seems disrespectful as well as pointless, so I figured I might as well walk up and knock. It is, after all, one of the few places open to chakz.
Adjusting my jacket and tie, I told myself that if I presented the case just so, and he really liked this Nell Parker, at the very least he’d want to take steps to protect his property. Made sense to me. But making sense just made me uncomfortable, the world being fucking crazy.
The gate didn’t get closer as I walked so much as bigger and bigger. When I finally got to the iron, I heard some weird sounds—a
I hoped to hell he didn’t have any puppies.
“Can I help you?”
I was so busy being horrified I hadn’t noticed the camera and monitor. A round face with a lascivious grin that reminded me of the master of ceremonies from
“My name is Hessius Mann,” I said. “I’m a detective. I have reason to believe someone may try to break into the estate.”
His lipstick smile turned upside down. “Detective? No, no. That’s next week. You must have gotten the wrong schedule! Today it’s Voyage to the Bottom of the Chak! A
“Wait, I’m not . . .”
The screen went dead; the gates swung open. Dogs barked in the distance. Looked like I’d be entering under false pretenses.
There was a wide, white gravel driveway, but I took a gray stone footpath instead, passing bubbling fountains and major landscaping. I don’t know the names of many plants, but there were lots, different leaves, different flowers, different smells, all neatly arranged.
It wasn’t until I passed some rows of tall hemlocks that the main building punched me in the face, and it wasn’t interested in leaving much space for clouds or sky. I didn’t recognize the architectural style, or even if it had one; I only knew there was a lot of it. So this was Xanadu, or the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, on steroids, if you prefer. I’d seen pictures, but they didn’t do the place justice. The only camera that could take the whole thing in was up in orbit and available on Google Earth.
“In my father’s house are many rooms,” it says in the Bible. Judging from the number of windows, Colby Green was in competition with God.
A few seconds later, I was facing a twenty-foot black slab with a knob. I felt like I should sacrifice a goat to it, but then realized it was a door. It swung open, the clown from the security monitor behind it, wearing an open magenta silk robe. It definitely wasn’t his color.
He winced at the sunlight and gave my arm an old-man grab, the kind that’s stronger than you expect, like it’s holding on for dear life. Then he dragged me into a foyer that could have comfortably held a 747, and twisted me around for a look.
He didn’t like what he saw, but that made two of us. In the quieter light, his grin looked more like a side effect of too many Botox injections. His eyes were still expressive, so I could sort of tell what he was thinking as long as I didn’t pay too much attention to that smile.
“Nice try,” he said, “but we have much, much better outfits in the dressing room. How are you with pole dancing?”
“Hold it. This isn’t a costume. I’m here on business.”
His eyes joined in with the grin. “But you’re a chak.”
“Gee, and they told me at the funeral that I looked so natural.”
“Forgive me!” he said with a chuckle. “Chakz generally only arrive here for one reason.”
“I know, but I’m here for another.”
“A chak. Here for another reason.”
“Someone tells you two and two is four, does it matter who says it?”
“I was never very good at math.”
“I’m hoping your boss is.”
“Ah, well, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Mr. Green is good at everything.”
He let go of my shoulder and wiped his hand on his robe, like I was the one who’d have cooties. “He’s in the playground, watching some entertainment with his guests. You’re welcome to try to speak to him. I can’t promise anything. I can’t promise anything at all.” He lowered his voice to a giggly whisper. “I can’t even promise you’ll be permitted to leave.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Which way? Do I need a map?”
“A guide to fashion, perhaps. You’re sure you don’t want to freshen up just a bit?”
“Nah. Under the circumstances, I think I’m better off sticking out, don’t you?”
He flared his nostrils. “I get your point. And believe me, you do. I’ll take you there, but I’d wait until Nell finishes dancing. She’s his favorite.”
“Oddly enough,” I said. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
He gave me a shrug that said he didn’t understand and couldn’t care less, then led me down an arched hallway three times wider than my office. It was lined with life-size statues, all with an erotic bent. Some involved men and women, others animals, some both. When the hand on one statue moved to stroke itself, I nearly jumped out of my wrinkly skin. They were animated, like those figures in Disneyland’s Hall of Presidents. Did Green think it funny?
When I started, the gnomish doorman sneaked a peek to see if I had any further reaction to the decor. When I didn’t supply any, he trotted along, a little disappointed, then opened another set of doors into what had to be the “playground.”
It was big, of course. The lighting was intentionally soft, almost dim. The arched ceiling, a floor or two up, was covered with twinkling lights in the shape of constellations, only, like the statues, they were animated, so that,
