Vespers, page 3
The boy acolyte was only seven. He was standing to the left of the
altar/ woman, staring a bit wide-eyed at the tufted blonde patch above
the joining of her legs. The priest was about to embark upon the fifth
and final segment of the mass, called the Repudiation, est significant
tonight in that this twenty-fourth day May was what the Christians had
named th, Ascension, upon which day the body of Jesus was supposed to
have risen to Heaven, but here within these walls was being celebrated
as expulsion of Jesus from Hell.
The priest had been supplied with a consecrated at a church in another
part of the city, stolen this morning at mass by a woman whose mouth had
first been coated with alum protect the wafer from her own saliva. He
held wafer between the thumb and forefinger of his hand now, made a
deep, mocking bow over it, said, "I show you the body of Jesus Christ,
Forgotten One, pretender to the throne of monarch to slaves, confounder
of minions to perdition."
He turned to face the altar/woman, his back to celebrants now, his right
hand raised in the sign , his left hand holding the wafer aloft to the
goat symbol on the wall.
"All hail Satan!" he said.
"Hail, Satan!" the celebrants responded.
"All praise these splendid breasts that gave suck to the body of Jesus,"
he said mockingly, and touched the wafer first to the woman's right
nipple and then to her left nipple. Kneeling between her legs, he rested
the hand with the wafer on her mons veneris, and said, again mockingly,
"Blessed be the generous womb that begat the body of Jesus," and passed
the host over the lips of her vagina.
Now began the Repudiation in earnest.
Lifting the hems of his robe, fastening them into the black silken cord
at his waist, he wet the fingers of his right hand and then touched them
to the head of his now-erect penis. "Jesus Christ, messenger of doom, I
offer you to worm and maggot..." he said, touching the wafer to the
moistened head of his penis where it clung in desecration, moving closer
to the widespread legs of the altar, the boy acolyte watching excited
and amazed, "thrust you down with scorpion and snake..." approaching the
altar where she waited open and spread for him, "show you storm and
savage strife, curse you with famine and filth, bum you in eternal fire,
cause you everlasting death to the end of time unending, and reward you
With the enduring fury of our Lord, Satan!"
"Hail, Satan!" the celebrants chanted. "All hail Hurling himself omo the
altar, thrusting himselfi! into the woman, wafer and penis entering her,
the priest said, "I descend anew, and ascend forever, saith the Infernal
Lord. My flesh is your flesh..."
"My flesh is thy flesh," the woman murmured.
"My flesh is our flesh..."
"Thy flesh is our flesh," the celebrants intoned.
"In flesh, let us find the glory of Satan!"
"In flesh, find the glory of Satan!"
"In lust, let us know the goodness of Satan!"
"In lust, know the goodness of Satanl"
"In flesh and in lust, let us all praise Satan!"
"In flesh and in lust, we praise Satan's name!"
"Blessed be Satan!"
"Blessed be Satan!"
"All hail Satan!"
"Hail, Satan!"
This was four blocks away from where the polic had chalked Father
Michael's outline onto the blood-stained stones in the small church
garden.
The two men were speaking entirely in Spanish.
One of them was exceedingly handsome. Tall and slender, with black hair
combed straight back from a pronounced widow's peak, he looked a lot
like Rudolph Valentino. He did not know who Rudolph Valentino was, and
so he wasn't flattered when people told him he looked like Rudolph
Valentino.
But he guessed that Rudolph Valentino had to be some handsome hombre
because if there was one thing Ramon Castaneda knew for certain it was
that he himself was handsome as sin.
The man sitting with him was named Carlos Ortega and he was
exceptionally ugly. He had crooked teeth and a nose that had been broken
often in street fights hither and yon, and a scar that ran through his
right eyebrow and partially closed his right eye, and moreover he was
bald and hulking and resembled an escaped inmate from a hospital for
criminally insane, which he was not. But such was the vanity of men that
he, too, thought he w handsome. In fact, many women had told him he
handsome. He believed them, even if all of the were hookers.
On this twenty-fifth day of May, another spring morning, the two men sat
in a coffee close to their hotel, discussing why they were here the
city. It was still early in the morning, a little seven; the place was
full of people catching breakfasts before going to work. The two men w,
in no hurry. The handsome one, Ramon, had steak and eggs for breakfast.
Carlos, the ugly who only thought he was handsome, had pancakes and
sausage. They sat sipping their waiting for the food to come, chatting
idly.
Ramon said in Spanish that he thought it pity a man had answered the
telephone last night. man might complicate matters.
Carlos said in Spanish that he could break fucking bone in the man's
body, whoever he was. what difference did it make if she was living
withl man, a woman, or a chihuahua?
"If she''s •the right woman," Ramon said.
"Well, yes, we have to make sure she's the ri woman," Carlos said.
"Which won't be easy without a photograph."
"But we have her description from the whore."
The German whore was a buxom blonde claimed she'd been openly abducted
in Munich.
name was Constantia. While they waited for their food, the two men
discussed whether or not she was reliable. Ramon mentioned that she'd
been a drug addict for many years. Carlos said he knew many people who
were drug addicts who nonetheless made very reliable witnesses. They got
sidetracked wondering if she was a good lay. When their food came, they
fell silent for a while, Ramon eating with the exquisite table manners
of a man who knew he was devastatingly handsome, Carlos eating like a
brute who believed that handsome men like himself could eat any fucking
way they wanted to.
"You think she could be so stupid?" Ramon asked.
"How do you mean?"
"To put her name in the book?" "It says only M. Hollis," Carlos said.
"Also, there are twenty-eight Hollises in the book."
"But only one M. Hollis."
"True. How's the steak?"
"Ours are better."
He was referring to Argentine beef; a bit of national pride there. But
Carlos noticed that he was enjoying it. The pancakes he himself had
ordered were only so-so. He wondered why he'd ordered pancakes, anyway;
he didn't even like pancakes.
"So what we have to do," Ramon said, "is go up there and take a look."
: "She could have changed what she looks like, you Carlos said.
"Yes, women can do that," Ramon said wearily, an observation a handsome
man familiar with strange and wonderful ways of women could in utter
boredom.
"She could be a redhead by now," Carlos said "Or a brunette. Never mind
the blonde. The could be history by now."
"We can always look under her skirt," said, and smiled confidently.
"She could have changed it there, too. Or shaw it like a baby's. She
could be an entirely woman by now." "The blue eyes, she can't change,"
Ramon said.
"She can wear contacts to make them green brown or purple. A woman can
change about herself. We could go up there, it could be same woman, and
we wouldn't recognize her."
"So what are you saying?" Ramon asked. shouldn't go up there?"
"We should go, we should go. But we shouldn'! be disappointed if we look
at her, and she doesn't the German whore's description. Who, by the may
have been lying, anyway."
"Why would she have lied?"
"For the money. We gave her money."
"With the promise of more."
"If we locate the Hollis woman. If that's even name."
"The German whore says that was her Mary Ann Hollis."
"So then why is there only an. "M' in the phone book?"
"Because if a woman puts an. "M.A.' in the phone book, a man immediately
knows it's a woman," Ramon said.
"So if you put J. F. Kennedy in the phone book, it means it's a woman,
correct?" Carlos said.
"Well, I don't know why she put only an. "M' in the phone book," Ramon
admitted. "Maybe in this
country it's cheaper than using two initials ."
Carlos looked at him.
"Why do you think she put only an. "M'?" Ramon asked.
"Because, one, it could be the wrong woman... "Well, of course, but..."
"Or, two, it could be that the man who answered the phone is the one
who's listed in the book, it's a Mr. M. Hollis..."
"No, it's only women who use initials," Ramon said.
"Or, three, she could have changed her name," Carlos said.
"That's true. But then why use an. "M'? Why not change it completely?"
"Even with an. "M,' it could be changed :Completely," Carlos said. "From
Mary Ann, she yould have changed it completely to Magdalena or s or
Malta or..."
He was an Argentine, and so all these names were , naturally.
"... Matilda or Maurita or Mirabella or or Modesta or..." "I think I get
the point," Ramon said.
"What I'm saying," Carlos said, "is we uptown, we find a curly-haired
red-head with big and a fat ass and brown eyes and her name is Margarita
and we think we have the wrong but instead it's really Mary Ann Hollis
who upon a time was tall and thin and had blue eyes straight blonde
hair, is what I'm saying."
"So we have to be careful, is what you're saying."
"No, I'm saying we may have to beat the shit of her," Carlos said.
"Well, of course," Ramon said, as if it without saying that all women
had to have the beat out of them every now and then.
"If she tells us she's not who we think she is.
Carlos said.
"Yes," Ramon said.
"To find out who she really is, is what saying," Carlos said.
"I agree with you entirely."
"So when do you want to go'?" "Let me finish my steak," Ramon said.
"You eat more slowly than any person I know."
"Because I was born rich," Ramon said. "Only poor eat quickly. For fear
someone will snatch food away before they're finished ."
"You were born rich, ha!" Carlos said.
"Yes, I was born rich, ha!" Ramon mimicked.
"What I want to do," Carlos said, "I want to be waiting when she comes
out of the building. We take it slow and easy. Follow her, see where she
goes, what she does. We make our move when we're ready to make it. And
not near a house where a man answers the phone." He looked at the
remaining bit of steak on Ramon's plate. "Now hurry up and finish, rich
man," he said. "Because you'll be even richer once she gives us the
money."
"Sin duda," Ramon said.
Kristin Lund looked exactly like her name. Blonde hair and blue eyes, a
full tempestuous mouth, and a figure that reminded Hawes of the gently
sloping hills of Sweden, where he'd never been. Kristin Lund. Krissie
sounded closer to home and just as beautiful. Krissie Lund. It rolled
off the tongue like a balalaika riff. On this fine spring morning, she
was wearing a pastel blue skirt, high-heeled pumps of the same subtle
shade, and lemon-colored pantyhose that matched her lemon-colored
sweater. Krissie.
She looked very much like spring. She smelled a lot like spring, too. If
Hawes was not mistaken, she was wearing Poison.
She was not surprised to find two detectives on her doorstep so early in
the morning; she had heard about Father Michael's murder late last
night, on on. In fact, she had called 911 at once, to ask she could get
in touch with whoever would be investigating the case. The woman who'd
the phone said, "What is the emergency, Miss. When Krissie told her
there was no emergency, woman asked, "Do you wish to report a crime'.
Krissie told her No, she didn't wish to report a but she worked for the
man whose murder she'd heard reported on television and she wanted to
who'd be handling the case so she could them. The woman on the other end
said, moment, please, I'll give you my supervisor." supervisor came on
and immediately said, " understand you witnessed a murder," Krissie hung
up, even if she was not a native of city.
"But I did try to contact you," she said, and
so dazzlingly that Hawes almost swooned.
"When was this?" Carella asked.
"When?"
"When you tried to contact us."
"Oh. Right after the Eleven O'Clock News. I going to call the church,
but I called 911 And then, after I spoke to that supervisor, I know what
to do. So I went to sleep. I figured get to me sooner or later." "Yes,"
Hawes said.
"So here you are," she said, and smiled again.
"Miss. Lund," Carella said, "Father housekeeper..."
"Yes, Martha Hennessy."
"Yes, told us that the last time she saw him alive was when he was
saying good night to you."
"That's the last time I saw him, too."
"At about five o'clock yesterday."
"Yes."
"Where did you go after that?"
"I came straight here."
They were in the kitchen of her small apartment on the fourth floor of a
building downtown in The Quarter, far from the precinct territory.
Coffee was brewing in a pot plugged into an outlet above a butcher block
counter. Krissie leaned against the counter, her arms folded, waiting
for the coffee to perk. She had set out three cups and saucers near the
coffeepot. The detectives stood by the open window.
A mild breeze fluttered the sheer white curtains on the window. Sunshine
danced on the counter top, setting the bone white cups and saucers
aglitter.
Krissie lifted the pot and poured the three cups full.
She carried them one at a time to a small round table near the window.
The table was already set with teaspoons, paper napkins, a creamer, and
a small bowl containing pink packets of a sugar substitute.
"Did you see anyone suspicious-looking outside the church?" Carella
asked. "When you left last "Well, what do you mean by
suspicious-looking? mean... I guess you know that's a pretty rotten . I
mean, no offense, I know you guys do a good job. But to me, everyone up
there looks suspicious."
"I was referring to anyone lurking about..."
Those words always made him feel foolish. "... anyone who seemed out of
place..."
Those words, too.
"... anyone who just didn't belong there," he said.
"Just the usual," Krissie said, and shrugged.
Hawes loved the way she shrugged. "Milk?" she asked. "It's skim."
"By the usual... ?" Hawes asked.
"The usual," she said, and shrugged again. "I'm sure you know what's up
there. The usual street mix.
Crack dealers and buyers, hookers, hoodlums, the mix." She lifted her
cup, sipped at the coffee.
