The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles) (324 page)

“Yes, I see.”

“That had been Wynken’s vision. Wynken had communicated
this to his women followers, that there was no point in waiting until the next world. You had to do everything now, every kind of sin … this was a common conception of heretics, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of some. Or so their enemies said.”

“The next killing I did purely for money. It was a contract. I was the most ambitious boy in town. I was managing some other band again, a bunch of no-accounts, we weren’t making it, though other rock stars were making it overnight. I was into dope again, and was being a hell of a lot smarter about it, and developing a personal distaste for it. This was the real early days, when people flew the grass across the border in little planes, and it was almost like cowboy adventures.

“And the word came down that this particular man was on the shit list of a local power broker who’d pay anyone thirty thousand dollars for the killing. The guy himself was particularly vicious. Everybody was scared of him. He knew they wanted to kill him. He was walking around in broad daylight and everyone was scared to make a move.

“I guess everybody else figured that somebody else would do it. How connected these people were to what and to whom I had no idea. I just knew the guy was game, you know? I made sure.

“I figured a way to do it. I was nineteen by then. I dressed up like a college boy in a crew-neck sweater, a blazer, flannel slacks, had my hair cut Princeton style, and carried a few books with me. I found out where the man lived on Long Island, and walked right up to him in his back driveway as he got out of his car one evening, and shot him dead five feet from where his wife and kids were eating dinner inside.”

He paused again, and then said with perfect gravity, “It takes a special kind of animal to do something so vicious. And not to feel any remorse.”

“You didn’t torture him the way I tortured you,” I said softly. “You know everything you’ve done, don’t you? You really understand! I didn’t get the whole picture when I was
following you. I imagined you were more intimately perverse, wrapped up in your own romance. An arch self-deceiver.”

“Was that torture, what you did to me?” he asked. “I don’t remember pain being involved in it, only fury that I was going to die. Whatever the case, I killed this man in Long Island for money. It meant nothing to me. I didn’t even feel relief afterwards, only a kind of strength, you know, of accomplishment, and I wanted to test it again soon and I did.”

“And you were on your way.”

“Absolutely. And in my style too. The word was out. If the task seems impossible, get Roger. I could get into a hospital dressed like a young doctor, with a name tag on my coat and a clipboard in my hand, and shoot some marked guy dead in his bed before anyone was the wiser. I did that, in fact.

“But understand, I didn’t make myself rich as a hit man. It was heroin first, and then cocaine, and with the cocaine it was going back to some of the very same cowboys I’d known in the beginning, who flew the cocaine over the border same fashion, same routes, same planes! You know the history of it. Everyone does today. The early dope dealers were crude in their methods. It was ‘cops and robbers’ with the government guys. The planes would outrun the government planes, and when the planes landed, sometimes they were so stuffed with cocaine the driver couldn’t wriggle out of the cockpit, and we’d run out and get the stuff, and load it up and get the hell out of there.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Now there are geniuses in the business, people who know how to use cellular phones and computers and laundering techniques for money which no one can trace. But then? I was the genius of the dopers! Sometimes the whole thing was as cumbersome as moving furniture, I tell you. And I went in there, organizing, picking my confidants and my mules, you know, for crossing the borders, and even before cocaine ever hit the streets, so to speak, I was doing beautifully in New York and L.A. with the rich, you know, the kind of customers to whom you deliver personally. They never have to even leave
their palatial homes. You get the call. You show up. Your stuff is pure. They like you. But I had to move out from there. I wasn’t going to be dependent upon that.

“I was too clever. I made some real-estate deals that were pure brilliance on my part, and having the cash on hand, and you know those were the days of hellish inflation. I really cleaned up.”

“But how did Terry get involved in it, and Dora?”

“Pure fluke. Or destiny. Who knows? Went home to New Orleans to see my mother, brushed up against Terry and got her pregnant. Damned fool.

“I was twenty-two, my mother was really dying this time. My mother said, ‘Roger, please come home.’ That stupid boyfriend with the cracked face had died. She was all alone. I’d been sending her plenty of money all along.

“The boardinghouse was now her private home, she had two maids and a driver to take her around town in a Cadillac whenever she felt the desire. She’d enjoyed it immensely, never asking any questions about the money, and of course I’d been collecting Wynken. I had two more books of Wynken by that time and my treasure storehouse in New York already, but we can get to that later on. Just keep Wynken in the back of your mind.

“My mother had never really asked me for anything. She had the big bedroom upstairs now to herself. She said she talked to all the others who had gone on ahead, her poor old sweet dead brother Mickey, and her dead sister, Alice, and her mother, the Irish maid—the founder of our family, you might say—to whom the house had been willed by the crazy lady who lived there. My mother was also talking a lot to Little Richard. That was a brother that died when he was four. Lockjaw. Little Richard. She said Little Richard was walking around with her, telling her it was time to come.

“But she wanted me to come home. She wanted me there in that room. I knew all this. I understood. She had sat with
boarders that were dying. I had sat with others than Old Captain. So I went home.

“Nobody knew where I was headed, or what my real name was, or where I came from. So it was easy to slip out of New York. I went to the house on St. Charles Avenue and sat in the sickroom with her, holding the Utile vomit cup to her chin, wiping her spittle, and trying to get her on the bedpan when the agency didn’t have a nurse to send. We had help, yes, but she didn’t want the help, you know. She didn’t want the colored girl, as she called her. Or that horrible nurse. And I made the amazing discovery that these things didn’t disgust me much. I washed so many sheets. Of course there was a machine to put them in, but I changed them over and over for her. I didn’t mind. Maybe I was never normal. In any event, I simply did what had to be done. I rinsed out that bedpan a thousand times, wiped it off, sprinkled powder on it, and set it by the bed. There is no foul smell which lasts forever after all.”

“Not on this earth at least,” I murmured. But he didn’t hear me, thank God.

“This went on for two weeks. She didn’t want to go to Mercy Hospital. I hired nurses round the clock just for backup, you know, so they could take her vital signs when I got frightened. I played music for her. All the predictable things, said the rosary but loud with her. Usual deathbed scene. From two to four in the afternoon she tolerated visitors. Old cousins came. ‘Where is Roger?’ I stayed out of sight.”

“You weren’t torn to pieces by her suffering.”

“I wasn’t crazy about it, I can tell you that. She had cancer all through her and no amount of money could save her. I wanted her to hurry, and I couldn’t bear watching it, no, but there has always been a deep ruthless side to me that says, Do what you have to do. And I stayed in that room without sleep day in and day out and all night till she died.

“She talked a lot to the ghosts, but I didn’t see them or hear them. I just kept saying, ‘Little Richard, come get her. Uncle Mickey, if she can’t come back, come get her.’

“But before the end came Terry, a practical nurse, as they called them then, who had to fill in when we could not get the registered nurse because they were in such demand. Terry, five foot seven, blonde, the cheapest and most alluring piece of goods I had ever laid eyes on. Understand. This is a question of everything fitting together precisely. The girl was a shining perfect piece of trash.”

I smiled. “Pink fingernails, and wet pink lipstick.” I had seen her sparkle in his mind.

“Every detail was on target with this kid. The chewing gum, the gold anklet, the painted toenails, the way she slipped off her shoes right there in the sickroom to let me see the toenails, the way the cleavage showed, you know, under her white nylon uniform. And her stupid, heavy-lidded eyes beautifully painted with Maybelline eye pencil and mascara. She’d file her nails in there in front of me! But I tell you, never have I seen something that was so completely realized, finished, ah, ah, what can I say! She was a masterpiece.”

I laughed, and so did he, but he went on talking.

“I found her irresistible. She was a hairless little animal. I started doing it with her every chance I had. While Mother slept, we did it in the bathroom standing up. Once or twice we went down the hall to one of the empty bedrooms; we never took more than twenty minutes! I timed us! She’d do it with her pink panties around her ankles! She smelled like Blue Waltz perfume.”

I gave a soft laugh.

“Do I ever know what you’re saying,” I mused. “And to think you knew it, you fell for her and you knew it.”

“Well, I was two thousand miles away from my New York women and my boys and all, and all that trashy power that goes along with dealing, you know, the foolishness of bodyguards scurrying to open doors for you, and girls telling you they love you in the backseat of the limousine just because they heard you shot somebody the night before. And so much sex that
sometimes right in the middle of it, the best oral job you’ve ever had, you can’t keep your mind on it anymore.”

“We are more alike than I ever dreamed. I’ve lived a lie with the gifts given me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“There isn’t time. You don’t need to know about me. What about Terry? How did Dora happen?”

“I got Terry pregnant. She was supposed to be on the Pill. She thought I was rich! It didn’t matter whether I loved her or she loved me. I mean this was one of the dumbest and most simple-minded humans I have ever known, Terry. I wonder if you bother to feed upon people that ignorant and that dull.”

“Dora was the baby.”

“Yeah. Terry wanted to get rid of it if I didn’t marry her. I made a bargain. One hundred grand when we marry (I used an alias, it was never legal except on paper and that was a blessing because Dora and I are in no way legally connected) and one hundred grand when the baby was born. After that I’d give her her divorce and all I wanted was my daughter.”

“ ‘Our daughter,’ she said.

“ ‘Sure, our daughter,’ I said. What a fool I was. What I didn’t figure on, the very obvious and simple thing, what I didn’t figure on was that this woman, this little nail-filing, gum-chewing, mascara-wearing nurse in her rubber-soled shoes and diamond wedding ring, would naturally feel for her own child. She was stupid, but she was a mammal, and she had no intention of letting anybody take her baby. Like hell. I wound up with visitation rights.

“Six years I flew in and out of New Orleans every chance I had just to hold Dora in my arms, talk to her, go walking with her in the evenings. And understand, this child was mine! I mean she was flesh of my flesh from the start. She started running towards me when she saw me at the end of the block. She flew into my arms.

“We’d take a taxi to the Quarter and go through the Cabildo; she adored it; the cathedral, of course. Then we’d go for muffaletas
at the Central Grocery. You know, or maybe you don’t, the big sandwiches full of olives—”

“I know.”

“—She’d tell me everything that had happened in the week since I’d been there. I’d dance with her in the street. Sing to her. Oh, what a beautiful voice she had from the beginning. I don’t have a good voice. My mother had a good voice, and so did Terry. And this child got the voice. And the mind she had. We’d ride the ferry together over the river and back, and sing, as we stood by the rail. I took her shopping at D. H. Holmes and bought her beautiful clothes. Her mother never minded that, the beautiful clothes, and of course I was smart enough to pick up something for Terry, you know, a brassiere dripping with lace or a kit of cosmetics from Paris or some perfume selling for one hundred dollars an ounce. Anything but Blue Waltz! But Dora and I had so much fun. Sometimes I thought, I can stand anything if I can just see Dora within a few days.”

“She was verbal and imaginative, the way you were.”

“Absolutely, full of dreams and visions. Dora is no naif, now, you have to understand. Dora’s a theologian. That’s the amazing part. The desire for something spectacular? That I engendered in her, but the faith in God, the faith in theology? I don’t know where that came from.”

Theology. The word gave me pause.

“Meantime, Terry and I began to hate each other. When schooltime came, so did the fights. The fights were hell. I wanted Sacred Heart Academy for Dora, dancing lessons, music lessons, two weeks away with me in Europe. Terry hated me. I wasn’t going to make her little girl into a snot. Terry had already moved out of the St. Charles Avenue house, calling it old and creepy, and settled for a shack of a ranch-style tract home on some naked street in the soggy suburbs! So my kid was already snatched from the Garden District and all those colors, and settled in a place where the nearest architectural curiosity was the local 7-Eleven.

“I was getting desperate and Dora was getting older, old
enough perhaps to be stolen effectively from her mother, whom she did love in a very protective and kind way. There was something silent between those two, you know, talking had nothing to do with it. And Terry was proud of Dora.”

“And then this boyfriend came into the picture.”

“Right. If I had come to town a day later, my daughter and my wife would have been gone. She was skipping out on me! To hell with my lavish checks. She was going with this bankrupt electrician boyfriend of hers to Florida!