Gypsy Blood (32 page)

Carnival tried to pull himself together. It had been a long rough night. He’d argued with the undead fiend he was in love with. She’d left him or just shoved him off. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember.

Maybe vampiric amnesia is contagious?

Poppa was there. Poppa was always there.

“You could tell me what happened, at least.”

Ha. Some Gypsy. A single night out, and he calls it a lost weekend.

Carnival was tired and wet. He felt about as resilient as a bag of recycled tampons. He couldn’t wait to get some rest. He was going to fry up some beans with a little garlic. No, on second thought, make that a lot of garlic.

I recommend garlic and a steak, with a pitcher full of holy water to chase the whole mess down. You need to purge, my son. You need to cleanse yourself.

Carnival smiled.

“No, no more water,” he said. “Maybe some sacramental wine. That’d be the ticket, wouldn’t it? Just a little wine.”

You whine enough these days. Dionysius would be proud of you.

“I could give lessons to a wino.”

Like that one-legged Elija?

“Shut up, Poppa.”

Shut up. You always tell me to shut up. Haven’t you shut me up enough yet? Locked in your chest, next to your heart? What do you hope to learn?

“What did you do with Momma’s body, Poppa? That’s all I want to know. What did you do with her body?”

You don’t want to know that. Besides, you have company. A customer, I think.

There was a knock at the door. Carnival went to it. It was Doris, the old lady he’d read for, just before Maya had walked into his life.

She was holding a thin long boning knife.

“I’ve done it,” she said. “Just what you told me to. I cut him out of my life.”

Carnival did not have to look that hard to see the blood on the knife.

“I did it with this,”
Doris
said, gesturing with the knife. “I sharpened it against the bottom of a china cup. I honed it to a working edge.”

In his imagination Carnival could hear the wheet-wheet sound of the knife working against the grit of the porcelain cup, as
Doris
kept talking.

“I did it while he was sleeping. It wasn’t hard. I slipped one of my pills into a bottle of his beer. I brought him potato chips, before I brought the beer. Those big fat salty kind. He crunched them up and smiled and asked for a beer. He asked for it, don’t you see?”

“And then you killed him?”

That’s not pizza sauce on her blade, boy.

“I didn’t kill him. I cut him free. Like you said. Who holds the knife?”

Carnival looked at her, so short and dumpy in a soft bluish Aunt Bea kind of way. How could he miss something like that in her? How could he not see that far into her makeup to see the killer hiding behind the old china doll?

“He drank it fast. He always drank too fast. Even as a baby. I watched him guzzle. Suck it down, and then it sucked him down, and he was asleep. And when he was asleep, I did it.”

She did it, boy. Just like you told her. Who holds the knife?

Carnival couldn’t find an answer. He had told her, in a kind of way. She’d come to him for advice and he’d given it to her.

Take it son, take it by the hilt. Who holds the knife? Admit your responsibility.

“I stuck it in him, while he slept. He kicked up, hard, and I held him down. He looked up at me once. Momma, he said. Momma. He hadn’t called me that for so long. It was worth it, just for that. I didn’t mind all of the blood.”

That’s why I hate card flippers. Palm peerers. You tell people things. And sometimes they go and do them. And when they do it, you never know it and you never own it.

“Come on
Doris
,” Carnival said. “Come to the table. I’ll give you a reading.”

Doris
smiled gratefully.

She doesn’t want to hear, boy. She wants to tell. Father, hear my sins. She wants to give you her confession. You don’t need your cards for that.

“You’ve been having trouble,” Carnival went on. “A reading will clear things up.”

He smiled, and for the first time in several days his smile wasn’t faked. It would be good to do a simple reading. The routine of it, after all of the blood and murder that had over filled his life over these last few days, would be comforting.

Do it boy. A good simple reading for Mrs. Hannibal Lector. Get in touch with one of the simple folk.

Carnival hadn’t had much time to think about his work.

That’s because you’ve been in a bad relationship. The obsessive kind that forces you to forget about the practical, to forget about you. It sucks up your complete and undivided attention.

“You know a lot, Poppa.” Carnival whispered.

I watch Dr. Phil. If you spent more time staring at television instead of cards, you might learn a little about life.

“I beg your pardon?”
Doris
asked, a trifle confused.

“You don’t need anybody’s pardon,
Doris
. Nothing was your fault.” he smiled, convincingly. “I’m just talking to my spirit guide, is all.”

He smiled again, and this time it was real. He was looking forward to the reading. He’d missed it. He laid the cards out.

“I’ll choose the Queen of Cups for you. An old fashioned lady, sitting by a river with an ornate vessel balanced in her hands. Such a burden. A cup, waiting to be filled.”

That’s what you did, boy. You came and you filled her and she didn’t feel a thing.

“The Queen of Cups is a traditional kind of woman. I always see her as doing the dishes, with that ornate piece of crockery she reverently holds. Your son, I’d guess.”

She nodded, grateful for Carnival’s presumption.

Not a bad guess, given that his blood is on her knife.

That was the trick behind fortune telling. There were only two questions most folks needed to know. Love, and purpose. Would they be loved? Would they figure out what to do? Mostly it was about love.

I knew it. You cheat.

It wasn’t cheating, Carnival thought. A good card reader needs to know the shape of the land he’s going to hunt in.

Go ahead, make another excuse.

Carnival laid the cards out, and told her what he saw. He listened to her words, because she needed that more than breath. Her problems lightened, and multiplied.

“What do I do now? With his things? With my life? How do I go on, after a thing like this?”

She looked at Carnival, her eyes soft blue lasers. “What do I do with the body?”

Ha! Another one who has never watched The Sopranos.

“Deal with one problem at a time,
Doris
. You have to prioritize. Your son is no longer that much of a problem. Don’t run away. Don’t hide it. Put his hand on the knife. Call the police. They won’t see you behind all that gray hair.”

Some plan. Columbo would see right through it. He’d chew on his cigar for a while and ask a silly question, and then he’d know. Ha. Columbo was a palm reader.

“Go home and deal with your problem,
Doris
. Own it. Face it.”

You’re talking to yourself now, aren’t you?

“Yes, Poppa, I’m talking to myself.”

Doris
smiled at Carnival. She’d heard what she’d wanted to find out. A plan. A thing to do. Carnival had pointed and given her a direction. Whether wrong or right her feet would find the way. She gave him his money and he tucked into his wallet.

He walked her across the floor and reached for the door knob. The door swung wide, nearly knocking him down.

Maya stood in the doorway, smiling with a mouth full of razors and need.

“Is she for me?” she asked.

Carnival’s brief vacation was suddenly over.

“She’s a little old, but I can still use her,” Maya said. “A girl’s got to eat, don’t you know?”

Doris
looked offended. To tell the truth, Carnival couldn’t blame her. She’d had a tough night killing her son and all. Now here she was, leaving her favorite reader on a fairly upbeat note, confronted by this long haired wild looking woman.

Give her to the vampire. She’s had a hard life, and will be grateful if you end it tonight. She won’t have to deal with her son’s death. You can give the boy to the vampire too. Call him desert.

It would tie things up neatly. Chances are the police would never make the connection between a woman’s murdered son, her subsequent disappearance, and a rundown palm reader. It made perfect sense but Carnival didn’t want to do it that way.

Why, boy? I’m talking sense.

“I do a lot of things without ever needing to make sense, Poppa.”

Maya looked at him.

“Talk to me, damn it. Never mind your Poppa. I want the woman.”

“She’s a customer, Maya. One of my customers. I just finished a reading for her, and was seeing her to the door.”

“Invite her back in. I’m famished.”

Doris
didn’t know what to make out of that declaration.

“I’m hungry,” Maya said.

“And I’m pissed. It’s one thing to mess with my life. Don’t mess with my living.”

Tell her, boy.

Carnival pushed past Maya. She could have taken his head off of his shoulders with no effort at all but he wasn’t going to let her push him around.

“You just remember what we talked about,
Doris
,” he told her, putting his back between her and Maya. “One problem at a time. Everything will be okay if you can keep things in perspective. Go home and call the police.”

Doris
nodded, embarrassed and bothered by this strange woman’s behavior.

Why not kill her? You’ve lost her business anyways. She won’t be back.

Poppa was right. It didn’t take much to push a person off a fortune teller’s reading list. They were nervous enough every time they come through his door. A little anything would scare them like gun shy deer.

Carnival shepherded
Doris
safely to the sidewalk. He could feel Maya’s eyes, chewing into his spine. He took the old lady’s hand and held it, just long enough to comfort her and squeeze in a little bit of necessary advice.

“If you know any good prayers, say them out loud on the way home.” he ordered her, as forcefully as he dared.

Doris
crossed herself.

Maya’s eyes kept staring into Carnival’s back. He knew she wanted an explanation, and he couldn’t really blame her for that.

Doris
headed off down the sidewalk, crossing herself and praying loudly every step of the way.

Aunt Bea stepping out of Mayberry and straight into the pages of
Salem
’s
Lot
.

She knows what’s going on. That old woman is no fool.

Poppa was right.

Maybe dumpy middle aged housewives aren’t nearly as thick minded as everyone thinks they are.

“Do you think the crossing will help?” Carnival wondered aloud.

“The aerobic activity is good for her heart.” Maya whispered coldly in his ear closer to him than he thought she had been.

Good for her heart, yes. It will keep it beating one more night.

Carnival turned to face Maya. She snarled. Her mouth, was wide and nasty, showing all of her teeth.

And you thought you were pissed.

Carnival stared at what might be his death, listening to the sounds of
Doris
’s sensible flat shoes click-clocking into the night.

Poppa was right.

Her heart would keep on beating, for one more night.

Carnival wished he could say the same thing about his own heart.

Getting Familiar with the City

Y
ou don’t have to be a palm reader to know what she wants.

Poppa was right. Maya wasn’t being that subtle about it. She wanted her feeding but Carnival wasn’t in any kind of a hurry.

Maybe he’d never have to worry about hurrying again if he had his way tonight.

Spin your webs, spider-boy. Faster than a speeding aneurism.

“You chose her,” Maya rasped. “You chose her over me.”

“She was a customer. I make my bread and butter from people like that.”

“People like that
are
my bread and butter,” she said.

She has a point.

“I saw you talking to the old man on the staircase,” she said. “You could have killed him for me. It would have been easy.”