Part 51 (1/2)

”Did you enjoy it?” Maluta's eyes never left her as she walked around the desk and sat, finally, on one of the velvet-covered chairs. She sat with her back very straight, her legs demurely crossed, a soldier's posture. Her head was back, a strand of her thick, honey-colored hair curling down over one cool appraising gray eye.

”I want to know,” Maluta said. ”It is important that I know.” He had not moved an inch since she had left him.

”Why is it important to you, Oleg?”

”Because,” he said. And stopped.

”Because you fancy yourself a great lover?”

”Because Oreanda never a enjoyed it!”

He had blurted it out and Daniella suppressed a smile of triumph. She had known that he could not fancy himself any kind of lover at all, the celibate all these years since Oreanda's death. But she hadwanted to provoke a response in him, knowing that if she stung him deep enough the truth would inevitably emerge. And in this she had been successful.

”Now you must know whether I am like her in this,” she said.

”Yes.”

”Oleg, Oreanda never came into your office and did that to you.”

”It never would have occurred to her,” he admitted.

”What did she enjoy?”

His eyes were closed, his arched ringers ma.s.saging his forehead. ”She read de Sade. You know that.”

She had not, she had only suspected it until he had told her at the dacha. ”And she practiced what she read,” She watched him. ”Yes,” she went on eventually, ”I imagine she was a c.u.n.t.”

”You know nothing about her,” Maluta said, but there was no conviction left in his voice.

”On the contrary,” Daniella said, deliberately ending the thought there.

”Well?” he said, ”You didn't answer my question.”

”I thought I had.”

”I don't understand.”

”Oleg,” she said, ”it's all the answer you're going to get.” She stoodup, smiled. ”I hope you don't have an imminent meeting. You're all wet.a”

He looked down at his lap as if first becoming aware of the mess there. ”Look what you've done to me.”

”I want the photos of Mikhail.”

”No,” Maluta said.

”What do you do,” she said contemptuously, ”spill your seed all over them?”

He was abruptly offended. ”What are you thinking of? You cannot shame me into giving them to you.”

”I have no need to, Oleg,” she said earnestly. ”You have already shamed yourself.”

”How easily the lies fall from your mouth, c.u.n.t.”

”No, Oleg,” she said. ”Oreanda was the c.u.n.t, the controlling b.i.t.c.h who made your life a h.e.l.l.”

”I loved her!” he shouted and she thought, Yes, the wound is still as fresh as if it had been inflicted yesterday. ”I loved her with all my heart.”

”You couldn't have,” Daniella said a.s.sertively. ”Otherwise she would not have died.”

His face was white. ”What do you mean?” But he knew perfectly well what she meant.

”You protest that you didn't set the fire,” she said. ”Why? Do you think that you can hide it from her? Do you think that you can escape her retribution?”

Maluta was gripping the arms of his chair.

And then in a softer voice, ”She's listening now, isn't she, Oleg?”

His eyes were wide and staring. ”You are crazy!” He was shaking now. He knew that he must fill up the hissing silence or he would go mad. This was what he had been fighting with since Oreanda's death. Now it was coming out, leaking through the fine seal he had set up at the dark edge of his mind. ”She's dead. Dead and gone!”

Daniella shook her head, sensing victory. His eyes, with the whites showing all around, had the aspect of a panicked animal's. ”She's inside your soul, Oleg. You must know that.”

She leaned over his desk, her eyes glowing, feral. ”She knows who set the fire. She knows who killed her.”

Then abruptly, Daniella came around the desk. Her aspect softened along with her voice. ”But I'll protect you, Oleg.” Her hand rested on his crotch. She felt the stirring there. ”I'll protect you from Oreanda. Her power is mine, isn't it, Oleg. The magic has been transferred. It is mine to use as I wish.” Her voice had turned into a croon. ”Yes, I'll protect you.”

Maluta, giving a great shudder, dug frantically inside the collar of his s.h.i.+rt. He produced a tiny, odd-looking key on a gold chain and, rattling it against the lock in the desk's lower drawer, finally inserted it. He pulled out the drawer and fumbled there for some time out of Daniella's line of sight.

”There,” he said, finally. ”All right? There.”

Daniella looked at the packet he had thrown on the desktop, her heart beating fast. She tried, unsuccessfully, to catch her breath.

”You and Mikhail Carelin,” Maluta said through tense lips. ”In there like characters from a film. A p.o.r.nographic film.” He looked away, as if he could not bear what he was doing. ”The prints and the negatives. Everything is there.” A pulse beat erratically in his temple. He appeared inordinately tired, as if giving up the photos somehow robbed him of energy.

Daniella lifted her hand, mopped at his sopping brow. ”Poor darling,” she whispered. ”Rest now. Sleep.”

Oleg Maluta nodded. He closed his eyes.

Slowly, with the kind of reverence her mother had approached the image of Christ on the cross, Daniella put her hand over the packet.

Jake hit White-Eye Kao very hard in the center of his nose. The flesh rent, the cartilage split and a torrent of blood gushed forth. Jake held the Chinese's hands, preventing them from stanching the flow. White-Eye Kao's good eye was red-rimmed and his cheap suit was stained red. ”I know you're not here to be b.u.g.g.e.red, ”Jake said. ”You're too old for McKenna, for one thing.” He hauled on the Chinese, dragging him across the brightly lighted room. ”For another, you're a b.l.o.o.d.y wog. That's what McKenna called you, know that? Did he ever say that to your face, I wonder? No, he didn't have the guts for it. But he thought it every waking moment. You were nothing but a running sore to him.”

Took White-Eye Kao by the scruff of his neck and, as if he were a pet who had soiled the carpet, shoved his face into McKenna's bloated one. The stench was horrific.

”Gr-Great Pool of Piddle!” White-Eye Kao finally got out. ”A mi tuo fo!”

”That's right,” Jake said, ”call on the Buddha. But he won't be merciful tonight. Not to you, anyway.”

He hauled back on the Chinese, kept him standing. It was important to keep him as uncomfortable as possible.

”Water,” White-Eye Kao said. He turned his head in Bliss's direction. ”Buddha's mercy, some water!”