Procession of the dead tct-2 Read online

  "But then you found out he was dead," I laughed.

  "He wasn't when I first saw it. He was still going strong. I wrote him a fan letter and he sent a lovely reply. I still have it."

  I smiled, dismissing it as a flight of fancy. We watched the players dance and sing for a while, Gene and Debbie and Donald.

  "So," I asked eventually-I was still standing, afraid to sit beside her in case my actions were misconstrued-"have you lost your way? Are you in the wrong room?" I looked at the door, which she'd left ajar when she came in. I was glad of that. I didn't want to be caught alone in my hotel room with a fourteen-year-old girl and a locked door. For all I knew she could be a trap. You had to stay on your toes when you worked for The Cardinal. There were a lot of people waiting to bring you down, not least The Cardinal himself, who'd sometimes sacrifice one of his pawns simply for the pleasure of watching them squirm.

  "I'm not lost," she replied blithely. "I like running around the hotel, visiting the guests, seeing what they're up to. It helps pass the time. I can leave if you want." She looked at me with sad eyes. "Do you want me to go?"

  I did. Like I'd told Adrian, I had a sore head. But she looked so lonely, I couldn't turn her away. "You can stay until the end of the film," I told her.

  "Thanks." She rewarded me with a smile that would have broken a choir of teenage hearts. I pulled at the neck of my shirt uncomfortably.

  "Won't your parents be looking for you?" I asked after another couple of songs.

  "I don't have any. They died ages ago."

  "I'm sorry." She didn't seem to mind and waved away my condolences. "Who are you staying with?" I asked. "Guardians? Foster parents?"

  "Friends," she replied, then made a face. "Not real friends. Ferdy just pays them to act that way. Do you have a girlfriend?" she suddenly asked, throwing the full weight of her young but alert eyes on me. I was on guard immediately.

  "No."

  "Could I be your girlfriend?" she asked swiftly.

  "Christ, no!"

  She looked hurt. "Why not? Am I too old?"

  "Too…?" I laughed. "Girl, I don't know what movies you've been watching, but you're definitely not too old. You're too young. Way too young."

  She pouted. "That's what's wrong with men today. They want rich old ladies they can sponge off. I bet you play up to grannies, right? Won't touch one below seventy for fear she might spend her money before she dies and leaves it to you in her will. Am I right?"

  I shook my head and laughed. "My name's Capac Raimi, by the way. What's yours?"

  "Conchita Kubekik," she replied airily. " Miss Conchita Kubekik. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

  "Likewise, I'm sure."

  We watched the rest of the film, laughing and singing along. It was a tonic, just what I needed, and my headache bubbled away long before the rain dried up and the singing stopped.

  I flicked off the set and coughed. "Isn't it time you should-," Ibegan, only to have her hush me with a flick of a wrist.

  She rushed to my phone and dialed room service. Lowering her voice, she mumbled, "An egg and salamander sandwich for Room 863, please."

  She handed me the mouthpiece and raised her eyebrows competitively. Without thinking I said, "And a goose and snuff salad on the side." I hung up and we laughed at the silly prank.

  "Who's in Room 863?" I asked.

  "A dirty old man," she said. "I wandered in there a few weeks ago and he was lying on his bed, naked, with a pile of smutty magazines. He smiled when he saw me and waved me over with his dick. Dirty old pervert. I was half-tempted to go and punch him in the balls, but he might have caught me and had his wicked way."

  She was young and had all the appearance of innocence, but she was no frail snip of a girl. She was well acquainted with the seedier side of life. Wise beyond her years.

  "How long have you been here?" I asked.

  "A couple of hours," she replied with a smirk.

  "Ha, ha. You know what I mean. How long have you lived at the Skylight?"

  "A couple of months shy of forever. Guess how old I am."

  "I don't know."

  "That's why I said guess! "

  "Thirteen?"

  "Nope."

  "Fourteen?"

  "Not even close."

  "Fifteen?" My final attempt.

  "I'm fifty-eight!" she roared, her voice almost shattering.

  "You look well," I complimented her, playing along with the game.

  "I bathe in magic water every day," she told me in tones of strictest confidence. "Imported from Egypt. The water keeps me forever young, beautiful and virgin." She cocked an eyebrow in my direction. "Though that last needn't be a permanent condition. The right man, the right place, the right time…"

  "Careful," I warned her. "You don't know where games like that might lead. What if I was one of those perverts like the man in 863?"

  "You're not," she said. "Bad guys don't watch musicals."

  I didn't push the point. She'd find out for herself one day how deceptive appearances can be.

  "Do you know any good games?" she asked.

  "Chess?" I couldn't remember playing chess before, but as I said it I saw a checkered board and lots of pieces. In my mind I was sitting beside an open fire, the woman opposite laughing, taking my queen with her bishop, unaware I'd tricked her and was two moves away from mate. How the hell did I-

  "Pooh! Chess! No thank you," Conchita said, holding her nose with one hand, waving the other underneath, fanning away the stench of the idea and breaking my train of thought. "Chess stinks. I like Chutes and Ladders, Twister, fun stuff like that. Have you got any of those games?"

  "No, but I have a pack of cards. We could play snap."

  "Yes!" She clapped her gloved hands with delight. "I'm great at snap. I'm the world champion!"

  She could have been too. I let her win the first few hands, the way adults do when they play with kids, but when I tried to win a few back, I couldn't. She was lightning-fast, with a steady eye and hair-trigger reflexes.

  "I'm bored," she yawned after winning the umpteenth game. "You're useless. Are there any other games we can play?"

  "Poker?"

  "I don't know how to play. I used to, but it was such a serious game, and Ferdy got sore when I beat him and took his money. I gave it up and made myself forget. I know how to play strip poker… but it wouldn't be fair on you. I'm so good, I couldn't lose, and it would be so embarrassing for you, stripped bare in your own apartment, humiliated on your own turf."

  "Besides," I said, "you'd have an unfair advantage."

  "How so?"

  "All the clothes you've got on. Why do you wear so many? Cold-blooded? Afraid of catching germs? Or could it be…"

  I stopped. Her smile had vanished and her confidence evaporated. She'd become a frightened bird, ready to flee at a second's notice. I'd somehow touched a nerve. She said nothing for a while, deciding whether to leave or stay. Eventually, tentatively, in a voice so small it was painful, she asked, "Can I trust you, Capac?"

  "Sure."

  "I mean really trust you, with the most important secret there is? I've never shown anyone. Apart from the doctors. They said I should show my friends but I didn't have any, not like you. I've only known you a couple of hours but I feel like I could trust you with my life. I don't know why but I sense it. Will you promise not to tell anybody, ever, if I show you?"

  I knelt down before her. "I give you my word, Conchita. Whatever it is, I'll say nothing to anybody. Honest Injun."

  She took a deep breath, glanced around the room, then peeled off one of her long white gloves. The hand beneath was wrinkled, covered in brown splotches. The fingers bent inward arthritically. It was an old woman's hand. I knew now why she kept herself covered and why she seemed so mature. She had a disease. I'd read about it in magazines. I didn't know the name but it was where the body grew old prematurely. I'd seen a picture once, of a young boy all shriveled up, a ten-year-old trapped in an old man's body, a kid who
looked like a dried-out dwarf. The disease hadn't touched Conchita's face-she'd been spared that part-but the rest of her…

  "Is it like that all over?" I asked gently.

  She nodded slowly. "All over. From my toes to my neck. Every bit except…" Her voice caught. "Except for…" Tears were brimming in her eyes and she was starting to shake. "Except for my face," she wheezed, then fell to the floor and sobbed.

  I stood by helplessly, not sure if I should step forward and embrace her, keep silent or what. In the end I bent, picked up her exposed hand, raised it to my lips and kissed it.

  She stopped sobbing, looked up and stared at me, shocked at first, then delighted. A tiny smile broke through the tears. She threw her arms around my neck, hugged and kissed me, a little girl's innocent kisses.

  "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you. Thank you. I knew you were a good guy. Lovely and kind. I used to think Ferdy was like that but he wasn't."

  "Who's Ferdy?" I asked softly. She'd mentioned the name three or four times. I thought he must have been her father.

  "Ferdy's my… he used to be my protector. He's gone now. Will you be my protector instead? I thought I was all alone and would be forever, nobody to look out for me when nights are dark and cold. Will you protect me, Capac?"

  "Yes," I said, patting the back of her head. "I'll protect you. I promise." I stroked the back of her poor diseased neck, not really knowing what I was saying, aware only that a small, fragile girl had asked for help. I was in a vicious business but that didn't mean I had to be a vicious man. Not all the time anyway.

  Afterward, when the tears dried, we cemented our friendship by going into the bathroom to play the Singin' in the Rain game. We stood in front of the mirror, one concealed behind the other, and performed. First up, I sang "Blueberry Hill" while she mimed it. Then I took to the stage and mouthed "Great Balls of Fire" while she sang behind me. I didn't know all the words but neither did she, so it evened out over the course.

  "What do you want to be?" she asked as we sat down to The Wizard of Oz later. "More than anything else in the world, what do you really want to be?"

  "A gangster," I smiled.

  "You mean like Marlon Brando and Al Pacino in The Godfather? "

  "Maybe more like Cagney, a villain with a heart of gold." I stuck my hands out and did a rotten Jimmy Cagney impression. "I liked Cagney the best. He always made good right at the end of the movie."

  "He didn't in White Heat," she said.

  "True."

  A lull in the conversation for a while. Then she said, "That's a funny thing to want. It's not nice. Ferdy was a gangster. Then he said he wasn't, but he was really. Why do you want to be a gangster, Capac?"

  I shrugged. "You earn respect," I tried to explain. "You get power, privilege, a say in the running of the world. People look up to you."

  "Is that so important?"

  "Yes," I said fiercely. "I've been a nobody. I've known what it's like to be one of the walking dead and I didn't enjoy it." I was thinking of that night in the warehouse when death kissed my cheeks and let me go on a whim. "I want power. I want the protection, comfort and safety that it brings. Without power you're nothing, a corpse waiting to be reaped."

  "Capac? I respect you." She looked at me with sorrowful eyes, a lot like the young Judy Garland who was singing of life beyond the rainbow. "Isn't that enough?"

  I shifted uneasily and wished she'd drop this and get back to watching the movie. You were safe with movies. They can't hurt you. Not like reality can.

  "You have to hurt people when you're a gangster," she said. "To get your power you have to take theirs. Isn't that right, Capac?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Would you hurt someone?" Her voice was low, steady.

  "If I had to," I answered truthfully.

  "I don't think you could," she said. "You're too nice."

  "Maybe," I said.

  "What's your job at the moment?" she asked.

  "I'm an insurance agent."

  "Ah," she said, nodding. "In that case, I suppose becoming a gangster is the next logical step."

  "Funny," I said drily.

  "Were you always an insurance agent?" she asked.

  "No."

  "What were you before?"

  "I…" My mind flew back and I found myself facing a wall I'd been trying not to confront, though it grew in size every day. It was a wall I'd first noticed when Adrian asked me about my past.

  What had I done before coming to the city? I couldn't remember. It sounded crazy but my past was a blank. I could recall every step since alighting from the train but not a single one before. I hadn't mentioned this to anybody, barely even to myself. I'd been hoping the memories would return if I didn't worry about them.

  "Capac?" She tapped my shoulder. "Are you OK?"

  "Fine." I coughed. "Anyway, enough about me. What about Conchita Kubekik? What do you want to be when you grow up? A lawyer, actress, model?"

  "I want to be a ballerina. They're so beautiful and graceful. There are no ugly ballerinas, not like…" She didn't finish. Didn't have to. I felt my heart lurch with sympathy. "I used to go to the ballet a lot, maybe four nights a week, watching them spin and glide like angels. Yes, I'll be a ballerina. I'll dance all night, men will throw themselves at my feet and Ferdy will come and weep with joy. He'll see that there's more to life than…"

  She stopped, blushed and looked to see what Judy was up to.

  "You'd make a lovely ballerina," I said softly.

  "No," she smiled flatly. "I can't dance for shit."

  At one in the morning Conchita reluctantly said she had to return to her apartment. "They come looking for me if I stay away too long," she said petulantly. "They like me to get out and about, but only if they're there to look over my shoulder. Not that I blame them. Ferdy would punish them if they disobeyed his commands."

  "Who are they, Conchita?" I asked.

  "Doctors and nurses. My guardians." She smiled. "But I won't need them now that I have you. And you're so much better looking than those grumpy old men with their needles and stethoscopes."

  "Are you making this up?" I frowned.

  "I'm a sick person, Capac." She rolled up one of her sleeves and revealed the withered flesh again. "They help… they stop me from killing myself. I've tried a few times. Lots of times. I don't want to die but I get so scared sometimes, I just can't bear to live." She smiled. "But that'll change now that I have a friend like you."

  I didn't like it when she talked like that. We'd only known each other a few hours, yet she'd made up her mind I was some kind of Prince Charming. I recalled the promise I'd rashly made. I had been honest when I said I wanted to protect her, but could I keep my word?

  "Can I come and visit you again?" she asked.

  "Sure," I said.

  "Every night? Can I come and sit on your bed, watch movies and play games, laugh and be happy and not have to worry about my looks? You can tell me what's happening in the city. I've been in here so long, sometimes I believe the Earth was built with a pane of glass in front of it. I'll go whenever you're tired or want to be alone, because people get like that sometimes, I know."

  "You can come anytime," I told her softly. "I'll get an extra card for you and you can let yourself in whenever you like. How's that?"

  "Great!" She rushed out. Stopped and came back slowly. "You're not a dream, are you, Capac? I've known dream people before. Here one day, gone the next. I knew dream people even before I got sick. You're not one of those, are you?"

  "I'm not a dream person," I assured her. "I'm real." She grinned, then her face lit up with a new idea. "Walk me home!" she begged.

  "What?"

  "Escort me to my room and drop me off at the door with a kiss, like they do in the movies. You can even come in and meet my doctors. They can see how nice you are and not nag me about coming to see you in the future."

  "Is that a good idea? They might be suspicious of my intentions. A grown man and a young girl, alone in a ho
tel room…"

  She laughed. "I told you I'm fifty-eight. A woman that age can do as she likes."

  She led the way to the elevator and pressed the button for the top. A sign lit up over the panel, asking for a code. She pressed five buttons. I thought she was playing games but the light blinked and we rose. I'd never been to the top floor before. I expected Troops but it was the same as any other hall, unguarded, ordinary.

  Conchita walked ahead of me. I hesitated, not sure we should be up here, then followed. There might be trouble when we were found, but I was sure we could wriggle out of it. I had contacts.

  Conchita moved with confidence, not put off by the glass ceiling and the black sky above. I paused a few times to look down on the city. All I could see were tiny lights like stars reflecting in a dark pond.

  We went down two long corridors. I was starting to feel itchy under the collar when she put her hand out, shoved open a door and entered a seemingly random room. I rushed forward to catch her, thinking the game had gone far enough, only to miss, stumble in after her and find myself in a huge room where all the furniture was covered with white sheets and robes. Long curtains obscured the walls and more had been draped across the glass roof to blot out the sky. The entire room was smothered in wraps, just like Conchita.

  There were four people present, a man and three women, clad in white. The man stepped forward angrily. "Where have you been?" he snapped. "We were about to call security and you know how awkward we feel when we have to do that." He eyed me suspiciously. "Who's this?"

  "My friend," she said loftily, breezing past without a care in the world. His hands tightened and I guessed he would have loved to strangle her if he dared.

  "Friend? " he barked. "I wasn't aware you had any friends. Where did-"

  She snapped her fingers and he shut up. "That's enough, Mervyn. I'm allowed to have friends, am I not? I thought you'd be delighted."

  "Miss Kubekik, of course I'm happy that you-"

  "In that case, please apologize to Mr. Raimi."

  "Apologize for what?" he exploded.