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silk would have looked like a fire hose by comparison. |
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As the drama unfolded, Paula looked away from the beachthere was precious little she could do from so far awayand followed that peculiar strand up into the cosmos. She felt the passing miles as a stream of lukewarm water caressing her face. It was darktotal and unrelenting save for the pale green strand stretching on and on like the center stripe in a never-ending asphalt highway. After what could have been minutes or hours she saw a light and, remembering her encounter with the Hungan, slowed her approach. She found a hosta tiny speckled ladybug perched atop a human-skin lamp shade in the corner of a strange, windowless room, and she used the tiny insect's black, bulbous eyes to scan her surroundings. |
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In the center of the room was a table and beside it were two men staring down into a black clay bowl. One of the men was as tall and as wide as a piano case, dressed all in black with the same gaunt, expressionless face and bad skin as Lurch from The Addams Family. The other man was much smaller and dressed better. He had on a silk smoking jacket and house slippers and the expression of a petulant child. |
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Paula continued to inspect the room. She could feel more than see the amateurish charms of protection that surrounded the dwelling. They were so weak that they wouldn't have stopped a sideshow palm reader once she knew the place existed. |
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Who is this bozo? Paula wondered. She focused her attention on the men. |
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''Don't start!" the small man said. "Black means black. Until it turns black I guess that means she's not dead." |
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"I hope you don't mind me saying, boss. But that crystal thing is about as useful as tits on a boar." |
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"Well, I do mind! If you think you can do any better, there's the damned book." Then the small man chuckled. "Tits on a boar. Where did you hear that?" |
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"That cowboy bar down in Soho. The one that transvestite rodeo rider owns. He . . . she . . . whatever the hell it is keeps |
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