CHAPTER 11 - SORROW

Mallory Sauternau had slept late. The famed Tinker Bell had sounded 2:30 hours ago. Mallory’s wake up box had been screeching for hours. She lay in her slip and bra on clean but worn sheets in her Murphy bed oblivious to everything. Two empty rum bottles lay on the floor. ‘English Harbor’ read the labels on the bottles. Until last night they had lain in Sam’s drawer untouched for three years. Something had broken in Mallory’s psyche last night. The demons had gang tackled her as she returned soused from Gigots gin joint.

She had sat at the edge of the bed and had started crying. Her failed career as a detective on the force, they way they threw her out of the department, the Goodword incident, the rampant corruption and hypocrisy of Capital City, and Sam’s murder had all driven her to the edge of madness. Everyone knew Mallory was tough and hard, all except Mallory herself. She new the truth.

Her hand on her cheeks and her elbows on her knees she sobbed and sobbed. Unable to overcome the grief and sadness rising up within her from some dark place in desperation she sought relief in drink. Rum had done little to stop the thoughts, the memories, and the fears. At about four in the morning she had passed out. But as drunk and unconscious as she was she kept seeing Sam’s face. Always Sam’s face.

She had come to hate Sam for leaving her, for taking her last chance at happiness, and for abandoning her in this ugly dirty world. Just when she thought she might find something better, ever just a little better, it had been snatched from her. Taken by Goodword, stolen by corruption, and destroyed by greed.

There was a light knock on the door. The smoked glass on the door read Mallory Sauternau and Sam Strong – Private Detectives – by reference only. Mallory did not hear the knock. She heard nothing in her dark oblivion. The knock came again a bit louder. A key slipped in the lock on the door and a young woman in a green dress stepped in. She walked through the office and into the bedroom. She looked down at Mallory and sighed.

Trixi set her oversized and once fashionable bag down on the only chair in the bedroom. Trixi turned to the tiny bathroom with its small shower. She turned on the water which ran brown for a few moments. The water pressure wavered. Finally the water grew warm. Not too hot, thought Trixi, just warm enough. She returned to the bed room & kitchen and killed the wake up box.

“God Mallory,” Trixi said to herself, “how could you let it get this bad?” But Trixi knew the truth. Sam had been everything Mallory. Every girl wanted a man like Sam. But now he was dead. Murdered at Goodword in a town that didn’t care. This town killed Sam, Trixi knew. The Mayor, the Chief, the Order, even the Governor were part of it, or had turned away when they saw Sam lying on the cement of the homeless shelter with a dagger in his back.

Trixi drew a deep breath. She pulled Mallory from the bed and carried her to the shower. Mallory’s lost weight again thought Trixi. She removed Mallory’s few underclothes and put her in the shower. Trixi grabbed a wooden waste basket. She dumped the few contents into the sink. Trixi turned the waste basket over and sat on it. She sat watching the shower and Mallory.

Mallory moaned.

Trixi knew Mallory was going to be sick. But she also knew that there would be nothing in Mallory’s gut but rum, grappa, and bile. The shower with running water was the best place for her to be sick. And I’m here, thought Trixi, to keep her from drowning in the inch of water at the bottom of the shower.

Trixi fumbled for the me-Phone. A long night was ahead. She phoned Khron’s deli and ordered delivery for six oclock. Chicken soup for Mallory. A ham on rye with brown mustard and a dark beer for her. Khrons was on the first floor of the Dowdily building and Mallory’s office flat was on the sixth. She would have to tip the delivery girl for climbing all those stairs. The elevator had quit working years ago.

Across the street stood The Times building and several small crowds had gathered around the news urchins who were shouting out about an extra edition. Trixi thought about getting up and closing the window to keep out the noise. But she decided that Mallory would not be bothered by the noise. At least not yet.

Trixi stood and took five steps to her purse and immediately returned to the shower. Mallory had slipped just a bit. Not enough to matter. She opened her purse and pulled out a half empty pack of low cal cigarettes. She lit one. Trixi sat thinking about the past. About the days when Trixi with Danny and Mallory with Sam went dancing at the Ocean Club at the far end of the Ocean Shore Pier. Those were wonderful days and fantastic nights. The rhythmic music, the silly flirtatious dancing, the small talk that had so much meaning, the gazing at the sea and the stars, before setting off for home, and bed, and love.

Trixi was about to cry when Mallory moaned again. Mallory started to shiver. She’s not cold knew Trixi. “It’s the booze,” she said to herself, “The damned booze.”

Trixi looked carefully at Mallory laying naked under the streaming water from the ancient brass calcium encrusted shower head. She took a chance and walked quickly to the window. She stuck out her head and shouted to the news urchin, “bring up a paper, there’s a linden tip in it for you. Office 603. Fast.” The news kid smiled, a linden was a lot for just running up six flights of stairs.

Trixi checked the shower, Mallory was still as death. She had not moved.

There was a hard knock at the door. Trixi reached for a two linden note and opened the door. The news kid was short or very young. Perhaps 9. Not more than 10 thought Mallory. The kid had a big smile. A high tip smile. She gave him a two linden note. The kid doffed his cap, handed her a thin paper, and turned running for the stairs.

Trixi closed the door and rushed back to the shower. She dropped the newspaper on the closed fabric covered toilet seat. Mallory had not moved. Trixi tested the water. The water was a bit warmer. Trixi nudged the cold tap a bit and the pipes began to bang and thump. Water hammer Trixi knew. Mallory moaned again and then tried to vomit. The dry heaves though Trixi. Trixi turned down the hot water and the noise stopped.

A long night thought Trixi. Trixi reached for the toilet lid and lifted it a little. The newspaper fell to the floor. She dropped her dying cigarette into the water. The stubby cigarette hissed briefly and died.

Mallory tried to vomit again. A thin brownish stream of mucus and fluid flowed from the corner of Mallory’s mouth. Mallory began to cough.

Trixi grasped Mallory’s fading blond hair and held up her head. Then Trixi stood and grabbed Mallory about the shoulders and tried to lift her to her feet. Mallory was all dead weight. Trixi set her down carefully on the tile shower floor.

Mallory tried to vomit again.

Trixi reached for her purse again and found the cigarettes. She lit one up. Then she looked about at the bathroom and the apartment. The bathroom was old and worn out, but it was clean. Mallory was clean thought Trixi. The shower curtain was plastic and cracked. Butterflies and autumn leaves had once adorned the curtain, but they had faded.

The yellow paint was fresh. Mallory and Trixi had done that in a weekend not long ago. The paint had softened all the hard edges in the bathroom and rounded out the corners. They had joked on that day that the paint must be twenty coatings deep. They were almost right. The paint was thirty coats deep and was the strongest element in the bath that held up the rotting and weakened walls.

A small high window let in fresh air and allowed the shower mist to vent into the darkening sky. The toilet seat cover was fashioned from an old apron that Trixi remembered from happier days. There were large yellow daises imprinted on the fabric. A tiny shelf held a small collection of high end cosmetics. Most of the containers were emptied long ago. They had become monuments to another life, a separate existence, now gone but never forgotten.

A small bottle of Old Spice aftershave held the place of honor on the little shelf. The mirror was screwed to the wall and the silver was pealing on the back. To apply lipstick you had to squat a little. Mallory had called it subterranean beautification. The tile floor of the bathroom had a large crack running diagonally from the door toward the far wall. Air had flowed from below through the part of the crack. But one night, not long after Sam had died, Mallory had filled the worst portion of the crack in with tooth paste. She was desperate to keep the cockroaches out. It had worked. In a month or so it had solidified and regular washings of the floor did little to affect it.

Two large pink towels hung from a brass rail on the door. The railing had once been silvery. Trixi could tell because the ends were still a bit shiny. But the silver had worn away a long long time ago. The towels were new but they were cheap. The pile was thin.

It was getting quiet outside. The news urchins had stopped shouting an hour or so ago. Probably moving off into other portions of the central city. Trixi looked at her watch. 6:30 it read. Khrons was late as usual. She was about to call, when there was a loud knock on the door. Trixi looked at Mallory. She figured she could leave the bathroom for a moment.

She stood, pulled the hem down on her green dress. She lifted the toilet seat a bit and threw her dying cigarette into the water to join its dead soggy brethren. The door resounded with an even louder knock. Khrons was never that insistent, besides they made deliveries all the time the office and they usually just left the packages on the floor by the door. Malloy was good for it they knew.

“Ok, ok,” said Trixi loudly. She took another look at Mallory and then exited the bathroom and walked quickly through the bedroom and into the office. She unlocked the door and it opened.

A man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a white Tuxedo and he was in a hurry. A young women dressed in the latest punk fashions stood behind him.

“Where’s Mallory,” said the man as he forced his way into the office. Trixi stood back. This guy was determined thought Trixi. The young woman followed. The woman looked about the room and Trixi thought she must be security for this guy. She had that look in her eyes. She was tough and wiry.

“She’s out on a case,” lied Trixi. She could hear the water running loudly in the bathroom. She knew she was going to fool no one. Mallory had started coughing again.

“Have you seen the paper,” asked the man in the tuxedo.

“No,” said Trixi. “I got the paper but I didn’t look at it.”

“Here,” said the man handing Trixi the extra edition of The Times.

EXTRA – AMBASSADOR TUX KIDNAPED,
LINUX DEMANDS RELEASE OF FAMED PENGUIN,
read the headlines.

Trixi heard Mallory trying to vomit again. Trixi turned to the young woman and said, “I need your help.”

“Sure,” said the young woman.

Then she turned to the man in the tux. “Stay here,” said Trixi with a voice edged in iron.