The 5th Witch Read online

  “You’ll get your chance one day,” Dan told him. “I’ll see you in maybe a couple of hours, okay?”

  “She’s still staring at us. What’s she doing?”

  Michelange was reaching into her long gray purse. She was calling out to them, too.

  “What’s she saying? I can’t hear her. That goddamned helicopter.”

  Dan took off his sunglasses. Michelange was making a flicking gesture with her right hand, and he could see something sparkling in the air. A coin. It looked like she was tossing a coin.

  “That is one strange woman,” said Ernie.

  “No… I think she’s trying to tell us something.”

  “What? Heads she wins, tails we lose?”

  “I don’t know.” Dan kept staring at her, and she kept tossing the coin, over and over, and mouthing some words that he still couldn’t distinguish.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Ernie. “I’ll go back and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing.”

  But at that moment Dan felt a lurching sensation in his gut. His stomach tightened, as if he had eaten far too many shellfish and needed to bring them all up. He leaned against the side of his SUV.

  “I’ll tell you something for nothing,” Ernie declared. “There’s no Haitian bag of bones is going to make no rainbow-assed monkey out of me.” But then Dan couldn’t stop himself from letting out a sharp, high, retching noise, and Ernie turned around and stared at him in alarm.

  “Dan? You okay? What’s wrong, muchacho?”

  Dan’s stomach convulsed a second time, and his abdominal muscles knotted up so painfully that he couldn’t speak. He pointed to his gaping mouth and blinked his watering eyes, but he simply couldn’t get any words out.

  “Jesus!” said Ernie. “Hold on there, Dan! I’ll get you a paramedic!”

  He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “Hey! Paramedic! Got a man sick here! Hurry!”

  Clutching his stomach, Dan slid slowly down the side of his SUV, until he was kneeling on the sidewalk. He was shaking with cold but sweating profusely, and his mouth was flooded with metallic-tasting saliva. He had never felt anything so agonizing in his life. He had been shot once, in the shoulder blade, but even a bullet hadn’t doubled him up like this.

  Ernie knelt beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay, man. Look, the paramedics are coming. You’re going to be fine. What in the name of God did you eat for breakfast?”

  Dan coughed, and something hard hit the back of his teeth. He spat it out, and it rolled across the concrete paving and into the gutter. A quarter. A bright, shiny quarter. He coughed again and again, and suddenly a deluge of quarters poured out of his mouth and were scattered across the sidewalk.

  He turned over onto his hands and his knees, and crouched down like a dog, heaving up the last few coins. He felt as if he had been beaten up from the inside out. His stomach ached, his gullet was sore, and all he could taste was nickel.

  A Greek-looking paramedic hunkered down beside him. “You okay, man?”

  Dan nodded, wiping his mouth. The paramedic picked up a handful of quarters and frowned at them.

  “You been eating money? Why the hell you been eating money?”

  “Did it—for a bet,” Dan coughed.

  “A bet?”

  “Not with me,” Ernie put in hastily.

  “You know how dumb this is?” protested the paramedic. “Don’t you think we have enough to do, taking care of people who are genuinely sick?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Dan. He reached out for the paramedic’s shoulder and used it to lever himself up. “You’re right—it was totally stupid.”

  “So how do you feel now? You still feel nauseous? Maybe we should take you to the ER, have you checked over.”

  Dan shook his head. “I’m okay,” he lied. “I’m much better now.” In reality he felt shaky and very cold, and his stomach muscles kept tightening up into sickening little after-spasms.

  “Well, you take it easy, okay? And if you start feeling nauseous again, go see your doctor.”

  “I will. And thanks. And sorry for wasting your time. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I’ve never been able to say no to a challenge.”

  “You cops. As if you don’t take enough risks without turning yourselves into human savings banks.”

  “I know. Very stupid. Sorry.”

  The paramedic walked back toward his ambulance. Dan could see him talking to two of his colleagues, who both stared at him and frowned. He could imagine what they were saying, and it almost certainly included the word “asshole.”

  Outside the Palm, Michelange DuPriz stood smiling in Dan’s direction for a few more moments, her hand still raised to shield her eyes. Dan was tempted to go back and confront her, but the Zombie said something to her, and she nodded, then climbed into his Escalade with all the long-legged elegance of a gray gazelle. The Zombie climbed in after her, and the entourage drove off.

  Ernie said, “You really okay, Dan? How in the name of the Holy Virgin did that happen?”

  Dan bent down and retrieved a single slimy quarter. He held it up, and squinted at it closely. However these coins had found their way into his stomach, there was no question that they were real. God, yuck, he could still taste them.

  “You didn’t really swallow all of this money for a bet, did you?”

  “El Gordo, I didn’t swallow any of it.”

  “Hey, I get it! This was your jackpot trick!”

  “Are you serious? We just lost three good men. You think I’m in the mood for doing tricks?”

  “Well, no. But all this money—where did it come from?”

  “I think she put it inside me somehow. That Michelange DuPriz.”

  “But how? She wasn’t nowhere near you.”

  “I know. But I’m still sure that it was her. And I think I was wrong about Cusack and Fusco and Knudsen. I’ll bet she burned them, too. No firebomb. No gasoline. She did it by magic.”

  “Come on, muchacho, you’re talking crazy. There’s no such thing as magic.”

  “You saw all of this money pouring out of my mouth, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “What was that, if it wasn’t magic? Or the paranormal or the supernatural or whatever you want to call it.”

  “And you really think she burned those poor guys?”

  “And stopped Speedy’s heart. And she wants me to know it. Not just know it either. She wants me to believe it.”

  Dan spat again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Making me bring up all those coins, that’s her way of showing me how much mojo she’s got. How much power.”

  “Okay—if she has that much power, why didn’t she burn you, too, instead of making you puke up money?”

  “Maybe she could have. But I’m guessing that she had a good reason not to.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t know yet. But the Zombie was right. Believe me, El Gordo: magic has come to town.”

  Chapter Five

  “Friends—between us, we’re going to transform this city. We’re going to root out every criminal racket, from drugs to prostitution to money laundering. We’re going to purge the streets of gangs and violent crime. We’re going to change Los Angeles into the kind of place where everybody feels safe and secure and proud of their neighborhood, whether they live in Beverly Hills or Boyle Heights.”

  There was a light smattering of applause, and Chief O’Malley raised one hand to acknowledge it. His petite blond wife, Charlene, came up to him and linked arms and smiled proudly at all their guests.

  This was their first reception since Douglas O’Malley had been appointed chief of police. He had taken over six weeks ago, after the sudden resignation of Paul De Souza, following his heart attack.

  Chief O’Malley was stocky, white-haired, with a broad, pugnacious face, half Irish. Before he moved to California he had spent five years in New York, where his policing policy had be
come known as “subzero tolerance.” He had set up special task forces to tackle crime on every level, from mugging and vandalism to organized drug trafficking. His motto was: “Never give an inch. Period.”

  It was early evening, and the guests were assembled on the wide flagstone patio at the rear of the O’Malley’s mock-Elizabethan house on Woodrow Wilson Drive. The mayor was there and several city councilors, as well as police commissioners, church dignitaries, social workers, and media. They were drinking champagne cocktails and balancing plates of barbecued chicken satay and sashimi and salad. The peal of self-satisfied laughter carried across the lawns.

  Mayor Leonard Briggs came up to Chief O’Malley and shook his hand, making sure that he was smiling toward the cameras. Mayor Briggs was black and enormous. The Los Angeles Times had once said of him, “No man is an island, especially Mayor Briggs. Mayor Briggs is a whole subcontinent.”

  “That was a fine, fine speech, Chief,” enthused Mayor Briggs. “And I know that it wasn’t just words. If anybody can clean up our city, you can.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mayor. If I’m going to be fair, though, Chief De Souza has already done most of the groundwork for me. His drug teams have been outstanding, especially the way they infiltrated the Colombian connections.”

  Mayor Briggs nodded, his gaze roaming around the patio to see if there was anybody else he needed to flatter. “Damn shame about De Souza’s heart. I was sorry to see him go. But I’m sure you’ll be able to build on what he started.”

  They were still making mutually congratulatory small talk when a tall man in a white tuxedo came walking across the patio toward them. He had silver hair that was greased straight back from his forehead, and his face was skull-like and very white, with veins in his temples like wriggling white worms. He had a white pencil mustache and thin lips, and his eyes were utterly dead, as if they were two gray stones that had been picked up from some isolated beach.

  Behind him came two squarish-looking men in black tuxedos, both of them dark skinned, with heavy black mustaches, one of them with cheeks that were pitted with acne scars. They were followed at a short distance by a small dark woman whose hair was pinned up with Spanish-style combs. She had an oval face with huge brown eyes, and she was wearing a silky silver dress that clung to her heavy bosom and her wide, flared hips.

  Around her neck hung what looked like a tiny circular drum with a scowling woman’s face painted on it.

  Mayor Briggs said, “Mr. Vasquez. Didn’t realize that you were invited this evening.”

  The man with the skull-like face said, “I’m not.” He spoke in a whisper, as if he had throat cancer. “I just came to pay my respects to the new chief.”

  “Chief, this is Mr. Orestes Vasquez,” said Mayor Briggs. “Mr. Vasquez is in import-export, mainly between here and Bogotá.”

  Chief O’Malley inclined his head in acknowledgment but didn’t make any attempt to shake Orestes Vasquez’s hand. “I believe I have a file on you, Mr. Vasquez.”

  Orestes Vasquez gave him a wolfish grin. “You are the chief of police, sir. I would expect it.”

  “I’m surprised you managed to get in here.”

  “There are always ways, Chief O’Malley. In fact, that is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you this evening.”

  “I don’t really think that this is the time or the place, Mr. Vasquez. Good night.”

  “Please,” said Orestes Vasquez, raising one hand. “I need to speak to you only for a moment or two.” He glanced at Mayor Briggs and added, “In private, if that is possible.”

  Chief O’Malley could see that several of his guests were staring inquisitively at Orestes Vasquez and his entourage, especially Wendy Chan from KNBC news. The last thing he wanted was an embarrassing scene. He laid his hand on Mayor Briggs’ shoulder and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor. Maybe I can talk to you a little while later. This way, Mr. Vasquez.”

  He led Orestes Vasquez to the far end of the patio, where there was a small sandstone gazebo with a dome-shaped roof. The dark-haired woman in the silky silver dress came, too. The sun had just gone down, and the sky had turned a deep burnt orange color. The cicadas in the garden seemed to be chirruping louder than usual, as if they were excited…or alarmed.

  “I should introduce Lida Siado,” said Orestes Vasquez. “Ms. Siado is my new personal assistant.”

  “I am so pleased to meet you, Chief O’Malley,” the dark-haired woman said in a strong Colombian accent. “I have heard so much about you. How you have sworn to lock up every wrongdoer in Los Angeles, from the naughty street children to the big fat gang bosses.”

  Chief O’Malley didn’t reply, but waited for Orestes Vasquez to say what he had come here to say.

  “In a way,” said Orestes Vasquez, “Lida is the reason that I have imposed on your hospitality this evening.”

  “Go on.”

  “Let me put it like this, Chief O’Malley. I am a businessman, and many of my friends are businessmen. Until Chief De Souza took over, we were able to run our affairs with very little interference from the Los Angeles Police Department. It was a question of mutual respect, if you understand me.”

  “I understand you. You and your friends bribed a number of senior officers in the LAPD to turn a blind eye to your activities.”

  “There is a great deal of difference between bribery, Chief O’Malley, and showing one’s appreciation to amenable friends.”

  “Oh, yes? I’m sorry to tell you that when it comes to narcotics, illegal gunrunning, extortion, and prostitution, I don’t do amenable.”

  Orestes Vasquez grinned again and nodded. “I know your reputation, Chief O’Malley. You are much less tolerant than your predecessor. Which is why my friends and I have been obliged to seek another way to coexist with the forces of law and order.”

  “I don’t do coexistence either, Mr. Vasquez. Not with drug traffickers.”

  “Oh, no? When you see the alternative, I believe that you will change your mind.”

  Lida Siado had a small bag tied to her left wrist, in silver silk to match her dress. She loosened the silk cord that fastened it and took out two clamshells.

  “I think it’s time you left,” said Chief O’Malley.

  “No, no,” said Orestes Vasquez. “Please give us one second more. You must experience this.”

  Lida Siado took the clamshells and inserted them into her eye sockets so that she looked as if she were blind.

  “Listen,” said Chief O’Malley, “I don’t have the patience for party games. I’m very busy tonight. I’ll have you escorted out.”

  But Lida Siado raised the little drum around her neck and started to tap it with her middle finger. In time to the tapping, she started to sing—her voice high and breathy, as if she had been running. “Night Wind, come blow for me! Night Wind, bring your darkness here! Night Wind, come sing for me! Night Wind, blind this company!”

  Chief O’Malley waved at Sergeant Jim Halperin, who was in charge of security. The sergeant began to make his way through the guests, beckoning to two of his fellow officers as he came.

  He was only halfway across the patio, however, when all the shutters in the house suddenly slammed, one after the other. There was a whistling, fluffing noise, and a strong wind sprang up, blowing a blizzard of dust and leaves and debris among the assembled guests.

  “Night Wind!” Lida Sioda repeated, her voice much shriller. “Night Wind! Come blow for me!”

  Chief O’Malley had to raise his hand to shield his face from the hurtling dust.

  “Stop this!” he shouted. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”

  But the wind grew stronger and stronger, and its whistling developed into a lugubrious howl. Champagne glasses tipped over and shattered. Tablecloths flapped in the air and fled off in the darkness like flying ghosts. Women screamed and held on to their hats and the hems of their dresses. More than one man’s hairpiece was ripped off by the wind and spun away.

  “Night Wind, come sing for me!” Lida Siod
a repeated, over and over. Her voice began to drop lower and lower, until it was almost as deep as a man’s. “Night Wind, blind this company!”

  “That’s enough!” Chief O’Malley shouted at her. He made a staggering move toward her, but Orestes Vasquez stepped smoothly between them. His greased-back hair was unmoved by the wind. In fact the wind didn’t appear to affect him at all.

  “It is not you calling the shots now, Chief O’Malley. If you have no inclination to be accommodating, then we will have to take control of matters.”

  The wind was blowing so strongly now that some of the guests had to cling to the stone balustrade to stop from being blown off their feet. Even Mayor Briggs was down on his hands and knees. A lime tree in a heavy terracotta urn fell over and rolled across the patio, followed by another and another. Tables tilted, and stacks of plates shattered.

  “For Christ’s sake!” yelled Chief O’Malley. He could see his wife, Charlene, her hair blown into a fright wig, desperately holding on to the low wall around the barbecue. He tried to walk toward her, his pants flapping like those of a motorcyclist traveling at a hundred miles an hour, but the wind buffeted him against the side of the gazebo, jarring his shoulder. He crouched on the ground for a few seconds, trying to summon the strength to stand up again, but when he tried to get up on his feet, the wind beat him back down, and all he could do was kneel there, helpless, like a religious penitent.

  He lifted his head toward Orestes Vasquez, who was standing in the middle of the gazebo, calm and unconcerned.

  “What do you want?” he shouted.

  But Orestes Vasquez closed his eyes and didn’t answer, and it was then that Chief O’Malley heard the first woman scream.

  “I can’t see! I can’t see anything!”

  Another woman screamed, and then a man shouted out. “I can’t see, either! I’m blind! I’ve gone blind!”

  In less than half a minute, all the guests were wailing and crying and sobbing in terror. “I can’t see! Can anybody see? I’m totally blind! Help me!”

  “Charlene!” called Chief O’Malley. “Charlene, it’s Doug! Are you okay?”