A Dance at the Slaughter House - Page 10/44

"Unless you've got hemophilia. I don't think I can watch any more of this."

"I don't think you should try. Why don't you wait for me in the bedroom."

"And you'll tell me when it's safe to come out?"

I nodded. She stood up, looking unsteady on her feet at first, then getting hold of herself and walking from the room. I heard the bedroom door click shut and still waited, in no great hurry myself to see what happened next. After a minute or two, though, I worked the remote and turned the whole thing back on again.

I watched it all the way through to the end. About ten minutes in I heard Elaine's bedroom door open but I kept my eyes on the set. I was aware of it when she passed behind me to reclaim her seat on the couch. I didn't look over at her, though, or say anything. I just sat there, bearing witness.

When it ended the screen went blank again, and then we were abruptly plunged back into the action of The Dirty Dozen, with the major's gang of cutthroats and sociopaths unleashed on a castle full of Nazi officers enjoying R-and-R in occupied France. We sat and watched the damn thing all the way through to the end, watched Telly Savalas have his wild-eyed psychotic break, watched our heroes fire guns and hurl grenades and raise all-around hell.

After the final frame, after the credit roll, Elaine walked over to the set and pressed Rewind. With her back to me she said, "How many times did I say I must have seen this movie? Five or six? Every single time I find myself hoping this time it'll be different and John Cassavetes won't get killed at the end. He's a rotten person but it breaks your heart when he gets killed, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Because they've pulled it off and they're in the clear and then a last bullet comes from out of nowhere and just like that the man's dead. John Cassavetes is dead, too, isn't he? Didn't he die last year?"

"I think so."

"And Lee Marvin's dead, of course. Lee Marvin and John Cassavetes and Robert Ryan and Robert Webber. Who else?"

"I don't know."

She was standing in front of me now, glaring down at me. "Everybody's dead," she said angrily. "Have you noticed that? People keep dying left and right. Even the fucking ayatollah died, and I thought that raghead sonofabitch was going to live forever. They killed that boy, didn't they?"

"That's what it looked like."

"That's what it was. They tortured him and fucked him and tortured him some more and fucked him some more, and then they killed him. That's what we just saw."

"Yes."

"I'm all mixed up," she said. She went over and threw herself down on the chair. "The Dirty Dozen, people get killed left and right, all those Germans and some of our guys, and so what? You see it and it's nothing. But this other thing, those two creeps and that kid-"

"It was real."

"How could anybody do anything like that? I wasn't born yesterday, I'm not particularly naive. At least I don't think I am. Am I?"

"I never thought so."

"I'm a woman of the world, for Christ's sake. I mean, let's come right out and say it, I'm a whore."

"Elaine-"

"No, let me finish, baby. I'm not debasing myself, I'm only stating a fact. I happen to be in a profession where you don't necessarily see people at their best. I know the world is full of weirdos and nut jobs. I'm aware of that. I know people are kinky, I know they like to play dress-up and wear leather and rubber and fur and tie each other up and play mind-fuck games and all the rest of it. And I know there are people who lose it and go off the chart and do terrible things. I almost got killed by one of them, do you remember?"

"Vividly."

"Me too. Well, okay. Fine. Welcome to the world. There are days when I think somebody ought to pull the plug on the whole human race, but okay, in the meantime I can live with it. But I just can't get my mind around this shit, I really can't."

"I know."

"I feel dirty," she said. "I need a shower."

Chapter 6

I would have called Will first thing the next morning but I didn't know how to get hold of him. I knew deeply personal things about him, I knew he started drinking cough syrup at twelve, I knew his fiancй had broken up with him because he'd gotten into a drunken argument with her father, I knew his current marriage had hit a rocky stretch when he sobered up. But I didn't know the guy's last name or where he worked, so I had to wait until the eight-thirty meeting.

He got to St. Paul's just after the meeting started, and on the break he made a beeline for me and wanted to know if I'd had a chance to see the film. "Sure," I said, "it's always been one of my favorites. I especially liked the part where Donald Sutherland impersonates a general and reviews the troops."

"Jesus," he said, "I specifically wanted you to watch that particular film, the cassette I gave you last night. Didn't I tell you?"

"Just a little joke," I said.

"Oh."

"I saw the thing. It wasn't my idea of a good time, but I saw it all the way through."

"And?"

"And what?"

I decided we could get along without the second half of the meeting. I took his arm and led him outside and up a flight of stairs to street level. Across Ninth Avenue a man and woman were arguing about money, their voices carrying far and wide on the warm air. I asked Will where the cassette had come from.

"You saw the label," he said. "The video-rental place around the corner from me. Sixty-first and Broadway."

"You rented it?"

"That's right. I've seen it before, Mimi and I have both seen it several times, but we caught one of the sequels on cable last week and we wanted to look at the real thing again. And you know what we saw."

"Right."

"A fucking snuff film. That's what they're called, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"I never saw one before."

"Neither did I."

"Really? I thought being a cop and a detective and all-"

"Never."

He sighed. "Well, what do we do now?"

"What do you mean, Will?"

"Do we go to the cops? I don't want to get in trouble but I wouldn't feel right just looking the other way, either. I guess what I'm saying is I want your advice on how to proceed."

They were still yelling at each other on the far side of the avenue. Leave me alone, the man kept saying. Leave me the fuck alone.

I said, "Let me get a clear picture of how you wound up with the film. You walked into the store, you picked it off the shelf-"

"You don't pick the actual cassette off the shelf."

"You don't?"

He explained the procedure, how they had a cardboard sleeve that they displayed, and you took that to the counter and exchanged it for the cassette that went with it. He had a membership there, so they checked the film out to him and collected the charge for an overnight rental, whatever it was. A couple of dollars.

"And this was at Broadway and Sixty-first?"

He nodded. "Two, three doors from the corner. Right next to Martin's Bar." I knew the bar, a big open room like a Blarney Stone, with low-priced drinks and hot food on a steam table. Years ago they'd had a sign in the window touting their Happy Hour, with drinks at half price from 8 to 10 A.M. That's got to be some Happy Hour at eight in the morning.

"How late are they open?"

"Eleven, I think. Midnight on weekends."

"I'll go talk to them," I said.

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I don't know. Do you want me to come with you?"

"There's no need."

"You're sure? Because in that case I think I'll go back for the rest of the meeting."

"You might as well."

He turned away, then back again. "Oh, Matt? I was supposed to bring the film back yesterday, so they may want to charge for an extra day. Whatever it comes to, just let me know and I'll reimburse you."

I told him that wasn't something he had to worry about.

THE video-rental store was where Will had told me it would be. I stopped at my room first and had the cassette with me when I walked in. There were four or five customers browsing, a man and a woman behind the counter. They were both in their thirties, and he had a two- or three-day growth of beard. I figured he was the manager. If she was in charge, she probably would have told him to go home and shave.

I walked over to him and said I wanted to speak to the manager. "I'm the owner," he said. "Will that do?"

I showed him the cassette. "I believe you rented this," I said.

"That's our label, so it must be one of ours. The Dirty Dozen, always a popular favorite. Something wrong with it? And are you sure it's the tape or has it been a while since you cleaned your heads?"

"A customer of yours checked this out two days ago."

"And you're returning it for him? If it was two days there'll be a late charge. Let me look it up." He went over to a computer terminal and keyed in a code number from the label. "William Haberman," he said. "According to this it was three days ago, not two, so that means he owes us four dollars and ninety cents."

I didn't reach for my wallet. I said, "Are you familiar with this particular tape? Not the film itself but the individual cassette?"

"Should I be?"

"There's another film recorded over half of it."

"Let me see that," he said. He took the cassette from me and pointed at one edge. "See right there? Your blank cassette has a tab there. You record something you want to save, you break the tab off and you can't record over it by mistake. A commercial cassette like this comes with a gap where the tab would be so you can't ruin it by accidentally hitting the Record button, which people would do all the time otherwise, geniuses that they are. But if you bridge the gap with a piece of Scotch tape, then you're back in business. You sure that's not what your friend did?"

"I'm very sure."

He looked suspicious for a moment, then shrugged. "So he wants another copy of Dozen, right? No problem, it's a popular title, we've got multiple copies. Not an even dozen, dirty or otherwise, but enough." He was on his way to get one when I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"That's not the problem," I said.

"Oh?"

"Someone recorded a pornographic movie over the middle section of The Dirty Dozen," I said. "Not just the usual X-rated romp but an extremely violent and sadistic specimen of kiddie porn."

"You're kidding."

I shook my head. "I'd like to know how it got there," I said.

"Jesus, I'll bet you would," he said. He reached to touch the cassette, drew his hand away as if it were hot. "I swear I had nothing to do with it. We don't carry any X-rated stuff, no Deep Throat, no Devil in Miss Jones, none of that garbage. Most rental shops have a section or at least a few titles, you get married couples who want some visual foreplay, they're not the type to patronize the cesspools on Times Square. But when I opened up I decided I didn't want to have anything to do with that kind of material. I don't want it in my store." He looked down at the cassette but made no move to touch it. "So how did it get here? That's the big question, isn't it?"