A plump, tender, innocent little pigeon, was Omar's thought when he opened his door. A rabbit blinded by fear of the hawk. A pudgy, succulent pullet. A scared little mouse. A dead sparrow.
"Hello, Suzanne," Omar said, ushering her into his home. "I'm glad you called. Please come in. I'll give you a little background on the Old Religion."
She was dazzled by the splendor of his living room and by his own dark, sophisticated charisma. He noted her looking around curiously, trying to exude the blasé‚ nonchalance of an older, more cosmopolitan woman. He almost laughed, feeling himself salivate internally. This was going to be fun.
Omar led the way into the kitchen as Suzanne told him she was on vacation from school at Stanford University. She had seen his brochure on beginners Witchcraft and couldn't resist learning about it.
"I'll make us some tea. Then we can sit down and really have a chat."
She was not too well educated to be a slave, Omar thought as he moved around the kitchen, feeling her eyes upon him. She was one of those so called modern, liberated woman who believed they were equal to men. He watched her carefully as he prepared the special tea. The brew had no effect on him because he used it constantly, but it would have a profound soporific effect on anyone unused to the special herbs. She was wearing a long Hawaiian skirt with a slit which reached mid-thigh in the front. She was really very cute and appealing. Omar was almost sorry she would have to be sacrificed.
Her large, doe brown eyes looked interested when she sipped delicately and asked him if it was licorice tea. He nodded and drank from the identical brew so she would be relaxed about the ingredients. Licorice was a powerful flavor. It hid the other elements. He could tell she was extremely nervous about the whole situation.
He had known the instant he saw her. The pigeon was just a snoop.
Omar was almost certain about the identity of the person behind this pathetic little girl. The chubby and clever professor who had dogged his tail for years. He would have to be taught a painful lesson. The idiot misguidedly thought he could delve into the darker side and end Omar's power.
Omar watched Suzanne, read the signs, and devised the worse revenge he could come up with on short notice. It would make him late for his rendezvous with Michelle. But this opportunity was too good to pass up.
When Michelle got home from the office she found a large Bird of Paradise on her threshold. It was an enormous, perfect bloom with lush green leaves surrounding it. She smiled and picked it up.
Michelle put the orange flower in her hair, tucked behind her ear. It was almost too Polynesian and affected for the actual Hawaiian setting, but it looked beautiful against her black hair, which she wore loose and straight down her back. The flower matched the white silk sarong decorated with orange silk threads, with the high neckline, of course, that she had been planning to wear. Omar had picked the perfect flower, as though he had known in advance her fashion style for the evening.
Michelle rushed so she would have time to call Heather and chat a few minutes, but there was no answer. It was still early, so she ran down the hallway to Heather's apartment and knocked. She had a vague disquieting feeling and wondered if it had to do with the dream she had had of Heather screaming, in mortal danger. She had called Heather several times during the day, but the calls had not been answered. Michelle was worried as she went back to her own apartment to wait for Omar.
Michelle grabbed up her purse and hurried to open the door when she heard a knock. She felt her eyes open wide in shock. In front of her stood a hulking presence, at least six and a half feet tall. She was looking straight at his top collar button. She had to crane to see his face.
Michelle almost slammed the door. Then she noticed he was holding out a card. He moved it right in front of her eyes. It took all her nerve to take the card because she was mesmerized by the giant with the frightening, thick features before her. The man's nose was flat and wide, appearing as though it had been broken several times and squashed flat against his face. His mouth and lips were large and blunt. The whole visage looked like it had been carved from cement. The only small parts were his eyes, which were slanted and folded away in heavy lids. She guessed he weighed in at about three hundred muscle-bound pounds.
Michelle glanced at the card which read: Omar Satinov. Underneath it was the name, Samson Stoker, Chauffeur.
The man opened his mouth to smile and all Michelle saw was blackness and teeth surrounding the dark aperture. The smile disturbed Michelle and she shrank back because it was vacant, silly and wrong, as though the man was either emotionally disturbed or slightly retarded.
Michelle didn't want to be rude to someone with a terrible handicap, the inability to speak, but her heart was thudding in her chest and she could feel her hands become clammy as she handed back the card. She was also angry. Omar had no right to foist this man upon her without some prior explanation. The guy was just too scary, even though his brown hair was carefully combed and he was wearing a dark suit with a tie. If Omar could take the time to leave a flower, he could have warned her.
The giant made a motion with his hands like he was turning the wheel of a car. He gave that awful grin again, which was stretched out, but closed this time, so as not to shock her with the lack of tongue, she guessed. The smile was childlike.
"You're going to take me to Omar?"
The man nodded vigorously.
"Omar didn't mention that he would send a chauffeur."
The man waggled his head as if to say he didn't know what Omar had intended. The head movement mimicked a feeling of perplexity perfectly and Michelle thought her first impression might be wrong. He might not be as stupid as he appeared. Still, the idea of him behind the wheel of a car was foreboding. She just stood there because she didn't want to go with him and was trying to think of a rational excuse.
The man pulled car keys out of his pocket and waved them in front of her, as if she were the one who was a little slow. Then he pointed to himself and made the driving-a-car motion again with his hands.
Michelle nodded at the giant, and started to lock the door when the phone rang. She told him to wait a moment and ran back inside. It was Nakamura saying that he needed to speak to her privately. Could he come over? Michelle explained that she was just leaving. He was so insistent that she said maybe they could talk on the phone later that evening. She would probably be home by eleven. Nakamura said he could come over then, if that was okay. Michelle didn't want to agree but couldn't think of an excuse.
Damn, now she would have to be home early, Michelle thought as she locked her door for the second time and walked down the hall with the mammoth guy. Samson had crooked his arm and stood there, stock still, like he expected her to take it. When she put her hand on his arm it felt hard as marble. She suddenly remembered hitting a man who was so big and strong he felt like a cement statue. It was a monstrous flashback of fear and Michelle quickly disengaged her hand from the giant's arm. Then she smiled up at him apologetically. Poor man was probably used to people shrinking away from him.
Samson Stoker turned out to be a fine driver. He took her to the Sheraton Hotel, escorting her personally to an elegant dining room. He made sure she was comfortably seated and then left. She had to wait almost a half hour for Omar and she watched the people around her drinking lovely looking cocktails. She could almost feel herself drool in envy. This not drinking situation was uncomfortable, and it felt childish, as the waiter continuously came around to see if her soda with lime was adequate. She felt unsophisticated and chain smoked.
"The flower is lovely against your hair. It has a pagan quality, just right for the most beautiful woman in the room."
Omar was standing at the table and she hadn't even noticed his arrival because she had been worrying about Heather's physical condition, about how thousands of dollars had made its mysterious way into her office, the fact that common objects in her own apartment had been moved, (maybe she was going crazy or having a serious nervous breakdown), about a new job in a foreign country, but mostly about a murderer/rapist here in the islands with the same MO as the man who had attacked her. She was also worrying about what Nakamura thought was so urgent and private that he had to speak to her alone and in person.
Seeing Omar, splendid and immaculate in a beautiful light tan suit was delightful relief from all the anxiety, but she felt a little uncomfortable at the extravagant compliment.
"I'm sorry about being so late," Omar said as he seated himself. "I had to take care of some business. It took longer than I had anticipated."
The waiter was at Omar's side in a flash, practically quivering to take his order.
"You don't mind if I have a drink?"
Michelle shook her head, but she did. Especially when he ordered a Galliano gimlet, her very favorite drink. She reminded herself that she reacted to alcohol in a chemically different way than most people. It was nothing to be ashamed about. She certainly couldn't help it.
The evening was pleasant and Michelle enjoyed herself, but something seemed to be missing and she couldn't figure out what it was. Omar had laughed at her jokes and was an amusing conversationalist. He was endlessly polite. He spoke French to the waiter. He made all the right moves and there seemed to be powerful chemistry between the two of them.
That was when she realized that he was coldly clinical and detached. He was acting the charade of the perfect gentleman, interested in the lady he was with, but when she thought about it on the way home, with the giant driving, she realized that she had felt a silly infatuation over his dramatic handsomeness, but they really had nothing in common. She was chagrined that she was so superficial and shallow to have been mislead by his looks. She smiled at the thought that she was a female chauvinist, interested only in Omar's amazing physical persona. But there were advantages to this vacant relationship.
Omar liked her and she liked him. She was not love-struck. She was a woman who had lived without sex for too many years. Michelle decided she would have an affair with Omar.
While they were eating she had asked what had happened to Samson Stoker, why he couldn't talk. Omar just said that he had a terrible accident. When she tried to get information about his 'sisters' he seemed irritated for the first time. He said he had several. End of conversation. Period.
He was nice, courteous and very cold, almost calculating, the way he played his part. It was a subliminal perception that he was not interested in her even as a potential friend, but only as a bedmate. All and all, it was a good experience. She had not trembled once, alone in the presence of a man.
Michelle noticed that Omar's eyes no longer seemed fascinating because he was constantly staring at her. Really, the eyes were penetrating, disturbing and a little scary. Like he could see into her very soul. Also disturbing was the fact that he had retained the habit of touching her hand or arm as he spoke, and each time she received a tiny, unpleasant electrical shock. Once she even thought she saw a tiny spark fly from his hand before she felt the electrical jolt. She wondered with a little shiver of anticipation what would happen with more intimate contact.
Michelle closed the door to her apartment with relief, thankful that Omar had not tried anything physical with her. He had suggested she come to his apartment, have some tea and talk, but she demurred. He had not insisted or tried to induce her to come with him. She was so thankful at his un-pushiness that she believed he was a very nice man. She had decided to sleep with him, but she wasn't quite ready tonight.
Michelle had less than a half hour before Nakamura would arrive but she grabbed her purse, briefcase and a Polaroid camera. She got her car out of the garage and drove rapidly to her office building. Once inside the Heroshi suite she locked the door to her own office and checked her credenza. The bag was still there. She closed the draperies and emptied the contents of the bag onto the beige carpet. Afraid to touch the money packets with her fingers, she covered her hands with paper towels and moved the paper bands that encircled each pack, fanning the bills so that the serial numbers showed. She took several pictures of the cash and then put a sheet of paper in her typewriter:
TO THE POLICE:
THIS MONEY MIGHT BE FROM THE ROBBERY AT THE AMERICAN HAWAII TRUST BANK IN THE LANAI BUILDING ON KALAKAUA AVENUE. PICTURES OF THE CASH ARE ENCLOSED. THERE ARE NEGATIVES AND OTHER PHOTOGRAPHS RETAINED BY THE PERSON WHO FOUND THE CASH.
Michelle believed the warning of more pictures might keep the policeman who opened the package from pocketing the money. It was depressing she would have to stoop to a threat, but this wasn't Disneyland. Merely paradise.
Michelle had to leave her own office for a zip-lock postage bag. She peeked out of her office to make sure no one had come inside before going into the storage room. She kept glancing at her watch and trying to rush because Nakamura would be arriving at her apartment in a few minutes. But she felt compelled to be rid of the money, now, tonight, as soon as possible.
She put the money, pictures and note into the postage bag and then used the telephone directory for the address to the nearest police station. She typed a label and attached it to the bag.
Her briefcase was large enough to hide the package when she left the office. She drove to a public mailbox and made her deposit with a feeling of immense relief. Nothing in the world was worth that much stolen cash. She wanted it out of her possession.
When she glanced at her watch she thought that Nakamura had probably already arrived at her apartment building. She was going to have a heart attack if she had to endure any more tension like this. She drove quickly home and saw Nakamura chatting with the security guard at the entrance to the condominium. Damn, she was late.
Michelle quickly parked her car under the building and ran up the garage stairs to the back lobby entrance, realizing she hadn't even had time to change from her silk dress. She still had the stupid flower behind her ear. She tore it out as she raced up the stairs and stuffed it into her purse.
Michelle took a few deep breaths, hoping she wasn't panting noticeably from her exertions and opened the door to the lobby. Nakamura was sitting on the lobby guest sofa. He looked up and smiled as she approached.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I had to get something from the office."
"You're much too fastidious about work. I just wanted a brief chat. We could talk right here, if you would rather."
The lobby was perfectly empty. He was probably going to renege on the job offer. But it would be impolite not to invite him up.
Michelle made a cordial show of inducing him by saying they would be more comfortable in her apartment, which was totally untrue. She tried to remember if she had clothes strewn all over the bathroom, and thought she probably did.
When they were just stepping into the elevator, she saw Omar coming into the lobby from outside. He was walking in the direction of the mailboxes. The elevator doors were shutting. She knew Omar had seen them.
Great, she thought, now Omar probably thought she went on a date with him and had another man up to her apartment, late the same night. When she thought of his fascinating eyes, she didn't like the idea of them examining her with anger. She shivered a little bit.
"Are you all right?"
"Oh, yes. Fine."
As they walked down the hall toward Michelle's apartment she suddenly thought of Heather. "Do you want to meet my best friend?"
"Oh, of course." Nakamura looked pleased that she would ask.
Michelle knocked on Heather's door, but again there was no answer.
"Too bad," Nakamura said, when Michelle told him Heather must still be out.
To put off the bad news Michelle expected, she made soft drinks in the kitchen. It was still warm outside and cold drinks at night in Hawaii were not unusual. As soon as Nakamura was seated he seemed uncomfortable. He was looking around her apartment; apparently he also wanted to delay the bad news.
"That's a picture of you, doing karate?" He was pointing at a picture of Michelle with her teacher, a diminutive oriental man, on a side table next to the couch he was sitting on.
"Yes. The man in the picture is my sensi, Bill Robinson. Kind of interesting."
"What?"
"You're Nakamura, he's Robinson. Both of you would be more believable if you traded names."
"I'm a bastard. My grandfather is Japanese."
Michelle looked at him in surprise.
"It's a vile Japanese joke. You see, the Japanese don't like children of mixed parentage. They're all bastards, even when the parents are married. My mother was half Japanese and half American. Back then they made a big deal about mixed children and they were severely humiliated for something that wasn't their fault. I guess no self-respecting Japanese male would have her. She married an English serviceman after the war. World War 11. I was brought up mostly in Japan though, because the marriage didn't work."
Michelle nodded. The old story about the conquering hero impregnating the conquered, marrying her, and then finding the difficulties were too much for the marriage to survive.
"It must have been hard for you," Michelle said, but she was surprised. Nakamura was much older than she had supposed if his parents had married after the war.
"Oh, not bad. I lived in Japan, but it wasn't a problem. People assumed I was pure Caucasian. They pitied me, but I wasn't ostracized. Then I would spend the summers in California with my father."
"Really? I'm from San Francisco."
"I love that city. My father lives in the Napa Valley, so we visited San Francisco often. In fact, I'm going there when I finish working here in Hawaii. My father is getting older. He wants to see me more often."
"That's the awful thing about living far away. Even here in Hawaii, it's like you're at the end of the earth when birthdays and holidays come around."
As they talked, Michelle was struck by how easy it was to speak to this man, in comparison to Omar earlier this evening. She showed him pictures of her brother, Bobby, and of her parents and their home in San Francisco. Suddenly they both stopped.
"You're wondering what was so important that I had to speak to you alone?"
Michelle nodded.
"Actually, it's in way of an apology." He shifted uncomfortably, then looked her straight in the eyes. "I was playing with the gadgets in Tom Mitsuto's office earlier this evening. You know, the television which emerges out of the hidden cabinet. And the video games. He has an absolutely amazing collection of porn hidden away. I shouldn't tell you that, but you wouldn't say anything. It's just kind of interesting. Anyway, I was playing with his listening device..."
Michelle nodded. "The phone?"
"You knew?"
Michelle smiled at him. "It's not so terrible that you have to come over and apologize."
"Yes, it is. I thoroughly disprove of it myself. I should have stopped listening, immediately. I had been jumping from office to office and each one was silent, except yours. I don't know why I was compelled to eavesdrop. It was shocking, and I couldn't turn it off. I really am sorry. For listening. And for what you had to endure all alone that night."
Michelle looked at him seriously and nodded thoughtfully. There was no doubt that here was a man who totally believed her. At that moment she would have killed for him. She knew he needed her to accept his apology. She said she understood, that there was no problem.
As she spoke she saw Nakamura's eyes grow round. She glanced to where his gaze was riveted. Her open purse lay on the living room table. The orange flower was visible inside, and crawling on the perfect bloom was a large black insect with a tail. As they watched, the bug scuttled off the flower and deep inside the evening bag.
Michelle clapped her hand over her mouth to abort a shriek.
Nakamura glanced over at her, picked up the purse and snapped it shut. "Do you want me to get rid of it?"
Michelle nodded.
"Where's your trash chute?"
Michelle handed him a Kleenex and told him where to go at the end of the hallway. "And throw the flower away, too."
When he left she ran into the bathroom and threw up in the sink. Well, that reaction was a little extreme, she thought, as she rinsed her mouth. But she had been wearing that flower all night. The enormous, hideous thing might have been crawling in her hair. She started gagging again with revulsion and threw cold water in her face. Then Michelle shook out her hair, but couldn't bare to look to see if there was another insect.
When Nakamura came back she excused herself and went to change into a cotton running suit in her bedroom. She smiled at the, change into something more comfortable, line she had used unthinkingly. But Nakamura would understand. She checked the dress she had been wearing, inside and out, then shook it violently before putting it on a hanger.
Nakamura was still standing in the living room when she came back. "I'm sorry. I had to get out of those clothes. And would you mind looking at my hair, in the back. Searching it?"
Nakamura walked around behind her and she could feel him lifting strands and his fingers on her scalp. She knew she was still trembling and felt like an idiot, until he stopped, still holding onto a strand, and leaned over to reach for a Kleenex in the box on her side table. She squinted her eyes. He was doing something to her hair quickly and she felt a few strands pulled out. Then he strode rapidly into her bathroom and she heard the toilet flush.
Nakamura came out. "There are lots of insects in the Islands because of the humidity. The one I just got was tiny. Really small. Could hardly see it."
"Check the top." She knew the insect hadn't been small.
Michelle stood in front of him with her head bent down and he looked through the hair on the top of her scalp.
"Just checking the old noggin for lice. But I can't seem to find any. I feel like a monkey, grooming my primate friend. The top is fine."
"I really am afraid of bugs. Its stupid and irrational, but there you are."
"Everyone has silly phobias. You should see me when I'm on the top of a tall building. And I can't even look out the window in a plane, I get so dizzy. I try to hide it. And try to always travel alone, because once I was acting cool, with some business friends. Almost lost my cookies, peering out the window."
Michelle laughed and nodded. It was clear to her that Nakamura had understood perfectly what was happening when she had the anxiety attack. He had known exactly what to do then, too.
"I'd like accept your offer to work at Heroshi in Japan. As your assistant."
"Well, great." He had a wonderful smile. "I'm glad."
He gave a wink and left.
When Nakamura exited the building, he made sure the men he had assigned to watch the condominium were doing their duty. The one in the garage by the elevators was awake and alert. The man in the front of the building also seemed professional.
Nakamura was not a high profile person, but the president of Heroshi, a millionaire many times over, was. He had been kidnaped and held for ransom once. Nakamura knew the people to call when he wanted security work done in any part of the world.
He drove away, confident that he was protecting his new employee. He did not understand that securing the outside of the building was futile.
Omar had not been deceived. The man on the elevator with Michelle was a red haired, sneaky, Oriental bastard. He knew because he himself was a mixture of Chinese, Japanese and Caucasian. Like recognized like, and bred the same hatred that Nakamura had experienced as a little boy. He had learned to despise anyone who was not racially pure Japanese, even when the hate had been directed toward himself. He had felt inadequate and less worthy than everyone else in the almost ethnically pure Japan of his childhood.
When Omar grew up his attitudes had changed, and he had physically changed his own eyes. The deep, heavy epicanthic folds, which had almost hidden his brilliant dark eyes, and which also revealed his intriguing Oriental heritage, had been removed by a plastic surgeon. Now he looked merely exotic. Not like the giant oversized, clumsy Oriental he had been perceived of when he grew up in Japan.
As he opened his mailbox and looked inside, Omar contemplated revenge. His insides were seething, roiling with anger, but emotion had absolutely no effect on his facial features or bodily tension. He was a beautiful devil. And he never forgot it. The ugly duckling had grown into a beautiful man-swan.
Strange, Omar thought, this evening, the more charm he had poured on, the more distant Michelle became. She had withdrawn deep within herself and he found it difficult to access her thoughts and emotions. It was a unique and slightly disturbing feature of the evening, which pleased him greatly. She was a worthy adversary. That he would win and have control over the mind and body of this wonderful, perplexing woman was an extremely satisfying fact; something he took for granted, but like tonight, could provide some challenges.
Michelle was not at all like the woman-child he had toyed with earlier this evening. Suzanne, the pretty college student, had never been tempered with adversity in her scholarly, intellectual and perfectly programmed and inhibited life. She had been pliable, weak, pathetic and predictable. So he made sure she would never grow into full adulthood. Suzanne would be his slave until he found the perfect time to dispose of her, in the most shocking and satisfying manner his fertile imagination could conjure. It would be a satisfactory shock to the man that had been dogging his footsteps for years
The problem now was Michelle. And that nasty snotty red haired Oriental whom she had in her apartment right now. Unable to have tea and chat with him, hmm. Because she had another waiting in the wings. The rage came back and the adolescent feelings he had outgrown bloomed with force.
When Omar got into his own apartment he called Ginger. She was a satisfactory fuck. A little dull for all her beauty, but she was a slave and would do anything he chose. And she would never remember the next morning. Even if he hurt her, with the rage he was feeling now, she would only remember pleasure.