Goddess of Gotham (19 page)

Half-dragging, half-carrying her, Sonny tried to hail a cab -no easy task in a neighbourhood where cabs were as rare as a white dude with rhythm. Finally, he stopped one by the
simple trick of throwing himself in front of it.

‘Park Avenue,’ he snapped at the driver, dumping Kumari on the back seat. He hauled the Badmash Bag from her shoulder and hurled it into the gutter. Badmash shot from the bag into
the air, wings flapping furiously. Ignoring his angry squawks, Sonny slammed the cab door.

‘She drunk?’ demanded the driver.

‘Just drive,’ snarled Sonny. The stuff he had slipped into her Coke should keep her quiet, but for how long he could not be sure.

As they drew up outside Simon Razzle’s address, Kumari began to stir. Dragging her from the cab, Sonny got her into the building fast. Hand her over, get the money. Then she was
Razzle’s problem. A couple of other people were in the elevator. A well-dressed woman threw Sonny a look.

‘My friend’s got bird flu,’ said Sonny.

Instantly, the woman shrank into the corner. Sonny sniggered to himself. Bird flu. Pretty funny, considering what he’d just done to Badmash. Bird flu. Bird flew. He should have been a
poet. Sonny was still sniggering as he staggered into reception, Kumari hanging from his arms, apparently dead to the world.

Depositing her on a leather sofa, Sonny strutted up to the receptionist.

‘Tell Mr Razzle Sonny’s here.’

The woman looked at him in distaste.

The other clients in the waiting room barely glanced up from their glossy magazines. Either this was an everyday occurrence or they just did not care. Suddenly, Simon shot from his surgery.

‘What are you doing, you imbecile?’ he hissed. ‘You’re far too early’

‘Hey, man, don’t call me that,’ said Sonny, trying to work out what imbecile meant.

‘Just bring her in here. Quickly,’ snapped Simon, casting an anxious look at his clients.

‘Won’t be long, ladies,’ he cooed.

They smiled back, thinly. Everything about Simon’s clients was thin, except for their plumped-up lips post procedure.

‘Through here,’ said Simon, as Sonny lugged Kumari into the surgery. He was holding another door open, one that led to a smaller ante-room. In it, Sonny could see a bed, instruments
laid out beside it. The place looked like something out of
ER,
right down to the rubber gloves.

‘What you gonna do to her?’ Sonny asked, dumping Kumari on the bed as indicated.

‘Never you mind,’ said Simon, handing Sonny a wad of notes. ‘Here’s your money’ he added. ‘Now beat it. I don’t want to see your face again.’

‘You’re the boss,’ said Sonny. ‘Nice doin’ business with you.’

Hustling him out the door, Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Whaaaa . . . ?’

From the other room he heard the girl. Instantly, he was by her side, needle poised. As he plunged it into a vein, she did not so much as wince. The sedative Sonny had slipped her had done its
work. For now, it was best to keep her nice and quiet. At least until his client was ready. Wouldn’t want to damage that lovely face. It represented pure profit. As Simon stared down at her,
he felt a flicker of something. Not remorse, not even regret. But the sweet tingle of big bucks.

Groggily, Kumari tried to focus. The ceiling kept swimming away from her, rippling round in a wobbly whirlpool, dipping and diving like she was on a boat. She had only been on
a boat once, on the lake near the summer palace. Papa had rocked it side to side to make her laugh. She generally laughed when she was scared. Mamma had stayed on the shore. Come to think of it,
maybe she was still on the boat. Kumari tried to turn her head to see Mamma, but somehow it would not move.

‘Ma . . . ’ she tried to say, but her lips could not form the word. Everything was swaying so much she could hardly think. Wait a second, this was no boat. She remembered now, she
was in the World Beyond. It was Sonny who had brought her here. There was that other man, the guy in glasses. The one with the smooth, shiny face.

The same face that was bending over her now, staring into her eyes, freaking her out. She had to push him away, get out of here. Why would nothing move? Her limbs felt so heavy, her body would
not obey her brain.

He was murmuring something. She stared up at him, stricken.

‘Where are you?’ he muttered. ‘Heart? Lungs? Brain? In the blood?’

The guy was crazy, that much was obvious. He was looking at her like she was a lump of meat he was about cut up.

‘I’ll find you,’ he said. ‘If I have to extract every organ.’

Oh my god, she’d been right – this was a human abattoir.

She tried to scream but of course it was useless. She was paralysed, helpless. Then she felt a sharp prick in her arm, followed by a dull ache. He was holding up a syringe. In it, her blood,
ruby red.

‘You’re in there somewhere,’ he said, gazing at it. ‘The secret of eternal youth.’

The guy was practically salivating.
You’ve got it wrong!
she wanted to yell out.
I am no longer a goddess. I will age just like you. I am mortal now.
But instead she lay
there, aware but immobilised. Another jab to her arm and she drifted back down into sleep.

Some time later, it felt like she was swimming from the bottom of a lake, up to the surface. Was this day or was this night? Was she alive or dead? How long had she lain here, alone in this
white, white room? Who was the man who kept terrorising her with his needles? Then, all at once he was back again, bending over her. Beside his, a woman’s face. She looked weird, her features
somehow stretched. They were leaning so close that she could feel their breath. The woman’s eyes were unlined, but so very, very old.

‘She’s perfect,’ said the woman.

‘I told you,’ said the man.

And then, to her horror, the woman stroked her cheek with one wizened hand.

‘This is the face I want,’ said the woman.

‘It’s yours. For the right price. There’s a small matter of paying the balance on your deposit.’

The woman smiled. Her tombstone-like teeth stuck out of ageing gums.

‘Simon, darling, I’ll pay whatever it takes. But I want this face and soon.’

‘Patience, darling. I have to make sure the donor tissue is absolutely ready. Rejection is a possibility with any transplant. She needs to be primed and prepped.’

They were talking about her face as if it were on sale. But this was
insane.
You couldn’t buy a face like a pair of shoes. What on earth was happening? She could feel Simon’s
fingertips now, tracing her jaw line.

‘I’ll cut here and here,’ he said. ‘There’ll hardly be any scarring. Face transplants take very well, as long as you keep up the drug regime.’

Cut here and here? Transplant? He meant it. He actually meant he was going to cut off her face and sew it on to this old woman!

These people were freaks. She had to get out of here.
Come on, arm, move! Kick, legs, get going.
Nothing, not a twitch. She heard the groan come deep from within her chest. And then
another painful jab and she was falling back.

Slipping under into sleep.

CHAPTER 18

M
a read the headline one more time.
Manhattan Mystery Girl Vanishes.
For once she was glad to see it in the news. Maybe this would help find
her.

‘Here, honey, take my handkerchief.’ Mrs Brinkman was offering a scrap of lace.

‘Ay, amiga,’
Mrs Martinez sighed.

Lola simply held out a glass of brandy.

On the counter, Badmash perched, staring out the window. Ma had found him on the doorstep four days before. Without Kumari. He was so distraught she did not like to leave him alone. He had sat
on the counter ever since. His feathers flat, his belly thin, Badmash was desolate. Refusing to eat or even sleep, he kept watch for his mistress. Ma’s heart broke every time she looked at
him, for herself and for Badmash. She went over and over the last time she saw Kumari in her mind. How she wished she’d run after her.

‘I should have stopped her!’ she would wail at intervals over the days that followed. The police said they were doing their best, but Ma did not have much faith.

‘This is not like her,’ she would insist. The officers’ expressions spoke volumes. Seemed like the kid had had problems at school. No doubt they’d pick her up
Downtown.

But as time went on, it became clear this was serious. Ma’s one consolation was that Sonny could not have been involved. He’d been fishing upstate with a friend the day Kumari
disappeared.

‘You think this’ll help?’ gulped Ma, holding the paper up for the whole salon to see.

‘Sure it will,’ said Lola staunchly.

‘
I
vouldn’t be so sure,’ said Mrs Brinkman.

Ma sighed. They were right, both of them. No one had any answers. All they could do was hope and wait. She’d tried everything else. Or maybe not
everything.
A germ of an idea lodged
in Ma’s mind. By the time seven o’clock came, it was a fully-fledged disease.

‘Goodnight,’ said Ma, shooing Lola out the door. ‘You stay safe now, you hear?’

Lola grinned in her lopsided way and lurched off down the street.

Locking the door and pulling the blind, Ma reached into her towel cupboard. There it was, at the back. Her precious hoodoo duster. She whirled it round her head.

‘Come on, baby, let’s rock!’ crowed Ma.

Suddenly there came a tap at the door. Must be that darn Lola. She was always forgetting something. She’d forget her own head if it wasn’t stuck to her.

‘Lord save us, Lola,’ said Ma, throwing open the door. ‘What is it this time?’

Except it wasn’t Lola that stood there but a young man. Cute face. Latino look. Kind of familiar, in fact.

‘Yeeeeeees?’ said Ma. Couldn’t be too careful. Especially not in this neighbourhood, on your own after dark.

‘Hi, I’m Chico,’ said the young man. ‘I’m a friend of Kumari’s.’

‘Ohhhh.
That
Chico. Well, come on in, honey’

He looked tired, pale despite his olive skin. There were dark rings under his hazel eyes.

‘You want somethin’ to drink, Chico?’

‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’

He stood there awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets. He cleared his throat and Ma smiled encouragement.

‘I was, ah, just wondering if there’s been any news about Kumari?’

‘No, honey, there ain’t. Here, why don’t you sit down?’

The faint hope on his face crushed, Ma thought he might crumble any minute. This was the boy Kumari had talked about and it was obvious he cared deeply for her.

‘There must be something we can do,’ he muttered.
‘Something.
Anything. I’ve been looking everywhere, you

know. Anywhere she might be.’

‘I know,’ said Ma. His mouth was trembling. The boy was on the verge of tears. She so wanted to tell him it would be all right. For both their sakes she wanted to fix this. For
Badmash, sitting still as stone on the counter. The boy’s eyes followed her gaze.

‘Oh Badmash,’ he said softly. ‘You poor thing. You miss her, don’t you? I miss her too, man. I can’t tell you how much.’

That was when Ma made up her mind. This was no time for pussyfooting. She had been about to start her hoodoo when the boy showed up. She would carry on, whatever he thought and perform the
Vision Spell.

‘There is something we could do,’ said Ma. ‘Or rather, that I could do.’

Hope lit up his face like a thousand birthday candles.

‘What is it? I’ll try anything.’

Ma flourished her duster. She would have to go carefully. Most folks thought this a little crazy, never mind some young dude.

‘You know anything about magic?’ she asked.

‘You mean like conjuring?’

‘Ha, conjuring’s for kids. I mean real magic. Hoodoo.’

Chico shrugged his shoulders.

‘Dunno. Guess I never thought about it. Except when Kumari . . . ’

‘Yeeeeeees?’

‘Oh, nothing. Doesn’t matter.’

Ma gave him a long look, but the boy kept his mouth shut. ‘OK, Chico,’ she said. ‘You can help me out.’

Handing him the duster, she reached back into the towel cupboard. Pulling out a bunch of roots, a red flannel bag and a jar of powder she also passed them to Chico. From the wardrobe, she
retrieved a purple robe, which she wriggled into with some difficulty.

‘Suffering rattlesnakes,’ said Ma. ‘Stupid thing must have shrunk.’

When at last she was ready, she took the duster from Chico.

‘Listen to what I say,’ she said. ‘And follow my instructions
exactly.’

‘OK,’ said Chico.

The boy was cool. She liked that.

And now to business. Wishing with all her might, Ma lit a candle. Then, planting her feet wide apart, she raised both arms above her head.

‘Come to me,’ she called out. ‘Show me where Kumari is.’

Whisking the duster round and round, she chanted it again and again. ‘Show me, show me where she is . . . ’

Whisk, whisk, whisk.

‘The powder,’ she commanded.

Hastily, Chico unscrewed the top of the jar. It had once contained face cream but now the jar was full of what looked like dust.

‘Throw it over me,’ said Ma, never dropping her duster rhythm. Whisk, whisk, whisk. Trying to conjure answers from the air.

‘OK,’ said Chico, chucking it full in her face.

‘I said
over
me,’ spluttered Ma. ‘Not rat splat in my mouth!’

‘S-sorry,’ stuttered Chico.

‘Never mind. Hand me the roots, boy, and the bag.’

Shoving the roots into the bag, she added seven beans from her pocket.

‘Wishing beans,’ she said, in answer to Chico’s look. Then, holding the bag up high she rattled it hard.

‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered, dancing on the spot. ‘Work, just this one time.’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Chico, mouth open, staring. Letting out one last caterwaul, Ma sank to her knees, exhausted.

‘Help me up, son,’ she gasped. ‘This is not going to work.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Chico, trying with all his might to haul her off her knees.

Slumped in her chair, Ma sagged in disappointment.
Nada mas.
Never again. She was a rootin’, tootin’ hoodoo hex-up. And then her gaze fell on something, a photograph of a
small boy scowling. A picture of Sonny in the old days before he turned really bad.