Pigeon Blood

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: I Never Said They Were Red

  Blair would never forget how Thomas looked stretched out across his bed, his hands bound to the brass bars at the head of it and his feet bound to the bars at the foot. His eyes were open and his lips were pulled back in a tight grimace. His chest was bloody from multiple stab wounds, and his throat had been cut just like Ingrid’s. The expression he wore in death showed no peace, but the light in his eyes bespoke of the splendor of the place where his spirit was bound to settle.

  Blair took off the dress shirt and tie he was wearing because of the blood covering them, and left just a white tee shirt on. Somehow it had managed to stay clean. After rinsing the blood and sweat out of his hair and off his face, he took care to make sure that the black pants he was wearing had no telltale signs of the struggle on them. He was lucky that gemoscope hadn’t broken his nose.

  It was nearly six-thirty in the morning when Blair finally reached Mercedes’ apartment across town. A light was on, so he felt free to ring the buzzer. She came to the door quickly, opening it without checking first to see who was there. And she was completely dressed; perhaps she was getting ready for work. His vision was blurry not only from of the piece of glass that had flown into his eye, but also because the gin he’d consumed was making it difficult for him to focus. Still, he was able to see Mercedes well enough. The moment she saw him, the blood drained from her face. She almost looked afraid.

  “Blair!” she said, looking out toward the street behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just couldn’t get you off my mind,” he said, giving her a giddy, little grin. “I’ve been thinking about you half the night.”

  “I thought you were staying at your friend’s house.”

  “I changed my mind. I’d rather see you. Instead of calling, I decided to come over.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  He smiled. “Not very.”

  She nodded, watching him closely.

  “May I come in?”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said.

  “Why not? What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t think your coming in is appropriate.”

  Resting his hand against the doorjamb, he leaned closer to her and said, “Do you remember those gems I told you about over the telephone?”

  There was a glint of interest in her eyes. “Yes?” she said.

  “I want to tell you some more about them.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t want to tell your neighbors, though. Please let me come in for a few minutes.”

  Thinking it over first, she finally stepped away from the door. “All right,” she said.

  Blair came inside, stumbling as he passed from the porch to the foyer. He hated the fact that his coordination wasn’t very good, but he only had his drinking to blame. Being able to face Mercedes with a clear head would’ve been wonderful because he understood how important it would be, especially today. But he couldn’t change the fact that he wasn’t working at full throttle. He put his hands in his pockets and looked around.

  “Your place is nice,” he said, squinting because the kitchen light was so bright. An orange and white cat jumped down from the sofa and strolled under a table to scratch against one of the legs.

  “Thanks,” she said, staring at him as if she was looking at a ghost. Faces told you a lot about people, that was what Blair’s father had always said. “What happened to your eye?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I just got something in it. It looks worse than it is.”

  “You’ve got a bruise on your cheek.”

  “I do? Where?”

  “Right there,” she said, pointing to the spot.

  He touched it and said, “It’s nothing.”

  She nodded, folding her arms in front of her chest. “So where are the rubies? Do you have them?”

  “No,” he said. “I left them at my friend’s house.”

  “The one you were going to spend the night with?”

  “Yes.” Blair turned his back on her for a minute, studying the room with more care than was necessary. After all, it wasn’t a very big apartment. A parakeet in a cage in the far corner drew his attention. The bird was predominantly yellow and quite vocal. Seeing it fluttering around reminded Blair of how much of an animal-lover Mercedes was.

  “I never said they were rubies,” Blair said, turning around again. “How did you know?”

  Mercedes’ eyes bugged and she shrugged her shoulders. “I just guessed. You told me they were red, so I just assumed they were rubies.” She laughed. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “I never said they were red.”

  “Yes, you did. I remember, Blair.”

  His eyes drifted down, taking all of her in and yet at the same time not really discerning much. She’d curled her hair, and it was styled at her temples and was hanging loose against her back. Her cream-colored dress, with a subdued, brown and beige flower pattern, was simple but lovely. So was she. Her breasts were larger than average and they rose and receded with every anxious breath she took. Well-contoured hips complimented that healthy bosom, as if God had intended for her to bear many children.

  Mercedes always made his mind wander to pleasantries when he should’ve been thinking about more important things. Even before he knew her name, as he’d watched her through the pet store window, or while volunteering at the church, he felt a certain fondness for her. Importance was relative, however, especially in a situation as ugly as this one. Besides all he’d been through, his head was aching from drinking so much gin. He was lucky he was able to think at all.

  “I was going to give Thomas a call this morning to find out what he believes the gemstones are,” he told her, rubbing his temples to help ease the pain.

  “You aren’t sure?” she asked, and he got lost for a time in her concerned, cocoa-colored eyes.

  He smiled reassuringly. “I just wanted a second opinion.” The answer seemed to pacify her.

  “If what you have are rubies,” she said, changing the subject and standing closer to him, “how much do you think they’re worth?”

  “Millions,” he said, “and I’m talking eight or nine figures.”

  An estimation like that seemed to take her breath away. “Wow!” she said, her breasts rising and receding even more now then before. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re looking at a rich man, Mercedes,” he said, holding out his arms for emphasis. “I’ll never have to beg for a drink again!”

  Mercedes looked happy to hear that, but her reaction made Blair feel down. He pretended otherwise, however, smiling and then giving her a wink.

  “You’re proof that good fortune can come to anyone.”

  “Yes, indeedy. And it’s up to people like me to spread the joy around.”

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, and he was happy to see a glimpse of the woman who used to be so concerned for his welfare.

  “Yeah, I could use a bite to eat.”

  “How about bacon and eggs?”

  “Too heavy,” he said, feeling queasy at the mere mention of food. “Toast and coffee would be great.”

  “Come on, I’ll make you some.” She went into the kitchen, but he didn’t follow her right away. Instead, he backed over to the front door and made sure it was unlocked. The orange cat darted down the hallway, startling him. Relieved to see only the animal, he went to find Mercedes. One window in the living room had the shade up, and he stared out into the darkness as he passed by with more on his mind than polite conversation.

  When he came around the corner, Mercedes’ back was to him. She was starting to brew some coffee. Pausing to turn to him and offer a captivating smile, she took an English muffin from the bread box and broke it in half. As she put the halves in the toaster, he grabbed her hand.

  Now would have been a good time for Blair to sit back and try to rationalize all the bad things that had been going on in his life these past few days. T
here had been so much death, so much sadness. He wanted to forget all that, if only for a little while. Without liquor, he depended on love to cloud his memory.

  “You’re an early riser,” he observed as she turned to face him. “And on a Saturday morning yet.”

  She didn’t answer, and it was just as well; she slipped her hand from his.

  “Your breakfast,” she said in that soft, nurturing tone he’d come to enjoy.

  “Forget it,” he said, putting his hands around her waist and pulling her close. He waited for her to tell him to stop, but to his dismay that word never came. Those rubies meant a lot to her, even more than her own self-respect. Despite her initial reluctance, Mercedes gave in, allowing Blair to kiss her as much and for as long as he wanted.

  Kissing her was almost surreal, and she expressed her affection in a most unapologetic fashion. She was pressing him, leading him, as if he were an angel who’d fallen from the sky and she was the light guiding him back to paradise. And paradise would have been a resolution to the impetuosity they were creating, just two lost souls trying to find a place.

  **********

  Cynthia’s face flashed in his mind. She was standing in front of him, her head and clothes all bloody, with a rock pick still lodged in her skull.

  “I see you, Blair,” she said, blood dripping from the tip of her nose. “I see what you’re doing. You’re not doing what you have to do.”

  “What do I have to do?” he said, but Cynthia didn’t answer; Mercedes answered him instead.