Part 20 (1/2)
”Yeah. I told him I didn't know what he was talkin' about.” Palatazin nodded. ”And why should you? The Roach is gone. n.o.body cares about him anymore. The vice squad should probably thank him. How do you feel about prost.i.tutes, Walter?”
He was silent for a moment, staring at the burning end of the cigarette. ”They stick together,” he said softly. ”All of them do.”
”Uh-huh.”
”They laugh at you behind your back. They try to fool you.”
”But they didn't fool Roach, did they?”
”Nope.”
Palatazin was beginning to sweat under the stark fluorescent overheads; he loosened his tie and unb.u.t.toned his collar. ”You work for Aladdin Exterminators, right? Do you like that job?”
Benefield smoked his cigarette and thought about it for a minute. ”Yeah,” he said finally. ”I do.”
”I'll bet you're a good worker. What do you use, one of those metal spray cans?”
”A B&G sprayer, yeah. Shoots the Diaz right into the cracks.”
”Tell me about Beverly,” Palatazin said softly.
”Bev . . . erly?” Benefield's eyes glazed over immediately, and his mouth dropped open. He stared right through Palatazin as the cigarette burned down between his fingers.
”That's right. Your mother. Where is she?”
”She's . . .” His brow furrowed in concentration. ”She's not here.”
”She's dead, isn't she?”
”Huh?” Shock st.i.tched Benefield's face. ”No! You're wrong! She's hiding, they're helping her hide so I can't find her! Sometimes they can even make themselves look like her to fool me. Oh, they know all the tricks!” His voice dripped with bitterness now, and his eyes were hard and cold.
”She's dead,” Palatazin persisted. ”And after she died, you were sent to Rathmore State Hospital.”
”NO!” His eyes flamed, and for an instant Palatazin thought the man was going to leap at him. ”Rathmore?” he whispered, and rubbed his forehead. ”No. Bev went away, and because she left me, they sent me to ... that place. It's not a hospital. Hospitals cure sick people. That place was a ... a Crazyhouse. When I find Bev, things will be like they were before. I won't have to think about the Crazy-house anymore, and my head won't hurt. But first . . . first I'm going to have to punish her for leaving me . . .” He crushed out the cigarete and dropped it on the floor. ”She's somewhere in the city,” he said. ”The Master told me so.”
Palatazin's heart began to pound. ”The . . . Master?” he murmured softly.
”Who's the Master, Walt?”
”Ohhhhh, no. You'd like me to tell you, wouldn't you? You'd like to know, but you can't.”
”Who's the Master? Are you talking about G.o.d?”
”G.o.d?” Something about that word seemed to trouble Benefield. He blinked and ran his hand across his forehead. ”He talks to me at night,” he whispered. He tells me what to do . . .”
”Where is he?”
”Can't tell. Cant.”
”He's here in L.A.?”
”He's everywhere,” Benefield said. ”He sees and hears everything. He knows where I am; he knows where you are. If he wants you, he'll call you in the night, and you'll have to go to him. You'll have to.” He looked up into Palatazin's face, his black eyes strangely magnified by the gla.s.ses. ”He's going to be mad at me for not going to him last night. He's going to be mad at you, too.”
”What's his name, Walt?”
”Name? He ... doesn't have a name. Before he saved me, I was . . . paying them back for fooling me, but the Master said I was ... I was wasting. He said he could use them and that I would be helping him win the great battle.”
”What battle?”
Benefield looked at him and blinked. ”For Los Angeles. He wants the city.”f A cold terror spread through Palatazin. ”Where is the Master, Walt? If I wanted to find him, where would I go? He's hiding in the Hollywood Hills, isn't he?”
”Can't tell,” Benefield said.
”Where? A house? A cave . . .?”
Murphy, across the room, cleared his throat. Palatazin glanced up and saw Zeitvogel staring oddly at him. Let them think I'm insane? he thought, i don't care! He returned his attention to Benefield. ”I want to find the Master,” he said urgently. ”I have to. Please help me.”
”Oh, no. He has to want you first. He has to call you, then you'll know how to find him.”
Palatazin forced himself to calm down. His face seemed to be burning up with fever, his guts filled with arctic cold. ”Are you the Roach, Walt?” Benefield froze. Slowly his face contorted into a sneer. ”You're just like that n.i.g.g.e.r, aren't you? Pretending to be my friend, and laughing at me all the time.
You want to send me back, don't you? Back to that place! I won't let you do that. He won't let you!”
”WHERE IS HE?” Palatazin shouted suddenly, and lunged for Benefield's collar. He slammed the man's face down on the table, then jerked his head up again. The man snarled and grabbed for Palatazin's throat, blood stringing from his nostrils.
”WHERE IS HE!” Palatazin shrieked again, all control gone now, nothing but animal rage and fear left. Benefield grinned, and then Murphy and Zeitvogel were pulling him away.
”No,” Zeitvogel ordered, his gaze fixed on Palatazin. ”Don't do that, captain.”
”LET ME ALONE!” Palatazin fought free of them and stood up, breathing harshly.
”Just leave me alone!” He started for Benefield again, but Zeitvogel blocked his way. ”You don't understand,” Palatazin said. ”I've got to make him tell!
I've got to!”
Zeitvogel shook his head. Benefield grinned and wiped his b.l.o.o.d.y nose.
”Get him out of here before I throw up,” Palatazin demanded abruptly, and brushed past Zeitvogel out of the interrogation room.
In his office he lit his pipe and tried to calm down. He couldn't get his thoughts organized. Of course Benefield was the Roach, and of course he knew where the Master was hiding. But how could he make him talk, how could he break the hold that evil force had on him? And then an even more terrible thought gripped him-how many were there now in this city who had heard the Master's voice? How many now walked at night, hungering for blood? A thousand?
Five thousand? Ten thousand? It would happen insidiously, slowly, as it had happened in Krajeck so very long ago, until at the end the city would be at the mercy of the Master and his brood. He had to tell someone now, anyone who would listen.
The newspapers perhaps? Chief Garnette? Maybe the National Guard could be called out, and the things found, burned or staked before they grew stronger. Perhaps the city could be evacuated and firebombs dropped from helicopters . .
But no. They wouldn't believe. He felt a chill of dark madness cover him. Who would believe? Who? He remembered the doctor in that building on Dos Terros Street, Dr. Delgado. The bodies had been taken to Mercy Hospital. Perhaps she could be made to believe. Yes! He reached for the telephone, but it rang before he could pick up the receiver.