Dead Mans Hand

9:00 P.M.

The apartment was a loft over a bankrupt print shop, in a century-old cast-iron building a block off the river. Over the door a sign, faded almost to illegibility, said BLACKWELL PRINTING COMPANY. Jay peered through a windowpane, but the grime covered it like a coat of gray paint, and he could get no hint of the interior.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer and walked slowly up and down the sidewalk. As far as he could see, there were two ways into the loft. An old iron fire escape clung to the back side of the structure. He could probably pull the ladder down and climb in through a window. Or he could just ring the bell.

He could see lights in the loft windows. To hell with it, he thought. He went around to the steel-reinforced door by the alley. There was no name on the bell. Jay jabbed it with his thumb.

After a moment there was a metallic rasping noise, and the lock on the steel door disengaged. That was easy, Jay thought as he pushed his way inside. He found himself at the bottom of a narrow flight of stairs in a ghastly little hallway that smelled of mold and printer's ink. A light bulb dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly from side to side as moths fluttered around it. The bulb was hot and bright, probably way too high a voltage for the old wiring in this firetrap, but it did light up the place. One of the moths brushed against it and fell, smoking, at his feet. Its burned wings beat a frantic tattoo against the bare wood floor. Jay stepped on it and felt it crunch as he ground it into the floor with his heel. He wondered what the hell Sascha saw in a place like this.

A door opened on the landing above him. "Aren't you coming up?" a woman's voice called down.

Jay had no idea whom she was expecting, but he didn't figure it was him. "I'm looking for Sascha," he said as he started up the steps. They were so cramped and steep it was hard going.

"Sascha is not here." The woman came out of the loft and stood on the top step, smiling down at him. "I am all alone." Jay looked up. He stopped right where he was. He stared.

The woman ran the tip of her tongue across full, pouty lips. She was dressed in a short red teddy that barely reached her hips. No panties. Her pubic hair was black and thick, and when she stood with her legs apart like that, he could see a lot more than just hair. Her skin was a light brown color, the kind Hiram would call cafe au lait. A tangle of wild black hair fell across her shoulders and back, longer than her teddy. Under the wisp of fabric was the most magnificent pair of tits that Jay Ackroyd had ever seen. "Come on," she said to him.

Her accent was as provocative as the rest of her. "Come on," she repeated, with more insistence.

Jay resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see if somebody else was on the steps behind him. He couldn't take his eyes off her anyway. When Jube had said that Sascha was seeing a Haitian prostitute, he'd expected some gaunt, pockmarked girl with hungry eyes and needle tracks along her arms. He cleared his throat and tried to sound like he ran into half-naked women all the time. "Ah," he managed, "Sascha, ah-"

"Sascha bores me," the woman said. "I am Ezili. Come." She smiled again and held out her hand.

"I'm Jay Ackroyd," Jay said. "I'm a friend of Chrysalis," he added. "Sascha too," he went on. "I need to talk to him again," he explained. "About her," he clarified. "Chrysalis, that is." All the time walking up the stairs. Ezili just listened, nodding, smiling, nodding. Jay was two steps below her when he saw that her eyes matched her lingerie, two small black irises surrounded by a sea of liquid red. "Your eyes," Jay blurted out, stopping suddenly.

Ezili reached down, took his hand, and put it between her legs. Her heat was like a living thing. Moisture ran over his fingers and down the inside of her coffee-colored thighs.

She moved against him, and gasped as his fingers slipped up inside her, moving almost of their own accord. She had her first climax right there on the stairs, grinding her hips furiously against his hand. Afterward she licked his fingers like a greedy child, sucking the fluids off them one by one, then drew him wordlessly into the apartment.

By then Jay had forgotten all about her eyes.