Kill Her Again

4 3

“ Madam Zala knows all,” Pope said. “So much for that lead.”

Anna ignored him.

Despite her disappointment, at least she knew she’d been right to come here. Her sixth sense was tingling now, telling her she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Either that, or it was warning her. She couldn’t be sure which.

A set of dilapidated steps led to the front porch and a tattered screen door.

“You sure you want to do this?” Pope asked, eying the place warily.

“I’m sure.”

Without even realizing it, Anna grabbed his hand as they climbed. When they got to the porch, they stood there a moment, unable to see past the screen.

“Come in, come in,” a voice said. Female. Warm. Friendly. “Madam Zala has been expecting you.”

“I’ll bet she has,” Pope muttered, just loud enough for Anna to hear.

Ignoring him again, she pulled the screen door open, and they stepped inside. With the storefronts on either side shading it from the sun, the place was dimly lit, and it took a moment for Anna’s eyes to adjust.

When they did, she saw a modest but tastefully decorated living room, full of furniture that had likely been there since the house was first built.

An ornate sofa faced the door, and an attractive, dark-haired woman of about forty sat smiling up at them.

Antonija Zala, no doubt.

For some reason-perhaps because of the photographs she’d seen-Anna had expected her to be wearing a shawl and a long skirt. But to Anna’s surprise, she wore muted pink slacks and a bright green tube top, looking much like a relic of the 1970s.

“You’ve come for a reading, yes?” the woman said. Her accent was vaguely Eu ro pe an, just like Red Cap’s.

Before coming here, Anna had wondered how she’d handle this. Show her credentials and question the woman as if she were a suspect? Or simply let it play out naturally?

A direct confrontation, she’d decided, would only force Zala to put her guard up. Better to try to engage her in conversation, then ease into the subject of Red Cap.

In preparation, Anna had kept her Glock hidden under her blouse, nestled at the small of her back. She was just another tourist.

“Yes,” she said, in answer to the woman’s question. “Can you help me?”

“Help? Perhaps not. Advise? Yes.” The woman’s gaze shifted between them. “Just one of you? Or both?”

“Just me,” Anna said.

“But I’d like to sit in,” Pope told her.

The woman held out a hand, palm upturned. “Fifty dollars.”

Anna and Pope exchanged looks; then Pope brought out his wallet and opened it.

“Twenty,” he said.

The woman frowned. “Thirty-five.”

Pope pulled out a twenty and a ten and laid them on the outstretched palm. “Take it or leave it.”

The hand closed with a snap, folding the bills, fingers tucking them into her tube top. She gestured to a nearby doorway with a beaded curtain.

“In there,” she said. “I will be with you in a moment.”

They sat in silence at a small round table, covered with a lacy cloth, a single, unlit candle at its center. The walls were blank. No photos. No paintings. No mirrors. The window to their right faced the crumbling gray brick of the neighboring building, close enough to touch.

Madam Zala had been gone for more than a moment. Closer to five minutes, actually.

“Probably making sure the bills aren’t counterfeit,” Pope said.

Then a toilet flushed somewhere inside the house and a few seconds later the curtain of beads parted with a rattle as Madam Zala returned, taking a seat opposite them.

She was carrying something wrapped in a blue scarf.

Anna shot Pope a glance, knowing he must be thinking that this was a waste of time. But she was convinced that Susan had written the name on the back of Chavi’s photograph for a reason, and the least she could do was let this thing play out, for better or worse.

Madam Zala reached to a dimmer switch on the wall behind her and turned the lights low, then lit the candle and moved it to one side.

Placing the scarf at the center of the table, she unwrapped it to reveal a deck of tarot cards, which she extended to Anna.

“Please shuffle them.”

Anna took the cards. There were twenty or so, but they were larger than normal and handling them felt a bit awkward. She did her best to shuffle them, then handed them back to Madam Zala.

The woman squared the cards. “You have a question for me?”

“Question?” Anna asked.

“Most who come here seek answers, yes? Without a question, the cards cannot guide you.” She glanced at Pope, then returned her gaze to Anna. “Something about your love life, perhaps?”

“I just want to know my future,” Anna said.

“That could cover many things. Is there something specific you’re concerned about?”

Anna thought about this. “There’s someone new in my life. A stranger. Can you tell me about him?”

Madam Zala nodded, then cut the deck and dealt several cards faceup on the table, arranging them in an elaborate layout. Each card carried a number in the corner, along with daggers and swords and naked goddesses and New Agey symbols. Anna had no idea what any of it meant.

“The Major Arcana,” Madam Zala said. “Each represents one of life’s journeys.” She pointed to a card, showing a man with a wand. “The Magician represents the journey of will. You have been weakened by recent events, only to gather strength and rally, your will growing stronger with each passing hour.”

She pointed to another card, showing an old bearded man. “But the Hermit crosses before you, representing caution. Fear. Prudence. Ignore him at your peril.”

Then another card, this one showing a man hanging upside down from a tree. “The Hanged Man,” she continued. “The symbol of sacrifice. To achieve the goal you wish to achieve your sacrifice will be great. Perhaps greater than you’re willing to accept.”

“What does any of this have to do with the stranger?” Anna asked.

“Patience,” the woman said, then pointed to yet another card. A skeleton holding a scythe. “Here is your stranger. The Death card. He is the cause of these things. The reason you have been put to the test.”

Anna sucked in a breath.

“But do not fear,” Madam Zala continued. “This card merely represents change. Transformation. Your life has been altered in significant ways, and you must adapt and change or suffer the consequences.”

Anna now wished that she had simply gone for the direct approach. She’d always thought of fortune-telling as a con game, designed to part unsuspecting fools from their money. What Madam Zala had just told her, however, was eerily accurate. Then again, it was also fairly generic and might apply to anyone who sat in this chair.

Enough of this, Anna thought. Time to get down to business.

Taking the photo of Chavi out of her pocket, she laid it on the table.

“What about this one?” she asked. “What does she represent?”

Madam Zala froze, staring at the photo, then her head jerked up, her gaze meeting Anna’s. “Who are you?”

“A woman on a journey,” Anna said, then unfolded the Temptress and Slave print-out and placed it in front of Madam Zala, pointing to the boy in the wagon. “And this is the stranger I seek.”

Madam Zala’s eyes widened. She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over as she backed away from the table. The candle wobbled, threatening to fall.

“Jozef!” she shouted. “Jozef, get your ass out here! Now!” Her accent had mysteriously disappeared. “Hurry, Jozef! It’s her! She’s here!”

They heard the pounding of heavy steps on a wooden floor, then the beaded curtain parted with a sharp snap as a large, twentysomething lunk stuck his head into the room. In a dark alley, Anna might have mistaken him for Red Cap.

“What’s wrong, Ma?”

“Get them out of here! Get her out of this house!”

Clenching and unclenching his fists, the lunk moved toward them aggressively, and Pope rose to meet him. “Easy, pal.”

But the lunk ignored the suggestion, grabbing a handful of Pope’s shirt as — Anna quickly reached back and brought her Glock out, pointing it at him. “FBI! Let him go.”

The lunk’s face went white at the sight of the weapon and he released Pope’s shirt, stepping back to join his mom, who was now flat against the wall, her eyes narrowed in anger.

“What do want from us? Why did you come here?”

“The photo,” Anna said. “Tell us about the boy in the photo.”

“I don’t know anything about him.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear to you, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Then why did you react that way? Like you recognized him?”

“You startled me, that’s all. When I’m in the middle of a reading, I’m deep in concentration and-”

— a shout from the back of the house cut her off. “Stop, Tatjana! Stop with the lies!”

It was a woman’s voice, the interruption so unexpected that they all froze in place.

“Bring her back to me,” she shouted. “I want to see her face.”

“But, Mother-”

“Don’t argue with me, girl! What have I told you about that?” Madam Zala, or Tatjana, or whatever her name was, lowered her gaze to the floor, then gathered herself, looking at Anna.

“You won’t need the gun,” she said. “It won’t protect you from the truth.”