The Devil Dances Read Online Free PDF Page B

see, as the hybrids cannot pollinate themselves. Thus, I have become their harbinger of love.” She smiled and took up a long tube from off the silver tray her boy held and deftly inserted it into the stamen of one of the open flowers.
    “I bet you are,” I quipped.
    “Nicky, I don’t think I like your tone much, child. You youngins really do need to learn to respect your elders and betters. I blame the Internet and all those terrible cell phones. There’s no gentlemanly hospitality anywhere anymore.”
    I cut to the chase. “A boy died two nights ago in my arms. I’m pretty sure he was one of yours.”
    To her credit, Mary Jo never so much as flinched. She did say, “Marcus, will you please go inside and check on supper for old Mary Jo?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a nod and headed back to the house, carrying his tray.
    “Thank you, child.” When he was out of earshot, Mary Jo’s tone changed dramatically, growing deeper and hoarser, though she didn’t stop working over her beloved orchid. “What makes you think he was mine, Englebrecht?”
    “He’d been used, sexually. A lot, according to the coroner who did the autopsy. I immediately thought of you. Imagine that.”
    Mary Jo looked up at me with dark, mechanical shark eyes. I looked for a soul in those eyes and saw none. I only saw myself looking back. Slowly, Mary Jo raked them up and down my body, assessing me much the same way you assess a nice piece of furniture before you buy it.
    If I’d had my way, I would have shut her down years ago, but Mary Jo’s boys serviced the baser needs of some of the most powerful men in Blackwater. I knew that no accusation I flung at her would stick. She’d come through smelling like a rose… or an orchid, at the very least.
    “You know, it’s a goddamn shame, Englebrecht. You have the face and body of an angel. I reckon I could get ten a night on you, maybe more. You could retire in a year if you worked for me. But that mouth always gives you away. You sound like what you are—a trash-talking, New York punk who’s just slunk out of the gutter.”
    “I’d rather slink back into the gutter if it means not being in your company… ma’am.” I drew out her accent, made a mockery of it.
    Mary Jo smiled, not offended, her teeth gleaming like her ten-thousand-dollar pearl necklace. “I don’t think you’ve come so far, child. You can take the boy out of the ghetto, but you’ll
never
get the ghetto out of the boy.”
    I knew she wouldn’t go much further than that with her insults. For all her power, all her money and influence, Mary Jo was essentially terrified of me. I was one of the few people in this city that really scared the shit out of her. Maybe because she knew in her heart of hearts that one day she’d be under my jurisdiction. I pulled out a scrap of notebook paper where I’d drawn a picture of the dead boy to the best of my memory—without his syphilis scars.
    Mary Jo took one glance at it and said, “Caleb.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    “He never said.”
    I believed her. Most boys wouldn’t tell her that—or anyone, really, not after working for Mary Jo. “When did he start working for you?”
    “About a year ago, I reckon. Such a polite boy. Had some unusual habits.”
    “Such as?”
    “Only bathed when I made him. Prayed a lot.”
    “I imagine that wasn’t good for business.”
    “Such sarcasm, Englebrecht.”
    I rattled the paper, getting angry now. “He was nineteen fucking years old. He’s dead now. He died in agony of advanced syphilis.”
    Mary Jo looked appalled. “That boy did
not
have syphilis, Englebrecht. I would know. All my boys are tested on a monthly basis.”
    I crumpled the picture of Caleb back into my pocket and leaned forward. I was now looming over Mary Jo and she was drawing back as if sensing danger. “What else can you tell me? Where did he come from?”
    “The street. That’s where they all come from.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “I never