Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [16]
Immaculata had been working as a hostess in a Manhattan bar before she met Max. She had been trained as some kind of psychotherapist in France, but she couldn't practice in this country until she completed enough courses and got a license.
I saw her work one day when I went over to the warehouse looking for Max. I pulled the Plymouth into the garage on the first floor. It was empty—it always was. I got out of the car, closed the garage doors, and waited. If Max was around, he'd be there soon enough. If he didn't show in a couple of minutes, I'd just chalk a message to him on the back wall.
I heard the sound of fingers snapping, looked to my left, and there was Max. He was holding a finger to his lips—no noise. I climbed out of the Plymouth, leaving the door open, and walked over to where Max was standing. He motioned for me to follow him upstairs.
We padded along the narrow catwalk past the entrance to his temple. When we came to the blank wall behind the temple door, Max reached up and pulled back a curtain. We were looking through some one–way glass into what looked like a kid's playroom: kid–size furniture, brightly painted walls, toys all over the place. Immaculata was seated at a small table. Across from her was a little girl—maybe four years old. They were both in profile to us. It looked like they were playing with some dolls together.
I shrugged my shoulders, spread my hands, palms up. "What is this?" I was asking Max. He patted the air in front of him with both hands and pointed to his eyes: "Be patient and watch."
There were four dolls on the table. Two were bigger than an average kid's doll; the other two were a lot smaller. From their clothes and their hair I could see that two were male and two female.
Immaculata put the dolls to one side of the table and asked the kid something, looking calm and patient. The little girl took one of the small dolls and started to undress it, slowly and reluctantly. Then she stopped. She took the big male doll and made it sort of pat the little girl on the head. The little doll pulled away from the pat, but not too far. Finally, the big male doll helped the little girl doll get undressed. The big male doll unbuttoned his pants. It had plain white boxer shorts underneath. The child took off the shorts, revealing a set of testicles and a penis. The little girl doll was pushed over toward the big doll. The child kept lifting the male doll's penis, but it always flopped back. Finally, she put the little girl doll's mouth against the male doll's penis. A couple of dead–weight seconds went by. Then the child pulled the little girl doll away from the big doll. She put the little girl doll face down on the floor—then she had the big male doll pull up his shorts and pants and walk away.
The little girl was crying. Immaculata didn't move—but she was talking to the child. You couldn't hear a thing outside the window. She put out her hand to the child. The little girl took her hand, and Immaculata gently pulled her around to where she was sitting. She put the little girl on her lap, one arm around her back. She kept talking until the child nodded agreement to something.
Then Immaculata reached out for the big male doll and put it right in front of the child. The little girl grabbed the doll and started to shake it, screaming something. Her face was contorted in rage. She ripped at the big doll. Suddenly, the big doll's arm came off in her hand. The child looked at the arm she was holding, then back to Immaculata, who nodded something to her. The child ripped off the other arm. Then she started talking to the big, armless doll, shaking her finger in some kind of admonishment. Then she started to cry again.
Max motioned for me to follow him again. He pointed back toward his temple, telling me to wait for him.
I walked through the temple, being careful not to step past the black lines painted in a rectangle on the bleached wood floor. Then around to the back stairs, and from there