The Sisters — Complete by Georg Ebers (reading diary txt) 📕

“Sure, why not?” turned, and walked back into the house. I climbed the stairs after him. Over the door there was a carving of two elaborate devils holding a scroll on which was written Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. Nice.

He was standing in the shadows inside the house. As I stepped over the threshold, he pulled a cigarette from a pack and lit it with an old brass Zippo. The walls were covered with erotic murals. Some were psychedelic, evocative of the ’60s. Others were impressionistic. Some were even good.

There was a huge face of Crowley done in red and black, like the famous picture of Che. Written underneath it in flowing, gold script was Do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Zak dropped into an old leather sofa and pointed to a chair. I sat, wiping water from my face and my hair. Zak gave a shrill whistle, and a girl of maybe twenty, with hollow eyes and a stud in her lip, came in in bare feet. She looked sad. Zak pointed at me and said, “Bring the cop a towel.” She hurried away at a little run. He smiled at me. “She’s an acolyte.”

She came running back a couple of minutes later with a big, fluffy towel and handed it to me with a small bow. I took the towel and said, “Don’t ever bow to me. Have some self-respect. Don’t ever bow to anybody, unless they’re bowing back.”

Zak said, “Go.” She left. “What do you want to ask me, Detective Stone?”

“I want to know about your big Christmas get-together in 2005, in Connecticut, near Holmes. You remember that?”

His face was empty. He just smoked and stared at me. Eventually he said, “What’s to remember? That was twelve years ago. We spent four days stoned, high and drunk.”

“I’m trying to trace two people whom I believe were at that rally. I think you had close ties to them.”

“All bros have close ties, man.”

“One was your best friend. The other was your girlfriend.”

He laughed. “Girlfriend? What, were we dating? Or just fucking and getting stoned together?”

I listened to the rain for a bit while he finished wheezing his laugh. When he was done, he said, “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I fucked a lot of chicks. I can’t remember all the ones I fucked in 2005.”

“Her name was Lynda.”

He shrugged.

“How about your best friend? Or don’t you have them either? Do you just fuck them too?”

It was a curious thing to watch. His expression stayed the same, but the smile drained out of it, turning it into an ugly, dangerous mask. His voice was quiet.

“I don’t fuck guys, Detective Stone. Sometimes I fuck them up, bad, but I don’t just plain fuck them. What was this guy’s name?”

“Hank. You remember Hank?”

“Yeah. I remember Hank.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“No. I ain’t seen Hank since that rally in 2005.”

“How about Lynda?”

Any trace of a smile had left his face. “I already told you, I don’t remember any Lynda.”

“You remember Hank, but you don’t remember Lynda. I find that kind of hard to believe.”

“I think you had better leave now, Detective Stone. It’s going to be getting dark soon, and these roads can be real dangerous at night.”

I sat forward. Somewhere in the house, the wind made a door creak. A squall of rain lashed the window. “You see, Zak, I know that you remember Lynda. So I have to ask myself, what is it that’s making you pretend that you don’t? What makes you want to hide your relationship to Lynda from the cops so bad that you would actually threaten that cop’s life? And it is that kind of question that is going to have me and a dozen Feds swarming all over your house like flies on shit. I wonder what we’re going to find? Besides the coke and the meth, do you think we’ll find any body parts?”

He held up both hands and shouted, “Woah! Take it easy, Mr. NYPD. There ain’t nobody threatening nobody here. And there ain’t no fucking bodies buried in my garden. Take it easy. Chill.”

“Chill? Next time you threaten me with violence, Zak, you better be prepared to make good on your threat, because I am going to whip your sorry ass all the way back to New York, where I will throw you into Rikers and watch you rot there for the rest of your miserable life. And believe me, there will be no law of Thelema there.”

“Okay—it was just talk. Take it easy.”

“Tell me about Hank and Lynda.”

He flopped back his head and closed his eyes like I was boring him. “Hank was a bro. He had a chick, and she was cute, hot, you know?” He looked at me, like he was actually asking me if I knew what a hot chick was. “But Hank was soft. He cared. You can’t care in life. It doesn’t work that way. He was always talking about bros, and loyalty, and being there for each other…” He laughed again. “Man… and he was all dewy-eyed and going to pieces over this bitch. So I tried to help him.”

“Help him? How?”

“I told him, let’s fuck the bitch together. Lose your respect for her, man. Treat her like the piece of trash she is. You let a woman get inside you and you are fucked. I mean, you do not fuck them, they fuck you and they fuck you bad. I have seen many a bro go down because he went soft over a chick.”

“So did he agree?”

“No, man. He got mad. Which proves what I am telling you. Women are evil. They are like poison. They are there to serve us