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Chapter 6

Pendergast didn’t slow down until he had to, to turn into the hotel parking lot. He kept checking his rearview mirror, fully expecting to see a procession of vehicles following him, each one manned by a foolish grin connected to a ferocious stiffy. For the first time in his life, he considered giving up on a case and hauling ass back home.

He thought wistfully of his apartment at the Dakota, with its cool, dusky atmosphere, its calming waterfall, and its many rooms full of delightful treasures. He thought longingly of the days he would spend there, hidden from the world, wrapped up in reading and writing great literature; in studying and producing beautiful art; in listening to and playing lovely music; in hypothesizing and creating wonderful meals. Sitting rapt in his meditation room; relaxing in his favorite bubble bath; playing Trivial Pursuit and chess against himself. Perhaps even...dare he contemplate it? At last achieving the perfect skin formula for Helen II. It had not taken long at all to master the engineering skills necessary for the basic construction, but the skin solution either set too tacky or too murky or too thin, leaving bony metal prominences peeking through, and that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. So now he was involved in a different attempt, and he couldn’t wait to get home to his laboratory and see how the cloned skin cells were coming along.

He got out of the car, felt to make sure his ass was on straight, and proceeded toward the entrance of Corn Rock’s only hotel, determinedly turning his mind away from Helen II and toward the Slasher. He hadn’t really anticipated meeting the Slasher on his first night in town, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated everything else, either. He should’ve known he was in for trouble when he saw how D’Agosta had reacted to Alice. He had wanted to be unrecognizable, to pass as female, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to be groped and kissed. Eww. Still, teasing D’Agosta had been fun. Thinking of it on the way across the lobby, he smiled, and it was returned by the young man at the counter, who immediately started toward him. Drat.

Pendergast speeded up and almost ran past the elevator, not even caring how strange Alice must look taking the stairs three at a time like a terrified giraffe. He reached his room before finding his key and stopped groping in the handbag for it, extracting instead a tiny instrument from Alice’s underwear. He seemed to just caress the lock and the door opened as though by magic, then stuck, so he finessed it with a kick that vented some of the evening’s frustrations and sent the door crashing back against the interior wall hard enough to stick again with its knob buried in the drywall.

The desk clerk, who reached the top of the stairs just in time to hear the woman of his dreams growl a curse that sounded like, “Ungoverned monkey-dicked bastards, every one!” and shake the entire rickety building with the force of one kick, teetered on the top step, windmilled his arms, and fell backward with a great cacophony of grunts and squeals and thumps that Pendergast did not hear, being in the process of digging the door from the drywall and slamming it hard behind him. His usually preternatural hearing was muffled by his slightly askew wig and by his total indifference as to whether he ever heard another male voice as long as he lived.

He stalked into the center of the room and stopped. Closed his eyes and bowed his head. Took deep breaths. Pictured a beautiful meadow overrun with dandelions and wild roses. Inserted a babbling brook. But the babbling reminded him of the night’s assorted nuts, especially Monica Tilly (who had become too busy kissing his hand (eww) to babble about how she had thwarted the Slasher, except for breathing the words knee and balls between kisses), so he dried the brook up, lost the vision, and set about making ready for bed.

He grasped the wig and carefully removed it, then peered at his reflection and was not happy. The way things were going, he was likely to have visitors in the night, visitors that he may not be able to resist thrashing in the hallway, so he undressed, using the very tips of two fingernails to toss the doffed scrub pants into the trash, showered, then put on fresh makeup. He got dressed again in his female parts, blue floral pajamas, wig, and a daisy-patterned hair net, the better to maintain the wig and leave his ears free to detect possible visitors. He lay down on his back and listened intently. Somewhere in the lobby, the desk clerk was whimpering. Pendergast sighed with sadness at the pathetic state of men who could neither build nor become their perfect mates, and, closing his eyes, fell instantly asleep.

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