Chapter 2 Aftermath
Exposition. Who's who in the food chain
Many thanks to Running with Deer and Clariz for sharp blue pencils and creative suggestions for the rest of this.
Usual disclaimers apply. Thomas Harris owns Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. No copyright infringement intended
It was 3 am by the time Clarice had made her way back to the "office"
This was an airless room with yellow, green walls and a peeling linoleum floor, dimly lit by weak bulbs shining through dirty parchment shades. 'Same colour as the fourth horseman of the apocalypse' thought Clarice sourly. It was tucked behind a bar, close to the apartment block in which Clarice and a couple of the other guys, were living.
It wasn't a drug dealing area but it wasn't too upmarket, either. Their Argentinean liaison officer, Jose, had set up their cover. Ostensibly they were expat Americans working for a computer software business, who had started a poker school. This was supposed to account for their dishevelled appearance and the unpredictability of their comings and goings.
The guy who ran the bar had been specially chosen by the local police for his lack of curiosity and general sloth. He shaved about once per week. His eyes were red and watery, half closed against the smoke curling up from a crushed cigarillo rolled between full lips. When not smoking his lips seemed to part under their own weight revealing a row of brown teeth. He took the money for the rent of the room and asked no questions. The other clientele in the bar were 3 regular alcoholics and occasionally workers from the local offices, on their way home and a group of guys from the local garage who took their siesta in the bar and watched football on the TV.
The evenings, when this band of unhappy brothers and sister, met, were generally very quiet.
When Clarice finally arrived, they were all there – all 4 of them along with Jose their liaison officer and titular chief. They were all drinking beer. Jose was sweating heavily and turned on Clarice as soon as she shut the thin panelled door behind her. He had been desperate for a result that night and to his mind, Clarice had fucked it all up.
He practically stood on her toes, spitting at her as he reined invective over her head in English and Spanish. He stank of cheap cologne and old beer. The others watched with some interest to see how she would take it.
Clarice stood, relaxed, concentrating on the veins in Jose's eyes. He reminded her of a bull frog in a Florida swamp.
"If you had jumped to it when I called we would have nailed them" She said this quite calmly. "The LP was only 5 minutes from the storm drain – what kept you ?"
"Bitch ! Why didn't you do as I ordered ? Why you not wait ? Why you act like some dug sucking rookie cunt ?"
"Because I expected you to be there in 5 minutes – that's what you said at the briefing, Jose. 5 fucking minutes. They went in, 3 of them Diego included. If I hadn't followed we wouldn't have had a hope in hell of finding them in those tunnels. Oh ... and by the way, there must be at least one other entrance because I saw a light coming from the other end"
"Bullshit, fucking bullshit. Fucking bitch doesn't even know how a flashlight looks in a sewer. Can't even find her way down a straight tube. Can't tell her right tit from her left." This last produced a giggle from a couple of the other guys
Clarice's rejoinder was cool "So which ball are you going to grab when Inspector Fazaelis talks with you on Monday Jose ?" one of the guys hooted. Jose's pupils dilated
Bernard of the big physique and 'apocalypse now' mien pushed an apoplectic Jose to one side and pressed the tip of his Dos Sequis bottle between her breasts "Starling, it was fucking stupid, what you did. Now they know they are a fucking target – a month's fucking work down the fucking pan all down to a fucking whore who thinks she can shoot straight"
"How do you know that Bernie ? I found a body I didn't recognise with its throat cut up a side tunnel and no sign of Diego or his compadres. They didn't see me. Looks more to me like we stumbled over a little dealer set tripping than fucking up the surveillance"
Bernie blinked once. "Still don't know why they hired you Starling. All brains and no cunt makes a woman desperate ..... know what I mean ?"
"Yeah – desperate for any sign of sentient life "
Bernie took this as an invitation placed his hands on her shoulders and used his whole body to push her backwards against the wall, driving his hips up and in. The others shouted and whooped. Clarice realised that Jose didn't have the authority or credibility to control the situation. It was down to her. She didn't hesitate. She reached behind her for the knife in its sheath nestling in the small of her back and in one smooth arc brought the tip to bear at the angle of his left nostril and drew blood
"Back off " she spat
Bernie's head snapped back and he shifted his weight on to his heels. Clarice seized the moment and with the knife still at his nostril leaned into him and pushed him back.
Jose was screaming at them both. He realised that he was in real danger of losing control of everything.
Bernie was swinging his fist when Jose stepped between them and looked straight into Bernie's eyes.
"Enough." He bellowed "This is not the time. We had a long night. We meet tomorrow at lunchtime at the café. Starling you have first watch tomorrow morning, 6.30. Bernie put new film in the camera today. There will be no problems"
Bernie wiped his nose and studied her with a lugubrious expression. Clarice ignored him.
The others spat, dragged on their cigarettes and sipped lukewarm beer as they watched her.
Clarice expected no less. She had stepped out of line by not waiting for the big boys at the storm drain. 2 hours sleep and then she would be in a darkened room with just a camera, a telescope and flies for company. One ray of sunshine that made Clarice smile - she had just received a pack of CD's from Amazon. She could listen to some of her music, in peace, in that room.
"Sleep well boys" she said and swung out of the room with as much style as she could muster from her aching muscles
Back in her apartment she found that the water had been turned off and cleaned up as best she could with some refresher pads she had bought in a Pharmacia the previous day. She lay naked on her bed, spread-eagled in the heat and watched the light, filtered through her blinds making ripples on the ceiling. The electric fan rattled on her bedside table as it rotated. The fitful breeze was even more irritating than the sweat running off her body. She turned it off. The electric spark from the rocker switch was startlingly blue in the brown fug of the room.
"Now you need to sleep, girl, you can think tomorrow" Over the last year she had ground her self discipline to a honed perfection, 'enough to make a Jesuit jealous' thought Clarice acidly. She measured her breathing and was dead to the world in five minutes.
