Colleen McCullough - On, off

Hi, guys! How ya doin huh? Everybody sleep well?

The door was still hissing shut behind Cecil when Otis saw to the least palatable job of his day, emptying the refrigerator. His wheeled plastic bin smelled clean and fresh; he put a new liner in it and pushed it over to the refrigerator door, a heavy steel one with a snap-lock handle. What happened next was a blur: something streaking past him as he opened the door, screaming like a banshee.

Cecil, get out here! he yelled. Jimmys still alive, we gotta catch him!

The big monkey was in a state of gibbering frenzy, but after Cecil talked to him a little while and then held out his arms, Jimmy bolted into them, shivering, his shrieks dying to whimpers.

Jesus, Otis, Cecil said, cradling the beast like a father his child, how did Dr. Chandra miss that? The poor little guys been locked in the fridge all night. There there, Jimmy, there there! Daddys here, little man, youre okay now!

Both men were shocked and Otiss heart had a jelly roll beat to it, but no real harm was done. Dr. Chandra would be pleased as punch that Jimmy hadnt died after all, thought Otis, returning to the refrigerator. Jimmy was worth a hundred big ones.

Even a cleanliness fanatic like Otis couldnt banish the smell of death from the refrigerator, scrub it with disinfectant and deodorant though he did. The stench, not of decay but of something subtler, surrounded Otis as he flipped the light switch to reveal the chambers stainless steel interior. Oh, man, Jimmy had made a regular mess of it! Torn paper bags were strewn everywhere, headless rat carcasses, stiff white hair, obscenely naked tails. And, behind the dozen rat bags, a couple of much bigger bags, torn up too. Sighing, Otis went to fetch more bags from a cupboard and began to make order out of Jimmys chaos. The dead rats properly bagged again, he reached into the chilly chamber and pulled the first of the two big bags forward. It had been rent from top to bottom, most of its contents on full display.

Otis opened his mouth and screamed as shrilly as Jimmy, was still screaming when Cecil erupted out of the monkey room. Then, not seeming to notice Cecil, he turned and ran out of animal care, down the halls, into the foyer, out the entrance, legs opening and closing in a punishing run down Eleventh Street to his home on the second floor of a shabby three-family house.

You know your trouble, Wes? You always in the way! You didnt get in Otiss way all the time, he wouldnt call you a good for nothin kid! Otis! Otis, honey, wake up!

Otiss skin had faded from a warm deep brown to a pasty grey that didnt improve when the ammoniac vapors were jammed under his nose, but he came around, jerked his head away.

What is it? Whats the matter? Wesley was asking.

A piece of woman, Otis whispered.

A what? sharply from Celeste.

A piece of woman. In the fridge at work with the dead rats. A pussy and a belly. He began to shake.

Wesley asked the only question that mattered to him. Was she a white woman or a black woman?

Dont bother him with that, Wes! Celeste cried.

Not black, Otis said, hands going to his chest. But not white neither. Colored, he added, slipped forward off the chair and fell to the floor.

Call an ambulance! Go on, Wes, call an ambulance!

Which came very quickly, due to two fortunate facts: one, that the Holloman Hospital was just around the corner, and the other, that business was slack this hour of morning. Still very much alive, Otis Green was put into the ambulance with his wife crouched beside him; the apartment was left to Wesley le Clerc.

He didnt linger there, not with news like this. Mohammed el Nesr lived at 18 Fifteenth Street, and he had to be told. A piece of woman! Not black, but not white either. Colored. That meant black to Wesley, as it did to all the members of Mohammeds Black Brigade. Time that Whitey was called to account for two hundred years and more of oppression, of treating black people as second-rate citizens, even as beasts without immortal souls.

When hed gotten out of prison in Louisiana hed decided to come north to Tante Celeste in Connecticut. He yearned to make a reputation as a black man who mattered, and that was easier to do in a part of the nation less prone than Louisiana to throw blacks in jail if they looked sideways. Connecticut was where Mohammed el Nesr and his Black Brigade hung out. Mohammed was educated, had a doctorate in law he knew his rights! But for reasons that Wesley saw every day when he looked in a mirror, Mohammed el Nesr had dismissed Wesley as worthless. A plantation black, a nobody nothing. Which hadnt dampened Wesleys ardor; he intended to prove himself in Holloman, Connecticut! So much so that one day Mohammed would look up to him, Wesley le Clerc, plantation black.

Cecil Potter had soon discovered what sent Otis screeching out of animal care, but he wasnt a panicky man. He did not touch the contents of the refrigerator. Nor did he call the cops. He picked up the phone and dialed the Profs extension, knowing full well that the Prof would be in his office, even at this hour. His only peace happened early in the mornings, he always said. But not, thought Cecil, this morning.

Its a sad case, said Lieutenant Carmine Delmonico to his uniformed colleague and nominal superior, Captain Danny Marciano. With no other relatives we can find, the kids will have to go into the system.

Youre sure he did it?

Positive. The poor guy tried to make it look like some stranger busted in, but theres his wife and her lover in the bed and her lovers cut up some but shes mincemeat he did it. My bet is that hell confess later today voluntarily.

Marciano rose to his feet. Then lets get some breakfast.

His phone rang; Marciano wriggled his brows at Carmine and picked up. Within three seconds the police captain had stiffened, lost all contentment. He mouthed Silvestri! at Carmine and commenced a series of nods. Sure, John. Ill start Carmine now and get Patsy there as soon as I can.