The tale of the body thief - By Anne Rice Page 0,145
true. This great hunk of dog flesh was my only friend!
Did Satan have a dog when they hurled him down into hell? Well, the dog would probably have gone with him, that much I knew.
“How do I do it, Mojo?” I asked. “How does a mere mortal catch the Vampire Lestat? Or have the old ones burnt my beautiful body to ashes? Was that the meaning of Marius’s visit, to let me know it was done? Oooooh, God. What does the witch say in that ghastly film? How could you do this to my beautiful wickedness. Aaah, I have a fever again, Mojo. Things are going to take care of themselves. I’M GOING TO DIE!”
But Lord in heaven, behold the sun crashing down silently on the dirty pavements, look at my shabby and charming New Orleans waking to the beauteous Caribbean light.
“Let’s go, Mojo. Time to break and enter. And then we can be warm and we can rest.”
Stopping by the restaurant opposite the old French Market, I bought a mess of bones and meat for him. Surely it would do. Indeed, the kindly little waitress filled a sack with scraps from last night’s garbage, with the lusty little affirmation that the dog was going to like that a lot! What about me? Didn’t I want some breakfast? Wasn’t I hungry on a beautiful winter morning like this?
“Later, darling.” I placed a large bill in her hand. I was still rich, that was one consolation. Or at least I thought I was. I wouldn’t know for certain until I reached my computer, and tracked the activities of the loathsome swindler for myself.
Mojo consumed his meal in the gutter without a single solitary complaint. That’s a dog for you. Why wasn’t I born a dog?
Now, where the hell was my penthouse apartment! I had to stop and to think, and then to wander two blocks out of my way, and back again before I found it, getting colder by the minute, though the sky was blue and the sun very bright now, for I almost never entered the building from the street.
Getting into the building was very easy. Indeed the door on Dumaine Street was very simple to force and then slam shut. Ah, but that gate, that will be the worst part, I thought, as I dragged my heavy legs up the stairs, one flight after another, Mojo waiting kindly at the landings for me to catch up.
At last I saw the bars of the gate, and the lovely sunlight streaming into the stairwell from the roof garden, and the flutter of the large green elephant ears, which were only a little bruised at the edges from the cold.
But this lock, how would I ever break this lock? I was in the process of estimating what tools I would need—how about a small bomb?—when I realized that I was looking at the door to my apartment some fifty feet away, and that it was not closed.
“Ah, God, the wretch has been here!” I whispered. “Damn him, Mojo, he’s sacked my lair.”
Of course that might be construed as a hopeful sign. The wretch still lived; the others hadn’t done away with him. And I could still catch him! But how. I kicked the gate, sending a riot of pain through my foot and leg.
Then I grabbed hold of it and rattled it mercilessly but it was as secure in its old iron hinges as I had designed it to be! A weak revenant such as Louis couldn’t have broken it, let alone a mortal man. Undoubtedly the fiend had never even touched it but made his entry as I did, out of the skies.
All right, stop this. Obtain some tools and do it quickly, and discover the extent of the damage which the fiend has done.
I turned to go, but just as I did so, Mojo stood at attention and gave his warning growl. Someone was moving inside the apartment. I saw a bit of shadow dance on the foyer wall.
Not the Body Thief, that was impossible, thank God. But who?
In an instant the question was answered. David appeared! My beautiful David, dressed in a dark tweed suit and overcoat and peering at me with his characteristic expression of curiosity and alertness over the length of the garden path. I don’t think I have ever been so glad to see another mortal being in all my long accursed life.
I called his name at once. And then in French declared that it