Chapter 22

It was well past Halloween and even past Martin’s Day but Madame Zenunda’s parlour still had that spooky vibe. The small room was steeped in darkness with a few candles flickered on window sills and a weak electric fire casting a feeble glow. Thick velvet curtains muffled street noise and soft eerie background music put visitors in the right mood for her readings and séances.

Arsy fired up a cigarette. Exhaling a thin stream of smoke he reached for the coffee cup Madame Zenunda had just refilled. He frowned. The words she had for him were hardly reassuring.

As the Moon transits Neptune there could be trouble.

But he hung on to the words “could be”. Madame Zenunda was kind. She minimized danger, especially for someone she liked. And she never charged Arsy for a reading. She saw the value of having a nice, strong, young man living close by—even though their two cats (Minka and Noir) fought like fiends, hissing, clawing and mauling each other whenever they got a chance.

His eyes glowing in the dark, Noir sidled up, rubbed himself on Arsy’s shanks then jumped up on one of the chairs, yawned and lay down. The cat’s job was to look menacing, to add a sense of mystery and magic to the whole mise-en-scène  but he managed to simply look bored.

Arsy popped another cig from his pack and lit it from the butt. He was no longer rationing. The stress of the past days had turned him into a chain smoker—not that he could afford it. He wished Madame would cast a spell that would attract euros or dollars and cause the evil spirits that he sensed lurking around him to recede into the shadows.

The tiny lady, hunched over her cards, sighed heavily. Her penetrating black eyes, peered up at him. “I wish to help you my friend. You must sell your art work.”

“Art work? What art work? How do you know about—”

She raised her withered, ring-encased, claw-like hand to silence him. “Madame Zenunda knows everything.” Closing her eyes dramatically, the old lady continued, “I sense that you have produced a masterpiece. A beautiful and very expensive painting.”

“How interesting!” Arsy exclaimed with mock sweetness. “You’d like to buy it?”

A quirky cackle escaped her lips. “We gypsies have no money, my friend. I make only a few kopeiki.”

Arsy managed an ironic smile. “So, you who know everything, tell me who will be the buyer.”

“Aha! But if I tell you, you will have to give me something,” she returned Arsy’s smile with a coy  little smile of her own.

Arsy gave a short bark of laughter. “What’s your take? I will give you a commission. Ten percent.”

Silence.

No one was going to call him stingy. “Okay. Twenty percent.”

Arsy waited to see how Madame would reply. There was more silence. Which was interrupted by soft snuffling sounds. Haggling with Arsy must have exhausted her. Madame Zenunda had dozed off.

With a sigh Arsy got up, shooed away Noir who had awakened and was now marking him again. He too felt suddenly sleepy but made sure to blow out the candles before taking his leave.

* * *

Feeling his way up the unlit back stairs, Arsy had to hold on to the walls not to fall over. He felt very tired.

Arriving at the door to his studio Arsy stood still, key in his hand, and stared. The door to his studio had been jimmied. Normally Minka would be greeting him at the front door but she was nowhere to be seen.

What had happened? He had left the Twilight Zone only to stumble into his own real-life Horror Show.

He was completely unarmed. His body felt unable to protect itself.

The lights were on. His eyes were not fooling him. There was a man sitting in his one and only easy chair. Arsy surprised himself by not falling down in a faint.

“You should get that monster declawed. And you should not depend on magic spells to solve your problems. You look tired. Sit down and talk to me.”

Arsy just stared, unable to cough up a response.

“I myself performed some magic with the coffee pot downstairs. She’s a nice old woman. Reminds me of my grandmother,” he said and gave a mirthless laugh which sounded more like a snarl.

“Where’s my cat?” Arsy asked feebly as he collapsed on his futon.

“Never mind your cat. Let’s talk seriously. You may not know it yet but there’s a new show in town. New players. Jurmala Juris will soon be history. Here’s your chance to do the right thing.”

Is he making me an offer I can’t refuse, Arsy asked himself. He had seen the Godfather and also the Sopranos on TV.

“Yes. Sure. I do. I mean… I will.”