Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

Part 21

 

Temperatures teased the sixties, wind gusts putting cold across my face, rain pattering on my hood.

A perfect day for a long walk.

Apprehensive The Bat might shit on the mat in front of my door or spray paint an uninspired slur across my apartment hallway wall, I placed five $10 bills in a white business envelope, sealed it, writing Asshole in bold letters with a black marking pen, taping the envelope high on my door as I left.

As Serling pointed out, Bartholomew Peters had no idea who he was fucking with, but he was going to find out. I’d yet to decide what that finding out would look like. I was not morally or personally opposed to giving him money for not hurting me.

Even assholes must make a living.

I considered putting Officer Martin on The Bat’s stink. I was concerned the chief would think, as with the mysterious case of a million-year-old woman dying, a shake down was too much for Martin to handle. With Bat’s hiding under the umbrella of Hemingway Associates, I couldn’t discount the chief could be getting a slice of my $50.

I took Officer Martin at his word, that he was an honest cop, with a couple caveats like murder and crossdressing. If the chief were crooked, Officer Martin could be a problem to the chief, but the chief a bigger problem to Officer Martin.

Officer Martin’s situational morality intrigued me.

Lightning lit up the landscape, then back to dim, thunder shouting from overhead.

My first choice, even as I tumbled over my lawnmower, was to drop a dime to Inspector Joe Bradley. I’m sure County would refer a nickel and dime protection racket back to the chief. Joe would do me the favor, if I asked.

I was sure I made the best choice: gathering information. How I addressed the envelope would tell me whether Mr. The Bat was ego or profit driven, which would educate my next move. People driven by ego are so easy to fuck with.

I’d seen yet never noted the trailer park across eight traffic lanes – the confused roadway consequence of three highways intersecting – from the Tower. Cramped, most trailers so small, personal possessions leaked outside, leaning on the structures. Close together, I shivered imagining these people living on top of each other.

The lot smelled of two months dishes piled in my mother’s kitchen even with the rain.

I wore my dark green three-quarter hooded poncho, a gift from Michelle. “Because you ride that darn bike in the rain so much,” she’d said, her thoughtfulness and generosity a surprising and constant gift.

The rain raked across me, pushed by an uncaring wind as I stood a wraith, a specter staring across the twenty feet, the memory of my father, loose stained boxers, white tee shirt, unshaven, beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other, blank stare at the television, the television droning words I could hear yet not understand.

I knew my father was at work, likely in the mall, not in the shoebox. When in the shoebox, I knew my vision accurate. “He didn’t ruin my life. He destroyed his.”

I had no idea why I needed to see his life. I felt nothing.

A tattered curtain in a small window pulled aside, Tammy Flannigan’s face pressed against the glass. Being a religious fanatic thus prone to flights of delusional fancy, I wondered whether she thought me Death come to call her to account.

 

Collings Nook was busier than I liked. Hanging my poncho by the door, I nodded to familiar faces, taking a table at the front window, watching the street, rain, and dancing umbrellas.

“Why are you still sitting down?”

Shawn and I hugged. “My aunt got the call. It’s a finally, relief kind of thing. Still, even knowing it was coming, it’s like a brick to my face.”

We broke, keeping hands.

“Here you are, working.”

She rolled her cobalt eyes, mini stamping her right foot. “They said it was a family matter. They said they didn’t want me underfoot.”

“Sorry.”

“I almost blurted out the whole deal. Like if not for me, blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Shawn! Shawn!” came from across the room.

“Duty calls.”

“At least it wasn’t hey, toots, with snappy fingers.”

“Right?”

“The usual – breakfast, when you get a chase. I have rain to watch.”

Coffee arrived shortly with a newspaper. I was deep in the five-paragraph story – second section, third page, below the fold – about a bush fire three towns over, likely started by a passing freight train when the newspaper said, “I’ve not been able to catch Michelle.”

“Hi, Ralph,” I told the paper. “The quest and dream of many. Any particular reason?” I folded the paper, setting it aside.

“Oh, we kind of had a date planned.”

“Franklin Institute. If she doesn’t want to go with you, I will.”

“I thought you weren’t into boys.”

“And, I thought you wanted to have an interesting, education time with good company, not fuck.”

 “Eh, huh, well –”

“That’s why I’m not interested in boys.” I flipped the paper open again. “She’s been busy. Well. I’ve had her busy.”

“Is she –”

“Boys. Busy working with me. She’ll be tied up until after the weekend. I’ll strongly suggest she find the time to call you, let you know what’s going on.”

“Well, she hadn’t said yes.”

“But she didn’t say no. That’s so typical of girls.”

“You’ll talk to her, then?”

“I’ll suggest she call you.”

“Ralph,” Shawn greeted, setting my breakfast on the table. “What can I get you?”

“Michelle?” He worked to his feet. “Just kidding. I have to run.”

Shawn watched him out the door. “Does it ever stop being weird?”

“What?”

“I mean, I’m giving Michael dance lessons. We were talking about his date. I suggested he hire the limo.”

“Oh, that kind of weird.”

“Like, it never dawned on me, you know.”

“I like Michelle a whole lot better.”

“Funny. I think Michael’s a lot like me. He’s never been in a safe place where he can develop. No one, not even you, has had a kind word for him.”

“You’ve been doing more than just having dance lessons.”

“Well, we talk. I’ll be driving him for his date.”

“That’s great. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you don’t talk. You’re not friends, and you make a point to let her know that. Duty calls.”

“Figures.”

Shawn returned to work, me my paper, which soon said, “Mind?”

I resisted an epic eye roll. “Not at all, Lauren.”

“Lunchtime. I was hoping to run into you around town.”

“Because snagging my address off my bank account and knocking on my door would be creepy?”

A wonderful blush swept her pale complexion. “It’s not like that, Toby.”

“Lauren,” Shawn greeted. “Toby, do you know all the beautiful women in town?”

Lauren covered her face with her hands. “Chicken soup, buttered roll, please. Tea.” She put her hands flat to the table. “Terrible weather today.”

“Toby?” Shawn asked.

“I’m good.”

She hurried off.

“Do you always wear your hair tight to your head?”

She tilted her head, the fingers of her right hand to her hair. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. Like your makeup, your clothes, always so perfect. I’d have thought you’d melt in the rain.”

“I’m flattered you noticed.”

I didn’t wish to explain my observation was not a compliment. “Let your hair down. For me.”

“Here? Now? Why?”

“Harmless curiosity.”

I shrugged.

She bent forward at the neck, working at her hair, locks curtaining her face, flows waterfalling her shoulders, then with her thumbs, she lifted her hair back and out, releasing it.

Breathtaking. “Nice. It’s like your hair was made to be a perfect frame for your face.”

“You’re a little strange.”

“More than a little,” Shawn said, arriving with Lauren’s lunch.

“I appreciate beauty.”

“You’re an artist.”

“I am not, though I’ve been told I am.”

“I love your hair like this,” Shawn said. “I have to tie mine up. The food and all. You should wear yours down.”

“I can’t.”

“Too bad.” Shawn was off.

Again, I shrugged. “Many women are victims of a strict father.” Waving my comment aside, I said, “I assume you’d not been hoping to catch me around town to talk about the weather, hair, and fathers.”

“Jacob.”

“Mr. Bancroft?”

“Yes. Mr. Bancroft.”

She worked at her soup, dunking a bit of roll. “We’ve been. You know.”

I did know. What I didn’t know was why so many people were afraid of words. Not wishing to explore the issue or make Lauren use words, I nodded.

Glancing the entirety of the room, she assured herself she’d not be overheard. “That’s a secret.”

Given the family photo on his desk, I’d guessed as much, offering another nod, forgoing a cross my heart.

“There’s business he can’t do on the office phone. You follow?”

“I follow.”

“He uses the phone where we, ah.”

I did not telegraph my impatience, having no place to be. Keeping Lauren’s eyes, I held a palm to Shawn, who was on her way with the coffee pot.

“I’d just gotten out of the shower, the door on a crack. I don’t know who he was talking to, but I heard your name. He said your address twice. I asked him what that was all about. He said, nothing. Then denied it, said I heard wrong.

"Are you onto something? Did I hear wrong?”

I offered a dismissive smirk. “I have no idea what Mr. Jacob Bancroft could have been going on about. I merely asked about a property the bank holds the paper on.”

“Holds the paper?”

“Morgage loan. I’m passively looking at investment properties.”

“Wow.”

“Girl’s got to have a hobby. I’ve got your check.”

“Thanks.”

 

Shawn, with coffee, dropped across from me. “What was that all about?”

“Difficult to say. She’s my bank teller.”

“The bank has six tellers.”

“That many?”

“I notice things.”

“I like to deal with the same person. Makes things predictable. Gives me at least the illusion of having some kind of control over the universe.”

“Familiar.”

“That’s probably why she felt comfortable approaching me.”

“So, there was something. Maybe she was hitting on you. All this time coming in, she’s never given me a second glance, not that kind of glance, anyway.”

“What kind of glance is that?”

“Like the one you gave me the first time you came in.”

“She could use a healthy dose of positive affirmation, kind words, and flattery.”

Shawn rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’ll put a smiley face on her next check. I’ve always liked her.”

“She’s the side squeeze of a loan officer at the bank.”

“Side squeeze?”

“She’s banging a married guy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m just telling you so you know a note on her check isn’t going to do it.” I flipped newspaper pages. “Ah, here it is. Lauren’s an impeccable dresser.”

“I’ve noticed. The way she carries herself, walks, particularly her arms and hands, I’d bet she’s had some ballet.”

I stared at Shawn for a long moment.

“What?”

“Anyway. Two weeks from now, a fashion show at the Commadore in Center City. Get a couple tickets. When you see Lauren, tell her a customer gave you tickets, and you have absolutely no one to go with.”

“You said she wasn’t gay?”

“She doesn’t have to be. Be your nice self. Make her feel good about herself. You know the magic in that.”

“I do. You want to add her to your circle.”

“My circle’s plenty big.”

She took the newspaper. “Fashion show could be fun. I’ll ask Lauren.”

“If you get a yes, here’s a warning: She’s not gay. Don’t act like she is. Don’t scare her off.”

Shawn narrowed her eyes. “Loud and clear, Toby. Loud and clear.”

“Michelle.”

“What about her?”

“The deal is I give her a safe place to live while she discovers who she is as a girl. Living together, or rather her living with me has to do with shared responsibility and nothing to do with friendship.”

“You are the smartest person I’ve ever known, likely the smartest person I’ll ever know.”

I shrugged dismissively.

“You are also an idiot. Change the agreement.”

I bit my lip. “Shawn.”

“Toby.”

“Michelle has a dick. I can never be friends, real and true friends, with a person who has a dick.”

“I have to get to class. I understand where you’re coming from. I feel maybe you can put in more effort trying to understand where Michelle is coming from.”

“I do my best to be supportive. I go out of my way to stay out of her way.”

“Stay out of her way?”

“I don’t want to influence her choices.”

“I have to get to class.”

“OK.”

“I have homework.”

“You always have your homework place. I might even proofread.”

We stood together, hugging.

“It’s not that kind of homework.”

“She has a dick,” I whispered.

 

I took a bus to Center City, not willing to face the terrifying twelve minutes underground on the quicker train. Rain made the twelve-block walk tolerable, the normal sea of people, which was like Christmas in the mall, thinned down.

Like with the train, I was unable to brave the elevator, bouncing up the stairway taking two, sometimes three, steps at a time twenty-three floors. A glass door in a glass wall opened out, letting me enter, my path blocked by a young man.

In a well-appointed not off-the-rack dark suit, red tie, he still didn’t look any older than twelve. His voice squeaked. “May I?” he asked.

I stepped back. “May you what?”

His face twisted as if I’d just spent eight hours on my hands and knees scrubbing thirty-six buckets of shit from a bathroom. “May I, eh, take your, eh –”

“Oh, it’s called a poncho. I’m good.”

“You are not – good. Whom do you have an appointment with. Please, allow me to hang your – poncho – in an appropriate place.”

“I guess you don’t get Sally lessons here.” I handed off the poncho, which he took reluctantly with two fingers.

“Sally?”

“She’s like Dale Carnegie, but without the dick.”

“Well, I never!” he said louder than I thought he wanted to, accompanied by the face I so like.

“Toby,” came from behind me, a hand to my elbow. “Thanks, Steve. I’ve got this.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Edwards. “This, too.”

She accepted my poncho. “The Blanc file, conference room three.” Steve couldn’t hurry away fast enough.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “We don’t care much for walk-ins here.”

“Maybe if I wore my tuxedo. Had a dick.”

“More likely the second one. You could have called.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

 

Tayor sat next to me at the spacious conference table, accepting a file folder from Steve. “The most important thing you need to know at this moment is the taxes, which are due now.”

“Eh,” Steve said, offering a slight bow. I thought he should have clicked his heels. “You’re Antoinette Blanc?”

Looking up, keeping his dark eyes, I shrugged an answer. “Sorry about the dick comment. I often get snappy mouth when my brain’s not engaged.”

“Oh, it’s I who owe you an apology. If I’d know –”

“There’s a book/cover parable or something.”

He blushed, stepping back.

“Now?” I asked Taylor. “How now are the taxes due?”

“As in last week,” Steve said.

“She’s dug a hole.” Taylor presented a form from the folder. “You may go now, Steve.”

Steve hesitated, as if he wanted to say something.

“Intern,” she explained as the door closed behind him.

I shrugged. “That’s quite the hole.”

“As often happens with failing businesses, those in control use what they should be paying in taxes for day-to-day expenses, hoping to catch up –”

“Like bridge loans. I’m familiar with the strategy.”

“Listen to me carefully, Toby. I know what you’re thinking. Even if you get current with the taxes, the business isn’t generating enough revenue to cover even the interest on the debt. Do you understand –”

“Yeah. I’m pretty bright – for a girl. Who holds the paper? Union Bank?”

“Eh, Union Bank holds the original mortgage on the property.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.”

“The property and business sold with hidden debt attached, which is one factor in how the profile appeared to be profitable.”

“Jane didn’t have representation in the sale.”

“That would be my guess.”

“Basically, they stole her money.”

“Yes, they did. There’s a complex labyrinth of transactions and dealings taking us into a –”

“Thicket?”

“I was going to as quagmire.”

“I like that better. Who is hiding in this quagmire of ours.”

“I’ve not gotten –”

“You can give me the file and your bill. Jacob Bancroft and Gus Avery. I’ve got this from here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Those names had come up, but –”

“Complex and confusing. I got that. I’ll sort it out. You’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“I don’t consider this a waste of time.”

“Figure of speech.” I fished in my suede bag, producing my checkbook. “You’ll take a check? I have cash.”

She waved me aside. “You asked for a favor.”

“I asked for your professional evaluation of the business and recommendations.”

“I find this all intriguing. Considered it a personal favor. I needed to see you immediately to tell you about the taxes. My work here is hardly complete.”

“There’s no paper trail back to you or your company?

“No, why?”

I indicated the file. “It’s then like you’ve never seen this?”

“I guess. I’ve kept it low key.”

“Good.”

“Toby, I would be happy to continue, produce a clear timeline.”

I shrugged. “Jane’s fucked. I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get her unfucked.” I indicated the file. “What’s happened here can’t be one hundred percent legal. I may have to come back with a strategy that’s not one hundred percent legal. It’s best I take you out of it.”

“I can’t even imagine –”

“I like that quality in a person. I have my lawyer’s office digging into this, too. I only meant for you to provide the financial perspective.”

“You have a lawyer?”

“And a private investigator on retainer. Your professional recommendation is what I expected.”

She sighed, producing a large envelope from her briefcase. “Your lawncare books are perfect.”

“Thanks.” I stuffed my backpack.

 

“Miss Reeves,” I greeted as she rose behind her desk.

“Miss Blanc. We’re not expecting you.”

“I was in the neighborhood. I heard you have exceptions for – eh, people like me.”

 

“Terrible, terrible weather,” Thomas Stenholm grumbled, sitting behind his desk.

“Terrible,” I agree, not wishing to have to explain why I liked the rain.

Jennifer Reeves entered, dropping down on the small sofa next to me, file folder on her lap.

“How much do you know?” I asked, watching Reeves.

She looked at Stenholm, then back to me. “I’m not sure I understand –”

“We’re compartmentalized,” Stenholm stated.

“Meaning?”

“Sorry. I wanted to avoid your I’m smart for a girl comment. Miss Reeves is only privy to the Royal Taxi and Limousine Service file.”

“I wanted to be sure I understood before I blurted out something I shouldn’t.” I held my hand toward Reeves.

She hesitated.

“Don’t make me I’m smart for a girl you. I’m good with raw data.”

Stenholm and Reeves watched me for eight minutes as I flipped through the pages.

“I assume it’s highly unlikely, if we put anyone in jail, we can recover any of the money.”

“It’s highly unlikely we could get any district attorney to take a criminal case,” Stenholm said.

“Men’s club, backrooms, likely cigar smoking and poor-taste jokes about women,” I said with a nod.

“We could go civil,” Reeves suggested.

I bit my lip. “Downside it for me.”

“Difficult to prove. Potential award, if any, wouldn’t cover legal expenses. Case would drag out for years, the company boarded up, Jane Wilkins living on the street long before any judgement.”

“Bankruptcy?”

Reeves took a turn biting her lip.

I rolled my eyes. “I really don’t want to hear this.”

“We could get most of the debt discharged –”

“But not the back and current taxes. What’s it worth? I mean to sell it all off.”

“Well –”

“I assume Jane owns it. She didn’t shield herself by incorporating.”

“That would have been a good idea –” Stenholm started, getting my palm.

“If we could go back in time and change shit, I’d go back and change Jane from getting repeatedly raped and beaten. Number, Miss Reeves? Ballpark it.”

Her eyes dropped to the file on my lap. I flipped through, finding the asset listing.

“These fucking loans levered against the company? Explain it to me like I’m not pretty bright for a girl. The assets don’t come close to covering the debt.”

Stenholm cleared his throat. “They made their money on the backend, generating fees. In addition, the loans are on paper. No money was ever transferred.”

“A thicket. The company isn’t generating enough revenue to service the debt. I get it.”

Standing, I looked toward Stenholm, then down on Reeves. “Let’s bring your tax attorney in on this. Meet with Jane – go to her. Don’t make her come here. Set up a meeting with the IRS, cut the sweetest deal you can to get Jane out from under the taxes.

“Draw up some papers. I want to buy the debt. Looking at the asset sheet, offer those assholes a dime on a dollar. Unless they’re dumb as the ground they walk on, they’ll jump on it.” I smirked. “Get Butch Falcon to front for me through the LLC. Did you want to write this down?”

Reeves stood. “I’m good.”

Stenholm remained in his chair. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“I really don’t. It’s an investment, Tom, not charity. Sure, it’s high risk. I’ve looked Jane in the eye. With your help, we’re going to get the boot off her neck so she can fly.”

“You’re going to partner with Jane Wilkins.”

I shrugged. “I own a restaurant. Why not a cab company?”

“I really like the plan.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Stenholm warned.

“You own a restaurant?”

I shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t have blurted that out.”

“Oh!”

Turning on Stenholm again, I said, “Pamala Edwards and I wish to get married. I had a witch lined up, but she up and died on me.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it was a handfasting thing.”

“A handfasting isn’t actually a witch tradition –”

I cut Reeves off. “I know. I was banking on Mrs. Stiles not knowing that.”

“You want a fancy contract.”

“Fancy-schmancy, if you please.” I corrected Reeves.

“Mr. Stenholm?” she asked.

“Toby doesn’t care what I think. Do as she wishes.”

“I do care what you think. Just not about my decisions when it comes to the cab company.”

“I get all that. It’s not a terrible plan, that is if you must do something.”

 “Just give me the legal fancy mumbo jumbo. I’ve got some stuff. I’ll work it up, have someone calligraphy it poster size, then we’ll sign it, likely in blood because I’m corny as fuck that way.”

“I’ll have it in the mail today. This is so exciting.”

I turned on Stenholm, looking down. “Don’t even let me catch you rolling your eyes at my romantic corniness again. That is not eye-roll appropriate.”

“I can never tell when you’re kidding.”

“Look at this face. I’m not kidding.”

“Looks just like your kidding face.”

I turned back to Reeves. “I’ve got a guy shaking me down.”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry. You’re not in my head.”

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing for me.”

“It is. I cut grass. I mean, I do yard work, mow lawns.”

“Another business?”

“Registered and everything. This guy comes around. Tells me he wants $50 a week to protect me from bad things happening. Bad things like me getting pushed over my mower and my truck tire getting flattened.”

Reeves looked toward Stenholm. “Shaking down just a kid mowing lawns,” he said, shaking his head.

“A kid is a baby goat. Don’t insult me.”

“I’m sure calling you a child is going to get me a similar response.”

“Don’t cloud the issue with facts.”

“That’s a hefty fee on a young person who’s just mowing lawns.”

“He may have been expecting me to negotiate, maybe cry a little.”

Stenholm laughed.

“Legal remedy is difficult,” Reeves opened.

“Boys being boys, blah, blah. My word against his, he’s got a dick, I don’t. That I get.”

“I could have a talk with him,” Stenholm suggested.

“Oh, Tom, you’re going to love this so much, you’re going to want to marry it.”

His elbows came to his desk, his chin on his hands. “Oh, do tell.”

“Hemingway Associates.”

“You’re kidding. Really?”

“Now, Mr. Thomas Stenholm. Tell me he’s shaking down just a kid.”

“Jennifer, I want you to –”

I cut him off with a head bob and a smirk. “I just thought I’d make you aware. I’ve got this.”

 

Michelle jumped up from the chair, then froze like a feral cat caught between the desire to flee or stay. “Eh, you’re home.”

“Yes, I am.” The door shut behind me.

“I thought you were meeting Pam at the mall.”

“I suppose you’re wearing my satin underwear, too.”

She blushed.

“I’m careful.”

“So, not the point.”

“It’s just –”

“I’ve made it clear often enough that I don’t want you in my clothes. I don’t want you in my bedroom.”

I held his blue eyes.

He dropped onto the chair. “I still, sometimes, want to be you. I imagine I am you.”

“So you sneak around when you can, putting on my clothes. Jerking off?”

“Not all the time!”

I stepped to the table, locking eyes again. “Have you ever, that is ever, thought about fucking me?”

“Toby! No!”

“I can’t believe you were able to even squeeze into that dress. It was made special for me.”

“I’m growing.”

“Take my clothes off. We need to talk.”

“Toby! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again!”

“Not about that.”

 

“What’s all this?” Michelle asked, referring to my scattering of file folders on the table. She sat across from me, my clothes in front of her.

“Research.” My silk dress, my underwear, even my bra, my garter belt, my stockings distracted me.

“Let me start by saying we are not friends.”

“I know that.”

“Yet, we are.”

“Huh?”

“Until I met Pamala, I didn’t have any friends.”

“She’s more than a friend.”

“That’s the thing, Michelle. She, that is to say our relationship, kind of sets the standard.”

Michelle nodded. “Friends that hug. You were still in the house, I was with Levy, when you stopped wanting to hug me. I noticed that.”

“I made a mistake. I thought we could be that kind of friends. We can’t. Instead of avoiding the hugging, I should have just told you that.”

“I figured it out.”

“Not the point.”

“I get that now.”

“We are friends. We’re just not friends that hug and we’re certainly not friends who wear each other’s underwear.”

She blushed, watching the table. “Thanks for not screaming at me, throwing me out.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what my father would have done – if he ever caught me.”

I nodded, not sure what to make of the equation. “Shawn told me you feel I’m not a very good friend to you.”

“Eh, that’s not exactly what I said. I mean, other than you, I have no one to talk to about – eh, stuff. Shawn’s teaching me to dance. We talk, you know.”

“I can understand that.”

“I think what I meant is that you’re not friends with me like you are friends with Shawn and Pam.”

“I think that’s a given.”

“Well, when you say stuff like We’re not friends, it’s kind of like a slap in the face.”

“I’ll repeat myself –”

“You don’t have to. I get in. We are friends, just not like Shawn and Pam. I sometimes forget all you’ve done for me. I know you’d rather not have a roommate. I know you’d rather be quietly alone at night with your ghosts than have me clunking around.”

“Let’s pretend I say something reassuring here, affirming what you say, yet in a way where we’re not going to have to jump up and hug.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Many people find that my most endearing quality.”

 

I opened the door. Shawn’s cobalt eyes owned me. Her lower lip quivered.

Dropping her backpack, she managed, “Toby,” before the tears came, her hanging on me like wisteria vine on a holly tree.

I gathered fists full of gray sweatshirt, consuming her angst as if it were my own. The universe stood still for an eternity of three and a half minutes.

“Thanks,” she sobbed, attempting to break.

I held tighter. “I’m not done.”

“OK.”

More eternity.

Released, we kept hands and eyes.

“Jody?” I asked.

She nodded quickly. “Part of it. You know, those assholes keeping me out.”

“Like Achilles spear into your heart because only the gods can deliver such pain.”

“I love you more than the words I have.”

“I love you back, but I’ll keep the words – for now. What’s happened?”

“Assholes.”

“Established.”

“Aunt Julie collapsed. At the funeral home. She’s in the hospital.”

“Fuck.”

“It’s like the whole family is infected with crazy.”

“I can lay down a long blather about human beings are all on the edge of crazy, just waiting for the right motivation. Instead, I will ask: What can I do for you?”

Shawn produced a crumpled paper from her pants pocket. “I have to go – make the arrangements.”

I rolled my eyes so hard, I thought I should be looking at my brain. “Assholes. Now you go from underfoot to center stage.

“We got this, Shawn.” I took the paper. “The question now is: Do you want to stay here, do your homework, or do you want to come with me?”

 

“Mr. McNaughty,” I greeted.

The much taller man took my hand, his gaunt pallid face offering a soft but solemn smile. “So sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you and thanks for not waving a cross in my face, chasing me off.”

“Oh, child, I understand people are not themselves in times like these.”

I let the child pass given the circumstances, indicating behind me with a nod. “This is Michelle.”

“Michelle,” he repeated, taking her hand.

“Jody Demarko.”

He stepped back, looking down on me with sad eyes. “You. Another tragic one.”

“I’d think all would be tragic,” Michelle quipped.

Mr. McNaughty nodded. “Some, Michelle, are just so –”

“Unnatural,” I said.

“Yes, yes.”

I narrowed my eyes at the note. “Trinity?”

“Yes. Service and viewing?”

I nodded.

He watched me thoughtfully. “Next Thursday. 10am. Prayer cards?”

I crossed my eyes. “I didn’t get prayer cards.”

“You didn’t ask. So tragic, that one. Consumed by fire. The service was nice.”

“I heard it was a packed house.”

“I don’t recall seeing you.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“Ironic.”

“There is absolutely nothing about her life and her death that wasn’t ironic. Yes, prayer cards.”

“No one took the guest book. Would you like it?”

My eyes watered, my lower lip trembling. “It was all just a show, Mr. McNaughty, wasn’t it?”

“Some are like that. Ironic is a good word.”

“Ironic is the polite word.”

“It is. Would you like to look at the flower books?”

“Not really. Your discretion. I’d like, however, a white theme, carnations are always good.”

“Lillies,” Michelle said from behind me.

“Lillies,” I repeated. “Start with what you feel is average – meaning what people usually do, bump it up twenty-five percent. She’s a fifteen-year-old girl dead, going in the ground. We should look like we give a fuck.”

“I’ll need a deposit.”

“Work up the entire bill. I’d like to pay it anonymously. I know you’ll take my check.”

“Very well.” He indicated the door toward the back of the room. “I shall not argue with you this time.”

“You, Mr. McNaughty, are very good at what you do.”

He bowed away.

“What’s in there?” Michelle asked.

“Dead people. What to look?”

She did.

“Beautiful night,” I said as if answering the cadence of our shoes singing from the concrete.

“Toby. Holy fuck. She looks just like you.”

“You’ve said that – several times.”

“I almost screamed that out. It was like looking down a tunnel through time.”

“I guess I should have warned you.”

“You and Shawn. There, you holding her. That’s what I’m talking about. I squinted. I only saw one person.”

“Shawn is more than a friend. I not only understand her pain, I feel her pain as if it’s mine.”

“Because her pain is your pain.”

“Yes.”

“I watch you. God, Toby. Here I am whining we aren’t friends that hug when I should be thankful I can breathe the same air you do. When we were kids, I wanted to imitate you which means I wanted to be you in looking like you.

“Wow, Toby, there’s much more to being you than a shiny pair of cute Mary Janes.”

“You applied a metaphor. Very good.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Using shoes to mean the clothes I wear.”

“You’re rubbing off on me.”

“I’ve said as much.”

“It was like seeing you laying there dead.”

“You’ve said.”

“That doesn’t creep you out?”

“I wanted her to talk to me.”

“Like Antoinette?”

“Yes.”

“To find out what really happened?”

“I already know what really happened.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You really don’t wish to know.”

“I realized tonight, well I knew it all along, realizing it tonight. I’m one of the few people who know who you really are. That’s some serious trust.”

“I’d take that trust over a hug.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Mr. Edwards.”

“Oh, boy, Mr. Edwards. I think I’m in love. He is the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met. If I could pick a father in the lottery of life, it’d be him. Yep. Another metaphor.

“I don’t want to abandon you, though.”

“That shouldn’t be a factor in your decision. If I needed you mowing lawns with me, I would say that.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

“I start Monday.”

“I’m jealous. You’ll be seeing Pam more than me.”

“Seeing Pam was a factor in my decision.”

 

Rachel had dark red curly hair, a full head under me, bright brown eyes, pasty complexion, a cloud of freckles across her nose, looking all of ten-years-old.

Pamala greeted Michelle with a hug, then me.

“Rachel,” I said over Pamala’s shoulder.

She blushed. “Hi, Toby. I can’t believe you remember.”

“Shawn?” I asked.

“Bedroom, homework.”

“Is she OK?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Jody. We just came from McNaughty’s.”

“Oh my god. She didn’t say –”

“I got this,” Michelle said, off to my bedroom.

“So, you do remember Rachel?”

“Of course. Good to meet you again.” I did not offer a hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pamala indicated the table, Rachel sat. Pounding shouted from the door so loud, I thought Open up, police! should follow.

I swung the door wide, pushing back quickly as a fist like a piledriver came at my face. I avoided much of the contact, landing on my back anyway.

“Bat or Mr. Peters,” he snarled down on me. “Who’s the asshole now? Huh?”

With that, his footfalls thundered down the steps.

“Toby?” Pamala asked, pulling me to my feet.

“I’d start wearing a catcher’s mask, but it’d be so difficult to accessorize with.”

“Toby!”

“New business associate. I guess we’re playing Who’s the Asshole. I haven’t caught onto all the rules.”

“Toby!”

I rolled my jaw. “Relax. I was expecting that. He’s shaking down my lawn business.”

“Shaking down?”

“I pay him once a week for him not to bust up my equipment.”

“Have you notified the police?”

“Pamala. I’ve got this.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got this.”

“I should go,” Rachel said from the other side of the table.

I turned from Pam, looking down. “Rachel, what can I do for you?”

“Really. Looks like you have your hands full already.”

I dropped on a chair, reaching. We joined hands.

“Rachel. You have my undivided attention.” I took a guess Pamala wouldn’t drop Rachel on me if the problem were as simple as falling behind in algebra.

“I’m so ashamed, or is it embarrassed. My parents are really stuffy. I can’t talk to Mom about anything. When my time came, Pamala showed me how –” She blushed.

“Tampons,” Pamala said from behind me. “All the shit your mom should have told you. A day doesn’t go by I don’t fall to my knees, thanking God for the parents I have.”

“Yeah, Mom and Dad are –”

“Toby, Rachel’s –”

I kept Rachel’s eyes. “Pam, love of my life, would you please make some tea?”

“Bat. What the fuck kind of name is Bat?”

“Short for Bartholomew. Also, stupid. Tea.”

Rachel pursed her lips, blushed, and squeezed my hands. “I’m, you know, got caught.”

“Pregnant.” I resisted growling.

“Pamala says you can help.”

Take your clothes off, let’s have a look. I rolled my eyes.

“I remember,” Pamala said over my shoulder. “Right before Christmas. The test.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel’s lower lip quivered. “I’m always causing people trouble.”

“I don’t want to make assumptions. I need to hear the words.”

“I can’t have a baby. Dad’d be so disappointed if he ever found out.”

My grip on her hands firmed as I owned her eyes, “Rachel. What do you want to do?”

“We need to get rid of this.”

“You’re sure?”

She glanced up, behind me. “Pam and me have talked it all out.”

Dark Fantasy Girl. “OK.” I took my hands back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I knew better, you know,” she gushed.

“I do not require your woe tale.”

“Toby,” Pamala said from behind.

I pulled a muscle not rolling my eyes. “I thought you were making tea.”

“I thought you said that because you didn’t want to say Shut up Pam.”

“OK, Rachel. Please, tell me how this happened.”

“There’s this boy, older, Jason.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen. He acted like he really liked me. Really sweet. I couldn’t tell my parents because they don’t allow me to date. I’d never kissed a boy, you know.”

“Rachel,” Pam said.

“Pam?”

“If I may?”

“May, what?”

“Tell the story.”

Rachel sat back. “Oh, please. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Jason sweet-talked her, got her to a party, got her drunk, fucked her, and then dumbed her.”

“He didn’t care at all about me. Now, this.”

“I got suckered like that once, Rachel.”

With wide eyes, she asked, “You did?”

“Yeah, much older man. Treated me nice. Next thing I know, he’s pushing my cheek on the kitchen table, plowing me from behind for almost four minutes.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“Thankfully, he didn’t catch an egg.”

Rachel laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Toby has a way with words.”

 

The thing irritating me most was Pamala had to drop Rachel off and having an early day, wouldn’t be back. That, and I had to make my own tea.

“We heard,” Shawn said, placing her books on the table, picking up the wall phone, dialing. “Well, Michelle had an ear to the door, reporting back to me.”

“Did you at least get the homework done?”

“I did. Thank you. No answer.” She hung the phone up. “I guess the whole crowd is still down the hospital.”

“I feel like a long, hot shower,” Michelle said, wandering in. “Anyone care to join me?”

“Toby,” Shawn said. “I have something important to tell you. You may want to write this down.”

Watching up on her, I said, “I’m good.”

“Michelle got her hair cut.”

“I know. I suggested it. I noticed.”

“When a girl-friend gets her hair cut, it’s a written law you comment positively on it.”

“I really do suck at this shit.”

“Only the little things. The big things, you’re great at. In a crisis, you’re my only go-to.”

“I like what she did with your hair,” I told Michelle.

“I was worried about Saturday, trying to pass as a boy.”

“Oh, you’ll do fine,” Shawn said. “Many boys at the college have much longer hair than yours.”

“This George must be something special,” I said into my tea.

“It’s not that,” Michelle said. “It’s like, well, I quit school.”

“And?”

“This is your only chance to experience a school dance,” Shawn stated.

“Yeah, like that. Though I’d rather be in a dress, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I just think about the noise, all those teenagers crowded together. I can’t breathe.”

“You did great at Jessica’s dinner.”

“You only think that because you couldn’t get inside my head.”

“I’m beginning to.”

“Did Michelle tell you all about it?”

“I’m off to the shower. Last chance.”

Shawn and I rolled our eyes, Shawn watching for the bathroom door to click shut. She sat cattycorner. “I did homework. Michelle eavesdropped, mostly. She was incredibly supportive, the perfect balance of keeping company and leaving me alone.”

“You needed both.”

“I did. We had a couple of moments, close, quiet, talking of nonsense. I thought she was going to kiss me, maybe me kiss her. Right there, in that second, I understood what you meant.”

“I’ve seen it. You only imagine it.”

“Michael doesn’t seem like a bad guy. I can’t parse the two completely. I had no problem accepting Michelle as Michelle until I met Michael.”

I sipped my tea, then bit my lip. “We talked about this.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Persona.”

“Me putting on the happy smile for tips?”

“Is that you or is this you?”

“Eh.”

“Pamala likes people. In that, she wants to be liked by people. When you watch her work a room, you’re seeing the real Pamala. You want to like people, but you know if people were to learn the truth about you, they would hate you – that has to do with you projecting your parents onto all other people – so you play the fool, wanting them to like the fool you’re playing.”

“This was all in my Psych 101 book from last year, I think. I read it. I don’t think it sunk in.”

“I’ve read a couple of those books. As for me. I don’t like people and I don’t care to like people. I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not. When you see me work a room, like at Jessica’s dinner, you’re seeing an actress playing a role.

“If we draw a scale, I’m one extreme, Pamala is the other, you’re –”

“Smack in the middle.” She glanced down the hall. “What are you saying, then? Michelle is the persona, or is it Michael?”

“I not a psychiatrist. It I were, I’d likely prescribe strapping Michael down, delivering jolts of electricity until Michelle faded away.”

“Toby!”

“Good thing I’m not a psychiatrist, huh? Society is not kind to those of us who are different, which is reflected in the science of today. Most books I’ve read lump boys who wear dresses together with girls who bang girls.”

“I did not know that.”

“My best friend and first lover is a dead girl who I’ve never met in objective reality, who I’ve made love with, who talks to me, I her.

“Being gay is the least of my crazy and also why I have no interest whatsoever in seeking help from professionals.”

“Not a big fan of jolts of electricity, huh?”

“I’d rather go to a school dance.”

“I am.”

“Am, what?”

“Going to the school dance. I called. Asked whether they could use a chaperon, you know, since I’m driving Michael anyway.”

“I don’t want to admit this. I’m comforted knowing you’re going to be there.”

“You may not be friends, but you’re family.”

“I had the conversation with Michelle.

“She told me, not in detail. She wasn’t pleased I talked to you about what she said.”

I snickered into my teacup. “There’s this pathology afflicting women. We always want to fix things when often the case is that someone just wants to say shit out loud. Just wants to be heard.”

“Oh. First year psych book?”

“Practical experience.”

I worked my suede bag from the back of the chair. “Look what Mr. McNaughty gave me. Seems no one cared to take it.”

“My God, Toby. From your funeral? That sucks.”

“I’ve been curious who so loved me dead.”

“Why aren’t you crying, at least sobbing a little.”

“People showed me who they are when I was alive. Doubling down when I’m dead?” I shrugged. What did Michelle tell you?”

“About? Oh, only, and I quote: Toby and Jody look so much alike. Of course, she meant before you cut and dyed your hair.”

“Thursday next week. 10am. Trinity.”

“I’ll have to take off work, maybe miss the first class –”

“Don’t go. You made all the arrangements. You paid for everything. You really don’t need to be there, underfoot and everything. I really do suspect they know about you, the way they dismiss you.”

“Maybe they smell it on me. Do I smell gay to you?”

“Pamala and I have had look conversations about the way you smell.”

“I know. Pamala’s told me – with her face buried in my hair.”

“I’m also comforted in knowing Pamala will continue to be loved real and true if I get run over by a bus.”

“You’re weird.”

“I decided on the brushed oak. It was a bit more expensive. I like that it matches Jody’s hair.”

“I thought I was ready. I had notes. I knew exactly what to do. When you gave me the choice, it was like a weight taken off my shoulders.

“I’m paying for it?”

“I wrote a check. Asked Mr. McNaughty to keep me anonymous.”

“How much? I’ll pay you back.”

“We, as a culture, spend much too much money on the dead. I’ve got this. Going?”

She pursed her lips, releasing a long breath. “I’ll take off work, do the church, skip the grave. If you go with me.”

“Me and Pamala. We’ll be your bookends.”

“She’ll take off school?”

“Pamala will do anything I ask. I suspect I won’t have to ask. Stay the night?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“I need a shower.”

Working from my chair, I said, “So do I.”

 

“I have to get home, change for work,” Shawn said into my face, her forearms resting on my shoulders.

Looking up, lost in cobalt eyes, my hands to her waist, I whispered, “I doubt Pamala’s going to come screaming up the steps.”

“That was pretty funny – afterwards.”

“I’m glad we met.”

“Me, too.”

I took her cheeks, my right leg bent at the knee, my lips on hers.

We sighed.

“I really do have to go.”

I watched her down the steps, leaning against my jam until the lower door stole Shawn from me.

“Good morning, Mable,” I said to the eye watching from cracked door.

The door slammed shut, opening again, revealing Mable, my height, draped in a blue flowered three size too big housecoat to her knees. “I knew it! I knew it!”

I shrugged with all the dismissively I could pack into my small shoulders. “Have a nice day, Mable.”

“You, too,” she spit bitterly because people are polite like that, the door slamming.

“I’ll talk to her,” Michelle said as I turned.

“Good morning. Been there long?”

“Yes.” She shook her head.

“Don’t judge what you can’t understand.”

“I wasn’t judging. The moment was beautiful. I was just wondering if I had time to rub one out.”

There’s Michael. Though I was thinking the same thing, I’d never say it. “Don’t worry about the lawns. Take the rest of the week.”

“I wanted to get clothes for work out at the mall anyway. I won’t say anything to Pam.”

“About?” I picked up the phone.

“What I just saw?”

“Hi, Rich, did I wake you?”

“Eh, maybe not,” he answered.

“Buy you breakfast? Collins Nook. About an hour.”

“I never turn down free food.”

I hung up.

“Shawn and I have a special relationship.”

“I get it. Friends that fuck.”

“Michelle. There was no fucking.”

“You’re telling me there was showering – naked, the bed –”

“Also naked.”

“Naked showering and naked bed and no fucking?”

“We are not friends who fuck. That's why there was no fucking.”

“That was some serious kiss at the door, though.”

“You and Levy, between the fireplace and the Christmas tree.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It was just like that. Kind of creepy you thinking of me and Levy with Shawn’s tongue down your throat.”

“First off, her tongue was not down my throat. Not that I would have been opposed to that, it just didn’t happen. Second off, I didn’t think about you and Levy until Shawn was out the downstairs door. Third off, I have to get ready for a meeting.”

“Is second off and third off really a thing?”

“I guess.”

“A meeting with Rich.” Her right eyebrow danced. “Yet another –”

“Clandestine meeting.”

“GED word? Should I write that down?”

“I have some advice for you, Michelle. Listening at the bedroom door last night when Rachel was here, likely when we were showering, too. Spying on Shawn and me at the door. Listening to my phone call.

“Not a good look, Michelle.”

She shrugged. “I’m curious, you know.”

“If you’re going to spy on people, don’t let them know.”

She nodded. “I see your point. I’ll talk to Mable, make sure she’s alright.”

“Thanks.”

 

Shawn hurried up to me, stopping short. “Oh, life’s challenges.”

“What now?”

“The boss suggested I stop mauling the patrons.”

“The patrons being me and Pamala.”

“Usual table?”

“I’ll be in the back today, with snappy fingers.”

 

“Hi, Rich,” I greeted Detective Rich Serling, sliding in the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“I thought we weren’t doing public.”

“Things change.”

“How’d you get the face?”

“I didn’t think it showed that much.”

“You pay for my astute observational skills.”

“The Bat felt I deserved a good smack.”

He sat up straight. “A good smack?”

“It was more like a punch. How’s two eggs over easy, home fries, sausage, toast to go with your coffee?”

“Breakfast of champions.”

I half turned, holding two fingers up, Shawn acknowledging from the front of the restaurant with a nod.

“I’m a growing girl.”

“I’ll have a talk with,” he smirked, “The Bat.”

“Not yet. It’s my move. First order of business today is I need Mr. The Bat’s home address.”

“I have it in the office. Started a file on him.”

“Know thy whatever.”

“Whatevers shall be known.”

I smirked. “You’re going to be a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.”

“What’s next?”

I pursed my lips. “I need an adult, preferably of the male persuasion to do something for me.”

“Mystery, intrigue. I like it already.”

“It’s outside the usual detecting and investigating.”

“As long as it’s not murdering the wrong people, I’m yours.”

“I like your attitude. Have you ever heard of a Doctor Phil Kerney?”

“I have not.”

“He’ll do anything for the right price.”

“Must come in handy if you get shot.”

“That, among other things, is why I wish to establish a relationship.”

Our breakfast arrived.

“Just how I like it,” Serling said.

“You OK,” Shawn asked.

I shared a slight smile and nod.

“You want to establish a relationship, but not you.”

“My only brief encounter with him left me with the distinct impression he did not like women.”

“Dismissive, disrespectful.”

“All that.”

I retrieved a white business envelope from my suede bag. “$5,000. A child has gotten herself in trouble.”

“A child?”

“She’s fifteen. She needs an abortion.”

“You think Kerney will do that?”

“I know Kerney will do that. I’d like you to represent yourself as the messenger.”

“The go-between.”

“Yes.”

“Who am I going between?”

“Fantasy Girl.”

“Huh?”

“No cornier than The Bat.”

Serling flipped through the envelope. “OK. She’s fifteen. I’ll set something up for a weekday next week, 7pm. She’ll have to do what it takes to make the appointment.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“I am not a stranger to life.”

He held up the envelope. “You seem to think I can drop money on his desk, and he’ll do business.”

I shrugged.

“I need a name.”

“Bill Locke.”

“Took you to Kerney. For an abortion?”

“Eh, no. Blood test for venereal disease. Rich, I’m letting you way too far inside me. I’d been gang rapped. I read all the adult magazines. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t infected with any of the many sexually transmitted goodies plaguing mankind.”

“That’s wise.”

“Being underage with no guardian –”

“Locke took you to Kerney.”

“Yes.”

“In your previous incarnation.”

“Eh, yes.”

“How about we do the Woman of Mystery instead of Fantasy Girl?”

“I go to Kerney in the limo?”

“I was thinking we go to Kerney, me in my best suit, you as the Woman of Mystery. I do all the talking, you loom in the background with that disinterested impatience you so masterfully displayed the day we met.”

“None of that was planned.”

“It will be now. This way, he’ll know you, if you need something in the future.”

“When?”

“How about now?”

“Now?”

“When we’re finished our eggs.”

 

“Not intentional, huh?” Sterling said holding the passenger door of his 1968 beige Cougar. He took longer to get ready than I did. I wasn’t waiting long.

“It’s not such a great story.”

The office smelled of bleach and detergent, dimly illuminated by two lamps, each on small tables, the tables littered with magazines older than me. As before, no patients were waiting.

Doctor Phil Kerney sat behind the desk watching us while I examined the mass-produced artwork on the wall, Serling staring down on Kerney.

“Dr. Kerney?” Serling asked.

“Yes, yes, what is it?”

Serling glanced back at me, returning his attention to the elderly man. “We have need of your services.”

“Like what?”

“The kind of services you provided for Bill Locke.”

“Bill Locke! You’re associated with Bill Locke?”

I casually stepped in front of Serling. “Do I look like someone who would associate or even have business dealings with Bill Locke?”

He sat back, staring at my sunglasses.

“Dr. Kerney. It’s not a rhetorical question.”

“Eh, ah, no, of course you don’t.”

“If I may,” Serling said. “We learned of you from a victim of his, not from him.”

“I’m not sure we’re in the right place,” I scoffed, returning to the other side of the waiting room, casually examining the walls.

“Who is this victim?” he asked.

“We’ve wasted enough time here,” I said with as much disinterest I could pack into the words.

Kerney caught Serling in half-turn. “Wait. Tell me. What do you need?”

Serling looked at me, I nodded.

“A young woman is pregnant. She requires an abortion.”

“How old is this young woman?”

“You sure are a curious fellow. How’s 7pm sharp, Thursday next week?”

“OK. Thursday. What’s her name?”

“You don’t need that, either.”

“$1,000.”

I came around again. “Here’s $500, likely twice what you normally change. Never attempt to shake me down. It’s not healthy.”

“$500, yes ma’am. That’s more than fair.” Taking the money, he offered a hand.

I scoffed again. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 

“Would I be out of line asking you to marry me?”

“Oh, let me count the ways, Rich. No magic. It was the tone he used when he said Bill Locke. You weren’t bad yourself, picking up on that – his victim. How much do you want for today? My number is likely higher than yours.”

“A trade.”

“What kind of trade?”

He pulled the Cougar off on the shoulder of the highway overlooking a lake. Turning to me he asked, “Want to go for a swim?”

“What? No!”

“Neither do I. I’m working on this caper –”

“Does anyone say caper anymore?”

“I just did. It’s a sad tale –”

“I like to say woe tale. Do go on.”

“There’s a woman with an abusive husband.”

I nodded.

“She’d like to walk out on him – more like run for the hills – before he kills her.”

“Is she chained to a stanchion in the basement?”

“Eh, no.”

“Then she should run for the hills.”

“It’s not that easy. He has everything tied up. She just walks out the door, she’ll be penniless.”

“Trading one predator for a pack of predators.”

“That is very well put.”

“Thank you. What did you have in mind?”

“He frequents a place across the river. I’m not going to talk in code.”

“I’m not afraid of words.”

“He frequents an illegal gambling establishment, is chummy with the people who run it. I can’t get past the front door.”

“Why would you need to do that?”

“Oh, I need to know who he hangs with and particularly what chick he’s banging. I can get you in.”

“The Woman of Mystery.”

“Yes, I’d get you identification and an invitation. I’ll give you a crash course in gambling.”

“I’ll get a book from the library. I learn better that way.”

“Does that mean you’re in?”

“Oh, Rich, I am so in.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“I’m already dead. What could happen? One thing, though.”

“Which is?”

“Toby and Rich Private Investigators.” I sat back in the bucket seat. “Home, James. I think I’ll spend a couple hours going through books with my seamstress. I have a litany of other things I must do. I think I’ll do that instead.”

Serling pushed the car into traffic, kicking up a bit of gravel. “I’ll need a photo for –”

“Got one. Ordered wallet size for my girlfriend.”

“Why did I not see that coming?”

“That I have photos or that I’m gay?”

He laughed, maybe a bit too freely. “We’ll get you a small camera, too. You do know how to work a camera.”

“Saturday, I’ll be the assistant to a photographer shooting a wedding. I pick up things quickly.”

“Doing a favor, or did you lose a bet?”

“You’d think, huh? Some people feel the experience will do me good.”

“Thursday evening.”

“You’ve done your part, Rich. I’ll take it from here.”

 

“Miss Sullivan,” I greeted.

“Toby, always good to see your face.” She examined my two books, pulling and stamping the cards. “New hobby?”

“Maybe. I’d just hate to be out, you know, like at a party, and someone says, Let’s play baccarat! and I have no idea how.”

She smiled her wonderful smirk. “That could be embarrassing.”

“My thinking exactly.”

“Oh, I have something here for you, that is if you still want to be a witch.” She retrieved an orange 10” x 13” metal clasp envelope from under the desk. “Term paper.”

“Yours?”

“A friend’s.”

“Which class?”

“Anthropology. I think this may be just what you’ve been looking for. Has some really great background with references.”

“Years ago, I wanted to know about Christians, so I read the catechism.”

“Really?”

“It’d be nice if witches had a rule book, too.”

“Witchcraft isn’t technically a religion.”

“Technically. I’d roll my eyes, but that’s impolite.”

“From what I understand, witchcraft is more a belief system based on Nature as a conscious entity.”

“I feel as soon as you said belief system, we’ve entered the dark realm of religion.”

Sullivan pursed her lips.

I narrowed my eyes. “The pillars of all religions, that is to say belief systems, don’t exist in objective reality, but are something that goes on in the mind.”

She returned the narrowed eyes.

“It’s fine to believe you can fly across the sky on a broom. Just don’t go jumping off any tall buildings.” I showed her my palm. “It’s fine if your god hates say, homosexuals. Just don’t go around killing gay people on your god’s behalf.”

“Read the paper?”

“With an open mind.”

“There’s much more to, eh, religions, than you just said.”

I presented the envelope with the term paper. “Oh, Miss Sullivan, I am well aware there’s much more than I can state in a casual conversation.”

“We should have dinner sometime. So, we can talk when I’m not working.”

I balanced Mr. Fishman’s believe system, which defferenciated between lunch and dinner.

I answered with, “Do you know when the local historical society meets?”

“Wednesday, next week, here, 8pm. Why?”

“You’re a member?”

“Current president.”

“May I attend?”

“Of course. Reason?”

I shrugged. “I want to talk about the Lenni-Lenape.”

 

Part 22