Forty-Nine

The train lurched to a stop at the end of the C line: Cleveland Circle. I exited the train surrounded by a crowd of students. Dorothy stepped off the train, her eyes glued to her phone screen. Pat stepped off, eyes glued to Dorothy. Both oblivious.

Is this how I look to Jael?

Dorothy crossed the street, entered the Tedeschi’s. Pat stood around waiting for her to come out. I hid behind a tree. Dorothy emerged from the Tedeschi’s swinging a jug of milk and turned into the alley next to the store. Pat waited, then followed. I ran to a spot where I could see the front door, but Pat had already done the doorbell trick and was gone. I followed, also rang the first floor doorbell, got buzzed.

A woman in a housecoat came out of the first-floor apartment. “Why did you buzz twice?” she asked, clearly peeved.

“I didn’t buzz twice, I—”

Dorothy’s scream echoed down the stairwell, followed by a man’s rumbling voice and a door slamming. I bolted up the staircase, thankful for my cardio regime. I took the steps two at a time, navigating the turns as the staircase reached up to the second floor. Ran past the second floor door, turned a corner, launched myself up another pair of steps, grabbing the railing and centering myself as I took the turn. Almost there, another few sets of double steps, took the final turn. Stopped.

A closed door barred my way.

Inside I heard Dorothy: “Stay away from me!”

Tried the door. It opened.

I stepped through. Dorothy had retreated to a far wall of the living room. Pat stood in front of her, baseball bat in hand. “Where’s the video?”

I pulled the phone from my pocket, raised it. “Hey, Pat! Say cheese!”

Pat turned and I realized that I was holding a flip phone, a relic from the days before cameras. Maybe I could bluff.

“Think the senator’s going to like seeing a picture of you threatening a young woman?”

Pat said, “That phone doesn’t even have a camera.”

“Sure it does!”

“Bullshit.”

Dorothy picked up on the idea. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already got a movie of this guy breaking into my place.”

Pat turned back to her. “No, you don’t.”

Dorothy pointed at the fireplace where a Cyclops X-Men figurine stood. “He’s a camera.”

Pat turned, raised the bat.

I moved, getting between the figurine and Pat. “Don’t bother, Pat. The video goes right to the cloud.”

“Yeah!” said Dorothy.

Pat looked from Dorothy to me to Cyclops, who threatened to raise his tiny visor and deliver a tiny optic blast.

“Fuck me,” said Pat.

“Yes, Pat. Fuck you,” I said. “Now why don’t you leave, and maybe I can convince Dorothy not to release what would be an extremely damaging video. Even more damaging than the senator’s sex tape.”

“Senator’s sex tape?” asked Dorothy. “Which senator?”

“Should I tell her, Pat?”

“No!”

“Let Kamela know that you spilled the beans?”

“No.”

“Get out.”

Pat got out, leaving the baseball bat by the front door.

I said, “Dorothy, that baseball bat is not working for you.”

“Maybe I should get a gun.”

“Maybe start with a Taser. That would be much—”

“Dorothy!” a voice called from the back of the apartment.

“Coming, Auntie!” Dorothy stepped around, heading deeper into the apartment. I could either stand in a strange living room by myself or follow. I followed. Dorothy stood at a bedroom door.

“I can’t lift you, Auntie,” she said.

“I want to use the bathroom,” came a voice from within the bedroom.

“Marla will be here in a little while. Can you hold it?”

“No.”

Dorothy looked resigned. “I’ll find the bedpan.”

I said, “Can I help?”

Dorothy started. “What are you doing here?”

“I just followed.”

“What could you do to help?”

“I can pick things up and put them down.”

“My aunt Ruby is not a thing.”

“I can pick aunts up too.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Ruby from the bedroom.

I poked my head around the corner. Aunt Ruby pulled the blankets to her chin. I averted my eyes, waved a little wave. “I’m Tucker. Dorothy’s friend.”

“Did you make her scream?”

“No, Auntie. Tucker helped me.”

“I need to get out of this bed.”

“Show me what to do.”

Dorothy had Ruby sit up, then cinched a wide belt around her waist. “You hold the belt, help her stand, turn a step, and help her sit.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Make sure you hold it tight.”

“Right.”

“And don’t take any steps; just turn.”

“Right.”

“And check that the wheelchair’s brakes are on.”

“Right.” I kicked at the wheelchair. It didn’t move. “Ready, Ruby?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“One two three, stand!”

I grasped the belt around Ruby’s waist, lifting as Ruby stood. She was heavier than I expected. The belt slipped, scraping up her body, lodging on her boob.

“Ouch!” said Ruby.

“Sorry.” I grabbed for the belt. Got boob.

“Young man!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

Ruby lost her balance, landed back on the bed.

Dorothy said, “I’m sorry, Auntie. Maybe we should wait for Marla.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

Dorothy worked the belt buckle, tightened it. We tried again. This time Ruby came right up, we turned, and she sat right down. Perfect! We wheeled her into the bathroom, executed the same maneuver at the toilet in reverse.

“Thank you,” said Ruby.

“You’re welcome.”

“Dorothy, is this nice young man your boyfriend?”

“No, Auntie. He’s too old for me.”

Way to hurt a guy.

A knock reverberated down the hallway. We left Ruby in privacy. Dorothy placed one hand on the baseball bat, opened the front door with the other. A strong-looking middle-aged woman stood in the doorway.

“She’s in the bathroom, Marla,” said Dorothy.

Marla headed down the hall to attend to Ruby.

“Want a beer?” asked Dorothy.

“Sure.”

We moved to the kitchen. Dorothy opened a couple of Miller Genuine Drafts. Not a bad choice. The best industrially brewed beer on the market. The food engineers must have been very proud.

Dorothy sat at the kitchen table and asked, “How did you know that guy was going to be here?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I saw Pat following you, so I followed him.”

“Why?”

“He’s kind of threatened me as well.”

“What’s this about Endicott’s sex video?”

“Who said anything about Endicott?”

“Senator Blair is a woman,” said Dorothy. “Women don’t get caught on sex tapes.”

Unless they’re married to Senator Endicott.

“That’s sexist,” I said.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Why would anybody think I have the video?”

“Because PwnSec phished the senator.”

“No, we didn’t!”

“Peter’s computer did.”

“But you said that Peter didn’t do it.”

“Dorothy.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Pat understands any of that?”

“No.”

We drank our beers in silence. Marla’s voice drifted from the bathroom as she helped Ruby from there back to bed.

“Just you and your aunt?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Dorothy.

“Must be lonely.”

“I have my online friends.”

“I guess you do.”

More silence.

“I forgot to thank you,” said Dorothy.

“For what?”

“For helping me with that Pat guy.”

“De nada.”

“Thanks anyway.”

I stood, drained my beer. “You know what you could do to make it up to me?”

Wariness crept into Dorothy’s voice. “What?”

I headed for the front door. “You could start trusting me.”