The tweeting of my phone woke me up on Thursday morning.
“Go ’way,” I groaned. I was hungover from all the scotch I’d drunk to calm my nerves and groggy from the sleeping pill I’d taken to knock me out. I didn’t want to greet the world. I didn’t want to explain to my angry boss why I wasn’t going to be in again that day. Most of all I didn’t want to talk to Marcia.
My phone went on chirping at me. I stumbled out of bed and groped around. I found it under a pile of clothes.
“How’re we doing, Mrs. Lopez?”
It wasn’t Marcia. It was the broken-nosed gorilla Bernie, doing his weekly follow-up. Things were still at the polite stage.
“Nothing yet,” I said.
“It’s been a month. My people don’t like being kept waiting for their money.”
“Look, back off, will you?” I tried a weak threat. “I can take this to the cops, you know. I’m sure they’d like to know about people like you.”
“Not a good idea.” He didn’t sound so friendly now. “Besides, it’s a legit business loan. I got the paperwork and all. A wife’s responsible for her husband’s debts, ain’t she?”
“I’ll call you when I have something,” I said and hung up.
I’d hardly put the phone down when it rang again.
I snatched it up and yelled, “I said back off!”
“This morning,” Marcia hissed like a viper in my ear, “he was down for breakfast. I want to know why he was eating an egg this morning when he should have been dead! ”
I sank down on the edge of the bed, reliving my nightmare escape down Maitland. I remembered the air dancing with garbage cans, my car dragging metal, sparks flying. There was no way I could claim the damage on insurance.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the damned dog?” I croaked. My head was pounding.
“What dog?” she screeched.
“The one he takes for walks!” I found the strength to yell back. “A little thing. Short legs. Long body—”
“You fool! That’s the neighbor’s dog. He wanders loose a lot. He follows everyone.”
“Look,” I said. “Call me back in thirty. I can’t deal with this now.”
I disconnected and staggered to the bathroom. I stood under a shower so cold it made my butt ache. I dried off and stared at my face in the mirror. My skin was pasty. My eyes had dark pouches like beanbags under them. I was the one who looked like roadkill.
I was still staring at myself when she called back.
“You now have four days,” she said.
“Listen, what’s your hurry anyway?” I demanded.
“That’s none of your business,” she snarled. “If you’d done your job right, it would be over by now. Just get on with it.”
I said, “I need more information. About Stanley. He can’t just go to work and take a walk at bedtime and wash his car on weekends. What else does he do?”
“He watches television.”
“That’s it?” Maybe she wanted him dead because he was so boring. “Well, what are his likes and dislikes? His weaknesses? You gotta give me something I can use.”
“He’s”—she lowered her voice— “he’s attracted to big women.” She made it sound disgusting.
“So?”
She said stiffly, “You haven’t seen his magazine collection. He hides it under his bed. His favorite is Big Fat Mamas. He likes them oversized with big breasts. He circles their boobs with a red marker. The centerfolds, I mean.”
I almost laughed. Well, well, well. Who would have thought it of Mr. Duck Walk, with his bald head and necktie and little lunch bag? An idea was forming in my mind.
“You said he stops off at Benny’s on Friday nights. How long does he stay?”
“Depends. A few hours. He’s usually home by ten.”
I wondered if Stanley went to Benny’s to pick up big fat mamas. If he did, he must have been a quick worker to be home by ten.
“Who does he drink with? People from work? Friends?”
“He has no friends. As far as I know, he drinks alone. But he never gets drunk. He doesn’t hold his liquor well, so he’s very careful. Are you thinking of doing it then? I need to know because—”
I cut her off. “Yeah, yeah. You need to set up your precious alibi. Let’s just say he may be a long time coming home.”
Before I hung up, I asked, “Did he mention anything about last night?”
“Not a word,” said Marcia.
* * *
After I hung up with Marcia, I called Jimmy. He wasn’t pleased to be rung out of bed at such an early hour.
“Jimbo,” I said. “You know that horse syringe you mentioned? I need one. Don’t ask why.”
I heard him groan off-phone. He mumbled, “Hang on a minute.” He put down the phone. After a while I heard a toilet flush in the background. When he was back, he said grimly, “You on drugs, kid?” He disapproved strongly of drugs now that he was clean. He knew firsthand what they could do to you.
“For cripes’ sake, with a horse syringe?” I kept it lighthearted. “Can you ask your vet friend? I really need that needle and I need it pronto, Jimbo. It’s—it’s for a joke on Wanda.” I hated lying to him. “Nothing bad. Just something to take her down a slot.”
That put him in a better humor. “Oh, well, in that case. I’ll see what I can do.”
“This afternoon? Thanks. Love ya.” I switched off.
I didn’t bother calling Roz with more lame excuses. I banged my right front fender back in place and headed out of town. I drove to London. It was a long way to go shopping, but I knew better than to do anything locally.
My first stop was a corner store. In the magazine section I found the latest copy of Big Fat Mamas. Marcia was right. The feature babes were large. I tried to imagine Stanley with one of them and nearly choked. I drove to the east side of town to a specialty boutique called HERZ. Before I went in I put on my headscarf and sunglasses. The woman there wanted to be helpful, but I said I was just browsing. When I found what I wanted, she said, “Might I interest you in another style, ma’am? These aren’t very—ah—durable.” I just smiled.
I stopped off at a Shoppers Drug Mart for cosmetics, then a place called The Costume Bazaar where I bought a wig. The nylon hair was curly, long and red.
At the Value Village on Wellington, in women’s fancy wear, I tried on a very low-cut satin dress. It was size XL, grape purple to match Stanley’s Chevy, and hung on me like a sack. It was a little worn under the arms but it would do. In sportswear I found a tired-looking, stretchy one-piece swimsuit. It was also XL and would have easily fit Jabba the Hutt. In accessories I unearthed a fake leather burgundy handbag with a silver chain. My final stop was Jake’s Mill. It carried everything from remnant carpeting to knitting yarn to underwear. I bought a large, two-inch-thick foam-rubber pad.
On the drive back to Franks, I swung by Al’s.
Jimmy was at the bar. He pushed something in a paper bag across to me.
“Is this a syringe or a caulking gun?” I asked, looking in the bag. It was a lot bigger than I expected.
“It’s was last used on a stallion named Rondo,” he chuckled. “In case Wanda asks.”
“Awesome,” I said.
He took a closer look at me. “What happened to you, kid? You look like hell.” He gestured at my swollen nose and scratched arms and hands. He hadn’t seen me since my disaster at Sutherland’s.
“Fight with a dumpster. Thanks, Jimbo.” I gave him a swift peck on the cheek to avoid further questions and left.
I was dead tired and my head was buzzing, but I didn’t go back to my apartment and crash as I was aching to do. I went downtown to check out Benny’s Tavern.
I’d been to Benny’s once or twice but not recently. Since I started mud wrestling and because of Jimmy, I did my drinking at Al’s. Benny’s was a raunchy establishment, not unlike Al’s, with hot-pink neon lighting spelling out the name over the door. In the window was a sign advertising Friday Happy Hour 5 to 7 Drinks Half Price. The tavern stood in what over the years had become Franks’s skid row. There was a Canadian Cab office on one side of it and a takeout pizza on the other.
I didn’t need to go into Benny’s. I already knew the layout, a typical saloon, long bar, tables in the middle, booths at the back. But I wanted to have a look at the alley running behind the tavern. My getaway route. It was narrow and dark and smelled of garbage and cat pee. Benny’s back door was propped open. Inside I glimpsed a dim hall tiled in dirty, cracked linoleum and stacked with crates of bottles and beer kegs. Farther down were the doors to the washrooms.
I hadn’t eaten much all day, so I went back out to the street. A hulk in a red tank top stretched over a beer belly was having a smoke on the sidewalk in front of Benny’s. At the pizza place next door I ordered a pepperoni, black olive and hot pepper takeout.
“Benny’s busy on Friday night?” I asked the pimply kid working the ovens. He shrugged. “Ask Ox,” and pointed a floury finger at the big guy outside. “He’s the bouncer.”
I decided to pass on Ox.
I took my pizza home, ate half of it and fell asleep in front of the tv. When I woke a little after nine that night, I felt so dry I drank a liter of coke. I finished off the pizza. I spent an hour on the Internet looking up veins. I spent another hour practicing finding them in my arms. Then I had a shower and crashed.
* * *
I spent most of Friday getting dressed. I measured and tried the foam on several ways. Finally I cut it crosswise into a couple of two-foot strips. I taped the strips around my middle and pulled the swimsuit over it. I stood in front of the mirror. My new look was barrel-shaped. Then I blew up the supersize inflatable push-up bra I’d bought at HERZ and put it on. I pulled the grape-colored dress on over everything. I had to do a bit of juggling to get my boobs to sit right, but in the end I achieved the desired effect. When I saw the finished product, I had a shock. With the red wig on, I looked remarkably like Wanda.