Quick Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “So,” I said. “What’d you do with the body?”

  *

  The epic thunderstorm didn’t do my head a bit of good; I was drenched by the time Billy shoved me into the taxi, and damned lucky not to have been incinerated by a stray bolt of lightning. As soon as we got our seat belts buckled, the ceiling of the yellow van was aglow with flashing lights, and a vaguely familiar voice from the front seat said, “Hello, and welcome to the Cash Cab!”

  Oh, great. The freaking game show on wheels I’d wanted to be a contestant on for, like, ever. I looked up, sure God could see me through the roof, and rolled my eyes. Ever heard of timing, Big Guy?

  Billy unbuckled and reached for the door, ready to pull me out. I took one look at the pouring rain and yanked him back. No way was I going back out into that, even if it meant answering a few questions on the way to wherever we were going. Besides, if we won I could sure use the cash.

  “Ciel, we don’t have time for this,” he hissed through unmoving lips as the driver gave his opening patter.

  I ignored Billy, soaking in the rules to the rolling quiz show, thrilled in spite of everything when I heard “So, what do you say? Do you want to play?” from the front seat.

  “Yes!” I said.

  “No!” Billy overrode me, and yanked me out the door behind him.

  “Spoilsport,” I grumbled. Loudly, on account of the thunder.

  Billy ignored me, hustling us toward a slow-moving cab. When it didn’t stop (duh—rain), he slapped the hood as it passed. The driver “saluted” as he drove by.

  “Where’s your car?” I asked before I remembered, and choked. Recovering, I pretended I’d accidentally inhaled some of the rain.

  Billy pounded my back—why do people think that helps, anyway? Seems to me it would just knock whatever you were choking on farther down your windpipe—and hurried me along to a patch of yellow three cars down, stopped at a light. He pulled open the back door and shoved me into the empty backseat.

  “Hey, buddy—I’m off duty. Out.”

  “I’ll pay you double the meter,” Billy said.

  “Blow me,” the cabbie came back.

  “Triple.”

  “And swallow.” The cabbie lacked, shall we say, a certain level of couth.

  Billy spat out an address and added, “Two hundred dollars if you get us there without opening your filthy fucking mouth in front of the lady again.”

  Mr. Potty Mouth smiled, tipped an imaginary hat, and put his foot to the accelerator as the light turned green.

  Dripping, I leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Where the hell are we going? That sounds like near where Bri’s band played last time I was in town.”

  “It is. We’re meeting him there—he has to set up for tonight.”

  “Bri? But why? What does he have to do with…” I glanced up front. The cabbie seemed oblivious. Probably already mentally counting his money. “… you know what.” It paid to stay nonspecific in front of strangers, even seemingly distracted ones.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. I saw his new girlfriend hanging around with Monica there last week. Seemed odd they would strike up a friendship. And now, with Monica missing—”

  “Missing? Don’t you mean”—I went subvocal for the final word, figuring Billy would have no trouble reading my lips from this distance—“dead?”

  “Maybe. She looked it, anyway. And now she’s gone.”

  “But how can that be? I saw her. She was right there, um”—bleeding all over—“adding color to my parents’ grotto, for Pete’s sake. Hell, you saw.”

  “Yeah,” Billy said very quietly. “And then you passed out and I had to make sure you were all right. For all I knew, someone had tried to kill you, too. When I went back to check on Monica, she was gone. So I parked you in my old room—you snore when you’re drunk, by the way—and then ran back to your parents’ place to search for her. Couldn’t find a trace of her. What I don’t know for sure is if she got out of there under her own steam or if she had help.”

  I ignored his remark about my snoring, having no evidence with which to refute it. “She sure looked … quiet … to me.”

  “Maybe she wanted us to think she was ‘quiet.’ Something is not right about this whole thing, and I’m going to find out what.”

  The cab’s horn blared and I jumped six inches off the seat. The cabbie’s evil eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Traffic. Whaddaya gonna do?” he said with a shrug. Asshole.

  “God, I hate cabs,” I muttered.

  Billy gave me an odd look. “Sorry. My car’s in the shop.”

  Gulp. “Engine trouble?” I asked, doing my best to maintain an innocent façade. I hoped the raindrops still trickling from my hair masked the sudden bloom of guilt I felt in my cheeks.

  “No. Needs some bodywork. Vandals.”

  I swallowed. “Really? Gee, that’s, uh, too bad. Hope the damage wasn’t … extensive,” I finished lamely.

  He looked at me, hard. “Ciel…”

  I waited. He stared.

  “What?” I said finally, biting my lip against the confession that was bursting to spring forth.

  “Where did you go when you left the party last night?”

  “Go?”

  “Yes. Where?”

  “Um, I went for a walk. I, uh, needed a little air. You know, one too many of Dad’s Manhattans.” I attempted a laugh; it came out sounding artificial. “When will I learn?”

  The cab, which had been making pretty good time during this painful interlude, pulled up in front of the club before Billy could continue grilling me. Damn good thing, too, because if he kept drilling me with those eyes I just knew I’d spill my guts, and then he’d have another body to deal with. It would be wrong to put that on him on top of all this other stuff, so really I was doing him a favor by not confessing. I can be big that way.

  The cabbie turned to face us, his greedy eyes expectant. “That’ll be—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Billy peeled two bills—hundreds—from a money clip as I got out. I was in kind of a hurry to put a little space between me and my cousin. Billy was quick, though, grabbing my elbow as he tossed the money at Mr. Smiley.

  The driver gave him a suspicious look. “These real?”

  “As real as that medallion,” Billy said with a meaningful glance at the cab’s hood.

  “Ha ha. Very funny, asswipe.”

  Billy gave him a charming smile. “Now, now. With language like that you won’t get a tip.”

  The driver peeled out, veering toward Billy as he left. Good thing reflexes are another Doyle trait. Not so much a Halligan trait, or I would’ve already been in the club. “Now, then,” Billy said, the charm gone from his voice. “You were about to tell me what happened to my car.”

  “I was?”

  “You were.” His eyes were about as far from seductive as I’d ever seen them. Could this possibly be the same guy who’d finessed my half-virginity away from me so skillfully I could hardly think about it without panting?

  “We-e-ll,” I started, and paused to lick my lips. “Oh, look—there’s the door. Come on—let’s get out of this rain!” I twisted my elbow out of his grip and took off. I was soaked again by the time I reached the awning. And the door was locked. Shit.

  Billy followed at a more leisurely pace, like a cat stalking its prey. Being drenched didn’t faze him. “My car, cuz. Don’t even try to lie—you suck at it.”

  My breathing sped up. My pits—one spot on me unreachable by raindrops—went damp. Not a good time for antiperspirant failure. “Shouldn’t we be trying to find Bri? He’s expecting us, isn’t he?”

  “He’ll be here in a little while. Now, spit it out before you choke on it.”

  I gave the door one more halfhearted tug, and hit it when it didn’t open. “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t been making out with Monica the day after we … after we…” I swallowed. “I thought I meant something to you, damn it!”

  “I wa
sn’t making out with Monica. I told you, that wasn’t me.”

  “How was I supposed to know that? You know you had the hots for her—”

  “In high school. Jesus, Ciel, you could try giving me the benefit of the doubt. I told you you’re the only one I want.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m not used to you being monogamous. It’s not like I’ve ever seen you try it before.”

  He glowered at me but could hardly refute it. “You could’ve come to me, you know. Confronted me, like any normal, overly jealous twit. Why did you have to attack my car?”

  I shrugged. “It was there. You weren’t. Granddad’s walking stick was in my hand. Seemed like the thing to do.”

  “And if I’d been there?” he said, eyes narrowing considerably.

  “Let’s just say you’re lucky, and leave it at that.”

  He clenched his teeth—and his fists—and walked very deliberately away from me, taking a deep breath as he went. “I swear to God, Ciel, when I get you alone…”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I muttered. Yeah, I know. Not the brightest thing to say. But it just sort of popped out.

  He stopped. Turned, and walked toward me, slowly, until he was inches from me. Looming. He was a good loomer. “You don’t think I’ll do it?” he said in a frighteningly calm voice.

  I lifted one shoulder. You didn’t before, I thought, but of course didn’t say it out loud.

  And then he was sitting on the edge of a cement planter, and I was across his lap, my face half-buried in daisies that smelled a whole lot like sweaty feet and stale beer. Negotiations had apparently come to a halt.

  “You know,” he said, trapping my kicking legs beneath one of his, and pinning my shoulders with his forearm. “I’d hoped we’d be somewhere a bit more private if this ever happened, and a lot less clothed, but I think I might enjoy it all the same.” His voice was laced with grim satisfaction.

  “Wait!” I yelled as he lifted his paddling arm. I shoved my torso up and twisted my head around so I could see his face. “You can’t do this. It’s not right.”

  “And bashing my car to pieces is?” He pushed me back down, but not before I’d seen the glint in his eyes. He was mad, all right.

  “Would it help if I apologized? I feel really, really bad about what I did to your car. Really.”

  “Good. You should. Don’t worry—you’ll feel better after you’ve atoned.” He pushed me back down, lifted his arm high, and held it poised while he completed his thought. “Well, not right away, of course. But maybe in a day or two, after your ass cools off.”

  “Hey, Billy,” Brian’s nonchalant voice floated nearby. “Why are you about to hit my sister?”

  I twisted toward him. Billy held me tight. “Bri—make him let me go!”

  “Stand back, Brian. I am about to help your sister with her troubled conscience,” Billy said.

  Brian leaned one shoulder up against the building. “What’d she do?”

  “She beat the shit out of my car with your grandfather’s walking stick, that’s what. Scratched the paint, broke the headlights. Carved up the seats. And slashed all four fucking tires.” He leaned over to see my face better. “Did you use the pocket knife I gave you for your twelfth birthday, by any chance?”

  Uh, yeah. “Of course not.”

  “Whoa. Sis, you did that? Not cool.”

  I blew the hair out of my eyes with an exasperated huff. “Extenuating circumstances, Bri.”

  “But there weren’t, were there? Nothing extenuating at all.”

  Brian drifted closer. “Hey, this is kinda like that song, huh? The Carrie Underwood one?” He hummed a few bars, capturing it perfectly. Brian has a remarkable musical ability. “But that guy was cheating on her, so she had a good reason. Well, not a good reason, but a reason.”

  “I had a reason, too, damn it!”

  “What reason could you possibly have for marring a man’s ride like that? I know Billy teases you a lot, but hurting his Chevy—that’s just low.”

  “She thought I was cheating on her.”

  “What? That’s stupid. You and Ciel aren’t even … Whoa. Dude. Wait a sec. You guys are…?” He looked from my face to Billy’s, disbelief brimming in his eyes until finally it spilled out, leaving an amused awareness of the truth. He burst out laughing.

  “Oh, ha fucking ha ha,” I said. “Would you please just tell this Neanderthal he can’t spank me, no matter what I did to his car?”

  Brian screwed up his eyebrows, considering. “Hey, does this mean it’s okay for me to ask out Sinead?” he said, referring to Billy’s middle sister. “If things don’t work out with Suze, that is?”

  Billy looked appalled. “It does not! Sinead is your—”

  I twisted toward him, eyes narrowed. He stopped. “Sinead is seeing someone now. I think it’s serious,” he finished.

  Brian shrugged. “Never mind. Suze is cool. In fact, I think she may be the one.” Yeah, right. Like we hadn’t all heard that before.

  “Brian, can we discuss the love of your life later, please? Like after you convince the caveman to let me go?”

  “I don’t know. I might be nonviolent by nature, but I think even I’d be tempted to let you have it in a case like this.”

  “Thank you, Brian,” Billy said, lifting his hand again.

  “Bri-an!” I said, squirming.

  My brother moved fast enough to catch Billy’s arm as it descended. Billy glowered at him, but Brian only shrugged. “Sorry, man. Can’t let anyone hit my little sister.” He half raised his left eyebrow. (Halligans have remarkably communicative eyebrows.) “You understand how it is with little sisters.”

  Billy jerked his arm from Brian’s hand, grabbed me by both shoulders, and stood me up in front of him. “Fine. I won’t strike your sister. We’ll just have to think of some other way for her to make amends.” The look in his eyes made me think I would have been better off just letting him wallop me and getting it over with. I swallowed hard.

  *

  Inside the club, after we were as dry as we could get using paper towels from the restrooms, Brian offered us beers. I declined, fighting a wave of nausea. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” I asked, trying to ignore the hops-y aroma.

  “It’s after two. Nothing wrong with an afternoon brew, is there?” Brian said. In addition to his band providing music for the club, he was also an unofficial assistant manager. It allowed him access to the place during the day so he could rehearse. Since his band wasn’t getting paid a whole lot, the manager didn’t mind if he had a few beers on the house, as long as he didn’t go overboard.

  “That late, huh?” I asked. Guess I’d slept longer than I’d thought. “Can I just have a club soda instead?”

  Brian filled a glass with ice and squirted it full from a handheld nozzle, adding a wedge of lime before handing it to me. Billy sipped his beer with no discernible sympathy for me. “Where’s Suze?” he asked Brian.

  A banging on the front door interrupted.

  “That her?” I asked.

  “Shouldn’t be. She’s at home, catching up on some work for her day job,” Brian said, and went to open up. He barely had the dead bolt pulled before the door shoved him aside, pushed by Thomas. On his heels was Mark. Just spiffy.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Thomas said to Billy, keeping himself between Billy and the door, like he thought our cousin might bolt.

  Mark placed himself on Billy’s other side, blocking any chance of a rear escape. Billy smiled his charming smile and raised both hands in casual surrender. “Lower your hackles, guys. I can explain.”

  “Oh, can you?” Thomas said.

  “Would I be here if I couldn’t?” Billy’s left dimple made an appearance. It was not well received by my brother, whose eyebrows strained to meet in the middle over the bridge of his nose. The dimple backed off, and seriousness fell over Billy’s face. “Yes. I can. Pull up a stool. Brian, a couple more beers?”

  Thomas grabbed a bar stool, n
oticing me for the first time. “What’s wrong with you? You look terrible.”

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to adapt away whatever post-hangover ravages had leaked through. “Maybe a touch of, um, food poisoning.”

  Billy quirked his mouth wryly. Thomas snorted. Mark didn’t say anything but edged an empty snack bowl closer to me. His face was bland, but I could tell he knew damn well what was wrong with me. Points to him for not rubbing it in.

  “Where’s James?” I asked, eager to get the focus off me. “How’s Molly? Did she finish changing back?”

  Thomas, if anything, looked even more disgruntled.

  Mark glanced at his watch. “As of about two hours ago, she was still orange and furry. Pure ape—no Molly bits to speak of.”

  “Well, shit. She lost ground. What’s James going to do?” I asked.

  “He said he had something else he wanted to try,” Thomas said. “Told us to get the hell out of his way, and to leave him alone while he implemented it.” He turned his attention back to Billy. “Shoot.”

  Billy took a breath, and looked from Thomas to Mark. “Funny you should say that. You know Monica Barrelles?”

  Thomas looked puzzled. “Jordan’s sister? Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Did you see her at the party last night? Any of you?” Billy took in everyone with a sweeping glance. Apparently, nobody had seen her except him and me. “I’m afraid she may be dead.” He quickly explained what we’d found in the grotto, and how the body had disappeared.

  “Is this connected to what happened to Laura?” Mark asked.

  Billy ran a hand through his hair, leaving the still-wet curls in disarray. “Hell if I can figure it out.” He hesitated. “You know Laura and I were working a little side project?”

  Mark looked disgusted. “Yeah, she told me. Wouldn’t say what it was. Said what she did on her own time was none of my business.”

  Billy smiled openly at that. Hell, he’d probably coached her on what to say. It sounded like a line from his playbook. “You got a problem with free will?” he said. Yeah, I know. Reckless, considering Mark didn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood.

  Gray eyes turned to rocks. “I have a problem with stupidity,” Mark said.