by Gina LaManna
In reality, the mustard-yellow shag carpet had been half-assedly vacuumed, as if the former tenant had decided he wanted a hamburger a quarter of the way through the living room, then forgot about vacuuming altogether. The bedroom was about the size of mine now and the kitchen a bit smaller, but despite the eighties style carpet and the putrid green walls, the place wasn’t half bad. If I changed the color scheme to not reflect a dying Green Bay Packer jersey, it would almost be cozy. The carpeting I might have to live with for now, but that was okay. I wouldn’t be here forever, right?
I had a sudden feeling of sadness. What if my future consisted of puke green walls and mustard yellow carpet longer than my arm hair? Nora was bound and determined to set me up with a nice Italian man, but the truth was, I had three nice men right now to choose from, and I couldn’t so much as decide who to eat a sandwich with at lunch.
“You don’t like?” Mister Kim looked at my face, and I quickly rearranged my features into a much happier expression. Or so I hoped.
“No, I love it!” I said. “When can I move in?”
“You pay me, you move in. You don’t pay me, you don’t move in.”
“Ah, okay. If I bring the money tomorrow, I can move in – right?”
“If no one else bring money first.”
“Fine, deal.” I nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I turned around and headed down the stairs. I could feel Mister Kim’s eyes on my back as I retreated to the first floor. When I turned around at the bottom, his gaze was still following me from two flights up.
“No funny business, you understand Ms. Luzzi?”
I nodded and fled the apartment, letting the front door slap closed behind me, his words haunting me as I got into the front seat of the Lumina.
How did he know my name?
Chapter 8
“He was creepy. And weird.” I leaned forward on my elbows and watched through the microwave door.
“You know you can get radioactive poison from putting your face that close to a blossoming marshmallow, right?” Meg shoved a normal marshmallow into her mouth.
“They proved that wrong,” Clay said. “Plus, it’s not the marshmallow that causes cancer – people thought it was the radioactive wave emitted from the microwave.”
“Buww-schwit.” Meg’s retort was muffled by a personal game of Chubby Bunny.
“So you didn’t find out anything?” Clay asked. “I’m not sure why you buzzed right over there. Now he knows what you look like, so if he catches you creeping around there it will seem suspicious.”
“He won’t catch me creeping around,” I said.
The microwave dinged and I removed my concoction, a beautiful little dish I liked to call Marshmallow Munch and a Colorful Crunch.
It had a nice ring to it. The entrée was essentially a bowl full of mini marshmallows heated until it ballooned to the size of a basketball. Then, I would artistically decorate the concoction with a variety of sprinkles, creating a rainbow effect once the colored sugar melted on the heated marshmallows. Next step: insert finger (or in fancy circumstances a spoon), and enjoy fluffy, sugary goodness.
Clay raised his eyebrows, and whether it was in response to my statement or my meal, I couldn’t be sure.
“You’re telling me you won’t be creeping around Kim Cho’s apartment complex?” Clay looked skeptical.
“Absolutely not.” I licked my finger, the sticky marshmallows forming spidery webs between my pointer and middle fingers.
“What are you not telling me?” Clay asked.
“I’m moving in. Tomorrow.” I gave a cheesy, multi-colored grin. I could see my pink and green tongue in the microwave’s reflection, dyed like an exploded Easter egg experiment.
“Moving in where?” Meg asked. “Can I take your apartment? I’m sick of camping out behind the bar.”
“You’ve been camping out behind the bar?” I asked Meg. “What happened to your apartment?”
“I was never there.” Meg shrugged. “It didn’t make sense. Plus, the room behind the bar has a few couches, a pull out bed and a television as big as a friggin’ elephant bladder.”
“How big is an elephant bladder?” I asked.
“Pretty friggin’ huge,” Meg said. She nodded seriously. “I’ve heard they don’t have to pee for like, eight hours at a time or something.”
“That’s not true,” Clay said. “You made that up.”
“I didn’t,” Meg said. But she reached for a handful of marshmallows and busied herself by stuffing them one by one into her cheeks.
Clay rounded on me. “So, you’re telling me you offered to move into an apartment in Kim’s building? Lacey…there is such a thing as taking the job too far.”
“I already sort of committed. I figured it was fate since I was looking for a place, and I found a great deal on one in the same day,” I smiled, taking out my phone and showing a pic I’d snapped of the apartment.
“Does that thing get you into Hogwarts?” Meg pointed towards the huge, two-pronged key visible in the corner of the picture. She reached for my phone to examine it closer. “Holy moly. That thing looks like it weighs a gagillion fudges.”
“Excuse me?” I asked her. “What are you talking about?”
“I recently started measuring things in f-bombs, to spice things up. But I censor myself around you ‘cause I know you don’t like the swearin’.” Meg nodded, then handed me back my phone.
The case was laden with marshmallow goop, and I had to pry it from my fingers and run a tissue under the faucet and swipe the screen off before I trusted the phone to go into my purse without collecting every old receipt and gum wrapper in the joint.
“You get it?” Meg asked. “For example, I give exactly zero fudges how many calories are in these marshmallows because they’re so friggin’ delicious. But on the other hand, you probably give a hell of a lot of fudges about finding out about this Mister Kim ‘cause you got lots of money riding on it.”
“That’s really sweet you censor your language around me,” I said. “I mean, there’s no need really. I work in the mob, but still that’s nice—”
“Great. Whew, because I give zero fudges about using strong language.” Meg pulled her fingers from her mouth. “See how that works?”
I looked back to Clay. I grimaced a bit in advance as I asked my next question. “Do you think it was a bad idea to agree to move in?”
“Good idea or not, do you even have the money to do it?” Clay asked. “You do know that when you live alone, you actually have to pay rent every month, right? You can’t just fork over two-fifths of the rent and call it a day or say ‘hit ya later.’ Mr. Kim won’t like that.”
“Yeah, I have a retainer for starting to work on this assignment. I figure by the time next month’s rent is due, Mister Kim will be gone if he’s involved in the ring, and if he’s not, I’ll have enough money to pay him from solving the case.”
“Now you’re thinking like a mobster,” Meg said. “You want me to help you get rid of Kimmy?”
“What? No! I just meant maybe he’ll be in jail or something if it turns out he’s connected with this prostitution ring.”
“I got a new gun,” Meg said with a wink. “Evidence locker at the force. They didn’t know I made copies of the keys.”
“That’s illegal!” I said, aghast. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Girl, you being a mobster is illegal, too. We’re all illegal. This guy is the biggest hacker in the states,” Meg said with a nod at Clay. “You should give less fudges that the work you do is illegal. See? You give so many fudges you’re getting a stress headache.”
I was rubbing my temples, but it wasn’t as much of a stress headache as it was a bout of nausea. Was I turning into a mean, ruthless mobster? I’d assumed Kim would be gone by next month. The thing was, I hadn’t clarified what “gone” meant in my mind.
Lots of times when I worked on assignments and ran into bad guys, they’d kind of just disappear once I caugh
t them. Anthony would show up, I’d ignore a few thumps coming from his trunk and then forget the thing ever happened. Or at least I would try to. Was I turning into a killer?
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “Moving day tomorrow.”
“Cool,” Meg said. “I’m not planning on helping with that, since I ain’t got no fudges left to give. But you should have a housewarming party, ‘cause I can rouse up some fudges to come to that.”
** **
The next morning dawned sunny and bright, and I woke feeling excited about the day. But then I remembered what was on my itinerary, and the number of fudges I had in me drastically dipped.
Moving into a different apartment hadn’t really hit me until that moment, hunkered in my bed all cozy and warm. There were no sirens screaming or smoke creeping under my door – the morning was unusually pleasant, and it was potentially the last time that I’d ever wake up in this room. Was the universe telling me something? Something along the lines of don’t move! Don’t move!
I wanted to ignore the voice, but there was another small stone in the pit of my stomach that I thought might be sadness. I’d lived with Clay ever since I’d discovered the Family and bonded with him over a pair of skinny jeans. Despite our nagging arguments and teasing insults, I liked the guy. I’d miss his presence; I didn’t hate the beeps of his computers, the light of his monitors, or the yodel of my phone whenever I left it on the kitchen table long enough to get hacked, as much as I let on.
My life would be quiet after I moved, and though I’d only be fifteen minutes away from everyone, it was still a change. I had never really moved from St. Paul. I pulled the covers back and sat up. Maybe I’d have to get a dog. It would provide me with some company and comforting background noise. And a television, because that provided the same things and needed significantly less attention.
Clay opened the door and carried in a cup of coffee.
I burst into tears.
“What did I do?” Poor Clay looked baffled, and rightly so. He never brought me coffee, and he was probably realizing why at the onslaught of salty tears pouring down my face.
“Nothing,” I sobbed. “This is so sweet. I don’t want to move. I’m going to miss you.”
Clay sat on my bed and put the coffee on the table next to me. It smelled incredibly burnt and had zero cream or sugar in it, but it was the thought that counted.
“It’s okay,” he said. He laid a reassuring hand on my leg. “Look at it this way. Nobody’s moving in here. If you wanna move in there for a month to finish the case, that’s fine. I admire your work ethic – not everyone would move across town for the sake of the job. You can always come back when the case is over or if it doesn’t work out. I’m not gonna replace you.”
“Thank you.” I threw my arms around Clay’s neck. “I’m just really sad.”
“I’ll come stay with you tonight if that will make you feel better. Plus, you promised Meg a housewarming party. If she doesn’t get a housewarming party in the next week, she’s gonna be upset.”
I gave Clay a watery smile. “Yeah. She gave a lot of fudges about that housewarming party.”
He smiled. “Exactly. Now let me give Nicky a call, I think some of his friends are looking for a few extra bucks…” Nicky’s friends were always looking for a few extra bucks. They were a mixture of buff, tattooed men in their thirties, and skinny guys with vacant eyes. They played poker together, and tended to be up for odd jobs paying quick money.
And now, a few hours after the whole coffee incident, a bunch of them were in my bedroom lifting things out one by one, ignoring any and all directions I’d previously provided. Biceps bulged and cigarettes were smoked, but I was amazed at how fast my stuff disappeared. A hundred bucks and two hours later, all of my junk was packed away in the back of a U-Haul.
Part of that was due to the strength and dedication of the workers, but the other part was the depressing lack of stuff I had to pack. For an almost thirty-year-old (ouch!), I had about one thing to be proud of: my bed. The rest of the stuff in my room could blow up in a fire and I wouldn’t really mind, as long as my favorite sweatshirt wasn’t in that room. I pushed away the am I where I want to be at this point in my life thoughts and paid the men their fees, thanking them and declining all invitations to “hang out” for a bit.
“Gotta get a move on,” I said, waving them away as a large van carted them back to their various dwellings, bars, and casinos of choice. I fired up the U-Haul and was just about to pull away from the curb when Meg motored in behind me, her new bike’s exhaust belching out gallons of smoke. She looked like a tough Harley babe as she unstrapped her wrist guards and approached the side window of the U-Haul. I rolled down the window.
“Yo,” I said. “I thought you were waiting for the party.”
“I was,” she said. “But then I speeded over here on account of I realized I ain’t never driven a U-Haul machine before, and I kinda want to.”
“I’m not sure that’s a wonderful idea,” I said hesitantly. “Mostly because I really don’t want this thing to crash.”
Meg’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not saying you’re a bad driver,” I said. “You’re actually a really good driver. The thing is, you’re a really good driver on a motorcycle and it’s this stupid car that’s the problem. See, it’s really big. So if you drive really well, the car will probably get in the way of a few mailboxes. Which isn’t your fault.”
“I see your point,” Meg said. “But I still want to drive it. What if you sit in the passenger seat next to me?”
I hemmed and hawed for a few moments, but then I thought it might not be as bad of an idea as I first thought. I wouldn’t mind having Meg stand next to me when I handed Mr. Kim my money. Witnesses were always good, and a witness the size of Meg was even better, especially when the chance of her carrying a loaded gun was nearly a hundred percent.
Plus there was that whole thing about going to an empty apartment and being lonely, which I wouldn’t mind avoiding either.
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds good. As long as you hang with me after for a while.”
“Deal.”
We exchanged seats and took off down the road. A few mailboxes might have tipped over, but we ignored them.
“That one was wobbly, anyways,” Meg said. “I did them a favor.”
“Yeah, it’s a felon favor, but that’s alright,” I said upon Meg’s frown.
“Where you going?” I asked as we flipped a right up White Bear Ave. “We have another exit to go on the freeway.”
“No, we don’t,” Meg said. “I’m real hungry on account of driving this monster truck. I was thinking with all the effort of us moving stuff that we deserve a cake to split.”
“A whole cake?”
“Well, half for me and half for you.”
I eyed Meg. “But maybe we should buy two, because probably we’ll get even hungrier after we unload this stuff. And we can freeze any leftovers.”
“Sure thing. But there won’t be any leftovers.”
“Definitely not.”
Meg pulled through the Dairy Queen drive-through window, but just as she was slowing down to place our order, a loud thunk and a crash came from somewhere behind us, and I had an ugly feeling creeping up into my stomach.
“Uh-oh,” Meg said. “Don’t turn around.”
I looked back. “Uh-oh.”
The entire DQ sign had crashed as we’d turned into the drive-through lane, essentially flattening the white and red sign.
“Maybe we should do a walk-in order, since we don’t fit that great here with the truck,” Meg said.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
We parked in the corner of the lot after dragging the Drive-Thru sign another few feet. I looked at the wreckage. Then I looked at Meg.
“Maybe we should skip it,” I said. “I don’t feel like getting in extra trouble today.”
“Maybe…” Meg hesitated. “But I’d really like a Dilly Bar.”
�
��Me, too.” I bit my lip. “Maybe let’s just go in real quick.”
Real quick turned into a solid ten minute debate over whether Tommy or Nicole’s day-old, discount cake would taste better. Tommy’s was bigger, but Nicole’s had pink frosting. Meg was all for the pink since it matched her earrings, while I was more about quantity over quality.
We walked out with both Tommy and Nicole’s cakes (Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary, respectively) and a six-pack of Butterscotch and Chocolate Dilly Bars.
“That’s a bummer Nicole’s anniversary didn’t go so hot,” Meg said. “Maybe he was sleeping around on her.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe it was really meant for me. The first anniversary of my new apartment.”
“But that says ten years,” Meg pointed out.
“Not now it doesn’t.” I took a big swab of frosting in the shape of a zero off the cake with my finger and inserted it into my mouth.
“Well, now we don’t need the ‘s’ on ‘years,’ since that’s not how plurals work. It’s grammatically incorrect.” Meg swiped away the “s” with her pointer finger.
“We probably don’t need most of this writing,” I said, taking a fork from the bag and digging in.
By the time we pulled out of the parking lot, most of Nicole’s “Happy Ten Year Anniversary” was missing. But I was fat and happy, and I was betting Meg felt the same based on her slightly disturbing moans.
“Moving time?” I asked as she threw the dented U-Haul into park in front of the building.
“After nap time.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 9
I woke to a very distinct smell. It was a great scent, thank goodness. One of expensive shower gel and spicy fresh toothpaste. I opened my eyelids very slowly, one peek at a time. The beautiful human specimen before me perched on the edge of my couch, staring at my face with an expression that represented confusion, possibly lust, or maybe indifference. It was really hard to tell with Anthony.