Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller

by Jeff Menapace

  “I will thanks.” I kicked him in the face and sent him back to bed.

  55

  I sprinted out of the locker room and towards the front of the club. Found the front office with no trouble and literally ripped the top drawer free, spilling its contents everywhere. I turned the drawer over and sure enough, there was a canvas money belt attached underneath. A big one. The size of a snake that ate rats, not mice.

  I pulled the belt free and unzipped it a few inches.

  “Fuck me…”

  Strike rats and replace with hundred dollar bills for that beautiful, beautiful snake’s diet. And he’d been a hungry bugger. I pulled a stack—the paper money band that held it read $10,000—and fanned it beneath my nose to make sure it was real. I’m no banker or counterfeit specialist or whatever, but it smelled like real money to me. Looked like it too.

  I put the stack back in the belt, zipped it up, slung it over my shoulder, and ran back to the locker room. Inside, I laid the belt next to Paul.

  “What the hell’s that?” he asked.

  All I said was, “Almost home, brother,” and started towards the toilets, plucking up the bloody knife next to Yuri’s body en route.

  Mr. John was still out. I bent and ripped off his undershirt. Then his boxers. He was now balls-naked—but not for long. I slapped him until he woke, his realization that he was naked hitting him like another slap as he cowered and cried and curled into a defensive ball.

  I laughed. “You really are a pussy.” I pulled the knife and he cried harder, curled tighter, retreating into himself his only means of defense. “I’d love to pull an all-nighter,” I said, throwing his words back at him, “but I’m afraid I can’t. So, I’m gonna have to make this count. Even though they’re not much—looks like their roommate isn’t much either—I’m going to take from you what you couldn’t from me. Make sure you scream after, if you don’t mind; I’ve always wondered if that whole high voice thing was a myth or not.”

  * * *

  At Paul’s side again. His eyes were closed. I called his name and he didn’t respond. He was a ghostly white, his forehead now soaked with sweat, the lower half of his shirt no less soaked itself. How I wished it too was sweat.

  I started to cry as I pulled him into my lap and cradled his head. “Come on, man, please wake up.”

  He opened his eyes.

  “Paul? Paul? Can you hear me?”

  “Where’s your ear?”

  I smiled, tears running down my bunched cheeks. “It’s around here somewhere.”

  “You gonna tell me what this was all about?”

  “I don’t think now’s the time, brother. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Like fun you are. You were stabbed with a fucking sword. We gotta go, man.”

  “I followed you.”

  “What?”

  “I was being a petty little bitch…I screened your call. You’ve been weird lately, so I was ignoring you. But I listened to your message right after. I drove to the Winchester. You were still there. I followed you here…”

  “Jesus, man…”

  “So you gonna start explaining?”

  “Not now. I don’t want the cliché of you dying in my arms mid-sentence.”

  He chuckled, followed by a series of wet coughs. “Gotta say something…”

  “Say whatever you want, brother, just please do it fast.”

  “My cock’s bigger than yours.”

  “You don’t want your last words to be a lie, do you?”

  We both chuckled. And then we stopped.

  “I love you, man,” he said.

  “That’s not a cliché?” I said.

  “Only if I died. I’m not gonna die.”

  “Fucking right you’re not.”

  56

  I pulled into the emergency strip at the nearest hospital and laid on the horn. I’d told Paul during the short drive that I would explain everything to him tomorrow, but only if he lived. He found that amusing and agreed to my suggestion, but only if I would sport the bill at Mick’s once he was released. I agreed without pause.

  “You should be checking in here with me,” he said to me in the car, moments before he was carted away. “Look at you. Your fucking ear is gone. Your nose is the letter Z.”

  Two nurses hurried through the automatic doors, towards my car. Paul had a point. I looked like hell; it would warrant questioning. I couldn’t allow that, at least not now. I had far too much to do.

  “I need to take care of something first,” I said, turning my profile to the approaching medical staff, grateful my right ear was still intact.

  “Is this ‘something’ the reason where idling outside the ER?”

  “Clever boy. Just sit tight and heal. I’ll be back soon.”

  A nurse opened the passenger door. I told her Paul had been stabbed in a mugging. More staff approached, and Paul was soon taken away on a gurney. A nurse remained; keen to get more information from me. I mumbled something about coming right back, and then reached for the passenger door. She got a glimpse of my face—my broken nose, the two lovely black eyes that always accompany a good break—and asked if I was okay. I pulled the door shut and drove off without answering.

  57

  I hurried around my apartment, looking for the right spot. I settled on my laundry basket, a tall, deep hamper that was lucky to get emptied once a month. I flipped the lid and it was—no surprise—full. And that was good. Angela, or anyone else for that matter, would never go rooting in a dirty hamper, especially one as full as it was.

  I stuffed the money belt deep, piled the dirty clothes on top, and closed the lid. I was satisfied. At least for now. Regardless of how things went with Angela, I wasn’t planning on keeping the money there long.

  I went to my bathroom next. I knew the mirror might be unkind, but didn’t think it would be that cruel. I looked like a friggin’ zombie. Ear gone, nose mashed, eyes black…

  I winced as I lifted my shirt. My torso fit the costume. Black bruises the size of softballs (and why not, Vlad and Yuri’s knuckles were the size of fucking softballs) were everywhere. I turned and looked over my shoulder. The mirror reflected the granddaddy softball of them all, covering one of my kidneys. I wondered if I had internal damage. My answer came a short moment later when I took a piss. All blood.

  Back to my face. Nothing I could do for my nose except try like hell not to sneeze. My ear? Or lack thereof? Nothing I could really do for that either. Cover it I suppose so as not to freak people out, myself included. At the moment, it looked as if a quarter-sized wad of red Play-dough had been slapped over the hole. Ugly, but at least it had begun coagulating, stemming blood flow. I dug in my medicine cabinet and came upon a box of giant Band-Aids I don’t remember buying, but they were there, and they were perfect for the job. I unwrapped one and placed it over the red wad of Play-dough.

  I wanted to change clothes, for peace of mind, and, well, my current clothes had blood and vomit on them. Except if I changed clothes, Angela would know I stopped home before coming to see her. I didn’t want that.

  (Then how do you explain the Band-Aid?)

  Ah, shit.

  I winced as I pulled the Band-Aid off and tossed it in the trash. Fuck it; the gruesome sight would only add to Angela’s shock—at least initially. Once I revealed certain “truths” it would be interesting to see if that initial shock swelled with sorrow, or shriveled with contempt.

  Time to go find out.

  58

  I hurried past the reception desk at the Winchester Hotel and went right for the stairwell. I was fortunate the receptionist on duty was attending to someone else or I’m sure he would have called the police after getting a good look at me. I didn’t even risk using the elevator for fear of sharing it with someone. So I climbed the stairwell, and eventually stood outside Angela’s door for the second time this evening. First time, I can remember raising my fist, hesitant, knowing my knock would be the start of the
snowball down the hill, the probability of my getting crushed under its accumulated weight at the bottom damn likely. This time…this time I didn’t know what to think.

  I knocked.

  Angela opened the door and immediately placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God…” She leapt into my arms and I groaned in pain. She instantly backed off into the room and I followed, shutting the door behind me.

  She approached cautiously now, hands out in front, wanting to touch, but pulling back every time as though she feared distorting me further. I saw her eyes lock on the hole where my left ear used to be. “Oh my God…” she said again. “What happened to your ear?”

  “You mean other than the fact that it’s gone?”

  She put her hand to her mouth again. She looked like she might cry.

  I walked past her and sat on the bed. “Yup…they got my ear and your teeth. All they need now is a nose and some eyes and they’re in business.”

  She let out a simultaneous laugh and cry.

  I sighed. “It’s done though…it’s all done.”

  She inched forward, still looking hesitant to touch me for fear of making things worse. “It’s really done? They’re gone?”

  “They’re gone.”

  She started crying. Sat next to me and started kissing me gently all over my broken face.

  I pulled away.

  She immediately apologized. “I’m sorry—does it hurt?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “What is it?”

  “There was a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I paused, preparing to study her, hoping the expressions to follow would be a capable read; people like Angela are not breezy material.

  “There was no money,” I said.

  “You couldn’t find it?”

  “It wasn’t there. I tortured the fucking guy, Angela…there was no money.”

  She turned slowly away from me, seated on the corner of the bed now. I studied her body language intently; keen to read something, anything.

  I saw her shoulders drop. Then her head. Then a hand on her brow followed by a sigh. Disappointment. Clear as day.

  God damn it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  She was still turned away from me. I thought I heard her wrong.

  “What?”

  She turned and faced me again. The disappointment was there, but it did not share its expression with distaste or contempt as I’d feared. Nor did it share it with sorrow. Angela’s disappointment, it would turn out, was rooted in shame. “You were counting on it, weren’t you?” she said. “The money.”

  I opened my mouth then closed it. I had no reply.

  “Calvin, I’m so sorry; I truly did believe it would be there.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, an expression of hope trying to surface beneath the shame. “But it doesn’t matter, okay? I told you, I have money. I have a lot of money. What I thought was at the club? That was just a perk. We don’t need it…”

  “You don’t care about the money?” I asked.

  “No. Why would I? All the money in the world wouldn’t have been able to buy what you just gave me.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life.”

  “You don’t care about the money,” I said, not asked this time.

  “I care that you came back to me.” She kissed me a few more times and then pulled back, eyes going over my face. “I think we need to get you to a hospital.”

  I cupped a hand over the hole where my ear used to be. “Say that again?”

  She gave a sympathetic little chuckle. “I’ll drop you off at the ER. Then I’ll go home and pack a few things. I want to stay with you when you get out.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I then paused. “You won’t forget to bring the tape will you?”

  Her smile dropped. She appeared hurt for a short moment before eventually settling into a look of acquiescence. “That was the deal.”

  PART TEN

  Casualties

  59

  So Angela had passed my money test. Good. I’d figured it could have gone one of two ways: she got angry and took off, in which case, fuck you, and the money was all mine. Or, she’d do exactly as she’d done (exactly as I’d hoped) and told me she didn’t care about the money, in which case, the only hurdle ahead was finding the right time and way to tell her I’d lied. I suspected she’d understand no matter when or how I told her though. It was a loyalty test after all, something I think she’d appreciate in retrospect—especially once I turned the money over and proclaimed it ours.

  Getting a hold of that damn DVD was the big one though, where the real loyalty test lied. She’d proven herself sincere enough thus far, but until I had the uncut version of Calvin and The Freak in my hands, I would remain cagey. I had to.

  * * *

  The doctor told me what I already knew: my nose was badly broken. What I didn’t know, was that it would need to be re-broken with the help of a plastic surgeon. As for my ear, it too could be repaired with the help of a plastic surgeon. Unfortunately, I would need to go to another hospital for such fun. In the meantime, the ear and nose were dressed accordingly, and I was kept overnight. Not so much for the ear and nose, but because I was still pissing blood from Yuri’s shot to my kidney. The doctor wanted to see what color red my urine would be in the morning. The hope was more white Zinfandel than Merlot.

  Paul and I were in the same hospital, both victims of a “mugging.” He was on a different wing than I was—his wounds far more critical than mine—but I still managed to sneak out later that night and find him. He was out cold, hooked up to an IV that must have been pumping him up with some good stuff, because he didn’t even flutter so much as an eyelid when I placed a hand on his forehead.

  Someone coughed behind me, and I turned to find a nurse standing in the door. “You really shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I whispered back.

  She nodded. “You need to let him rest.”

  I nodded back, gave Paul a final pat, and then walked past the nurse and headed back to my room.

  60

  Angela was waiting for me on my apartment building steps early that following evening. She was grinning like a kid as I parked and exited, a duffel bag seated next to her.

  “Nice teeth,” I said with a smirk. Sometime in the last twenty-four hours, she’d gotten a brand new pair of choppers.

  She struck a pose, grinning wider and batting her eyes.

  “They real?” I asked.

  She broke her pose and pulled a duh face. “Of course they’re not.” She flicked her tongue against the slim retainer in her mouth, popping out her front teeth like a tiny pair of dentures.

  I smiled. “Ewww...”

  She grinned and used her tongue again to click her front teeth back home. “I’ll only have this for a week. The permanents will be ready by then. They gotta drill ’em in. Should be fun.”

  I waved a hand at her. “Child’s play.” I gestured to my nose. “Needs to be re-broken.” I gestured to my ear. “Needs to be re-built.”

  “Like Mr. Potato Head,” she said with a smirk.

  I pointed to her teeth. “Like a meth head.”

  She shoved me and we went inside.

  * * *

  We entered my apartment and I instinctively looked towards the floor, expecting Pele to greet me. I felt sad he wasn’t there, and then ridiculously happy that I’d be seeing him again. I couldn’t wait to get the furry bugger back from my mother’s and cuddle the hell out of him.

  Angela set her duffel bag on my sofa, turned back to me with a sexy little smile, pulled me in tight, popped up on her toes, went to bring her lips to mine—and ended up with a mouthful of cheek instead.

  A split second before her kiss, my mind flashed on the tape, and my head obeyed my mind, turning my profile to her as I gawked at the duffel bag on my sofa. Was it in there?

  She slowly pulled her
lips from my cheek, her face a splash of dented ego with a hearty base of what the hell? Then her eyes tracked mine towards the sofa and her face mellowed into one of comprehension. Eyes back on me, a devilish little smile starting on the corner of her mouth, she said, “You wanna know if I brought it, don’t you?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “Right now?”

  “I’d like to feed it to my garbage disposal.”

  She went to her duffel bag and retrieved a black DVD case. The devilish little smile now full-grown, she waved the DVD case in front of her in true tantalizing fashion. “Wanna watch it again?” she asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She continued waving the DVD, continued smiling. “Aren’t you just a tiny bit curious? I mean now that it’s all over?”

  “I’ve seen it, thank you.”

  Still waving the DVD: “Going once…”

  “Angela.”

  “Going twice…”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  She burst out laughing.

  I shook my head, laughing a little myself. “You’re sick.”

  She set the DVD on the TV and then cozied up to me again. “Isn’t that what you like about me?”

  “It does have a certain desirability.”

  She went in to kiss me then paused. “You’re not going to give me your cheek again are you?”

  I kissed her. She pulled away and headed towards my bedroom, undressing on the way. She stopped at the doorway, naked, her back to me. Then a glance over her shoulder with carnal fuck-me eyes before disappearing into my bedroom.