“Oh my God!” Reed finally said. “You have to get a copy of that video.”
“We can show it at the Christmas party.”
“Did that bozo seriously kill Rambo with a BB gun?”
Then they were off again, hysterical.
“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” Bobby said.
“I wonder if he realizes he’s gonna have an entire cartel on his ass?” Reed said. “I heard Rambo was bringing them about forty grand a month, steady.”
“I wonder if we ought to offer him witness – witness protection!”
And again. Like twelve-year-old girls at a slumber party, for crying out loud.
“What are they even doing, anyway? Are these the detectives you were telling us about?”
“In the flesh. Now there’s three of them.”
“Bobby’s Angels,” Reed said, then laughed again.
“Whatever. Listen, I’m gonna tell them I’m giving them inside information, but I wanted to check with you first. We decided to release the cause of death, but not the post-mortem wound, right?”
“That’s what we put out at the briefing this morning.”
“Okay. Oh my gosh. I have to go back in there and not laugh right in their faces.” He sniffed hard. “Not gonna be easy.”
I scurried back to the office and dumped myself into my chair, trying not to look out of breath. “Just follow my lead, please,” I hissed to Viv and Dale.
It must have taken Bobby some time to get his composure back, because it was three or four minutes later when he marched back into the room.
“Okay, Team,” he said, dropping into his chair and opening a drawer. While he fished through it, he said, “I’m keeping this video as evidence. Ms. Bartwell, you’ll get an evidence receipt for this. You’ll get your phone back, I just need the video. We’ll have our analysts get on it and see if there’s anything they can pick up – maybe a license plate or a face, if they slow it down enough.”
He was staring at his computer as if this took all his powers of concentration, and talking fast.
“I hope it does help, Bobby,” I said, pouring every bit of acting ability I had into looking like someone who did not want to throw his stapler at his head. “We really do want to be of some use.”
“I know you do, and I’ve said it before, Salem – the department needs people like you to help us do our jobs. We can’t be everywhere at once.” He raised his head to look at me, then suddenly lowered his brows and bit the inside of his lip. He went back to clicking things on the computer while the file transferred.
“That’s really all we care about.” I gave Viv a raised-brow look.
Viv took my cue. “That’s right. It’s not like we’re expecting any kind of reward or anything. I mean, if we do solve the case, we will accept the reward, but...”
Bobby cleared his throat and unplugged the phone. “Here you go. And listen...” He studied the top of his desk for a moment, his wide hands splayed on the surface. He chewed his lip some more. “Listen,” he said again. “I’ve been thinking, and maybe it would be a good idea to keep you guys in the loop. You know, let you in on some of the information we have. We have to work together, right? And you have certainly proved your...” He trailed off and chewed his lip again, his stomach clenching and his breath coming short a few times out of his nose. “Well, you’ve proved yourselves. So here’s what I can give you – cause of death in CJ Hardin. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head with something very hard, obviously, and narrow. Like a metal pipe, maybe. Something of that general shape and size.”
He leaned back in his chair.
I cast a glance from Viv to Dale, who were busy looking underwhelmed.
“Bobby, thank you,” I said as earnestly as I could. “Thank you for your generosity, and for your consideration. I’m sorry we weren’t able to bring you the bust we hoped – ”
“Oh, but you’ve given me a great deal to go on, Salem. A great deal.”
A great joke, I thought sourly.
I smiled sweetly. “You know, it would be very nice of you to give me that apology. For the prairie dog thing.”
“Oh no,” he said, standing. “Nothing doing. That was too much fun.”
Good thing he didn’t see us flee that scene in terror, too, I thought as I followed Viv and Dale out the door.
“Oh, and – what’s your name? Dale? Maybe you ought to lie low for a few days. We’ve been hearing rumors about Rambo for a long time, but we haven’t been able to tie anyone to him. Supposedly he’s been making a lot of money for that gang – ”
“Gang?!” Dale, Viv and I said at the same time.
“Yeah, the West Texas Hombres. We’re watching for them, but haven’t been able to get any IDs yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were hot about losing their cash cow, though.”
“Cash rooster,” Dale corrected.
“Yeah. You know, bad guys don’t like it when you take their money.”
“But – aren’t you going to – but...”
Bobby waited patiently, eyebrows raised.
“You know, witness protection or something?”
Bobby smiled. “It’ll be okay; you didn’t actually witness anything.” He gave a short wave and ducked back into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.
We headed back for Viv’s car, with Dale complaining the entire time that they should do something to protect him, then griping at me for suggesting that Matt Macon had anything to do with CJ Hardin’s murder. Since we’d left Bobby’s office the first time, I’d graduated from the last to figure out the Macon connection, all the way up to the very one who sent us out on that disastrous course.
I didn’t bother arguing with him, because I figured he was probably freaking out about being the possible target of a hit from the West Texas Hombres. That could make a person say grumpy things.
Back in the car, I didn’t bother fighting for the front seat. I collapsed in the back with Stump, wishing I could go home and veg in front of the TV. I checked the clock on the Caddy’s dashboard. I had enough time to shower and change before Tony picked me up, but just barely.
“What were you doing back there sucking up to him?” Viv asked as she swung the car onto the street.
“Yeah,” Dale said. “It’s like you got the hots for him or something.”
“Honey, any female would have the hots for him. He’s hot. I just don’t get why you were sucking up to him, and wanted me to follow your lead. He was acting like a tool.”
I started to tell her. But I just couldn’t do it. If either one of them knew how Bobby and Reed had been laughing at us, it would be hurtful. I probably should not have cared, but I did.
So I said, “You heard what he said. He gave us inside information. He wants to work with us. We can’t be burning bridges for everyone who acts like a tool, Viv. You think Columbo didn’t want to give the heave to some of his informants? You have to work with people.”
I shook the Smaxx out of the package and studied it, tugging at it to test its strength. The package pronounced them “Flesh Colored” which I found to be both faintly disturbing and not true – at least they weren’t my flesh-colored. But they did feel sturdy, which was what, I supposed, really mattered. Some of my anxiety lifted a bit. This evening might not be quite so angst-filled if I wasn’t preoccupied with trying not to put anyone’s eye out with a rogue jiggle.
I tugged the Smaxx over my feet and pulled. Everything went smoothly until I got to my thighs. A roll of fat appeared above the Smaxx line, and this roll grew larger as I pulled them up. Pulling up got harder, too; the fat on my stomach resisted being stuffed into the Smaxx. The roll of fat grew larger and I tugged harder, a sweat breaking out on my forehead from the effort.
I frowned and pulled harder, determined to stuff my body into this device and look like the girl on the package. I looked in the mirror. The part of my body in the Smaxx was narrow, solid. The part that spilled over the top looked like yeast dough spilling over the
top of a bowl.
I tugged with all my strength. I pictured a great tsunami of fat, building and growing ahead of the Smaxx line until it washed over my head. It would be perfectly fine with me if it just splashed off and fell to the floor. Then I could sweep it into a bag and go on my skinny way.
I was getting light-headed from the effort, and I tried to sit on the edge of the bed to catch my breath. I had sweat now under my arms, between my breasts. I hadn’t counted on getting dressed being such a workout.
My thighs looked good, though. I wasn’t crazy about the enormous wheel of fat that now circled my ribs, but my thighs looked good.
“What am I doing?” I asked Stump. She lay on the bed studying me, her brows raised in what could be concern. Maybe disdain. “Do you think Tony’s going to look at me and think I’ve suddenly lost thirty pounds? He saw me last week.”
And what did I want him to think? Did I want him to be attracted to me? I was so confused. Tony didn’t want to divorce me, but he hadn’t really acted like he wanted to be truly married to me, either. He was just being...nice. Being Tony. One of the things that made me crazy when Tony and I lived together as man and wife was his pleasant, passive attitude. He would do whatever I asked, but he wouldn’t make the first move. He wouldn’t force himself on me in any way.
“Stump, do me a favor, would you? Tell me what I want to happen.”
Stump regarded me silently, then yawned hugely.
I sighed, then stood and began tugging again.
I got the top of Smaxx right up to my bra line, and the roll of fat disappeared somewhere under it. I walked around my bedroom, which wasn’t easy. I felt stiff and the crotch seemed about two inches below where it should be.
I tugged some more, sweated some more, breathed hard some more. I popped and pulled and adjusted the elastic until everything seemed to where it was supposed to be. The top of the Smaxx still rested right below my bra line, and it was kind of restrictive feeling. Plus, it made me feel like my boobs were sitting on a shelf.
“I really don’t know if I can do this,” I said to Stump, thinking with regret of the thirteen bucks I’d spent on this torture device. Probably there was no way I could get my money back now.
With another sigh I took the black dress off the hanger and pulled it over my head. It slipped down my body like silk, settling with a whisper.
I stared at my reflection. “I take it all back,” I said breathlessly, mostly because the Smaxx made it impossible to breathe deeply. “I’m never taking this off again.”
I looked amazing. Okay, not amazing. I still looked a bit overweight. But the endless roll after roll? All the little pockets of “ruching” that had been filled with fat? Gone. I spun in front of the mirror. Even the back fat roll was gone!
Hurriedly I stepped into the black pumps. Like a little girl, I squealed.
“I look pretty!” I said to Stump. “I actually look pretty!”
It had been so long since I’d felt pretty, I didn’t even remember it. Dog grooming wasn’t a profession that lent itself to stylish suits and trendy fashion, and I didn’t have much occasion to dress up after work. Even on Sunday mornings I usually just wore jeans and a sweater to church. Because I attended the laid-back groovy service in the church basement, I could get away with it.
I clomped into the bathroom and touched up my makeup. Now that I knew I was actually going to look nice, I wanted to bring my A game. I looked for spots I might have missed when I curled my hair.
I checked the clock. Still twenty minutes until Tony came. I decided to quit obsessing over my looks and watch TV, but when I went into the living room and tried to sit on the sofa, I found that I could not. The Smaxx didn’t allow for much bendage. I perched on the edge of a bar stool and tried not to be nervous. I clicked through channels and tried not to stare out the window for Tony. I failed.
When he finally pulled up, I hopped off the barstool and immediately regretted it, because my ankles did a scary wobble on the unfamiliar heels. I froze and did a mental check. No, no twisted ankle. I took a deep breath and walked as calmly as I could to the front door.
He smiled when I opened the door. “You look great,” he said.
“Why, thank you,” I said with mock coyness. But what I was thinking was, Good Lord. You are the one who looks great.
I’d always found Tony attractive, even when I also found him frustrating and maddening. He had coal black hair and warm brown eyes, and a pair of shoulders that would have Atlas watching his carb intake. Tonight he wore a suit, and an attractive man in a well-fitting suit formed a special kind of Kryptonite, at least for me. I remembered my earlier musings and thought that if Tony kept wearing suits, I was going to have a much easier time deciding what I wanted.
I invited him inside but then I wasn’t sure what for. To take pictures beside the fireplace, like we were going to prom?
“Let me just grab my purse,” I said.
I checked my bag to make sure I had everything I needed, but really I was just giving myself time to get used to being around Tony. Knowing what I wanted, of course, was only half the problem. What did he want? He’d made an effort to look his best just as I had (although he probably wasn’t concerned about the state of his internal organs, as I was becoming) but had he done it to impress me, or just because this was how he dressed for special occasion?
I was afraid to find out, I realized. If it meant something to him, there was a next level we could take this to. If it didn’t...well, that could mean rejection, and rejection didn’t feel good.
In the old days I would have bought a special bottle of wine just for this occasion. Not anything crass like beer or hardcore like whiskey (although I certainly appreciated the merits of both of those on the appropriate occasion), but something like a nice red wine in a nice smooth goblet. I would have stood in my heels and little black dress, drunk my wine, and all my neurotic and obsessive thoughts would have melted away. Certainty and confidence would have slid nicely into their place.
One of the suckiest things – in a long list of sucky things – about being sober is that, when you’re nervous and neurotic, you just have to be nervous and neurotic. I had not figured out any other way to be.
I snapped the bag closed and smiled at him. “Ready,” I said.
The Watson building was a rehabbed historic building downtown that was now rented out for weddings and receptions, parties, and other ceremonies like the one we were attending for Les. It was lit cozily against the deepening dusk, and Tony held my hand as we crossed the street. His palm was a little damp, which was comforting. It meant maybe he was nervous, too.
Thankfully, Les was standing just inside the door, and I snagged onto him right away.
“There’s my girl,” he said. He hugged me and kissed my cheek. I hugged back, then moved to hug his wife Bonnie, who stood beside him.
“You look beautiful, Salem,” she said.
“You too.” I turned back to Les. “And you, too, Mr. Fancy Pants.” I gave his bolo tie a light tug.
Les grinned and pointed at the boutonniere in his breast pocket. “They made me put this thing on so I could be recognized as an honoree.” He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was flattered anyway.
“Hey,” he said, looking over my shoulder. “The gang’s all here.”
Viv stepped around me and gave Les a hug. “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
I latched onto Viv like she was a lifeline. Now I wouldn’t have to worry about making small talk with Tony.
Then Dale stepped up, shoving his way between me and Viv.
“Dale Coffee,” he said, sticking his hand out to shake Les’s. “Nice to meet you.”
I squeezed Viv’s arm. “What is he doing here?” I hissed in her ear. “You told me you were bringing Hank Zumer.”
“He might have a kidney stone.”
“Might?”
“He’s not sure. I think he was just faking it because he didn’t want to get dressed up.”
; “Dale’s not dressed up,” I said.
“He’s dressed up enough. Plus he thought it would be a good idea to question the wait staff and kitchen staff, because they’re probably the same people who worked last week for the casino night.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I said, although it was actually a very good idea. “Probably not the same people at all.”
Viv, as usual, could not have cared less what I thought. She breezed her way through the crowd of guests, shaking hands and making chit-chat with people we both knew from AA.
Tony found us a table and we sat. I tried not to grimace when the Smaxx cut into my ribcage, but I’m not sure how well I did. Tony asked me if I was okay and I smiled brightly. “I just twisted my ankle a little,” I said. “I’m not used to wearing heels.”
We only had to listen to Dale criticize the candles on the table (they smelled like his cousin’s cat’s litter box,) the lighting (why did they keep it so dark? Were they trying to hide structural damage or something?) and the table arrangement (it would be much better if they’d placed the tables in a horseshoe so people wouldn’t be craning their necks to see) for about ten minutes before the waiters started bringing out plates.
I was tempted to “accidentally” spill my iced tea on Dale, but he gave us a break by going to the restroom. After a minute, I wondered if he’d just said he had to go to the bathroom when he was really back in the kitchen conducting interviews about the Hope for Home event last week.
After the day we’d had, there was no way I was going to let him get the next clue before me.
I shot out of my chair so fast it made Tony look at me a little wide-eyed.
“Sorry,” I said with another smile. “I need to go to the bathroom and I don’t want to miss any of the ceremony.”
I headed toward the bathroom, then veered off toward the kitchen. I snagged one of the waiters and leaned in close. “Did you work the casino fund raiser that was held here last week?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I was off that night.”
Unsightly Bulges Page 17