The Jezebel Remedy

by Martin Clark

  “We have no reason to stop you,” Perry said.

  Saul started the car and drove them to a far corner of the lot.

  “What kind of doctor is your guy?” the sheriff asked.

  “Scientist,” Lisa said.

  “Oh, okay. Not a medical doctor?”

  “Nope.” She checked the car, and Downs had disappeared again. “Thank you both for coming.”

  “Glad to,” Trooper Wilkinson said. “Someone had to be here to keep Joe from committin’ a felony.”

  “Both of those guys just reek,” Joe added. “Nothing but high-priced trouble.”

  “I agree,” Perry said. “One is way too rough, the other way too smooth. Crooked as a barrel of fishhooks, but they’re not breaking any law. You think this guy, the doctor, really intends to hurt their employer?”

  “Maybe,” Lisa said. “But there’s no chance a heavy hitter like Seth Garrison is truly worried he’s at risk. They have other reasons for making Downs’s life miserable.”

  “Which would be?”

  “That’s where we come in,” she said. “Generally speaking, it’s a business dispute.”

  “Must be a big deal to warrant hiring these fellows,” the sheriff said.

  “Big enough,” Lisa replied. “And thanks again for looking after us.”

  “Yeah, we appreciate it.” Joe shook Wilkinson’s hand.

  “Mind your temper, Joe, you hear?” the trooper told him. “And you both be careful.”

  The sheriff and Wilkinson left, and Joe and Lisa went to the passenger side of the Mercedes, and Joe opened the door. “Okay, Doc, you can sit up now.”

  “Where’re the Benecorp thugs?”

  “Still here, unfortunately,” Joe said.

  “Oh, my heavens. Can’t the police help?”

  “Technically,” he answered, “Saul the Neanderthal and his handler Atkins aren’t breaking any law. They’re licensed private detectives from a reputable agency. They have a legitimate reason for their surveillance, especially since you composed a threatening e-mail and sent it to Benecorp. You did that, yes?”

  “It seems I might have,” Downs admitted. “It was a warning and an alert, not a threat. There’s a difference.”

  “I see,” Joe said sourly. “Great.”

  “What in the world am I going to do?” Downs asked.

  “Damn good question,” Joe said. He was still carrying his suit jacket. The weather was pleasant, so he didn’t bother putting it on again. “What brings you to Henry County?”

  “Your message. Plus, I have important information to share.”

  “Yeah,” Lisa said. “Helpful blockbusters such as Seth Garrison has visited the business he founded and owns. Very valuable insight. Also, Dr. Downs is being followed. More big news for us.”

  “Yes. But we can’t talk here.” Downs put his index finger over his lips. “Shhhh. I’m sure they are eavesdropping. Easy to do from a mere few feet away. I do have very critical facts for you, Mr. Stone. We need to talk.”

  “I thought you didn’t have anything else for us,” Lisa said. She scowled at Downs. “Other than the Wound Velvet is a big discovery, not a minor tweak. Why’d you follow me if you weren’t planning to tell me anything?”

  Downs wouldn’t look at her. “Ad hoc for me. Making choices as I go along. Mr. Stone was Lettie’s counselor-at-law. Lettie trusted him. But you already know that. No offense. My report is a secret for him.”

  “Sure, Doctor,” Lisa said. “Whatever.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s do this,” Downs replied. “We’ll leave in your vehicle and drive around, then you can bring me back here. I have to return my sister’s van. She’s a parent. A mom. Two kids. Returning it is primary, no matter what.” His lip twitched and stayed stretched for an instant, hung.

  “You understand those men will follow you all the way to Harrisonburg?” Lisa said.

  “They will follow me wherever,” Downs said. “I don’t have a chance.”

  “You’re truly welcome to stay here,” Lisa reminded him. “We’ll hire security for you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stone. I have to leave. Thank you very much, but I’ve decided.”

  “Dr. Downs,” Joe said, “you have to realize I’ll tell Lisa whatever you tell me.”

  “Your choice, sir.” He shrugged. “Lettie trusted you. You can do as you please. It’ll be on your head. Your actions, not mine.”

  Joe put on his jacket. He tugged his white shirt cuffs into view from beneath the jacket’s sleeves. “In that case, she can simply come with us.”

  “Fine,” Downs said quietly. “On your authority, not mine.”

  They all loaded into the Jeep, Downs in the front, and the doc told Joe to find a clear station and play it loud, loud as the speakers would bear, and with Saul and Atkins keeping pace behind them on Route 58, a mile from the store Downs slipped Joe a sheet of paper and leaned into his ear, their cheeks almost touching. “E-mail,” Downs confided. “Pichler to Mr. G.”

  Joe drove and read: “Mr. Garrison—Per conversation with Lettie VanSandt attorney, maybe we have competition for MissFit project. Realize project is absolute priority, so wanted to alert you and legal. Who else is interested? A. Pichler.”

  “The same day he spoke to Lisa,” Joe said. “I’ll be damned.”

  Downs was half-sitting, half-squatting, still crowding against Joe. “ ‘Absolute priority’ for Seth Garrison. It’s a monster, Mr. Stone. A grand slam.” He continued to keep his voice hushed.

  Joe nudged Downs with an elbow to separate them and handed the page back to his wife. “How do you happen to have your old boss’s e-mail?” Joe asked. He pushed against Downs again. “Get off me, Doctor. Lord. I can’t drive with you in my lap.”

  “Hacked it. Child’s play, if you know the IP address. Don’t need it, though. Pichler’s password is Mr. Nobel. His secretary told everybody at our Christmas party. She was drinking. She despises him also.”

  “Well, if there was ever any doubt,” Lisa said, “this puts it to rest.”

  Downs had returned to the passenger seat. He checked behind him, where Saul and Atkins continued their tail. “I can’t let them wreck me in my sister’s van. I should’ve never used it. What a stupid imbecile I am. Or if they shoot it or shoot a tire or shoot me and ruin the interior.”

  Lisa noticed Joe canting his head, and she met his reflection in the rearview, matched eyes. “How frigging far is Harrisonburg?” he grumbled. “Three hours? I’ll follow you home, Dr. Downs, though I seriously doubt they’ll do anything now that they’re exposed and as obvious as tits on a boar to the police. It would be far too untidy for Benecorp. But, yeah, I’ll follow you to your sister’s.”

  “Thanks a million, partner,” Downs said. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  “You want me to ride with you?” Lisa asked.

  “No need,” Joe said. He’d left the mirror and was watching the highway. “And if something happened, I’d rather you be here and safe.” He switched the radio station and turned the volume lower.

  “Thanks a million,” Downs repeated.

  “Keep your cell on and call me, okay?” Lisa leaned into the front so she was between them. “I’ll be worried until you come home.”

  “They can track us by the phone,” Downs exclaimed. “If you call.”

  “No shit,” Joe said. “They might even find us and a hire a couple minions to follow us.”

  Downs touched his temple with a forefinger, bobbing his head rapidly. “Yes. Exactly. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Just be careful not to mention anything you don’t want intercepted. But you already know that.”

  “By the way,” Joe said, “when was the last time you heard from Lettie? Or had any contact with her?”

  “Oh, gracious, let me think…probably about two weeks before I learned she was dead.”

  “Nothing since then?” Joe asked. “Nothing more recent?” He glanced at Downs.

  “No.
Of course not, Mr. Stone.” His mouth ticced. Ticced again. “Are you testing me? I haven’t broken with reality just yet. How would I talk to her if she’s dead? That’s crazy, even by my standards.”

  Lisa stood near a pallet of fertilizer sacks and watched as Dr. Downs, Joe and the hired dicks departed the Old Country Store and caravanned toward Harrisonburg, Downs in the lead, Joe next, Saul and Atkins skulking behind. She checked the time and decided to finish her trip to Stuart for her appointment, but she lit a cigarette and smoked it to the filter before actually cranking the Mercedes, sat there with the window lowered while customers pumped gasoline and scratched lottery tickets on car hoods and gobbled hot dogs, burgers and barbecue sandwiches from the grill as they walked out of the building, the food nested in thin, white-paper wraps. She phoned Joe, and he promised her everything was fine so far, except that Downs was creeping along at forty on the bypass, where the limit was sixty-five and the cops wouldn’t bother you at seventy. “Be careful,” she told him. “I love you.”

  Even with the new cell tower in Spencer, service was spotty for most of her drive, so she waited until she was a few miles east of Stuart to call M.J., who answered immediately.

  “Tell me what happened,” M.J. said anxiously. “You okay?”

  Lisa recounted the episode with Downs, Saul and Atkins, and the police. She was smoking another cigarette, held it pinched and erect with the fingers of her steering hand, and she had to trap the BlackBerry between her cheek and shoulder and switch her grip whenever she thumped ashes through a slight window crack. Some of the ashes would suck back into the interior, and as she was accelerating away from the stoplight at Walmart, a dead gray chunk broke off prematurely and hit the floor mat, quickly scattered, pfffft.

  “Amazing,” M.J. said. “Hired guns and secret formulas. Damn.”

  “This will be ginormous if we can figure how to beat these people. The e-mail from Pichler confirms we’re dealing with a huge payoff.”

  “Yeah, that Joe gave away, right?” M.J.’s tone wasn’t mocking or cruel. “Isn’t that where you’re at?”

  “As of today. For sure, we have a major complication. But we’ll be okay. No matter what, Benecorp needs to be exposed.”

  “Take care of yourself,” M.J. said solemnly. “Joe too.”

  “I will,” Lisa said. “It’s at the point of being scary.”

  “Especially if they have ex-military apes on the payroll.”

  “Our best protection,” Lisa said, “is how much of this is now in the open. The sheriff’s alerted. The state police.”

  “I’m not sure that’s really the kind of firewall I’d prefer. Me, I’d feel better about something a little less abstract.”

  “Joe’s no slouch, either,” Lisa added. “He could’ve kicked Saul’s butt back to Northern Virginia. Thank god, I’m not married to a wimp.”

  “Well, listen, while you’ve been busy solving mysteries with Scooby-Doo and Shaggy, I’ve run into a snag of my own.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Lisa said. “I didn’t mean to hog the conversation. Business or personal?”

  “Both, unfortunately. My latest beau—”

  “Brian,” Lisa interjected. “From California. The Reiki guy with almost enough credits for a junior college diploma in hospitality management.”

  “Quit it. When you shorthand his résumé, it makes me look even stupider. He’s gorgeous, completely selfless in bed and blessed with one of the biggest penises on the planet. Those would be his most important qualifications.”

  “How would you know exactly? About how big he is compared to other guys? Unless you have an accurate database or have done a thorough marketplace sampling? The latter would make you convincing and reliable but also a slut.”

  “I saw the Pirates movie, okay? The X-rated knockoff of the Johnny Depp adventures. Ramona Hough showed it at her bachelorette party. It was cheaper than a stripper, and you can fast-forward it when everyone gets bored. Those guys are professionals. Brian would have no problem with the casting specs. How’s that?”

  Lisa laughed. “I’d say you’re qualified to testify as an expert.” She laughed some more and coughed as she was exhaling an Ultra Light draw. Her eyes watered and she had to shoulder-squeeze the phone again so she could dab at the wetness. “Anyway, you were telling me about your woes.”

  “The romance with Brian was going great and, lo and behold, I discover he’s a plushie.”

  “Huh? A what?”

  “A plushie, Lisa. He’s been really generous and willing no matter what sex I want or how I want it, so for fun, I asked what I could do for him. His fantasy. I’m expecting, you know, a French maid outfit or a cheerleader skirt or a Zorro mask and a bullwhip. Maybe a public quickie in a storeroom at the mall. Handcuffs. The threesome would be a no, of course, unless I’m in the minority. Anyway, he tells me he wants us to dress up like big stuffed animals. In human-size costumes.”

  “Really? Seriously?” Lisa couldn’t help but giggle.

  “No joke.”

  “Did you? Did you do it? What were you? Which animal?”

  “I gave it a good faith effort. I was a giant squirrel. Just so you’ll know for future reference, the costume wasn’t cheap, and I’m sitting in a hotel room sweating and suffocating inside it, especially the head, which was hot as an oven and made me claustrophobic.”

  Lisa howled. “I’d give anything for a photo. Did you wear normal shoes or did you have paws?”

  “Paws. Big furry paws with skid pads on the bottom.”

  “What was he?” Lisa asked. “So you have the romantic rendezvous with him, all squirrel-girl and sweating, and he gallantly arrives in his costume? Or did he dress in the bathroom and pounce out on you?”

  “Oh, no,” M.J. said. She stretched the “oh,” and Lisa imagined her rolling her eyes as she spoke. “Nope, he proudly sashayed down the hall to our suite fully in character. His fursona is how they describe it. He’s basically a teddy bear character, in the mold of Dancing Bear from the Captain Kangaroo show if you can remember back that far. But with a long tail. I think the tail was his own after-market addition. It was more of a lion’s tail.”

  “Oh, M.J. How hysterical.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you go through with it?” Lisa asked. She’d finished her cigarette and sealed the window. “How can you have sex in the fur suits?”

  “Easy enough for him—he has a fly at the front of his and big enough equipment to easily make it through the interference. But first, you groom each other, like monkeys or something. Plushie foreplay. While he’s picking at me, he’s doing these squeaks and trilling noises, which makes no sense if he’s supposed to be a bear, okay? There’s also this kind of modified dutty wine dance that goes along with the flea picking. Finally, I have to drop my costume bottom and he stays in his outfit and bends me over the bed. Unfortunately, I’m still stuck in the gigantic head and a hot-as-hades top.”

  “A question, M.J.: Exactly how much walking-around money are you giving him each month? I know ‘allowance’ isn’t the proper term, but how much did this cost you? Prorated over a thirty-day period?”

  “In the larger scheme of things, it’s harmless and completely his business. It’s not like he wanted me to do something dangerous or illegal. I’m a live-and-let-live type. As long as it doesn’t affect me, more power to you. Problem is, once you’ve been groomed and squeaked at by a man in a bear suit with thick polyester fur, any kind of decent sex afterwards is impossible with him. You can’t do it. No matter how handsome he is, you’re thinking grown man with his dong poking out of a bear costume. It’s not an image you can erase, ever.”

  “Yeah, it would have to be, uh, unbearable,” Lisa said.

  “Very funny. So, I had to cut Brian loose. I ended our relationship.”

  “Sorry to hear it. I am.”

  “He didn’t take it well,” M.J. said.

  “Did you end it or just…pause for a while.” Lisa was tee-heeing through every syllable. “
He’ll probably be tough to fur-get.”

  “The tough-to-forget part is the legal action he’s threatening. Some vulture lawyer he’s managed to hire is bugging me about an employment claim. Sexual harassment. The twisted, lie-packed, moneygrubbing accusation is that I fired him because he finally refused my advances after I’d used my job to make him have sex with the boss for several months.”

  “Certainly you didn’t have him on the payroll?”

  “Of course not. I did throw him some crumbs every now and then and had him cater an event for the radio stations and a Christmas party for the office. I always had him sign a contract. He was treated and paid strictly as an independent contractor. My old boss in the equipment business used to tell me ‘never poop where you eat.’ Well, actually, he said ‘never shit where you eat.’ Good advice. I’ve double-checked every deal with Bear Brian, and the paperwork states he’s simply an independent contractor. This lawyer crap is an old-fashioned shakedown.”

  “Yeah, sounds like he has zero chance of winning.”

  “But as we both understand, there’s a transactional cost for me to schlep though the courts, even though he’ll lose. There’s also the embarrassment factor; this scumbag attorney has already told me he plans a press conference and a media release. Worse, he’ll have the EEOC in my knickers, and if I catch the wrong investigator, I can see problems—wouldn’t they just love to show how fair and gender-neutral they are by pursuing a woman for sexual harassment? It would give them a pass for years to come, and being our cowardly, sound-bite-driven government, it’s exactly the kind of statistic they’d sacrifice me for, no matter how innocent I am.”

  “I can’t argue with your analysis. Pretty soon, you won’t need me for advice.”

  “Honestly, what I dread the most is the News and Observer piece where I come off as a crinkly old bitch who has to hire young studs. How lovely.”

  “What contact have you had with Brian’s lawyer?” Lisa asked.

  “So far, a letter and then a longer letter offering a ‘reasonable negotiated settlement.’ ”

  “Fax me copies,” Lisa said. “Give me a couple days to think about how we should approach it.”