Hot Fudge (A Loretta Kovacs thriller)

by Anthony Bruno

  Marvelli walked toward it, and without hesitating he pushed his way through as if he belonged there. But when he saw what was on the other side, he was disappointed. He had hoped this door would get him to the plant floor, but instead it was just another long hallway. He started walking down it. Maybe he’d find another way to Arnie’s PRIVATE room down here.

  The hallway was pretty stark, nothing but cinder-block walls painted lemon yellow and recessed fluorescents in the ceiling. There were only two doors on the entire stretch, and Marvelli discovered that they were both locked. He walked to the very end where it came to a T, hallways branching off to the right and left. Guessing that the plant floor was to his right, he turned that way.

  There were more doors on this stretch and some windows, too. One room had a whole bank of windows that looked in on three rows of stainless-steel tables crammed with all kinds of electronic testing equipment. Marvelli assumed that this was where they tested the ice cream before it was packaged, but why wasn’t anyone working? There was no one there. But then he spotted a clock on the wall inside the room. It was 12:25. Everybody must be at lunch, he thought and grinned to himself. If everyone was on lunch break, that gave him better than a half hour to find Arnie. And if he didn’t find Arnie, maybe he’d find some Elmer Fudge Whirl. Now that he knew it was lunchtime, he was suddenly hungry.

  Marvelli moved on down the hallway, peering through windows in doors, looking for one that was marked PRIVATE. Suddenly he saw someone coming through a doorway up ahead, a tall guy in a white lab coat and hair net. Marvelli walked toward him, keeping his eyes level, acting as if he knew exactly where he was going. As they got closer, Marvelli gave the tall guy a friendly smile, but he didn’t smile back. He looked pretty sour.

  “Hi,” Marvelli said without slowing down, intending to walk right by.

  The tall guy stopped dead right in Marvelli’s path. “Don’t go down there.”

  “Excuse me?” Marvelli didn’t want any trouble. He didn’t want to have to tussle with this guy.

  “I said don’t go down there.” The man was scowling. “Friggin’ Arnie’s on the warpath. I was just eating my lunch at my desk, minding my own business, when suddenly he throws me out. Said I had to go outside and get some fresh air, company policy. You know how he gets when he’s in one of his damn moods.”

  “Do I ever,” Marvelli agreed.

  “Just stay out of his way,” the tall man warned.

  “Definitely,” Marvelli said. “I just need to get something and I’m outta here.”

  The tall man nodded and started to move on, but then he stopped abruptly and reached out toward Marvelli. “By the way, watch out. She’s around.” He rolled his eyes and smirked as if Marvelli would know exactly who he was talking about.

  “Thanks for telling me,” Marvelli said. Just as long as she is not Vissa, he thought.

  He moved on down the hallway, passing doorways and keeping up a steady pace until the tall man was out of sight. Marvelli was about to double back to check the doors he’d missed when suddenly he noticed a doorway on the right marked PRIVATE. The sign was red, identical to the one on Arnie’s door on the plant floor.

  Must be the place, he thought.

  He reached for the handle, then stopped himself. Why not just knock? Arnie’s probably in there.

  But before his knuckles touched wood, the door swung open, and a woman was staring at him as if he’d just climbed out from under a rock. She looked like an Asian version of Zena, Warrior Princess.

  “What do you want?” she said. It was less a question than a pronouncement of his unworthiness.

  “I have an appointment with Arnie Bloomfield,” Marvelli said. “Doubtful,” she shot back.

  “I’m with Brazilian Foods,” he said, making it up on the spot. “We sell chocolate. I think you could do better with us than with your current supplier.”

  “Really.” She was deadpan, couldn’t care less.

  “May I speak to Arnie?” he said, trying to look over her head. “We really do have an appointment,” he lied.

  “You may not speak to Arnie,” she declared.

  “Is he in?”

  She stared at him as if he’d just peed on the floor. This must be the she, he thought.

  “I can demonstrate how our product will not only be cost-effective for you, it will substantially improve the flavor of your Elmer Fudge Whirl, for instance.” His stomach grumbled at the mention of its name.

  “Elmer Fudge Whirl is perfect the way it is,” she said. Case closed.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said with a sly grin. He hoped there might be a shred of humor in her.

  “Elmer Fudge Whirl is perfect,” she repeated, her face like stone.

  Not a shred, he thought.

  “You said you had an appointment with Arnie?” she asked. “Yes. I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know Arnie?”

  “Not exactly. We’ve never actually met.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then you’re a stranger to him, correct?”

  “Well, technically, yes.”

  “Interesting.” She nodded to herself.

  “Do you think I can get to see him today?”

  She ignored the question. “Would you like some ice cream?” she asked—not exactly cordially, but not as cold as she had been earlier. “I can prove to you that Elmer Fudge Whirl needs no improving. Would you like to try some?”

  Marvelli’s eyes lit up, and his grin curved like a bowl. “You won’t have to ask twice,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” She stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. “Follow me,” she said.

  13

  Marvelli forced himself to open his eyes and keep them open, but it wasn’t easy. He felt extremely groggy, as if it were siesta time and he was on the equator. He kept trying to shake off the lethargy, but it wasn’t going away. Twenty minutes must have passed before he could focus his eyes well enough just to see where he was.

  But as he looked around, he was confused. This wasn’t where he’d thought he was. He had been in the private executive dining room at the Arnie and Barry’s plant, sitting at a long glossy birds’-eye maple conference table lined with plush navy-blue leather high-back chairs. Sunlight streamed in from floor-to-ceiling windows, and the glare off the table was almost blinding. That woman Sunny had taken him there for some ice cream. Marvelli worked his mouth. It was bone dry, but there was still a hint of the taste of Fudge Whirl.

  He blinked and squinted when he realized that he was somewhere else, a dark, windowless space. Eerie electronic mood music was oozing out of hidden speakers somewhere above him. Heavy chains hung from the ceiling. What he thought might be a gymnastic horse stood in a corner, except that it was upholstered in black leather and had straps attached it. He scanned the room with new suspicions. Hanging on the wall was a wooden rack filled with an assortment of whips and riding crops, including a cat-o’-ninetails and a braided bullwhip. A chrome coat rack was crammed with dresses and costumes. The one on the end was a French maid’s uniform; the one right behind it looked like a little girl’s frilly party dress—but big enough to fit an adult. A makeup table with a large lighted mirror was up against the wall. Three mannequin heads sat on top of the table holding wigs—blond banana curls, a huge redheaded flip, and a black Cleopatra do. In front of the table was a chair that looked like a top-of-the-line electric chair—dark stained wood with black leather cushions and matching leather straps for the wrists, ankles, waist, and neck.

  Marvelli glanced straight up and suddenly discovered a mirror hanging from the ceiling right above him. A chill went through him when he saw his own reflection. He’d been so groggy he hadn’t realized that he was naked except for his undershorts. Instantly he was angry and humiliated.

  He started to sit up, but something was holding him down. He peered up at the mirror and saw that a black leather strap was stretched across his ribs. His wrists and ankles were strapped down, too.
He was lying on some kind of narrow table, like an operating table. Suddenly his heart started to pound.

  “Well, hello.”

  Marvelli turned his head toward the voice. Sunny was coming into the room through a door that was padded in more leather. She was pushing a tea cart.

  “What’s going on?” he said, trying to control his temper, figuring that he might be able to reason with her if he didn’t start off by yelling. But then he noticed what was on the tea cart: a can of whipped cream, a plastic squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup, a bowl full of multicolor jimmies, a jar of wet walnuts, a jar of butterscotch sauce, and a jar of maraschino cherries. “We having a party?” he asked, trying to keep it light.

  “Don’t ask questions,” she said sternly. “7 will ask the questions.” She pushed the cart right up to the narrow table and stood over Marvelli. She was wearing a skintight, black rubber Minnie Mouse minidress with a flared skirt and stiletto-heeled Roman gladiator sandals with straps that crisscrossed all the way up to her knees. Her fingernails were painted black, which was new. Her lips were scarlet.

  “Is this like Jeopardy in reverse?” Marvelli asked. “All my questions have to be in the form of an answer?”

  She sprung like a cat and dug her nails into his thigh. “I said, no questions. You will speak only when I allow you to.”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “I have this medical condition. I can’t shut up—Ouch!”

  She dug her nails in deeper.

  He looked down to see if she had drawn blood. “That wasn’t very nice,” he said, looking up at her. “You put something in that ice cream you gave me, didn’t you.”

  “Of course,” she said. “A touch of opium. Good for dreaming.”

  “I didn’t dream. I just slept.”

  “You must have weak chi. That’s inner energy, in case you don’t know.”

  “I know what chi is. Like tai chi.”

  “Very good.” She bowed her head to him.

  “So what am I, an addict now?”

  She clawed his thigh again. “You’re still asking questions.”

  He just stared at her, refusing to let her see that the pain bothered him. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  She grinned a lopsided grin. “I like your spirit. And no, you are not an addict.”

  “How do you know? I’m an addictive personality.”

  “You are a meddlesome personality.”

  “Oh, I’m not that bad,” he said. “Untie me and I’ll show you what a nice guy I can be.” He was smiling at her, but his heart was hammering. Sunny could definitely be a genuine wackarino. With all the S&M stuff she had in here, there was no telling what she might try to do to him. His eye went to the extra-large Shirley Temple dress, and his stomach bottomed out.

  She let go of his thigh and ran the side of her index fingernail down his sternum as if she were making an incision. “Why are you here?” she breathed in his face.

  “Because you brought me here. By the way, where are we?”

  She pressed the point of her nail into his nipple. “No questions.” She sounded sultry all of a sudden. “There is one thing I want to know from you. Are you here to harm Arnie?”

  Marvelli laughed nervously. “No, of course not.” If you don’t count bringing him in to serve twenty-five to life as harm, he thought.

  “You’re lying,” she said in a whisper, pressing on his nipple as if it were a faulty doorbell.

  “Why would I want to harm Arnie? I want to sell him chocolate.”

  “Please don’t insult me. I didn’t buy that story when you first told me, and I don’t buy it now.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  She reached over to the cart and picked up a ballpoint pen and a small pad. She dropped the pad on his chest, then picked up something else. “To get a truthful answer, I must ask the I Ching.”

  She shook her fist as if she were throwing dice, then dropped something on his chest. He looked down and saw three quarters nested in his chest hairs. She clicked the ballpoint and marked down on the pad two short lines side by side. She picked up the quarters and threw them again. This time she drew one longer line above the first two. She kept doing this, marking down new lines each time she threw quarters. Marvelli tried to figure out what combination of heads and tails produced a long single line as opposed to two short lines, but lying flat on his back, he couldn’t always see what she was writing down. Finally he just asked.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I told you.”

  “Consulting the I Ching.” “Exactly.”

  “Of course,” he said wryly.

  “Of course not,” she replied.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “I get it,” he said. “I say ‘Of course,’ and you say ‘of course not.’ Yin, yang.”

  She scowled at him. “Don’t get cute. You don’t understand a thing about this.”

  “You’re right. What the hell do I know?” he said with a shrug. “I’m Italian.”

  She kept throwing down the quarters on his chest until she had two sets of lines, six in each set. She picked up the pad and studied it for a while, her expression growing tighter and grimmer. Suddenly she tossed the pad across the room and glowered at him. “Mountain over earth, earth over earth,” she seethed.

  “Is that bad?” Marvelli asked.

  “You tell me.”

  He stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged.

  “The foundation is uncertain,” she said. “Movement in any direction can cause disaster. Treachery is possible everywhere. And you are the cause.”

  “Come on now. You can’t lay everything on me.”

  “So you’re saying you’re not the source of all treachery?” Her glossy scarlet lips loomed over him, gleaming moistly in the dim light.

  “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m not who you think I am,”

  “Who do you think I think you are?”

  “I don’t know who you think I am … not exactly.”

  “Then how can you say that you’re not who I think you are?”

  “Can we start from the beginning? I’m getting confused.”

  “Confusion is the child of deception.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. This woman wouldn’t know a straight answer if it bit her on the ass. “Are you going to untie me?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Why not?”

  “I must have the truth first.”

  Marvelli rolled his eyes. “Can I at least have a towel or something? It’s cold in here.”

  “I was planning on covering you.”

  “Good. With what?”

  She flashed her lopsided high-gloss grin. He followed her eyes to the tray full of sundae toppings. He sighed inwardly. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “I’m nothing but serious.”

  “I don’t want that stuff all over me.”

  “I don’t intend to put it all over you.”

  Marvelli furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the sound of this.

  She laid her hand on his crotch. “I’m sending my chi” she declared.

  “Please don’t do that,” he said. Her hand was very warm. She curled her fingers, and her nails moved lightly over his skin. Her breasts were hovering right above him, flesh encased in black rubber. The little guy couldn’t help but respond. “Stop. Please,” he said.

  She just grinned. “I can’t. You need a banana to make a banana split.”

  “Then let’s go to Dairy Queen.”

  “A mighty big banana,” she purred with satisfaction.

  He swallowed hard. Of all times to go for the gold, he thought in annoyance. She kept curling her fingers, brushing his skin. His whole body was throbbing.

  “Enough. Please,” he begged.

  “Yes, I guess that’s big enough,” she said matter-of-factly, as she reached for the can of whipped cream. “Brace yourself.”

  She pressed the spout, and whipped cream spurted out in a rush. It was icy cold,
and it made him shiver. She concentrated the whipped cream on his crotch, covering it completely in high fluffy peaks. When she was through, he looked like he was wearing a lemon meringue pie.

  She took a hand towel and used it to pick up the plastic squeeze bottle of chocolate sauce. “I microwaved this before I came in. I wanted hot fudge.” Sunny inverted the bottle and dripped squiggles of steaming chocolate sauce over the whipped cream.

  “Hey! Watch it!” he blurted, as her swirling movements became freer and more artistic, straying from her target and leaving lines of hot chocolate on his bare thighs.

  “There,” she said, squeezing out the last drops of chocolate with a farty whoosh. “How about a little hot butterscotch now?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Marvelli said, squirming under the leather straps. “Either hot fudge or butterscotch, but not both. That’s what I always say.”

  “Who said it’s for you?” she said with an evil giggle as she dripped butterscotch sauce all over Marvelli’s crotch until the jar was empty.

  She moved on to the wet nuts, carefully spooning out the walnuts in maple syrup, making sure there was an even distribution.

  Then came the multicolored jimmies, which she sprinkled by hand, like precious seeds. “I’ve never thought these added much to the taste,” she said as she worked, “but they do add some color to all that brownness.”

  “Whatever you say.” Marvelli’s voice constricted as he felt the hot toppings seeping through the whipped cream. No pictures, he thought. Please, don’t take pictures. If Loretta ever saw him like this …

  Finally Sunny unscrewed the jar of maraschino cherries and speared one on the nail of her index finger. She leaned down close to his face, twirling the cherry in front of his nose. “These are supposed to be very bad for you. The red dye causes cancer. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, I think I read that somewhere.”

  “Are you worried about what this cherry will do to you?”

  “Yeah. I am.” He pressed his head back into the padding of the table, but the cherry was so close he saw two of them.