Ribbons

by Evans, J R

  Ice cream soda, lemonade, punch. Tell me the name of my honey bunch.

  Then you would recite the alphabet until the rope tangled you up. The last letter you said would tell you the name of your crush. Lois hadn’t been very good. She’d never made it to N.

  There was no sign of the homeless man in the playground, and the door to the building looked chained up tight. She was disappointed. She thought about leaving the bag of food by the swing where she had seen him once before, but she really wanted to give it to him in person. She wanted to hear a bit about his story. Maybe she could help him.

  He could be around back she supposed. It would be a nice quiet place to rest, assuming the neighborhood kids left him alone. The cans and candy wrappers on the ground looked pretty old, and even the graffiti was fading, so she figured they didn’t visit very often.

  As she followed the fence along the side of the building, another rhyme came to mind.

  Johnny gave me apples. Johnny gave me pears. Johnny gave me fifty cents to kiss him on the stairs. I gave him back his apples. I gave him back his pears. I gave him back his fifty cents and kicked him down the stairs.

  Then she heard something quack. It was a tinny sounding quack, like a duck using an old microphone. But it sounded familiar.

  She stopped and looked around. She didn’t see anybody along the fence, and she was still pretty far from the back of the building. There was some plywood lying on the ground about midway along the building. It was littered with a few fragments of broken glass. She looked up at the building and saw the window that it used to cover. There was a voice coming from the window.

  She hesitated for a second, but she wasn’t sure why. She already knew that this poor man probably had some mental health issues. He seemed harmless enough, though. She was more worried that he was so far gone that nobody could help him. She stepped over to the window and looked in.

  And there he was. He actually looked cleaner than she’d expected, and his skin was pale, not leathery and tanned from overexposure. He was sitting on an old beanbag chair in a room full of broken toys. The toys looked like they had been put on display rather than scattered around and forgotten. His back was to her, and he held one of the toys in his lap. It was round like a clock but it had pictures of animals on it instead of numbers. There was a big, red arrow in the center that pointed to a duck.

  “I know, but how many more?” The man wasn’t speaking to her. He was staring down at the toy. A See ’n Say—that’s what it was called.

  He pulled the cord on the See ’n Say, and the arrow started to spin around. It landed on a cartoon image of a sheep. A letter or symbol had been drawn over the sheep, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

  The toy spoke with a cheerful but staticky voice. “The sheep says, Baaa.”

  The man was quiet for a second, and Lois was just about to say something when the man nodded and said, “I just don’t know if I can keep doing it. I can’t sleep. I keep seeing their faces.”

  Lois didn’t know what to make of that.

  The man pulled the cord again, and this time the arrow landed on a cow. It had a different symbol on it, but she couldn’t make that one out, either. “The cow says, Mooo.”

  This time he shook his head. “You’re right. They shouldn’t have to sell themselves like that. I know I’ll see them again soon. Maybe we’ll all have a laugh about it. And the blood doesn’t bother me so much anymore. It’s not that.”

  “The pig says, Oink, oink, oink.”

  The man fished something out of his pocket. It was long and rectangular, and a dull gray. He ran his thumb along the side, and a blade clicked out from one end. “It’s just . . . I can’t sleep because their faces are so beautiful. I want to set more of them free. I don’t think I should like it so much.”

  Lois’s stomach twisted. She didn’t normally watch the news. It was always so dramatic. Every rainstorm was a hurricane, and every criminal was a terrorist. Still, there were some stories you just couldn’t avoid. Everyone was talking about those girls. Even Neal. His computer had told him about a murderer right here in Las Vegas. A man who killed women. Prostitutes.

  “The cat says, Meow.” Did he pull the cord that time?

  All of a sudden, he sounded very defensive. “No, I don’t touch myself! It’s not like that.”

  This time he moved the arrow by hand, pointing it directly at the sheep once more. He pulled the cord. “The lamb says, Mmbeh.” That wasn’t what it’d said before.

  The man seemed to calm down a bit. “Okay, I can do that. I have somebody else in mind. She tells everybody she’s having a good time, but I think she’s burning out. She seems ready to walk the path.”

  Lois’s heart was thumping in her ears. She was afraid the man with the knife could hear it, too. She gripped the bag of food in a clenched fist. She had just wanted a little change of pace. To do a good deed. Feel like she could still be needed. She should have stayed home and taken her nap.

  She should be running, maybe screaming. She knew she had to move, but her body was frozen in place. She had to turn as quietly as she could and put one foot in front of the other until she got to the road. Then she had to run. She couldn’t stop. Not until she was in her house, on her couch next to Neal, with the phone in her hand and the police on the line. If she could do all that, she might start playing Warcraft.

  26

  Matt thought the man lying on the bed looked like a stage magician who had just made his own clothes disappear. He was naked and pigeon chested, but he still wore a top hat and sported a nice goatee. Sitting on his lap was a ventriloquist’s dummy. It wore a top hat, too. And unlike his owner, the dummy still had most of his clothes on. He was dressed in a tux with tails, but his tuxedo pants were pulled down. Jutting out between the dummy’s legs was an erection. Whether it belonged to the man or the dummy was hard to tell because it was completely covered by a pink French tickler.

  “Hi,” said Matt. “Mr. . . . Johnson? Really? That’s the name you’re going with?”

  Mr. Johnson gestured dramatically to the dummy sitting on his junk. “And this is Wally.”

  They were in the party room. Matt stood next to the bed with Christy behind him by the door. She was hugging a short silk robe around her body and glaring at Mr. Johnson. There was a panic button hidden behind one of the nightstands, and Christy had pressed it a few minutes ago. It lit up a small red light behind the bar in the parlor, as well as one on the desk in the office. This was the first time the panic button had been used since Matt had taken over. He wasn’t sure exactly how to react.

  “It sounds like there’s been a little confusion here,” said Matt.

  “I’m not confused,” said Mr. Johnson. “She didn’t give me what I wanted. She’s a whore. That’s her job.”

  “Well, now, her job is to entertain you on an hourly basis,” said Matt. “So maybe you were confused on the services offered per hour?”

  Wally turned his wooden head toward Matt. “She’s a fucking whore!”

  Not bad. Matt didn’t see Mr. Johnson’s lips move at all.

  Christy was less impressed. She lunged forward at him. Luckily, Matt was between them. He held out his hands toward Christy to block her path.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said.

  She stopped, but the look in her eyes was demanding blood. Matt kept one hand up in front of her, but then he pointed the other toward Mr. Johnson. The guy didn’t seem fazed at all by Christy’s reaction.

  “Hey,” said Matt, “no need to be rude. We’re just having a customer service conversation here.”

  Wally’s eyebrows waggled. “Maybe you should off-shore that shit.”

  Matt was reminded of his call to the financial software helpline. He wondered what Sean might say in this situation.

  “You know what I’m gonna do?” asked Matt. “I’m just gonna look right past that so we can get to the point. You and Christy had an understanding.”

  Both Wally and Mr. Johnson turned to
give Matt blank stares. Christy snorted and walked over to the nightstand where she had left her clutch purse.

  Matt continued. “You agreed to the . . . entrée she was offering. But then you tried to add a side dish? One that we don’t even serve here. Now she’s pretty upset.”

  Mr. Johnson waved a hand dismissively. “Is this about money? Do you want more money?”

  As he said that, Wally took the opportunity to bend over and start sucking on the French tickler. He made glugging sounds as he bobbed his head. It was kind of like when a ventriloquist drinks a glass of water while his puppet performs a monologue. Matt was beginning to realize that this was not really a customer service type of conversation.

  “Well,” Matt said, “no. I think what you owe us is an apology. This has been very traumatic.” He couldn’t take is eyes off the bobbing puppet. “You know . . . for all concerned.”

  Wally looked up from his work. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you and Nip Slip here go fuck yourselves off?”

  Matt turned toward Christy and started walking her out the doorway. “This guy’s a jerk. Let’s just get him out of here.”

  Christy had something in her hand. A small cylinder of some sort. “Sure. One sec.”

  She stepped back inside the party room and closed the door. Matt stood alone in the hallway for a second. Maybe she forgot something. Then he heard Wally through the door.

  “Oh, you want some more? I thought you might. Once you’ve had wood, nothing else is quite as good.”

  Christy didn’t reply, but there was a faint hissing sound. It was followed by screaming.

  “Ahh! Fuuuck! My eyes! Fuuuck!”

  “I can see your lips moving this time,” said Christy.

  There was a sharp crack, like something got slapped hard. Matt was a little afraid to open the door now. Whatever it had been, it sounded like Mr. Johnson was still more concerned about his eyes.

  “They’re fucking melting!”

  “You both need to work on your manners,” said Christy.

  Christy opened the door. She was carrying Wally’s head. “They apologized.”

  Matt noticed a single drop of blood on her forehead. “Oh, you’re bleeding!”

  “No, I’m not,” said Christy.

  There was a whimper from the bed and something thumped to the floor. Christy closed the door and looked at Matt. She wasn’t quite smiling.

  “I suppose I should have taken care of that,” said Matt. “That’s what managers are for.”

  Christy pointed Wally’s head at the bandage on Matt’s nose. “You’ve already taken one for the team.”

  “Yeah, well, I snore now,” said Matt.

  Something got knocked over as Mr. Johnson fumbled around in the party room. “Is anybody there? I’m fucking dying here!”

  Matt raised an eyebrow at Christy.

  “He’s not dying,” said Christy. “Unless he’s severely allergic to pepper spray.” She sounded hopeful.

  “Okay,” said Matt, “I’ll see if I can get our new partner to help me take out the trash. My guess is, he’ll just watch and laugh instead.”

  Thug Guy did laugh when Matt told him. He was in the kitchen standing by the sink with his sleeves were rolled up and his newsboy hat pushed back. He had a knife in his hand. It was the stubby one with the hook at the tip. From the break room, Matt couldn’t see what Thug Guy was cooking up.

  Thug Guy gestured to his ear with his knife. “I thought I hear moaning. Not the good kind. Is he dead?”

  “What? No! Why would you think that?” asked Matt.

  Thug Guy rolled his eyes and then looked down at whatever it was that he was cutting. “He could be bad for business. Maybe he tell people what happen. Maybe he tell cops.”

  Matt crossed his arms but lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t kill him. That’s crazy!”

  Thug Guy didn’t lower his voice. He held something with one hand and jabbed his knife into it with his other. “Is natural. The strong prey on the weak. You must kill to survive. Don’t you watch . . . uh . . . Discovery Channel?”

  Matt moved toward the kitchen, hoping Thug Guy would lower his voice if he got a little closer. “Nobody’s going to prey on anyone. I just want to get him out of here. Beside, the cops aren’t a problem. We have that covered.”

  He could see the kitchen counter now, and Thug Guy wasn’t preparing a meal. Newspaper had been laid out over the counter. Lying in the center of it was a dead crow. Blood was pooling around it but not a lot. There was a cut between the bird’s legs, and Thug Guy was using the hook part of the knife to tease something out of it.

  Thug Guy didn’t look up from his work. “Oh? Maybe I misjudge you? Maybe you are big-time criminal? A real gangster?” The sarcasm was clear, even with his thick accent.

  The smell hit Matt as the hook pulled out some of the bird’s organs. It reminded him of the animal cages at the zoo. Not rotten, but an exotic kind of stink. Something caught inside the crow, and Thug Guy gave a little tug. There was a popping sound, and another glob of bird parts spilled out.

  Matt’s throat felt thick as he swallowed. “I think gangsters plan their crimes. I just kind of blunder into them. So are you gonna help me?”

  “Sure. I will help. Maybe I break something small as reminder.”

  “You mean on him, right?”

  Thug Guy used his knife to scrape something into the garbage disposal. He looked up at Matt. “Sure.”

  Matt figured he’d better get back to Mr. Johnson in the party room. He also didn’t want to learn any more about crow anatomy.

  He left Thug Guy to clean up and went back out into the hallway. The party room door was wide open. Matt’s stomach tightened, and he stepped quietly down the hallway like he was expecting somebody to jump out at him.

  He slowly leaned his head into the room. “Hello?”

  Nobody.

  It was still early, so there weren’t a lot of people in the parlor. That was good. At least there wouldn’t be a big audience if Mr. Johnson decided to go perform onstage. Matt didn’t hear any yelling so he guessed that wasn’t the case. He slowly turned in a circle, trying to figure out where a deranged ventriloquist might hide.

  “What are you doing?”

  Matt looked toward the foyer and saw Christy just coming down the stairs. She had jeans on now and a loose-fitting blouse. Not her normal work clothes.

  “Where’s the puppet master?” asked Matt.

  “Oh,” said Christy, “he left. As soon as he could see again, he grabbed his clothes and ran. He couldn’t see very well, though. I think I heard him hit a garbage can with his car. At least, I hope it was only a garbage can.”

  “Did he take Wally?” he asked.

  “Most of him,” said Christy. “I put his head on my nightstand.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “Maybe a little. I’ll sleep fine, though,” she said. “I think we still have Mr. Johnson’s credit card at the bar.”

  “Drinks are on him, then.”

  “I’ll have to have mine later. I’m heading over to Erica’s. She wanted to talk.”

  Matt was surprised. “You guys talk?”

  “Sometimes,” Christy said. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends. I think that’s the way she wants it.”

  “What about the cop?” asked Matt.

  “Dani? They broke up,” she said. “That’s why she wants me to come over. We’ll probably also bitch about you. Because that’s what you do when the boss isn’t around.”

  Matt nodded. “That makes sense. What about Adam? We’re not closing for a while.”

  Christy smiled. “He’s in his clubhouse. I can’t get him out of there. He’d sleep in there if I let him. Do you think you could check in on him in a bit?”

  “Yeah, sure. I like it in there myself.”

  “Thanks. I shouldn’t be too late.”

  Matt watched Christy go. Thug Guy must have been watching her, too.

  “Very beautiful,” he said.
r />   Matt turned to look at him. Thug Guy had a knowing smile on his face, like they were sharing some kind of secret. Matt didn’t like it. He decided to change the subject as quickly as possible.

  “False alarm,” he said. “Mr. Johnson found his own way out. You can go back to your . . . work.”

  Thug Guy tilted his head from side to side and shrugged. He gave Matt another smile and lumbered back into the break room. Matt wondered who he was making his new crow for. Or maybe he just collected them as souvenirs from his travels.

  Matt thought about heading out to the clubhouse now. The day had turned out to be stranger than most, and hiding away from the rest of it sounded like a good idea.

  27

  The SWAT van smelled like sweat. It was fresh sweat, but that didn’t make it smell any better. Dani was crammed in the back with seven other officers. Each of them wore a helmet and layers of body armor. She was trying to think about her training. She had completed Dynamic Entry training a couple of years ago, but she wasn’t part of the regular SWAT team. As the investigative specialist on the case, it was her job to help direct the team after the location had been secured. In a few minutes the side door would slide open and there would be no more time to think.

  One of the other officers was bouncing his leg in a steady rhythm by the ball of his foot. Another leaned his head back with his eyes closed. Dani was nervous, but she clearly wasn’t the only one sweating.

  Dwayne sat up front with the driver. He turned back to face them as the van slowed, and it started making its way through residential streets. “No sirens. No lights,” he said. “We’ll park half a block up and approach on foot. We announce ourselves as we breach.”

  They had gone over all this earlier in the war room. Three separate times. With maps. He was stating the obvious again, but this time she thought it was more for the team than for himself. He was getting everybody focused before the doors opened and he yelled, Go, go, go, go!