Monstrosity

by Edward Lee

  Clare nearly wilted at the smile.

  “Well,” Joyce said. “We promise there won’t be any hot tub parties.”

  Another comment, directed toward Clare: “I don’t care if you do—just, please—not while you’re on duty. Harry would skin me alive.”

  A delicious spicy aroma wafted around them when the busty barmaid re-appeared with Dellin’s carry-out order. “Time for me to run. See you all on Monday.”

  Clare’s spirits plummeted. She wished for anything to say to keep him there, if only for another minute. Then she remembered…

  “Oh, Dellin? One last thing, since you’re here anyway.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Remember when you were breaking me in the other day? You showed me that one room where they had that big machine with the nozzles? You were saying how it was a great example of wasted federal tax dollars because you didn’t really have a use for it at the clinic but they installed it anyway?”

  Dellin stood for a moment in silence, thinking. “No, I—”

  “You said it was a tumor killer. Intensified radiation something or other.”

  “Oh, yeah, you mean the IRMT. It might as well be a half-million-dollar toilet seat, ’cos we don’t need it. But what—”

  “I read somewhere once that Michael Jackson has a half-million-dollar toilet seat,” Rick interrupted. “Solid gold.”

  Joyce winced at him. “Shut up.”

  “Anyway,” Clare finished to Dellin. “It’s gone.”

  Dellin gave her a baffled look. “What’s gone? You don’t mean the IRMT?”

  “Yeah. I was doing a routine door search on my last shift, so I stuck my head in there, and the room was empty. The nozzles, the table, all the computers and monitors are all gone. It was no big deal to me that the stuff was gone—I’m sure you or Harry simply ordered it to be returned to the supplier. What I don’t understand is how and when. Whoever came and took it back—somebody at the clinic would’ve had to open the main gate for them and sign them in and out. No one on security did, and the computer would’ve indexed the time the gate was opened and closed, but there’s no record at all in the system.”

  Dellin finally spoke out of his confusion. “I never ordered it returned, and I can’t believe that Harry did without telling me, and even if he had—”

  “Like I said,” Clare added, “the in and out times would’ve automatically been logged in the computer. But they weren’t.”

  Rick looked at Joyce, shaking his head through his next sip of beer. “I don’t even know what they’re talking about.”

  “Rick, you never know what anyone’s talking about,” Joyce told him. “Ever. So for God’s sake. Please. Just shut up.”

  “That is really weird,” Dellin said. He seemed truly puzzled, even traceably angry. “I’m supposed to be in charge of all the clinic’s logistics. Looks like I’m not doing a very good job. I can’t imagine anyone stealing an intensified radiation modulation therapy system.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone even saying it much less stealing it,” Rick said. His next sip of beer dribbled when Joyce elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Seriously,” Dellin continued, more to Clare. “Something that big? It couldn’t very well have been stolen, could it?”

  “ I don’t think that’s feasible at all,” Clare said. “It’s not like a crooked staffer could put that kind of stuff in their pocket and walk out with it. There’s just no way that equipment could’ve been taken out of the building in that short a time period without somebody seeing, and no way to get it past the main gate without authorization. Only the four of us, plus Harry, have a key to the room anyway.”

  “I didn’t take it, I swear!” Rick said. “I’ll be honest, though, I thought about it, but when I asked my fence what he’d give me for a half-million-dollar intensified radiation modulation therapy system, he threw me out, told me to come back when I had some good watches.”

  “Dellin?” Joyce offered. “I’ll kill him if you want. Just say the word and I’ll do it. I’ll cap him right here.”

  Dellin didn’t even hear her; his annoyance wasn’t at Rick’s verbal antics, it clearly was the information. “I’m really stumped on this one.”

  “I’m sorry to bug you about work stuff on your day off,” Clare said.

  “Forget about that; it’s your job to tell me. I just can’t figure.” Dellin ran a hand down the side of his cheek, thinking. “None of it makes sense.”

  Clare was eased that her report didn’t pester him. “There was that, and the second delivery from Hodder-Tech. That kind of struck me as odd too, since we just got one the other night.”

  Now Dellin was rubbing his eyes, half-chuckling to himself in aggravation. “Hodder-Tech Industries. A second delivery. Not more manga-ferric elements?”

  “Yes, exactly. So you didn’t know about it?”

  “No. I did not. And, yes. It’s odd. It’s more than odd. It’s got to be a mistake. Those element assemblies last six months per unit, at least.”

  “How many units are installed at the clinic?”

  “Just one.”

  All Clare could do was shrug at him. “Hodder-Tech must think we have two, then. They’re delivering another order sometime on Monday.”

  “Want me to ask my fence what he’ll give us for a magna-ferric element assembly?” Rick offered.

  Joyce wagged her finger right in front of his face. “Cement-head, they’re having a private work conversation. That means it’s time for Wicky Poo to shut face-hole and stop making noise.”

  Dellin smiled at the whole mess. “Well, my fish is getting cold, and the last thing any of us need to worry about on the weekend is this kind of dreck. I’ll…fix it on Monday. See ya all later.”

  They all bid their goodbyes as he left but just before he walked away, he winked at Clare.

  Oh, what I wouldn’t do…

  “Hey, Clare,” Rick said. “You can turn the pinball machine off now.”

  “Huh?”

  “’Cos that’s what your face was lit up like for the whole time he was here.”

  “It wasn’t!”

  Joyce raised her brows, nodding.

  “Oh, well. Screw it,” Clare resigned. She’d just have to work harder at being less obvious. A lot harder.

  “He really is a good-looking guy,” Joyce remarked.

  “Just like me,” Rick edged in.

  “Yeah, Rick, but Dellin’s got some things you don’t.”

  “Name one.”

  “Smarts. Acumen. Sophistication.”

  “I said name one.” Rick scoffed. “And who needs all that anyway, when you can be the total package?”

  “What a lunk-head.”

  “Yeah, but I’m your lunk-head.”

  Joyce and Rick were kissing now, and these were no pecks on the cheek. Clare ordered another beer, and when she took a stray look around, several other couples at the bar were kissing too. Over one woman’s shoulder, Clare saw Dellin’s Mercedes through the window, driving away.

  It had been fun to get out with Joyce and Rick, but Dellin’s sudden appearance had sabotaged her mood. She’d been delighted to see him but now that he was gone, she felt dryly depressed. The romantic frolic around her seemed surreal, details and proportions warping. She could hear the wet, clicking kisses; she could see the moist shine on joined kips. When she glanced again at her companions, they were going at it, Joyce’s breasts pressing against Rick’s chest, her hand under the bar top slipping up the gap of Rick’s shorts. Somehow, though, it wasn’t lewd, it was passionate, their kisses joining them in their love, verifying their honest need for each other. Clare actually tensed up a bit watching them, not because the public display was too explicit but because it was arousing. It made her wish that she was doing the same thing—with Dellin.

  Clare managed a smile in spite of her dejection. At least someone’s going to have a good time tonight.

  — | — | —

  Chapter Twelve

 
; (I)

  “It’s a pretty night, ain’t it?”

  “Quiet.”

  Cinny wouldn’t let herself be discouraged—even after he’d hit her earlier at the trailer. She was a positivist. They were both itchy from withdrawal and flat broke, but Cinny was determined to make this work. He said she talked too much, and that it got on his nerves; Harley Mack was a good man but when he went too long without his ice, he got mean. Heavy drinking would take the edge off a little, like the other night when they’d come out here and Cinny had been bitten by that big fat toad and the snake. Harley Mack had only hit her a few times that night, and he’d said he was sorry later. But tonight they didn’t even have enough money for a bottle of cheap whiskey.

  Withdrawal with no alcohol made Harley Mack really mean.

  He’d dropped her off for a couple of hours on 34th street, along the motel and strip joint corridor, but it was useless. Cinny didn’t mind turning tricks if it meant money for their relationship—she would do anything for that. Some of the men who picked her up weren’t very nice and smelled bad. But who said life was easy? she reasoned. Her mother had always told her—when she was turning tricks herself: Hardship is good for the soul, honey. It’s God’s way of testing us. Moses suffered hardships, Jesus suffered hardships, and that’s why we gotta suffer hardships too. Cinny looked at life the same way—even though she doubted that Moses or Jesus ever had to turn tricks for meth money.

  When Harley Mack picked her back up later, he’d punched her hard in the jaw when she confessed that she didn’t get a single trick. She was dizzied for ten minutes and saw stars, and he’d said a lot of mean things, “Good godDAMN, girl! You can’t even sell your skinny ass for ten bucks any more!” and “Useless bitch! I ought’a cut your heart and kidneys out and sell ’em to people who need transplants ’cos you are not worth a PINCH OF SHIT!”

  No, Harley Mack was no fun to be around when he got like this, but that didn’t thwart Cinny’s determination. You have to take the bad times with the good.

  It was late now; they dragged the boat up shore and covered it with palm leaves at the edge of the woods, and now they were sneaking back to that clinic where all the drugs were. Most of it was morphine, Harley Mack had said, because it was a cancer clinic, and they were going to sell it for meth money. Cinny was impressed with her drug-addict ethics. I would NEVER do morphine! It’s the same as smack. The only people who do morphine are white trash!

  “Harley M—”

  In about the same amount of time that it took for an eye to blink, Harley Mack had whipped around, sapped his big dirty hand to Cinny’s mouth, and was squeezing her lips shut so hard she whined.

  A finger pointed right into her face like a gun. “Not one word,” he said, gritting his teeth against the withdrawal. “I ain’t going back to the joint ’cos of your whiny motor mouth. If you say one more word, before we get into the clinic, I’ll bite your lips off and glue your teeth together with Crazy Glue. Understand?”

  Cinny nodded vigorously, a few tears of pain glittering in the corners of her eyes. I HATE it when he does that! she thought when his fingers let go of her lips. Sometimes he did it too hard, her lips would swell up so bad they looked like a big pink sucker. But she knew not to annoy him, not when he was jonesing this bad. Look at the bright side—in an hour or two we’ll have a whole bunch of junk to sell to the junkies, and we’ll be in crystal for months!

  That was the great thing about Cinny. There was always a bright side to being a busted, skinny, poverty-stricken redneck living in a rusted trailer and going absolutely nowhere.

  Harley Mack had brought his lock-picks—he was real good with them, he’d learned how to use them when he was in jail. He could open doors with them usually in the same amount of time that it took with the actual key, but he’d already said he wasn’t going to use them to get inside the clinic. Those outside doors were alarmed. That’s why he brought the cylinder jack, and the long crow bar. We’re going in through the floor, he’d said.

  Cinny had no idea how he planned to do that, but she didn’t dare ask. Her biggest worry had haunted her all night, though.

  That toad.

  And that awful two-headed snake.

  Both of the disgusting things had bitten her, and she still had the marks. And now her stomach squirmed because Harley Mack was kneeling down behind the clinic and unscrewing a ventilation screen that was set in the building’s cement footing.

  We’re crawling under there, Cinny realized with no small amount of dread. It’ll be dark and slimy and gross, and I’ll bet there’s a bunch more of those fanged toads and two-headed snakes under there…

  Harley Mack got the screen off in less than a minute; it was impressive—he’d done it with only the moonlight to show him where the screws were.

  But under there, Cinny knew, there ain’t gonna be no moonlight.

  He glared up at her, talking in a rough whisper. “We’re goin’ in now, and remember, not one word till we’re inside. Now gimme the flashlight.”

  Another bolt of dread fired up her spine. Did I bring the—

  “I told you to bring the flashlight,” he said in the deadest tone. “If you forgot the flashlight, I’m gonna snap your skinny neck right here.”

  Cinny, regrettably, didn’t have a great memory for details. She’d brought a bag with her, with cigarettes in it as well as several extra-large black plastic garbage bags for them to carry the drugs out in.

  But she didn’t recall ever putting the flashlight in there.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Harley Mack stood up and looked down at her with the blankest face. “You stupid brainless bitch. You forgot the flashlight. Now I have to go all the way back to the trailer to get it. But you know what? I’ll be going back to the trailer alone because I’m killin’ your useless ass right here and now. I’m gonna get rid of you once and for all because you are the biggest fuckin’ headache—”

  Cinny reached into the bag, then handed Harley Mack the flashlight.

  “That’s my good girl,” he said.

  Thank you Jesus and Moses! Thank you for puttin’ that flashlight in the fuckin’ bag!

  Cringing then, she followed Harley Mack in through the hole, crawling on her belly. She more or less had to follow his scuffling sounds because she could barely see the light ahead of her. It had been hot enough outside, but under here it felt like a hundred and twenty degrees. Sweat sopped her skin at once, and all the dust and dirt down here just stuck to her. Each movement forward left her praying that her hand or knee wouldn’t land on one of those snakes, and soon it was worse because Harley Mack was moving much faster; he was way ahead of her now.

  Just when she couldn’t see any of the light any more—If I get lost down here and he has to come looking for me—

  She heard the ratchet working.

  That’s two I owe ya, Moses and Jesus…

  She followed the steady metal clacks until she found him again.

  “Piece’a fuckin’ cake, baby,” he said, cranking the jack’s handle. A flat brace-plate against the tip of the crowbar was pushing the floor up from underneath; Cinny could hear it crackling.

  She was happy to see that he was happy. It took a while but his efforts eventually pushed up a big enough square of flooring for him to break it all the way back like a trap door, and then he was climbing up.

  A light came on overhead; the opening turned bright white. Just seeing that light made Cinny feel better—down in the humid darkness, she felt on guard, nervous. Then:

  “Jesus H. Christ in a hotdog stand…”

  “What is it?” she whispered up.

  Harley Mack’s head appeared in the opening, grinning down. “Luck’s on our side tonight, baby!”

  “Huh?”

  He reached down and hauled Cinny up through the hole by one wrist. Next thing she knew she was standing on her feet in a small brightly lit room full of shelves.

  “Can ya believe it? The room we bust up into just happens
to be the drug locker!”

  Small boxes and bottles lined the shelves. Cinny saw weird words on the them: DURA-MORPH, DILAUDID, MS-CONTIN. Lower, there were boxes of glassine vials that read MORPHINE SULPHATE. That pretty much said it all.

  Harley Mack put his brawny arms around Cinny and gave her a great big kiss.

  Cinny was shocked.

  “Aw, baby, I’m sorry I treat ya like shit and slap ya around, but it’s just cos I’m strung out. With this haul, we’re set for a long time. I’m gonna buy you nice things like what you deserve—and lots of crystal.” He hugged her tight. “Aw, baby, I love you so much!”

  Cinny burst into joyous tears, bruised, puckered lips and all. Just as she went to kiss him back, he thrust one of the black garbage bags at her.

  “Here. Start fillin’ ’er up.”

  It took all of five minutes to clear the shelves of their treasure trove of drugs. The street value would probably be in the five figures. But Cinny’s exuberance wasn’t just from the score, it was from her love. Without havin’ to worry about dope, we can have a normal loving relationship—the way it’s supposed to be!

  “That was fast, huh?”

  Cinny looked into a toothy grin. Then Harley Mack dropped both bags into the hole.

  “Smartest thing to do is get out of here right now.”

  “Let’s do that! Let’s go back to the trailer’n cuddle!”