Chaos, Desire & a Kick-Ass Cupcake

by Kyra Davis

  “A private citizen doing it?” Officer Cornrows asked, doubtfully. “Maybe.” The cop who had just parked got out of his patrol car and gave my officer a friendly wave. “Hey Errol,” Cornrows called to his redheaded work-buddy. “Lemme ask you somethin’.”

  “What’s that?” Errol (who the hell names their kid Errol anymore?) lumbered over to us. His steps were heavy, a symptom of his considerable size. Errol was not a man you would want to mess with.

  “Is it illegal for a private citizen to put a GPS tracking device on someone else’s car?”

  “Huh?” he put his hands on his hips and studied the ground as he thought it over. “Well, if they did it without the other person’s permission and then used it to, I don’t know, follow them around town or somethin’ then…maybe it could be used to strengthen a harassment case? Or if it messed up the car I guess you might get them on defamation of private property. I don’t think there are any specific laws about GPS though.”

  Our legal system hasn’t caught up with our technology!

  Those had been London’s words. I had spent that whole meeting rolling my eyes but he was right.

  “Thank you,” I said, politely, “for your help. I think I should probably head out now.”

  “If you see that guy again, just give us a call,” Officer Cornrows said, a little patronizingly. I suspected he didn’t believe anyone had followed me at all. To him, I was just another San Francisco head-case.

  And why wouldn’t they see me that way? That’s exactly what I had thought of London. I was becoming London. I stepped back into my car, my mind going to that weird Shakespearian text on London’s old phone. I started up the engine, but before I could pull out I heard my own phone chime. A text.

  My hand was actually trembling as I pulled my phone from my bag. If the text read Out, damned spot I was going to lose it.

  But the text was from Dena. I read it. And then I re-read it, and then re-read it again. Her words, while not Shakespeare, were alarming:

  Hey Soph, Jason and I have a bit of a situation here. Do you still have that lock-picking kit?

  “I’m convinced that the secret ingredient in every perfect marriage is a healthy dose of denial.”

  --Dying To Laugh

  Anatoly stood in the foyer, arms folded across his chest as I walked through the front door. Ms. Dogz was on one side of him, Mr. Katz on the other as if he was some sort of Disney hero who had been able to call on his animal friends to help him fight the villain. I had a horrible feeling I was the villain.

  “I know--” I began, closing the door behind me.

  “Damn you.” The words weren’t all that indicting in and of themselves. He had said them enough times before. But his tone now, his inflection…it turned the words to ice.

  “Anatoly, I had to do this. If you would just listen to what I found out, you--”

  “Enough.” Ms. Dogz looked up at him with a certain degree of alarm. Mr. Katz simply licked his paw. “Do you not care at all about your word?” he asked. “You’ll be forty soon--”

  “Low blow,” I snapped. “And I’m still a few years away, thank you very much!”

  “At what point do you start acting like an adult?” he went on, almost as if I hadn’t spoken. “You have no respect for me, for your own safety, for rational thought--”

  “If you would just let me tell you about my night you’d find that I’ve been exceedingly rational today.”

  “Rational? I have never met a woman as smart as you who acts so stupidly. You--”

  The doorbell rang, cutting Anatoly off and inciting Ms. Dogz to let loose with a series of barks.

  Anatoly moved his gaze behind me to the windows on either side of the door. “It’s Dena,” he said, coolly.

  “Oh. Right.” I turned and reached for the door that Ms. Dogz was already scrambling at. But before I opened it I paused and looked back over my shoulder. “I know how angry you are right now. I get it and you have the right to be. But for right now…would you mind getting out your lock-picking kit?”

  “I’m not contributing to your breaking into any more apartments,” he said, a little menacingly.

  “Yeah, that’s not it.” I cracked open the door so as not to let Ms. Dogz out. Dena met my eyes and gave me a what-are-ya-gonna-do smile. Jason was standing a few feet behind her so he couldn’t be easily seen from the window. He was wearing jeans, no shirt and a leather jacket draped over his shoulders. His hands were behind his back.

  I grabbed Ms. Dogz by the collar and pulled her back as Dena strutted past me in leather boots. Dena was the only person on earth who could still strut with a limp. “I think I accidentally kicked the key into the heating vent,” she said. Jason walked (no strutting for him) right behind her looking more irritated than embarrassed.

  “What’s going on here,” Anatoly asked, warily as I closed the door and released the dog.

  Dena yanked the jacket from Jason’s shoulders and turned him around so Anatoly and I could see the handcuffs that kept his hands in place. Curious, Ms. Dogz went up to sniff them before sniffing Jason’s ass.

  “I’ve never had this issue before,” she admitted, studying her handy-work. “A lot of the newer cuffs have a safety latch so you can open them without keys if you have to. But this is an old pair so…”

  “Oh good God,” Anatoly grumbled and turned to go get the picks.

  “I assure you, God has nothing to do with these proceedings,” Jason called after him with a grin.

  Dena stepped a little closer to me and asked in a hushed voice, “How did things go at the police station?”

  “I told Dena that was bad advice,” Jason interjected before I could answer. “Never, ever get the cops involved. They’re just the warrior class of a hierarchical and oppressive societal structure.”

  “Um, yeah,” I glanced briefly over at Jason, “I have no idea what that means.” Turning back to Dena I said, “Whoever was following me took off and I didn’t get any details on the car. They couldn’t help me.”

  “Fuck,” Dena muttered under her breath.

  Anatoly returned with the kit in his hands. He walked around Jason. “Let me take a look at the lock.” He got down on his knees so his face was eye level to the handcuffs. It also placed him eye level to Jason’s ass. “We’re not doing it this way,” Anatoly said, authoritatively as he quickly got off his knees. “Follow me.”

  Anatoly turned and walked into the dining room. I tailed him and Dena, Jason, Ms. Dogz and Mr. Katz all tailed after me. Had we a tuba and a baton we could have been our own marching parade with just the gentlest nod toward S&M-love. Anatoly took a seat in a dining chair. Jason walked over and turned his back to him, offering up his chained wrists. It was probably a minor improvement in that Anatoly was no longer on his knees but Jason was still shirtless and handcuffed and his ass was still essentially in Anatoly’s face. It was going to take a while before I would be able to scrub that image from my brain.

  Jason beamed at me as Anatoly looked through his kit. “So you finally understand that corporate America is trying to kill you.”

  “Corporate America is not trying to kill me,” I replied, taking a seat at the other end of the table. “Anita London, or whatever her real name is, she’s the one trying to kill me.”

  “Why do you say that?” Anatoly asked distractedly as he studied the cuffs. He then shook his head and muttered, “I didn’t know they made locks like this anymore.”

  “Like I said, old cuffs,” Dena explained taking a seat next to me.

  “Tonight I discovered that this Anita London person is not who she claims to be.” I glanced over at Anatoly but he only had eyes for the cuffs. “London had a wife but she’s dead. She committed suicide nine months ago! The person I’ve been talking to is a fraud!”

  “So wait,” Jason said, thoughtfully, “how does corporate America figure into all this.”

  “Oh my God, Jason, it doesn’t,” I snapped. “I don’t know who this woman is but--”


  “I know who she is,” Anatoly said, calmly as he continued to fiddle with Jason’s lock.

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “Anita London, I know who she is,” he repeated.

  I exchanged looks with Jason, then Dena. “Who is she?” I asked.

  “She’s Anita London,” he answered, simply.

  I groaned, in no mood for dumb humor.

  “I’m serious,” he continued. “I’ve done my research. Her name is Anita Jaynes London, she goes by Anita Jaynes at work. She and Aaron London had been married for twenty-four years.”

  “No, you’re thinking of Ann London,” I corrected. “That’s who Aaron married and she’s dead.”

  “She did go by Ann for a long time,” Anatoly noted. “And as far as all her public records are concerned she’s very much alive and currently employed with a start-up tech firm…God damn it, who designed this lock?”

  “I’m not going to be stuck in here forever am I?” Jason joked, then added, in a more worried tone, “Am I?”

  “I can get you out, but it will take a minute,” Anatoly growled.

  “I don’t understand,” I began, but the doorbell interrupted me.

  Everyone in the room froze with the exception of Ms. Dogz who went running to the door, barking all the way. Mr. Katz blinked once, kitty language for, only a dog would be stupid enough to volunteer for the front line.

  What was outside my door…at ten o’clock at night, without an invitation?

  Anatoly pushed his chair back from Jason’s ass. “Let me handle this,” he said coolly, getting up to confront whatever danger waited on the front steps.

  “I’ll come too,” Jason volunteered. “I’ve studied kick-boxing.”

  “I’ll bet on the dog’s teeth over your feet.” Anatoly turned and strode out of the room, not waiting for further argument.

  Dena and I looked at one another. What if it really was someone who had come here to hurt me?

  Dena reached deep into her hobo bag and pulled out a rolled up whip.

  “First a leash, now a whip, it’s like you carry an entire Red Room in your handbag,” I whispered, trying to lighten the mood and distract myself from my own mounting anxieties.

  But Dena wasn’t listening. Slowly, she got up, unfurling the whip before taking a broad stance in front of both Jason and me, ready to defend us. She looked like an action hero from an 80s popcorn flick. Indiana-Dom.

  But the first sound we heard from the foyer, aside from Ms. Dogz’s incessant barking, was not the blow of a fist, or the cocking of a gun. It was a voice. A happy voice. Mary Ann’s voice.

  “Is she okay?” I heard her asking. “Is she here?”

  Anatoly said something unintelligible and Mary Ann came bursting into the dining room carrying a large, rectangular, yellow, Tupperware container and wearing a huge smile. Ms. Dogz was at her heels eagerly sniffing her jeans. She stopped short as she took in shirtless-Jason with the handcuffs and leather-boots-Dena with the whip. But then she just shrugged. “Okay,” she said with cheery dismissiveness. She put the Tupperware down on the table and gave Dena a quick hug. She briefly contemplated giving Jason a hug too but ended up just indulging him with a smile and an awkward wave from two feet away. Apparently embracing shirtless men in handcuffs was a bridge to far.

  Of course when it was my turn she rushed over to me and threw her arms around my neck. “You were followed?” she said, disbelievingly. “How scary!”

  I pulled back. “How’d you know?”

  “I texted her,” Dena informed me as she folded back up her whip and Anatoly re-entered the room. “It was too crazy not to share.”

  “I should have called,” Mary Ann admitted, “but I just had to check in on you and see for myself that you were okay! Last time I talked to you…I mean you said you were okay but that was only after you screamed and I heard the car peeling away.”

  “Yeah, I probably should have called you back after that,” I said, abashedly. Mary Ann pulled up a chair, as if sensing the one to my right was meant for Dena

  We both looked over at Anatoly who reclaimed his seat. Jason immediately turned around and backed up into him so Anatoly could continue his rescue mission.

  Mary Ann’s forehead creased as she studied the two men. “Okay,” she finally said, with her trademark cheerfulness, indicating that she thought it best just not to ask.

  “Anatoly was telling us he tracked down some information about Anita London but…” I shook my head and turned back to Anatoly. “Don’t you think you may be looking at a different Anita London than the one I’ve been talking to? You’ve never seen her.”

  “I’ll happily show you ID shots of her but it doesn’t change the fact that a woman named Anita was married to Aaron London, they didn’t divorce, they have a daughter together, and she’s not dead. However, it appears that Anita and Aaron have maintained separate residences for over half a decade.” His tools scraped against the metal of the handcuffs as he spoke. “This investigation is less than a day old. Give it more time and I’ll find out more details.”

  “It’s only been a day since you signed on to this investigation, but I’ve been working on it for almost a week.” Ms. Dogz came over to me and lay down across my feet, a clear sign of solidarity.

  “You’ve been spinning your wheels for almost a week.” Anatoly dropped the tool he was using back in the kit and brought out another.

  “What are you two even talking about?” Dena snapped, falling back into the chair beside me. “Just put a fucking sign in your front yard saying Done With This Shit. Let these crazy people know you won’t be poking around anymore and your problems will go away overnight.”

  “Blasphemy!” Jason shouted. “Sophie has an obligation to expose these corrupt, drug-pushing-overlords to public scrutiny. She has an opportunity here to lead the crusade against Big Pharma and their sinister plans for the failing State of America!”

  “The failing State of…” I began but Mary Ann leaped to her feet.

  “Guess what I brought everyone!” she exclaimed and hurried over to her Tupperware, opening it to reveal half a dozen cupcakes. A small, sculpted tower of light brown frosting with chocolate sprinkles decorated each one. The cupcake itself was a rich cocoa-brown. “There’s six here and five of us,” she handed one to me and then one to Dena. “I think the extra one should go to Sophie since she’s the one people are trying to kill.” She moved over to Jason and Anatoly, handing Anatoly one first. She seemed a little confused about what to do about Jason. “I guess I could...” she extended the cupcake toward his face. Jason opened his mouth eagerly waiting. It was enough to make Mary Ann rethink. “Oh, I have an idea,” she said, pulling the cupcake away before Jason could take a bite. “Dena why don’t you feed him? It’ll be like practice for when you feed each other cake at your wedding?”

  “We’re not getting married,” Dena said at the same time Jason declared, “Marriage is a puritanical conceit of a society desperate to create conformity!”

  “Um…okay,” Mary Ann said, her cheeriness wavering, but only a tad. “I still think maybe Dena should feed you?”

  “You want a bite of my cupcake, Jason?” Dena asked, uncrossing her legs and spreading them wide, holding her cupcake right in front of her crotch.

  “Okay, eww, no.” Mary Ann shook her head vigorously, showing the first signs of irritation.

  I smiled and took a bite of my cupcake. “Oh my God,” I exclaimed my mouth still filled with rich chocolate cake and the surprise of a creamy ganache filling. “This is insane!”

  Anatoly and Dena exchanged looks and then both took a bite of their own cupcake.

  Anatoly’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “You made these?” Dena asked.

  “Yes?” Mary Ann responded, uncertainly.

  “You are going to be a great fucking mom,” Dena replied taking another bite.

  “Hey, I’m being left out here,” Jason complained as Anatoly tried yet another pick on the lock…r />
  …and it worked. The handcuffs came loose, dropping to the floor as Anatoly unfastened them.

  “Holy shit,” Dena leaned forward, pressing her forearms across the top of her knees. “One bite of Mary Ann’s magical cupcake and you were able to free Jason.”

  Jason was rubbing his wrists where they had chaffed against the metal. “Thanks man, I owe you.”

  “Yes you do,” Anatoly said with a breath of relief. He pushed himself away from Jason’s butt once and for all and started back in on his cupcake. Jason, now free to feed himself took the cupcake Mary Ann offered.

  For a few seconds, we all fell silent as we nibbled away. Eventually I looked up at Anatoly again. “I haven’t been spinning my wheels,” I said, trying not to sound petulant.

  “No,” Anatoly agreed with a sigh, before taking another bite. “That was overly harsh. I just wish you would try to proceed with some modest degree of caution.”

  “Fair enough,” I mumbled, my mouth full again.

  “If you two insist on pursuing this,” Dena interjected, “maybe you could just be a little more discreet about it?”

  “Maybe, maybe it’s not corporate America trying to kill you personally,” Jason finally admitted as he munched away. “It could just be one corporation this time. I’m willing to give you that.”

  Oh my God! This is what Mary Ann had been talking about! It really is impossible to be a bitch when you’re eating a great cupcake!

  “It would be helpful if I could find out London’s stated cause of death,” Anatoly mused. “Anita told you it was congestive heart failure but she hasn’t published an obituary yet and while I’m sure the hospital filed a death certificate it’s unlikely to be available for a while.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh and looked down at my cupcake. Of course we couldn’t take Anita’s word on cause of death, I couldn’t even take her word for being Anita. Charity had been certain London’s wife had died. She had been working with him when it happened for God’s sake. So many things weren’t adding up. Speaking of which… “What about the underlined headline?” I asked.