Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca?

by G. M. Ford

  "I've been traveling incognito."

  Again, she tried unsuccessfully to pry one of the white geometric cubes loose, failed, and turned to me. I shrugged.

  We'd managed to avoid talking about Buddy. Instead, we shook hands, patted backs, and reshaped old times until we were certain we'd be the last people to make a pass at the table. Everyone was spread throughout the house, eating off their laps. The party was in remission.

  Bettina's esoteric entrees remained untouched; Rebecca was concerned. "Somebody has to at least take some of this stuff," she whispered from behind her plate. "Her feelings will be hurt."

  "Go for it," I suggested.

  Dispiritedly, she gouged the casserole, which this time broke apart. A quivering blob came loose with a wet sucking sound. Shaken loose from the spoon, it vibrated obscenely on her plate.

  "I hope the boys in blue didn't give you a hard time," I said.

  "No, no. They're always the soul of discretion. Dr. Duvall this, Dr. Duvall that. They always act like it's a clerical mistake for me to be listed among our known associates."

  Ed and Tina Reynolds passed us on the right and headed directly for the easily recognizable food on the far side of the table. This was all the encouragement Rebecca needed. We hustled over, absconded with the last mortal remains of the real food, and found a couple of seats on a battered brown leather sofa. We munched Maryland crab cakes and peeled shrimp.

  "Arniie." Bettina. Knickknacks wobbled on the shelves. No response. "Arniiiiie," again.

  "Where is the birthday boy anyway?" Duvall asked between bites.

  "Probably out having his stomach pumped."

  "Seriously."

  "He's out on the back porch getting people who haven't been stoned in years wasted out of their minds."

  "We better leave before they come back and start to talk."

  I silently agreed. Bettina spotted me and clanked over, spilling white wine all the way.

  "Where's Arnie?" she demanded.

  "He's out back trading recipes," I said.

  "Whatsamatter, Leo? You got a problem? Did we wake up on the wrong side of the futon today or what?"

  "If we woke up on the wrong side of anything together, Bettina, trust me, it wouldn't be a problem. I'd immediately kill myself. No problem."

  Duvall elbowed me viciously.

  "You should get so lucky, Waterman. You don't have what it takes."

  "You're right, Bettina. I'm missing both a lobotomy and a bookmark." Another pistonlike elbow threatened to break the skin.

  "Fuck you, Leo," was the best Bettina could manage before stumbling off on her search for Arnie. Rebecca shook her head sadly.

  "What I can't figure, Leo, is why you came. I thought for sure I'd have to do this one alone. You and that woman" - her eyes followed Bettina - "and believe me, I use the term loosely, have always detested one another. Why bother?"

  "I was already here," I said.

  Duvall arched an eyebrow. I told her the story.

  I'd spent the night in Arnie's backyard. After unloading Caroline Nobel, I'd swung by Kmart, picked up a cheap sleeping bag, and rolled over to Arnie's place. Deserted. Then I remembered the Eugene trip. Even better. I let myself into the backyard, closing the gate behind me, and backed the truck against the fence. The house was locked.

  As I stood on the back steps deciding what to do next, the wind suddenly shifted out of the south, and a hint of salt joined the air. The thunderheads that had stood at attention all day slid across the sky from the Sound, filling the air like cannon smoke, blotting out the last of the sun. the trees took on a strange green cast as though I was looking at the world from underwater. I sprinted back to the truck.

  It rained hard, blistering the truck and the camper with a deafening ten-minute drum solo. I checked for leaks. Everything shipshape. Just as quickly, the rain ended. The truck looked clean. The backyard had been transformed; the once-dusty thatch now had a black sheen. I walked up to the Avenue and gorged myself on Ezell's chicken, picking up a sixer of Portland Ale on the way back. Somewhere between ale number three and four, I slipped into my new bag and slid off the end of the world.

  I slept in. Around ten, when I poked my head out of the camper door, music was wafting from the windows of the house. Arnie was back. I dug out some fresh clothes, located my dop kit, and headed for the shower. Thank God I knocked.

  Bettina opened the door. I'd forgotten all about Bettina. Barefoot, she was wrapped in a flowing blue robe whose thirty-odd yards of material were covered with crescent moons, stars, and assorted mystical symbols. With her barbed-wire hair sticking straight out from her head, she could have been used to repel boarders.

  I tried to look humble. I was prepared to be nice. I was, after all, uninvited. She started it. She took me in from head to toe, slowly working her small lips.

  "Very stylish, Leo," nodding slightly. Bettina had a way of squeezing words out through her lips without moving them. The sound came from somewhere deep within her cheeks and angled down toward her angelic lips to be finally extruded through her pastry bag of a mouth.

  "Sorry," I said. If she'd closed the door, I'd have gone gently into that good morning. But no. No, she had to start. More nodding.

  "Very chic. I especially like the rip in the knee of the jeans. Very trendy. It's all the rage with the kids, you know. But, Leo" - she leaned in perilously close - "the crusty stuff around the tear is definitely optional, and that flap of skin hanging out could, in some circles, be considered overkill, if you know what I mean."

  Like the rest of the known world, I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Bettina filled silence the way air fills a vacuum.

  "The scratches on your face and the three-days' growth are a nice touch though. Definitely lends a plebeian touch." I started to speak. She held up a chubby hand. "No, no, let me guess. You went out looking for cigarettes, and somebody stepped on your face."

  She gave me her most unctuous smile, the one I hated most. It looked a lot like the grille on a fifty-seven Chevy. If you missed the feral little eyes, you could easily mistake this particular grimace for genuine warmth. I knew better.

  I barged past her into the small foyer. "Arnie up?"

  "The party isn't till two, you moron."

  "I'm going to take a shower," I said, heading for the stairs.

  "Wait a minute," she bleated. "You can't just - " I was gone. Arnie was rolled up, cocoonlike, in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He raised his head. I waved.

  "Gonna hit the shower," I announced. He weakly waved back. Two fingers. The peace sign.

  "Have at it, old pal," he croaked, sagging back into the covers.

  I stayed in the bathroom for hours. I stayed until she had long since given up banging on the door and was threatening to call the fire department. Arnie's insane laughter was a constant source of strength. I hung around for the rest of the day, just to piss her off. Just like old times.

  "That, and I figured Wendy was sure to show up for the party," I finished.

  "Wendy, eh. And what would you be needing from Wendy?"

  Wendy Harris, former cheerleading captain and present real estate mogul, was engaged in animated conversation with a bald guy who looked vaguely familiar.

  "Who's that guy she came with?" I asked, pointing to the far side of the living room. "Is he the one that works for the EPA?"

  "That's her new husband. Ed or Ted or something, and no, the EPA guy was that short guy with the good hair. He was number three, I think." I remembered. "Ed or Ted is a bond broker of some sort," she added.

  "What number is this?" I asked. Wendy got married the way some people changed underwear.

  "Four, maybe five, but who's counting?"

  While my attention had been diverted, Duvall had slipped her plate down under the sofa. I shook my head sadly.

  "What if one of Arnie's cats finds that stuff?" I asked.

  "We have a pet overpopulation problem, Leo, or don't you read the papers? Just doing my part. What
say we go meet Wendy's new hubby while we still have the chance."

  "Great idea," I said.

  She started to rise. I stopped her. "Listen. When we get over there, be charming. Talk about cadavers or something. Keep the hubby busy long enough for me to get the number of the EPA guy from Wendy."

  We smiled, backpatted, and handshook our way across the room. The party was thinning out. The eat-and-run types had done so. Those with small children had made the appropriate baby-sitter excuses. I hadn't seen Arnie in two hours. Wendy and Ted or Ed were more or less keeping to themselves over by the front windows. It took Rebecca and me ten minutes to cross the thirty feet. Wendy pulled us the last eight.

  "Leo, Rebecca, come here, I want you to meet Ted." She handled the introductions. Within a minute, Rebecca had managed to separate Ted from Wendy. I made my move.

  "Wendy," I said.

  "Yes, Leo." She twinkled. Flirting was a way of life with this woman.

  "Before Ed - "

  "Ted," she corrected, moving in closer.

  I searched for a delicate phrase. "Before Ted, there was that guy who worked for the EPA - "

  "Charles."

  "Yeah, Charles."

  "He was two before Ted."

  I ignored her. "Whatever." So much for delicacy. "What exactly was it he did for the EPA?"

  "Regional director for enforcement."

  I tried to look impressed. I shouldn't have bothered.

  "Sounds good, but doesn't pay. I tried to steer him into consulting, he could have made a fortune, but the boob was fixated on public service. Can you imagine? He thought - "

  "Do you have a number for him?" I interrupted. She was taken aback.

  "Whatever would you want his number for?"

  "I need to talk to somebody in the EPA. I figured he'd be a good place to start." Her eyes glazed over.

  "You're not still doing that security guard thing, are you?"

  There was no point in correcting her. " ‘Fraid so." Her expression screamed regret, but at least she was polite.

  "I think I have one of his cards in my purse," she said, reaching behind her to the windowsill. She rooted around and came out with a business card. I reached for my notebook. She handed me the card.

  "Keep it. And Leo," she whispered, "be careful of that little jerk. A bureaucrat from the top of his head down to his tasseled little shoes, if you know what I mean."

  I figured this meant that she'd been only moderately successful in separating him from all his worldly goods.

  Wendy, as was her custom, expected an immediate return for the favor. "Do you still own that big old house up on Queen Anne?" she asked.

  "Sure do."

  "You live there?"

  "No. I rent it out."

  "For goodness sakes, why?"

  "It was my parents' house. I don't know; I just wouldn't feel right living there. I'd always hear my mother telling me to clean the place up."

  Now we were on Wendy's turf. I could see the wheels turning.

  "Leo," she said, moving closer, "do you have any idea what we could get for that place with the market the way it is? It must be worth at least - "

  "I can't sell it."

  "You can buy a lot of sentiment with a half a mil - "

  "The old man left me the place in trust. I can't sell it until I'm forty-five." I'd ruined her day.

  "What a pity."

  "Annette sure thought so." To my ex-wife's dismay, the house and my trust had not been part of the community property settlement.

  "Your father must have been quite a - "

  "Good judge of character," I finished for her.

  The timing was perfect. Just as Wendy was about to respond and almost certainly piss me off, Ted and Rebecca inserted themselves back into the conversation. Ted began to speak.

  "So, Leo, Rebecca tells me that you're a private investigator."

  "It pays the bills."

  Wendy couldn't resist. "If it paid a few more, he could make an honest woman out of Rebecca here," she explained to Ed/Ted.

  I could see Duvall's temple veins throbbing.

  She smiled, sweetly. "I think, therefore I'm single," she said. At that moment, Maureen Hennesey, with all of the usual manic effervescence that made her the chairperson of every committee in the city, lunged out of the back room.

  "Bettina's reading everyone's cards on the back porch. You all have to come." Grabbing Wendy and Ted or Ed by the elbows, she herded them toward the back of the house. Rebecca and I appeared to trail along.

  The minute Maureen and her prisoners rounded the corner in front of us, we made our escape. Great minds do think alike.

  "I'm outta here, Waterman," Duvall announced.

  "Me too. I'll walk you to your car."

  Rebecca, with her usual sense of good timing, waited until we were outside to talk business.

  "The Times made arrangements for Buddy. Seems it was part of his recruitment package," she said as I opened the door for her. "They picked him up yesterday. Funeral Tuesday, at ten o'clock at McLannahans."

  Chapter 18

  "Screw the police department," said Jed James.

  "In my past experience, it usually works the other way around, Jed."

  "You haven't been served with a warrant, right?'

  "Nope. I don't know what's waiting back at my place. I haven't been home in a few days. I'm over at - "

  "No. Don't tell me," he snapped. "Under the circumstances, it's best I don't know where you are."

  "They want me for - "

  "Screw ‘em," he repeated. "You've got a right to be anywhere you want to be. They've got nothing to say about when you go home and when you don't. Until such time as you're officially notified that you're wanted for questioning, you don't owe them a thing."

  "Rumor has it that the TPD is looking for me pretty hard."

  "Indubitably," he said quickly. "They called here Friday looking for a line on you. I had a few messages on your machine. I, of course, as an officer of the court, cooperated fully."

  "Of course."

  He switched gears. "I've still got that matter I needed - "

  "Sorry. I've got too many loose ends right now, Jed."

  "So it seems, Leo." He hesitated. "You've got all of my numbers, right? The office, the car, my home number. You got all of them?"

  "Yup."

  "If and when the Gestapo catches up with you, call me, day or night, and I'll come to the rescue."

  "Will do."

  "Remember, no statements. Just make your call."

  "I'll remember."

  "Later." We hung up simultaneously.

  I was camped out on Arnie's back porch. Yesterday's card-reading room was Arnie's version of a home office. Probably a tax dodge.

  Arnie had left early to take Bettina to the airport. I'd promised to lock up. I called Hector.

  "Hector, it's Leo."

  "Steel at large, eh?" He giggled maniacally. "Bueno, Leo, bueno."

  "How's things around the ranch, Hector?"

  "Jew was right, Leo. Dey was plenty pissed off about de car."

  "I figured."

  "Dey been comin back once a day to check for you. Yesterday, dey wanted to know eef I remembered eef de car had an antenna or no."

  "What did you say?"

  "My eeenglish no so goood, Leo. Jew know how I mean? ‘Antenna? What ees dis antenna?' " He cackled wildly.

  "You been watering Mrs. Gunderson's plants?"

  "Got eet covered, Leo."

  "See you soon."

  "Not eef I see you first." He was still laughing when I hung up.

  Next, I called Charles Hayden at the number Wendy had given me. Mr. Hayden was in conference. As much as it pained me, I had to use Wendy's name to get through. He was not pleased.

  "What?" he demanded, without benefit of an introduction. "Let me guess, she's got a new lawyer. I don't know what she told you, buddy, but if you're working this on a percentage, you're in deep shit. They already picked me clean." />
  "I'm not an attorney, just a friend," I said, hoping to show him down.

  "Wendy doesn't have any friends, only victims."

  "An old friend."

  "What was that name again?"

  "Waterman. Leo Waterman." The line was silent.

  "Are you that investigator she knows from high school?"

  "The very same," I answered.

  He growled into my ear, "Let me guess, I'll bet this is choice, she's hired you to - "

  "I'm not working for Wendy," I interrupted again. More silence.

  "Sorry," he finally said. "I guess I get a little overwrought whenever that woman's name is mentioned. I didn't mean to - Anyway, what can I do for you, Mr. Waterman?"

  I told him the story. I kept it vague. He listened, interrupting me only twice for clarification.

  "Have you personally been to any of these sites on the maps?"

  "This afternoon," I said. He tried hard to convince me not to go, but I kept talking. Later in my story, he broke in again.

  "Do you know precisely what it is that they're dumping?" he asked.

  "All I'm sure of is that it's worth killing over."

  He mulled this over. I was hoping he'd take me seriously. It was worse than that. He seemed genuinely concerned.

  "Bring the maps on down here, Mr. Waterman. We'll handle it from - "

  "No. This is something I've got to do."

  "Listen, Waterman. If you don't cooperate, I can have a team of U.S. marshals - "

  "You and your marshals need probably cause, don't you?"

  "So?"

  "Probable cause takes too much time. My guess is that whatever is going on is about to cease, at least temporarily."

  "Why's that?"

  I told him of my encounter with the guards at the depot. He sighed.

  "What makes you think they're going to stop?"

  "They were nervous already. Nervous enough to kill people," I added. "Saturday night's little encounter will probably push them over the edge. My bet is they'll go to ground."

  "You may be right," he admitted. Lowering his voice. "Maybe it would be best if you could get us something solid first. With the fucking red tape the way it is around here, maybe . . . " He trailed off.

  "Call me first," he said finally. "Not the police. We don't want them mucking about in anything toxic either. Call me." He rattled off a string of numbers where he could be reached. I wrote the numbers down.