Strange Bedfellows

by Rob Byrnes

  “Next to the sink.” Chase leaned in the doorway between the rooms, where he could see Grant’s back. “I mean, think about it. Is sixteen grand worth maybe killing someone?”

  Grant didn’t answer, so Chase finally retreated to the couch. A few minutes passed before Grant returned. He was holding two full coffee cups.

  “Here,” he said. “Drink up.”

  “I don’t want coffee.”

  “You’ll want this coffee.”

  “No, I don’t…Wait a minute.” Chase stared into the cup. “Did you drug my coffee?”

  Grant smiled crookedly. “Just a little bit. Mine, too. I’m gonna prove that there’s nothing to be worried about. We’re gonna be our own guinea pigs.”

  “Now this…” Chase stared into the cup again. “This is a very bad idea.”

  Grant ignored him and lifted the cup to his lips. “Bottoms up!”

  And he drank.

  A few minutes after he felt his legs buckling, Grant woke up on the couch. Through a fog that used to be thoughts, he struggled to remember what had happened.

  Something in that fog was making noise. He blinked a few times until his vision was finally clear enough to sort of kind of vaguely make out Chase, who sat several feet away and stared at him.

  Grant started to realize the noise was coming from Chase’s mouth.

  And he was saying…what? Grant listened until the noise started to make sense.

  “Grant? Grant, honey? Grant?”

  He smacked his dry lips a few times and tried to answer, but what should have been a crisp “I’m fine” came out sounding something like “Friviliffer.”

  Still, Chase was relieved. If Grant’s eyes were open and he was trying to speak, then he wasn’t dead. Up until that moment, Chase had his doubts about how this experiment was going to end.

  More time passed, and Grant was finally able to speak and be more or less understood. “See? That was nothing. Just a short nap.”

  “A short nap?” Chase looked at his watch. “Maybe. If by short you mean eleven hours. I had to call in sick for my shift at the Groc-O-Rama, so I hope you’re happy.”

  Grant managed a lopsided smile at Chase’s joke. Until he realized that Chase wasn’t smiling.

  He looked at the window and saw blackness. He’d downed the laced cup of coffee around noon, which meant…

  Eleven hours?

  “Eleven hours,” repeated Chase as if reading Grant’s thoughts. “You’re one hundred eighty pounds—”

  “Hundred seventy-two.”

  “If you say so. Anyway, so you’re one hundred seventy-two pounds, and I figure that June woman is maybe one-twenty max. Meaning that dose you gave yourself would’ve probably killed her.”

  Grant shifted on the couch until he could swing his legs off the edge and sort of feel his feet touch the floor. “How about you? You got the lighter dose and you’re what, one-sixty?” Chase nodded. “How long were you out?”

  “You think I’m some kind of idiot? I’m not gonna drink that stuff.”

  Bracing his arms against the couch, Grant attempted to stand. He quickly realized that wasn’t going to happen, so he settled back into the cushions and tried to will his body to start working again.

  “Maybe coffee would help,” he said finally. “Coffee without drugs in it, please.”

  “Can’t remember the last time I heard you say please.” Chase walked to the kitchen, returning less than a minute later with coffee reheated in the microwave.

  He sat next to Grant on the couch. “Now don’t be mad, but I have something to tell you—”

  “Talk.” Grant took the cup of coffee, holding it tightly in case his hands decided to imitate his legs. He was happy to discover the hands were shaky but held a grip.

  “Jamie’s on his way over.”

  Grant frowned. Then he sniffed at the cup. Just in case. “And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me there’s a good reason that social-climbing idiot is coming to our apartment.”

  “Just that he called and said he wanted to discuss this June Forteene job. It was while you were out, so I couldn’t exactly ask you. And anyway, I was getting a little concerned, since you’d been under for so long. I figured some company wouldn’t be a bad thing, especially if I was gonna need help moving a body.”

  “True love,” Grant mumbled.

  “Not for nothing, but you did OD on whatever was in the baggie.”

  “Oh, so this is my fault.”

  “Well…” Chase wanted to agree, but knew better. “Of course not. It’s just that Jamie knows these people—Kevin Wunder and the congresswoman—”

  “Representative,” Grant remembered.

  “Right. That. Anyway, he knows them, so I figured if he’s got something to say, maybe we should listen.”

  Grant was going to disagree, even though it was too late for that. It didn’t matter because the door buzzer sounded the moment he opened his mouth. So instead he took a long sip of coffee and hoped he wasn’t about to go down for another eleven hours. If that happened, Chase would pay for it the moment his legs were strong enough to hold up his one hundred-eighty-four pounds.

  He’d barely finished that thought—thinking being one of the many things the drug slowed to a crawl—when Jamie Brock was standing in their apartment. It wasn’t as if that had never happened before, but it still didn’t mean Grant had to like it or be especially polite about being a host.

  “Hey, Grant!” Jamie said by way of greeting.

  “Mmmph,” was the reply.

  “You okay?” Jamie sensed that Grant was not quite himself, which probably had something to do with the way his numb ankles were turned in against the floor and he held a coffee cup in two shaky hands like he was afraid it’d run away from him.

  “Whaddya want?” was the gruff response.

  Jamie, unfazed, planted his frame on a chair across from Grant and smiled. “I think I know a way to increase the take on this job.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Sure! All you have to do is steal the picture from June Forteene and get that twenty thousand dollars from the Peebles campaign—”

  “Correct me if I’m missing something,” snarled Grant. “But isn’t that already the plan?”

  Jamie bounced a little in his chair, a demonstration of enthusiasm he was already far too old to pull off. “Yes, yes, but here’s my idea. After you steal the picture and return it, and after we get the twenty grand, you steal it again and sell it back to June Forteene! Then we can make more money off it! Maybe Kevin Wunder will even hire you to steal it back again, and we can make even more money!”

  Grant started to shake his groggy head but stopped when he thought he could actually hear his brain bump against the inside of his skull. “There are quite a few things wrong with your great idea. But here’s the big one: Every time you mention stealing something, it’s a job for me and Chase. Every time you mention collecting money, it’s me, Chase, and you. Seems you’re spending an awful lot of time thinking up ways to make me do more work so you can line your pockets.”

  “That’s because I’m an idea man!”

  “Oh fer chrissakes…” Grant looked for a place to set the coffee cup down, saw nowhere close enough to avoid using his shaky legs, and instead tightened his grip.

  “I wish you’d think about it. This could turn into a real cash cow, Grant.” Jamie sat back, still smiling.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d wipe that smile off your face, ’cause your plan has so many holes even you should be embarrassed. For one, don’t you think June Forteene is gonna wonder why a bunch of crooks are bringing her a picture that was already stolen from her? Don’t you think she’s gonna call the cops right away?”

  Uncertainty crossed Jamie’s face. “I hadn’t really thought of that. I just figured she’d want it—”

  “And don’t you think Wunder and Peebles and those people are gonna know we had something to do with it if that picture makes its way back to her? You think they’re s
tupid enough to hire us again to steal something we’ve already stolen? Hell no. They’re gonna call the cops. They may be sleazy politicians, but they’re not as stupid as you are.”

  “Hmm.” Jamie tried to affect thoughtfulness by scratching at his chin. “Maybe there are some aspects to my plan that need to be refined.” He took a self-affirming pause. “But I still think it’s a great idea.”

  “You know my great idea?” Grant asked. He looked at Chase, his face deadpan. “Baby, why don’t you get Jamie a cup of coffee? I’d like to talk about my great idea with him.”

  Jamie glanced at his fake Rolex. “Coffee? But it’s almost midnight. I don’t think…”

  Grant smiled, baring teeth. “Oh, but I think you should have a cup of coffee. It’s very important to me. I wanna make sure you’re sharp and alert when I tell you about this idea of mine.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “So sure.”

  Jamie still wasn’t sure—in fact, he was starting to regret taking the expensive cab ride out to Queens in the first place—but he saw wisdom in placating Grant, so…

  Chase cleared his throat, and Jamie saw he was looking disapprovingly at Grant. “Can I talk to you about this?”

  “Nah.” Grant waved him away. “Remember the coffee you didn’t touch earlier? Why don’t you throw it into the microwave for Jamie.”

  “I really don’t think…”

  Grant again bared his teeth. After eighteen years, Chase understood. “I’m trying to be a very nice host to our very good friend. So I’m afraid I have to insist.”

  The next noise in the apartment was the beep Chase LaMarca’s finger produced when it pushed a button on the microwave.

  Chapter Six

  Jamie slept for only five hours, so they figured they’d come up with what was probably a safe enough dose for a woman of June Forteene’s stature. Which meant Grant and Chase were now free to go about their business with relatively clear consciences. Since Jamie and Chase were roughly the same weight, Grant sort of regretted that they couldn’t have determined the safe dosage earlier. But it had been fun to see Jamie collapse in his living room, which more than made up for that.

  The next morning, Grant put on a brown UPS uniform he had stashed in the back of his closet for occasions like this and went to work. Unlike most UPS deliverymen, though, he went to work on the subway. In uniform.

  He rode a 7 train into Manhattan and walked a few blocks up Eighth Avenue from the Port Authority until he found the address Wunder said housed June Forteene’s offices. The building was old and drab, a washed-out brown ten-story box with offices above an adult video store advertising Live! Nude! Girls! sharing the ground floor with the lobby.

  There was no doorman, but a steady stream of people moved through the lobby. Grant pushed open the front door and checked out the building directory. A lot of talent managers; a few design firms; a few tenants that sounded sketchy, even to him…and June Forteene Enterprises on Floor 5.

  He took the elevator to the fifth floor.

  He’d been under the assumption June Forteene ran a one-woman operation—now that he’d been brought up to speed on globs or blogs or whatever, that seemed to be the nature of the business—so he was thrown off when the elevator doors opened and a pale young man looked up from a desk positioned directly in front of the elevator. Behind him, the wall was adorned with a red-white-and-blue, American-eagle-emblazoned banner with the words “June Forteene: An American Crusader for Freedom.”

  The eagle was gold, like on Kevin Wunder’s tie, and Grant thought, Must be a trend.

  The pale young man sized him up. Grant hoped he wouldn’t notice the old UPS uniform was fraying and didn’t fit so well anymore, but the tone in the kid’s voice indicated he’d already been read loud and clear.

  “Can I help you?”

  To even things out, Grant took a good look back at him. He looked college age, at most, and sported stylish eyeglass frames he probably didn’t need, since people who wore frames like that seldom did. He also wore a red sweater vest, which helped Grant feel confident that, if it came to it, he could probably take him in a fair fight. Not that it was part of the plan; it was just an impulse he had when he saw the red sweater vest and hipster frames.

  Emboldened, Grant squared his thin shoulders and did his best to project authority. He was the UPS guy, after all. “So where’s this dentist office?”

  “Dentist office?” The young man in the sweater vest furrowed his brow. “There isn’t a dentist on this floor.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. How come they told me the dentist was on five, when there ain’t no dentist on five?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The guy.”

  “The guy?”

  “The guy downstairs.”

  The kid clucked disapprovingly. “Which guy downstairs?”

  “Like I told ya, the guy who said the dentist office was on five.”

  The young man shook his head. Not a single hair moved. “Look, I don’t think there’s a dentist in the entire building, but there’s definitely not a dentist on the fifth floor. Maybe you should go back downstairs and ask again.”

  “Ask who?”

  “The guy.”

  “Which guy?”

  The kid sighed. “Whoever sent you…” He sighed again. “Look, I’m sorry, but there’s no dentist on this floor.” He looked longingly at his sudoku puzzle, half-buried under a manila folder. “And I’m very busy.”

  Grant eyed the room that opened up behind the young man. An old wooden door frame—old wooden door still attached, with a half-open transom across the top—outlined the entrance. He couldn’t see anyone moving around in there. “So what kind of place is this?”

  “It’s a…it’s a place that wouldn’t interest you.” The young man sensed something was wrong beyond the UPS man’s seedy appearance and took off his probably unnecessary glasses. “Don’t you have deliveries to make?”

  “Sure. To the dentist.” Grant scratched his head. “Mind if I take a quick look?”

  “Yes! Yes, of course I’d mind!” Finally he stood, puffing out a pipe-cleaner chest. “I already told you there’s no dentist on this floor. We’re the only fifth-floor tenant.”

  Grant scratched his head again. “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “June Forteene Enterprises.” He nodded at the banner on the wall behind his desk. “This is a media office. Not a dentist.”

  “Never heard of this June Forteene.”

  The young man huffed. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  But Grant had seen enough. This wasn’t going to be as easy as drugging June Forteene and robbing the place. It was going to be a lot more complicated.

  It always was.

  He probably should’ve checked that out before almost overdosing, but it had given him an excuse to drug Jamie, so at least there was that.

  “Thanks for your time.” Grant turned and pushed the elevator button. “Guess the guy was wrong about the dentist.”

  The kid frowned and didn’t answer.

  On the way back to the lobby, he considered what he now knew. This certainly wasn’t a one-woman operation, and June Forteene Enterprises appeared to rent an entire floor. He’d greatly underpriced the job.

  Out on the sidewalk, he swallowed hard, took his phone out of the pocket of his fraying uniform, and dialed. Much as he hated to do that.

  When Chase answered, Grant kept it short. “Meet me in Manhattan.”

  Kevin Wunder, a bag over one shoulder, stepped out of the white brick office building on Second Avenue and made a beeline for the curb, intent on hailing a cab and making his lunch appointment five minutes before his guests. His plan was to wrap up a real estate developer’s support—personally and financially—for Austin Peebles’s congressional campaign over steak frites at Smith & Wollensky. There was really nothing like red meat to complement the blood sport of politics.

  He’d barely raised his hand for a cab when he heard s
omeone call his name.

  He squinted against the bright sunlight and saw them. It was those criminals. And they were standing just yards away from him on the sidewalk in broad daylight!

  And the sort of scary older guy was wearing a UPS uniform! An ill-fitting, faded, fraying UPS uniform!

  He waved off a cab that slowed at his hail. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Grant’s eyes were hidden behind generic sunglasses he’d picked up one night at the tail end of robbing a CVS. “We need to talk.”

  “Not here!” Wunder’s eyes darted around, looking for a secluded space where they wouldn’t be seen. He settled on the alley at the side of the building that led back to the trash bins. He started for it, waving over his shoulder for Grant and Chase to follow.

  When they were tucked between two Dumpsters, Wunder snapped at them.

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “This job is bigger than we thought.” Grant said it evenly, not reacting to the outburst. “This June woman doesn’t work alone, for one thing.”

  Wunder shook his head. “I never said she worked alone. That was never part of the deal.”

  “Yeah, well now it is. We can’t do the job for twenty grand.”

  “What do you…?”

  Chase, whose own sunglasses looked like they were from Versace but were really from a guy who sold knock-offs on a corner a couple of blocks from Versace, said, “This is at least a thirty-thousand-dollar job.”

  Wunder huffed. “Thirty? You’re lucky we’re willing to pay twenty! There’s no way the campaign will authorize a thirty-thousand-dollar expenditure for this.”

  Grant and Chase shrugged in unison, a variation on their cross-armed projection of solidarity.

  “It’s too big a risk for twenty grand,” said Grant, shoving his hands deep inside the pockets of his UPS uniform. “Plus, we might need to bring in another person. Therefore, the job is gonna cost more.”

  Kevin Wunder wasn’t having any of that.

  “No way. Twenty thousand or nothing. In fact…In fact…” He began sputtering. “In fact, take the twenty thousand off the table!”