The Big Kill

by Elise Sax

  “You’re so romantic.”

  “You want romance? I’ve got your romance right here.” He was smirking his little smirk, and he had definitely moved on to a different subject. Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood and get my mind off my father’s death, or maybe he was just being his usual horny self. “I’ll romance the hell out of you, Pinky. Let’s get home to get down to some dirty romance. Naked romance. That’s the most romantic of all romance, especially when I’m naked. All kinds of huge romance. Big, huge, well-endowed naked romance.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I said. “You’re porn star material. You’re King Kong.”

  “King Kong wishes he were me. Big, huge, romance Spencer. King Kong may be king of the jungle, but I’m king of the world. King of the bed. King of the Pinky.”

  “King of the Pinky?”

  “King of the Pinky happy bits. Delicious, hot Pinky happy bits. Sonofabitch!”

  Spencer screamed and the car swerved. The car ran up the side of the road before Spencer got control of it, again and stopped. “Did you see that?” he screamed.

  “Are we talking about your shlong, again? Were you swerving out of the way of your shlong? The whole shlong bit is getting out of hand. And no, that’s not a double entendre.”

  “Stay calm,” he said and got out of the car. I got out, too, and now I could see what had made Spencer swerve. In the middle of the road was Adam’s dragon. It was bigger than I had remembered.

  “I think it’s a dinosaur,” I said.

  “It’s a Komodo dragon. Dinosaurs are extinct.”

  “I’ve seen Jurassic Park. I know what I’m looking at.”

  It was huge, a lot bigger than Spencer thought his manhood was. It was walking down the center of the road, like it had someplace it needed to get to.

  “This is the fucker that treed me,” Spencer said. “He humiliated me in front of every major tabloid. I’m a meme and a GIF, now, Pinky. Me.”

  “That’s rough.” The dragon turned its head toward Spencer and changed directions toward him. “We should probably call someone. He seems like he’s out to get you.”

  “What do you mean, call someone?” Spencer demanded. “I’m someone. I’ve sworn to uphold the safety of this town.”

  “I think that was the line in Jurassic Park before the dinosaur ate the guy.”

  Spencer tugged at his shirt. He looked terrified. “I’m going to do this.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I hate little lizards, Pinky. This is a little lizard times a billion. But I’m going to do this. I’m going to do this. I’m going to do this.”

  “You said that.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Well, I am.”

  “Are you going to shoot it?”

  “Great idea!” Then, he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “No, I can’t do that. We’ll have the animal rights activists after us, again, if I do that.”

  I had had some problems with animal rights activists when I had attacked an assistance snake. He was right. Shooting the dragon wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “It’s coming this way,” I pointed out.

  “Stay clear.” Spencer opened his trunk and took out a roll of duct tape. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to capture him by his tail, and you’re going to wrap the duct tape around his mouth so he can’t kill us.”

  “I’m sensing a flaw in this plan.”

  “It’ll work.” Spencer grabbed my arm and looked into my eyes. “I’m not going to be treed again. I’m not going to be a meme, again.”

  The truth is that I didn’t want to be anywhere near the mouth of a Komodo dragon, but it meant a lot to Spencer so that he could get his pride back, and I knew he would have done more than that for me if I asked.

  I took the duct tape from him. “If it eats my arm, then maybe you could shoot it,” I suggested.

  “Sure thing, Pinky.”

  That was all of the planning we did before Spencer emitted a rebel yell and determinedly ran after the dragon with his eyes closed. Luckily, he opened them right before he reached the dragon. He circled around it, in order to get to its tail, but the dragon whipped around, almost biting Spencer.

  Spencer yelled again, this time less like a little girl and more like Tarzan. He and the dragon went round and round, like wrestlers who don’t touch. Finally, after several harrowing near misses, Spencer caught the dragon by the tail, clutching it with both hands.

  “Holy shit! Holy shit! I got him!” Spencer screamed, this time, definitely sounding like a little girl. The dragon wasn’t taking it sitting down. It tried to bite Spencer, while Spencer tried to hold on. The result was that they moved down the road in a zigzag, as if Spencer was pushing a reptile vacuum.

  “Okay, Pinky, now!” Spencer shouted.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s now or never!”

  “I’m voting for never!”

  “Get a good length of duct tape and go after it!”

  I was probably having an aneurism, because I actually listened to him and unwrapped a long stretch of duct tape. I took a few steps toward Spencer and the dragon but then had a moment of clarity.

  “This is insane,” I pleaded. “Just shoot me. Shoot me instead of shooting the dragon.”

  “Give me a break here, Pinky.” Spencer was struggling against the strength of the huge animal. His arms were wrapped around its tail, and he was working up a sweat, as he tried to hold on. The dragon didn’t seem to be tiring at all, and if I could have bet money on who would have won the battle, I would have bet everything on the dragon.

  But since I was in a relationship, I knew it was my responsibility to be supportive.

  “You’re doing a wonderful job,” I told Spencer. “You are soooo strong.”

  “Duct tape, Pinky! Duct tape!”

  I held out the piece of duct tape with both hands, like I was using it to measure curtains. The dragon was whipping around from left to right. There was no way for me to get the duct tape wrapped around its mouth without getting eaten alive.

  “Pinky, duct tape!”

  I leaned down and jumped back. Then, I leaned down and jumped back, again. Nope, it wasn’t going to happen. I threw the piece of duct tape at the dragon and hoped for the best. The tape floated to the ground, missing the dragon entirely. Meanwhile, Spencer struggled more against the dragon, his grasp tenuous.

  “Oh, come on!” Spencer yelled, frustrated with my lack of ability to duct tape a dragon’s mouth.

  “I can’t! He’ll bite me!”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m going to hold its head, and then can you put the duct tape on it?” Spencer asked.

  “You’re going to hold the tail and the head?”

  Spencer was out of breath when he spoke. “I’m…going…to…try…” He clutched more of the dragon’s tail and moved up its body. The dragon didn’t like this at all. Spencer did a dance to avoid the dragon’s mouth, and then in one swift movement, Spencer put his foot on top of the dragon’s head, immobilizing it.

  “You did it!” I yelled. “You really are strong. Before, I was just saying it to be nice, but you really are strong.”

  “Duct tape!”

  “Right. Here I go.”

  I tried to unroll the tape, but I couldn’t get it unstuck. I should have folded over a little piece when I had ripped off a section, but I hadn’t thought of it, and now it was stuck onto the roll, and there was no way to peel it off.

  “Duct tape!” Spencer shouted. The dragon was putting up a valiant fight. Spencer was clutching its tail to his chest and had one foot on the dragon’s mouth. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that this wasn’t going to end well, but I knew I would still love Spencer as much if he only had one foot.

  And he probably was only going to have one foot by the time this was over.

  And it was probably going to be over soon.

  “I don’t have long fingernails,” I explained. “I can’t get the tape.
”

  “Pinky, I’m not sure I can love you if you don’t get the duct tape around this beast’s mouth before it bites my foot off.”

  I worked feverishly at the roll of duct tape. Finally, I managed to unroll a long piece. “I did it! I did it! Here I come.” Hovering over the dragon, I looked up at Spencer. “You got it, right? You’re not going to let it bite me, right?”

  “Duct tape!”

  I stuck the tape on its mouth and ripped off another section. In a blur, Spencer let go of the tail, grabbed the tape and wrapped a second layer around the dragon’s mouth, this time tighter. Five more layers, and we were reasonably sure it was safe to be around the dragon.

  Spencer hugged me tight. “That was the grossest thing I’ve ever done, and I belonged to a fraternity in college,” he said.

  We drove to the Historic District with the Komodo dragon in the trunk of Spencer’s car. We stopped at a corner where there was a big crowd, so that Spencer could show off the captured dragon. By the time he was finished describing his valiant triumph over the monster, he was surrounded by America’s tabloids, the entire DICK contingent, half of the town, and three animal control teams, to whom Spencer handed the dragon over. They had all come around with the news that Spencer had a dragon in his car.

  “The dragon wasn’t hurt during its capture,” Spencer announced to the crowd. Originally, he wanted to give me half the credit for snagging the dragon, but I decided it was better to lay low and not get any more attention than I needed from the tabloids and a lot of DICK.

  Afterward, Spencer and I split up, each going our own way. I walked to my grandmother’s, while Spencer drove to the police station, where he was going to continue being the town’s big hero. It was a beautiful evening, and I felt lucky to live in a place where I could walk alone in the evening without fear. There was little or no crime in Cannes. That is, except for the murders that seemed to happen just about every month since I had moved in with my grandmother nearly a year before.

  Thinking about murder reminded me of something that Joy had told me that got the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I sped up and arrived home a few minutes later. I checked on Grandma and Meryl, quickly. Grandma was taking a nap and snoring, while Meryl was reading a Melissa Foster romance.

  I climbed up to the attic and turned on my laptop. Googling Roman’s book, I discovered that it had been published less than a week before my father died. “Holy shit,” I said.

  I grabbed my phone and made the call to my mother’s prison farm. It was a complicated process to get through to her, but finally she was on the phone. “Hi, Gladie,” she said, sweetly. I looked at my phone. It was still disorienting having my mother be nice. I guessed farming really was therapeutic.

  “Hi. I have a question,” I said finally. “Do you remember Roman Strand’s book release party?”

  “I wore an off-the-shoulder dress,” she answered, remembering. “It was a very fancy party. Roman took to being successful like a duck to water. One minute he was a nobody like the rest of us, and the next minute, he was Mister Fancypants. He loved it.”

  “What did Dad think about Roman’s success?”

  “He was thrilled for him. No jealousy. He even made a toast to him. Then, Roman signed one of his books to him, like he was gifting your father with a block of gold. I don’t remember what happened after that.”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Dad was dead within a week.”

  “He was? How could I have forgotten that timeline?”

  I didn’t know, and neither did she, and we had run out of things to say to each other. A minute later, we said goodbye and hung up.

  I looked around the attic, as if the answers I was looking for could be found in the dusty corners. My eyes landed on my father’s box, and I picked it up and put it on the folding table. I had never finished going through it. Perhaps there were more clues.

  Before I could start searching the box, my phone rang. “Gladys Burger?” a voice asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Steve Byrne, the insurance broker. I need to talk to you.”

  My skin erupted in goosebumps. “You do?”

  “Come to my house. Don’t tell anyone. It’s important. I’m coming, Poopykins. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves you. Yes, I do. Yes, I do.” His voice trailed off in sickeningly sweet baby talk, and it was obvious that he was talking to his hyper-spoiled dog.

  “Why do you want me to come to your house?” I asked, trying to get his attention. “I don’t need insurance.”

  “Everyone needs insurance,” he insisted. “You never know what will happen to you in this life. Death might be right around the corner. A heartbeat away. Or you could fall down the stairs or get hit by a bus. It happens every day. Every minute of every day, even.”

  “I don’t need insurance,” I repeated, but I sounded less sure.

  “Fine. But watch out for buses. And come over. I won’t try to sell you insurance.”

  I struggled between worrying if it was safe to trust him and wanting to squeeze him for information. “Why do you want me to come over?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I know who murdered Adam. And your father, for that matter.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Matchmaking is an art and a business, dolly. You have the gift for the art, but it might take some learning to figure out the business part. I decided not to learn the business part at all, and it’s worked for me, but every once in a while, I wonder if I should have an index fund or buy bonds. Then, it goes away, and I’m back to thinking about love. But you should think a little about the business part. Take care of the books and prepare for rainy days. Rainy days never seem to come in batches of only one. When there’s one, there’s usually one right after, and maybe another after that.

  Lesson 124, Matchmaking advice from your

  Grandma Zelda

  I called Lucy. “What are you doing? Are you busy?” I asked her.

  “The chef made us a delicious dinner, Gladie. You should have come over. I’m about ready to explode. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I took off my pantyhose, and I’m about to lie in bed and read a magazine. I might never move again, Gladie. Carbs are the devil. That’s a bit of wisdom from this woman to you. Carb coma, that’s what I’ve got goin’ on now, darlin’. What about you? What are you up to? Are you doing something with Spencer?”

  “No, he’s busy being a hero and letting the town tell him how wonderful he is.”

  “He is? What kind of wonderful? What did he do?”

  “He captured the dragon,” I told her. “I helped him, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to relive that experience.”

  “You helped Spencer capture a dragon? You did that while I was eating pasta?”

  “I haven’t showered since then. I have dragon slobber goo all over me. I’m going to have to burn my clothes.”

  Lucy harrumphed. “I miss everything. My life is boring, Gladie. Nothing happens in my life.”

  “You have a chef. You’re married.”

  “What’s your point?”

  What was my point? Did I have a point? “Everyone wants boring, Lucy. Boring comes with a washer and dryer.” There was a long silence on the phone. “Lucy? You there?”

  “I was just trying to figure out if we’re talking about me or you, and if I should ask how you and Spencer are doing.”

  It was a good time to change the subject. “Anywho, I called because something might be happening, and I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me.”

  “Yes.”

  “But the carb coma.”

  “I don’t care about the carb coma. What’s going to happen? Another dragon? A dead body? Gladie, was there another murder?” She was buzzing with energy. I told her about the call from Steve. “Oh! A confession. That’s pretty good but not really exciting.”

  “Well, I have a feeling…”

  “Well, what? Gladie, do you have a funny feeling, like Zelda gets? Oh, I knew it. I knew it. You have the m
agical murder mojo. Should I bring my Taser?”

  “Probably. And do you have any leftover pasta?”

  It wasn’t until after I picked up Lucy, that I realized I didn’t know where Steve lived. I called him, but it went to voicemail. “Steve Byrne. Happy to make your life more secure. I can’t come to the phone right now, but even if I’ve met with some horrible accident, I’m not worried because I’m covered. Leave a message after the beep and leave me your contact information so that I can cover you, too.” It beeped, and I left a message, asking for his address.

  “I got this, darlin’,” Lucy told me when I hung up. She thumbed a bunch of buttons on her phone and came up with an address. “Look at that. Mr. Insurance Man lives near Bridget.”

  It was dark out, and Cannes was quiet. The townspeople were acting normal for once, staying inside, watching TV and eating snack food. Lucy was staring out the window, her body like a panther, ready to strike.

  “We’re just going to talk to him,” I told her.

  “I know. I’ve got my Taser.”

  “He sells insurance.”

  We got out of the car and walked up the walkway to his townhouse. “What are you carrying?” I asked Lucy.

  “My shovel. I forgot that I had left it in your backseat.”

  “I don’t think we need a shovel.”

  “It’s six feet long. I could bean him over the head and not get anywhere near him.”

  “Okay. Bring it. But be nonchalant with it.”

  “I’ll pretend I’m going gardening after,” Lucy said. She was wearing a chiffon dress, cinched at the waist with a wide belt and then flared out to her knees with strappy high heels.

  “Okay. Tell him you’re gardening.”

  Lucy rang the doorbell, and I knocked on the door. When I knocked, the door swung open with a soft creaking noise. Lucy and I looked at each other. “This is how it happened the last time,” I whispered to her.

  Lucy lifted up her shovel, like she was cleanup batter at the World Series.

  “Steve, it’s Gladie. You called me to come over,” I announced. “Steve?”