Mad

by Miller, Renee

  “Good. Feel free to leave me out of future meetings as well, should you feel so inclined.”

  “You were busy.”

  “And why are you telling me about the meeting I don’t care about missing?”

  “We’ve decided Estella needs a more direct approach.”

  Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. “And you’re telling me because…?”

  “I think it’s time we addressed some of your issues as well.”

  “So?”

  “Since you and Estella seem to get on very well, I’ve made an appointment for you to have a manicure at a day spa. I’ll text you the details when we’re through here.”

  “And what exactly are they supposed to do with Estella? She’s got no nails.”

  “You’re getting the manicure. Estella is observing.”

  He fought the urge to rip his skin off. The last thing he wanted to do was let some stranger poke at his hands with her dirty instruments. This was punishment. One of them spilled about his digging around at the pub. “And if I say no?”

  “I thought you were about helping the group?”

  “I don’t see how this helps anyone except the sadistic bitch I’m talking to.”

  “Estella needs to watch so she can learn to put her coping mechanisms to work. She can barely think about fingers at the moment, let alone look at them.”

  “And if she loses her shit and stabs some poor innocent woman in the eye with a cuticle thing?”

  Another sigh. “She won’t. Estella is more likely to try to bite off someone’s hand.”

  “Is that all? I guess there’s nothing to worry about then.”

  “She’ll be fine because she’ll be with you.”

  “And you said Andy wouldn’t eat anyone, yet here we are.”

  “You are there to prevent her from hurting anyone. Please, Milo. We must move forward. If we don’t, they’ll focus on Andy, and I don’t know what will happen.”

  Right. “Okay. And I’m supposed to just enjoy this manicure? I think Nina or Oz would be the better choice.” He thought about Nina’s aversion to touching. “Okay, maybe just Oz.”

  “Oz isn’t himself lately, as you can imagine.”

  “I bet. And Buggy? I can’t see any reason why he couldn’t get a manicure.”

  “He’ll go with you to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” Fuck her and her fucking… just fuck her. “I need you to leave my hands alone. They’re actually quite manicured already.”

  “Listen, if Estella sees you confront a phobia, and we both know you don’t like physical contact with strangers, and you definitely have trust issues when it comes to personal hygiene, she’ll be more likely to do the same. Please do this, for Estella.”

  He smelled a setup. Her intentions had nothing to do with helping anyone. He could tell her to go fuck herself, but he was in this for the long game. The prize was her ass behind bars, so if Doctor Kevorkian wanted to offer up a sacrifice, he’d be her lamb, or goat, or whatever the hell it was loons sacrificed. He could handle a manicure. Even as he told himself this, though, his chest felt tight and the tips of his fingers tingled.

  “I didn’t want to do this,” Rochelle continued. “But I have to warn you, Milo, if you don’t start doing things my way, your life is going to become very complicated.”

  “We had a deal. I make sure the Andy incident isn’t investigated, and you promised to sign off on my return to work after thirty days. No more bullshit tests. That’s what you said.”

  “I did. And now I’ve had second thoughts.”

  “I’ll just tell them the whole story then.” Milo wasn’t playing her games. He wasn’t the one with something to hide.

  “Go ahead. One word from me and the group will say you killed Andy and forced them to lie.”

  “How?”

  “Fight me on this, and you’ll see.”

  “No one’s going to believe I killed Andy.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He thought about his run-ins with his coworkers. Yeah, they’d believe her. Crafty little bitch. He took a breath. “Okay.”

  “Really?” She sounded shocked.

  “Only because I have better things to do than fuck Oz and the others over, because that’s what will happen if you try to pin Andy’s death on me.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “When shit goes awry with this manicure nonsense, and it will, I’m not covering for you again.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Sure it will.”

  “And make sure Estella sits right beside you.”

  So she can easily reach his fingers with her teeth, of course. “Up front and center. You bet.”

  “Good.”

  “Yep. That all?”

  “Yes.”

  He pressed “end” and digested what had just passed.

  Rochelle was trying to get rid of someone and he wasn’t stupid. She’d like nothing better than to stop his sniffing around her patients. He smiled. Well, maybe they’d be one less member by tomorrow night’s meeting, but it wouldn’t be him.

  He turned the phone on again and punched in Joy’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “As I live and breathe, is this Milo Smalls actually calling me on a phone? I must be pretty special if he’s putting such a dirty, nasty contraption near his face.”

  “It’s on speaker.”

  “Still, that doctor must be an angel.”

  “Angel of Death,” he said. “Do we really have to do this every time I call you?”

  “Yes. It amuses me.”

  “As long as you’re happy, I guess.”

  “I imagine your reason for calling is important?”

  “I think I might be close to solving the nutter murders.”

  “Oh you’re on to something,” Joy said. “What’s up?”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I’m not bugging Captain Maines’ office, nor am I stealing files for you. And there is no way I’m asking Jones anything.”

  He smiled. “I just need you to look up this doctor, Rochelle Middleton. I don’t have the department’s resources or I’d do it myself.

  “What do you want to know about her?”

  “Everything. Rattle a few cages and see what falls out.”

  “I can. But if Captain Maines finds out—”

  “She won’t. I know you can be discreet.”

  “Well, this isn’t the first time a cop has sweet-talked me into going behind the boss’s back. That’s how I met my husband.”

  He didn’t much like Joy’s husband. He suspected the feeling was mutual. But she seemed happy enough, so he didn’t comment. “And keep in mind Rochelle might not be her real name, so you might have to dig a lot.”

  “I’m on it. Luckily, I took a couple of days off work. Without you around causing me headaches and paperwork, I’m all caught up.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “What do you think you’ll find?”

  He didn’t know. “Hopefully nothing. I’ll text you her current address and the very few details I know about her. Let me know as soon as you have something?”

  “Sure. And if she checks out?”

  She wouldn’t. “Then maybe I really am paranoid.”

  “Oh you’re definitely paranoid, but be careful anyway.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “Not really.”

  ***

  Rochelle’s “day spa” looked like a whore house had fucked a crack den and then ejaculated sparkly cum all over the walls. He knew Rochelle chose it because it was filthy, and she knew he would probably shit his pants the second the sun-wrinkled cougar—he’d call her Leatherface—in the yoga pants and spandex halter top touched his hands.

  No, he’d get a handle on this situation. He would not let her win.

  “Mr. Smalls?” Leatherface asked. She chewed the end of her twee
zers as she undressed him with her heavily lined eyes.

  “Yep.”

  “Rochelle never said you were hot.” She winked. “I’m going to enjoy massaging those hands.”

  He almost gagged on his saliva. “Okay. The flirting shit will have to stop right now.”

  “Shy?”

  “No. Standards.”

  She shrugged. “Who are these two?”

  “This is Estella and Buggy. They’re just here for the show.”

  “I don’t like this place,” Estella said. “Milo, I’ll tell her you did it if we can go.”

  “You suck at lying.” He admired Estella’s total unwillingness to cooperate with Rochelle, but this time, he was going to follow the doctor’s orders. “Besides, you’re not the one who has to let the crab queen there touch your hands. I’ll be lucky if I walk away from this with just a mild case of tetanus.”

  Buggy chuckled. “Probably a touch of gonorrhea too.”

  “Thanks. You’re so helpful, Bug-man.”

  “If you’ll follow me,” Leatherface said, apparently oblivious to their conversation. “I’ve got a couple of chairs set up at the back. I’ll have those hands cleaned up in no time.”

  He followed, but glanced at his hands. They were clean enough, he thought.

  “Put those away,” Estella said.

  “Listen, psycho, you’re supposed to deal somehow. What techniques did she give you to handle this shit?”

  They passed through an area surrounded by curtains. Through a small opening in one, he saw a woman with her legs in stirrups. Near her feet, another leathery beauty stirred a bowl of wax. He was not ready for this.

  “I’m supposed to close my eyes and count to ten,” Estella said.

  “That’s it?”

  “While my eyes are closed, I’m supposed to visualize my safe place. Once I’m there, Rochelle said to open my eyes again, and the feeling of calm will remain as I look at the fingers.”

  “Good,” he said as they reached a row of small tables at the back of the store. “Do that.”

  “I can’t close my eyes and watch at the same time,” she pointed out. “The whole purpose behind this thing is for me to deal with seeing fingers.”

  “Well I guess you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and fucking cope,” he said. “Be happy you’re not the one going under the knife.”

  “They don’t use knives,” Buggy said from behind him. “Tweezers, maybe. A nail file, which I suppose could be brandished like a knife.”

  “Okay, Mr. Helpful. You can shut the fuck up for the rest of this excursion.”

  Leatherface pointed at a table in the center of the row. “Take a seat, sexy.”

  He forced a smile and sat in the folding chair behind the table. Estella sat at the table next to him. Tiny beads of moisture had formed beneath her nose, and her hands shook as she smoothed the green silk cloth that covered the table.

  “Okay,” Leatherface said as she sat opposite him. She laid several tools on the table, including the tweezers she’d been chewing on, nail clippers, a file, and a bottle of clear polish. “What we’ll do today is relatively simple. I’m going to push back your cuticles, if I need to, and file the nails so they’re a little neater. Then, we’ll do a hand massage—”

  Oh fuck no.

  “And I’ll apply hardener to make your nails strong.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” he lied. “What guy doesn’t like a little buff and polish?”

  “I’d like to buff and polish more than those nails.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  She sighed. “Hands please.”

  Milo fought the urge to run. He placed his hands on the table. The room seemed to spin a little, but he took a calming breath and it slowed. As Leatherface examined his fingers, he heard Estella whimper, which made his anxiety over the nightmare ebb just a little.

  “It’s okay, Estella,” he managed to say. “Do the safe place thing. This will be over in no time.”

  Leatherface reached beneath the table. She set a bowl of what appeared to be soapy liquid on his side, and then set his hands, fingertips fully immersed, into it. “This will soften the cuticles and make it easier to clean under your nails, although I’ll be surprised if I find anything. You have beautiful hands, sexy.”

  “Stop calling me that,” he said. “Estella?”

  “I’m okay,” Estella said. “Phone’s ringing.”

  He hadn’t heard her phone, but assumed she must have left it on vibrate. He listened to Estella’s whispered conversation, slightly relieved that all he’d dealt with so far was a little soap and water.

  “I’m fine,” Estella said to the person on the phone. “Yes. I remember. Okay. I will.”

  He glanced to his left. Estella tucked the phone into her pocket. He was amazed at the dexterity she had in the half-finger stumps. “Who was that?”

  “Rochelle checking in.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  Estella pointed to the nail file. “Can I see that?”

  His heart fluttered a little. “I don’t think that’s—”

  “Sure.” Leatherface handed Estella the file.

  “Um…” Buggy moved closer to the table. “Stell, that’s not really a good idea.”

  “I agree,” Milo said. “Put it back on the table.”

  Leatherface stared at them. “I have to get something from the back. You sit tight, sexy.”

  She scurried away. He remained, hands in soapy water, and watched Estella examine the nail file. “I think there’s bits of nail still on there.”

  He grimaced. “Gross.”

  “Estella, put it down,” Buggy’s voice was high. “You know how you feel about those.”

  “I’m okay,” she said again. “Rochelle said we should relax. Why don’t you relax?”

  Buggy nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just relax.”

  “Whoa now, fruitcakes. What’s going on? Why are you saying that word like a couple of lunatics?”

  Buggy smiled. He reached for his glasses. Milo looked around him, his gut tightening as he realized someone puked green all over the damn place. Green tablecloths, green walls, green curtains. Christ, even some of the floor tiles were green.

  “Bug-man, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Buggy took his glasses off.

  Milo held his breath.

  Buggy blinked once, opened his mouth, and then let out the most blood-curdling scream he had heard in all of his forty-three years. The scream seemed unending. He stood, wiping his hands on his pants—he’d have to burn another pair—and rushed at Buggy.

  Estella remained seated—thank God for small fucking mercies—but her attention was fixated on the nail file. Milo fought with Buggy for the glasses in his hand, and the wiry fucker was good at struggling.

  Buggy screamed on and on. How did he have that much air in his fucking lungs? Finally, he got the glasses. People had come from the front of the salon to watch the cluster-fuck that was Milo’s first time getting his nails done. Buggy flailed, making it impossible to put the glasses on his face.

  “Bug-man, just relax.” Milo lunged.

  A flailing arm caught his jaw.

  “Get it away!” Buggy cried.

  “I’m trying, but you’ve gotta stop screaming.”

  Buggy didn’t listen. He turned, took a few steps, and then slammed into a sparkly wall.

  “Relax!” Milo yelled.

  “Relax?” Estella said from behind him.

  “Yes. Goddamn it, just fucking relax.”

  “Okay.”

  The tone of Estella’s voice sent the hairs on his neck on end. He barely had time to think about it, though, as Buggy’s incessant screaming blocked out everything else. He finally grabbed Buggy’s throat with one hand, and forced him against the wall. Buggy turned his head from one side to the other. He screeched again, although now his voice was a little hoarse.

  “Fucksakes, just calm down,” he said.

  “Get me out of here. G
et me out of here. Get me out of here,” Buggy chanted.

  He saw the row of people staring at them, although some seemed transfixed by a point just beyond him and Buggy. Christ, he had to get a grip or someone was going to get hurt.

  “I’m going to put your glasses on,” he said. “If you fight me, I’m going to knock you the fuck out. Got it?”

  Buggy screamed.

  “I warned you.” Milo swung. His fist connected with Buggy’s jaw, causing his head to slam against the wall. The screaming stopped. At last. He gently helped Buggy slide down the wall to sit on the floor. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was a little stunned.

  Gently, he slid the glasses on Buggy’s face. “Jesus Christ, Bug-Man.” As he straightened, Milo realized someone else was screaming. “Fuck people, it shouldn’t be so hard for a guy to get a fucking manicure.”

  He turned and saw the blood.

  CHAPTER 16

  The paramedic nodded at Milo as they wheeled the gurney out of the room. On it, Estella barely clung to life. When he’d seen her covered in blood, eye-sockets a fucking mess, he put on his gloves and then ran to her aid. The women in the shop kept fluttering and sighing, but no one was very helpful.

  He grabbed the silk cloth from the table and applied pressure to Estella’s neck wound. He didn’t know what to do about her eyes, so he’d just covered them with the cloth from another table. Estella just kept muttering “relax” over and over until she lost consciousness. He had yelled for someone to call 911, and he’d waited, trying to work out what the fuck had gone wrong.

  Rochelle kept popping up as his only answer. They were fine until she called. Mostly fine. He would’ve endured her stupid manicure. Estella would’ve closed her eyes to it all, and Buggy would’ve watched, glasses on, oblivious to the greenery around him.

  But Rochelle had called.

  “So, what happened again?” Captain Cunt asked.

  Oh yeah, thought Milo. She was the first to arrive at the scene. Made this shit-tastic day even better.

  “I’m sorry,” he scratched his head. “Why are you here?”

  “This is the second violent assault you’ve been involved in this week. I’m concerned.”

  He laughed. “The victim assaulted herself, first of all. Second, shall I remind you who it was that put me in a fucking unhinged group of screwballs who can’t seem to stay alive? I wouldn’t be involved in anything if you weren’t such a cunt.”