“What do we do now?” Cutter said as he and Dee Dee watched Dutch began to convulse. The boxer’s eyes began to tear and his nose started dripping. A thin line of drool crept downward from the corners of his mouth.
Dee Dee tried to remember what Hussey said when she voodooized the dog. First she adopted a soothing tone. “Dutch, listen to the sound of my voice, when you open your eyes you will be fine, all your problems will be gone. You will feel great, happy, healthy and alive. You won’t have OCD anymore. You will also respond only to the sound of my voice. When I tell you to do something, you will do it.”
“If you understand, wag your tail,” Cutter said, mimicking what Hussey had said to Moreover.
“You lame re re,” Dee Dee said. “He’s human, not a dog!”
Dutch tried to shake his butt but couldn’t get it to move.
“If you understand me, blink your eyes,” Dee Dee said.
Dutch blinked.
“Good. Now wake up.”
Dutch blinked again and sat up.
“Now wait here until we come back for you,” Dee Dee commanded.
Dee Dee tuned to Cutter. “We’ll come back for him when it’s time to take him to the fight.
When Cutter and Dee Dee left the room Stinky slipped out from under the bed, dug through Dee Dee’s apron pocket and retrieved the vial of purple Mambo powder. Carrying the vial in his teeth, he slipped back under the bed and waited.
“Did you get the book?” Bella said from behind his van as Cutter was leaving the bar.
“Yeah, it’s in my van. I’ll get it for you.” Cutter opened the side door of his van and pulled the book from under the passenger seat.
“So,” Bella said. “Tell me more about this money making plan you have. How is it working?”
“Dee Dee and I voodooized this boxer, a guy named Dutch, The Cleanser, and now we’re going to put big bets down on him and when he wins the fight in Tampa tomorrow night, we’ll clean up.”
“So you already turned this boxer into a zombie?” Bella said.
“Yeah, he’s resting up in room 222. We’ll put down the bets this afternoon and take him to the fight tomorrow in Tampa.”
“That’s a great plan,” Bella said. “I wish you luck.”
She tucked the book under her arm and strode off toward the hotel grinning a wicked grin.
Cutter returned to the bar and found Tony sitting at the bar sipping a beer. He slid up on to a barstool beside him. “I want to place another bet,” Cutter said.
“Sure kid, what kind of action are you looking for this time?”
“The fight in Tampa tomorrow night. I want to bet on Dutch Lewis.”
“The Cleanser?” Tony said. “You want to bet on him again? The guy hasn’t won a fight in ages. He’s got some kind of mental problem and goes weird in the ring. You saw what he did in the ring against The Pig. Why do you want to waste your money betting on him again?”
“I got some inside information this time.” Cutter tapped the side of his nose. “He’s going to win.”
“Do you think he’s gonna win or do you know he’s gonna win?”
“Oh, he’s gonna win alright,” Cutter said, grinning even wider. “We fixed him.”
“Fixed him?”
“Yeah, I can’t talk about it, but we fixed him the same way we fixed Moreover the dog and Rebel Buford and they both won.”
Bella Donna used a credit card to open the door of room 222 and slipped inside. In the closed-curtain gloom of the room she saw Dutch laid out on the bed. Bending beside him, she slipped a small pair of scissors from her purse and clipped a few hairs from his head and then trimmed some clippings from his toenails.
“Hey, mister boxer,” Bella said, holding up a cloth doll in front of the supine boxer’s face.
Dutch stared, unblinking at the bit of stuffed cloth Bella dangled before him. He could see and hear but he couldn’t move or talk. He just stared, eyes transfixed.
“This here is a voodoo doll,” she told the paralyzed fighter, waggling the doll up and down in front of his face. “And when I put these little bits of your hair and fingernails inside, it becomes you. Remember that, everything I do to this doll happens to you.” Bella bent close until their noses were almost touching and stared into Dutch’s eyes. “I know you’re in there and you understand me just fine.”
As Bella opened the door of Dutch’s room to let herself out, Stinky darted from under the bed, carrying the vial of voodoo powder in his teeth. Bella felt a small furry body scurry between her legs. She caught a glimpse of the cat as it disappeared down the walkway and around the corner.
As he slipped out of the door between Bella’s feet, and trotted down the hall, Stinky was already calculating how to put into action his plan to rule the world.
Chapter Seventeen
Pinned
“Has everybody got a drink?” Vito Viagra asked the geriatric ex-gangsters seated around the table in the back room of the Italian Club. The aged attendees nodded in concurrence and held up glasses of wine, beer and highballs. “And there’s plenty of baked ziti and lasagna over on the table if anybody wants more.” The men continued eating and drinking.
“I’d like to get the meeting going today by saying thank you on behalf of the entire group to our own Tony Tums,” Vito said. “I think we all did pretty well betting on Rebel Buford to win Daytona. Who’d have known that crazy mook woulda won the race, right?” There was a general nodding and sounds of affirmation through full mouths around the table.
“I’m gonna be able to lose my ass at Mahjong a lot,” Mickey Mahjong quipped, smiling, a bit of oregano stuck to his front tooth, “which means I’m gonna be a big hit with the old Jewish ladies at the Senior Center.”
“I was able to send my grandson a nice little gift card from the video game store for his birthday,” Gianni said.
“Got any more tips, Tony?” Eddie said. “You keep giving us tips like that and you guyz won’t be calling me Eddie Early Bird anymore. I’ll be able to afford to eat dinna at a normal time instead of at three in the afternoon.”
“As a matter of fact,” Tony said, “I do have another tip for you. “There’s a fight coming up in Tampa tomorrow night, a fighter called Dutch ‘The Cleanser’ Lewis. Put your money on him, he’s gonna win.”
“Thanks, Tony,” Vito said, raising his glass of wine. “Maybe the next time we meet we can all chip in for a little exotic entertainment.”
“You gonna share your Viagra?” Benito said.
“With your farts, Benny … ain’t no girl gonna get close enough to you for you to need it.” Vito snorted at his own joke.
“You find our seats,” Dee Dee instructed Cutter, as they walked toward the Tampa Arena, “I’m going to take our boy down to the locker room.” Dee Dee escorted Dutch through the side door of the arena and down to the basement locker room where his trainer was waiting.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Dutch’s trainer said. “I expected you yesterday; you should have gotten in a little pre-fight road work. This fight is going to be a tough one. The Germ is quick, dirty and moves like a cat.”
Dutch stood motionless staring straight ahead.
“Anyway,” the trainer said. “I got your water, your new gloves, new sponges, everything for the fight. Are you ready to kick some ass?”
Still Dutch stared straight ahead, silent.
“What’s wrong with you?” The trainer cast his eyes at Dee. “Usually he’s pacing around, obsessing over the fight, checking and double checking, making sure everything’s perfect. Is he alright?”
“He’s fine,” Dee Dee said, laying her hand on Dutch’s shoulder. “He’s had a little therapy to work on his OCD. He’ll be good for the fight.”
“And who the hell are you?” the trainer said.
“I’m his therapist.” Dee Dee smiled. “Dutch, put on your trunks and go win the fight.” She rose up on her toes and gave Dutch a peck on the cheek, and strutted out of the locker room.
“I got the hypoallergenic tape, like always. Who is the broad? Where did you meet her? I gotta admit she ain’t hard on the eyes.”
Dutch stared ahead in silence. He barely noticed that the trainer had finished wrapping his hands. He stood mechanically, walked out of the locker room, and headed for the ring.
“Wait, wait, I’m right behind you,” the trainer said, draping Dutch’s white robe and a sterilized towel around the fighter’s neck.
At the Fugu Lounge Tony was sitting sat at the bar watching the fight from Tampa on Pay-per-View when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Roland cast his eyes over at Tony as he flipped the phone open and answered; “Whaddya want?” On the screen a man in a standard white shirt and black bow tie was introducing the fighters while a borderline anorexic, silicone enhanced, blonde in a skimpy bikini walked around the ring holding a card that said ‘Round One.”
“The odds are what?” Tony said into the phone. “How did that happen? OK … if it changes again, let me know.”
“Keep the drinks coming,” Tony said to Roland as he flipped his cell phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m as dry as short-legged camel’s nuts in the Sahara. I got a lot of money riding on this fight and the odds just went south on me.”
“What do you mean?” Roland said as he stuck a frosty mug under the tap.
“Last night the odds were twenty to one against Dutch, now they’re twenty to one against the Germ.”
“Who’d you bet on?” Roland said.
“Dutch,” said Tony. “I got some inside information. But it looks like a lot of other people got some inside information too. The only way the odds would change like that is if somebody put some big money on Dutch. I’m talking millions.”
“I don’t know,” Roland said opening the tap and filling the frosted mug. “I mean, Dutch has the speed, and the right combinations but he always ends up doing something stupid and losing.” He looked up as Hussey swept into the bar from the pool area.
“The old folks are still in the pool,” Hussey said to Roland. “It’s weird. They usually get out and hit the early bird dinner special around four, but it’s after nine and they’re still there.”
“Dee Dee usually makes sure they get out,” Roland said.
“Where is Dee Dee?” Hussey said.
“Dee Dee and Cutter are at the fight.” Tony nodded at the television. On the screen the camera panned the audience. Seated ringside, behind Dutch’s corner sat Dee Dee and Cutter looking confident and smiling.
“Hey, there’s Dee Dee in Dutch’s corner,” Roland said. “And that’s Cutter sitting beside her.”
The camera continued to pan the crowd.
As it passed the Germ’s corner Hussey caught a glimpse of a skinny black woman holding a cloth doll. “Oh my God, that’s Bella Donna. What’s she doing there?”
The camera panned back to Dutch’s corner as the bell rang and Dutch ‘The Cleanser’ stepped into the ring to face his opponent, Jake ‘The Germ’ Giannasi. The two fighters circled each other looking for an opening. As the camera swung around to get a front view of The Germ, Hussey caught another glimpse of the skinny black woman, now standing by the ropes in The Germ’s corner.
“I know that’s Bella,” Hussey said out loud to no one in particular. “She’s the girl who used to work for Mama Wati. But Bella is blind.” Hussey squinted to get a better look at the woman. “She doesn’t look blind anymore and what is she holding?” Hussey spied a doll with a slight resemblance to Dutch. It sported a pair of little white boxing trunks, a tuft of blonde hair was glued to its head. “Oh God, it’s a voodoo doll.”
Dutch landed the first blow, a jab to The Germ’s chin. The Germ took the punch and sent a return roundhouse punch wide, barely missing The Cleanser’s nose. The two fighters clinched, pushed each other away and circled. Seconds later The Germ stunned Dutch with a left jab to the face that sent him reeling, staggering back toward his corner.
Bella watched Dutch stumble, stop, turn and face The Germ again. She waited until he looked in her direction. Catching his staring eyes, she shook the doll at him like a bulldog with a sock. Dutch focused past The Germ, saw the doll and went pale. As Dutch stood, frozen, Bella reached into her pocket and retrieved a ketchup packet she had picked up at one of the food kiosks on the way to the ring.
The Germ saw his opportunity: Dutch stood immobile, defenses down. The Germ stepped into an uppercut that caught Dutch on the bridge of his nose. In The Germ’s corner Bella tore off the corner of the ketchup packet with her teeth and squirted the ketchup on the doll’s face. A thin trickle of blood ran from a cut above Dutch’s nose. The referee stepped in between the fighters and pointed the Germ toward his corner, while he examined Dutch’s nose. Blood was flowing freely from the gash, forming rivulets round his mouth, converging on his chin and dripping onto the canvas. The bell rang as the referee directed Dutch to his corner.
Dutch’s manager immediately reached for an anticeptic wipe and held it toward Dutch’s nose.
Dutch snatched the wipe from his manager’s hand and casually wiped the blood away. When the manager held out a plastic bag for Dutch to deposit the wipe Dutch ignored it and tossed the wipe on the floor.
Dutch’s manager was dumbfounded. Normally, Dutch would be freaking out at the sight of his own blood, demanding antiseptic, iodine, myriad anti-bacterial remedies. And he threw the wipe on the floor!
“Cut me,” Dutch demanded.
“What?” his trainer said. “Cut you? “You’re terrified of blades, needles … actually any sharp objects, blood and germs, what’s gotten into you?”
“Cut me,” Dutch said again, emphatically.
The trainer reached into a canvas bag and removed a sterilized razor blade. While Dutch stared straight ahead, stoically, the manager made a small incision in the cut and swabbed it with a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding.
As his manager held a bloody towel to Dutch’s nose, the bikinied ‘round girl’ stepped back in the ring carrying a card that said ‘Round Two’.
When the bell rang Dutch snatched the towel from the manager’s hands, tossed it into the crowd and charged the Germ. He connected to The Germ’s chin with a right that snapped his opponent’s head back. Two more quick rights and a piston-like left knocked The Germ’s head back again and again and his feet back-peddled.
The Germ was dazed and reeling.
Dutch advanced, throwing alternate rights and lefts at will. He landed shots to The Germ’s head and his chest. The Germ was on the ropes; his arms fell to his sides as Dutch connected again and again with jackhammer punches.
The Germ, his hands up to protect his face, was buckling under the volley of punches, slipping down to his knees.
At the Fugu Lounge Tony smiled at Roland and held up his empty beer mug nodding at the screen. “Looks like you were wrong about ‘The Cleanser,’” he said with a smug look on his face. “More importantly, I was right.”
“It ain’t over until it’s over,” Roland said. He pulled a fresh frosted mug from the bar freezer for Tony.
Hussey was staring at the screen, as the camera focused on The Germ sinking to the canvas. Behind him she saw Bella smile as she removed an obscenely large knitting needle from the somewhere in her hair.
“Oh no!” Hussey gasped as Bella jammed the needle into the doll’s hand.
Dutch bellowed in pain and stared at his right hand as if a horrible pain was shooting through it. He shook it in the air like a fluttering bird as The Germ went down on one knee. Dutch let his right hand fall limply to his side and wound up to deliver the coup de grâce to his opponent with his left.
The camera panned down to get a shot of The Germ’s face as he slid to the canvas. The lens caught Bella, on her feet in Dutch’s corner, holding the doll in one hand, a needle sticking through its hand. Bella removed anot
her huge knitting needle from her hair and as Dutch drew back to land the finishing blow, Bella plunged the needed into the stomach of the doll. Dutch stopped in mid-punch, grabbed his stomach with both hands, bent double and fell to his knees.
Bewildered, the referee stared, then stepped over to where Dutch was curled into a fetal position on the canvas. The Germ was getting his breath back and pulling himself up with the help of the ropes. He staggered to his feet and stood over Dutch, puzzled.
The referee shrugged and started a ten count.
“Get up, get up!” screamed Dutch’s trainer from the corner. “He never laid a hand on you!”
“Get up, get up!” shouted Cutter and Dee Dee from Dutch’s corner. They were jumping up and down and grabbing onto the ropes.
“Get up, get up!” yelled Tony, launching his substantial girth up from his seat at bar and in the process knocking over his beer.
The referee finished his ten-count and waved his arms in a crossing motion indicating that Dutch was out. He stepped over to The Germ and lifted his right arm in the air declaring him the winner.
Bella could be seen behind the referee, doing a happy dance in The Germ’s corner. A thin olive-skinned man with a prominent roman nose was standing beside her. She abruptly stopped her dance and held out her hand while the man placed a stack of money in it. Bella hugged him and stuffed the cash into her pocket. The man hunched his shoulders and slunk off.
“Cutter is so fucked,” Tony said under his breath as Roland, with a wide smile, wiped the spilled beer from the bar, and refilled Tony’s beer mug.
In the TV room at the Sons of Sicliy Italian Club, Vito Viagra turned to Gino the Greeter and shook his head, “Tony is so fucked.”
“How could he lose?” Cutter said to Dee Dee as he drove across the Howard Franklin Bridge between Tampa and Saint Petersburg. “We did everything right, zombies aren’t supposed to lose. And now he’s in a coma, I wonder if there’s a Hallmark card for zombies in comas? Something like, ‘I’m truly sorry that you’re undead, hope you’re soon up and out of bed.’”
Homemade Sin Page 23