by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 29
Now Ah ain't a superstitious man, but this here Dermafix stuff was mighty weird, yuh know. Thet Oerschott fella turnin' to a ape, Ms. Cowley too, and thet native gal roamin' the streets o' TO in a night gown 'n a furry neck. Ah reckon the Chief should hear this, so first Ah gits the message on the wire: be on the lookout for a dark-skinned gal roaming the streets. Last seen on Cantor Street headin West wearing a night gown. Then Ah gits me over to Fuzz's office.
Ms. Halstead is typin, her lungs restin' heavy on the edge o' the desk.
"Kin Ah talk to the Chief?" Ah says.
She looks at the calendar, nods, keeps on typin'. Ah takes thet as a 'yes', so Ah goes in. Fuzz is on the phone, lookin' outta the winda and don’t see me enter. He's talkin' to somebody.
"What's she doing in a night gown?" He says and waits, the phone pushed into his ear. "Can't talk? You mean she's dumb? ... yeah, yeah, doesn't speak English. Got it. So why're you calling me?"
Ah coughs lightly 'cause I know it's the native gal. Fuzz keeps talkin.
"Fuzz? Did you call me Fuzz! Goddamn it, man, I'll have your ass for this!" He drops the phone. He don't like thet word. "Asshole," he says, then turns 'round, looks up. "Well, Boone, what the hell do you want?"
"Fuzz, it's growin' on her neck, right?" Ah says. He don't look happy so Ah keeps talkin'. "Thet gal they found, she's a native, from Brazil, got fuzz 'round her neck. Ms. Fleetsmith was doin' some 'xperiments, with thet Dermafix, to see if'n it—"
"Christ! Am I the only one who hasn't a fucking clue what's going on around here? What the bloody Christ has fuzz got to do with anything?"
Ah slides into a chair, holds up mah hand, the Chief leans back, waitin'. Time fer me to bring him up to date, so Ah tells him the whole story: the weed from Brazil, the changes—people to ape—Ms. Fleetsmith's theory, the 'xperiment at Oerschott Medicals on the li’l native gal. Then Ah waits fer it to sink in. Fuzz jest sets there, quiet.
Then he says, "Gorillas in Brazil." He turns to look outta the winda. "Gorillas in Brazil," he says ag'in. Then he reaches back and picks up the phone. "Get constable Dennis on the line—now!" He waits, then: "Dennis? Okay, tell me again about this little lady with fuzz on her neck ... yeah ... yeah ... I understand, it’s fuzz on her neck. Okay, bring her in, directly to my office." Then he hangs up, slow, turns and says, "William, I think we may have something here." Ah ain't never seen him smile, but Fuzz's smilin' like a fox in the chicken coop.
It was 'bout an hour before Ms. Halstead buzzes. Ah was talkin' on evolution, genes and such, and Fuzz was jest listenin', not sayin' a word. Though he sometimes don't seem so, he's one smart fella.
"Constable Gerald Dennis is here, sir," Holstein says.
"Send him in." Gerry comes in, the li’l gal followin'. Fuzz turns to me. "What's her name?"
It jest don't seem right to say Ms., so Ah says "Miss Penny."
"Miss Penny," Fuzz says, leaning over his desk and pointin' to mah chair, "please sit down." Ah jumps up, Penny sets. "Now, tell me, just what were you doing in a night gown, wandering the streets of Toronto?"
"Tonto?" Penny says.
"She doesn't understand, Chief," Dennis says. "I tried to get her to explain—"
"Sit down, Dennis," Fuzz says. Dennis looks 'round but they ain't no more chairs. "Now, Miss Penny," Fuzz says, a big grin on his chops, "I'd like you to tell me, in your own words, the effect that Dermafix has on humans." He's undersood all thet Ah told him. "In particular ..."
Ah coughs, but Fuzz keeps agoin'. " ... I'd like to know just how it changes people into apes." Fuzz waits, smiles. Penny smiles. Then the Chief gits up, walks 'round his desk, stands by the gal. "Miss Penny," he says, quiet-like, "are there gorillas in Brazil?"
"Bazil?" Penny says.
"Yes, Brazil." Fuzz ain't smilin' no more. "Gorillas, in Brazil. Seen any?"
"Bazil?" Miss Penny says.
"Okay, Dennis, take her away—but keep her for questioning."
"Questioning?" Dennis says. "You kidding?" But Fuzz is already lookin' outta the winda.
When Ah gits back to mah office, Ah phones Ms. Fleetsmith. She'd be mighty happy to know thet the li'l native gal is back. Charlie gits the phone, starts in with, "You have reached the residence of Miss Francis Fleetsmith ..." Ah knows it ain't the answerin' machine so Ah starts right in talkin'.
"Mr. Curran, this is Willum Boone, TO police ..."
"... leave a message and/or your name and telephone number, then I will ..."
It is the answerin' machine. Ah waits fer the beep, then says, "This is Willum Boone. Mah message is jest this: we got the li’l gal from Brazil." Then Ah hangs up. Talkin' to a machine is like talkin' to a coffee pot.
PART ELEVEN