Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “Thanks for keeping me company last night.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it. Hey, listen. The boss is headed over to the police station. They just brought a couple paddy wagons in. We heard about it on the police scanner. They’re trying to pick up some new clients.”

  “I thought lawyers chased ambulances, not paddy wagons.”

  “That depends on your specialty. The lawyers here at Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe are looking for some lugheads who look like easy money.”

  “It’s good that Mr. Cheatham and Mr. Markley aren’t hearing you call them that. Are you sure they don’t have a nanny cam up somewhere?”

  “Are you kidding? That’s what they call themselves. They think it’s a hoot. Anyway, I was wondering when you’re headed to the bar. There’s a funny smell in the building today and it’s making me wheeze. I thought I’d just go work at one of your tables. That way I’m not too far from the office if I’m needed, but I can reduce my chances of lung cancer.”

  “Let me jump in the shower, and I’ll head right over. I need to get you a key and the code for the alarm system—that way you can go over whenever you need to. Give me forty minutes, okay?”

  “Yup, I’ll pick up some lunch for us, and I’ll meet you over there.”

  Kay was leaning against the wall under the awning when I pulled up to Hooch’s, exactly forty minutes later. Twinkles had decided he wanted to come in to work with me. As soon as I opened my car door, he squirmed from the back seat to the front, over my lap and over to Kay. Sure, go on ahead. No need to wait for me to open your door. I took Twinkles to obedience training once, but everyone else there had little teeny dogs—terriers, Dachshunds, and toy poodles. When Twinkles walked into the ring, everyone got nervous. Twinkles because the other dogs were yipping under his paws, and he wasn’t sure how to walk forward, the pet parents because Twinkles could have swallowed their babies in one gulp, and the trainer because the Chihuahuas were nervous-peeing all over the place. Yeah, it wasn’t a good scene. When I had packed up to go home that first night, the teacher handed me an envelope with a cash refund plus a twenty-dollar bonus and an “I’d very much like it if you don’t come back.” Poor Twinkles. It wasn’t his fault he was so big, and yet still thought of himself as puppy-sized.

  I unlocked the door, and Twinkles immediately headed to his favorite napping spot in a stream of sunlight. I sat down at the table across from Kay and pulled the white paper bag with the beginnings of an oil stain closer. I closed my eyes and opened the bag, leaning in to inhale the scent of Heaven—a Philly cheesesteak from Sicily Sandwiches. I just knew that when I passed through the Pearly Gates, St. Peter would be handing me a bag just like this one. Breathing in the scent of melted cheese and french-fry grease was a religious experience. “Thank you for this food, amen,” I said and crossed myself before I opened my eyes and ripped the bag open to use as a placemat. “What are you eating?”

  “A salad.” Kay opened a Styrofoam container. “I filled my daily fat and sugar quotient with the box of doughnuts Cheatham brought in this morning.” She jabbed her fork into the mound of greens and wrinkled her nose. “Penance,” she said, then took a bite.

  I looked up as another group of people waddled past Hooch’s window. I could see them heading to Nicky’s. It seemed the restaurant business was doing fine. I wondered what had happened to make things fall off here at the bar.

  “Nicky’s is doing good.” Kay was always good at reading my mind. “Maybe we should have eaten over there to see if we could figure out the demographic.”

  “Cyborgs,” I said.

  “Come again?” Kay shoved a tomato into her mouth.

  “They’d have to have iron stomachs. I don’t need to head over there ever again. I did that once. I ordered a Calzone alla Nicky that really should have been called Crap alla Nicky, or maybe it would be Crud alla Nicky. Joe was telling me the other day that Nicky’s dishwasher told him that Nicky’s lunch specialty was whatever was left over from the night before and nuked in the microwave.” I shrugged. “Dishwasher grapevine.” I spread a bar towel on my lap, and because I knew what would happen when the juices in my cheesesteak started to run, I tucked another in the top of my stretchy t-shirt. “I prefer my lunch without stomach cramps, thank you very much.” I took a huge bite and chewed it slowly, moaning a little under my breath.

  Kay chuckled.

  I shoved the bag a little closer to her. I knew she’d start sneaking fries any second, since she was on her fourth bite of penance. I might as well make it a little easier for her.

  Sure enough, she reached out to grab one. “You know,” she pointed the fry at me, “we could have just sat at the bus stop in front of the police station and watched all the cop cars go by. You could have ranked them for me on talent, agility, and speed.”

  “The cars or the men?” I winked then slurped up some lime-aid.

  “Speaking of men, how did things go with Dick last night?” Kay asked.

  “To be honest, watching him work, I was getting a little warm and tingly. He’s a really talented man. Smart. Nice. I like him a lot.”

  “But?”

  “He’s out of uniform and into a suit. If I enjoyed the company of law enforcement in suits, that would mean there would be no cutoff date. Even good coupons expire.”

  Kay picked up the other half of my sandwich and bit off a good-sized chunk. “You’re comparing Dick to coupons?” she asked from behind a hand she used to cover her still-full mouth.

  “Yup. There are terms and limitations. For me, it’s men in blue uniforms with a full tool belt buckled around their hips.”

  “And a shiny badge.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  After we finished with our lunches, I pushed back from the table. “Are you busy with your work stuff or can you help me get Daphne spiffed up? I want her all ready for tonight’s crowd.”

  “You hope there’s a crowd.” Kay gathered the garbage and went to chuck it in the trash.

  “I do indeed.” I grabbed Daphne around the waist and hauled her upright. Twinkles lifted his head to look at me, decided I wasn’t doing anything exciting, and flumped his head back on the ground with a wide-mouthed yawn.

  Kay sidled around the back of the bar to get the clothes bag. “You really want to make her the mascot?”

  “Think of it this way. Every successful bar or brand has some sort of gimmick. Ours is—well, was, maybe it still is—Badge Bunny Booze. Now, not everyone outside of this community even knows what a badge bunny is. So, tonight we can debut Daphne with the booze. And I got her a little addition to her outfit.”

  “Pray tell.”

  I smiled and pulled my handbag over to pull out a very fine pair of bunny ears that I’d picked up at the costume shop.

  “Cute! I love them. And look, you found ears the same color as her hair.” Kay snatched them from my hand and held them up to Daphne. She nodded her head left, then right. “Well, the bar will be dim. It’ll work. Very nice. So I’m looking at poor Daphne, and I’m thinking she looks less like a friend of the Easter Bunny and more like an elf for Santa Claus who slid down a few chimneys. What did Dick say about the dust?”

  “I can wash it off. Warm soap and water. He took a bunch of photos. Made a bunch of cards. He’s also going to attach all of that to Peter’s report. There’s nothing about the mannequin that he said needed to be preserved.” I looked out the window as a cop car drove by. “You know, I should call Peter.”

  “Preserved?”

  “He said that all of the evidence was gathered, and the mannequin didn’t need to be preserved for any reason. I needed to make sure that was the case because if Daphne’s going to hang out in the bar, she’s not going to be a good source of evidence any more. She’ll just be a mannequin.”

  “Did Dick think there was a crime?”

  “Only that some poor guy abused himself in public. They might be able to make a case for littering. But no. Dick was just trying to get
on my good side again. Though he never was on my bad side. He even asked me out for a steak dinner and a movie.”

  “That was mighty big of him.”

  “That wasn’t the part of him that was mighty big, poor guy.” I winked. I headed back to get one of Joe’s bins and some soap and hot water.

  It was odd washing Daphne. Creepy-odd. It was like playing nurse and bathing someone who was paralyzed. Well, more like petrified. Her glass eyes seemed to follow my every move. I tried not to look her in the face. I found myself being extra gentle in the tickly places. It took some effort to get all of the dusting powder off.

  Kay lifted Daphne up while I inched a pair of cotton briefs up her legs. They were from the drawer of panties I wore when I was on my period and felt crabby and crampy and just wanted to be comfortable. I thought Daphne would be down with that. Next, I got her sundress on, and Kay combed out Daphne’s hair while I strapped on the sandals.

  “She’s really cute,” Kay said. “This dress really flatters her.”

  We set her on the bar stool at the L of the bar where she was semi-protected from getting knocked over. I worked to adjust her so she was in a natural pose. I knew many a guy who would be drooling to take out a girl like this. As a matter of fact… I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture. Then forwarded it with the text.

  I’ve found your next girlfriend, Kay-approved!

  As I put my phone back in my pocket, I turned to see Kay considering Daphne. “You know, if she was animated, this is the kind of girl Mr. Happy would go for,” she said.

  Great minds!

  Mr. Happy is the pet name Kay called her sometimes-boyfriend. It’s actually the name he gave his penis. And it’s absurd. And that’s why she calls him that to me behind his back. His real name is Terrance Pattenson. Yes, the Terrance Pattenson, Internet phenom with his three million clicks-a-day following.

  Terrance and Kay have an on-again/off-again relationship that was currently flipped to the ‘off’ position. It was just a matter of time until she turned him on again. And to be honest, I hoped they’d get back together soon. Kay always smiled more when they were together. Maybe the text I just sent him would get a conversation going. It rarely took much more than a little push to get their motors to turn over–I just couldn’t figure out why they kept stalling out.

  I looked from Kay to Daphne. They actually looked really similar. They both had long, silky red hair, though Kay was more strawberry blond and Daphne had a lot more auburn. They were both about five-foot four and slender. They both had a winsome look to their faces, with a slight scoop in their noses, a smattering of girl-next-door freckles and intelligent eyes. Did I just think that Daphne had intelligent eyes? They’re glass, for Pete’s sake. I need to call Peter, I thought parenthetically. Glass or not, Daphne’s and Kay’s eyes were the same shade of blue green. “You two could be sisters,” I said, looking down at my phone screen as it buzzed to let me know I had an incoming text.

  Is Kay there with you? Terrence wrote.

  “Looks like you have a message from Mr. Happy on my phone.”

  Kay snatched my phone from me to read. “Did you just text him?”

  Some people liked relationships and thrived in them. I was not one of those people. Connor said I’d come around when I was more mature, then he pulled my ponytail and kissed my nose. That was last week, so I wouldn’t hold my breath on me changing anytime soon. But my feelings about not searching for my own deep, meaningful romance didn’t extend to other people. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed relationships as a spectator sport. There was something about watching the tango, like a bad rom-com. But for Kay, well, I just wanted her to be happy, and cutting off Terrence from her life hadn’t done that.

  “Terrance has got his thumb on the Internet pulse. I thought he might have an idea about what I should do with Daphne,” I said. “I really need this bar thing to work out because I hate pantyhose.”

  “What?” she said, looking up and catching my eye. “Pantyhose?”

  “You like him. You miss him. And this is like a win-win scenario.”

  She pulled her brow into a tight scowl.

  “He gets the opportunity to prove his prowess by coming up with an idea. You get to be swept off your feet by his amazing abilities. You get laid, and I just might get a happy ending.” I stared at the floor for a second. “That didn’t come out right.” I shook my head. “You know what I mean. This could work out really well for all of us.”

  “Terrance may not be on the market.”

  “Kay, get real, he was back in touch like twenty seconds after I texted him and was asking about you. Who does that unless they’re interested?”

  She looked down at the text, looked up at the ceiling, looked back to the text, and started tapping away on my phone. Before I could ask another question, the door swung open and in walked Hooch’s nemesis, Nicky, with his son Georgie in tow.

  7

  Nicky sauntered in like he owned the place. His gray hair was slicked back, and a bowling shirt with the restaurant’s logo—an N circled with Caesar’s olive leaf victory wreath—draped over his soup-chicken of a body. “Where’s Hooch?” he asked.

  I moved to stand protectively in front of Daphne; I didn’t know why. And Twinkles, with a rumbling growl, came to stand protectively in front of me.

  Nicky strode up to the bar and slid onto a stool, a wary eye on Twinkles. He smelled strongly of espresso and garlic, a combination that made the cheesesteak in my stomach roll over. I felt a little green around the gills.

  “Your dishwasher told my dishwasher—well, you know how rumors get spread—that Hooch ran for the hills and left you in charge.”

  “Since Joe speaks Hungarian and your dishwasher speaks Italian, there might have been a glitch in the translation. Let me clarify for you. Hooch is taking a well-deserved vacation. And I, as the manager of the bar, will carry on while he enjoys his walks on a breathtaking beach, the swell of the sea, and surely a beautiful woman or two on his arm.”

  “If that’s the tune you want to play, then fine,” Nicky said. “My understanding was that you signed partnership papers with him. And I wanted you to know that I’m in a position to offer you a generous amount to buy the building. Enough that maybe you could find your own beach to walk on and enjoy the surf and sun.”

  “No thanks.”

  “I think you should at least—”

  “Not interested,” I said it as nicely as I could. I mean, I’d hate for my dad to get word that I wasn’t being as respectful as I should be to an elderly man. But inwardly, I cringed. I knew that he talked smack about me behind my back. He was one of those men who thought Italian men, with their hot Latin libidos, were the studs of the world, but women should be pristine vessels. If all their women were Madonnas, I had no clue whom he thought these Italian stallions were romping in the clover with. But I knew he slut-shamed me for the exact same behaviors he held in high esteem for guys, a double standard I found pathetic and medieval.

  I looked over at Nicky’s son Georgie. I’d met him a few times when he was bouncing a ball in the alleyway waiting for his dad to finish up. Georgie was a sweet guy. Shy. He had warm, brown, puppy-like eyes that were endearing. He probably had the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old, though I’d guess he was in his early thirties. Where he got his tall genes, I’m not sure. He stood about six-two while his dad was more my height.

  “I don’t think I ever introduced you to my boy,” Nicky said, gesturing to where Georgie stood by the door. “Georgie, here. He’s a great catch.” He nodded his head. “He likes blondes. You’re the kind of woman he’d date. He’s going to make some lucky woman one hell of a husband.” He looked me dead in the eye. “Maybe that lucky girl could be you, huh?” He waved Georgie over. “This is Roberta,” he introduced me.

  “She likes to be called BJ,” Georgie said with a little smile. He lifted his hand about three inches and gave me a wave.

  “Roberta,” Nicky said sternly. “BJ isn’t l
adylike. She shouldn’t let the boys call her that.”

  Georgie looked confused. He turned from his father to me with his brow pulled together. I thought I’d clear it up for him. “My friends call me BJ. And we’re friends, Georgie.”

  Georgie turned back to his father. “BJ is my friend. She plays ball with me in the alley, and she lets me hold Twinkles’ lead when she’s taking him for a walk.”

  Twinkles heard his name and the little stump of his tail waggled over the floor. He stuck his neck out so Georgie could pet him behind the ears—an honor Twinkles didn’t afford everyone. It told me everything I needed to know about Georgie.

  Nicki seemed to mull the situation over for a hot second, and then he went right back to trying to sell Georgie. “He's going to be a good man. He has great potential. You should come and have dinner at my restaurant. You can share a plate of spaghetti—a plate of spaghetti for two. You like spaghetti? I like spaghetti. Georgie wants to buy your bar.”

  Spaghetti alla Nicky was the cheapest thing on the menu, and I noticed he said we could share a plate. I looked over at Georgie, who had plopped down on the floor and was sitting cross-legged. Twinkles’ head rested on Georgie’s thigh while he got his ears rubbed. What Georgie probably wanted was a hot fudge sundae and a game of catch. “I’m not selling the bar. Period. End of discussion.”

  “Listen to an old man who has nothing to gain from the situation other than to help you out. Set you on a better course. Sell the bar–it’s not a nice job for a good girl. Get married. Have kids. A woman is happiest in her own kitchen.”

  “Barefoot and pregnant?”

  “Exactly! Look, this ship is going down. When a ship is about to go down, all the rats jump ship. You know why? They want to survive.”

  “I’m not a rat. And do you know what happens to the rats that jump off? They’re out in the middle of the ocean with no way to survive and they drown. That’s not a great analogy if you’re trying to get me to bail.”