Something shady, p.33
Something Shady, page 33
part #2 of Stoner McTavish Mystery Series
“I work alone,” Stoner said.
Millicent smiled, tilting her head to one side. “I really don’t believe that, Stoner. But I’ll let Gladys handle the details. It wouldn’t be right, a woman in my position.”
“Dirty work’s beneath you, huh?”
“Let’s just say violence is more suited to Gladys’ nature.”
Stoner glanced at Mrs. Grenier, who was staring at the back of Millicent’s head. She seemed offended.
“You’ve made quite a bit of trouble for me, Stoner,” Millicent went on. “But I’m sure it can be straightened out in time. You’re really very naughty, you know.”
“I had a reprehensible childhood,” Stoner said.
“And I’d so hoped we could be friends.”
Stoner laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“It’s too bad, really.”
The phone stopped ringing.
“So,” Stoner said, “what happens now?”
“I’ll leave that to Gladys, too.” She got up.
“Don’t you want to stay and watch?”
“Mrs. Grenier will give me a full report. She knows my requirements.” She came over to stroke Stoner’s face. “I’m afraid this is goodbye. Such a shame. We could have had a lovely time.”
She turned to go.
“Hey, Millicent,” Stoner said, “did anyone ever tell you you look lousy in black?”
In the hall, the sound of Millicent Tunes’ laugh echoed and died.
Stoner looked at Gladys Grenier. “How can you work for a woman like that? Don’t you have any pride?”
Mario stepped toward her. “Want me to sock her, Ma? I could rough her up, like I did the Owens bitch.”
“Listen, you little creep,” Stoner snapped, “the last guy who messed with her ended up at the bottom of a ravine. It took three pack mules and half the Forest Service to get him out. He was dog meat, Mario.”
“Tunes is going to have your ass,” Gladys said to Mario. “You should have recognized her.”
“Honest, Ma, it was dark.”
“It really was,” Stoner said. “I didn’t recognize him, either.”
“Shut your face,” Mrs. Grenier bellowed.
“You’re absolutely right. Your family business is none of my affair.”
Come on, Aunt Hermione, call Delia.
The phone began to ring again.
Oh, God, she thinks she had the wrong number.
Delia. Call Delia.
“She could have handed you her calling card,” Gladys said to Mario, “and you’d have still been too dumb to recognize her.”
“I’m sorry,” Stoner said, “I ran out of calling cards, but I have some on order. They’ll be along any day now.”
She tried to see what Aunt Hermione was doing, but it was all a blank.
“So what do you want me to do?” Mario asked petulantly.
Her muscles were tightening, hurting. “I could use a back-rub,” she said.
Mrs. Grenier snatched her by the hair. “I told you to bug out.”
“But that’s what nurses do, isn’t it? Give back-rubs?”
“Ma, what are we gonna do?”
“Look,” Stoner said, “if you want to take orders from Millicent Tunes, it’s your life. But it seems like a waste of your talents.”
Fury consumed Gladys Grenier’s face. “Don’t push me, McIntosh.”
“Ma…”
“Mrs. Grenier, I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and all members of your profession. Long hours, inadequate pay, unpleasant working conditions. You could do much better than this.”
“Ma.” He tugged at Gladys’ sleeve. “Tell me what to do.”
Call Delia, Gwen, Marylou, anyone. Please, Aunt Hermione.
Mrs. Grenier let her go and took a step back. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Huh?” Mario said.
“Let Tunes find someone else to boss around. The rate she’s going, the whole thing’s coming down on her head.”
Mario nodded toward Stoner. “What about her?”
“Don’t mind me,” Stoner said. “I’m happy where I am. You two just beam on up.”
“You don’t want me to rough her up?” Mario asked plaintively.
“Get rid of her.”
He seemed to turn a little pale. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You don’t want me to rough her up?” He was almost pleading. “I thought we were supposed to get names…”
“Are you deaf?” Gladys shouted, “or just stupid?”
“Neither,” Stoner said. “He just wants to rough me up.”
“Ma…”
Gladys Grenier’s face turned blotchy. “God damn it, Sonny, do what I told you.” She slammed out of the room.
“Fuck your fist, Ma,” Mario muttered. “I got principles.”
“Difficult, isn’t she?” Stoner asked.
“Fuckin’ bitch.”
“Mario, you’re a true judge of character.”
He scowled. “I’m thinking.”
“Sorry.”
She heard the thunder of Gladys Grenier’s dainty feet returning. The door flew open. Gladys shoved a filled hypodermic syringe into Mario’s hand. “Stick her with this. All of it. I’ll bring the car around front.” She slammed out again.
“With all this noise and slamming and banging and shouting,” Stoner said, “nobody’s going to get a wink of sleep tonight.”
He stared at the hypo.
She stared at the hypo.
This is really quite warm and cozy, the two of us, alone in the world except for each other, staring at…
“Want to make a deal?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Ten big ones. All for you, Mario. We’ll keep it between us.”
“No deals.”
“Rats. It always works in the gangster movies.”
I’ll say one thing for thorazine. It mellows you out. I mean, I’m in serious trouble here. Time to panic, right?
It’s kind of interesting.
“I think I’m stoned,” she said.
“For Christ’s sake, lady, I’m trying to think.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Something troubling you, Mario?”
“None of your business.”
“My friends say I’m a pretty good listener.”
His jaw worked. He frowned. He turned the hypo over and over in his hands. “I never offed a broad before,” he said.
A male chauvinist hit-man.
“Why start now?” she asked reasonably.
His face cleared. He nodded, the way people do when they’ve reached a difficult decision.
He looked at her.
Now, folks, this is the moment for serious screaming.
She tried, and ended up with a rusty squeak.
“I don’t like this,” Mario said.
“You should try it from my vantage-point.”
He took a step toward her.
She pressed back against the bed. “You’re a good kid, Mario. Don’t spoil your record.”
He hesitated.
“Look, she’s your mother, and I truly do admire your devotion, but don’t you think it’s time you started making your own choices? I mean, she won’t always be here to guide you, and...”
“You’ll talk,” he said.
“Never. I promise. I’ve never broken a promise in my life.”
He contemplated the floorboards. The seconds slipped by.
“Think about your future,” Stoner said. “Aiding and abetting wanted criminals, that’s nothing. Assault? With a good lawyer, maybe three to five. But murder’s something else. Murder puts a nasty stain on your soul. You don’t want a stain on your...”
“Who says?” he said angrily. “I can kill as good as the next guy.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I offed the Greek, didn’t I?”
“If you say so.”
His eyes narrowed. “You been talking to that asshole Hank?”
“Well,” Stoner said, “he did imply he was the one…”
“Don’t listen to him.”
“Oh, I won’t, I’ll never believe another word he says.”
“A broad...” Mario chewed his lip. “A broad - shit, a broad could be someone’s mother or sister or something.”
“I know,” Stoner said, nodding vigorously. “My three children... I don’t know what they’d do without me.”
“You don’t have any kids. You’re not married.”
“My brother. My brother would start drinking again. He has a problem with liquor.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your brother.”
Jesus, this man is complicated. “What about my mother? My poor widowed mother. Think what this would do to her.”
He looked at her. He looked at the syringe. He looked at her again.
“You said you had principles,” she persisted. “Do you know how rare that is? In all the world, there probably aren’t more than ten men with principles. You’re a God, Mario. Better than the Pope, even. Do the world a favor. Be a God.”
“But Ma…”
“Think how proud she’d be, having a God for a son.”
I called for help. Hours ago. Why doesn’t somebody come?
Because this is a mental hospital, and in mental hospitals people call for help all the time.
Ione knows she can’t take this on alone. Jerry knows he can’t do it alone. And neither of them knows about the other.
Mario shook his head from side to side, slowly, like a dying Bison. “I’ll do it.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
“Ma’ll know what to do.”
“Your mother,” Stoner said desperately, “couldn’t think her way out of a paper bag.”
His face flamed. “Shut up about my mother.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure she’s a fine woman, who just happens to find herself in difficult circumstances.”
He took a step toward her. “My Ma can fix anything.”
I won’t beg. He’s not going to make me beg. “Please,” she begged.
He stood over her.
She cringed.
In a sudden, jerking motion, he yanked up her shirt and plunged the needle into her stomach.
Molten lead seared her nerves and radiated outward through her body.
She screamed.
He pulled the needle out, threw it in the wastebasket, and ran from the room. His footsteps disappeared into silence.
The phone began ringing again.
I’m going to die.
Aunt Hermione said I wouldn’t die. Aunt Hermione wouldn’t lie to me.
Her heart raced. The room swayed. All feeling was gone from her legs. Her hands were numb.
Why did Aunt Hermione lie to me?
Tears slid from her eyes and burned channels down her face.
I’ll never see them again. All the people I love.
It isn’t right to die without seeing the people you love.
I want Gwen.
But Gwen was miles away, sitting by the fire in Delia’s living room. Gwen didn’t know what was happening.
And if Aunt Hermione knew, there was nothing she could do.
The phone went on ringing, and ringing, and ringing.
“Answer the Goddamn phone,” she shrieked.
My last words. Thirty-two years of living, and how do I sum it up? What message of truth and beauty do I leave for the next generation? “Answer the God-damn phone.”
She began to laugh, laughing and crying at the same time. Then she was only crying, sobbing. I don’t want to die.
Her stomach hurt, her head pounded. A cloud of lethargy surrounded her, sucking her downward.
“Goodness,” Ione said, “you look like a crucifix.”
She dragged her head up. “Ione…”
“Sorry 1 didn’t come sooner.” Ione began untying the knots that held her wrists. “Had to be sure the coast was clear.”
“Hold my hand, Ione. I’m dying.”
Ione felt the artery at the base of her neck. “Nonsense. Your heart’s pounding like a jack-hammer.”
Her hands were free. Ione rubbed her wrists. “Come on, get up.”
She tried to stand. “I can’t. I’m dying.”
“Your legs are asleep.” She pulled her up. “Walk around.”
“I’m dying,” she insisted, and walked.
Pins and needles stabbed her legs and feet. Hope flickered.
“What did they give you?” Ione asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better keep moving, just in case.”
Her mind snapped into gear. “Get Jerry. Keys, we need keys. Claire’s up there. Tell him it’s Plan B.”
“Don’t go away,” Ione said.
“Hurry!”
Alone, she dug her boots from the closet and dragged them on. Her hands felt thick and awkward. Her head was spinning. Maybe Mario had lost his nerve. But he had injected her with something, and when that something took over... For the love of God, Ione, don’t stop to watch “Divorce Court.”
Keep walking.
Gladys and Mario are gone. But Hank’s still here, and Millicent Tunes, and Lefebre, and God knows who else. We’re not out of this yet.
She paced the room. Don’t fall asleep.
She spotted the wastebasket, and picked it up. Mario’s syringe lay on the bottom, half full.
So he had compromised. He’d given her enough to put her out of commission. And if it killed her ... he had left that to chance.
Mario had decided to be half a God.
Thinking made her sleepy.
Don’t muse. Bemuse. Amuse.
Dory Previn Time.
She forced her attention outward, scanning the walls for a break in the whiteness, something she could focus on.
A small patch of dusty green caught her eye. A fungus of some kind. She touched it. Powdery, like mildew. She wiped her hand on her shirt. It seemed to be growing, spreading.
She leaned closer. It moved. Up and down. In and out. Rhythmically.
Breathing.
Horrified, she stared at it. And heard a hissing sound. Broken. Hiss, hiss, break. Hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss, break. Hisssssss.
The fungus was whispering.
It was growing. Faster. It was the size of a hand, a towel, a throw rug. And still spreading.
She turned to run and slammed into Jerry.
“Keys,” he said, and tossed them to her.
“It’s whispering, Jerry. The damn fungus is whispering!”
“Don’t be a jerk. Fungus doesn‘t whisper.”
She clutched at his sleeve. “Look, there, on the wall!”
“Are we going to discuss the interior decorating, for crying out loud?”
She made herself look at the keys. “Where did you get them?”
“We mugged the aide,” Ione said proudly from the doorway. “Jerry picked a fight, and I slipped up behind him and beaned him with a lamp. We were magnificent!”
“What about Hank?”
“He was in the bathroom. Jerry locked the door. He’s making a terrible noise. I wish you’d been there.”
“Come on!” Jerry screeched. “For Pete’s sake, girls!”
“Okay,” Stoner said. “You two break into Tunes’ office and find those files. Can you pick a lock on a desk drawer?”
“Obviously,” Ione said, “you’ve never been married.”
“We need a diversion.”
“Lily,” Jerry said. He dove for the door, dragging Ione after him.
“When you get the stuff, clear out. Keep running. And make that phone call!”
Deep in the ground below the house, a hollow thumping began. A slow, steady pounding that vibrated through the floor. Like a ship’s engine.
It grew louder.
The heart of the house was beginning to beat.
Fire doors. She stared in dismay at the mass of keys in her hand.
Find it. Find it.
She fumbled endlessly. Minutes ticked away.
The pounding grew louder.
The lock turned with a rasp of metal on metal.
She glanced up and saw her face reflected in the heavy wired windows. On the other side of the glass, centipedes crawled slowly, congregating toward the image of her face. Their eyes glowed red.
She drew back.
Don’t think about it.
Gathering her strength, she yanked the door open and plunged through.
The stairs and hall were black with scorpions.
She started to cry.
I can’t go through with it.
The pounding filled the stairwell, filled the halls, filled her head. The air vibrated with it, beating against her ears like fists.
She closed her eyes and eased forward. Insect bodies cracked beneath her feet. Live insects scuttled across her shoes, clawed at her ankles, crawled up her legs.
Her throat was thick with revulsion.
Her head ached from the pounding.
Hallucinations, she told herself.
She put her foot on the first step and pulled herself up.
The house pulled against her.
Let me go, you bastard.
The steps groaned. The bannister cracked.
Hallucinations.
She reached out to the wall to steady herself, and felt her hand sink deep into something warm and slimy. It sucked at her fingers.
She yanked it free.
And went on climbing, straining against the house.
She tried to run down the hall. Everything was in slow motion, like a bad dream, like running under water.
The room. The door.
No screwdriver.
Key, damn it. There has to be a key.
She tried one. It didn’t work. And another.
Think it through.
Ione’s tiny flashlight lay on the floor.
Beside a blood-stained sneaker.
Hallucination.
She snatched the light, flicked it on.
She could barely make out the name on the lock.
Yale.
Well, boola-boola to you, she thought wildly.
She flipped through the keys, narrowing her choices to four.
The third one worked.
She found the light switch.
Claire huddled in her corner, her face blank as death.
“Claire!” she shouted. “We’re getting out.”
Claire didn’t move.
“Look, I know things aren’t going well for you right now…”
A movement at the narrow window caught her eye. A gray slab, like a gigantic fish scale, falling through the night.
