Citizen Insane

Chapter Sixteen





I KEPT MY EYES ON the rearview mirror as much as possible without crashing the van. When I turned into the parking lot of the Rustic Woods Shopping Center, the car that I thought was tailing us continued on. Bunny and I both breathed a sigh of relief.

We decided we were getting way too paranoid for our own good and had a chuckle before stepping into Fiorenza’s. We bypassed the hostess and moved to the Order Takeout counter. Vito Fiorenza, the owner, greeted us with his usual gusto. “Ciao!” he shouted loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. “What can I get you this evening?” Vito looked Italian but his family had been in America for several generations. His accent was all Northern Virginia.

“Hi Vito,” I said. “We’d like two Baked Zitis to go, please.”

Vito shook his head. “Baked Ziti isn’t on the menu. Can I interest you in some Fettucini Alfredo? Our new chef makes the best in town.”

“I know your chef.”

He smiled. “You know Frankie?”

“Yup. And I know he makes Baked Ziti—is he here?”

“Sure!” He turned and waved into the kitchen. “I’ll get him for you.” He whistled. “Hey! Frankie! Someone here to see you! Some pretty ladies say they know you!”

A second later, Frankie appeared wiping his hands on his white but messy apron. He smiled when he saw me and grabbed me for a big hug. “Oh, I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind the hug, eh? It’s nice to see a friendly face. I don’t know many people around here, y’know?”

I made introductions. “Frankie, this is my friend, Bunny Bergen.” Two days earlier I would have pretend gagged when I called her “my friend,” but it seemed natural to say it now.

He shook her hand enthusiastically. “Pleased to meetcha.” His smile could’ve lit a city. “Frankie. Frankie Romano. Any friend of Barbara Marr’s is a friend of mine.”

“We were hoping you could make us some of that wonderful Baked Ziti, but Vito says it’s not on the menu.”

“No problemo! You want Baked Ziti, you got Baked Ziti. Two comin’ up?”

Bunny smiled. “Yes, two please.”

“Vito, this is on me—don’t charge these nice ladies. I’ll cover it.” Frankie put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be fifteen minutes maybe. You can wait?”

“Thanks. We’ll be right over there.” I pointed to the comfy couch in the corner.

We sat down and made some idle wasn’t-that-nice comments. After an awkward pause, I realized I didn’t have a whole lot to say to Bunny. She evidently wasn’t willing to say anything more about her relationship—or lack thereof—with Howard. And I certainly didn’t want to harp on the issue with the pills Waldo had given her. So the air filled with the pressing silence that people dread when they don’t know what to say next. I scanned the restaurant trying to think of something interesting to say.

Luckily, Bunny finally filled the void. “I love your website,” she said quietly.

I admit, I was a little surprised. My ChickAtTheFlix.com website felt more like a work in progress than a real internet presence. I had started working on it before Halloween and the Mafia-in-my-backwoods fiasco that had introduced me to Frankie, but the whole thing still needed a lot of polishing. I hadn’t quite figured out how to attract readers other than my family and old Mr. Ebersbacher on Cabbage Tree Place, who spent seven of his eight waking hours on the computer.

“Thank you.” I smiled, embarrassed. “You read it?”

She nodded. “I’m a subscriber. I get all of your new articles.”

“I’m still working some bugs out. And trying to figure out how to get a bigger audience.”

“I love movies, too. My favorite article was the one on Speed. That’s such a fun movie and what you wrote was really funny.”

I nodded. That post wasn’t too long ago. “Speed - When Keanu Reeves Could Act,” was one of my favorites as well.

“I’ve seen that movie . . . probably at least twenty times,” she laughed.

“Seriously?” I was surprised. She didn’t seem like an action movie kind of gal to me.

“I love the end.”

“When they make out after narrowly escaping a crushing death in the subway train car?”

She smiled. “I know that it’s cheesy and not very believable, but I still love it.”

I shrugged. “There’s too much emphasis on believability. Who needs reality? I love action movies—that’s one of my favorites. It introduced us to Sandra Bullock, right?”

Thinking of Sandra Bullock reminded me of Roz, who thinks Sandra Bullock walks on water. She’s only seen one movie her whole life, While You Were Sleeping, which she still calls When You Were in the Hospital. But she loved it so much that she just raves about it and Sandra Bullock. Even though she knows nothing about The Academy of Motion Pictures, she will tell anyone she meets that Sandra should have won an Academy Oscar Award for that AMAZING movie, When You Were in the Hospital. I pulled out my cell phone and hit her speed dial number. I had told her I would call when I had information, and I didn’t want her to worry.

Roz’s husband, Peter, answered and said she wasn’t home. The school crossing guard had called her to discuss a school-related issue, so Roz went to meet her. That sort of occurrence wasn’t uncommon. Because she was the PTA president, she got roped into all sorts of things that I considered silly, but Roz took it well and was always willing to help.

I decided to call Peggy and clue her in on what Lance’s sister had told us. That’s when I began to get worried. Simon, Peggy’s husband, said that Roz had called and asked Peggy to join her at the gym.

“That’s strange,” I said when I clicked my phone off.

“What?”

“Peter said Roz went to meet Shashi, but Peggy got a call from Roz to meet her at the gym. How can Roz be in two places at once?”

I was still pondering the issue when my phone buzzed. Caller ID said it was Peggy. Nice timing, I thought. Pushing the talk button, I started in. “Hey there lady, are you with Roz?”

The response was not one I expected. “IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR FRIENDS ALIVE, BRING BUNNY BERGEN TO THE WINSLOW BUILDING ON MIMOSA PARKWAY. WE SENT AN ESCORT.”

I think I stopped breathing. I could feel the blood drain from my hands and face. The voice was mechanical and unrecognizable—as if the speaker was talking through a vocal masking device.

The line went dead. “Hello?” I yelled, panic surging. I stared at the phone, not knowing what to do next.

“What’s wrong?” Bunny asked.

How do you tell a woman who’s already on the verge of a nervous breakdown that someone wants her bad enough to kidnap two innocent women?

The little bell on the door announced another customer who told the hostess in an Indian accent that her friends were already here. A moment later, Shashi Kapoor slid onto the sofa next to Bunny. Shashi had lost her usual Sari, and instead, sported blue jeans and a Redskins sweatshirt. A plain brown baseball cap topped off the unusually American ensemble.

“Hello, ladies,” she murmured. She’d also instantly traded the Indian accent for a Georgia Peach Southern twang. OMG as the kids say. I certainly didn’t see that one coming. How had my kind, caring crossing guard been roped into this crime? And while I struggled to understand what was happening, I noticed her right hand stuffed suspiciously in her sweatshirt pocket.

Bunny started breathing hard and looked back and forth between me and Georgia Peach Shashi.

“You can tell Bunny what’s wrong when we get to your car,” Shashi said softly.

“You’re the escort?”

Shashi nodded. “Don’t be obvious, just leave and if anyone asks, say you’ll be right back.”

“Barb, what’s happening?”

“Bunny, whatever you do, don’t lose it. This is no time to showcase your talent for shrill, animals-of-the-Amazon mating calls. Just follow me—quietly. And whatever she says, do it.”

As the three of us stood to leave, Frankie arrived with our food nicely wrapped in a Fiorenza’s bag. “I threw in some bread and salads for you too,” he said.

Grabbing the bag, I suddenly felt very lucky to have befriended an ex-gangster. But I needed a code and I needed it quick-like. The problem was, my stomach churned from fear, and Uncle Ralph was knocking on my esophagus.

“Thanks, Frankie,” I said, hoping my grim, green face alone might throw him a hint. “You’re a great friend. I’m so glad I met you. Remember the night we met? Boy, that was a night, huh?”

Shashi cleared her throat loudly which I took to mean, move your butt or I’ll shoot it off.

“Okay, gotta go.” So far my code seemed totally pathetic and entirely un-decipherable. That’s when I was inspired to spell out the word HELP. “We’ll go HOME now,” I said. “And we’ll EAT these LITTLE ziti and . . .”

Damn! I didn’t have a word for P. Potato? Pigtails? Pendulum? Then I had it. “. . . and POP open a bottle of wine.”

We were walking through the door with Shashi practically pushing us when I threw one more clue out for good measure. “May the Karma be with you, Frankie!”

Shashi followed us to my rental van. She made sure we were both in, then took the back seat behind Bunny. “Pop a bottle of wine?” she drawled. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Evidently not born yesterday or in India,” I quipped.

“You know where to go—get moving. If we’re not walking through the doors in ten minutes, they drop one. Five minutes later they drop the other.”

“Drop?”

“Kill,” I said as I slipped the key into the ignition and turned over the engine. “They’ll kill Peggy and Roz if we don’t show up on time.”

“Who’s they?” asked Bunny.

I pulled out of the parking space, around the service road and onto Rustic Woods Parkway. “Good question. I’m assuming you are . . . Bunny, who were those other two?”

“Other two what?”

“Dynasty Dames. There was that KiKi person and . . .”

Shashi seemed stymied. “So you really were on to us?”

Bunny picked up the paper we found in the Pooh Bear. “Marilyn Schmutz and Anita Abernathy.” She turned around so she was looking at Shashi. “You’re one of them?”

I hung a left. “What do you mean we really were on to you?”

“Krystle said Michelle told Bunny. Did she tell you too?”

Bunny narrowed her eyes at Shashi. “Michelle didn’t tell me anything. What would she have told me?”

I stopped at a red light and had a mini-meltdown. “There are way too many questions being asked and not enough answers. First, I want to know your real name.”

“I don’t think you’re really in the position to be demanding answers, do you?”

“See. Another question. What’s your real name?”

“Fine—Marilyn Schmutz. Now you answer one for me.”

“Deal. But then I get another answer after.”

“When did you find out about us?”

I looked at my watch. “About forty five minutes ago.”

“What?”

“Nope, now you owe me one. Is Michelle the third Dame?”

“No.”

“That’s a relief,” Bunny said as she fidgeted in her seat. “Oh my gosh, this is such a long light!”

“I know,” Shashi agreed. “Don’t you hate it?”

“I sat at this light for ten minutes once,” Bunny said. “I kid you not.”

“The one at Fairfax Park and Poplar Road is even worse.”

I was beginning to lose it. Roz and Peggy didn’t deserve to die because Shashi and Bunny had traffic light issues. “Can we get back to the information session please? Time is running out.”

Finally, the light turned green and I hit the gas. From our present location and without traffic, we could get to The Winslow Building on Mimosa in about four minutes.

“Listen, Shashi—can I still call you Shashi? Because, well, you still look like a Shashi. The southern accent is throwing me.”

“Yeah, try growing up a Jewish Hindu in the heart of Baptist country. It wasn’t fun.”

“So you moved to Massachusetts and became a bank robber?”

“Krystle was very . . . persuasive. She had a way of talking me into anything.”

“KiKi Urbanowski you mean?”

“That was then, this is now. She’s Krystle through and through. And she’s a mean bitch—Michelle found out the hard way.”

I was just making a right-hand turn onto Mimosa Parkway when Bunny erupted without warning. She lunged into the back seat shrieking like Bruce Lee on a Red Bull high and in the process, caused me to swerve into the oncoming lane. I screamed at the sight of headlights coming toward us. The car barely missed us.

“Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!” Bunny hollered while tackling Shashi. I think she had her hands around her throat. It was hard to tell since I was trying to get the car back onto the right side of the road without getting us all killed. Cars honked all around.

I wasn’t sure Bunny’s tactic was a smart one. “Bunny! Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Shashi was yelling and pulling at Bunny’s hair. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

“Where is it?” Bunny’s voice had climbed several octaves.

I turned my head briefly to glimpse her rooting around in Shashi’s sweatshirt pocket.

“Where is it?” Bunny yelled again.

“What?” Shashi screamed back.

“The gun, dammit! Give it to me.”

Shashi pulled her right hand out of her pocket and held both up in the air. “I don’t have one.”

“You kidnapped us without a gun? What kind of criminal are you?” I looked at the clock on my dash. We had exactly five minutes before they started in on Peggy and Roz and we were only about twenty seconds from the Winslow building.

Making a hard right turn, I screeched into the empty parking lot of the Rustic Woods Golf Course, threw the gear shift into park, and turned around to face Shashi. “Behind that seat is the gun used on Michelle Alexander,” I said. “You’ve got one minute to tell us everything or I use it on you. Start talking.”