Death by Sarcasm

Thirty

It hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to sit up in bed. It hurt to realize how much she’d had to drink the night before. But most of all, it hurt to remember the nightmares: wrinkly old genitalia coming at her (literally) from all directions. The old men’s erections were like jousting sticks in a bullfight, and she was the bull, being chased and poked and prodded.

The capper, the image that had finally jolted her wide awake at five o’clock in the morning: Richard Nixon. Standing on the steps into the Presidential helicopter. His arms held wide, his fingers forming two giant peace signs.

And he was buck naked.

With an erection.

Mary sat on the edge of her bed. She didn’t want to stand up, but she didn’t want to lie back down.

And she wasn’t going to lie to herself. The Shark’s departing shot at her had hit home: ‘…a lonely old maid…’

It wasn’t that she was lonely. Somedays? Sure. Once in awhile. But it was more the fear that she would become lonely when it was too late to do anything about it. That did trouble her.

The doorbell rang, forcing her to make the decision to stand up.

She walked slowly to the door, her head feeling like an Alaskan buttercup squash.

“Hey,” Chris McAllister said when she opened the door after first looking through the peephole.

“Hey,” Mary said, her voice flat and tired.

“Um, I was going to walk up to Peet’s Coffee – did you want me to grab you a cup or anything?”

Jesus, this guy was unbelievable. Cute. Smart. And blessed with perfect timing.

“Yes,” Mary said. “The biggest, strongest coffee they have, please. Here, let me grab my purse.”

Chris smiled. “No, no, it’s on me. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mary said.

She closed the door and made her way to the bathroom. She popped three Tylenol then stood under a blazing hot shower for as long as she could stand it.

By the time she was dressed in jeans and a UCLA sweatshirt, Chris was back with her coffee.

They sat together at the kitchen table, both slightly angled toward Mary’s view of the Pacific.

“I like this side of the building better,” he said.

“The view could be worse,” Mary said.

“I wasn’t just talking about the view,” he said. And smiled at her.

“Ordinarily, I love morning innuendo,” Mary said. “But this coffee is the only thing separating me from rigor mortis.”

“Rough night?” he said.

“Rough day. Rough night.”

He nodded and sipped his coffee. “I hear you’re a private investigator,” he said. “Is it one of your cases?” He smiled, his eyes conveying the excitement he felt of talking to a real-live p.i.

“I’m afraid I am,” Mary said. “I got my license through that Sally Struthers correspondence school. I had a double major: private investigation and seamstressing.”

“What’s your current case? Or can’t you tell me?”

“Umm, it’s…”

“I was kidding, you don’t have to tell me…”

“No, it’s just, it involves family, and someone was hurt, and I’m trying to find the person who did it.”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t mean to pry. Are you…close to catching him?’

“It sure doesn’t feel like it,” Mary said, rubbing her head. “Sorry, I don’t have a lot of anecdotes…”

“Hey, that’s okay, maybe next time we…” he paused, embarrassed about what to say. “…have dinner, you can tell me some stories.”

“I don’t have good stories. Good neighbors. But not good stories.”

He actually blushed a little bit.

“You know what happened between us, the other day…” she said.

“Did something happen?” he said with a small smile.

“Yeah, well, I do that kind of thing all the time,” Mary said. “Pretty much whenever I meet a guy, I try to sleep with him right away. Especially if he’s in this building. In fact, the manager usually tells single guys who are looking at these condos that if they buy one, they pretty much have to sleep with me right away. In fact, it’s my job. I don’t have a real job. I just sleep with guys constantly and immediately. It’s…”

“Okay, Mary, I understand,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I know what happened isn’t common for you. And it sure as hell isn’t common for me.”

Mary set her coffee down and looked at him.

He got her sense of humor. He was handsome. He seemed to be nice.

Uh-oh, she thought.

I’m in trouble.

Later that afternoon, after she’d worked out, had a light lunch, and was outlining the progress of the case, she was still thinking about Chris McAllister when Jake called.

“Let’s get some sushi,” he said.

“Let’s not.”

“Oh, come on. You love raw fish. And raw eel. And mushy seaweed.”

“Stop with the sweet talk.”

“Sushi King sound good?”

The Sushi King was a cheap sushi place on Wilshire she and Jake used to go to on a regular basis. Not the best place in L.A. for sushi, but not the worst, either.

“Is salmonella all I’ll get out of this deal?” Mary said.

“What, now you need a special reason to see me?”

“Actually, I just need a reason to see you, doesn’t have to be good or bad, it just has to be there.”

“Why this sudden shift in Jake policy?”

“Because it strikes me as odd,” Mary said. “I haven’t gotten a lunch or dinner invitation from you in quite some time. I believe one of the reasons you fell so desperately in love with me was my curiosity. And as you can see, it still functions quite powerfully. So I’m wondering, why the offer now? Are you looking for a little quid pro quo, Clarice?”

“Your cynicism saddens me, Mary.”

“Your sadness makes me cynical, Jake.”

“Are you done now?” Jake said.

“Resting, yes. Done? No.”

“Yes, there will be something besides food you’ll appreciate. And no, I don’t mean me.”

“Ooh, I hope it’s a plasma t.v.,” Mary said.

If she’d been at the Hump, her favorite sushi place in L.A she would have ordered the sashimi, and had it while watching Tom Cruise take off in his P-51 Mustang from the little Santa Monica airport, just off of where the Hump was located.

But this was the Sushi King.

So she ordered a spider roll and an Asahi Dry.

Jake’s order took a full three minutes to complete.

“You know, the ocean’s fish resources are scheduled to be depleted by 2050. You’re not helping,” Mary said.

“You’re supposed to have fish three times a week – I have it once but eat three times as much,” he said.

“Very efficient,” Mary said. “So why the luxurious offer to this swanky place?”

“I just wanted to check out your body again close up,” he said.

“Very sensitive, Jake,” Mary said. “A woman barely survives a gang rape and you immediately start leering at her body. I hope you’re not the department’s grief counselor.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “I’m surprised any of those old bastards survived. I can’t believe you only shot one. You must be getting old.”

“It’s sort of hard to be menacing when you’re buck naked. Except for your girlfriend, Davies.”

The waitress brought Mary’s beer and Jake’s sake.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jake said, after the waitress had left.

“So what it is it you wanted to tell me?” Mary said. She didn’t want to get into this again. Maybe it was Chris McAllister, or maybe it was something that needed to be talked about seriously, and she wasn’t ready for it. Not just yet.

“I’m dying of curiosity,” Mary said. She stuffed a piece of spider roll into her mouth and studied the poster on the wall describing all the different kinds of sushi.

“We have a confession in the murder of your uncle,” Jake said.

He glanced up at Mary, a curious expression on his face.

She looked down from the poster at him. “Was it you, Jake?” Mary said. “Did you kill Brent to get even with me for dumping you? So you could spend some time with me? Sad, really. Desperate.”

He shook his head.

“Was it some loony homeless guy who wandered in to the station from Ocean Avenue and gave a confession for a free meal and a warm bed?” Mary said.

Jake shook his head again.

“Mark Reihm,” he said.

Mary remembered him immediately – he had been one of the crew at Aunt Alice’s house whom she’d questioned. He’d been the one with the acne scars and the buzz cut.

“So, what, his guilty conscience drove him to confess?” she said.

“Actually, it drove him to suicide. He confessed in a note.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me,” she said. “He’s dead and he confessed in a note? And you believe it?”

Jake shrugged. “We’re checking it out.”

Mary started to tell him not to bother, that whoever was behind these killings wasn’t the kind to be plagued by a guilty conscience. But she stopped herself. She sort of liked the idea of Jake and the Shark running around, following up silly leads that would go nowhere. That would give her time to find out the real killer.

“Wow, that’s great,” Mary said. “Maybe they’ll put you on the cover of Police Weekly. Or, even better, Playgirl,” she said. “Detective Jacob Cornell. He fights crime! He protects society! He talks on the phone naked!”

“Oh, I bet you could picture me naked,” Jake said. He smiled a sly smile at her.

She could picture him naked and on top of her gazing down into her eyes. Actually he looked incredibly hot right now, with that stupid little grin on his face. Like a boy peeking through a peephole at the girly show.

“If I want an image of you naked, I’ll order the river eel,” she said, pointing with her chin toward the sushi bar.

He rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not apologizing yet again for what happened. You dumped me. I got shit faced and made a mistake. Get over it. In fact, I think you’re already over it, but you’re pretending not to be so you don’t have to admit to yourself just how much you still love me.”

She made a face at him, smeared a big dab of wasabi on her salmon and popped it into her mouth. The wasabi’s heat made her eyes water and her face flush. Which is what she’d hoped for, because she knew she was blushing.

Jake watched her with that stupid grin on his face. It was getting wider.

He glanced up at the waitress and got her attention. “More sake, please,” he said. “Lots more.”