“Not our problem. That’s his to work out and he better hop to,” Joey said. “It’s time to remind Fritz how much he stands to lose.”
“So what are these instructions of yours? I’m dying to hear.”
“He needs a deadline. Something concrete so this doesn’t drag on and on. I’ll say someone’s going to pick him up somewhere downtown. Give him a day and time. Then we can drive by the location and check to see if he’s cooperating.”
“And if he’s not?”
Joey shrugged. “We try something else.”
“You know what? So far, this feels like we’re just making shit up as we go along.”
“It’s called being flexible. If he comes up with the dough, we’ll come up with a plan.”
“You better think about it in the meantime.”
“Baby, that’s all I do.” He looked over at her. “It’d be funny if this worked, wouldn’t it?”
She smiled. “I don’t know about funny, but it would be a hoot.”
13
Wednesday afternoon, September 20, 1989
I ate lunch at my desk, trying Poppy’s phone number at intervals to no avail. In the afternoon, to fill my time, I took the index cards out of my bag and typed up my notes, making a display of productivity to soothe my conscience. I was no closer to finding the McCabes’ extortionist than I’d been at the outset, and the lack of progress undercut my confidence. I was entertaining a teeny tiny wee regret that I’d agreed to the job in the first place. Whatever the problem, a desire to be helpful is a risky proposition, a lesson I never seem to learn.
At five, I closed up the office and headed home. Traffic was light through the downtown streets and I was on Albanil, searching for a parking place, when a little red Mercedes-Benz convertible whizzed by. I turned my head in time to spot Cheney in the driver’s seat and I felt a small jolt of happiness. Then I saw his passenger, the way-too-pretty Anna Dace. As I watched, he slowed and turned onto the parking apron in front of Moza Lowenstein’s garage.
He killed the engine, got out, and walked briskly to the passenger side, where he held the door for Anna as she emerged in a long white sweater and a skirt so short, it scarcely covered her underpants. His expression was grim. She kept her head down, dashing tears from her cheeks as the two proceeded to Moza’s front door. Neither seemed aware that I was in range, which suited me just fine. Anna took out her house keys and let herself in. She and Cheney chatted briefly through the open door and then he returned to his car and drove away. I hoped the poor dears hadn’t had a lovers’ tiff.
I changed clothes and went for my run, reflecting on life and love while my thigh muscles protested, my chest heaved, and sweat collected at the small of my back. As is true of so much in life, it was none of my business if the two of them had embarked on a relationship. Furthermore, if they quarreled, that wasn’t any of my business, either. I hadn’t planned to go to Rosie’s that night anyway and I certainly wouldn’t do so now. What if I were there and the two came in for dinner? Was I going to sit pretending not to notice while they kissed and made up or stared soulfully into one another’s eyes over plates of Rosie’s peculiar food? No, I was not.
I finished my three-mile stint and then used the three-block walk home to cool down. I passed through the gate and proceeded to the backyard. No sign of Lucky or Pearl, so I headed for Henry’s back door, which was open to the late afternoon air. I knocked on the frame, tilting my head to the screen. “Hey, Henry? You there?”
I heard “Yo!” but the voice wasn’t Henry’s. It was Pearl’s.
She came thumping into the kitchen from the hall, swinging her bulk between her crutches. She’d wrapped herself in an enormous apron. I watched her hump herself over to the back door and unlatch the screen. I stepped into the kitchen, noting the big pile of dirty dishes and utensils on the counter. Flour dusted the floor like a light snowfall. Henry’s proofing bowl had been placed on the back of the stove with a towel over it.
“I take it Henry’s not here.”
“Lucky asked to borry his car so he could reclaim his dog from the veterinarian. He’d just sucked down a six-pack of beer, so Henry decided it’d be smarter if he drove.”
“So now we’ve got a dog living here, too?”
“We gotta keep him somewheres. Animal Control was this close to putting him down, so Lucky had to fetch him or the poor thing would be dead.”
“Didn’t he have to license the dog?”
“So?”
“So that cost money. I thought he was broke.”
“Henry lent him the money,” she said. “What’s that sour look?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do, too. That’s why I asked.”
“I’ll tell you what bothers me. Having you camp in Henry’s backyard like it’s a national park. The rehab facility wants you indoors with access to a toilet. Not hobbling around in the dirt on crutches, peeing on the few plants Henry has left.”
“Who put a bug up your heinie bumper?”
“It pisses me off that you take advantage of him. When are you going to pay your own way? You have no ambition, no self-discipline, and no skills.”
“That ain’t my fault,” she said indignantly. “I’ve applied for jobs all over the place and no one’ll hire me. It’s discrimination and you know why? I’m a woman past forty and I’m mortally obese. Hey, I’m white and that’s a plus, but otherwise I’m screwed, which the government knows or they wouldn’t be sending me disability checks.”
“What disability?” I asked, exasperated.
“My hip is broke. Where the hell have you been?”
I closed my eyes, practicing self-restraint. “Once your hip is healed, what’s your disability?”
“I don’t know. Mental?”
“You’re not mental. Get serious. You’re healthy, you’re smart, and you have energy to spare. It’s time to pitch in your fair share.”
“My share of what? This ain’t even my house. I bet it was paid off years ago, so what am I pitching in for? Air and sunshine?”
“Food. Utilities. Washer and dryer. Hot showers . . .”
“I can get all of that for free at Harbor House.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing here, Miss Smarty-Pants. I was saving this for a surprise, but I can see I’ll have to let you in on a little secret. Henry’s teaching me to bake. That way I’ll have a skill and I can hire on as a baker’s apprentice.”
“You don’t have the patience.”
“I most certainly do! I’m putting up with you and that big mouth of yours, ain’t I? Anyway, I watched him put a batch of dough together and it’s no big deal. Just yeast, water, and flour. Mix her up, knead her until she’s smooth, and that’s it.”
I moved over to Henry’s bread proofing bowl and picked up the towel. In the bottom was a dispirited wad of ragged flour. “Is this ‘her’?”
“Yep! You set her in a warm place and Nature does the rest.”