‘Hold on now, ma’am,’ says Deacon. ‘Police business.’
‘Get down, Delano,’ I shout. ‘On the floor.’
Mrs Delano’s cheeks pump up and turn crimson. I half expect flames to shoot out of her ears.
Deacon has got it covered; she’s a professional and her feet are planted in a wide stance now, but Delano throws her with:
‘I stacked your toilet rolls! Bastard!’
Deacon rears back like she’s been bitten on the nose, and she shoots me a glance that says what the hell have you and this crazy lady got going on?
The glance is her mistake, because Delano attacks, steaming lasagne borne aloft.
I cover my balls, because melted cheese sticks. Tough as Deacon is, there isn’t a naked person on this planet who isn’t scared of hot pasta, so she gives Delano her full attention and shoots the dish right out of her hands. There’s a béchamel explosion, minced steak spatters the wall like buckshot and I make my move.
I get off the floor fast, pistoning my legs like I’m coming out of a squat. Deacon already knows what’s happening, but she’s not fast enough to get the gun around. She screams in frustration, then I have her against the wall, cuffs snicked over her wrists, gun smothered in my fist.
‘This is kidnapping,’ she spits. ‘I am a friendly with a badge. Do you really want to throw that away?’
Friendly? Most of my friends don’t aim their weapons at my privates. Most.
Delano is still coming. She’s screaming too, something about me being just as bad as all the others, which wouldn’t be so bad except for the glass shards she’s swinging with every word. Deacon isn’t calming down either; she’s bucking like there’s a scorpion on her back, and trying her damnedest to get a heel into my crotch.
I have no alternative but to play into Mrs Delano’s fantasy.
‘Thank God you’re here, darling,’ I say, hoping she’s too far gone to notice my atrocious acting. ‘This woman tried to assault me. You saw the gun. Look, handcuffs.’
Delano’s eyes fog over and she stutters to a halt, gobs of lasagne dripping from her hands, splatting on to my good rug. I wince but don’t mention it.
‘Handcuffs?’
I push Deacon’s head into the wall as gently as I can, covering the side of her face with my palm. I’ve had relationships go wrong before, but never this fast. ‘Yeah. Can you believe it? I woke up to find this crazy lady holding a gun on me.’
‘Crazy lady,’ says Delano slowly. ‘I’ve heard that phrase before.’
‘I bet you have, you fucking lunatic,’ Deacon says, spitting the words through mashed lips.
‘You shut your filthy mouth,’ orders Delano, and without hesitation clocks Deacon on the crown with the corner of Pyrex dish in her hand. The blow has surprising muscle in it, and Detective Deacon goes limp in my arms.
‘Sorry, baby. Did I catch your finger there?’
Baby? ‘Ah . . . no, I’m fine.’
‘Do you think we should kill her? Cut her up like in the movies? I have an electric carving knife. Penis looks good, baby.’
I lower Deacon on to the rug, then hurriedly pull on some pants, very uncomfortable with my penis being mentioned in the same breath as an electric carving knife.
‘No. No need to kill her. She’s confused, that’s all.’
Delano winks at me, or maybe it’s just hard to keep that eyelid open with all the mascara trowelled on to it.
‘Maybe she heard about Mister Pee-Pee and came to see for herself.’
‘M . . . maybe,’ I stutter. ‘Whatever the reason, this woman has problems. We need to be compassionate, show understanding.’
‘Or slice her head off. I have plastic bags.’
Sure. We could toss her in the car beside her partner, then drive to the mall where I dumped Macey and line up all three bodies together in the Lexus. Hell, why not steal Connie’s corpse from the morgue to complete the set?
Mrs Delano squeezes my arm.
‘I’m kidding, Dan. It’s my crazy sense of humour. That’s why you love me.’ Her face is glowing. She looks young. ‘Remember that time you fixed my window? That was when I knew.’
I am not qualified to deal with this. Why does everyone I meet seem to have mental problems?
Ah . . . but did they have mental problems before meeting you? Who’s the common denominator here, Dan?
I do not have mental problems! I say to the voice in my head, perfectly aware how damning it would sound were I to say it aloud.
Deacon’s pulse is steady, but she’s got a glowing bump on her noggin which I doubt will improve her mood any, and she was pissed enough before Lasagne Lady popped her on the skull.
Deacon moans and mumbles something that sounds like:
Hill view utter trucker.
But which is probably:
Kill you, motherfucker.
And with this in mind I pocket her gun. At least this way, she will have to bludgeon me to death with her fists.
I cannot honestly say that I am protecting either of these women; so much for my psychosis. It pains me, it really does, but I have to protect myself in this situation, and sort out the women from afar. Opting to stay here and nurse Deacon would surely result in hosepipes, frame-ups and jail time. Not necessarily in that order.
I pull on my clothes and mentally cobble together a story for my new girlfriend.
‘Are you speaking to me, baby?’
‘No . . . I don’t . . . Was I?’
Mrs Delano is concerned. ‘Well you were kind of mumbling, and looked like you were playing an invisible piano too. Everything okay?’
Two of my stress tells: thinking aloud and conducting. Simon Moriarty pointed those out to me. I really have to call that guy.
‘Just thinking. You need to be safe, Mrs Delano.’
She walks her fingers up my chest. ‘What are we? Strangers. Sofia, please.’
I clear my throat. ‘It’s dangerous for you here . . . Sofia.’
Delano puts her cheek against my heart. ‘Remember when you first called me Sofia, baby? That night in Coney Island. I’ll never forget it, Carmine.’
Carmine? Now I’m somebody else. Is that an improvement, I
wonder?
Mrs Delano’s make-up leaves a face print on my chest when I peel her off.
‘You need to go upstairs now, Sofia. Go up and wait for my call.’ I flash on the rows of pill bottles in the upstairs kitchen. ‘Do you have any medication you should be taking?’
Sofia Delano frowns. ‘No more pills, Carmine. They make me stupid.’
‘How about one? Just one to help you relax until I call?’
‘Maybe just one for you, baby.’
‘Good. Good . . . baby. You promise?’
‘Sure.’
‘Say it. Promise me.’
Delano pouts and suddenly ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ starts playing in my mind-pod.
‘I promise. Happy now?’
‘Yeah. Happy now.’
I steer her towards the hallway, but she stops at the door, planting her back against the frame. Her chest is heaving and her eyes are bright.
Carmine was a lucky guy, I think. What did he do to you?
‘Kiss me, baby,’ she moans. ‘I’ve been dreaming so long.’
After all this time I get lucky twice in one day. Pity about the blood-sodden circumstances.
‘Come on, Carmine,’ says Sofia, her voice sulky and impatient. ‘No kiss, no pill.’
So I kiss her. She grabs a fistful of my neck hair and pulls me in deep, and it’s like a movie kiss, long and languorous, and after a year or so I start wishing my name was Carmine.
We come up for air and Sofia’s eyes are wet. Blue mascara flowers on her cheeks.
‘We still got the spark, Carmine.’
I’m feeling a bit emotional myself. ‘Yeah, Sofia. That was something.’
Her nose crinkles. ‘But what happened to your hair?’
I hustle her up the stairs with Ghost Zeb chuckling in my ear.
I shut the door behind Mrs Delano, then take the steps three at a time back to my apartment. Deacon is up and about, stumbling around head in hands, swear words drooling from her lips. She’s not fully conscious yet, but any minute now.
She spots me with one rolling eye, and lurches in my direction like an extra from Day of the Dead.
‘Easy there, Detective Deacon,’ I say, gallantly steering her to the remains of the sofa. She plonks down, deep into the butchered cushions. Her entire midsection disappears, from boobs to knees. On any other day you’d have to laugh, except maybe yesterday or the day before that.