The Hard Bounce - [31]
A little bell tinkled over the door as we walked in. The place smelled of stale dirt and something ripe and sickly sweet like old meat. The air conditioner over the window had to be broken; otherwise it should have been turned on by law. Putrid humidity hung the stench at eye-level in the small room. I could hear the sounds of a television and labored breathing coming from the rear. My heart pounded as we walked down the aisle. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if I saw a snake tattoo.
Bad things.
Bad, bad things.
What I did see was one of the fattest beasts outside a zoo that I’d ever laid eyes on. The person sitting behind the counter was at least four hundred pounds. Limp, stringy hair lay across its forehead like overcooked spaghetti.
I was looking right at it, and I had no idea if it was a man or a woman. There were tits, sure, but in the dim light, I couldn’t be sure there wasn’t stubble or an Adam’s apple wedged into the thick folds of its neck.
“Oh, yuck,” Junior muttered under his breath.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”
“What?” The beast still didn’t look up from the TV.
“I want to talk to Sid.”
“I’m Sid,” the beast said, pointing a thumb the size of a bratwurst back at itself.
“You’re Sid?” Junior asked.
“The fucking sign says Sid’s Vids, don’t it? You expecting a man?”
Well, at least we cleared that much up.
“It’s Portuguese,” she went on, “short for Sidonia.”
“We were told we could get some movies here.”
With a tremendous effort, Sid turned her head to look at us better. “Wow. You two managed to figure out that you could get movies at a video store. You two must be the fucking pride of MIT.” Sid laughed a wet gurgle at us.
“Movies with girls in them.”
Sid turned back to the television. “On your left. Through the curtain, Romeo.” To the left was a beaded curtain, a handwritten sign next to it that read, 18 And Over Only.
“I don’t think you’d have these movies on your shelves,” I said.
Sid’s broad face darkened as she turned back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” Junior said. “Rough stuff. With girls. And by girls, we mean girls.” Junior plucked a pair of quotation marks in the air with his fingers.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Sid’s voice didn’t have the same conviction the second time. Beads of dull sweat popped out on her face. Might not have been nervous sweat. Could have been exertion sweat from having to turn her head twice in less than an hour.
“C’mon,” I said. “Seven told us this is where he gets his.”
“Seven what? Little dwarves? I said I don’t-”
“Whatever,” Junior said. “You don’t want our money? Fine. But just so you know, we’ve got a few people who want those kinds of movies and we’ve got cash.” Junior brought out the flash money-a hundred wrapped around a thick wad of ones. To Sid it must have looked like a Burger King’s ransom.
Sid licked her thick lips at the sight of the money. I suppressed my gag reflex.
“You two cops?” she asked.
“We look like cops to you?” I asked.
“Cause you have to tell me if I ask. It’s illegal for you to not tell me if I ask. That’s entrapment.”
“I’m not a cop,” I said. I didn’t know if Sid’s information on the law was true or not, but I figured I’d humor her.
“What about you, Red?”
Junior sighed. “Nope. Not a cop.”
“Say it. Say the words. Say, ‘I’m not a cop.’”
“I. Am. Not. A. Cop,” he said, hammering it out like a kid at a spelling bee.
One more shot, for reaction’s sake. “Listen, just call the snake man and tell him we want three copies of every movie he’s got.”
Sid jiggled and wheezed at his mention.
We have a winner.
I sighed, feigning boredom at the conversation as we walked. “Make some calls. We’ll be back tomorrow. Have an answer.”
Outside the store, Junior said in a mock-serious tone, “I thought you told Seven you wasn’t gonna bring him into this.”
“Did I now?” I said with equal amounts of mock-forgetfulness. “Well, gee. It must have plum slipped my mind.”
“Shame on you.” Junior waggled his finger at me. “And your plums.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Shame on me. Leave my plums out of this.”
Junior sat on Miss Kitty’s hood, mulling over the situation. “Well, ain’t this a bitch,” he said, chewing on his thumbnail.
“What is?” Humid sweat made my clothes stick. As I separated the fabric from my skin, I could still smell the stink of Sid’s Vids coming off me, as though the odor had dug itself into my pores.
“This throws a monkey wrench right into our investigatory style, now don’t it?” he said, throwing his hands into the air. “I mean, hell… we can’t just kick the shit out of her to find out what we need, can we? She’s a girl.” He said the last with an aggravated sweep of his hand toward the storefront.
Girl might not have been the term I would have used to describe our little Sidonia, but I knew what he meant. As a blanket policy, we try not to hit women. Even ones with as questionable a womanhood as Sid. Once I had to deck a townie biker chick when she went for my eyes with a corkscrew. Another time, a drunken skinhead girl chased Junior halfway to Roxbury when she decided she wanted a fight and picked Junior. That’s how far he’d go to avoid physical conflict with a woman. Literally.
