The Hard Bounce - [32]

As extreme as the circumstances were, we couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to pound on Sid. Besides, I wasn’t convinced we could dish out anything that would register on her thick hide. Be like punching a waterbed.

This was going to call for creativity. Not our deepest well to draw from.

“Wait a sec,” I said. I walked back over toward Sid’s Vids. I was reasonably sure Sid wasn’t going to come waddling out the door unless it was time to close or the building was on fire. Over the windows, about seven feet up, was the broken air conditioner. I felt in my pockets for something to hitch up the vent flaps with.

Pack of Parliaments, keys, and Sharpie pen.

Bingo.

My lucky self-defense Sharpie.

I tiptoed up and arched my body to stay out of Sid’s line of vision. I heard her voice over the television before I lifted up the slats. I couldn’t make out what she was saying but I knew she was on the phone. Nobody was in the store when we went in, and nobody had gone in since we’d left.

Detective of the Year Award, here I come.

With the slats opened, I caught snippets of her side of the conversation.

“… know who the fuck they are… [wheezing] yeah… I think that… [more wheezing]… pay fucking Seven a visit… [wheeze]… stupid fucking pussy ass faggot…”

Too easy. Either we were better than we thought we were or these people were wicked retarded.

Then my beeper sounded, nearly making me shit myself. I jumped down and tried to muffle the buzzing by cupping it in my palms as I ran down the street. I wasn’t worried about Sid giving chase.

Kelly’s number popped onto the screen. As I walked past Miss Kitty, Junior rolled down the window. “The fuck was that?”

“Got a beep. Gonna use the phone in the store.”

I dropped a quarter in the pay phone in the Store 24. Much as I hated to admit it, I was going to have to get a cell phone. Pay phones were becoming scarcer in Boston than Yankees fans.

“Kelly Reese.”

“You beeped?”

“Yeah. About that. You have a beeper?”

“Yup. I’m kinda old school.” I waved at the cashier. When he looked over, I showed him the Twinkie package I’d picked up. He waved it off, so I opened it and took a big bite of chemical deliciousness.

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Hey, you beep me to bust my balls, or you need something?”

“Touchy.”

“Only when people make fun of my beeper.”

“Can you meet up with me for a coffee in the next couple hours?”

“I’m available right now. Sure you don’t want anything stronger?”

“Want me to vomit on you again?”

“Coffee it is.”

She was sitting outside the Starbucks across from Back Bay Station when I got there. She handed me a large iced coffee. (You can fuck yourself if you think I’m calling it a venti.) I knew a hangover when I saw one, and she looked like she was coping with a doozy. Lot of that going around, apparently.

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

“Oh, ready to die.” She nodded toward the paper bag on the table. “Didn’t know how you took it, so there’s some sugar in the bag and milk in that little cup.”

“Thanks. So…”

“Again, I just want to apologize for last night. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Her behavior had given me all the right ideas, but none I could repeat in public. “Like I said, no problem. You call me up to apologize again?”

“Beeped you, actually,” she said, smirking.

“What did I say about making fun of my beeper?”

“Sorry. Forgot you were old school for a second.”

“Thank you.” I lit a cigarette and saw her expression shift. “So, which is it?”

“Which what?”

“Are you a pain-in-the-ass cigarette hater, or did you want one?”

“I quit a year ago.” She took a long pull off her straw.

“Great. You’re the worst of both worlds.”

“Give me a drag.” She plucked the cigarette from my hand and took a longer pull, closed her eyes, and groaned in a fashion not far from sexual. I wondered if she’d quit to impress her boss, the other ex-smoker I’d handed a cigarette to recently. “You’re a very, very bad influence, Mr. Malone.”

She had no idea. “So other than using me to enable your vices, why are we here?”

“Mr. Donnelly was wondering how you were doing.”

I took the cigarette back and puffed. I got a strange pleasure from the taste of her lipstick on the filter. “Oh. Um, we’re making progress.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

I decided to edit severely, and dodge the exactly. “Have you ever heard her talk about boys at all? About a guy with a snake tattoo, specifically?”

“Honestly? I’ve never really talked to her all that much. I’ve picked her up from school, driven her to the mall and stuff, but she’s at an age where anyone over twenty is the enemy.”

“That may be the case, but the guy we think she’s with is well over puberty.”

“That sounds bad.” She pulled a chunk off an apple fritter and popped it into her mouth, chewing it slowly.

“It probably is.” I didn’t say just how bad.

“Oh God, I think I’m going to be ill.”

“Not on me this time.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Probably not. She do any of that computer stuff? Friendster?”

“Friendster? You’re not old school, you’re retirement home. All the cool kids are on Facebook. Besides, her dad keeps all her passwords saved. He regularly checks her online activity.”