In the Belly of the Beast

23

Smile. Smile.

It was a mantra she repeated to brainwash her mouth.

Two weeks. Smile.

Two more weeks, and the two hundred twenty pound hemorrhoid would be excised from her rectum forever.

Richard was retiring. In fourteen days, he would officially be off the force and out of her life forever.

Two Weeks. Smile. Smile.

Smile, she reminded herself as she took an inventory in the mirror and determined not to let Richard know how much he infuriated her.

The coffee stain had soaked her white silk blouse, and despite her best efforts, now bled like a fading gray-brown bruise across her breasts.

Limp Dick had emptied his java onto her chest minutes before. Thankfully, he drank it weak and tepid, so instead of scalding her, he'd doused her with what amounted to lukewarm dishwater.

She tried to dry herself with the flimsy recycled paper towel and checked her reflection one last time.

The knotted muscle in her neck tightened. She rocked her head from side to side in a tic-toc stretch. The crink had lingered since morning and refused to ease.

She'd made the mistake of dozing on the couch while watching a black-and-white mystery. The old popcorn features from the thirties and forties were her Achilles' heel, and she had stayed up late to watch one.

This flick was a favorite.

***

Its plot revolves around a glamorous star portraying a bedridden invalid. The actress overhears plans for her own murder and is frantic.

Abby had fallen asleep as the woman desperately sought help.

As her dream unfolded, Abby watched the scenes flash before her in black and white. Abby's dream camera recorded at an avant-garde angle. She saw everything from her knees down.

At her feet, lay the starlet, her face framed by rich, shimmering locks. A single bullet hole cratered the center of her porcelain forehead.

There was no blood.

With a blank, wide-eyed stare, the corpse seemed to ask why?

There was another person in the dream, as well. Abby saw him from the knees down. His pants were old-fashioned. Wide-legged two-inch cuffs draped over his spit-shined shoes.

She could not see his face but heard his voice, cold, impersonal.

"Cut off the arms and legs," he instructed her. "If anyone asks, tell them that's her thirty-fifth stock option."

Absurd, she thought.

It was the voice of Limp Dick.

God, he's even invaded my dreams.

She woke with a start and with the crick in her neck like a knotted steel cable. The damp blouse only added to her misery.

Nothing like a baptism of coffee from the flaccid one himself to start the day off right.

"The man of my dreams," she muttered to herself. "I'll not let you get to me today" she said as she pushed open the bathroom door.

She repeated the mantra to herself: Two weeks. Two weeks and this nightmare's over.

She buttoned her jacket to cover the stain.

"Well, Fontaine," he said sarcastically, "so glad you decided to rejoin the living."

She didn't smile, but she didn't frown either.

A small victory.

"What the hell you doing in there anyway? I thought I was going to have to come in after you, but then again, who am I to interfere with feminine hygiene?"

"What did you say?" not believing her ears.

"I said we need to get moving. You've been holed up in that john so long I thought you'd taken up residence. Wanna bite?"

He stuck a half-eaten doughnut in her face, but the sneer on his lips suggested biting other things.

"No thanks," she said, brushing past him.

They both got into the car.

He had never mentioned the spilled coffee or apologized for his clumsiness. Abby ignored both.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Southside," he said. "Seems somebody forgot to pay the power bill."

He chuckled.

"Black out," he continued. "That whole grid's without power. No one will estimate how long it's gonna take to get it back up. We've been asked to baby sit the neighborhoods. Be a deterrence to looters, burglars, you know."

"But isn't that a little out of our line?"

"Budget cuts, sweetheart. When the department's this shorthanded, it's all hands on deck. Even detectives. Cheer up. We'll roll right into that heart of darkness and with any luck, we may have a stiff or two to check out before the night's over."

***

Southside.

A boil on the buttocks of the world. Abby had been to Southside more times than she liked to remember.

Too many murders, gangbangs, and drug deals gone sour. Too much poverty and hopelessness, too much of everything lumped together in a rotting, festering heap of crumbling neighborhoods.

The well-intentioned politicos had dumped truckloads of money into renovation projects and feel-good renewals, only to see it swallowed up and disappear. Things were never any better. It was like feeding healthy cells to a ravenous cancer.

They crossed the river, turning off Main. Only the headlights of other cars broke the blackness.

"This looks like a golden opportunity," she said as their lights fell upon a street person stumbling from the curb, "handed to us on a silver platter. Let's hope no one down here feels mischievous tonight," she muttered as they drove by.

"What are we supposed to do?" she asked Mecham.

"Drive around. Wait for something to happen," he said.

She fastened her seatbelt. It was going to be a very long night.