My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Fifteen - Don't Go to Strangers

i.

"The fuck was that?" Valyntine asks, her eyes darting from Anthony to Thomas.

"You expecting an early delivery?" Latin asks. His sudden, hurried movements – putting on his jacket, hat, and readying his three quarter walking stick – suggest he knows the answer.

"Nothing gets delivered here," Anthony says, producing the sawed-off scattergun he aimed at Latin's head the night before.

"You were the first to knock on our door in years. And we knew you were coming because Mrs. Jones was the first to ring our-" Thomas's voice cuts off at the sound of the rotary on the desk coming to life. The four occupants of the room stiffen. Anthony breaks his stance first, resting the scattergun on his shoulder while reaching for the receiver.

"Put it on speaker," Thomas says. Looking at Valyntine and Latin, he adds, "Complete silence from the two of you."

Instead of picking up the receiver, Anthony pushes a pile of books aside to reveal an old desk speaker. Flipping a knob, it pops to life with a split-second of screeching feedback.

"Yeah?" Anthony says into the small box.

"Y'all smarty-arty in that li'l townie-house a-yours, ain'tcha?" a high voice crackles through the speaker. Anthony turns a small knob to the right and the static lessens.

"Who the fuck is this? Six in the fuckin' mornin'. Who do you think you're callin' so early?"

"You ain't talkin' like I rousted you from sleepy time," the high voice says. To Valyntine, the man is speaking in a falsetto, doing his worst imitation of how he thinks a girl's voice sounds. "You know why you so smart in that li'l townie-house o' yours?"

"Not that I give two shits and a pound of wet scrapple but sure, enlighten me."

Thomas, nodding his head in approval, gives his brother a thumbs up.

Valyntine shifts her attention to Latin. His face is drawn in, head cocked to the side, concentrating on the voice coming through the speaker box.

"You's right in the middle with all the other townie-houses, so ain't nobody gettin' you from either side. We done checked, and I'll be sent South if y'all ain't got you's windows boarded up. Can't lob nuthin' in those, mm-mm. How y'all go without the sunshiny-shine, mmm, mmm, mmm I don't understand."

Latin snaps to attention, motioning to Thomas for something to write on.

Thomas grabs a pad of paper and pen from the top of the desk, thrusting it to Latin. Turning back to his brother he makes a circling gesture with his fingers while nodding to the speaker box – 'keep him talking.'

"The fuck you so fascinated with my house?" Anthony asks.

Another round of loud, triple banging pounds on the front door.

"Ooooh," the speaker box coos, over-delighted with the question. "Darlin', anyone with a door like that," he says the words as if they give him pleasure. Thomas and Anthony's shoulders tense at the mention of their door. Latin holds up the pad of paper showing a single name, underlined: Skylark. The Saints shrug in unison, their expressions indicating they didn't recognize the name. Latin winces.

"What do you know about my door?" Anthony asks, putting one hand on the desk for support.

"Well darlin', right now what's ticklin' my brain is why you won't open that beautiful li'l door on up for that pretty li'l dish, standing on your stoop, with a pretty li'l chopper, in her pretty li'l hands, behind her pretty li'l back." The line disconnects. The deafening silence in the room drags on until a third round of hammering bangs at the door.