Frank Sinatra in a Blender (21 page)

No Nuts finished up the last drop of tomato juice and told Sid to get to it.

Sid tore off a few pieces of duct tape, which varied in length. He ripped a few pieces up the middle too and stuck the edges to the end of the table.

“Now this may smart a little bit Johnny.” Sid tried to clean him up with the washcloth, but he wasn’t having much luck. He scrubbed for a minute then he started using sections of the tape to patch Johnny’s face together.

When he was finished there was duct tape across Johnny’s cheek, ear, and nose. He could barely open his mouth enough to speak. Sid also taped No Nuts shoulder solid to his body by wrapping the tape around his back, up under his other arm, then back across to his shoulder. A few more times and No Nuts felt much better. Stiffer, a little tighter, but at least it didn’t feel like his fucking shoulder was going to fall off.

He said he had to piss. Maybe he’d finally worked up the courage to look in the mirror. He asked Sid to make him another drink, said he’d be right back.

“Sure, Johnny.” Sid made a drink for each of them.

The back door opened suddenly and Sid eyeballed his burner on the table. It was Angie and some guy who looked familiar, but Sid couldn’t place. The guy was holding a burner of his own.

“Don’t do it, buddy,” the stranger yelled.

Sid stopped and tried to throw his hands up, but he was holding the glasses. “Calm down, calm down. Angie, it’s me.”

“Of course it’s you,
asshole
! You leave me, don’t talk to me for two months, then you just come over and break into my fucking house!”

“I didn’t break in, darlin’. I used the key.”

She looked at the glasses in his hands.
“And you help yourself to my booze?”

“I was thirsty.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she screamed.

Sid looked at the guy with the gun.

He looked like he could handle himself, but he was anxious. He’d be easy to overpower if Sid caught him off guard.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us, love?” He nodded at the new guy.

“You don’t worry ‘bout who I am, boy.”

Her hair was wet. She was wearing loose sweatpants and a man’s t-shirt. She smelled like mango.

“This is Bill,” she said. “He lives next door.”

Sid mentioned the wet hair, asked, “Is your shower broken, love?”

“I’m seein’ Bill now,
you pig!”

Bill started getting loud. He pointed hard with the gun.

“You parked your car in my driveway, jackoff! She got outta the shower’n she seen it. Told me it was yours. I done called the law on ya.”

“Now why’d you have to go and do a thing like that for Bill?” Sid shook his head from side to side.

“Angie,” Sid began, “Just lemme go. Lemme go and I’ll just be on my way.” He moved to set the drinks down.

“Oh, fuck you. You’re goin’ to jail, asshole.” If Bill ever noticed Sid had two drinks, he failed to recognize the significance.

Sid bit his lip, shrugged. Said they shoulda let him go.

“Johnny?”

No Nuts stepped out from the hallway and started shooting.

His right arm was tapped solid, he had to use his left, something he’d never done before. He was aiming for Bill, but the first shot tore a hole through the stripper’s chest and she died on her feet. The second shot blew a chunk of wood off the doorframe. He aimed with the eye that still worked.

Bill froze, unaccustomed to the weight of the gun. He pointed at No Nuts and fired, but he never took the safety off. He fumbled with it as No Nuts charged him, running funny with half his body held together by duct tape.

Bill turned to run as two bullets punctured his back. One hammered through his shoulder and lodged against his spine. The other passed through his chest and struck a wall next to the backdoor.

He fell on his stomach and chunks of drywall landed on his back. No Nuts got close and blasted one finishing round into his mess of dark bushy hair, and the force at such close range lifted up Bill’s head and slammed what was left back to the ground in a burst of blood, bone, and floor tile.

Sid took a drink and told Johnny that was pretty good shootin’. “Five bullets for two people, from only six feet away.”

“Fuck you and you’re welcome.”

But Sid couldn’t understand anything No Nuts said by that point.

They fled the scene, each with a gun in one hand and a Bloody Mary in the other. They couldn’t leave them behind with their prints on them. Not that it mattered. They’d both touched too many things. That got Sid thinking. It wasn’t too late to clean up this mess.

Sid stopped running, told No Nuts they couldn’t leave things like they were. Said he had to go back to the garage. He knew there was five gallons worth of gas. Said he outta know, he was the bloke who cut the grass all summer. “I’m gonna torch the place, Johnny. Just wait for me in the car.”

•••••

I felt cold now against my face
as someone grabbed me by the shoulders. There was a voice I couldn’t see asking me if I was okay. I looked up into the sun that blinded me, told whoever was on the other end of that voice to help me to my feet.

I still had the .45 in my hand. I scanned the ground for my shotgun.

“Whoa, take it easy man. Take it easy.
I can’t believe that shit!
You okay?”

“Shotgun.”

“Just hang on buddy, ain’t you like a cop or something?”

My eyes opened and closed heavily.

The guy holding me up lived down the street. I’d seen him around. He drove a red Ford F-150 pickup with a camper just a tad off in color. Sometimes he’d walk up to the corner mart in the evenings, walk back with a bottle of wine and an ice cream.

He said his name was Clyde Kirby. He asked me again if I was a cop. His adrenaline was pumping; he was shaken up.

“What the fuck just happened man?”

I walked forward and picked the shotgun up out of the snow. Clyde kept telling me to relax, said the cops were on their way.

I thought about Frank suddenly and made a run for the stairs, took them two at a time. I ran through the door and found him to my left, lying on his side. His lower half was still stuffed in the blender. I dropped the guns and fell to the ground. He wasn’t moving but he was alive. When I tried to pull him free he started squealing, my hands froze. I couldn’t do it. There was blood inside the blender and a shitload of hair. I whispered to him, struggled to pull him free. A wad of his fur was wrapped tight in the blades and his shriek made my ears bleed. As delicately as possible, I pulled him loose. He yelped and whimpered. I told him again it’d be okay. Promised I’d make them pay.

When I lifted him free one of his little paws stayed in the bottom of the blender.

“Jesus Christ!”
Clyde was standing in the room with lines of shock etched deep across his face. “My God, son, what happened in this room?”

“I just got hit by a couple of thugs.”

“What about your dog?
Jesus,
is that a blender?”

Considering the circumstances, it was a legitimate question. But how do you tell a neighbor you barely know that a couple of cocksuckers just put your dog in a margarita blender because they were looking for a trashbag full of stolen money?

I rummaged through a box and grabbed a handful of 3-inch turkey loads for the shotgun and threw them in the leftover White Castle bag from the other night. I grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam from the same box. I’d made it a general rule to keep my ammunition and my alcohol within reach for emergencies such as this.

My vision all but returned in my left eye, but the right was still ridiculously swollen and full of blood. I moved my jaw around and it didn’t feel broken. I thought about Frank.

I grabbed the White Castle bag and handed it to Clyde, told him to follow me to the Vic. I scooped up Frank and what was left of his paw and wrapped him tight in a dishtowel. He stopped yelping, then he stopped moving altogether.

“Hang in there you little son-of-a-bitch.”

With the other hand I picked up the shotgun and ran from the room, careful not to fall with Frank in my arms.

I hit the key and the engine roared to life. I pumped the pedal twice to make the glass packs rumble, dropped it in
D
, held it to the floor as I cut the wheel, then I spun that bad motherfucker completely around in the middle of Blackmore Road.

The Vic took turns fishtailing from left to right through sections of mixed ice and dry pavement until it finally caught traction. I ordered Frank to stay with me. I kept one hand on the bloody dishtowel that covered him.

I had to get him to the Animal Hospital off Big Bend and I didn’t know how much time he had.

I wondered how bad No Nuts was hit. It looked like I’d blown the top of his face off. I’d done my best to aim high and prayed like hell I didn’t hit Frank. The irony of possibly killing him myself, in a failed attempt to save him from the blender, was not lost on me.

Amish Ron was going to shit himself when he found out what happened. He’d never believe me now. I knew there were already cops back at my place and Clyde was telling stories.

Everything happened so fast that I had to wonder how much Clyde saw. Then I remembered the Englishman’s broken hand and I smirked.

•••••

I raced across the hospital lot
and parked up close by the entrance. I yanked the key out of the ignition and grabbed Frank. I pulled my shirt down over the .45 and ran up to the front, kicked the door open. I told the attractive young girl at the desk I was a detective and this was my K-9 unit, asked her to cease all other functions at once and operate on Frank as if he were the President of the United States.

I handed Frank to the girl and her gorgeous face dropped when she saw all the blood.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

I hadn’t considered such a question so I told her the first thing that came to my mind.

“He was injured in the line of duty.”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed again. “Poor thing. He’s really a police dog?”

She looked skeptical.

I told her of course he was a police dog. Narcotics.

“Poor thing,” she repeated. “He’s so tiny.”

I agreed Frank was small for a Yorkshire but I assured her that he was still a force to be reckoned with.

An older gentleman walked by in a white coat, glasses pushed down to the end of his nose. I grabbed him by the arm. “You a vet?”

He tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t turn him loose.

“Are you?”

“Well yes,” he growled.

“This is a crisis,” I declared, and I told him we were dealing with a police emergency. Said I’d be back in the morning, and I made it clear in no uncertain terms Frank had better be alive and kicking with all fours, and not just three and a half.

I left the hospital and took a shot of Jim Beam from the bottle just as soon as I found the car. I loaded up the shotgun and turned up the heat. I couldn’t stand to see Frank like that. I took another drink as I rummaged through the glove box for any painkillers. My face was swelling up; the skin around my eye was tight and filled with blood.

I felt my guts begin to smolder and I knew that bourbon fire was on its way. Slow at first, but then it would come on strong like it always did.

Finally I felt a bottle of something I hoped was stronger than Tylenol, pushed at it until I had it trapped in a corner and it stopped moving. I sat up and read the bottle. Percocet, a personal favorite of mine. They would do quite nicely.

I wasn’t sure about my next move. I didn’t know where to find Sid and No Nuts. Didn’t know where to find Big Tony or Doyle. The one thing I
did
know was I needed to get back to my apartment and start answering questions. But maybe I should get a drink first and think about that. It was still early enough to catch Happy Hour at a little hole in the wall I knew just a mile or two down the road. I took a healthy drink of Beam as I left the parking lot.

•••••

I parked the Vic in front of a dirty battered shithole
called the Queen of Hearts. The kind of place where the girls from the better titty bars across the river end up after they lost whatever it was they once had. This was the end of the line, home to fractured dreams and failed ambitions. The girls were heavier and they had to wear pasties and g-strings, but the beer was just as cold and the drive was half as far.

I scanned the glove box for any more medication that may have escaped my attention. I knew I hadn’t given the Perc’s enough time to do their job but my face was sending out violent shockwaves of excruciating pain.

One final belt of Jim Beam finished off the bottle and I tossed it behind the seat. I tried to avoid my reflection in the mirror as I got out and walked across the lot.

I walked through the door and kept my head down, pushed ahead to the bar.