Small Apartments (11 page)

The cops had told Burt all about the homicide scene at the 2-4 store. They noted the coincidence of the victim being Franklin’s upstairs neighbour. Burt told them he had spoken with the boy that morning in connection with the arson—now homicide—investigation. The four men exchanged thoughts about the tragedy of a young man being gunned down in the prime of his life, a reality they had all witnessed far too often. The thieves had made off with $177. The young suspects had already been apprehended; they lived around the corner from the 2-4 store. They told police they were just trying to score some cash to get high. When the tall one was asked why he killed the clerk, even after he had complied and given him all the money, he responded, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know. That was an answer that seemed to cover a lot of ground in this modern world. Burt sat meditating silently on that very thought. Mr. Allspice’s phone was ringing next door and no one was answering.

THREE HOURS PASSED
. Now it was dark both outside and inside the apartment. Once in a great while a car would roll past and for an instant illuminate the room. The men readied themselves for the possibility that the car might stop to park, but none did.

For the fifth time in three hours Mr. Allspice’s phone rang at least a dozen times. Burt was chewing on that. It had really begun to bother him. Franklin’s dog was snoring on Burt’s lap. He got up and straightened his blue jeans then nodded to the officers in the room.

“Piss break?” asked the cop at the door.

“Actually,” said Burt, “I’m going over to check on that neighbour. That ringing phone is aggravating me. He’s an old-timer and I don’t know where else he’d be at this hour but in his apartment.”

Burt stepped into the foyer and knocked on 2A.

“Mr. Allspice? Mr. Allspice, it’s Burt Walnut the Fire Investigator. Everything all right in there?”

Burt went out to the porch and pressed his nose against Mr. Allspice’s window. The television was on and Mr. Allspice was sitting in his easy chair with a hardbound copy of
Am I Crazy
? by Dr. Sage Mennox open on his lap. His eyes were open wide and bright in the light of the television. Burt banged on the window and called to him.

“Mr. Allspice! Mr. Allspice! Felix!”

At that point the three Buffalo Police officers were at Franklin’s window and had thrown it open.

“What’s going on, Burt?”

“Call an ambulance,” said Burt. “I think this old-timer is dead in his chair.”

THE WHOLE NEIGHBOURHOOD
was out on their porches or down in the street when the paramedics wheeled Felix Allspice’s dead body into the ambulance in front of 100 Garner. Little 101 and her mother were on their stoop, wearing thick socks and fuzzy bathrobes. Burt overheard one of the paramedics tell a Buffalo cop that Mr. Allspice had most likely suffered a massive stroke, but they could not know for sure until an autopsy was performed. Allowed too much stress into his life, thought Burt.

Burt was standing next to Mr. Allspice’s easy chair. He looked at his watch: 10:05. With all the action in the street, Burt and the cops had given up hope on Franklin returning to his apartment. Even a fat mope would be spooked by all this commotion, they reasoned. They decided to let an unmarked car sit on the house overnight.

What sort of fella leaves their dog to fend for himself, thought Burt? I don’t care if you are a murdering, fire-starting, sonofabitch. A man’s got no soul who leaves his dog behind.

One of the paramedics returned to Mr. Allspice’s apartment to shut off the lights and seal the door.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was still someone in here,” said the paramedic. “Are you the partner of the deceased?”

“Hell, no!” said Burt a bit flustered. “I’m Burt Walnut, Lackawanna Fire Investigator.”

“You’re who?”

“Christ, I stood right over you while you were pounding this fella’s chest and filling him with rubber tubes,” said Burt.

“Oh. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Go on ahead,” said Burt. “I’ll close everything up.”

Burt lit a cigarette and walked over to Mr. Allspice’s bookshelves. From the photographs, Burt surmised that Felix Allspice had quite a large family. He was married. He served during the war, in the Marines. His wife was a handsome woman at one time. All these pictures of smiling family faces, thought Burt. Why would an old man elect to live alone like this?

The telephone rang. Burt lifted an eyebrow and looked at it. He wondered if it was one of the smiling faces that he would have to break the news to. It rang again and he picked up.

“Hello?” said Burt.

“Mr. Allspice?” The connection sounded distant and canned, like Billy Browski’s cellular phone.

“Who is calling?” asked Burt.

“Is this Mr. Allspice? Do I have the right number?”

Well at least it’s not a family member, thought Burt. He cleared his throat, “This is the Allspice residence, go ahead.”

“Is this Mr. Allspice?” The connection was fading in and out.

“This is his, uh, brother … Burt,” said Burt Walnut.

“Oh. Well Burt, this is Franklin, Mr. Allspice’s next door neighbour. Could you give him a message for me?”

Sonofabitch, thought Burt. “I, um … I suppose I could do that.”

“Tell Mr. Allspice that I would appreciate it if he would watch my dog for me. Can you tell him that, Burt?”

“Well where will you be, Franklin? Where can he reach you?”

“Tell him that my door is locked, but that my window pushes open easily. He just needs to open it and the dog will come out.”

“This is a most unusual request,” said Burt as he looked frantically out the door and window. Everyone had gone. “Can you leave a number where you can be reached? How long will you be gone?”

“Tell Mr. Allspice I would appreciate it if he could do me this one favour. I know we don’t get along, but I don’t think he has anything against my dog. Tell him he can destroy my alphorn as payment. He can burn it if he wants.”

“I’m sure he’ll want to know how to contact you, Franklin. Can’t you give me a number or an address where you can be reached?” Burt was beginning to sound desperate and he knew it.

“I have to go now,” said Franklin.

“Wait!” cried Burt. “Wait!”

The line was silent for a moment.

“What?” asked Franklin.

The vein in Burt’s forehead was a split second from breaking the skin and spraying all over Mr. Allspice’s living room. He was strangling the receiver with all his might. Reluctantly, Burt allowed all his bottled-up pressure to flow out through his nostrils. His shoulders sagged and his eyes rolled towards the ceiling.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

“Bernard,” said Franklin. Then the line went dead.

F
RANKLIN REPLACED THE
air phone into the seat in front of him. He slid the long distance card he bought at the airport gift shop into the pocket of his brand new Gap cotton chinos and reclined into his leather first-class seat. He looked out the window but saw only darkness. He knew he was somewhere over the Atlantic.

“Would you care for a beverage, sir?” asked the pretty blonde flight attendant.

“Do you have Moxie cola?” asked Franklin.

“No sir, we don’t have that.”

“Do you have rum?”

“Yes. We have Bacardi.”

“I’ll have rum, hold the coke please. And no ice, thank you.”

“Do you prefer light or dark rum, sir?” asked the flight attendant.

“Yes, that would be fine. Both please. Thank you,” said Franklin.

The flight attendant handed a plastic cup and two tiny bottles of rum over the gentleman seated next to him. He placed the potables in his lap. I know this guy next to me, he thought. Franklin had been wracking his brain since he boarded the plane. His mind was just too tired to think. He turned and looked again at his seatmate. The tan, bald head. The black eyebrows. Even the way he dressed seemed familiar. Franklin did not notice that his staring was making the man uncomfortable.

“Yes,” said the man. “It’s me.”

“It’s who?” asked Franklin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man blushed. “I thought you recognized me.”

“I think I do,” said Franklin.

The man extended his hand. “Dr. Sage Mennox.”

“
Am I Crazy
? by Dr. Sage Mennox,” said Franklin. “The
TV
Mental Guru guy. I’m Frank—Mario Cardone. Pleased to meet you.”

“That’s me. Pleased to meet you, too.”

Awkward silence.

“You ever drink Moxie cola?” asked Franklin.

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it,” said Dr. Mennox.

“Been around since the 1800s. Used to be more popular than Coca-Cola. Tastes sort of like carbonated medicine. It’s good, though. I think now they only sell it in New England and upstate New York.”

“Sounds fine,” said the doctor.

Franklin decided that was sufficient for polite small talk. “I’ve got to tell you Doc, you diagnosed a close friend of mine four years ago. If I recall correctly, I believe the term you used for his condition was ‘Nuts.’ Is that a proper medical term? Anyway, you said without immediate care he would continue down the Road to Crazy.”

The doctor immediately felt uncomfortable. He wondered if he could flag the flight attendant and ask for a seat change. “Four years ago? He must have been one of the last patients I saw in private practice. What was his name?”

“Bernard Franklin.” Franklin dumped his rums into his plastic cup.

Dr. Mennox tried desperately to recall the case, but his mind drew a complete blank. He had done little more than write, speak, and make television appearances for the last four years. He tried to make eye contact with the flight attendant. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t recall the case. How is your friend?”

“He died yesterday morning of a brain tumour. Inside a mental institution.” Franklin drank his rums in one swallow.

“Stewardess!” cried Dr. Mennox. “Stewardess. Over here.”

“We ask that you please address us as ‘flight attendants,’ sir,” said the pretty blonde.

“Relax, Doc, I’m not crazy,” said Franklin. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Could I move to another seat?” asked Dr. Mennox. “This one seems to be broken.”

“I’m sorry sir,” said the flight attendant. “This is a full flight. What seems to be the trouble with your seat?”

“Oh, never mind,” said Dr. Mennox. “Just bring me a double vodka martini, neat. With onions, not olives.”

“And a couple more rums,” added Franklin, tapping his cup. “What sends you to Switzerland, Doc?”

Dr. Mennox was delighted with the change of subject. “I am speaking in Geneva at an international summit on mental health.”

“Kudos to you,” said Franklin as he toasted the doctor with his empty plastic cup. “Now tell me what you think of this for mental health.”

Oh God, thought Dr. Mennox, here comes the shit-storm.

“Yesterday morning I made a decision. I decided I wanted to live a better life. As it turns out, circumstances have allowed me to embark on that life. So, before I got on this plane I was on my way home to pack my one prized possession. I was driving along in my Pontiac and thinking to myself, Frank—Mario, why not start sooner than later? It’s high time for you to make a clean break. Start over from scratch. Square one. Ground zero. So, I turned the car around, headed to the mall, bought some new clothes, and got on a plane to Switzerland. What do you think of that, Doc?”

“Are you getting a new dog in Switzerland?”

“What?” said Franklin.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing while you were on the telephone that you neglected to make arrangements for your dog before embarking on this new life. I assume that he was your one prized possession.”

“Well you should never assume, Doc. Because that’s when you make an ass out of you and me.”

Franklin thought he would let the good doctor chew on that nugget of knowledge for a while. For all the lousy advice this guy has to offer, thought Franklin, a dose of wisdom from Miss Parson at Grover Cleveland Elementary might serve him well. Franklin bent his face into that impish smile that Little 101 had complimented him on and turned back towards the window.

The flight attendant returned with the drinks.

Dr. Mennox leaned back and sipped his martini. He also could not help overhearing that the man seated next to him was named Franklin on the telephone, yet referred to himself as Mario. Whether or not he wished to admit it, he was miles and miles down the Road to Crazy. With all the lonely nuts out there I’ll never go out of business, thought Dr. Mennox. He looked at his gold Rolex. They would be landing in three hours. With any luck, this fat nut next to me will get drunk and pass out, he thought. He finished his martini with a gulp and tried like hell to avoid eye contact.