The Bear in a Muddy Tutu (22 page)

The reporter guy had kept his mouth shut. Someone you could trust like that might come in handy for something around here.

Cops could be trouble.

Aggravated assault on a police officer carried some serious jail time involving mandatory minimums, depending upon the degree. Lennon Bagg had been around cops enough to know any sort of crime against one of their members was inevitably ramped up to the most serious charge possible. In fact, a crime didn’t even have to occur in the first place, if you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bagg didn’t have anything against cops in general and
, in the course of his job as a journalist,
had seen certain ones performing moderately heroic deeds every once in a while. But he also possessed a healthy bit of trepidation over what they were capable of doing to someone perfectly innocent.

On the suggestion of her lawyer, Bagg’s ex-wife had gone to the police on a Friday night and claimed he’d threatened to kill her. It caused them to come knock on what was soon to
become
“
her
”
front door and not “theirs
.
”

“Mr. Lennon Bagg?
”
one of the two officers asked, and Bagg
knew
immediately
that
this wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit. Bagg and his wife both loved and adored their
fou
r
-
yea
r
-
old daughter, but their marriage was a car wreck.

The cops sent to gather up the scumbag, wife-beating lowlife could have been brothers, maybe twins. Both had short black hair, narrow builds and showed a disconcerting amount of teeth even when they weren’t smiling.

“I’m Bagg,
”
he admitted, backing away from the door as the officers pushed forward and asked him to turn around and put his hands behind his back, next to the kitchen table where the Bagg family sometimes ate dinner. They
had
explained the handcuffs were for everyone’s protection.

“Did you threaten to kill your wife tonight, Mr. Bagg?
”

“Not out loud,
”
Bagg said.

“You think that’s
funny?
”

“Well, I did think you two might have been a strip-o-gram,
”
Bagg said
. T
he cop tightened the cuffs.

“These feel real?
”
the cop hissed in his ear, breath hot and moist. Bagg
was
able to smell
a mixture of cigarettes and Juicy Fruit gum.

“I didn’t threaten to kill my wife.
”

“She
told us a different story.
”
One cop
bent
him over the table to rummage through his pants, while the other rummaged through the kitchen cabinets.

Bagg
pictured Jennifer leading Morgan into the police station, having deviously prepared her for any questions by reminding her how Daddy sometimes yelled really loud and how frightening he
could be
. Jennifer would have planted terrible seed
s
by telling Morgan how bad Mommy felt when she made Daddy angry, and how she hoped Morgan
had
never overheard him hitting Mommy. Bagg
could
picture Morgan searching her memor
y
for a time when something sounded like a sl
ap from the next room. Bagg cringed, knowing for certain what
Jennifer ha
d done and how she
’
d done it
.
How easy
it was
to corrupt the mind of a little kid
.
Bagg
kn
e
w
he would hate Jennifer for the rest of his life. Whatever fucking around she’d done was irrelevant, and he couldn’t have cared less. The initial pain of disloyalty faded quickly when you realized you didn’t love someone. She’d kept it from him, so he assumed she’d
also
kept it from their daughter. But poisoning the thoughts of their little girl was beyond evil.

“Your daughter’s in saf
e hands n
ow that’s she’s away from you.
”

“You asshole.
”
Bagg’s cheek rested on the kitchen table, giving him
a good view of the sugar Morgan had spilled during breakfast.

“Please don’t put sugar on your cereal,
honey
.
”
Bagg had slid the sugar bowl from her reach. Bagg didn’t usually work Fridays, so he
had been
delivering Morgan to her morning pre-K.

“I di
dn’t put it on my cereal, Daddy.
”
Her
tone indicat
ed
the thought would never have crossed her mind. She put her spoon down and carefully opened the little pink sweater pocket over her hip to display the two or three teaspoons worth of sugar she’d hoarded. Then, leaning with both elbows on the table, she
said
in a hushed voice
,
“It’s for Pippy.
”

“Wh
o’s Pippy?
”
Bagg lowered
his voice to match her whisper.

“I don’t think you want to know, Daddy,
”
Morgan whispered back.

“Why not? I like to know
things
.
”

“You said that stories ab
out dragons give you nightmares.
”
Morgan
sh
ook
her head and
reached
a hand out to comfort her father with gentle pats. And it was true that he’d said it, although he’d only been intending to steer Morgan away from certain violent looking books on
a visit
to the library.

“Yes, dragons scare
me, b
ut what about the sugar?
”

“It’s my turn to feed Pippy,
”
Morgan said. “Let’s just not talk anymore about it, okay?
”

“Okay.
”
Bagg
let her keep the pocket of sugar. Maybe sugar wasn
’t bad for dragons, he decided
.

“You have the right to remain silent
…
”
one of the officers in dark
blue beg
a
n, as
Bagg rolled his head on the hard table, tiny grains of precious dragon food sticking to his forehead.

Making the Friday night claim of abuse had become a popular tactic among New Jersey family law attorneys, according to a recent story in Bagg’s own newspaper. The so-called victim would get the house and car keys, as well as the credit cards and access to the bank accounts on Saturday. The soon-to-be ex-husband would get a weekend of cold McDonald’s hamburgers and fries shoved through a narrow slot in the cell door and then get a first appearance in front of the judge sometime around noon on Monday. He’d emerge blinking at the sun with bloodshot eyes, hair al
l dirty and crazy, like a night-
zombie caught out after sunrise. Some lawyers referred to it as the Friday Night Blitz Pla
y, Bagg would later learn from the
fathers
’
support group he attended on a single, depressing occasion.

The cops who hauled Bagg away
hadn’t
particularly mistreat
ed
him. Bagg assumed it was routine to
be made
to strip naked and grab
your
ankles while a flashlight was shined up
your
ass
. And if he
hadn’t had
Morgan to think about, it probably would have been prudent to require Bagg to turn over his shoelaces. Had there been no little girl to worry about, hanging
himself with his
shoelace
s
might very well have become a reasonable option.

Was it any surprise how evil Jennifer Bagg could be? Bagg
had
thought about the real estate developer who had hired her small interior design firm to furnish
a
dozen or so model homes, part of a three thousand unit community under construction. They
were
also contracted for the interior design of the fitness center and property owners’ association buildings. This
meant
big bucks for
Jennifer’s three person office.
And it wasn’t just the money now, but all the future jobs
that
would come with the new contacts they’d make
, she explained
.

To Bagg,
Jennifer had never seemed happier. He noticed new dresses, and she left for evening meeting
s
with impeccable makeup, reeking of a new perfume
that
smelled awful and expensive. Jennifer was
a serious, driven woman. T
hin and
in her heels
nearly as tall as Bagg, with hair pulled back to reveal the sharp features
that
would work well for a fifth grade school teacher sidled with an unruly classroom. One cold glare from Jennifer Bagg reached right into your soul and sucked the cheer right out of your most joyful moments.

This new Jennifer
was
sometimes giddy, and Bagg
took
advantage of her unusual playfulness at first. They’d had sex twice the previous month, and she
’d even asked
him to kiss her
“
down there
.
”
A
goo
d five minutes
passed
before
she complained
he was
slobbering
to
o
much
. Jennifer talked about getting away for a long vacation after the designs were finished
—t
he designs she had to por
e
over with the developer on a more and more frequent basis.

One
warm September night
,
Bagg was once again
on his own,
putting Morgan to bed.
T
heir regular routine
involved
going potty, then a quick tubby with dozens of floating dolls and
sea
creatures. Morgan would turn herself into a unicorn with baby shampoo suds and stand
still
as he turned on the shower and rinsed her shiny little body. She had
recently
turned four, and most of the baby fat had given way
to
reveal a skinny physique, with a roadmap of tiny blue veins just under her pale skin. She was looking more and more like her mother, Bagg
had
thought, as he toweled her off.

“Mommy is on a date tonight,
”
she said, as Bagg held out her underpants to slip one foot in.

“Mommy’s working.
”
In the steamy bathroom, a
n icy shudder pass
ed
through
Bagg
.

“No, Mommy has a boyfriend and she loves him, Daddy.
”

Bagg wanted to question his little girl, but there was still a tiny piece
of him
that
didn’t
want
to know.

Bagg helped Morgan into her princess pajamas and grabbed the brush from on top of the toilet.

“I heard Mommy say she
loved him on the telephone, a
nd that she couldn’t wait to see him
tonight
.
”

“Tonight?
”

And then Morgan reached up to her kneeling father’s face and took his head in her hands, looking at him with the most sympathy she
could
muster. “Don’t cry, Daddy. I love you with my whole heart and I promise I always will.
”

“I know,
sweetheart.
”
Bagg
swept
her in tight for a hug.

The little girl consoled her father, patting his back lightly. “And I promise I’ll never, ever leave you alone.
”

But a couple of months later, Morgan’s promise
had been
broken.

Bagg decided a muddy island along the Jersey Shore was as
good a place
as any
to
lay low for a few days. It wouldn’t take long before he’d know for sure what charges he was facing and whether he planned on facing them at all.

He laid back on his
gam
e
y
-
smelling cot, the tent flap closed, listening to the hustle and bustle of the circus
being erected
around him. His temporary home reminded him of a fortune teller’s tent he and Morgan had strolled past at a carnival, what seemed like a hundred years ago.

“That’s a
g
ypsy lady,
”
Morgan had informed him, pointing to the woman seated behind a crystal ball she
was
polishing. The Romani
wor
e
a long purple robe, with a
wide
bandana across her forehead, and gigantic jewelry dangling
from her ears, arms and throat.
“Elmo says they can predict the furniture.
”

“I think Elmo meant they can predict the future.
”

“I can predict the future.
”
Morgan
turned her face
up at her father
with a look
that told him
her legs were tired from walking and it was time for a ride.

“How’s th
at,
honey
?
”
Bagg scooped her up,
spinning her onto his shoulders.

“I predict I’m going to be a
g
ypsy fortune teller for Halloween!
”

“I thought th
is was an all Toy Story year.
I already bought a six-shooter and cowboy hat. I’m gonna be Woody and you’re gonna be Jessie.
”

“Mom didn’t like when you said she could be Stinky Pete.
”

“I was just kidding.
”

Morgan leaned forward on her father’s shoulders, cupping her hands to his right ear to tell a secret. “Mom didn’t think it was funny, but I did.
”

That
was what Bagg missed the most. Not really what was said, since most of the things shared were just silly bits you forgot in an hour or a day.
T
he act of a little girl telling her father a secret. Of sharing something closely
—
the cupped hand
s
to the ear, the warm breath, the immediacy and the emotion. Time seemed to stop when a little girl was sharing a secret with her father.

Bagg
closed
his eyes
and
lay
back
on the foul smelling cot. He worried what the cops would do when they broke into his apartment. Would they tear through the shrine
that
was once Morgan’s room, l
ooking for him in a place he hadn’t dared set foot inside for years? Bagg imagined them pushing open the sliding
door closet which he and Morgan had turned into
her
cozy hiding place, with layers of fluffy blankets and pillows and a re
ading light. There were four framed
Disney
posters along the back wall
. Bagg knew they’d smash the light and picture frames, pulling out and stomping all over her delicate bedding. That’s what cops did when you hurt one of their own.

“Stop it,
”
Bagg said to the ceiling of his tent, and it seemed to work. He went back to concentrating on the sounds of the circus around him. At one point, he heard the Hooduk guy timidly ask someone to go run an errand if he wouldn’t very much mind. Hooduk was apparently in charge, although Bagg noticed nobody really listened to anything he said. If Billy Wayne told someone to wash the pony crap off the bleacher seats, the person would eventually have a look for him or herself to see if it really needed to be done. At that point, the pony crap might get washed off, and it might not.

“This is my circus and these are my people,
”
Billy Wayne had explained to Bagg, right after nearly putting a slug in the overly-excited and extremely affectionate bear. And it was fine with Bagg, despite it only being mildly acceptable to the actual people of the circus. “They listen to me,
”
Billy Wayne added.

It seemed to
Bagg, who could clearly hear most of the confessions
taking place
in Hooduk’s tent behind him,
that
Billy Wayne did most of the listening while these folks did
all
of the drinking and screwing around.

Bagg’s other nearest neighbors included Pinhead, Veronica the Fat Lady, and Primo, who was billed as the World’s Strongest Old Man. These people were touted as Freaks of Nature, although they would have barely stood out on the Atlantic City boardwalk. They occupied the tent directly to the left of Bagg’s.

The tent to
his right
housed
a more interesting pair, as far as
Bagg
was concerned. Very amiable guys named Pete Singe, aka Lightning Man, and Skip Kitt, aka Flat Man. Singe’s job was show
ing
and tell
ing stories about
his horrific burn
scars
from being repeatedly hit by lightning. He wore a robe over nylon running shorts and would display one
terrific
scar after the other. He’d show off the bright red zigzag beginning
at the nape of his neck and running
to his waist. He’d tell stories about the missing toes of his right foot, where one of the bolts of electricity had exited.

Singe spoke slowly of his injuries to anyone who’d listen, paying or not. He was
just a storyteller unraveling
good tale
s
. He’d collected his injuries from above while employed as a commercial fisherman, park ranger, golf course groundskeeper, and lifeguard. He’d also spent ten dangerous years as a lineman for Florida Power and Light.

“
Probably
the worst hit was just a couple years back,
”
Singe
had told Bagg
. “
Rich guy I knew from the marina
owned a big-time tuna boat, talked me into learnin’ how to scuba dive. We went down to this spot in Honduras, lugging gear off the trucks, and headed down to these caves. Wouldn’t you know what was comin’ next? Storm rolls in
and
we’re just a
bout to climb down this ladder when a bolt comes zippin’ out of the sky. Took the top off some
hundred
-
year
-
old
tree, ran along the wet ground, and shazzam!
”

“That’s incredible.
”
Bagg
had
sat mesmerized
.

“You know it.
I
magine how hard that bolt of lightning had to search to find me in the middle of a jungle, just about to climb down into a cave?
”

In all, Singe
had
claimed to have been struck twelve times, which would easily be a world record, although some of his burns couldn’t be confirmed as lightning induced.

“I
t’s all politics.
”
Singe
winked at Bagg
. “And who am I to mess with the memory of that poor sap with the official record of seven strikes
—
may he
finally
rest in peace
underground
. He even got hit in the head twice and had his hair catch fire.
”

“Lightning
kill
ed
him?
”

“Nah, it was his own hand
that
killed him, not the lightning. Story
has
it, his woman
ran
off with another guy. Hard to hold on to a decent woman when you keep gettin’ zapped by a hundred million volts. Makes everybody around you real nervous whenever it clouds up.
”

Singe’s tent mate was the reason for
installing
the special flooring. Flat Man lived with a dire fear of gravity and the expectation of being slammed to Earth should he rise more than a few inches. He passed the time on glossy, snapped together laminate flooring. The smooth surface allowed Flat Man to display his debilitating phobia by performing mock household tasks. He’d dry dishes in a rack on the floor and use an
old
-
fashioned feather duster on a picture frame and lamp. It was a pretty campy display, but the lamp also provided light for the hours and hours he pass
ed
the time reading.

“My job is nothing much more than acting like a museum painting,
”
the barophobic named Kitt told Bagg. “People pay, then look at me for a couple minutes, then move along. I don’t have any stories to tell. Not like Singe.
”

“An
d you can’t get up?
”

“No, but
it ain’t so bad.
And look at all the crappy things that came raining down on this guy for spending so much of his life up on ladders?
”

Singe gave a
half
-
smile and shrugged in agreement. “He’s pretty safe from l
ight
n
ing down there.
”

“Min
d losin’ the shoes?
”
Kitt slowly extended
his arm along the floor to point toward a hand-painted sign
above
a rack
asking
all visitors to remove their shoes.

“Sorry.
”
Ba
gg slipped
off his North Face running shoes and
placed
them on the rack.

Kitt, dressed in old tan khakis and a Hawaiian shirt, closed the book he’d been reading and slowly spun around to make having a conversation with the newest circus resident a little easier. Bagg
,
not
entirely sure of the proper etiquette in this situation
,
was tempted to lie down next to Kitt.

“It’s better to just kneel,
”
Lightning Man
said, as if
read
ing
Bagg’s thoughts.

“I wasn’t always li
ke this.
I was an accountant at a regular desk and sat in a regular chair. I had a wife that was about average height.
”

“So what exactly is wrong?
”

“Barophobia is the exaggerated or irrational fear
of gravity.
One day I was
perfectly
fine and then boom!
”

“Boom,
”
repeated Lightning Man, nodding his head sympathetically. He knew about booms.

“Yeah, boom.
”
Kitt
paused to stretch his neck muscles
. “The circus
came
up not too far from our house in Wiscasset, Maine, three summers back.
”

“That’s the north swing we used to do
.
”
Lightning Man
sat
forward in his terrycloth robe on a folding metal chair, absently rubbing his damaged right foot with a scar
r
ed hand.

Kitt nodded
.
“Wiscasset is up Route One,
’
bout an hour up the co
ast from Portland.
I figured
that,
it bein’ a nice evening, I’d take Anne Marie
—
that was
my wife
—
over to this
broken
-
down circus
that
had rolled through our little town and plopped down in an empty field. Something to do, right?

“Not five minute
s
after we’d parked the car and walked toward the ticket booth, the barker starts callin’ people over to this big blue and r
ed cannon pointed up in the air.
For some reason, my heart starts beatin’ real fast and I’m breakin’ out in a sweat, despite the temperature already dropping way off since the sun had gone over the hills.
”

“He thought he was having a heart attack,
”
Lightning Man said.

“Yeah, well, I felt like something was really wrong. But Anne Marie was
tugging at
me, telling me to hurry up
;
she didn’t want to miss this.
”