Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 14

  “Go and ask Jake Madigan. See what he tells you about it.”

  Maddy has a cell phone in her pocket. She whips it out and then punches in a few numbers. She doesn’t have Jake’s cell in there apparently because she says, “Hi, Mrs. Madigan? It’s Madison Griffith. It’s good to hear your voice too. I, um, I need to talk to Mr. Madigan. It’s important. Is he around? Well, could you give me his cell number?” She listens for a moment and then nods. “Thanks, Mrs. Madigan. No, I’m fine. Really. What? No, I haven’t seen Stacey. Is she missing? I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

  Maddy gives me a hard stare, one that penetrates my numbness to make my stomach churn. “You’d better be right about this.” She punches in another phone number, Jake’s cell. I hope he has it with him. Like a lot of older guys he isn’t always the most responsible with the new technology. Apparently he does have it with him, probably in case I call.

  “Hi Mr. Madigan, it’s Madison Griffith. No, Stacey’s not here. I’m not sure where she is. What happened? Oh, I see. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for her if she comes here.” Maddy pauses and her hand shakes. “I heard about a robbery at this place called Lennox Pharmaceuticals. Do you know anything about that? Uh-huh. Was Dad there? He was? Is he OK?” I wish I could hear what Jake is saying so I’d know if he’s lying or not. He must not be, because Maddy’s eyes fill with tears. “Thanks for telling me. No, I’ll be fine. I have to go.”

  She throws the phone across the room before she melts against me. “Oh God!” she sobs. “He is dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  I’m not prepared for her to flip out the way I did in the conference room at Lennox’s headquarters. “That son of a bitch! He doesn’t call me for twelve years and now he’s dead? That stupid fucking bastard! I hate him! I’m glad he’s dead!”

  “You don’t mean that,” I say.

  “Yes I do! He never loved me, just like he never loved Mom. All he cared about was helping strangers. He never cared about his family.”

  I want to deny this, but how can I? She’s right. I always put my job above Debbie and Maddy. Is it any surprise Debbie found greener pastures? Is it any wonder she didn’t want Maddy to live in my seedy apartment every other weekend?

  I put my arms around Maddy and hold her close. We sob together, to mourn the death of Detective Steve Fischer.

  ***

  After about ten minutes of crying, Maddy gets up. She pulls me up to my tired, dirty, bloody feet. “Come on,” she says. “Jake will be here any minute.”

  “But you said—?”

  “He’ll show up here anyway. He knows you’ll come here sooner or later. That or Grace’s. He’s probably got someone staking out the shop already.”

  I follow Maddy out the back, into an alley. She stops to throw her apron against the door. “Won’t you get fired for that?”

  “So what? I can get another crummy job.”

  “Where are we going to go?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. We take a few steps; a sharp pain accompanies each one. “Oh shit, your feet. Wait here a minute.”

  I sit on a crate in the alley and wish I hadn’t worn my dress to that meeting. The hem of the skirt and patches of the rest are as black as my feet. I’m not sure how that happened. Tess will kill me when she sees it. I laugh at this. I won’t see Tess again. That’s too bad because she’s the best surrogate mother an eighteen-year-old runaway can hope for.

  Maddy returns with a couple of garbage bags. “These won’t be as good as shoes, but they might help a little.” She wraps the bags around my feet and then uses a piece of string to tie each bag to my feet.

  As she said, the result isn’t as good as a real pair of shoes. It is slightly better than to walk barefoot, the pain a little less with each step. Maybe by tomorrow the FY-1978 will have taken care of this too. In the meantime I’ll have to gut it out.

  Maddy leads me through a winding series of alleys. We end up at the back of Grace’s shop. “Stay here,” she says again. “I’ll go up and grab some shoes.”

  “Could you get me a shirt and pants too?” I say. “I really want out of this dress.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I watch as she climbs up the fire escape and disappears through the window on the second floor. Grace is probably in the shop. If Jake or Tess has called her, she might be worried about Maddy and I by now. Maybe I should go in for a minute—

  No, Maddy’s right. Jake might show up there. Or he might radio for a car to keep an eye on the place in case I turn up. I’ll be a lot safer in the alley.

  Maddy climbs down a couple minutes later, a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm. There’s a pair of shoes, a dark blue shirt, and a pair of jeans. “Hurry up and get dressed,” she says. She turns away while I strip off the dress.

  The shirt and pants are a little big. So are the shoes. I’m not too picky at the moment. I leave the dress in the nearest dumpster, followed by the barrettes in my hair. Let my hair get wild. I don’t care anymore.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Maddy says.

  ***

  In some kind of cosmic irony, Maddy chooses Squiggy’s of all places. There’s something appropriate about that, as if we’ve completed the circle. “My dad came here a lot,” she says.

  “I’m not old enough to drink,” I remind her.

  “So? They aren’t going to card us.”

  Maddy goes in first. She takes a seat at the bar. Big Al stares at her for a moment, as if she’s a space alien or escaped zoo critter. He doesn’t get many girls with pink hair in here. “Give me a shot of bourbon,” Maddy says. “And one for my friend.”

  “How old is she?” Big Al asks.

  “Twenty-one,” I say.

  He stares at me for a moment and then shrugs. He pours two bourbons. Maddy takes some cash from her pocket. “Keep ‘em coming,” she says.

  The alcohol burns down my throat. I cough. After just the one drink I feel lightheaded. Part of that might be the blood loss; the rest of it is that this body is a lot smaller than my old one. No, there was no old body. This is my only body and it’s always been my body. I will myself to forget about the last fifty years, but it doesn’t take. I’ll need a lot more alcohol for that to happen.

  “Hey Al,” Maddy says. “You hear about my dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “He sleeps with the fishes,” she says and cackles wildly; she doesn’t realize how right she almost is.

  “You’re his little girl, aren’t you? I remember you when you weren’t even as tall as one of those stools.”

  “Yeah, Dad would bring me into a place like this.”

  “It wasn’t to drink,” Al says. Even through the alcohol, I remember what he’s talking about. It happened about eighteen years ago. I’d taken Maddy to a dentist’s appointment. We were about to get some ice cream—which defeated the whole point of going to the dentist—when the call came in. Someone had robbed Squiggy’s.

  A more responsible parent would have taken his four-year-old daughter home first, but I wasn’t that responsible. I put the siren on the top of the dash—which delighted Maddy in the backseat—and drove like a bat out of hell to get here. A detective wouldn’t usually stoop to investigate a petty bar robbery, but this case was personal.

  “Those uniformed punks wouldn’t have done anything. Your daddy made sure to track the bastards down. Got all my money back with interest.”

  “Yeah, he was a real fucking hero,” Maddy says. Her voice isn’t even slurred yet. My little girl can hold her liquor better than I can. “Give me another, will you?”

  “What happened to him?” Big Al asks.

  “Some drug company robbery. He tried being a hero again. This time he bought it.”

  “You shouldn’t talk about your dad like that,” Big Al says to defend his best customer. “He was a good guy.”

  “Yeah, as a cop. And a drinker. He was shit for a father.”

>   “I think you two better leave,” Big Al says.

  “Oh yeah? Or you’ll do what? Call the cops?” She laughs right in his face. “Just wait till they see you’re serving an eighteen-year-old, you stupid bastard.”

  Maddy’s gone too far again. Big Al doesn’t need to call the cops. He reaches beneath the bar for a double-barreled shotgun. “I said to get out of here.”

  “You going to kill us? Two sweet, innocent little girls? The press will have a field day with that.”

  “Maybe I don’t have to kill you. Maybe I’ll just shoot one of those pretty legs and let you bleed to death.”

  “You don’t have the guts.”

  “You want to find out?”

  I take Maddy’s arm. “Come on, Maddy. Let’s go.”

  “Yeah, fine. You water your booze down anyway. Fat bastard.”

  Maddy hops off the stool. I lean against her for support as we stagger out of Squiggy’s.

  Chapter 28

  As we stagger along for a few blocks, Maddy sings a song about someone named Alejandro. I don’t know it, though I pretend I do. Then she decides on a change of plans. She stops at a liquor store, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You wait here,” she says. “I’ll go in and get us a couple of bottles. Just remember, don’t take candy from strangers.”

  She laughs as if this is the funniest thing ever and then musses my hair. “I’m just kidding. You’re so fucking serious all the time. You need to loosen up.”

  “Maybe we should go home.”

  Maddy guffaws. “See what I mean? Stop being so responsible all the time. You’re eighteen for Christ’s sake. Once you get to be an old lady like Grace, then you can be responsible.”

  “Grace isn’t that old.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s going to be thirty next year.”

  “Thirty? But she said—”

  Maddy guffaws again. “That lying little bitch! She always tells people she’s younger than she is. When we met, she said she was twenty-two. Really she was twenty-six!”

  I force myself to laugh, though this conversation has sobered me up real quick. I can’t imagine why Grace would want to lie about her age like that, except maybe people my age wouldn’t want to buy clothes from a twenty-nine-year-old. That or run of the mill insecurity. “Maybe we’ve had enough excitement for one night,” I say.

  “Don’t be such a stick in the mud!” She pinches my cheek until I cry out. “You just stay right here. Mama will be back with your bottle in a few minutes.”

  She continues to laugh as she goes inside. I take a few steps away from the door and lean against the wall as I wait. I put a hand to my cheek where Maddy pinched it. This whole night has become surreal, more so than everything that’s happened so far. All those times I tucked Maddy in and kissed her forehead goodnight, I never imagined someday we’d be on a bender together. Like any father, I wanted more for her.

  An old memory surfaces. One of Maddy’s first writing assignments in grade school was to write about what she wanted to be when she grew up. I had hoped she would pick a cop like her old dad. But being only seven years old, of course she picked something fanciful: a ballerina. A drawing accompanied the little paragraph she wrote in crayon, with a vaguely human shape dressed in a pink leotard and tutu. That fifteen years later she would be a barista at a rundown coffeehouse, living with a woman seven years older than her, and drinking bourbon straight from the bottle would have come as a shock to both of us.

  I feel the tears start to come again. My poor little Maddy. Here she is, trying to drown her sorrows in bourbon when I’m still here. I’m outside waiting for her. Why can’t I tell her? It’s not fair. First to have her taken away by Debbie and the lawyers and now taken away forever by Artie Luther.

  Sometimes when you think the universe is complete shit, it decides to throw you a bone. Or in this case, a Worm.

  ***

  I rub my eyes a couple of times to make sure it really is the Worm on the other side of the road. Then my heart almost stops when he turns and looks right at me. Does he recognize me? How could he? No one knows who I really am except for Jake and Dr. Palmer.

  He starts across the street and hurries as fast as his thin little legs can carry him. The closer he gets, the more I know it’s him. If not by sight than by smell: the stench of menthol cigarettes, cheap beer, and sweat that accompanies him everywhere he goes. What do I do? Should I make a break for it? What about Maddy? She’ll be back any minute with the booze.

  For the first time since I graduated from the academy I don’t know what to do. A few days as a girl have rusted my cop instincts. So I don’t do anything. I stand against the wall and stare wide-eyed at the Worm.

  As he steps onto the sidewalk, I realize we’re the same height now. This makes him more intimidating than before. My stomach roils with fear. Fear of the Worm? He’d need help to kill an infant in a crib.

  Before I can wet myself, the Worm turns. He doesn’t care about me. He’s on his way to the liquor store, probably to get some more cigarettes. Maybe he’d already tried the machine at Squiggy’s. Or maybe he was still too scared to go back in there after last time.

  With that memory, the fear in my stomach turns to rage. The Worm did this to me. Not directly, but indirectly. If I hadn’t seen him at Squiggy’s that night, I wouldn’t have known about the robbery at Lennox Pharmaceuticals. I wouldn’t have gone there and been injected with FY-1978. I’d still be me, a broken-down fifty-year-old police detective. Maddy wouldn’t be inside this liquor store, trying to drink her problems away like her old man.

  As the Worm is about to open the door, I call out, “Hey mister! You got any spare change?”

  He turns and now he looks at me. I know the smile that comes to his face for what it is: he’s checked me out and likes what he sees. “Maybe. What would you do to earn it?”

  He lets the door go and takes a few steps towards me. I hold on to the rage like a life preserver and let it think for me. “I don’t know, what do you want me to do?”

  The Worm puts a hand around my shoulder. “How about we go into the alley and do a little negotiating?”

  It’s suicide for a girl like me to let someone like the Worm take her into a dark alley. But I don’t care. This scumbag helped take my life from me; now he’ll help me make Artie Luther and his goons pay for it.

  We go behind a dumpster, where he presses me up against a wall. I let him move his hand down my shirt so he can cop a feel of my breasts. “I bet you’re new around here,” he says.

  “You could say that.”

  “Just came to the big city from Ma and Pa’s farm, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Now you realize this big city ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “I’m starting to see that.”

  “That’s only ‘cause you hadn’t met me yet, baby,” he says, his attempt to act suave. That alone is enough to make me want to gag. His hand starts to move down into my jeans. “I bet you never got laid with any of them farm boys, did you?”

  “No.”

  “I thought so.” The pervert actually licks his lips. “A ripe little virgin. How’s about you come back to my place?”

  “And you’ll help me out?”

  “Sure, baby. I’ll help you out in a lot of ways.”

  He doesn’t just want to touch my privates. He wants to get a good whiff of them too. I try not to flinch as he bends down to unzip my jeans. I wait until he’s got his head level with my zipper, then I strike.

  Thirty years as a cop, a lot of those years spent in bars, taught me a lot about practical hand-to-hand combat. Most of those moves were better used as a six-three, two-hundred-thirty-pound man. So I rely on something much simpler: I knee him in the face. When he’s down on the ground, I kick him in the balls as hard as I can.

  It hurts like hell given the state of my feet, but I’m rewarded as the Worm writhes in pain. I wait a few seconds before I give him another kick, this one to the midsection. “You cunt!�
�� he shouts.

  The Worm doesn’t carry a gun. He’d be more likely to shoot himself with it than anyone else. He does carry a knife, in the inside pocket of his jacket. I’ve taken it off of him a few times already. This time I aim to keep it.

  I take his wallet too while I’m at it. I look through it and find fourteen bucks. “You were going to take my virginity for fourteen bucks?” I ask him. I push the button on his knife and out pops the six-inch blade. “I should cut your dick off and make a necklace out of it.”

  While I should do that, I put the knife to his throat instead. With my other hand I drag him into a sitting position against the wall; the dumpster makes sure no one will see us. That’s a good thing, because a few seconds later I hear Maddy call my name.

  “Stacey? Where the hell are you?”

  I put my free hand to the Worm’s mouth before he can say anything. Between that and the knife at his throat, he keeps quiet. If Maddy comes down the alley and sees us like this, I’ll have to tell her this perv tried to jump me and I turned the tables on him. Maybe not the most believable story, but in her present state, Maddy probably wouldn’t think too hard about it.

  “You stuck-up little bitch! Where the hell are you?” Maddy shouts. When I still don’t say anything, she adds, “Fine! I didn’t want to share this with you anyway!”

  With that my little girl staggers off into the night. I hope she doesn’t run into anyone like the Worm before she can make it home.

  ***

  Now that we have some privacy, I take my hand off the Worm’s mouth. I bend down so we’re eye-to-eye. “Who are you?” he asks. “A cop?”

  “You tell me. Look in my eyes.”

  “What? You some kind of hypnotist?”

  “Just do it or I’m going to give you a free tracheotomy.”

  He stares at me for a few moments. Then his face begins to pale. “Fischer? But, you’re a—”

  “A cunt? Yeah, it’s amazing what modern technology can do.”

  “That ain’t possible. They said you dead.”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone! They said you at the bottom of the harbor.”