Hit & Mrs. (14 page)

She drove over to the phone and with her hands still tied together, took the receiver and put it on the table. Then she pressed the numbers of Bette's cellphone.

It rang and rang. Finally Bette answered. Ida bent over as close as she could get and shouted, “Bette, it's your mother…your mother… can you hear me? Where are you? I can hardly hear you. Well, get off the street and listen to me. There was a man here and he tied your father and me up and he punched…What? Stop laughing. I'm serious. I just killed the guy. Bette, stop laughing. What do you mean I'm trying to make you come home? I'm trying to tell you your father and I had an intruder and…no, I'm serious. Don't go…don't hang up…”

The line went dead.

Ida threw her taped hands in the air and appealed to the ceiling. “Am I such a rotten mother? Do I deserve such disrespect? What is wrong with my children? I'm cursed, I tell you. Cursed!”

She punched 911 into the phone. “I've just killed a man! He attacked me! What? I'm in my living room with a husband who's too busy snoring to help and a daughter who thinks I'm kidding. Does your family treat you like that? What on earth have I done to… What?…I don't know who he was…Isn't that your job? Like I have to do everything for you people?”

The 911 operator finally got Ida to tell her the address and said the police were on their way.

Izzy groaned a little as Ida hung up the phone.

Ida drove over to him. “Izzy? Are you all right? Speak to me.”

He groaned again.

“Oy…your nose looks broken. Does it hurt?”

Izzy's groan got worse. He shook his head around.

“Are you convulsing, Izzy? Why is this happening? Why me?”

Izzy finally shook his head so violently, Ida stopped cold. That's when she realized he had duct tape over his mouth. “Oh, I see the problem.” She grabbed one end with her tied hands and yanked for all she was worth.

Izzy's scream reverberated all over the neighbourhood. “You stupid woman!”

“Hey, this stupid woman saved your skinny ass. I killed him.”

“You killed him? Did you drive him to suicide?”

“You think you're a comedian, don't you?”

“Never mind arguing, old woman. What did he take? Did he rob us?”

Ida grew sombre. “No, he wanted to know where Bette was.”

“What? You didn't tell him, did you?”

“I had to. He said he'd kill you. He had a knife.”

Izzy rolled his eyes back. “Oh my God. Why didn't you let him kill me? I'm an old man. This is our daughter we're talking about. She comes first.”

“Well, this is typical. I get it in the neck for saving your life. Of course I know it's our daughter, but we had to live to warn her, didn't we? To tell her someone is looking for her, even though I can't imagine why.”

“Are you sure you killed him? Oh, my nose. I need a cigarette.” He tried to stand up but was pretty woozy.

“Yeah, I killed him. I pushed him down the stairs, so let that be a lesson to you. Don't mess with me.”

“You're a regular James Bond. I need a smoke. Give me my cigarettes.” Ida drove over to the pack on the coffee table. “How can you smoke? Your hands are behind your back.”

“Like that's stopped me before.” He reached out his neck and when Ida finally grabbed one out of the package with her linked hands, she put it in his mouth. Then she had to drive over to get a light.

She struggled with the match. “I can't move my hands enough to do this.”

“Try.”

She did. “Nothing.”

“I know, the stove. Help me up.” Ida pushed at his back and nearly toppled him over. Then she drove behind him as he wobbled into the kitchen.

“Turn on the gas.”

Ida tried to reach the back dial. “I can't do it. It's too far back.”

“Get your hiney out of that chair for two seconds and do it. I'm croakin' here.”

“What a grouch.” She rocked a bit and lunged, turned it on, and poof…set Izzy's eyebrows on fire. His cigarette became a torch. In a flash, Ida reached up and grabbed the back of his head with her bound hands and pushed his face in the sink. Luckily, it was full of hot soapy water. When Izzy finally surfaced with dish-detergent bubbles in his eyes, he sputtered, “Why didn't you let the guy kill me?”

“I should have. You're never grateful for a thing.”

Izzy dripped on the floor. “Could you get me a towel?”

She reached for a dishtowel and wiped his face.

“
Ow
, watch my nose.”

“You're such a baby. Do it yourself, then.” She threw it on the kitchen table and sped towards the top of the stairs. “I called the police. They should be here any minute.”

Izzy resorted to bending over to press his face into the towel. “Good, I was about to call them myself, to tell them you're trying to murder me.”

“Keep it up. I'll kill you and blame it on the big ape at the bottom of the stairs, and don't think I won't.”

“I wish you would. Maybe then I'd get some peace and quiet.”

Candy was in a fury. He nearly killed Dumb and Dumber when they came and told him they lost the girl, because now he had to relay that piece of news to his boss, and he didn't like his chances. He couldn't look at their ugly mugs, so he told them to wait outside his office in the warehouse. Candy popped more Life Savers in his mouth. It helped him with his stress levels, but his teeth were starting to rot.

When Freddy the Fish called with the good news, he hollered for his two henchmen. “Get in here.”

They opened the door. “Yeah, boss?”

“Fuck this up and you're dead. Go to the Waldorf. That Bette Weinberg is there with a broad named Linda Keaton. I don't care how you do it, but I want those women and that bag brought here by sundown.
Capiche
?”

Dumb and Dumber nodded and left. Maybe Candy could salvage something out of this disaster. But it was only two hours later when the phone rang again.

Candy grabbed it. “Yeah?”

“Freddy bought it.”

“Say again?”

“Vince saw the ambulance take his body away. The Weinbergs' neighbours said he broke his neck.”

Candy hung up. This was the work of professionals. No doubt about it. Who were these women? He'd never heard of broads doing a job. What was the world coming to?

It was nearly noon when Clive wandered over to Linda's to feed Buster. He put the key in the lock, but when he placed his hand on the knob, it turned and the door opened. He jumped back. That wasn't supposed to happen. What was going on? Then he remembered. It was probably Wes, although he didn't see his car.

He opened the door a little wider. “Wes? Wes?”

There was no answer. Then the hairs on the back of Clive's neck stood at attention. Linda's mail was on the floor, and when he looked down the hallway, he saw a chair on its side. Perhaps Buster had gone on a rampage, but he knew in his heart that wasn't it. When he got to the living room door, he knew for certain. The place had been burgled. But how was that possible? The alarm hadn't gone off.

He ran back to the front door and saw that the wire leading to the contact on the door was cut. Someone knew what they were doing. He ran through the house. All the drawers in Linda's secretary desk were on the floor, papers scattered about. There were open drawers everywhere, but the obvious things weren't touched—televisions, stereos, DVD players. He ran into the bedrooms. Linda's jewellery box looked intact. What were they looking for?

Then he remembered Buster.

“Buster. Buster. Here, pussycat…psst psst psst.” He had to find the cat. Linda would be heartbroken if anything happened to him. He searched and searched and had almost given up when he found him crouched behind the washing machine.

“It's okay, Buster. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Buster looked like dandelion fluff in his attempt to protect himself. It was quite a battle to get him out. Clive finally resorted to using a mop handle to poke him towards the other side. He grabbed the cat as he tore by. Buster did his best to rip Clive's hands to shreds and Clive, in desperation, dropped Buster into a wicker clothes hamper and shut the lid. He filled a shopping bag with tins of cat food, then took a new bag of kitty litter and ran upstairs with the bags and hamper. Buster growled and hissed the entire time.

Clive hurried over to his house with his cargo. The boys greeted him enthusiastically and then went into a frenzy of sniffing. Buster's howls became more acute. Clive put Buster in the spare room, grabbed a pan and put kitty litter in it, then opened a can of cat food, put it on a plate, and poured some water in a bowl. Finally he tipped the laundry basket on its side, opened the lid, and ran like hell for the door. He shut Buster in. The boys continued their sniffing contest along the crack of the door, but at least Buster was safe.

Clive wasn't sure what to do next. He didn't want to phone Linda and ruin her holiday. He'd have to let Wes know, since he had no idea where Stuart was. So he ran back to the house and grabbed the paper Linda had left on the fridge with all the phone numbers on it. He placed a call to Wes. A voice came on. “The cellular customer you have dialled has their phone turned off. Please try again later.”

“Stupid git! Your mother buys you a phone and you never turn it on.”

He sat at Linda's kitchen table and stewed. If he couldn't get a hold of Wes within a reasonable amount of time, he'd have to call Linda. He had no other choice.

Stuart had an important seminar on laser techniques for facial reconstruction in a conference room downstairs, but he was missing it thanks to Ryan's stubborn refusal to come out of the bathroom. His pleas fell on deaf ears. When the hotel phone rang he thought it might be one of his colleagues telling him to get his ass downstairs pronto.

He picked it up. “Hello?”

“Dad?”

“Wes?”

“How come you didn't answer your cellphone?”

Stuart took his phone out of his pocket and looked at all the missed call messages. “Sorry, I thought it was on vibrate. I have seminars all day. How the heck did you know where to find me?

“I had to call your office. Is that chick with you?”

“Wes…”

“Forget it, Dad, I'm not interested. I have to tell you something. The house was broken into.”

Stuart's hand gripped the phone. “Is your mother all right?”

“She doesn't know, and I don't want her to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“She's in New York and I don't want to ruin her good time.”

Stuart felt a shiver go up his spine. “Your mother is in New York?”

“Ain't that a kick in the teeth?” Wes said. “She's even staying at the Waldorf. I'm surprised you two haven't met in the elevator.”

Stuart's mouth was so dry he had trouble speaking. Linda was here. She was stalking him and terrorizing Ryan. Oh my God. She was having a breakdown and it was all his fault. Who knows what she might be capable of? And her friends were with her. It
was
Bette he'd saw in the doorway, and Augusta and Gemma by the elevator. But how did they know he was going to be in New York? At this hotel? And on this floor? It was probably his office receptionist. She always did have a big mouth.

All this ran through his head in a matter of seconds. Then another thought came to him. “Wes, were you with your mother before she left?”

“No.”

“You don't think she's capable of trashing the house, do you?”

“She'd love to slash your suits all to shit and I wouldn't blame her if she did, but Mom would never wreck the house. It was a break-in. Mr. Harris called me. He'd gone over to feed Buster and that's when he saw the mess.”

“Was there much damage?”

“Nothing too important, and not much was taken, either. It's like they messed up the place looking for something and then took a few things to make it look like a robbery.”

“Wes, I want you to go into my study and look in my filing cabinet. I have a list of our credit cards in there somewhere. I don't have all of them with me. Can you cancel them, just for safety's sake? Don't worry about the American Express. I have that one on me.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“And then get someone in to change the locks.”

“I'll call the security company, too; the wires have been cut.”

“Yes. Good idea.”

“I've talked to the police. They filed a report but said the chances of finding out who did it are pretty slim. It happens all the time. I'll clean up the house. Chloe and I are staying here for now. I want to be here when Mom gets home, because she won't have a key for the new lock.”

“Chloe? Is she your girlfriend?”

“What do you care? You haven't been interested in anything Mom and I do lately. Your attention's been elsewhere.”

Stuart flinched. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt.

“Listen, Dad, I have to go. I just thought you'd want to know. I don't know why, since it doesn't concern you anymore…”

“Wes—”

“Go to another hotel, Dad. Don't parade the chick in front of her. Mom doesn't deserve that.”

“Don't hate me, Wes.”

There was a long silence. “I don't.” He hung up.

They were almost at Saks when Bette took the call from her mother. She stood in the middle of the street with a look of utter amazement. When she hung up and laughingly told her friends the foolish story Ida had come up with to make her feel guilty, they all had a great chuckle, which did a lot to raise their sadly depleted spirits. They gave themselves permission to have a good time in this famous store. They had to, or they'd go nuts.

It was like a dream. The whole first floor was taken up with every cosmetic company known to man. Everywhere they looked, women sat in casting chairs having their makeup done for free by cosmeticians, in the hopes of selling their very pricey wares. Employees also stood at every corner of the aisles handing out coupons or perfume samples. It was easy to get mesmerized, especially when they realized that Gucci, Prada, and other obscenely expensive handbags were on display around the perimeter of the floor.