Hit & Mrs. (10 page)

He shuffled back to the phone. “No, his car isn't there. But have you tried calling the house? Surely he would answer the phone if he was in.”

Clive sat on the bed. “No, I don't think you're being silly. It's in a mother's nature to worry about their offspring. Why, the last time Winnie was a bit peckish I whisked him off to the vet only to be told it was gas. Of course, Linda. If I see the car in the morning, I'll run over and ask him to call you. I can even leave a note on the counter, asking him to do so. Will that be all right? Good. Are you having a nice time? That's lovely. Yes, I'll do that. No, it's no problem at all. Feel free to call me whenever you like. No, I mean it. Anytime. Goodnight, Linda.”

He hung up the phone and looked at the picture of his wife that he kept by the bedside. Clive often talked to her. It made him feel better when he did.

“That was Linda. She couldn't get in touch with Wes. You always liked her, didn't you? So do I. I can't believe Stuart left her. He must be mad.” Clive picked up the picture and kissed it. “Goodnight, petal.”

He got under the covers, turned out the light, and snuggled in with his boys.

“They should have called by now,” Ida said to Izzy.

“Don't be such an old woman.”

They sat on opposite sides of the television set. Izzy smoked. Ida popped candies in her mouth and crunched them noisily.

“I
am
an old woman. You want I should turn into one of your Playboy bunnies?”

“Please.”

The phone rang.

Izzy bolted from his chair, and got to it first. “Hello?”

Ida pulled up beside him and wrestled it out of his hand. “Give me that.”

Izzy grabbed it again. “Why should you get it all the time?”

Ida grabbed it back. “Because I endured thirty-six hours of labour, that's why.”

“Thirty-six hours? Don't make me laugh. You dropped her like a hot biscuit.”

They heard a screech on the other end of the phone. Ida put the receiver up to her ear. “Hello? Hello? Is that you, Bette?” She nodded. “It's her.”

“Of course, it's her. Who else calls us in the middle of the night?”

“Who calls us, period? Hello, yes, I'm here. Where on earth have you been?” Ida nodded.

Izzy lit a smoke. “What's she saying?”

“The plane was delayed, so they had a late dinner, but they're in their room now.”

Izzy grabbed the phone. “Did you get raped?”

Ida rolled over Izzy's foot and caught the phone as he dropped it. ”What kind of a sick question is that? You and your dirty mind.”

Izzy hopped around as he held the toes of his left foot. “You're a menace, you old bat.”

The screech came once more. Ida put the phone back up to her ear. “Did you say something?”

“What's she saying?”

Ida put her hand over the receiver. “If you'd shut up for five seconds, maybe I could hear her.” She uncovered the phone. “What? I can't hear you with your father yammering on every time I open my mouth.”

“You never shut your mouth.” He leaned towards the phone. “Isn't that right, Bette? She never shuts up.”

There was a loud click on the other end of the phone. Ida and Izzy looked at each other.

“She hung up on me. What kind of daughter hangs up on her mother?”

“I'd hang up on you too, if you were my mother.”

Ida put down the phone. “If I was your mother, I'd hang myself.”

“Why do I call my parents? Can someone tell me?” Bette asked no one in particular. The four of them sat on two queen-sized beds with their luggage all around them. None of them felt they could unpack until they'd talked to their loved ones and called the police.

Linda picked up the hotel phone. “Okay, we tell them it was an accident. We were clearly provoked. We don't normally run around killing people.”

“What if they ask why we left the crime scene?” Bette said. “That's what might get us in trouble.”

“Tell them a gang of thugs were running after us. What else were we supposed to do?” Augusta said.

“Do you think they'll believe us?”

“They should,” Gemma said. “We're law-abiding citizens…”

“…who just killed someone,” Linda said. “They don't know us from Adam. How would they know we're normal?”

“Because killers don't usually call 911 and confess,” Bette said.

They agreed that was true. Linda dialled 911.

“Yes, I'd like to report a murder…”

Gemma hit Linda in the arm. “We didn't
murder
him, we killed him.”

“Sorry, I'd like to report a killing.”

Augusta shook her hands at Linda. “No, that sounds like murder.”

“Sorry, I'd like to report an accidental death.”

The other three nodded.

“I'm calling from the Waldorf Astoria…no, it didn't happen here… we were in a car…NO…it didn't happen at the hotel…it's not happening now. It happened before.” Linda put her hand over the phone. “She thinks it happened here.” She got back on the phone. “I'm sorry, I think you're confused…no, it's not an emergency…well, it was, but we tried to call before and we had to stop because bad guys were chasing us.” Linda listened. “No, madam, this isn't a prank…a man is dead and he's on a highway somewhere in this city…I don't know where. I just flew in a few hours ago. On a plane…Look, we're at the end of our rope here. We haven't eaten, we haven't slept, we were mugged and chased by bad guys, we spent two hours on buses carrying a lot of luggage and we're fried. This is supposed to be a holiday and so far…what? Are you sure? But the guy is still out there…Okay, okay. What's the number?” Linda snapped her fingers. Gemma reached over and grabbed a pad and pencil by the phone and handed them to Linda. She started to scribble. “So we can call this number tonight? But…okay, fine. We'll call in the morning. So you're sure about this? Okay, thanks.”

Linda put down the phone. “She says we can report it to the police in the morning, because it wasn't an emergency.”

“Wasn't an emergency?” Gemma said. “What does she know, sitting on her ass in some cubicle? It was an emergency when that guy pointed a gun at us.”

“I'm still trembling.” Augusta held out her hands to show the others. “I don't feel right sitting here in a fancy hotel when there's a man lying dead by the side of the road,” Bette said.

“He was a bad man,” Gemma said. “He could have killed us and eight children would've been orphans.”

Linda sighed. “Bette, we're not going to feel right, period, after what we've been through. It scared the life out of us. We've done our best to report this to someone and the authorities told us we can call in the morning. I think we should order some food, unpack, and get into our pyjamas. It'll make us feel better. We can call or even go visit a police station tomorrow. What do you think?”

The other three nodded in agreement.

Linda stood up. “Since you three cowards didn't want to call, I'm first in the shower.”

Stuart lay on the king-sized bed and watched Ryan cavort around the room in her skimpy undies and small spaghetti-strap top. He was exhausted. How was it possible she was still raring to go?

She jumped on the bed and straddled him. “Don't be such an old bear, Stuart. Come on, we're in New York for God's sake. Let's go clubbing.”

“I took you to dinner. We've shagged for two hours. What more do you want?”

“I want to go clubbing.”

“I have an all-day conference tomorrow, in case you've forgotten. I told you that before we left home, so don't get all pouty on me.”

Ryan flicked her streaked hair across his face, and then lowered her head and gently rubbed her lips across his. “Please. Pretty please. I'll give you what you want.”

God, he hated when she did that. He'd have a heart attack at this rate. He put his hands on her shoulders. “No, Ryan. Now stop, I've had enough. It's been a long day and I have to get some sleep.”

She huffed off the bed and stomped over to the chair by the window. “So I'm supposed to sit here and watch you snore and tomorrow I get to file my nails until you waltz in the door, is that it?”

Stuart got up on his elbows. “For Christ's sake, I told you before we left you didn't have to come. I'm not on holiday. I'm working, believe it or not.”

She gathered her knees up under her chin. “Well, this sucks.”

He didn't bother to answer her, opting instead to get off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were bags under his eyes, a symptom of all these late nights with Ryan. She was up for it twenty-four hours a day. He was up twice, maybe three times if he pushed it. How long would it take before he dropped dead?

He turned on the hot water and cupped his hands under the tap, splashing his face a few times before reaching for a towel. There wasn't one. They were all on the floor. How was it possible for one slip of a girl to need every towel in the bathroom? He muttered as he reached for the facecloth still folded in a triangle. Once his face was dry, he searched for his shaving kit so he could brush his teeth, but it was nowhere to be seen. The entire surface of the counter was covered with makeup, perfume, and huge black instruments of torture—a hair dryer, curling iron, and something that looked like a fat pair of tongs. He picked it up and wondered what it was for.

“Ah, screw it.” He opened the bathroom door, shut off the light, and was about to fall back into bed when Ryan said, “I need ice. I'm drinking every bottle in this mini-bar, since you won't take me out. I deserve at least that.”

“Fine.” Stuart turned around and grabbed the ice bucket off the table, then opened the hotel room door and rounded the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks. Room service was pushing a cart into a doorway two doors down. He quickly retreated and shook his head. He could have sworn he'd seen Bette. He looked again, but she was gone. Maybe he was going nuts? Guilt was doing a number on his head. He went back to his room and shut the door.

“Hey! Where's my ice?”

“I don't want to go out in my bathrobe. The liquor's cold, anyway.” Ryan gave him a filthy look. “I'll get it myself, shall I?” She jumped up and grabbed the ice bucket.

“You can't go out like that.”

“Watch me.” She opened the door and sashayed down the hall. “Maybe I'll meet a bell boy and we can do it in the broom closet. At least that's exciting.”

“Ryan, get back here.”

“Make me.” She kept going.

CHAPTER SIX

The bad guys were in a dither. The smuggled diamonds hidden inside the teddy bear had been snatched out of their hands moments before they were meant to be delivered. Heads rolled on the decision to use the young mother with the baby.

Then came worse news.

“The driver. He's dead,” confirmed the voice on the phone.

Candy hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I knew it. I knew it. This just goes from bad to worse.” He slammed the phone down and glared with his piggy eyes at the young woman in the chair in front of him.

“It's a professional job.”

“It couldn't be. She was a lady. Look in the bag. Everything's in there…her passport…even her wallet has two hundred bucks in it. Who'd be stupid enough to leave that behind?”

Candy reached into his pocket, unwrapped three Life Savers, and popped them in his mouth. “She walked off with five million in ice, Gracie. I'd say she was very, very clever.”

Gracie looked at him, wide eyed. “I did what you wanted. I brought the stuff over. What's going to happen to me? ”

“If it were up to me, I'd kill ya, but higher-ups want to keep you for a while. You're the only one who knows what this broad looks like. You may come in handy. For now. Let's just say you're expendable, and so's your kid.”

Gracie looked as if she might faint.

“Go over it again. You're sure there's nothing you can tell me about this woman? Did she say where she was going? Anything that would help track her down?”

She didn't speak.

Candy yelled in her face. “What do I look like, a priest? I don't got all day.”

“No. Nothing.”

“She didn't say a word?”

“She said Keaton was lovely.”

Candy hit the table with his fist. He yelled for his beefy henchmen, whom he'd nicknamed Dumb and Dumber after a botched job in the Bronx. Candy wasn't the sort who let someone forget their mistakes.

Dumb came through the door first. He was all muscle, with a blank stare that registered nothing, whereas Dumber possessed a permanent sneer. He carried the baby out in front of him as if he were radioactive. “Yeah, boss?”

Gracie jumped up and grabbed her baby. Keaton held on to her for dear life.

“Your brat stinks,” Dumber said.

“So do you,” Gracie yelled at him.

Dumber put up his hand to slap her. Gracie flinched but didn't back down.

“Cut the crap.” Candy crunched on his Life Savers and then put the rest of the roll in his mouth. “Yous guys take this chick to the safe house. Then come back here. We got work to do. We have to find this Bette Weinberg, and if not her, then her relatives. She'll give us the goods when she knows we have her family.”

When Dumb and Dumber left, Candy got on the phone. He called a few associates, and one of them gave him the information he needed. Freddy the Fish lived in the east end of Montreal. He got Fish on the phone and gave him Bette's address.

“Rough up anyone who answers the door. I wanna know where this bitch is and I don't got a lotta time.”

“I want a cut.”

“Yeah, yeah. We'll sort out the details later.”

Fish hung up the phone.

Dumb and Dumber blindfolded Gracie and bundled her, the baby, and her belongings into the back of a beat-up van and drove to a run–down apartment. They parked in the alley behind and took her up the back stairs. After unlocking the door, Dumber pushed her inside. Only then did he take the blindfold off.