Me and My Manny (20 page)

Snatching Wolf

For the next few days, I stopped playing games as I had promised Harry. To assure him of my intention, I dressed Wolf in his Italian sailor suit, put him on his stand, and closed him inside the entryway closet.

Around dawn that Friday of the same week, I awakened long enough to hear the elevator’s opening ding and its descending swish beyond my apartment door. Thinking nothing of it, I again fell asleep, though the faraway cry of a small voice haunted my ensuing dreams.
Arrivederci, Judy,
the voice said, dwindling.

Hours later, careful not to wake Harry, I got out of bed and tiptoed into the living room to check on my manny.

“Wolf,” I whispered, groping in the shadows of the closet. “Are you in here?”

I left the empty space and began searching for him in room after room.

“Don’t be naughty. Come out; come out, wherever you are. Wolf, if you’re scamming me…” I walked around, switching on lights.

My heart racing, I dashed back into the bedroom and shook Harry.

“Whasa—” He lifted his head as if weighted with concrete. “I thought we planned to sleep late.” He glanced at the clock. A hazy beam of sunlight had begun to fill the room.

“My manny’s missing. I can’t find him anywhere. He’s gone and so is his wheelie-stand!”

“Impossible,” Harry said, dropping his head back in the pillow. “He’s here somewhere.”

I pinched his arm, and he sat up, rubbing the spot.

“Hey, that hurts.”

“This is serious. Something’s happened to Wolf, something awful.”

“Not unless he just got up and went out for an early morning hike.”

I nodded. Wolf had not on a whim decided to bail on his own. Someone just wanted it to look that way. And I suspected that someone was Harry.

“I left him right out there on his cart.” As I slipped into jeans and a pullover, I recalled that shortly after Harry had gone to bed, I turned off the TV and crawled in next to him, though he was too deeply asleep to have noticed. “When I got up, he was gone.”

I glared at Harry, maybe only pretending to have been asleep, and that sometime during the night, snuck out of bed and committed some deed against the helpless manny.

“Maybe one of his girlfriends has him,” Harry said, now sitting up.

“How do you figure?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They were willing to pay for his time.”

It became clear to me that Harry’s input was a diversionary tactic. He’d already shown a predisposition to destroy Wolf and had both motive and opportunity.

“That would mean he’s still in the building,” I said, playing along with the idea that one of Wolf s former girlfriends abducted him. “We’ll search the premises. But first—”

I jumped to my feet, ran for the phone, and punched the speed-dial button for the manager’s office.

Lisa answered on the second ring. She right away denied having seen Wolf that morning. She doubted Ruthie had, either. Only a short while ago she’d passed Ruthie, heading out with Spike for his morning walk.

“You ask me,” Lisa then lowered her voice, “Somebody stole him, considering how valuable he is.”

“That could be it!” I slapped my forehead. “He’s been kidnapped.”

“You didn’t find a ransom note, did you?” Lisa asked over the phone.

“I haven’t looked.”

“Well, you’d better get on it. I’ll call the cops,” Lisa offered.

“The FBI, too,” I added. “They’re in charge of kidnapping cases.” The threat of involving the feds should have moved Harry, yet he didn’t flinch.

I hung up the phone and resolved not to interrogate him. In a missing-manny’s case, as with a missing-persons case, time is of the essence and wasting it with tricky accusations lowered the odds of recovering my manny intact.

“Oh, my poor manny,” I cried, wringing my hands.

Concern swept across Harry’s face. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Yet I
was
worried. Now with news of Wolf’s disappearance out, so might the sordid details of my defunct rent-a-manny business. My reputation would be ruined.

While Harry dressed and I searched for a ransom note, we debated how much we’d be willing to pay for the safe return of the manny. Just as he slipped on his shoes, the phone rang and he answered it. It was Lisa. A plainclothes detective and a uniformed policeman were in the office. Harry told her we’d be right down.

An Investigation

While Lisa and Ernie served coffee, I did my best to give the two police officers a complete, if somewhat rambling, description of Wolf and a timeline as to his last known location. I told them that if they’d just take a good look at Harry, and then picture a comical body double, they’d have all the information they’d need. As both officers jotted notes in their spirals, I anxiously glanced around at the neighbors who’d started gathering in the lobby when the squad car had pulled up out front.

“You say he’s a sailor?” asked the plainclothes detective.

“Correct, but an Italian sailor.”

“Maybe you should notify Shore Patrol,” said the uniformed cop, who turned to Harry when he moaned, “Damn it, not the SP.”

“Why are we discussing jurisdictions when Wolf could be in danger, maybe even dumped in a ditch off a deserted highway somewhere?”

“You suspect foul play?” the detective asked.

I nodded vigorously.

Ruthie then back from her walk came through the front door with Spike in the lead. Just as she pivoted to stow her shovel and plastic bags in the umbrella stand, Spike fixed on me and lunged, almost pulling her off her feet.

“No! Bad dog. Bad, bad, bad.” Ruthie struggled to hold Spike back. He’d reared on his hind paws, snapping and salivating as if wanting a chunk out of me.

The plainclothes detective turned to his partner. “I suppose we should get a team out here to dust for fingerprints up on the fourth floor, and spray for possible bloodstains.”

“Wolf doesn’t bleed,” I told the officers, relieved that Jason, newly arrived on the scene, took hold of Spike’s leash.

The uniformed cop gave me a suspicious look.

“Who’s Wolf?” asked the plainclothes detective.

Jason, breaking into a run to keep up with Spike bounding down the hall, called over his shoulder. “The hired gun in the Panama hat, that’s who.”

“But he can’t go missing because he’s not alive,” I added.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys,” the handyman said to the cops. He emerged from among the onlookers in the lobby and stepped through the office entryway.

“No, no…you don’t understand,” I cut in. “He’s not a guy; he’s a dummy.”

The police officer released a frustrated sigh and lowered his spiral. “Is this some kind of prank?”

“There’s more,” the handyman said. “I saw her out behind the garages, with a claw hammer in her hand, kneeling on the ground building a coffin.”

“That was the crate Wolf came in.”

The handyman wore a smug expression. “See, she admits—”

“Hold on,” I interrupted, afraid he’d next launch into a report on Harry’s aborted leap from our balcony. “I admit I bought a manikin from Gippo’s off a side street down at Pike Place. But you can’t check it out because the shop’s no longer there.”

All eyes on me, I felt helpless, nailed on circumstantial evidence and eyewitness testimony, all of which could inter me for…who knows how long. As I pondered my situation, my imagination ran wild—a future behind walls topped by loops of razor wire, overseen by armed guards, working in a steamy-hot laundry next to women with tattoos on their muscular arms.

“He did it. He’s the perpetrator,” I said, jabbing a finger at Harry. “First he tried to choke Wolf. Then he attempted to drown him. When that didn’t work, he caused him to somehow disappear.”

“Oh, no, dear,” the elderly Sarah Crumble said. “Wolf hasn’t disappeared.”

Sometime during the group discussion, she had entered the office and fiddled with the tagged keys hooked on the pegboard. I figured she must have locked herself out of her apartment again.

“I have a confession to make.” The old woman lowered her eyes. “Wolf spent the night with me. He’s the most charismatic man…eh…manikin I’ve ever met. And I’m eighty-five come December.”

“But how’d you get hold of him?” I asked.

“By stealth, as always,” Sarah said, before explaining in greater detail.

Rumors about my manny-mate business had aroused her curiosity. But, both her age and her budget discouraged her from buying a few dates for herself. She instead took advantage of her access to the apartment house keys on management’s pegboard in the office.

“But I did pay you once,” she said.

“Then it was
you
going in and out of my apartment?”

The officer winked at his superior. “Hear that, Chief? Breaking and entering.”

“I entered, but I didn’t break anything.” She tapped her chin. “Except that hurricane lamp. Oh, and I made a mess with that stuff from Wolfs crate. And I’m sorry about the roast beef. I parked the wheelchair outside the elevator—” The old woman broke off and faced the officers. “I didn’t always use the chair. Wolf had his own set of wheels.” Turning back to me, she said, “I opened your door and Spike bolted right on by me. On his way out, he had an entire roast in his mouth.”

She explained that she’d meant to bring Wolf back sooner, but they got wrapped up watching a very interesting movie. “I’ve heard about the advances in the field of genetic engineering, like using animal parts in human beings. I never before knew how they got them.”

Harry and I locked eyes as I asked, “Did the movie come in a box with a goat on the label?”

She nodded. “Have you seen it, too?”

“No, but I’d love to borrow it.”

“You can have it. I found it in the alley.”

“But Mrs. Crumble, where’s the manny now?” I asked.

She gazed at the ornate design in the rug.

A minute passed before I realized the old woman must have found another image of Jesus.

“Mrs. Crumble.” I started to feel frustrated. “What did you do with my manny?”

Her eyes lifting, Sarah vacillated as if coming out of a daze.

“Well, dear, when I saw the police arrive, I thought you’d reported a burglary. So I hustled Wolf out to the back garden. Then I pretended I wanted to see what was going on. With management busy, I hoped to sneak back into the office and replace your door key on the pegboard.”

“Then he’s in the back garden?”

Before the old woman could respond, Jason rejoined them, saying, “Hoo-boy, that’s where Spike is.”

“You know dogs aren’t allowed out there,” Lisa said, looking irritated.

“What can I say? Someone opened the door as we passed by and out he went.” Jason shrugged, and most in the crowd nodded, aware he wouldn’t dare leave the building and go after Spike.

Shoes clattering, I along with everyone else hurried down the hall toward the back exit.

Harry caught up with me and said, “Where do you get off blaming me for Wolf’s disappearance?”

“Later, Harry. We’ll deal with it later.”

Outside, the pool area was deserted due to the cool November weather. We made it to a small patch of grass some yards from the pool and started for the lawn chairs by a table with a collapsed umbrella in its center. Wolf’s wheelie-stand was evident, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Dear me,” Sarah said, slumped in the shape of a question mark. “I don’t understand it. He was right here on the chair.” Her eyelids fluttering, she looked down at the floral upholstery and grew quiet, as if once again studying the face of Jesus in the pattern.

“There’s Spike.” I pointed to him on the grassy lawn, gnawing on something. “Get him,” I yelled to Ruthie.

Twice Ruthie darted after Spike, but each time the dog shot a couple of feet ahead of her. On the third try, she sprung and stomped both feet down on the leash. Spike’s big head jerked backward, and his huge body came to an abrupt halt.

“Drop it. Give it up,” Ruthie demanded, taking the leash.

Holding back my breath, I waited for the mean dog to obey, but his clamped jaws produced nothing but a faint grinding sound.

“You’ll have to pry his mouth open,” I told Jason, who from the doorway snapped, “What, and lose a hand?”

“He’s your dog.”

“Here, let me.” Ruthie straddled Spike from behind and tugged at his choke chain, strangling him and urging him to cough it up. Instead Spike sounded a gulp and licked his lips.

“He’s swallowed it,” I moaned.

Jason cried, “If it’s wood, the splinters could puncture his intensities.”

I let out a cheer, and Lisa cast me a withering glance, to which I responded, “He ate Miss Kitty. I saw her remains.”

“You beast,” Lisa shrieked and thumped Spike hard on the back. The violent maneuver worked, for instead of turning on her, Spike heaved and gagged. His gut muscles working, his lips pulling back wide, he thrust his head forward and vomited a shiny object.

“It’s Wolf’s boatswain whistle.” With a tissue, I reached for the dented piece of metal with wadded red string.

“No! Leave it,” Ruthie ordered Spike when he snapped at my withdrawing hand before I put it in my pocket.

“Here, bring him here,” Jason called from the safety of the doorway. “I’ll take him up to the apartment.”

As Ruthie moved to hand the leash over, Spike tugged toward an overgrown bush and lifted his hind leg. When finished, he supplemented his claim with a hefty scratch from his back paws.

“Look!” shouted the officer who’d been examining the grounds. “The dog found the missing person.”

“Wolf,” I cried, seeing his wooden hand poking from a shallow grave. “Spike must have buried him. We have to dig him up.” I fell to my knees and began clawing the earth. The uniformed officer pulled me away as if to stop me from corrupting the evidence of a crime scene. But at the same time, I grabbed hold of Wolf’s wrist and pulled him to a sitting position with such vigor that his crossed eyes snapped opened and jiggled wildly in his doll-like sockets.

Their own eyes widening, both police officers recoiled.

“I’ll have to send this to the cleaners,” I complained, brushing dirt off the front of my manny’s sailor suit.

“I’ll pay for it,” said Ruthie.

Sarah chimed in. “No, I will. This is all my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s all right,” I said, on the ground, checking him out, pleased that no additional tooth marks were evident.

Meanwhile, the two officers stood off to the side, looking as if they had just entered an insane asylum where the inmates were in charge. A few minutes later, Ernie approached them, saying that whatever went on here was all a mistake. No break-in had occurred, no homicide had been committed, and none of the tenants involved was into abusing pharmaceuticals, as far as he knew. The pair of officers then shook Ernie’s hand and retreated, visibly glad to be going.

The way again clear, Jason proceeded to return Spike to their apartment, with the animal lurching ahead as usual.

Ruthie watched their departure and muttered, “I’ve had it with that butt-sniffing, leg-humping mutt. Come next week, he’s off to obedience school or Jason is out of the house for good.”