Randall #01 - The Best Revenge (11 page)

Chapter 11—Biting Burglars

Camilla sat cross-legged on the floor of the denuded living room, absently tearing at a piece of decaying shag carpet that had been ripped up in furniture-moving. She stared at a small pile of money that she had just finished counting for the third time. It was all the money from her purse, plus the dime and three pennies she found on the floor where the couch used to be. The total kept coming out to thirteen dollars and seventy-eight cents. That was all she had in the world, except for her clothes, a second-hand bed, a makeshift orange-crate desk, two Melmac cups, and a bent fork. Oh, yes, and the Tupperware bowl half full of chocolate pudding in the refrigerator. And most of a case of Olympia Light beer. She yanked at the carpet. A jagged piece came off in her hand.

For the tenth time today, she thought of calling her mother, but as she looked through the torn carpet at the moldy plywood floor in front of her, she pictured Lester Stokes’ puffed-up face, and heard his syrupy voice.

But after Captain Nelson’s phone call, he’d probably arrange for her to have a convenient accident with a hunting rifle, too. Or put her in some loony bin.  

A mental hospital. She envisioned long, white corridors and bare little rooms. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything any more. And after all, how could she be sure she wasn’t crazy? Here she was, sitting on the floor of an empty house, wearing hopelessly wrinkled linen, tearing apart the carpeting. In the dark. It had got quite dark. The streetlights pierced the darkness outside the now curtainless front window. It must be past eight o’clock. She squinted to read her watch.

That was when she heard the noise.

It was sort of a thump, like the banging of a screen door. Then more thumps: footsteps. Not Jennifer’s. Not Wave’s. Not a woman’s. She felt sweat bead on her forehead. The woman next door had told her last week to keep the doors locked: there’d been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood.

Had the moving men left the back door of the house unlocked? She sat absolutely still, hardly breathing.

She clutched the square of carpet and took a deep breath. She must be hallucinating.

“Oh, God, I’m crazy!” she said out loud. “Do you hear that, Mr. Arkansas Chickenburger King? You were right! I am stark, raving, certifiably bonkers!” She hurled the carpet square across the room.

“Yeah, I’ll go along with that.” A deep voice spoke from the darkness.

Camilla froze as a man with huge shoulders appeared in the kitchen doorway, outlined by the dim light from the street. She struggled for breath. At the same time, she felt an overwhelming need to laugh: she was being burgled. But had nothing to steal.

The coins on the floor in front of her glinted as the man’s movement made a shift in the beam from the street light. She grabbed a handful of pennies.

“Thirteen dollars and seventy-eight cents!” she screamed. “Thirteen dollars and seventy eight cents! That’s all there is! Everything I have. Take it!”

With all her strength, she threw the coins at him.

“Hey, cut that out!” the voice said.

“I will not.” She grabbed another handful and threw as hard as she could.

The figure moved toward her.

She screamed and jumped to her feet. She tried to run, but two steely hands grabbed her shoulders. She struggled and screamed again. One of the hands clapped over her mouth.

She bit down on it.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” The man pulled his hand away. But the other still gripped her shoulder. She swung around to face her attacker.

“All right. Go ahead and kill me. For thirteen dollars and seventy-eight cents. And a case of bad beer. Don’t forget the light beer!” Her voice trailed into a squeak.

He released her shoulder, making an odd noise—like laughter.

“Beer?” he said. “Don’t forget the bad beer? OK, what the hell are you doing?”

“Doing? I’m not doing anything. Just standing here waiting to get killed. What do you mean what am I doing?” She was surprised to hear her own voice come out so loud.

“Standing here in the dark. Yeah. Did you ladies forget to pay PG&E? Electricity isn’t free, you know.”

“The lights might work. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”

He walked to the wall and flicked on the light switch. The overhead light blazed. As he turned back, she recognized him. She was looking into the gorgeous face of Jimmy, the garbage man. He wore a frayed, double-breasted tuxedo jacket from another era. He held his hand to his mouth. He looked as if he was in pain.

“Jimmy!” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bite you—Oh, I can’t believe I was so rude. Wave’s not here.”

“I figured that out. What’s your name? I forgot.” He smiled. The faded face of The Incredible Hulk, printed on his T-shirt, peeked between the tuxedo’s lapels.

“Camilla,” she said, smiling back.

“OK, Cammie, so you didn’t tell me what you’re doing.”

“Yes. I did. I was waiting for you to kill me. I thought you were a burglar.”

He kept smiling and said nothing.

Apparently he wanted her to elaborate. “OK, before that, I was counting money.”

“Right. Come on. PCP? Crystal? Crack? What?”

“I don’t take drugs. I mean not usually. Just if I have to, you know, to be polite.” The memory of that night with Jon-Don made her shudder.

“Polite. Yeah. You sure are polite. Throwing stuff at me. Screaming bloody murder. Trying to chomp off my hand.” He studied his injury.

“I’m sorry. It was dark. I couldn’t see your face.”

“Dark, yeah. Because somebody forgot to turn on the lights. Somebody who doesn’t do drugs…

“Can I get you a beer?” She was embarrassed about the bite.

He laughed. “A bad beer? Sure, why not?”

 She took the whole case of beer from the refrigerator and carried it back to him.

“Why don’t you take all of it? I know it doesn’t make up for me being so rude, but I want you to know I’m sorry.”

Jimmy popped open a can of the Oly.

“You are one weird lady. So’s your friend Wave. That’s why I came over. Some old dude brought this to my house.” He took a piece of paper out of a pocket of his jacket.

It was a note written in Wave’s childish scrawl:

“Dear J—sorry I had to miss the volleyball game. Hope we won! Had a totally gross scene with the parents. Grounded for the rest of the summer. How’s that for the pits? Maybe I can sneak out in a week or so. Wave”

“So what’s up?” Jimmy said. “She want me to take a hike?”

“Oh, no!” Camilla said. “I think she likes you a lot.”

“I like her, too. So what’s this about? She get busted or something?”

“It’s this Jon-Don Parker thing.”

“The Bozo that OD’d?” Jimmy’s eyes clouded. “What did that creep do to her?”

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s all stupid. It’s a long, stupid story.”

“Can’t be as stupid as the one about you not doing drugs. Try me.” Jimmy sat on the floor next to the case of beer.

Camilla sighed and sat, too. She tried to piece together the story of Jon-Don Parker and Captain Nelson. When she got to the part about throwing up in the Captain’s wastebasket, Jimmy roared with laughter.

“Way to go, Cammie. Way to go!” he said.

“It’s not that funny. My stomach still hurts.”

“My stomach would hurt, too, if someone talked me out of a thirty thousand dollar set of wheels. I bet Wave’s stomach hurts, too. She’s got that asshole for a father.”

“At least she has someplace to live. After her dad took my car, I came back here and found Jennifer moving out. The rent’s due on Tuesday, and—oh, God, the phone’s in Wave’s name so it’s sure to be shut off, and—besides, I lost my stupid job.”

Jimmy opened another beer.

“Sounds like it’s time to make a call to the folks.”

“I can’t. My father’s dead and my mother’s broke, and I’m not talking to her anyway. She’s going to marry the most evil man on the planet because he’s rich.”

“Bummer.” Jimmy put a brotherly arm around her shoulders.

Camilla felt her eyes begin to tear.

“Hey,” Jimmy said. “It can’t be that bad. There must be somebody you can call. A boyfriend? You’re a nice-looking lady. You must have a boyfriend.”

“No. I used to, sort of—not exactly a boyfriend, but…” She bit her lip to stop the stupid tears. “I went to see him yesterday, and he’s living with this woman. She’s rich and famous and beautiful and—older. Sophisticated, you know.”

“Sounds like a slimeball.” Jimmy patted her shoulder. “I tell you what. Just call him and say you’re pregnant. Tell him you know it’s his kid so he has to pay up.”

“I’d have hard time convincing him of that,” she said with a little smile.

“You mean you never got it on with him?” Jimmy took a gulp of beer. “No wonder he found another lady. What’s the matter, you lesbo or something?”

“I certainly am not. But he is. I mean—I thought he didn’t like girls, and then he acted like he did, but then I thought he didn’t again, and—I guess he does. Angela kissed him and she was in his bedroom when I got there and—” Camilla sniffled. “Maybe it’s just me he doesn’t like.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like that you thought he was a faggot.” Jimmy gave a snort. “Hey, you hungry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You eat today?”

“No. I threw up.”

“Yeah. You eat yesterday? The day before?”

“I had chocolate pudding last night. A lot.”

“Sugar? That’s not food. Ever had tofu pizza?”

“I don’t think so.” She picked at the carpet, feeling like a scolded child.

“There’s this place down the street that makes real healthy pizza. Whole-wheat crust. No sugar in the sauce, tofu-rella instead of animal fat cheese.” He downed the rest of his beer. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Why don’t you call this guy? Maybe he still has the hots for you. You know, he could just be with the old lady because she puts out.” He gave Camilla’s knee a reassuring pat before he took off.

She stood by the door and stared across the room at the old black dial phone that sat on the floor by the kitchen. She moved toward it, her head filled with images of Plantagenet. She tried not to think of him as she’d seen him yesterday, tanned and nervous, with Angela’s hand squeezing his, or of the scary way he looked the night he left her in Perth Amboy, but of her old and dear friend, laughing as he escorted her through the streets of Manhattan, happily making rude remarks about the clothing of passers-by.

She got a dial tone. So at least she still had phone service for a bit. She dialed the number.

“Camilla! I’m so glad you called.” It was Angela. “Plant has been desperate to get hold of you. You aren’t listed with Information, and apparently your mother’s phone has been disconnected. I assured him you’d call, but you know how men can be.”

Camilla forced a laugh. “May I speak to him?”

“He’s just gone for groceries. I sent him out to get his mind off worrying. Now he’ll be furious with me.”

“Worrying about what?”

“That’s exactly what I said. He thinks you’re a damsel in distress and it’s up to him to rescue you. As if the poor man could rescue anybody. He’s totally submerged in debts himself. Anyway, I told him that you’re a grown woman and would hate to be treated like a helpless child.”

“Of course,” Camilla said, with a little cough. “But I did just lose my job and—”

“Exactly. What you need is a job—not Mighty Mouse flying in to save the day.”

“Yes, but jobs aren’t that easy to come by—” She wanted to say that a superhero, even of the rodent variety, would not be unwelcome at the moment.

“I know. I know,” Angela went on. “This administration pretends it’s solved the unemployment problem, but that’s all whitewash, isn’t it? Oh—I shouldn’t get started on that. Anyway, you’re one of the lucky ones. I’ve found you a position as a reporter for the
San Diego Sentinel
. It doesn’t pay what you’re used to, but that’s hardly something a Randall would worry about, I’m sure. But you just may find it’s a good career move. You’ll be working with a great bunch of people. Can you start Monday?”