Snarky Park

by Cathy Lubenski

  Dillard Johnson stood in the doorway until she well down the long, sloping driveway, then closed the door to Snarles Park.

  ***

  She drove into L.A., catching the beginning of a ferocious traffic jam and by the end of the day, her head was pounding and she had a sour taste in her mouth.

  She just wanted to eat dinner and relax. She could hear noises in the garage as she passed it to get to the door to her apartment and assumed Cully was working on his photos for the book.

  “Good, that will give me some peace and quiet while I cook the turkey cutlets,” she thought.

  She changed into shorts and tank top and started preparing dinner. When she opened the refrigerator door, no turkey cutlets. Cully walked in with Bling behind him and came over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.

  “Cully, where’s the stuff for dinner?”

  “Hey, Bert, they didn’t have any of the things at the store. They said they never heard of them.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the woman at the meat counter said she never heard of crunchy coblets. She even went back asked the butcher if he knew what they were. So I didn’t get anything. I’m sorry.”

  “Not crunchy coblets, you idiot, turkey cutlets. What the hell? Now we don’t have anything for dinner.” Bertie sighed and put her head down on the cool kitchen counter.

  “OK, we’ll have reheatza, that’ll have to do. I’m not going to the store now for turkey cutlets or crunchy coblets.”

  She opened the refrigerator door and took out leftover pizza from a few days before. She slammed dishes on the counter where they ate, shoved the pizza into the microwave and sat on a stool while Cully silently slunk around the tiny kitchen fixing a salad. They ate in silence and then Bertie went into her bedroom and lay on her bed with the pillow over her head.

  She drifted off to sleep and after about an hour’s nap, woke up feeling better. Cully was sitting on the sofa, Bling at his side, watching TV with the sound turned down.

  “Sorry I was in such a bad mood. I had a bad headache,” she said.

  “Well, I’m sorry I got turkey cutlets wrong. Can we start over again?”

  “Sure.” They smiled at each other.

  “I’m just getting ready to take Bling for a walk, why don’t you come along and get some fresh air?” Cully asked.

  “OK,” Bertie answered and went in search of some sneaks.

  The three walked down the street in the gathering dusk, the heat of the day a still palpable presence. Bling stopped every so often to leave a pee-mail and then they’d continue their stroll.

  The curb was painted red at the end of the street. FIRE LANE had been printed on it in white at one point, but the heavy foot traffic had partially worn it away, leaving IRE LANE. A few working girls gathered here nightly and tonight was no different.

  “Bertie! Cully! Is that you?” A voice rang out and Felanie stepped out of the red zone. “Don’t tell me you live here, this is where I work,” she said.

  Bling was jumping up and down at the excitement in Felanie’s voice. Bertie gave Felanie a quick hug and she and Cully stopped to talk briefly before moving on down the street.

  “She’s so sweet,” Bertie said. “I wish I could help her get another job.”

  “Yeah, it seems like a waste of a good human being,” Cully said.

  Bling stopped and pooped on the sidewalk. Bertie cleaned it up with a plastic bag Cully handed her.

  The city night was beautiful. Store fronts were dark, but red, green and yellow lights blinked on and off at street corners, red and yellow neon signs shone in bars and in second-floor apartments, lamps were being turned on. The air was slowly cooling and Bertie drifted off into a daydream.

  Footsteps coming up quickly behind them woke her to reality. They were in a dark stretch of street with an alley gaping open blackly a few feet away. Bertie realized, too late, that it wasn’t a good place to be.

  Cully grabbed her elbow and urged her on: “Come on, let’s go. Pick up the pace a little.” They started walking quickly, heading for a lighted patch in the street.

  Bling started to whine and pull back, sensing the fear that radiated off the two humans. Cully jerked the leash, almost pulling the dog’s collar off his head.

  They were almost past the alley when Cully was shoved hard from behind, his hand tearing loose from Bertie’s elbow. As he fell headlong into the dark shadows of the alley, she started screaming.

  A figure dressed in black gave her a backhanded slap across the face and she staggered backward, landing hard against the side of a building. Cully had dropped Bling’s leash and the little dog was in a frenzy, barking and growling at the figure in black, darting in to bite at an ankle, a black boot, anything that presented a clear shot for her. The man kicked him away, and he fell to the side, yipping loudly.

  The man jumped on Cully and his arm started making wide, swinging motions as he hit Cully in the head. Bertie could only see shadows and that made it worse.

  She ran into the man, knocking him over and away from Cully, and started flailing at him with the only weapon she had: The bag of poop.

  She swung the bag at his head and connected. The bag broke and smelly dog poop splattered over his head and face. He let out a strangled cry and scrambled to his feet, just as two other figures entered the alley.

  Felanie jumped on the back of the man and pummeled him in the head and shoulders. He staggered, breathing heavily, and Miss Demeanor stomped hard on his foot. Bertie swung her leg back and let loose with a mighty kick into his groin.

  “Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggghhhhh,” he screamed and doubled over. Bertie raised her foot for another kick, but he stumbled out of the alley in a hunched-over run, spraying dog poop behind him as he ran.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cully was on the ground, not moving. Bertie fell to her knees, pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911. Bling was dancing around, yipping loudly.

  Felanie, who’d run after the man, was back. She leaned against one of the buildings that loomed over them in the alley, gasping for air.

  “The guy was way too fast for me to keep up. He turned into another alley and was gone. Is Cully all right?” she asked.

  “I think so, he’s coming around now.”

  Felanie pulled a bottle of water out of the huge purse she’d dropped to jump on the assailant’s back and wetted a piece of cloth she took from a side pocket.

  “Here, put this on his forehead. It’s cool.”

  Bertie took the cloth, which turned out to be a pair of black panties – “they’re clean,” Felanie said. “It helps to pack extra underwear in my business” – and laid it on Cully’s forehead. He started to stir, just as the sounds of whoop-whoop-whooping sirens reached them.

  Miss Demeanor, who hadn’t said a word since stomping on the man’s foot, was tugging on Felanie’s arm.

  “We’ve got to go, Bertie. I hope he’s OK,” Felanie said, and the two slid back out on to the street.

  Cully sat up, groaning. “My head,” he said, and clutched it with both hands, as if to keep his brains from spilling out.

  “Keep still, Cully,” Bertie said. “The paramedics are on their way.”

  “No, no, I don’t want paramedics, call now and cancel.” He stood up quickly and swayed, almost falling again.

  “But you need someone to look at your head and – “

  Cully pulled his own phone out of a pocket in his shorts and dialed 911. His conversation was short, just “Please cancel the paramedics.”

  “What the hell, Cully?”

  The siren whooped to a stop on the street outside the alley and two patrolmen, their hands on their holstered guns, ran up.

  “What’s the problem here?” the younger one asked.

  Bertie told them what happened, leaving out Felanie and Miss Demeanor’s role.

  “You hit the guy with poop?” the older patrolman asked.

  “Yes, that was the only thing I had. I kicked him in the balls, too. Can�
��t you go find him? He turned left outside the alley.”

  “Hey, Ron, she hit the guy with a bag of dog poop, can you believe it?” The other cop snickered. “Well, shit!”

  “Exactly!” the first one said. The two started laughing.

  “Hey, are you going to look for the guy?” A gusset of hysteria tinged Bertie’s voice. “You won’t exactly need a bloodhound to find him.”

  “We’ll take your statement, Ma’am, but the chances of finding the guy are practically nil. It’s not the best neighborhood in the city, you know. Can you give me a description?”

  “He was dressed in black and he had something black on his head, a ski cap or something, because I couldn’t make out any features. He was about medium height and...”

  “…and anything else?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s it. It was dark, and it all happened so fast.” Bertie felt like she was letting Cully down.

  “Did he take anything?”

  “We didn’t have anything. We were just walking the dog before bed,” Bertie said, red flushing her face as her anger stirred. Why weren’t the cops doing something?

  “Well, we’ll drive around, and look for someone who matches that description, covered in poop, but I wouldn’t count on us finding him. You’ve been mugged, Ma’am, I’m sorry.”

  Cully tugged at her arm, and the cops turned to look at him. “He looks like he needs medical attention, have you called an ambulance?” Ron asked.

  “I don’t need an ambulance, thanks,” Cully said. “It’s just a bruise, I’ll be fine.” He’d surreptitiously wiped the blood away with Felanie’s black panties.

  “Miss, can you talk him into a trip to the hospital for X-rays? He might have a concussion.”

  “No, no, I’m fine, if you just look around for the guy, we’ll be on our way.”

  The two cops were now looking suspiciously at Cully. “Why don’t you want to go to a hospital, mister, is something wrong?”

  “No, I just know I’m OK. No need to fuss. Thanks, guys,” and Cully, pulling on Bertie’s hand, walked hurriedly away.

  The cops looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, and returned to the patrol car.

  Bertie slowed their pace when they were out of sight.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Cully? What if you have a concussion? Let’s go to the hospital.”

  Cully stared at her, anger stealing over his face. “That’s easy for you to say, you have a job and health insurance. Someone like me, with no job, I can’t afford X-rays and forty-dollar aspirins. Forget it, I’ll just take care of myself – I’ll take some Tylenol, rest, and avoid exertion. That’s what they’d tell me at the hospital anyway.” He stalked away, Bling following him with his ears and tail down, looking back at Bertie.

  For once in her life, Bertie had nothing to say.

  As soon as the apartment door closed and Bertie got a look at Cully’s swollen, bruised face, she started to cry. “Why are you crying now, Bert? It’s all over with. I’m fine, so cut it out.”

  “It’s my fault, don’t you see? Someone is after me, ’cause I’m sticking my nose into Rowley Poke’s murder… And, and what if the Big Johnson sent that guy after me because I wouldn’t sit under Zeus’ dick?”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  But Bertie just started to cry harder.

  “Bertie. Bertie! You know what? You’re not always the heroine of every chapter in your life, OK? How do you know this was about you? It could’ve been about me – maybe I took a picture of something I shouldn’t have, maybe the owners of the house where I was squatting wanted some payback, maybe … maybe we were just mugged, how about that?”

  “No, I’m the target, but they got you by mistake. What have I done, I’ve dragged you into it, and look what happened – “

  “Shut up, Bertie, just shut up! Quit being such a fucking drama queen.” Cully kicked the sofa, turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  Bertie sat on the sofa, stunned.

  “I’m not a drama queen,” she finally said out loud.

  She sat for a few more minutes. “Maybe a princess, but not a queen.”

  Bling jumped on to the sofa and licked her cheek. She hugged the little dog close to her.

  “And I am too the heroine of every chapter.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bertie opened the sofa bed straightened the sheets and went to her own bed after Cully left. She lay curled up in the covers for a long time before finally falling asleep.

  She didn’t know how long she’d slept before she heard the door open and Cully come in. His footsteps were slow and heavy. She heard rustling noises as he took his clothes off, then his footsteps, lighter now, carrying him past her bed and into the bathroom.

  As the bathroom door quietly opened again she said, “I’m awake, Cully.”

  He stopped. “I don’t think I feel like talking, Bert. I’m tired. I just want to lie down.”

  “Are you feeling at all nauseous? Are you dizzy?”

  “No. I have a headache, but it’s not that bad. I just took some Tylenol. If I have a concussion, I’m guessing it’s a minor one. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”

  She sat up. “I’m so sorry, Cully.”

  “Don’t start again, Bert. Please, not tonight.”

  “I’m not starting again. But I just feel that if you weren’t living here, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “If I wasn’t living here, I’d be living on the street. If I wasn’t living here, I might just give up and go home to Pennsylvania and live with my parents. So don’t say that, OK?”

  “OK, Cully.”

  He started walking toward the living room again, a silhouette in the light coming in the bedroom window.

  “Cully? I’m glad you’re all right. I was really scared.”

  “Ahhh, Bert. I was, too. But it’s going to be fine. Honest.” He sat on the bed and put his arms around her. “I kinda forgot that you had a reason to be scared, too.”

  She felt safe for the first time that evening. “Do you realize we were saved by two prostitutes, a bulldog and a bag of dog poop? Maybe we should alert the military.”

  His laugh was smaller than hers. “A French bulldog at that. Just don’t tell anyone. I have my manly reputation to uphold.”

  She raised her head, just as he lowered his to look at her. Bertie felt frozen in time, unable to move. He stared at her, then kissed her. Hard. They tore into each other like two people who had faced death and survived. The sex was fast and furious, the aftermath, gentle and sweet.

  They slept.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sunlight coming in the window woke Bertie the next morning. Cully was lying on his side next to her in bed, his arm over her waist. Bling slept on her feet.

  She blinked and for one brief moment thought it was a different time and place and that she and Cully were still married. She turned and looked at him, saw his swollen, bruised face and remembered.

  She closed her eyes again as the memory of the attack washed over her. Her breathing quickened and she tried to relax, but couldn’t. Bling, sensing her tension, woke and climbed carefully over their bodies mounded under the covers to lick her face, then Cully’s.

  He woke with a start. “Wha?” He sat up, then groaned. Large bruises – black and blue with red and yellow centers – dotted his face, his left eye was swollen almost shut.

  Bertie didn’t know if she was more upset at how bad he looked or at the fact he was in her bed, naked. She glanced at the clock and decided it didn’t matter.

  “Oh, no,” she said, jumping out of bed. “If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late to meet Buddy Laird.” She grabbed some clean clothes from the dresser and ran into the bathroom, and then the shower. The frenzied activity saved her from having to think about what had happened and its consequences.

  She dried her hair, pulled on a pair of old shorts and a work shirt and came into the living room to
find that Cully had made a pot of coffee and was standing there with a travel mug ready for her.

  “Thanks, Cully. I’ve gotta go.”

  “Bert, I don’t think you should go. What if it was Buddy who mugged us last night? Or one of Buddy’s … er, buddies? Going off with a stranger to who knows where might not be a good idea.”

  She paused. That it might have been Buddy hadn’t occurred to her. “This might sound strange, but it didn’t feel like Buddy last night. And besides, he’s taller and skinnier than our mugger was.”

  Cully’s expression of concern didn’t change.

  “Tell you what, Cully, I’ll make sure Buddy knows I’m texting you about where I am. He won’t try anything if he knows I’m in contact with someone who knows my location and who I’m with. Deal? Now, I gotta go.”

  “Your phone is charged, right?”

  “Right!” She headed for the door, stopping when he said, “Bertie,” very quietly.

  She turned and looked at him.

  “Be careful.”

  She stared at him. “Yes, of course,” she said, then fled out the door.

  ***

  “I hurried for this?” Bertie said out loud. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d shouted it at the top of her lungs, since she guessed there was no one for miles around to hear her.

  She was sitting in the kitchen of Buddy Laird’s cottage out in what Bertie could only describe as the boonies, probably still in L.A. County, but she’d lost track of how many turns they’d taken and how many dirt roads they jolted down getting here. The sign at the final road had read Mockingbird Lane and Bertie thought, “Wasn’t that the name of the street the Munsters lived on?”

  After rushing to get ready and then fuming through the tail-end of rush-hour traffic to get there, Bertie had had to wait at The End’s compound for Buddy. The heat of the morning sun had driven her from her car to an old hay bale in front of the sheds where she killed time, waiting for Buddy to show up.