by Dan Glover
They were spoiled rotten, the two of them. Always fighting with one another, always lying and stealing... she knew right off those twins would come to no good. It was a shame too. They were both pretty as new spring flowers. They could have been movie stars. Instead, they debauched themselves at each opportunity. It was almost like they were each trying to one-up the other with any boy who came along. Pole jumpers... that's what she called them.
Yep, she could have told a tale or two about those girls. But no one thought to ask. The girls had been friends with her oldest daughter, Amy. Good friends. In fact Sally sometimes thought they spent more time at her house than at their own home. And all those boyfriends... who was the one with the strange name? John... no, Johm. The one who wanted to be a surgeon... who talked of dissecting live animals. Or was that the other one... the Baker boy? Yeah, that's right. Johm wasn’t a bad sort, actually. That Baker boy gave her the willies, though.
She sometimes got the two confused. Either way, those two were the ones... they had something to do with the twins' disappearance. But did anyone ask her? No. What would it take to look those boys up today? Not much she supposed. It might be interesting to see how they turned out. Baker... now that was a common name. Probably be a thousand Bakers just in Los Angeles. But Johm? How many Johms were there in the world? Not many, she suspected. That was why God—or was it Al Gore?—invented the internet... to look up men like Johm.
Hank had been on about two private eyes who were working that old case now... psychics, or so he said. Wouldn’t it be something if she was the one who solved it? Fat old Sally... investigator extraordinaire. Maybe she'd get to be on television too... the Dr. Phil Show. He'd call her himself. He'd say, Sally Lupo? This is Phil McGraw. And she'd say: I'm sorry, who?
Chapter 16—The New Normal
(Pudding Kiss)
1
"So what do you think, DanDan?"
"The guy seems familiar, almost like I've see him before. I'll tell you something else... he knew exactly who we were talking about. I'd say he had something directly to do with the twins' disappearance or he knows who did. Either way though, he's not talking."
"I liked how you lied to him. There was nothing in those files about Johm being interviewed... only the Baker boy."
"Calculated risk, Liza... it worked. Got him to admit he knew them. Then again, there might well be another reason why Johm admitted being interviewed so readily."
"And are you going to tell me why or do I have to suck it out of you, DanMan?"
Jesus, did she suspect? Of course not. How could she? He wasn’t the one who made veiled references to oral sex, she was. And even with his so-called psychic abilities he couldn’t read her mind, or anyone's for that matter.
"What if our new friend Johm isn’t really who he claims to be, Liza?"
"I'm not sure I follow you, hon."
"It'll come to me, sweetie. Give me time."
"You're so cool, Danners. So tell me this, pudding kiss... do we go back tonight?"
"Nothing doing, sweetness. He'll be ready for us. Give us a cock and bull story. Feed us a line and expect us to swallow it. No, I say we skip the appointment. Instead we watch Johm. Something tells me the man can be dangerous if pushed. I don’t want anything happening to you, Liza."
"Danners! If I didn’t know better I'd start to think I'm turning you."
"Believe me, sweetie, if any girl could, you'd be the one."
Yeah, Liza, you got me fair and square... I'm smack in love with you. If you were heroin, I'd be shooting you right into my ass. Me, a sixty something year old faggot, a queer among queens, head over himself in love with a girl. What would all the boys say to that? I'd have them all atwitter to be sure. Ah, if only I were half my age and you were a boy. Life could be so gay.
Maybe this was his chance to be normal. Who knew? He'd known other fellas who'd changed their tunes in the middle of a song. Why not him? Was he too entrenched in the lifestyle? Some folks were. After all, this was all he'd ever known. There was a certain amount of pride involved too, panache... like he was somehow special. He'd endured so much to get here and now he was thinking of giving it all up? And for what: a woman?
He'd grown up during the era when queers were treated as pariahs. All sorts of remedies were offered to jolt them back into someone normal, something at least a bit more tolerable. As a foster child, a ward of the courts, he'd been run through the gamut: debilitating injections, month-long therapy sessions, even boot camps where half the instructors were gay themselves.
Now, Liza McNairy walks into his life and suddenly he has a yen for her. An urge. A hankering. Something totally foreign to his way of thinking. He'd never even seen a naked woman before he met Liza. The sight of their skin turned him off. Actually made him physically ill. And Liza... she seemed to openly enjoy flaunting her body in front of him, or maybe she simply thought of Danners Forthright as one of the girls. One of these nights if she didn’t watch it she was liable to find herself bent over ass in the air and being fucked by former faggot Danners.
He wondered if he could do it. He'd reached the age where the old stick shift didn’t operate as smoothly as it did in his youth. Lately though, when he masturbated, it wasn’t to the image of those sweaty young hunks working out at the street gyms down on Sunset... oh no... it had a lot more to do with the picture of Liza sitting across from him jiggling those boobs and daring him to do something about it. Wrapping those lips around his...
"I think we need to call in Cooper on this one, Liza. Have him surveil Johm. That way he doesn’t get suspicious. I should say any more suspicious. Johm already thinks we're onto him."
Reilly Cooper, a former FBI agent, had access to all the latest technology when it came to watching someone. He also happened to be one of Danners' myriad former boyfriends. He wondered offhandedly if seeing precious Cooper again might right the good ship Lollypop and get him back sailing once more into the gay ocean of good graces. He doubted it.
"Do I detect a note of nostalgia in your voice, DanDan?"
"Come on, Liza. You know Cooper's the best in the business. And no. Whatever we had is over."
"Let me talk to Picany first. He's the one paying for it, unless you want Cooper's remuneration to come out of your end."
He shook his head. Sure, he could afford it, but why should he agree to give Cooper money out of his own pocket when the man treated him like a hunk of shit he'd accidentally plopped a foot into? No... he'd be damned if Cooper got another dime from him... he'd supported the man's habits long enough.
"Another thing I'd like to do is talk to your randy detective friend Hank Lupo again, Liza. I've been going over the case files he gave us. Something doesn’t add up. There are gaps. Like someone excised files they'd rather we didn’t see."
"Hank Lupo isn’t a man to be fucked with, Danners. We can't go in there accusing him of tampering with evidence. He'll shut us down. Not only on this case but any future ones. He's been a big help to us. We can't risk that, babydoll."
"Well, you tell me then, Liza... what do we do?"
"The secretary is the key. Marcy follows Hank's commands to the letter. She's the one who prepared the files. And she also likes to have a drink now and again. I imagine she still hangs out down at Rambo's on Friday night. Maybe I'll just happen to stop in for a drink myself... you know, run into Marcy in an incidental sort of way, offer to buy her a few cocktails, get her to loosen up a bit."
"Before we get too deep, there's something you should know. I got a phone call last night, Liza. Someone threatening us if we don’t stop our investigation. Have you gotten anything like that?"
"No, sweetie... none. Who was it, DanDan?"
"A private call. No caller ID. Didn’t give a name. A man. Sounded serious. Gruff voice. Wheezy. Long time cigarette smoker from the sound of it. Could have passed for Italian if I didn’t know better. You know, a real Godfather type. I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse. Hand to the cheek sort of shit. Said he'd do
things to you, sweetie. Bad things. Things that hurt. Things that I don’t want to repeat. I'd get to watch. And when he was through with you, it'd be my turn."
"So he's planning on doing things to me? Why didn’t he call me with that news? It was probably some cranker, sweetie. I wouldn’t let it get to you."
"You know I'd die if anything ever happened to you, Lizzi."
"Well, we better not let anything happen to me then, Danners. I'd die without you too."
For a moment
2
He believed her. Because he wanted to, of course. But he also suspected Liza would only laugh in his face if he ever came on to her. She took him as little more than a joke, at least when it came to anything of the sexual nature. Constantly teasing him. Or was she testing the waters? Did she feel the same reticence that he did when it came to broaching the subject? How long had they known each other? Had to be close to a dozen years now. And in all that time, had Liza ever had a love interest? Not that he was aware of. Other than her old friend Sammy Smack.
And how many boyfriends did he entertain over those same years? A dozen... maybe more. The funny thing was, after he met Liza, the boys didn’t seem to do it for him any longer. Oh, he went through the motions, sure. Mostly because he was expected to. He'd cultivated a certain image and like everyone else in the world he had to live up to it.
How long had it been since he'd actually done it—that—with a man? Christ, he couldn’t even remember. Was that why all those relationships fizzled out, including the one with Reilly Cooper? Each time he reached out to touch Reilly, he saw Liza. She'd ruined his life. Or had she saved it?
3
"If you know what's good for you, Mr. Forthright—like I a do—you'll drop the case you're working on now. Move on to something else. Something better. Something healthier."
"And if I don't?"
He didn’t normally engage crank callers. But this guy sounded serious. Thick accent, contrived Mafioso, as if attempting to sound more threatening than he really was. A player? Danners didn’t think so. But neither was the caller legitimately Italian. At least not for several generations.
"Oh, you wanna listen to me, Mr. Forthright. For your own health, and for Ms. McNairy's too. Such a pretty woman. Sure would a hate to see something bad happen to that gorgeous face of hers."
"So what is it you want, Mr.?"
"Let's just say I'm a concerned citizen offering up some good advice, Mr. Forthright. You don't need to know my name. Just remember... I'm a watching you, and that pretty partner of yours. End this Picany thing now."
They weren’t getting anywhere, though. Hell, most cases moved ahead at progressively faster paces but this one was stuck in the mire. Had been from the beginning. Oh, they had a couple breaks but any possible leads they'd managed to dig up were fizzling. Or were they? Someone was obviously upset enough to make a call to him promising to hurt Liza if they didn’t back down right away. That in itself meant the man was at least aware of the new investigation and worried about it.
Danners always went strapped even though he disliked firearms. Even a gentle whiff of oil and gunpowder still brought back memories of Vietnam and his old pal Jerry Addams. Could he shoot someone if the occasion arose? Absolutely. Without hesitation. Especially if Liza McNairy's life was on the line. Yep. They were going down. Prison? That didn’t bother him. Besides, he got the distinct feeling these guys weren’t the play by the rules types either. No one would care all that much if one or more of them disappeared.
Yep. That's right. Danners Forthright, bad motherfucker.
Chapter 17—Heartaches
(Benji Bear, Where Are You?)
1
She liked going into the girls' bedroom, locking the door behind her, opening up the plastic tubs where she stored their clothes, and inhaling their scents as they washed over her, as the odors filled the air like the smell of fresh rain. Everyone told her she needed to move on, to clean out the room... perhaps donate all that stuff to charity or simply burn it all. She couldn’t do it. Being around their belongings—inside their old room—brought the twins back to life again, if only for the moment.
Her heart would never heal. She would know if they were dead. A mother recognizes when a child leaves the world. Though something inside her snapped that day she lost them she couldn’t be sure their parting was final. Those girls were alive, somewhere, somehow. Or were they? It'd been so long. Suspecting the twins might still be alive and giving up hope were two different things. She'd never surrender those girls. Not while the blood still pumped through her veins and their memories remained.
"I don’t appreciate you allowing those people into our girls' room, Allen. One of them took Missy's Benji bear. He's not on his shelf."
She noticed the missing bear right away, just like she'd notice a tooth suddenly gone from its socket. At first she thought perhaps the stuffed animal had fallen from its perch, maybe lodged between the bed and the wall. But when she looked, there was nothing there. Did Allen take it? Why would he? No... it had to be one of those two private detectives he'd hired... they were the only people in that room besides her.
"That's how they work, Paula. That fellow touches items that belong to the people they're searching for and he sees where they are."
"I knitted his pants myself."
"If the bear helps to find our girls, won't it be worth it, Paula?"
"They're not going to find them. You know that too, Allen. I have no idea why you hired them. All they're after is money."
"There's always hope."
She shouldn’t be doing this. That poor man suffered every day too, just like she did. Those girls were his life. He was right. There's always hope. Still, she carried those babies for nine months inside her belly. Even after giving birth, a part of them remained. She always knew what they were going to say just before they opened their mouths, the two of them. She could tell when they were lying to her even if she didn’t always let on that she knew.
"I just wish they'd said something before taking Benji. It's like they're coming into our home and stealing from us, Allen."
"They did say something, Paula. I didn’t think it mattered what they took. I told them if it helped bring our girls home, to take whatever they liked."
So he was in on it too. She should have known. Whenever the police used to visit the house, they always talked to Allen, never to her. Like she had to be coddled. As if she was too weak to understand the enormity of what had happened to Missy and Melinda. They kept her in the dark. Whispers. Surreptitious looks. Sympathy in their eyes. Oh my... pitiful little Paula will fall apart if we talk this business in front of her. Let's go into the next room.
2
Dammit.
The poor old thing was coming apart at the seams. She always meant to sew him. Its fur was all falling off too. In fact the bear was nearly naked. She thought the pants would help keep him warm but he needed more. She ought to see about having him fixed properly. There must be people who fixed worn out teddy bears. Like worn out shoes. What did they call them? Shoe cobblers? Maybe she could find a teddy bear cobbler. Have Benji re-furred. But that would change Benji. Missy might not recognize him when she came home again. She hoped the girls dressed warmly enough that day. There was always a sea breeze blowing in that made it just a tad cooler at the beach.
"So you just give complete strangers free reign over our daughters' room."
"I only thought..."
"Maybe I ought to take it all, put in a pile in the back yard, and set fire to it. Maybe you'd be happy then. Maybe everyone would quit bothering me."
She hated doing this but once her mouth started she couldn’t seem to stop it. It ran on unabated and half the time she didn’t even know what she was saying. She'd put Allen through hell over the last twenty years. Sometimes she wondered why he stayed. Did promises really mean so much? If he'd been even half as ornery to her as she'd been to him she'd have left long ago. Maybe that's what she needed. A change of place. A n
ew start. But where would she go? Who'd take care of her?
"I'll call them, Paula. I'll tell them to bring the bear back."
"No... you're right, Allen. I'm just not thinking clearly today. I haven’t taken my medication. I think I'll go upstairs to my room and lay back down for a bit. Don't call. Let them keep Benji if it helps."
The anti-anxiety medication made her sleepy. Allowed her to scoot in and out of dreams almost at will, though, and so she stayed zoned out by taking three times the recommended dosage. The twins visited her early and often and they were always the same age as they were when they vanished... sweet seventeen. Lately, though, the dreams had taken a surreal turn whereby Missy would invariably trip and fall and break into a hundred different pieces and while Paula was busy trying to put her back together, the same thing would happen to Melinda.
"Help me, mother."
The voice was inside her head, not her ears. Missy's mouth never moved. Sure, Missy always called her mother, never momma or just mom. She was the formal one, always made sure her side of the room was tidy before leaving for school in the morning. Melinda simply didn’t care. Her side of the room was a tangle of dirty clothes, books she'd borrowed from the library and never returned, and plates and dishes she'd leave thrown haphazardly about after her midnight snacks. Melinda always called her moms. Not mommy, not mother, and definitely not mom. Moms and dads... as if her parents were as plural as she was.
Neither of the girls talked to her in her dreams. Even though Paula would call out to them, beg them to say something—anything—both girls were as silent as the dark. Sometimes they'd look at her with those big blue pleading eyes of theirs and Paula would know they wanted to say something, but they couldn’t. They were clogged up inside, their voices silenced by... what? Fear? But what are you frightened of, Missy? Tell me and mother will make it all better again.
