Wanted: Single Rose

by Skye, Mav

  “Thanks,” he said at the swinging door. He threw the lollipop on the ground and limped down the hall to his place, leaning into the wall for support. When he got to his door, he reached into his other pocket for his keys. Missing. His keys were missing, but there was something else in its place. He pulled out a wadded piece paper. The note was typed on a typewriter, his own by the looks of it. The space key often stuck and needed a double tap. It read:

  Sir Sun crumpled the already wadded paper and tossed it aside. It was another meaningless message. Someone was trying to get inside his head, and his head hurt enough as it was.

  He stared at his apartment door, willing it to open magically. But it wouldn’t and he knew it. The fire escape would have to do. He turned to go to the stairwell when he heard it. Music flowed from his apartment. It was from the record player, his Victorola. The Chordettes sang Mr. Sandman in their gorgeous quartet harmony.

  He touched the doorknob, and the door creaked open. Sir Sun reached for his shears, but they were gone. He smelled bacon frying. Had the evil kitty cat killer broken into the house to make bacon?

  “Hello?” He limped in, clenching his fingers into fists lest he needed to defend himself.

  The Chordettes cooed about the Sandman bringing dreams. The hallway felt as narrow as if he were in a tunnel. In the kitchen, Sir Sun heard the sounds of dishes clinking and fresh coffee dripping, the gentle swoosh of his dishwasher. He tiptoed to the edge of the hall, sprinted to the wall by the kitchen entrance, and pressed himself against the wall. Sir Sun waited a beat, gathering his wits, then popped around the corner.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  Bacon fried on the stove. Eggs and pancakes sat on plates on the counter. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The refrigerator door hung open. Orange juice spilled over the floor. Beside the refrigerator was his dining chair. On his chair was an elderly Asian woman, tied and gagged. Blood slipped from one eye down her bruised cheekbone to her jaw.

  When she saw him, she screamed beneath her gag. He recognized her voice, and then her face.

  “Mrs. Chow!” Sir Sun rushed into the kitchen slipping on orange juice. A slender arm popped out from behind the wall, across from where Mrs. Chow sat. The arm wielded a frying pan. It slammed into his face.

  Sir Sun saw stars, and then black.

  * * *

  Sir Sun awoke with his worst headache yet. He slowly opened his eyes, everything was blurry. Orbs of light ricocheted off the walls and ceilings like bouncy balls. He squinted. The slight movement of muscle brought an unrelenting ache from his face. Focusing on a brighter blur in front of him, he saw a bandage on his nose, confirming its presence with his fingers.

  He heard the click, click of heels on the floor as someone approached him. He closed his eyes. He waited a breath, opened them, and there stood Velva.

  She squatted in front of him grinning like a sly fox. Her hair was pulled into a relaxed ponytail. He couldn’t help but grin back, though awkwardly, because of the bruising on his face.

  “Hi.” She patted the bald part of Sir Sun’s head, as if he were a good puppy, and stood. She wore gray yoga pants and a short hot pink shirt lifting above her flat stomach that said, SPLATTERPUNK: THE REVOLUTION BEGINS NOW.

  “Hi,” he echoed, the lip movement made his nose hurt. He watched her chop something in the kitchen. The kitchen wasn’t his, but it looked familiar. He smelled fresh coffee and something…foul?

  Velva turned from the counter. “Lunch?”

  He watched her, wary. “Did you hit me in the face with a frying pan?”

  “Self-defense!” She turned back to the counter, picked up two sandwiches, wrapped them in napkins and brought one to him. “I thought you were a murderer.” She accented the word murderer, and as she did, her face brightened to a glow. She smiled.

  Sir Sun felt himself stir at her smile, her charisma ever catching. But it was also disturbing, not a normal reaction. “What about Mrs. Chow?”

  Velva handed him a sandwich. When he didn’t take it, she placed it on his thigh. She slid down the wall, plopping on the floor next him. “I hope you like dill pickles.” She took a big bite. “Mmm. I haven’t had a ham sandwich in ages. I could go for potato salad, too.”

  Sir Sun gawked at her. “Velva?”

  “Hmm? Oh right.” She sneaked a sidelong look at him as she took another large bite, ignoring his question. “Want a Coke or a beer? Ah Lam has some in the fridge.”

  Ah Lam? Sir Sun scanned the kitchen. Ninja magnets on the fridge. A stack of study books shoved into one corner of the counter. He was back in Ah Lam’s apartment. At this moment, he didn’t care how he got there. He just wanted to know if Mrs. Chow was okay.

  “How about Cokes?” Velva went to scoot herself up, and Sir Sun placed a hand on her knee, stilling her.

  “Where is Mrs. Chow?”

  She met his eyes, swallowing before answering. “Who’s that?”

  For a millisecond—just before her reply, Sir Sun thought he saw hesitation. “It’s Ah Lam’s mother.”

  Her lips rose into the slightest of smiles. “What are you talking about? Why would Ah Lam’s mother be here?”

  Sir Sun said, “Because they shared this place before Mrs. Chow moved out. Why are you lying to me?”

  “Timothy, seriously, what’s wrong with you? I was making breakfast in your kitchen. I heard a noise behind me. I thought someone had sneaked into your place, so I hit them with a frying pan. How could I have known it was you?” Velva opened her eyes wide, innocent as a doe.

  “It’s my apartment, I have every right to walk into my apartment without someone smashing my face in. And I saw Mrs. Chow tied up on my dining chair by the refrigerator.”

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Mrs. Chow, the horror on her face, the bruising, the blood dribbling from her eye.

  “We aren’t in your apartment. We are in Ah Lam’s.” Velva rose and went to the fridge, sarcasm danced out of her mouth. “I didn’t see any old lady tied up in your kitchen. I think I would have noticed. Don’t you?”

  Exasperated, Sir Sun moved the sandwich aside and attempted to stand, it was a slow process. “See? There! Right there. You said old lady. How would you have known she was an old lady if you hadn’t seen her. And why am I in Ah Lam’s apartment? Why are you here? Why did Daisy poison my drink? What the heck is going on, Velva?”

  Velva popped open a Coke and held it out to him. After a while, he took it. Then swigged long and hard. He swiped a bottle of Advil off the counter, shook a few tablets into his hand, and washed them down.

  Velva watched and waited patiently as he did this, popping open a Coke can of her own. “First, I assumed since she was Ah Lam’s mother—she was old! Second, we are in Ah Lam’s apartment because staying at your place wasn’t safe, not after what I found—”

  “A bloody tied up old lady!”

  Velva said, “Are you done or can I finish?”

  Sir Sun rolled his fingers in a carry on gesture and drank the rest of the can.

  “Third, poisoning? Are we worried about people poisoning us now?” Her face grew serious. “I’m concerned your condition is worsening.”

  “Condition, my ass.” After drinking the Coke, Sir Sun felt energy trickle into his veins. He stepped out of the kitchen and picked up his ham sandwich. When was the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember. He took a large bite.

  A high-pitched voice said, That’s hardly your type of language, Darling. It hadn’t come from Velva. She was drinking her Coke, wiping the counter, putting the cutting board in the sink.

  The voice had come from outside of the kitchen. Sir Sun steadied himself and walked into the living room. A small pot of clover sat on an end table by the couch. The clover leaflets were ocean green with dark purple decorating the outer edges. Like a school of fish, the leaflets pressed together into two clumps inside the pot, forming lips. The lips parted and spoke, Do you believe her, Sir Sun? She’s toying with you. The
leaves then separated and stilled, normal as before.

  “What? How—?” Sir Sun approached the plant cautiously, all else forgotten.

  He bent over the table. The plant sat well behaved and innocent in its tiny pot. He spotted a four leaf clover, touched it. The leaflets rose together again, separating into two as a giant mouth. It opened its lips and hissed. Tiny bone-like spikes snapped at his hand.

  “Gah!”

  Do not touch us. We know who you are!

  Sir Sun fell back on the couch and watched the giant mouth move. If she doesn’t get you, we will. The mouth hissed laughter.

  Sir Sun kicked the end table, destabilizing the plant. The green lips screamed, Noooo! as the ceramic pot spilled to the floor. The messy mound of roots and dirt went spiraling across the carpet and lay silent.

  “What on earth did you do that for?” Velva came into the living room, picked up the pot and began scooping dirt back into it.

  Sir Sun didn’t answer. He still held his sandwich. He chewed it slowly, deliberately, finishing about the time Velva was done putting the plant back together, wiping down the table, and vacuuming the floor.

  When she finished, she sat down next to him, sliding her hand up his thigh, pinching at the inner creases of his very wrinkled trousers. “I have a present for you.”

  He raised his eye brows. “I don’t like your surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one. Close your eyes.”

  Sir Sun leaned back on the couch, but left his eyes open to the ceiling—contemplating, thinking. He tried fitting the pieces of the puzzle together, something that was hard to do with an attractive woman’s hand stroking up his thigh to his very hard member. She gripped him through his pants, giggled, then in one fluid movement, Velva sprang her thigh over his lap, straddling him.

  “What are you—” He started, his hips bucking beneath her.

  “Just like that, baby!” She laughed, and wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling his face into her double neon pink peaks of her SPLATTERPUNK shirt.

  He didn’t mind.

  “Don’t you want to know what I have for you?”

  Sir Sun nodded into her breasts, but then thought of Mrs. Chow, the horrified look on her face, blood dripping down her soft, vulnerable cheeks. He wasn’t so sure.

  “Okay!” She brought something out from between the couch cushions. “Snip! Snip!”

  His shears! “How? Where?”

  Velva dropped the shears on the floor, shushed his mouth with one finger while she lifted his palm off the couch to bring it to her butt cheeks. “I know, right?” She ground her hips into his and spoke into his mouth, “It’s a mystery.”

  He forgot about the shears when Velva thrust her tongue between his lips. He frantically kissed her back, grabbing her hips, moving his fingers up over the hem of her yoga pants to her bare waist as she moved against him. She drew back and began removing her tee, making a show of lifting it over her breasts, when a voice interrupted them.

  “Mis’ Sun?” A painted skull popped around the living room corner.

  Like a cat, Velva jumped off him, snatched up the shears, and wielded them in front of her like a sword.

  Ah Lam dropped her bag, drawing her boney body into a kung fu stance. Briefly, Sir Sun entertained the thought of Splatterpunk vs Skeleton Ninja on a Monday night WWE smackdown. He could hear the crowd cheering wildly.

  The plant hissed too, pulling him back to reality.

  Ah Lam eyeballed Velva with both disgust and hatred in her eyes. “You,” she said. “Why you here?”

  Velva dropped her hands to her hips and rolled her eyes. “Oh, it’s you, the school girl.” Velva turned back to Sir Sun, holding out the shears. “Take these, darling. I’ve got to take out the trash.”

  But Sir Sun couldn’t take his eyes off Ah Lam. She breathed in heavy heaves, a snide growl rolling off her skeleton lips. No longer was she a sweet little lamb, but a pissed off lioness.

  Velva still had her back to Ah Lam, offering the shears. “What? Take them.”

  Sir Sun pointed at Ah Lam. “Um, Velv—”

  Ah Lam shrieked.

  Velva began to turn, surprise on her face, when Ah Lam leaped at Velva. Caught mid-turn, Velva and Ah Lam crashed into the clover plant, onto the couch beside Sir Sun.

  “Geez Louise!” He screamed, as the girls slapped, kicked, and pinched. The ceramic pot smashed into pieces when the end table tipped, and the girls tumbled off the couch onto the shards. Slender arms rose and punched, skeleton bones kicked and twisted.

  Ninja Skeleton and Splatterpunk rolled across the floor in a series of grunts, groans, and slaps.

  Sir Sun vaulted from the couch, not knowing quite what to do. Should he jump into the fight? Even if he did, whose side would he choose? The answer was simple: neither. He loved both women for different reasons.

  One thing was for sure, Ah Lam knew something he didn’t, and she was going to make Velva pay.

  There was a sudden gasp of pain, and blood spilled onto the carpet.

  “Ah Lam! Velva!” Sir Sun grabbed the first foot he found and yanked. Splatterpunk flipped on top of Skeleton Ninja, pinning her arms above her head and aiming the shears at her throat.

  “Velva, don’t—” Sir Sun dropped Ah Lam’s foot and made a grab at Velva’s waist. He tugged at her, but as he did, Ah Lam’s knee came up, jabbing him right in the groin, then her foot flicked out again, knocking him sideways.

  “Gah!” He released Velva and fell to his knees.

  Ah Lam’s eyes were wild, they frantically searched his face then Velva’s. Once again, Splatterpunk pinned Ah’s arms above her head and held the shears at her throat. Ninja Skeleton bucked beneath Velva, but Velva sat on Ah Lam’s hips, the force of her weight restricting Ah Lam’s leg movement. Ah Lam said, “You killa my Mudda.” She spat in Velva’s face.

  Velva blinked.

  Ah Lam took advantage of this, suddenly twisting her torso to the left, flinging Velva into the sharp corner of the couch. Her head snapped into the tipped end table, rocking her from her strong grip on Ah Lam’s body. Ah Lam flipped onto her belly and crawled, blood leaking from her gut.

  Sir Sun wrapped his arms around Velva. But she had already flung herself back onto Ah Lam. They all fell together like dominos, dog piling onto one another.

  “Bitch.” Velva aimed the sharp tip of the shears into the back of Ah Lam’s neck, and when Sir Sun’s weight slammed into her, the shears jammed up into the soft flesh of Ah Lam’s neck, into the back of her skull. Blood spurted, spraying droplets into Sir Sun’s face.

  Skeleton Ninja dropped her face to the carpet, unmoving. Sir Sun, Splatterpunk, and a stilled ninja lay on the carpet just a tick before Velva threw off Sir Sun and checked Ah Lam’s pulse.

  “Look at what you made me do!” Velva glared at him, angry, or was it feigned anger? “You just killed the girl next door.” Velva reached for the shear’s handles and with a loud, wet noise, wrenched them out of the back of Ah Lam’s skull. “And with these, no less.”

  Sir Sun sat back, horrified.

  Velva scrutinized him, holding up the bloody pruning shears. “How does killing make you feel?”

  Ah Lam…

  Sir Sun turned aside and threw up.

  12

  Looking for Love

  “Help me move the body to the tub.” Velva grabbed Ah Lam’s feet and yanked. Ah Lam’s body lurched, her skeleton face now covered with blood as well as white and black paint. Her face turned from the floor toward Sir Sun. Amber eyes open wide in surprise. Her eternal dead glare stared straight into his soul. They asked, Why you kill me, Mis’ Sun?

  Velva yanked again. Ah Lam’s chin stuck to the carpet, her skull tilted up unnaturally, a gush of fresh blood squirting out the hole in the back of her neck.

  Sir Sun clutched his stomach, leaning forward. “We need to call the police—they’ll see it was an accident. We need an ambulance; she can go to the hospital. Maybe they can—”

  “Save her
?” Velva giggled and let go of Lam’s ankles. They dropped like deadweight to the carpet. “She’s long gone. And what are you going to say? You just killed a depressed Asian girl for kicks?”

  “You killed her, Velva. Her mother…”

  “No, Sir Sun. It was your shears in the back of her neck. She was attacking you because of what you did to her mother. I merely defended you.”

  “What?!?” Sir Sun was speechless. Vertigo hit him. He felt his world spinning out of control. He grasped for something to lean against, and found the wall. He pointed at Ah Lam. “I would never…I did not harm…”

  “Did too.” Velva glared at him, then sighed looking down at Ah Lam. “This is no good. Got to drag them on their backs, you know?” Velva dropped Ah Lam’s legs (thunk!) and grabbed the small of her back at the waist, right above the costume’s hipbones. She heaved Ah Lam over as if she were flipping a whale instead of a tiny hundred-pound woman.

  “There! Easier like this.” Velva grabbed Ah Lam’s arms and hauled her over to the sliding glass door. A trail of blood followed. “I wish you’d help. This is all your fault, Timothy.”

  The sound Ah Lam’s body made while being drug across the carpet was thick and silent like a slug oozing along the grass. When Velva reached the sliding glass door, she dropped Ah Lam’s skeleton wrists, pulled back the curtains and slid open the door. Cold sunshine filled the room.

  “You’re not doing what I think you are going to do?”

  Velva’s mouth lifted in a wicked smile. “Yep!” She grabbed Ah Lam’s body by the waist and placed the top of her torso over the balcony’s railing.

  “I thought you were putting her in the tub?”

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Sir Sun ran to the balcony just in time to watch Ah Lam’s body fall three storeys and smack into the long grass below.

  “God, Velva! Why? Why did you do that?”

  Velva smiled and shrugged simultaneously. The words SPLATTERPUNK: REVOLUTION STARTS NOW rose and fell with the movement. Ironically, SPLATTERPUNK was splattered with the Skeleton Ninja’s blood. “Now we need some rope. Do you have rope?”