Tales of the Witch

by Angela Zeman

  “OW!” Lizette squealed with pain and dropped an empty cardboard box she was carrying.

  “I feel the need for a nice long conversation, Lizette. And I would like you to join me. Do you know of a private place where we can talk?”

  In spite of the strain of her head being wrenched backwards, Lizette nodded, eyes huge with fright. Only then did the witch release her hair.

  Lizette rubbed her skull and proceeded quietly down a side passage, with the witch following.

  When they had gotten settled in a closet sized nook next to the pantry, with the witch sitting on an upturned lettuce crate in front of Lizette’s tiny bench-desk, the witch began, “First tell me, you’re a friend of Georgie’s, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. No.”

  The witch nodded. “I see. You know him, but he’s no friend.”

  Lizette’s eyes widened, then tears welled.

  “You might as well unburden yourself, dear. I have a feeling you are much more than just an accomplice, am I right? Breathe deeply, that’s it. Take your time. But not too much time. We have to stop Dan from losing everything he owns to that odious little wretch outside.”

  Lizette took a shuddering deep breath and nodded. “Yes.” After a pause, she blurted, “This is the first real home I’ve ever had,” and she burst into tears. Then, abruptly, she hiccupped to a stop, wiped at her eyes, and continued. “My grandma is also Chef Vinnie’s wife, Tina’s, grandma. You know. Big family, everybody lookin’ out for each other. Well, my mom’s got her hands full raisin’ too many kids, and my dad—uh, he’s not around at all, unless you count visiting days at the jail.”

  “And your good grandmother wrenched you out of the trouble for which you were heading and convinced your cousin Tina to wrangle you a job here, away from your home village, where people knew you far too well. What were your particular vices, dear?”

  “A little hoisting and hooking.”

  “Petty theft and prostitution?”

  Lizette reddened and nodded.

  “Drugs?”

  “No, never drugs.”

  “Thank heaven for that, anyway. Proceed.”

  “Well, at first I didn’t like bein’ no charity case, you know? And they worked me like a slave! For slave wages, too. But then, I saw that everybody around here works like that, Vinnie and Mr. Harrington, and everybody. I can’t afford a car, so Mr. Peacock rented me the cutest little bed-sit right here in the hotel, for peanuts! At first, I thought it was just so’s I’d be handy so I could work for free on my off hours, but honest, it wasn’t.

  “And my cousin, Tina, who I don’t even hardly know, for cryin’ out loud, gave me the prettiest skirt to wear on dates. And Ricky the bartender, he’s really nice. He and some others here, they took me to a rock concert out at Westbury with them. And Chris Greco, the piano player…” Tears began to well in her eyes again. “He’s always giving me advice and stuff. He says I remind him of his daughter. He’s the nicest—my dad never—”

  “I see that you’ve astonished yourself by liking it here.”

  “And I’m good at my job. When I started, Vinnie said I should just be a gopher for a while, to see what I’m good at. Turns out, I’m good at organizing things and at taking care of detail stuff, and there’s a lot of details in this business,” she finished proudly.

  The witch studied her little criminal. “So you’ve found yourself, have you? Someday, if you learn more about mankind, you’ll appreciate how rare and wonderful that is. Many never attain the heights you’ve reached.”

  “Heights? I make peanuts!”

  The witch smiled. “Never mind. How did Georgie arrive in all this?”

  “He said a buddy of his spotted me, tipped him off where I was. First he said he was glad to see me. Then he said he had a deal for me, to make me some big money fast. I was to get a package from him—and he promised it wasn’t dope—and then the next day pass it on to a guy who’d give a password. Simple as that.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “No way. I said blow, no deal. Then he said if I didn’t, all he had to do was compliment Mr. Peacock on the class of his hookers, and I’d be thrown out of here…” she gave a small sob, then continued bitterly. “I saw then that he wasn’t no friend of mine, never had been. He just used me. He didn’t care if I was happy here, just how convenient I’d be to his operation.”

  “So you agreed.”

  “I had to. He told me three times would do it, then by that time, he’d find a new goat to pass things for him. So I passed the stuff two times. I can’t tell you how horrible scary it was. But I did it. And all I could think of was, it was nearly over. I never took a dime for it, either. I just wanted to be rid of Georgie.”

  She paused, took a deep breath. “Third time, well, Mr. Harrington called a surprise all-staff meeting when I was still holding the bag on the third pass. Ricky told me it was the cops, wanting to question the staff about somebody named Georgie Fontana. So I took a little detour, talked the hotel desk clerk into letting me lock up the package in one of those guest security lock boxes, the kind where the desk manager keeps a key, and you got a key, and it takes two keys to open it.”

  “I begin to see.” The witch closed her eyes for a second. “You lost your key.”

  “A shipment of fresh duck meat from the farm had just come in,” said Lizette, with a tremor. “It was still stacked on the ramp by the back door. I slipped the key right into one of those little packages, sort of shoved it into the meatiest part. It’s my job to check all incoming orders against invoices and for quality, so nobody would think anything of my fooling with the packages, you know?”

  The witch nodded. “Then you joined the meeting with the police detective, secure in the knowledge that he could search anywhere, but would probably never think of the guest security boxes in the hotel.”

  “Yeah, and he wouldn’t find any key on me, either, to tip him off. And then, to make things worse, the cop was from my and Georgie’s village. He remembered me. He said something about it, and…and Vinnie and Mr. Harrington, they practically had a fit, like they’d tear him apart if he dared think I could do anything wrong. I was so stunned, and then…and then the cop was nice to me, you know? I guess he figured if these people all liked me, I musta changed, and he smiled and wished me luck, even. I got kind of misty about it, and happy, and…and I forgot the stupid ducks. Next time I remembered them, somebody’d stuck ’em into the deep freeze already, and there they were—a zillion packages of duck meat, frozen like bricks.”

  “So all these disasters have been engineered by you, so you could defrost the ducks and find the key. I take it you haven’t found it yet.”

  “NO. I searched and searched. I think I drove the kitchen staff nuts, all the crazy ways I was constantly poking at the duck meat before it got cooked. I even smuggled some into the ladies room, but there were so many ducks!

  “Anyway, Mr. Tully, he was the next receiver. He showed up on schedule and gave the password. I told him if he’d just cool it for a few days, the cops would lose interest and leave, but he said no way. No cops from my village would know him, ‘cause he wasn’t from around there, he said. He wanted the package right then.” She took another deep breath as if the telling was wearing her out. “When I explained to him that it’d take awhile to hand over the package anyway, because I’d lost the key, he, well, he…”

  “He said produce the key in short time or he’d blow off your kneecaps or some such physical threat.”

  “He carries a switchblade strapped to his ankle.” Her shoulders lifted to her ears as if the memory caused her to cringe.

  “And so this ruckus he’s causing is only a distraction, to give you a chance to sneak the remaining duck carcasses to his room. Then after the packages thaw you both can probe for the key in relative safety.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “My stars. Couldn’t you have gotten the hotel manager to open the box for you?”

  Lizette shook her head mournfully.
“I tried that first thing. The clerk who let me borrow the box, he said they’d have to break the lock. The hotel doesn’t keep duplicate keys so guests can’t accuse them of getting into their valuables. He said they’d break it for me if I’d pay for it, but who has the money on the little salary I make?”

  “Well, let’s not sit here any longer, let’s take care of Mr. Tully. You realize that Harrington’s Restaurant is on the verge of financial ruin. If they don’t stop losing money, they could close by September. They were counting on this season’s profits to save them. And until you came along, it looked like they were going to do extremely well.”

  Lizette blinked at her in stricken astonishment.

  The witch paused to explain patiently, “Darling, the restaurant business is one of the most difficult enterprises in which to succeed. Since you seem to like it, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to experience that difficulty firsthand—someday. Come.”

  “What are you going to do? What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to Harrington’s, and all my friends?”

  The witch gazed at her gravely. “You must leave events in my hands, dear.”

  Lizette stared teary-eyed at the witch. “I’ve heard about you, you know. How you’re a witch an’ all. Guess if anybody can fix this mess, you can.” A second later, she took a calming deep breath. “Okay,” she said grimly. “If I have to go to jail, I’ll go. I guess I deserve it, all right. Just tell me what to do. We have to keep Harrington’s from suffering from my dumbness.”

  They returned outside, which now was showing signs of activity. The wait staff had returned, and the tables were filling with happy patrons again. Rick’s fair amiable face was dark with anger as he stood wiping glasses behind the bar, listening to Tully’s and Black Dan’s conversation.

  Tully was seated at the bar, a generous drink in his hand, still negotiating with a heavily perspiring Black Dan what he should get in return for his poisoning. The salad which had ‘poisoned’ him had been pushed aside and sat forgotten by his elbow on the bar surface. Jezebel crouched next the plate as if standing guard.

  The witch walked up to the salad, and peered closely at the wilted lettuce. The duck meat appeared uneaten, but did look mutilated, with numerous punctures dotting it, apparently having been vigorously forked in the search for that elusive key.

  Black Dan was making a final exhausted stand. To the witch it was apparent that he wouldn’t be able to withstand Tully’s demands much longer.

  When Tully spotted Lizette behind the witch, he seemed to take her presence as some kind of signal. He slid off his seat and pushed his drink away. His rubbery lips pulled back in a feral grin. “Fine. If you won’t deal, I’m calling my lawyer. I’ll close this joint.”

  Rick flung down his bar towel and said, “That’s enough out of you. That duck was okay. Harrington’s would never serve bad food.”

  Black Dan turned to Lizette, who stood timidly peeking at him from behind the witch. “You inspected this meat when it came in the other day, didn’t you, Lizette? Carefully inspected each batch?”

  Lizette bit her lip.

  Rick put in, “No, that’s the day the cop came, remember? I saw that Liz was too busy to tend to it right away, so I went ahead and stuck it in the freezer for her to get it out of the heat. But I looked it over.” He gave Black Dan a weak grin. “Sort of.”

  Black Dan stared at Lizette. “You mean you accepted delivery of this meat without inspecting it?”

  “See, what’d I tell you. I ate bad meat,” crowed Tully.

  “You don’t look sick,” growled Rick, “you just look overfed.”

  “Why you—”

  At this moment, Chef Vinnie bustled out to announce to Black Dan, “All my duck meat’s disappeared. I just looked in both freezers. Gone. Kaput! Pphhht!” He flung both arms up to the sky in angry frustration.

  Tully’s tongue darted across his lips, then he shouted, “Somebody’s hiding the evidence. You won’t get away with it! I want this place closed now!”

  “It’s obvious to me, boss, he’s just trying to give us trouble,” stated Rick. He turned to Tully, his eyes narrowed with fury. “You can’t muscle in on Harrington’s, you fat twerp. YOU probably stole those ducks. Lets go look in his room.” He stepped out from behind his bar.

  Tully paled at this. The witch suddenly appreciated how tall and muscular Rick was when he took a belligerent stance directly in front of Tully. Tully darted a glance at Lizette, but quailed upon meeting, instead, the steady gaze of the witch. He twitched his shoulders within his jacket as if summoning his dignity and took a step back. “You can’t talk to me that way, you—”

  Jezebel leaped from the bar to land on Tully’s chest, where she clung by her claws to his lapels.

  Tully screeched, leaving it unclear to spectators whether he’d been startled by the cat’s pounce or the cat’s claws had found a hold in tender flesh. Jezebel clawed her way backwards down his protruding belly and trousers before letting go and landing disdainfully on all four feet. With a complacent yowl, Jezebel stalked away. Tully leaned over, whining under his breath, to examine his suit for damage and brush cat hairs from his pants.

  As a hand flicked toward his ankle, Lizette gave a shriek. “Stop him, he’s got a knife!”

  Tully looked surprised at that, said, “Wha—?” and straightened back up. “Shut up, you stupid bimb—” He was prevented from completing his thought by the collision of his mouth with Rick’s fist. Tully teetered backwards and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t been neatly fielded by the police officer who’d abandoned his table to see what was happening over by the bar. He caught Tully under the armpits.

  Everyone began shouting at once.

  Rick edged over to where Lizette stood frozen in numb bewilderment behind the witch. “You all right?” he asked. Lizette stared up at him, unable to speak, but she did move out from behind the witch.

  “Oh, by the way, speaking of ducks,” Rick continued. He dug into his trouser pocket. “I’ve been trying to give this to you, but things’ve been so hectic…you dropped this next to the ducks when they arrived. You were so busy with last minute stuff after I came to tell you to go talk to the cop, you probably didn’t notice when it fell.” He offered her a key.

  Truly stunned now, she inched her upturned palm toward him, into which Rick dropped the key. It lay there, in her hand, glistening innocently.

  The witch smiled, a long slow smile. “Come dear,” she said softly to Lizette.

  Lizette gazed at her blankly. “What? Oh. Oh, YES. Excuse me, Rick.”

  “Sure. Will I see you later? Maybe after work?”

  Lizette answered while still looking at the witch. “No, I don’t think—”

  “She’ll need a little rest, first, Rick dear. Why don’t you wait and see,” finished the witch for her.

  The witch and Lizette walked off together, leaving Black Dan, Chef Vinnie, Rick, and the police officer to sort out what to do with Tully, who was stammering out a long involved explanation of the switchblade they’d found strapped to his ankle.

  Behind the hotel manager’s desk, the witch stood by while Lizette unlocked her security box and retrieved the package, which she thrust at the witch as if it contained vipers. Then the witch took her by hand and marched her upstairs to Mr. Tully’s room. The door still stood ajar, the way Lizette had left it before being intercepted earlier by the witch.

  “What are we doing here?” Lizette whispered hoarsely.

  Without answering, the witch scanned the room, located Tully’s meager piece of luggage—actually a gym bag containing a few articles of clothing—and after scrubbing with her skirt at the brown paper wrapping of the package, dropped it neatly within the folds of a pair of boxer shorts. She shuddered as she closed the bag with her long fingernails. “Disgusting specimen, that Tully,” was all she said.

  The sickly smell of raw duck meat was beginning to fill the room from where it lay defrosting in neat, waxed paper packages scattered all
over Tully’s bed.

  Grabbing Lizette by the wrist, the witch peered cautiously into the deserted hallway, then pulled the girl roughly through the door. Together they hastened downstairs.

  As they emerged through the door to the outdoor bar, “Fix your hair, dear,” the witch murmured. “Look as if you just freshened yourself up.” She released Lizette’s wrist and calmly joined the curious throng now surrounding Tully.

  The witch gave Barton Peacock a sharp tap on his shoulder. “Have you forgotten to check out his room?”

  “OH. Oh, YES. Officer, officer. He’s checked in at my hotel. We should at least take a look at his room. Maybe something there will help us figure out what kind of game he’s been playing.” Barton Peacock led the police officer and the group towards the hotel lobby.

  Before very long, the witch was gratified to see a handcuffed Tully being led towards a patrol car that had pulled into the parking lot moments before.

  A beaming, though slightly dazed Black Dan, and a triumphant Rick sauntered over to where the witch and Lizette were now sitting at the bar.

  With a self-conscious swagger that the witch considered quite pardonable, Rick returned to his post behind the bar and began polishing glasses. “That guy tried to tell us that Lizette was mixed up in his scam, whatever it was, do you believe that? What a scumbag.” He shook his head.

  The witch smiled fondly at him. Rick smiled sheepishly at Lizette, who bit her lip. She was blinking hard, as if something was irritating her eyes. Mrs. Risk murmured, “I’d ask Lizette for a date again, if I were you, Rick. I think she feels better now.”

  Black Dan said to the witch, “We found the missing ducks up in Tully’s room, can you imagine that? What in creation would be his interest in OUR ducks? Peculiar.”

  “Maybe he had a duck fetish,” put in Rick.

  Black Dan looked skeptical, but the witch said, “We may never fully understand the actions of Mr. Tully. But then, people do very odd things.” She smiled demurely. “I’ve been accused of that, myself.”

  Black Dan grinned at her. “Yes, well, they unearthed a very interesting package wrapped in brown paper that the cop wouldn’t let us see very closely. He seemed excited about it, though. I think we’ve seen the last of both Tully and him.”