Strange Bedfellows

by Rob Byrnes

  She read over her words one more time…

  Her stomach fluttered. Right there on the screen—at the very top of the screen—was spelled out Daily Affirmation: I killed Hillary Morris and she’s never coming back.

  She deleted the line and castigated herself for being slow to learn a lesson. She’d already become a mockery for something like this; it was careless and foolish for her to not delete it earlier.

  But now it was deleted, and no damage had been done. Close call, but no harm.

  June Forteene switched to a new tab and her blog appeared on the screen. She scrolled until Austin Peebles’s partial penis was in view.

  It was his fault she’d been distracted lately. It was his fault her world was falling apart. That bastard—who, if elected, would represent her in Congress—had to go down!

  She took a sip from her cup. It was almost empty, and what was left was cold. But the clock at the corner of the screen told her she had plenty of time for another.

  It wasn’t as if the office on Eighth Avenue held any more appeal this morning than Starbucks.

  “Here goes,” said Nick Donovan. With that, he started to make his way through the transom window.

  Holding The Conundrum’s costume in his arms, Farraday watched Nick’s slim upper body slide through the opening out of the one corner of the one eye that wasn’t queasy about looking at mostly naked men and thought, I’ve been on some bizarre jobs before, but this one…

  The Superman underpants were just icing on the cake.

  That thought stopped when Nick stopped wriggling through the window.

  “Hey, Farraday! Little help?”

  Farraday glanced up at two hairy legs kicking helplessly eight feet above the floor. It looked like the kid was trying to swim in air.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I think I’m caught on something.”

  The driver looked up. From his vantage point, it was hard to see anything but kicking legs. “So whaddya want me to do about it?”

  “Help me get unstuck?” When Farraday didn’t immediately answer, Nick added, “My underwear’s snagged on something. Maybe on the frame.” Nick sort of giggled; the blood rushing to his head as he hung upside down on the other side of the transom wasn’t doing him any favors. “Shit, now I know what Chase went through. If you could just climb up here and get my underwear unsnagged, that’d be a help.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yeah, just unhook me.”

  Farraday didn’t quite know how to respond to that request. “Uh…Lambert told you I’m not like the rest of you, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He was going to tell him that, as a confirmed heterosexual, he was uncomfortable climbing up to the transom window and playing around with Nick Donovan’s Superman underwear, but in the end he didn’t have to give him an answer.

  Because there was a sudden ripping noise, followed by a thud, followed by Nick saying, “Ow.”

  A woman’s shriek filled the air. Not only inside Starbucks, but also out onto the sidewalk and beyond; far enough that a few cops looked in the direction of the scream, even though that was the extent of what they did about it.

  The second shriek that followed seemed to almost form a word.

  And that word was “Pornography!!”

  Grant and Chase stood at the curb across the street and watched chaos unfold through the plate glass window. It was impossible to tell exactly what was going on, and they both thought that was for the best.

  Less than a half minute passed before Chrissy Alton emerged from the front door. Without so much as a glance in their direction, she walked briskly in the direction of Grand Central Terminal. The oversized bag she carried now seemed a lot heavier than it had been when she walked into Starbucks.

  “You follow Chrissy.” Grant’s eyes shifted up and down the sidewalk. “I’ll keep an eye on this situation. If June gets the cops after you, I’ll call.”

  “Gotcha.” Chase was a few steps away before he stopped and turned back. “Did you say you’d call?”

  Grant fumed. “I am not a phone-aphobe!”

  As nonchalantly as possible, he walked across the street and positioned himself at the edge of the Starbucks window, watching cautiously as things began to settle down on the other side of the glass. June Forteene was nowhere to be seen for a while—she wasn’t at the table where she’d been sitting, and he couldn’t spot her in the crowd of customers—but he soon caught a glimpse as she made her way through the crowd, pushing her way back to where she’d camped out before the screaming started.

  But now June seemed confused.

  She looked at her table. Then she looked at the neighboring tables. And finally she spun around, making made a wide, careful scan of the interior.

  Grant stepped away from the window, figuring she was just beginning to realize her stuff had left without her. He was right, because a few seconds later she burst out the front door and ran directly to one of New York’s Finest as he halfheartedly tried to move the hopelessly gridlocked traffic.

  If the morning had already had its share of disasters, Grant thought, at least this part went off without a hitch.

  Wisely, he crossed back to the other side of the street.

  Chase returned a few minutes later, passing June and a couple of cops as they discussed the situation outside Starbucks before crossing Forty-second Street to where Grant stood.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Grant said, and they casually moved around the corner onto Second Avenue. When he was sure no one had paid attention to their inordinate interest in June Forteene, he asked, “Did you catch Chrissy?”

  Chase nodded. “She’s gonna hold the laptop and phone until we’re ready to dispose of them.”

  “She did good.” Always interested in improving his skills, Grant asked, “She tell you how she pulled it off?”

  His partner laughed. “Chrissy saw that June was working on her blog, meaning the penis picture was on display…”

  “Ah. Now I get all that yelling about pornography.”

  “Right. She screams. She points it out to some of the mothers and old people that were there. And then…” Chase smiled. “Well, we saw the results. The manager asks to have a word with June, Chrissy grabs the computer and phone when June’s talking to the manager and her back is turned, and the job is over in less than a minute.”

  “A real pro.” Grant approved of Chrissy’s performance so much he started to believe he—not Chase—was the one who’d brought her in on the job. “I only wish the rest of these misfits we call a gang could get their acts together. We’re trying to pull five jobs in one morning, and as far as I know only one has been completed.”

  “Three. Well, two and a half.” Chase held up two fingers and bent a third at the knuckle. “While I was with Chrissy, Constance texted to let us know that the job at Wunder’s apartment building is coming together perfectly. And Lisa said they’re ready at the Peebles campaign headquarters whenever Farraday gets there with the garbage truck.”

  “That’s a big if.” He blinked a few times. “And why’s everyone contacting you? What about me?”

  “Because of your phone thing.”

  “I don’t have a—” Grant decided to drop it in mid-sentence and changed the subject. “Have you heard from Farraday?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Until I know him and Nick got into June’s office—and got back out—I’m not considering that job or the Peebles headquarters job to be even close to done.”

  Chase sighed. “You’re never gonna see the glass as half-full, are you?”

  “A few decades in this business has provided me with a lot of shattered glasses.” He patted Chase on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s get ready for the big job.”

  “Sure you’re ready?”

  Grant took a deep breath of exhaust. “Ready as ever, lover.”

  Most of the residents of the building on East Eighty-first Street were standing on the sidewalk as Const
ance Price paraded in front of them, trailed by Angelina Ortiz in her not-all-that-convincing—but convincing-enough-for-the-moment—hazmat suit.

  “Settle down, people! Settle down!” The residents were confused and annoyed, but not angry, so there was little settling to be done.

  Constance stood on the second step of the stoop and continued. “As Mr. Robles has informed you, the Department of Health has issued an EFO for your building.”

  “What’s this EFO thing?” asked a middle-aged man who’d been evacuated in a sweatsuit. His face still bore patches of un-toweled shaving cream.

  “Emergency Fumigation Order.” The tenants grumbled, but she waved them down. “You will be allowed to return when our inspection is complete.”

  “Why?” A woman holding a baby, who’d escaped from her apartment wearing only a robe, was on the verge of tears. Constance figured it was a postpartum thing and wanted to be sympathetic, but work was work.

  “I’m sorry, miss, but agency rules prohibit me from revealing that. Trust me that this is in your best interest.” And then she thought to add, “The best interest of your baby, too.”

  A young man in a T-shirt and bike shorts piped up. “Robles said something about Argentine Leaping Bedbugs?”

  Constance offered him a smile she hoped conveyed “bureaucratic reassurance” and “ecological disaster” at the same time, and bit her lip to give weight to the serious nature of the problem. “There’s no need to panic.”

  The young mother squirmed and scratched at an imaginary itch. “Bedbugs that leap?”

  As the perceived authority—the white coveralls helped with that perception—Angelina stepped forward. That surprised Constance—she wasn’t in the business and was only supposed to be a prop—but when Angelina nodded a “May I?” Constance nodded a “Go for it” back to her.

  And Angelina did, finding an authoritative voice and using it. “Everything will be fine, folks! Please listen to Dr. Brown and don’t panic! These infestations are seldom fatal!”

  The tenants collectively stepped to the other side of the curb.

  “According to Dr. Brown, less than five percent of Argentine Leaping Bedbug infestations result in fatalities.”

  The tenants collectively stepped to the middle of East Eighty-first Street. A few passing cars had to slow and weave their way through.

  Constance whispered in Angelina’s ear. “Doctor?”

  “I thought it gave you more authority.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s run with it.” Constance looked back to the crowd huddled in the middle of the street. “Is there a Mr. Kevin Wunder here?”

  Robles, standing slightly away from the tenants in his own private no-man’s-zone between the agitated residents and his responsibility to the building, spoke. “He hasn’t come out of his apartment yet. I told him, but he said he’d leave when he’s good and ready.”

  “If he isn’t out in five minutes, I’ll have to call the police so they can force him out.”

  “Force out Kevin?” asked the young mother. “Why?”

  Constance’s face grew deadly serious. “His apartment is ground zero of the Argentine Leaping Bedbug infestation.”

  The young mother blanched and began scratching. “Oh my God! I live next door to him!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  June Forteene hadn’t had much of a chance to re-equip her office after the first break-in, which meant that Farraday and Nick had to swipe only a few laptops and someone’s cell phone that had been left behind. It was a nice easy job and, Nick now realized after two appearances at the same location, an easy one for two people. Even if he was now darting around that office wearing nothing but a mask, his ripped Superman underwear still hanging where it had snagged on the transom frame. He’d miss that pair—it was his fourth favorite—but supposed he’d be able to buy a lot of new underwear when he got the payoff from this job. Maybe even the entire special-edition X-Men collection!

  Out in the hallway, Farraday kept watch over the laptops that had been passed through the transom and dreaded the coming minutes between when Nick made his return passage and when he’d be back in his costume. The blue and red outfit was one of the more ridiculous things he’d ever seen, but at that moment he knew he’d rather see Nick in it than out of it.

  The Naked Conundrum’s masked face appeared in the transom window next to the dangling briefs. “We’re done here.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?” Farraday grumbled.

  “Yeah. I might need a hand coming down.”

  Farraday turned his back on him. “Sorry, kid. You’re on your own.”

  Nick heaved a dramatic sigh. “You seriously won’t help me out? Just because you’re afraid you’ll see my penis?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “But…”

  Farraday turned his back.

  By the time Kevin Wunder finally exited his East Eighty-first Street apartment building, the crowd standing in the pavement thought of him as no less than Public Enemy Number One. He was no longer the respectable congressional aide who’d lived quietly in the second-floor, one-bedroom apartment for the past eight years. He was now the man who harbored Argentine Leaping Bedbugs in their building and had exposed them to an Emergency Fumigation Order, or EFO as the tenants now familiarly called it, because they were quick to pick up on Government-Speak.

  When she heard the booing start, Constance knew she’d found her man.

  “You Wunder?” she asked.

  He stood at the top of the stoop, perplexed at the jeers. “Uh…yes.” His eyes shifted toward her, and then toward the gray-haired Puerto Rican woman wearing what appeared to be coveralls. “I’m Kevin Wunder. What’s the meaning of this?”

  Constance flicked her wallet. “Dr. Constance Brown, Department of Health.”

  He stopped her before she returned the wallet to her purse. “May I?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He looked at her ID, found nothing objectionable, and handed it back. “What can I do for you, Ms. Brown?”

  “Dr. Brown.” She affected indignation. “Why didn’t you leave when Mr. Robles asked you to vacate?”

  “I was getting ready for work.” Wunder looked at more than a dozen tenants of his building who now blocked traffic, some of whom booed when he caught their eyes. “What’s this all about? Robles said something about bedbugs?”

  “Not just ordinary bedbugs.” Constance’s expression told him that ordinary bedbugs were trivial compared to what she had discovered. “Mr. Wunder, this building is about to be condemned. We’ve found an infestation of Argentine Leaping Bedbugs, and ground zero seems to be your apartment!”

  First he was befuddled; then he was enraged.

  “Listen, lady…”

  “Doctor.”

  “Doctor! Listen, there are no bedbugs in my apartment!” With that, he began descending the stairs to the sidewalk.

  “Stop right there, Mr. Wunder! By order of the New York City Department of Health!”

  He had been determined to keep going—to walk straight through that crowd of jeering neighbors and go to work—but the authority in her voice brought him to a halt. Because even though this all sounded like bullshit, her voice sounded like the real deal.

  That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

  Wunder huffed. “What is it now?”

  Constance approached from one side, Angelina from the other.

  “Are you carrying any electronic equipment on you, sir?” Constance asked.

  He glanced at the laptop bag hanging from his shoulder. “Well, yes, but…Wait, what business is that of yours?”

  Angelina, eager to prove to Constance just how much a natural she was, stepped forward. “Argentine Leaping Bedbugs are particularly attracted to electronic devices. Computers, cell phones…things like that. Ordinary bedbugs like fabric and wood, but ALBs…”

  “ALBs?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Argentine Leaping Bedbugs.”

&
nbsp; It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I think you’re making this up.”

  She ignored him. “ALBs like electronics. That’s where we find ninety-two percent of them hiding. If you’re carrying a laptop, you could be unknowingly transporting these bugs.”

  “None of this makes sense.” Wunder held his laptop bag close to his hip. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but…”

  Angelina eyed him evenly and raised her voice just enough to carry to the huddled masses standing in the middle of East Eighty-first Street. “Your laptop may be home to dozens—even hundreds—of these pests. If you get on a subway, you could end up spreading them throughout the city. We’ll have an epidemic on our hands!”

  Wunder had tried to be patient, but his patience was gone. “Get out of my way.” He swatted at Constance and Angelina as he passed.

  He made it several yards down the sidewalk toward Third Avenue before Constance shouted to the crowd, “Somebody stop him! Get that laptop!”

  Kevin Wunder spun around. “What?!”

  That’s when Robles tackled him.

  Farraday stood at the far end of the hall—with his back still turned—as Nick gingerly squeezed his naked body through the narrow transom. He positioned himself so the torn underwear would protect his most sensitive region, and then shifted slightly when the threat passed.

  Roughly half his weight was soon outside and Nick gripped a pipe that ran along the ceiling. That had been his mistake going in; he let gravity take control until he was helpless and flailing away without traction. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Gripping the pipe, he inched his midsection through the frame and wondered how someone the size of Chase LaMarca—hardly a big man, but nowhere near as small and wiry as Nick, had managed to get through. He supposed fear of being trapped in the office he’d just burgled until the police arrived was a powerful motivation to help cram a 170-pound mass through a hole barely big enough to accommodate 130 pounds.