Aphrodisiac

by Alicia Street

  “Honestly. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  Gump-Gone-Bad leaned back. “Chub Dubs is gonna be pissed if we don’t come up with something.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Curtis snapped.

  His teammate’s words obviously hit a nerve. They were working for somebody else. Who was Chub Dubs? Curtis slid his hand under my dress and put a nasty clamp on my privates. My precious poo-poo would never be the same.

  “No more games, fuckin’ bitch pussy.”

  Interesting choice of words. Say hello to Uncle Pete’s diction coach. Big surprise.

  “You’re gonna be a real sorry if you don’t tell us where it is.”

  “Where what is?”

  “Your friend’s little recipe.”

  Recipe? Of Gwen’s? She was the world’s worst cook. “Believe me, the only recipe of hers that I know is the one for her apple-walnut brownies.”

  Gump-Gone-Bad lit up. “Man, I love brownies. Especially apple-walnut.”

  That cost him another whack on the head from the big guy. Curtis turned back to me. “Don’t play innocent,” he said in low growl. “You were in on it. You and that bony egghead bitch. And I can prove it.” He slid a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it in front of my face.

  I recognized the postcard. Gwen used to keep it tacked on her bulletin board. It announced the seminar she and I had presented together called Fragrance And Sexuality. Between my website and the yellow pages, finding my address must have taken them five minutes.

  Curtis waved a blank-book journal with a floral cover. “Check this. A little goodie that was tucked under her mattress.”

  I glanced at him. Was I actually looking at the person who murdered Gwen? The thought sent a shudder through me.

  “Listen up.” Curtis flipped open the journal. “Straight from the horse’s mouth—‘Only Saylor knows where I hid the tablet.’ ”

  Hid the what? “You’re making this up. Trying to sucker me.”

  He held it open for me to read. There it was in Gwen’s handwriting—“Only Saylor knows where I hid the tablet.”

  I do? Gee, thanks, Gwen. Just what I needed. A reason for them to kill me. Way to go, you brilliant klutz. Come up with an ingenious way to conceal my name in the suicide note, but leave it in your journal. Then again, I doubt she was expecting a visit from the people-snuffers.

  Meanwhile, what the hell was she talking about? What tablet? Gwen did use the word “tablet” to refer to some of the inscribed stone and clay relics she’d deciphered in her work. But most of them belonged to the university. She had her own small collection of fossils and shards, though I doubted any were of great value.

  I looked at the other text on the page. Nothing in it specific enough to give me a clue. Fragments of poetry, some archaic terminology. Typically idiosyncratic of her. I went to turn the page, but Curtis snapped the book closed and threw it on the floor.

  The look in his eyes tripped my motormouth into gear. “Cool your jets. This can all be explained. You have to understand Gwendolyn Applebee and the way she did things. We’re talking major league eccentric here. Really off the wall—”

  Whap! I tasted blood on my lip.

  “Don’t tell me what a nut she was.” His hand grabbed my throat. “I tell her she’s gotta write a suicide note and instead she makes a stupid crock of shit good-bye poem. Says her friends would expect that of her. Pissed me off. I know her kind. Snobby bitch. Thinks she’s one up. So cultured. Like I never read no poetry? And hers stunk.”

  Meet Gwen’s killer. Was I next?

  He released his grip. “We’re going back to the Hook, and you’re gonna show us what you were looking for last night. Or you ain’t coming back.”

  Fight the panic. Think fast. “Wait a minute. If you kill me you’ll never get the tablet.”

  Curtis twisted my arm behind my back and pulled. A searing pain traveled through my entire body. He upped the pressure.

  I grimaced and squealed out, “Please. Stop.” I struggled to speak, my words intermingled with groans. “You’ve got to believe me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He let go of my arm and acquainted me with what must have been the biggest, meanest hunting knife this side of the Yukon. Using the tip of the blade, he lifted up my dress and poked it gently into my stomach. He pressed a little harder on the knife. I felt a prickle, then a sting.

  My body trembled uncontrollably. “Do you think I’d risk my life over one of Gwen’s crusty old tablets? I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “That’s not what your friend said in her journal.” He pulled the knife from my belly and now placed the sharp blade against my throat.

  Tears rolled down my face. “If she did tell me, it must have been a while back. Gwen was always yapping about her fossils. Honest. I never paid much attention.” He didn’t blink. Think fast. Real fast. I raced my words. “Give me a few weeks. Just because I don’t remember now doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out. I knew Gwen better than anybody. So, why kill me if I’m the only one who knows?”

  “Your life don’t mean a thing to me. Refuse to cooperate, what good are you? That answer your question?”

  I’ll say. His reply sucked the air right out of my lungs. “But I really don’t remember.”

  “She’s too scared to be lying,” said Gump-Gone-Bad. “I don’t think she knows.”

  Remind me to bake him some brownies. I tried to steady my voice. “Please, just give me some time.”

  Curtis tilted his head and squinted his eyes. Portrait of a hit man lost in thought. “I’ll give you one week to refresh your memory and come up with it.” He pulled away the knife. My body let go of its tension, and I felt myself take a complete breath.

  The pudgy driver snorted. “She’ll head for the cops.”

  “Nah. She ain’t that stupid.” Curtis snatched my pocketbook off the floor in front of him and rifled through it, taking the twenty dollars I had left. He found my tin of Peppermint Peckers,

  looked up at me and shook his head.

  I shrugged nervously. “Good conversation starters.”

  He grinned and slid the tin into his pocket. “I got a conversation piece you’ll really like.”

  Next Curtis picked up my cell phone, fussed with it until my number showed, then handed it to me. “You’ll need this. ’Cause I’ll be calling you.”

  I spotted the keys to our DUMBO loft on his index finger. “I’ve moved to a building with twenty-four hour security. And I can change my locks.”

  “If I want in, I’ll get in.” Curtis dropped the keys back into my pocketbook and stared me hard in the face. “And don’t think any kind of police protection is gonna keep you safe. Same goes for a freakin’ PI or bodyguard. I got me and my posse. Go to the cops, and I promise you— we’ll find you before they find us.”

  “What if I have to leave the city as part of my search for the tablet? For all I know it could be in Connecticut or New Jersey.”

  “Just bring me the tablet next Saturday. And don’t pull any crap. ’Cause if you do, remember this: you have a mother in Florida, that queer you got for a brother in the Village and your fat aunt with the red hair.” He caught the surprise on my face. “Got ’em all marked down as collateral. Oh, yeah. There’s that Latino sidekick of yours, too. Don’t show, or go running to the cops—we go straight down the list.”

  He leaned in close. “You got till next Saturday. Don’t mess up. Otherwise, I’m gonna take care of that little pussy of yours real good next time.”

  With those endearing words, Curtis jammed my pocketbook into my chest. He told the driver to pull over. The car stopped. Curtis opened the door. “Out.”

  Scrambling over his knees, desperate to reach the sidewalk before he changed his mind, I felt his hand grab my naked butt. A rough squeeze, then a shove that sent me stumbling out onto the curb.

  As they pulled away, the light from the streetlamp made it possible to get their plat
e number. I was repeating it to myself when I got distracted by their bumper sticker: “Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty.” Was I missing something?

  I stood there alone, feeling numb, but refusing to slip into gaga land. Time for a little self-applied crisis intervention. I focused on whatever strengths I had going, no matter how slight. Anything to keep me out of victim mode. I had survived. It might not have been pretty, but then neither was living through a tornado or a train wreck. In my own way I had kept my head about me and managed to use my big mouth to keep myself alive¬—at least for the next seven days.

  Should I risk going to the police? Not if it meant putting my family and Benita in danger. I had no doubt Curtis would make good on his threat. After all, he murdered Gwen. There was no question about that. Not anymore. And Curtis settled my debate with Benita over the PI. Scratch that option.

  But what about this tablet of Gwen’s? This recipe? What could possibly make it worth killing for? The answers were no doubt in her final message. If I could just figure it out.

  I tidied up my dress and fluffed my hair. Opening my purse, I found a tissue and dabbed the blood off my lip. I took out my Healing Garden Pure Joy spritz and doused myself. With the promise of a hot bath to wash away the Curtis cooties, I got my bearings and walked home.

  SEVEN

  “That sickass gringo’s gotta die,” Benita said.

  I paced the loft with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Two hours after my rendezvous with Don Juan Curtis the battle to control my fear and anger was still in high gear. “Thinking of that bastard hurting Gwen is just plain horrifying.”

  “If they’d beaten or raped her the medical examiner would’ve found signs. Not that getting boozed up at gunpoint and dumped off the Beard Street Pier isn’t bad enough. I’m sure that’s what they did. Slick work.”

  “We’ve got to find out why. And get proof. And stay alive to do it.” DUMBO’s shadowy landscape seemed more sinister than romantic tonight. I’d pulled down all the blinds and turned on every light in the loft. “Maybe we could go the witness protection route.”

  “Forget it. That’s only for big stuff. Like mob hit men who rat on their boss. We don’t rate. Just as well. You want to change your name to Cooper and be forced to go live in the middle of nowhere?”

  “And stalker protection won’t help,” I said. “I know from working with battered women that it requires a civil suit that takes forever. This Curtis guy would find out and kill us.”

  “Not if we do him first. I want the pleasure of taking him out myself.”

  “Stop it, Binnie. Just because some people are sick and demented doesn’t mean we have to act that way.”

  “After what he did to you?”

  “That’s still no reason to stoop to their level.”

  “I’m buying a forty-five semiautomatic.”

  “Will you please slow down and weigh the circumstances.”

  “You weigh. I’ll slay. Soon as I get back, I’m going for a permit.”

  “Listen to me!” I quit my pacing and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Number one, getting a license for a handgun in New York City can take up to six months. And that killer has given us only one week to come up with Gwen’s tablet. Item number two, don’t think I’m not filled with rage. I’m the one who got the gyno exam in the back of the Hummer. I’m the one who supposedly knows Gwen’s secret. But we’ve got to stay cool and methodical. Item three, I love you for being such a loyal and protective friend. I’m so lucky to have Benita Morales in my life.”

  I heard sobs from the other end of the phone. Then silence. Then, sounding fragile and barely audible, she said, “The thought of anyone hurting you…” More sobs.

  “Right back at ya, sweetie.”

  “I’ll chill. I promise. We’ll stick to game.” Her voice grew stronger. “But I’m also freaked about your laptop they ripped off from our old apartment. All they needed was to figure out that goofy password of yours, and bang, there it is. The names and addresses of our families and everyone we know.”

  “You’re telling me? I called my mom and my brother to be sure they were okay as soon as I could get my head straight.” Steven and his boyfriend Marc were in Provincetown doing theater work, and my mother was in a Florida senior community with security guards, but Curtis made it sound as if distance were no obstacle. Both were fine. Still, I wondered…“What about your uncle’s house in Puerto Rico? Maybe you could go there with both our families and lay low until this is over.”

  “No way. I’m in this with you, Saylor. And if we tried rounding up everybody and shipping them off on a surprise sojourn, we’d have to tell them why. Can you imagine my papi’s reaction? Not to mention my brothers or Uncle Ramon. Talk about protective. They’d be out for blood. I don’t want to start a war.”

  “Cancel that plan.” I stepped into the living room for a quick look at Uncle Pete, who was sitting quietly in his cage, cleaning his feathers. “I did memorize their license plate number.

  Maybe I could use one of those online services to give me the name and address of the Hummer’s owner. Using an Internet service is hardly the same as turning to the police or a private investigator.”

  “Give it a try. But don’t get your hopes up,” Benita said. “Probably stolen plates. They aren’t gonna make it that easy. We’ve just got to play it super tight. Don’t give them any reason to move on our families.”

  I caught myself biting my nails. Hadn’t done that since seventh grade. “Good thing Aunt Lana’s going back to East Hampton tomorrow. I want her kept safely out of the loop.”

  “Be careful you don’t break down when she comes in tonight.”

  “She’s so hot on Irv that she won’t be back till morning.” I went to the bathroom, turned on the tap for the bathtub and sprinkled in some lavender oil for a relaxing effect. Boy, did I need it tonight. For the first time in my life, I felt skittish about getting naked. Aftershock. But, unlike our place in Williamsburg, this building had great security. Any stranger would have a hard time getting past the lobby. Of course, there were other things that worried me. “Could this Curtis guy be tapping our phones?”

  “Answer’s no. Tough thing to get away with. All we’d have to do is have the phone company check it out and the law would be on his ass. Try not to get too paranoid.”

  “What I can’t fathom is how Gwen got her hands on an object that valuable. And why she put that note about me in her journal. She never told me about hiding a tablet. I’m guessing it’s one of those archaeological shards. And once we find the thing—”

  Benita cut me off, saying, “We give it up. It’s too late to save Gwen.”

  “I disagree. I think we should set a trap.”

  “Set a trap? ¿Eres loca? This ain’t no Hollywood movie. This is real time. I have no intention of getting dead over Fred Flintstone’s letter to Barney.”

  “Sorry, but if Gwen was willing to die to protect this tablet and spent her last moments trying to contact me with a secret message, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let those Hummer hounds get their mitts on it. I just have to come up with that tablet without Curtis and company finding out. If I let Gwen down, her death was for nothing.” I paused, letting my intentions sink in. Then I added, “Since we’re talking about harsh realities, let’s not kid ourselves. Her killers probably plan to do away with us even if they get the tablet.”

  “In other words, we’re dead if we do and dead if we don’t. You sure I can’t talk you into an Uzi?” Benita was pissed again. The possibility of being murdered does tend to put one in a foul mood.

  “We’ll let the evidence be our weapon by finding proof of who murdered Gwen before our time is up. Enough proof for the police to make an immediate arrest.”

  “Convincing the cops should be interesting given Gwen’s documented history of depression, an examiner’s report that showed her blood was ninety proof and no signs of violence. And don’t forget the suicide note in her handwriting. At l
east we’ve already got a pretty good idea who did it.”

  “Yes and no,” I said. “Curtis spoke about sticking to orders, and his buddy mentioned someone called Chub Dubs. Sounds like a nickname of the person who hired them.”

  “Okay. Let me see if I got this down. Unravel the secrets in Gwen’s poem. Locate the tablet without letting anyone know we’ve got it. Do whatever Gwen might be telling us to do with it. Figure out how and why Gwen was killed. Link this Curtis dude and his choirboys to Gwen’s murder. Figure out who this Chub Dubs is. And, oh, yeah, get the police to book these assholes before they whack us. All in just one week. Hey, no problem. I’m a multitasker.”

  ***

  Early the next morning Aunt Lana and Irv Monsky woke me up. Luckily it was Saturday and summer, so I had no therapy sessions scheduled. I was curled up on the living room sofa in my purple chenille bathrobe. The TV was still on. QVC. After my joyride in the Hummer, state- of-the-art leaf blowers had more appeal than the standard cable fare of murder, rape and drug deals.

  I’d spent a good part of the night mulling over old conversations with Gwen. I had absolutely no recollection of her ever mentioning a special tablet, much less where she might have hidden it. I also searched through Gwen’s personal items in the box Darryl sent us. Nothing offered a clue.

  My aunt changed her clothes and gathered a few of her things while her limo driver waited on outside to take her to East Hampton. Guess she’d invited Irv to join her out there to continue their lusty “still doin’ it” marathon. After running in place and performing a set of fifty push-ups, Irv went for an abdominal routine on Benita’s Swiss ball. Feet planted on the floor, his back arched over the large yellow orb, he proceeded to knock out a frenetic succession of one hundred sit-ups. From where I sat I had a pretty good shot at his left hip. All I needed was a tranquilizer dart.

  I switched off the TV and peeked out the window. No sign of the black Hummer on the street below. Trying to look and sound normal, I shuffled about in a grog, tilting the blinds, flooding the place with sunlight. I cut up a slice of cantaloupe into bird-sized pieces and put them in Uncle Pete’s cage along with a few softbill pellets.