Generation of Liars (38 page)

“I’ve never seen you so feisty
before, Ben,” I stated.

“You’ve never asked me to perform
an invasive surgical procedure in my kitchen before.”

“
Invasive
?” Rabbit gulped.

“Keep sipping,” Ben commanded.

“You can squeeze my hand during the
process,” Vivienne told Rabbit.

“Thanks, babe,” Rabbit said. He
proceeded to clutch Vivienne’s petite hand with a white-knuckled grip.

Ben got up and unplugged a reading
lamp from an end table in the living room and dragged it over the kitchen
counter, where he plugged it in and arranged it like a spotlight Rabbit. “You
ready for this?” he asked.

Rabbit chugged one final sip of
whiskey. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Ben lifted the tweezers from the
first aid kit. “Alice, lighter.” I reached into my pocket and handed him my
Zippo. “Make sure the front door is locked tight, will you? There may be
screaming.” He ran the flame over the length of the tweezers to sterilize them.
He meticulously positioned the tweezers over the bullet entry in Rabbit’s foot,
looking for a precision spot to begin the excavation.

Rabbit’s eyes squeezed shut. His
limbs quaked in anticipation as his lips pulsed over one another in a
chattering overbite. I stood above Ben, looking down and watching his eyelids
pace. He plunged the tweezers onto the skin over Rabbit’s wound, the veins in
his hands plumping with blood as he squeezed the prongs of the tweezers around
the embedded bullet. Rabbit’s whole body convulsed. Ben shouted, “Steady him!”

Vivienne and I both grabbed an arm
and held Rabbit down each time he bucked. Rabbit growled through his clenched
teeth as Ben dug the tweezers deeper into the skin. I saw a spout of blood
plunge up from the bullet hole. It sprayed the floor red. Rabbit’s growling
sustained until it was broken by the sound of a hard, tiny object pinging into
the glass bowl.

“Bullets out,” Ben announced.

Rabbit’s eyes flew open and we all
glanced down at the bowl, containing a single bullet resembling a metal pebble.
Rabbit let out a burst of air from his mouth and his eyes released a pipe-burst
of tears, which streaked down his face, falling into his mouth.

“You did it, Ben!” I exclaimed. Ben
leaned against the countertop.  His face seemed instantly longer and
drawn. “Ben, you did it, you can relax.”

“I know I did it, but it was stupid
of me. I should have brought your friend to the hospital. What kind of medical
professional behaves like this? Kitchen table surgery. My medical license
should be revoked.”

“Ben.” My hand wrapped his arm.
“You helped my friend, you did the right thing.”

He swatted my hand away. “No,
Alice, I did the thing
you
wanted me to do.” I crossed my arms, tucking
my hands into my sides and looked away.

“Uh, Ben?” Rabbit interrupted. “Can
I get up and walk on it?”

“No. Not yet. Let me bandage it up
for you and then you will have to go easy on it for a couple weeks, at least.”
He kneeled down beside Rabbit and pulled bandages and peroxide from the first
aid kit. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, shook it around, and then helped
myself to a sip.

“Can I just say, Ben, thank you so
much for everything you’ve done,” Rabbit delivered the accolades as he fought
back a wince from the pressure of the bandage being applied to his foot. The
sweaty film around his face gave his cheeks the appearance of plastic.

“Don’t mention it,” replied Ben. He
crumpled the bandage wrappers into his fist and tossed them into the trash bin.
“You’re all set. Just go easy when it comes to putting any weight on your foot
for a few weeks.”

Rabbit looked at me. The same look
from earlier in the cab was back in his eyes. He loathed me for what I had
done. “See you around, Alice,” he said.

“I’m going to keep my promise,
Rabbit, I am going to get that bag back.”

“Sure, Alice, whatever.”

Vivienne tenderly helped Rabbit
ease off the stool and hobble towards the door. “Thanks for your help, doctor,”
Vivienne said, undoing the door locks. Her eyes shifted to me. “Goodbye,
Alice.” The lingering look in her eyes let me know that she didn’t plan on
seeing me again. She had no use for the cursed kind of friendship I offered.

After the door shut behind them, it
left Ben and I standing on opposite sides of the breakfast table.  The
apartment was uncomfortably silent. I looked down at the red bull’s-eye
splatter of Rabbit’s blood on the kitchen floor.

It was Ben who spoke first. “I
should probably get this place cleaned up.”

“Let me help,” I said, doing a
concise visual survey of the bloody paper towels scattered around the stool
Rabbit had sat on and the bowl containing a single bloody bullet. “Since the
mess is my fault.”

“I will take care of it, just get
yourself tidied up.” A hint of a smile dawned on his lips. “You still smell
like a cabaret house.”

I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t
so angry with me that he couldn’t still crack a joke. “Okay,” I agreed. I
padded to the bathroom and dabbed a towel over my skin and hair. Then I went to
the bedroom and slipped inside more of Ben’s cozy clothes. When I came back
out, the blood splatters were gone and the kitchen looked as it did when I
first arrived there.

“So, you already know what an
eventful day I had, but how was your shift today at the hospital?” I was
bee-lining for the fridge, feeling confident to make myself at home.

“It was okay.” He switched the
stove’s burner back on and stabbed the rubbery chicken cutlets with a fork to
see if they could be rescued. “I thought I left all my patients behind for the
night, but apparently that didn’t include house calls.”

“A house call is when you go to the
patient. I brought the patient to you.” I was sending him a demure smile that
begged forgiveness for the disruptions I had caused.

“Oh, right, special home delivery,”
he teased. The pan on the stove was getting hotter, bringing out the aroma of
the lemony chicken and rosemary Ben had prepared.

“It smells to die for,” I
commented.

Ben wiped his hands on a dish towel
and cocked his head to look at me. “You know, it’s been a while since you
disappeared for days like usual, barring the occasional bar fight and gunshot
victim. Slow time for flying?”

“Actually, I quit my job, so no
more flights.”

“Quit? What made you decide to
quit? I thought you loved flying.”

“I did. But since I started dating
you, I started looking forward to landing,
more and more. I want to be
around for you. Plus, my boss was a real turd. I thought I’d try putting more
effort in being a girlfriend.” I shut the fridge door. “If that’s okay with
you?”

He peeked under the lid to spy on
the chicken and turned the knob down to simmer. “Alice, that is more than okay
with me. You’re a lively girl, I’m sure you’ll find something in Paris that you
love doing for a living. I get the feeling you have a lot of hidden talents you
don’t tell me about.”

“I appreciate the encouragement.”

“How will you keep up the rent on
that fancy apartment of yours without a job?”

I did a hard swallow just thinking
about my apartment. Moonboots McCafferty and Xerxes O’Brien had probably
already ransacked it under Motley’s command. Not that I had anything of value
besides my clothing and the fake passport I had purchased in London under the
name Patricia C Leor. Although, I had a feeling both of those things might come
in handy in the near future and I wished I had salvaged them from the apartment
somehow. “I was actually thinking of just letting the lease run up on it. I
mean it’s just about up anyways, so maybe I can find someone to sublet it.”

“Alice, I want you to know that
until you find a new job, you are welcome to stay here.”

“Wow, Ben. So generous of you.”

“I would hate for some pesky matter
like a rent payment stop you from being able to pursue what you really want to
do in life.”

Ben put plates on the table and carried
the chicken over. He reached for two wine glasses and a dark bottle of wine.
“To new beginnings,” he said. He filled both glasses and handed one to me.

“To new beginnings,” I repeated.

Chapter Thirty-seven: Return to Pigalle

T
HE
NEXT MORNING, after Ben left for his shift at the hospital, I rolled off the
couch and padded to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

I screwed up my face into a yawn
and walked into the kitchen.

Something caught my eye.

There was a key dangling from the
hanging light over the breakfast table. Ben had scribbled a note on a sheet
from his prescription pad that read:
Here is a key to my apartment, so that
you may come and go as you please.

I unhooked the key and pressed it
to my heart.

I used the key to lock up the
apartment on my way out and then I hoofed it to Pigalle and went to the spot
where I knew I would find Wally. He was standing under the shadow of the fins
on the famous red windmill.   

He spotted me coming down the block
and gave me a grin like he saw trouble coming. “Alice? Girl, what are you doing
out here? Brave. That’s what you are. Dumb, blind, and brave.”

“Can’t be too blind if I can still
see right through your game,” I tossed back. “How are you doing, Wally?
Business is good, I presume?”

“Business is always good,” he
replied.

“I need to buy a new name. You got
anything good in your folder? Nothing flashy. Something plain as overalls. Jane
or Judy, something boring that wouldn’t call attention.”

“Alice, if you came here looking to
buy yourself a new stage name, you can just quit it, girl, because you’re too
late.”

“What do you mean?”

“Motley already came to the
neighborhood tossing big threats around. If anyone sells to you, the only name
they’re gonna be dealing is the one on their own tombstone. You see what I’m
saying?”

“Crap. I should have figured.”

“Crap, indeed. Now you should
probably skedaddle on out of here before somebody’s eyes spy me talking to
you.”

“Wally, are you sure you can’t help
me?” I was grimacing as I fidgeted inside my pockets for a cigarette.

“Hey, Alice!” Someone was shouting
down from above our heads.  

My shoulders jumped, causing my
cigarette to dismount from my hands onto the sidewalk. Wally and I looked up
and saw Sara Cinnamon craning her neck out one of the windows of the building
next door to the Moulin Rouge.

“Hey Sara!” I was glad it was
friend and not foe.

Sara ambled down the fire escape,
showcasing a view that went straight up the inside of her skirt. When she got
down to the sidewalk she bent over to pick up the cigarette I had dropped and
she popped it between her lips. “You still living it up in your classy new
place, Alice?” she asked, as her hand was exploring the inside her bra for a lighter.
I could tell she had slept in her stage makeup overnight based on the smudgy
mascara gunk in the creases on her face.

I pitched my Zippo to her and
answered, “Nah, I moved places again. Long story short, I’m staying with my
boyfriend.”

“So, you get a boyfriend and you
stop calling everyone? What about that whole pep talk you gave me about being
an independent woman? When I was still dating that loser who used to knock me
around, you told me a girl would be a fool to pin her hopes and dreams on a man.
Now you get a boyfriend and it’s all this codependent junk?”

Wally’s lips cut a grin. “Sara,” he
said, “if you are jealous of Alice having a boyfriend, you can go ahead and
make me your boyfriend. What do you say, girl?”

Sara didn’t answer, she just sucked
her cigarette, and when she rolled her eyes at Wally, one of her false
eyelashes fell down her cheek like a spider.   

“It’s not like that, Sara,” I
defended. “My life has been, well, to put it simply, it’s been complicated.
That’s sort of the reason I’m here talking to Wally. I’m in trouble with my
boss and I need help.”

Sara grimaced. “I know about
trouble, Alice, so whatever it is I hope you work it out.”

I turned back to Wally. “Are you
sure you can’t help me. I’m desperate.” I fanned my face, as the dirty mix of
Sara’s cheap perfume and the cigarette smoke was starting to make me feel
lightheaded.

“I know you’re desperate, girl. The
way Motley came out here looking for you, threatening anyone who fixed you up
with some fake credentials, whew, I know you’re desperate. But if I help you
out and Motley hears about this, I’m gonna be desperate right along with you.
If I’m dead, then who’s gonna look after Sara Spice over here?”

Sara cut in, “It’s Sara Cinnamon.
Sara Spice sounds cheap, stop saying it.”

Wally shifted his eyes up and down
the alley. “Seriously though, Alice, I’m going to have to ask you to step away
from my corner. I don’t want no trouble if Motley comes around, or if one of my
competitors goes and does the snitch thing.”

“Okay, okay, I’m gone,” I said. My
shoulders slumped as I turned to walk away, experiencing the sad realization
that I was a pariah even in Pigalle. If Wally couldn’t help me, the chances of
anyone else helping me were nil. Motley was powerful, and sellers weren’t going
to risk pissing him off.

“Hey, Alice,” Sara called out, just
as I had walked past the doors of the Moulin Rouge. “Is all this trouble to do
with that cute guy who I told you came looking for you back on that day you
moved out of your apartment? The one I thought was named Elvis?”

“Yeah, he is pretty much the root
of all this.”

“Oh, because you were right, his
name wasn’t Elvis. I’m such an idiot sometimes, Alice. I had written it down
after he came around, and then just yesterday I found the piece of paper in a
pair of my striped knickers during laundry. Turns out I only just thought his
name was Elvis ‘cause he had that big thick black hair like Elvis.”