When I Kill You (6 page)

I stopped off at a Shoppers Drug Mart for cosmetics, then a place called The Costume Bazaar where I bought a wig. The nylon hair was curly, long and red.

At the Value Village on Wellington, in women's fancy wear, I tried on a very low-cut satin dress. It was size XL, grape purple to match Stanley's Chevy, and hung on me like a sack. It was a little worn under the arms but it would do. In sportswear I found a tired-looking, stretchy one-piece swimsuit. It was also XL and would have easily fit Jabba the Hutt. In accessories I unearthed a fake leather burgundy handbag with a silver chain. My final stop was Jake's Mill. It carried everything from remnant carpeting to knitting yarn to underwear. I bought a large, two-inch-thick foam-rubber pad.

On the drive back to Franks, I swung by Al's.

Jimmy was at the bar. He pushed something in a paper bag across to me.

“Is this a syringe or a caulking gun?” I asked, looking in the bag. It was a lot bigger than I expected.

“It's was last used on a stallion named Rondo,” he chuckled. “In case Wanda asks.”

“Awesome,” I said.

He took a closer look at me. “What happened to you, kid? You look like hell.” He gestured at my swollen nose and scratched arms and hands. He hadn't seen me since my disaster at Sutherland's.

“Fight with a dumpster. Thanks, Jimbo.” I gave him a swift peck on the cheek to avoid further questions and left.

I was dead tired and my head was buzzing, but I didn't go back to my apartment and crash as I was aching to do. I went downtown to check out Benny's Tavern.

I'd been to Benny's once or twice but not recently. Since I started mud wrestling and because of Jimmy, I did my drinking at Al's. Benny's was a raunchy establishment, not unlike Al's, with hot-pink neon lighting spelling out the name over the door. In the window was a sign advertising
Friday Happy
Hour 5 to 7 Drinks Half Price
. The tavern stood in what over the years had become Franks's skid row. There was a Canadian Cab office on one side of it and a takeout pizza on the other.

I didn't need to go into Benny's. I already knew the layout, a typical saloon, long bar, tables in the middle, booths at the back. But I wanted to have a look at the alley running behind the tavern. My getaway route. It was narrow and dark and smelled of garbage and cat pee. Benny's back door was propped open. Inside I glimpsed a dim hall tiled in dirty, cracked linoleum and stacked with crates of bottles and beer kegs. Farther down were the doors to the washrooms.

I hadn't eaten much all day, so I went back out to the street. A hulk in a red tank top stretched over a beer belly was having a smoke on the sidewalk in front of Benny's. At the pizza place next door I ordered a pepperoni, black olive and hot pepper takeout.

“Benny's busy on Friday night?” I asked the pimply kid working the ovens. He shrugged. “Ask Ox,” and pointed a floury finger at the big guy outside. “He's the bouncer.”

I decided to pass on Ox.

I took my pizza home, ate half of it and fell asleep in front of the tv. When I woke a little after nine that night, I felt so dry I drank a liter of coke. I finished off the pizza. I spent an hour on the Internet looking up veins. I spent another hour practicing finding them in my arms. Then I had a shower and crashed.

* * *

I spent most of Friday getting dressed. I measured and tried the foam on several ways. Finally I cut it crosswise into a couple of two-foot strips. I taped the strips around my middle and pulled the swimsuit over it. I stood in front of the mirror. My new look was barrel-shaped. Then I blew up the supersize inflatable push-up bra I'd bought at HERZ and put it on. I pulled the grape-colored dress on over everything. I had to do a bit of juggling to get my boobs to sit right, but in the end I achieved the desired effect. When I saw the finished product, I had a shock. With the red wig on, I looked remarkably like Wanda.

CHAPTER NINE

M
y phone warbled as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup. Wanda went heavy on the false eyelashes and mascara when she wasn't wrestling, so I did too. She liked lipstick. I made up a bright red mouth. It's not that I was consciously setting out to frame her for murder. I just needed a big woman to model my new self on, and she seemed to fit.

“What?” I barked, expecting it to be Marcia. I was feeling as strung out as a high-tension wire.

“Yo, Lava.” It was Jimmy. “When are you gonna do it?”

“Do it?” I squeaked. How the hell had he found out what I was really up to?

“Wanda,” he said. “The big joke.”

“Oh. Right.” I peeled myself off the ceiling. “Tell you about it later.”

At five o'clock I was ready. I slipped the hypodermic in the burgundy handbag, breathed deep and went for my car. I cruised slowly past Benny's. Stanley's Chevy was nowhere in sight. People were drifting into the tavern for the happy hour. Mostly a young crowd, guys in jeans and muscle shirts, chicks in shorts and halter tops. A few in working clothes. I circled the block and kept circling until luck finally broke my way. A 4x4 pulled out of a slot just opposite the tavern entrance. I managed to slide in ahead of another car and got a loud horn for my trouble.

It was another sweltering night. The promised storm that was supposed to break the heat hadn't arrived. To make things worse, I was wearing a wig and four inches of foam. I was sweating like a pig and I felt my makeup sliding. My car didn't have air conditioning. I tried fanning myself with a road map folded into quarters. It came apart at Kitchener-Waterloo. I was sinking into a soggy mess by the time the purple Chevy finally showed. It did the routine drive-by, looking for a parking spot. Eventually it headed up the street to the pay lot on Boxwood.

Here we go
, I told myself as I watched Stanley return on foot and push through the tavern door.

I allowed him half an hour before I followed him in. The bouncer Ox gave me the once-over as I entered. Up close I saw that his belly actually masked a lot of muscle.

“Hey, big girl.” He looked amused. He'd changed from his tank top to a T-shirt that said
Benny's
, and he'd slicked his black hair straight back. “You come equipped with a forklift or what?”

For the first time in my life I was aware of the shit fat women have to put up with.

“No, I use a trolley,” I said, playing the good-natured, oversized broad, but I thought,
Dick-head
. I gave him a wink, felt my false eyelashes stick together and quickly headed for the bar. I pried my eyes open and checked out the crowd. At least the place was air-conditioned. I pushed my elbows out to air my armpits. A smartass behind me said, “Awk, puk puk puk.” I knew I ought to go to the Womens to repair my makeup, but at that moment I picked out Stanley perched on a stool, staring into a beer. I pushed in beside him and jogged his elbow just as he was raising his glass.

“Hey!” he objected.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said and made a show of mopping up his sleeve.

“Well, you ought to be more careful.” He had good reason to be annoyed. I'd really made a mess. But as he sized me up, his scowl faded. His eyes swirled toward my cleavage like water down a drain.

“Another beer for the gentleman, and the same for me,” I told the bartender, who grinned. And to Stanley I said, leaning in, giving him an even closer view of the falls, “That was terribly careless of me. I really do apologize.”

“Oh, that's all right,” he breathed, looking kind of stunned. I doubted he'd ever been picked up before. He didn't seem to know the moves.

Our beers came. The person sitting next to Stanley left and I claimed the stool, sliding my bottom on it in a way he wouldn't miss. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to. In my foam padding, I took up most of the view.

“I hope you don't think I'm being forward,” I said. “But I'm new to town and I'm finding it kind of lonely. Folks here are nice enough but a bit standoffish, don't you think?”

“What? What?” he babbled. He recovered. “I mean, what's your name?”

“Wa—” I broke off. I couldn't do it to Wanda. “Washington.”

“Washington?” He looked puzzled. “Isn't that a state?”

“It's my last name.”

He laughed, a kind of haw-haw. “Oh. Like George Washington.”

“Except my name's Sally.”

“Oh. Sally Washington. Well, mine's Randy.”

“Randy?” That brought me up short. Had I been targeting the wrong victim?

“Randy's what I get when I meet a lovely lady like you, haw-haw.” His left hand went for a wander over my bum while his right hand set his glasses straight. I changed my mind about him. He knew the moves all right.

“Oh, you!” I gave him a playful sock that rocked him back. I hoped I'd left a bruise. “No, seriously, what's your name?”

“Stan,” he said, trying to make it sound manly. He whispered hoarsely in my ear, “Has anyone ever told you, your breasts are like two big bouncy balloons?”

I wished I'd brought my hammer.
The night is young
, I told myself and gulped my beer instead. The hand was back. This time I let it stay.

By nine the Happy Hour customers had cleared, leaving the hard-core drinking crowd. I'd been plying Stanley steadily with beers. He let me do the buying. At the rate he was downing them, I figured I should be charging Marcia expenses. The upside was that the barman and the bouncer Ox would remember that Stanley's last hours were spent in the company of a heavyset redhead with a triple-D cup, not lean, trim Gina Lopez.

By now I had a pretty good idea of what I was up against. A suppressed drunk, a closet letch. Everything about him was so buttoned-down but wanting to come out, he was bursting like a sausage. His eyes were the same pale color as Marcia's. He breathed annoyingly through his mouth. He had a disgusting leer. He was in his own heaven with me, a seriously large lady. At least he'd go out smiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an empty booth.

“Look.” I swiveled his stool around so hard he almost flew off it. “Why don't we go back there?” And I called out to the bartender, “Two more of the same.”

I carried our drinks. He followed me across the room, rolling unsteadily from side to side.

“You first,” I said, pushing him in ahead of me. I had to help him scoot along the bench. I slid in next to him on the same side. We were wedged tighter than sardines.

“Why don't you get comfortable, take your jacket off, dude?” I gave him an inviting smile and twisted around as far as my foam allowed to give him a full view of the goods on display.

“Comf'able as I am,” he giggled, but he didn't resist when I stripped him of his outer layer. I was relieved to see he wore a short-sleeved shirt. It would make my job a lot easier.

“You told me you're an accountant,” I said sweetly.

“Yeah. A calculator cowboy.” More haw-haws.

“Well, I just think that's wonderful because I happen to be looking for an accountant.”

“Y'are?” He squinted at me. He pulled free of my grip, put his hand on the inside of my thigh and pinched so hard I nearly screamed. I pried his fingers loose, slapped his hand back on the table and pinned his arm in place.

“Y'r eyes…” he burbled, “are like runny poo—poo—pools.”

And yours
, I thought,
are like two mashed
grapes. You got a mean streak in you, pal.
No wonder Marcia wants you dead.

“Stan-boy,” I simpered, “I got some tax forms I just can't figure out. I'd give a lot to have someone like you look at them.”

“Loo—lookin' at 'em now.” He hiccupped and tipped sideways. His nose was almost down my dress. He collapsed heavily against me, snoring in my cleavage.

Dream on
, I thought. I had the needle in my right hand, plunger at the ready. With my left I stroked his arm, pushing and prodding for a vein. I located something stringy inside the hollow of his elbow, just below the surface of his skin.

Die happy, jerk
, I thought, and jabbed him. Or I tried to. But he sat up just as the needle descended and it speared the table instead.

“Ooh, look,” he burbled, pulling it out. “A hypo—hypo—hermic.” He waved it around. “Lez play doctors and nurses.”

I tried to snatch it from him, but he was as slippery as a fish. With a cross-eyed ogle, he grabbed my boob and stabbed me with the needle.

It should have hurt, but I felt nothing. Only a weird, sinking sensation as the push-up deflated with a hiss, leaving my left breast going south. Stanley watched in fascination.

“You got one tit higher'n th'other,” he mumbled in a puzzled voice. “Hey!” he yelled, like he'd been cheated. “How come you got one ti—”

I clamped a hand over his mouth and snatched the needle from him. Ox was moving our way.

“Everything cool here?” the bouncer asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “We're just having fun.”

“No, 'm not,” shouted Stanley for everyone to hear. “Sh—she's got 'neven tits.” He poked my lopsided bustline hard, making it squeak and sag some more to Florida.

Ox broke into a grin as he eyed me.

“It was just a joke,” I said.

“Lemme out.” Stanley was really mad. He pushed and punched me off the bench. Ox let it happen.

“I'm goin' home.” Stanley staggered a step or two before Ox caught him on his way down.

“You're going in a cab, man,” said Ox.

“I'll take him,” I said, standing up. “I'm fine to drive.” If I couldn't do the job at Benny's, I'd do it in my car and dump him somewhere out of town. At that point I really did want to kill him.

Ox looked me up and down. His mouth was stretched wide, ear to ear. “No way, lady. You've had a skinful too. I'm calling
you
a cab.”

I knew when I was beaten. “Okay, big guy.” I gave him a heavy flutter that sent one of my fake eyelashes sailing. “But first I have to visit the little Ladies.”