Native Tongue Part 3

"You boys are lying," Molly said. She got up from the rocker and left the room. She came back with a towel, chipped ice, bandages and a roll of medical adhesive tape. She told Bud Schwartz to patch up his partner before the blood got all over everything. Bud Schwartz knelt on the floor next to Danny Pogue and tried to calm him. Molly sat down and started rocking.

"The towel is for his mouth," she said, "so I don't have to listen to all that yammering."

And it was true, Danny Pogue's wailing was unbearable, even allowing for the pain. It reminded Bud Schwartz of the way his first wife had sounded during the thras.h.i.+ngs of childbirth.

Molly said, "It's been all over the news, so at least I know that you went ahead and did it. I suppose I'm obliged to pay up."

Bud Schwartz was greatly relieved; she wouldn't pay somebody she was about to kill. The thought of being murdered by a seventy-year-old woman in pink curlers was harrowing on many levels.

"Tell me if I'm wrong," Molly said. "Curiosity got the best of you, right? You opened the box, the animals escaped."

"That's about the size of it," said Bud Schwartz, wrapping a bandage around Danny Pogue's foot. He had removed the sneaker and the sock, and examined the wounds. Miraculously (or maybe by design) both bullets had missed the bones, so Danny Pogue was able to wiggle all his toes. When he stopped whimpering, Bud Schwartz removed the towel from his mouth.

"So you think they're still alive," Molly said.

"Why not? Who'd be mean enough to hurt 'em?"

"This is important," said Molly. The pistol lay loose on her lap, looking as harmless as a macrame.

Danny Pogue said, "We didn't kill them things, I swear to G.o.d. They just scooted out of the d.a.m.n truck."

"They're awful fast," added Bud Schwartz.

"Oh, please," said Molly McNamara, shaking her head. Even Danny Pogue picked up on the sarcasm.

"We didn't know there was only two," he said. "We thought there must be a whole bunch in a box that size. That's how come we wasn't so worried when they got awaya"see, we thought there was more."

Molly started rocking a little faster. The rocking chair didn't squeak a bit on the varnished pine. She said, "I'm very disappointed in the both of you."

Bud Schwartz helped his partner limp to an ottoman.

All he wanted was to get the money and get the h.e.l.l out of this spooky old house, away from this crazy witch.

"Here's the really bad news," said Molly McNamara. "It's your trucka"only about a thousand people saw you drive away. Now, I don't know if they got the license tag, but they sure as h.e.l.l got a good description. It's all over the TV."

"s.h.i.+t," said Bud Schwartz.

"So you're going to have to keep a low profile for a while."

Still breathing heavily, Danny Pogue said, "What's that mean?"

Molly stopped rocking and sat forward. "For starters, say goodbye to the pickup truck. Also, you can forget about going home. If the police got your tag, they'll be waiting."

"I'll take my chances," said Bud Schwartz.

"No, you won't," said Molly. "I'll give you a thousand dollars each. You'll get the rest in two weeks, if things die down. Meanwhile, I've arranged a place for you boys to stay."

"Here?" asked Danny Pogue in a fretful, pain-racked voice.

"No, not here," Molly said. "Not on your life."

She stood up from the rocker. The pistol disappeared again into a fuzzy pocket of the blue robe. "Your foot's going to be fine," she announced to Danny Pogue. "I hope I made my point."

The bafflement on the two men's faces suggested otherwise.

Molly McNamara said, "I chose you for a reason."

"Come on," said Bud Schwartz, "we're just burglars."

"And don't you ever forget it," Molly said.

Danny Pogue couldn't believe she was talking to them this way. He couldn't believe he was being terrorized by an old lady in a rocking chair.

"There's something else you should know," said Molly McNamara. "There are others."

Momentarily Bud Schwartz's mind had stuck on that thousand dollars she'd mentioned. He had been thinking: Screw the other nine, just grab the grand and get lost. Now she was saying something about othersa"what others?

"Anything happens to me," Molly said, "there's others that know who you are. Where you live. Where you hang out. Everything."

"I don't get it," muttered Danny Pogue.

"Burglars get shot sometimes," Molly McNamara said. "n.o.body says boo about it, either. n.o.body gets arrested or investigated or anything else. In this country, you kill a burglar and the Kiwanis gives you a plaque. That's the point I was trying to make."

Danny Pogue turned to Bud Schwartz, who was staring down at his partner's swollen foot and wondering if it was too late to make a run for it. Finally he said, "Lady, we're very sorry about your animals."

"They're not my animals," said Molly, "any more than you are."

THREE.

At half past ten Joe Winder went down to The Catacombs, the underground network of service roads that ran beneath the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills. It was along these winding cart paths, discreetly out of view from visitors, that the food, merchandise, money and garbage were moved throughout the sprawling amus.e.m.e.nt park. It was also along these secret subterranean pa.s.sageways that the kiddie characters traveled, popping up suddenly at strategic locations throughout the Amazing Kingdom and imploring tourists to snap their picture. No customers ("guests" was the designated term) ever were allowed to venture into The Catacombs, lest they catch a glimpse of something that might tarnish their image of the Amazing Kingdoma"a dog rooting through a dumpster, for example. Or one of Uncle Ely's Elves smoking a joint.

Which is what Joe Winder saw when he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm looking for Robbie Racc.o.o.n," he said to the elf, who wasn't particularly jolly or gnome like.

The elf belched blue smoke and asked which Robbie Racc.o.o.n he was looking for, since there were three.

"The one who was on duty this afternoon," Winder said. "The one who fought with the rat robbers."

The big elf pointed with the smoldering end of the joint. "Okay, there's a locker room on the west side. Just follow the orange signs." He took another drag. I'd offer you a hit, but I got this nasty chest virus. Hate to pa.s.s it along."

"Sure," said Joe Winder. "No problem."

The lockers were at the end of a damp concrete tunnel that smelled of stale laundry and ammonia. Robbie Racc.o.o.n was straddling the bench, trying to unzip his head. Winder introduced himself, and explained that he was from the Publicity Department.

"I'm writing a press release about what happened earlier today," he said. "A few quick questions is all."

"Fire away," said Robbie Racc.o.o.n. The words came out m.u.f.fled, from a small opening in the neck of the costume.

Winder said, "I can barely hear you."

With a grunt Robbie Racc.o.o.n removed his head, which was as large as a beach ball. Joe Winder was startled by what he saw beneath it: long s.h.i.+mmering blond hair, green eyes and mascara. Robbie Racc.o.o.n was a woman.

She said, "If you're going to make a joke, get it over with."

"No, I wasn't."

"Don't think this is my life ambition or anything."

"Of course not," said Joe Winder.

The woman said her name was Carrie Lanier. "And I got my SAG card," she said, still somewhat defensive. "That's the only reason I took this stupid job. I'm going to be an actress."

Mindlessly Winder said, "You've got to start somewhere."

"Darn right."

He waited for Carrie Lanier to remove the rest of the racc.o.o.n outfit, but she didn't. He took out his notebook and asked her to describe what had happened at the Rare Animal Pavilion.

Carrie shrugged in an exaggerated way, as if she were still in character. "It was two men, we're talking white trash. One of them has a sledgehammer, and they're both walking real fast. I start to follow, don't ask me whya"I just had a hunch. All of a sudden the one with the hammer smashes out the gla.s.s in one of the exhibits."

"And you tried to stop him?"

"Yeah, I jumped the guy. Climbed on his back. He turned around and clobbered me pretty solid. Thank G.o.d for this." Carrie knocked on the crown of the racc.o.o.n head, which was propped face-up on the bench. Her fist made a sharp hollow sound. "Chicken wire, plaster and Kevlar," she explained. "They say it's bulletproof."

Joe Winder wrote this down, even though Charles Chelsea would never let him use it in the press release. At the Amazing Kingdom, each publicity announcement was carefully purged of all intriguing details. Winder was having a tough time kicking the habit of taking good notes.

Carrie Lanier said, "He knocked me down pretty hard, but that's about it. There was a tour group from Taiwan, Korea, someplace like that. They helped me off the ground, but by then the two dirtbags were long gone. I could've done without the ambulance ride, but Risk Management said I had to."

"Can I say you suffered a slight head injury?" Joe Winder asked, pen poised.

"No," said Carrie Lanier. "As soon as the X-rays came out negative, they hauled me back to work. I'm fine."

That wouldn't go over well with Charles Chelsea; the vole story was infinitely more dramatic if a park employee had been wounded in the rescue attempt.

"Not even a headache?" Winder persisted.

"Yeah, I've got a headache," Carrie said. "I've always got a headache. Take a whiff of this place." She stood up and yanked on the fluffy striped racc.o.o.n tail, which was attached to the rump of the costume by a Velcro patch. The tail made a ripping sound when Carrie took it off. She tossed it in her locker and said, "Why would anyone steal rats?"

"Voles," said Joe Winder.

"The guys who did it, boy, what a pair. Sc.u.m of the earth."

Again Winder didn't bother to write this down.

"It's crazy," said Carrie Lanier. She reached beneath her left armpit and found, deep in the fur, another zipper. Carefully she unzipped the costume lengthwise down to her ankle. She did the same on the other side. As she stepped out of the animal outfit, Winder saw that she was wearing only a bra and panties. He tried not to stare.

Carrie hung the costume on a pair of hooks in the locker. She said, "This d.a.m.n thing weighs a ton, I wish you'd write that down. It's about a hundred twenty degrees inside, too. OSHA made them put in air conditioners, but they're always broken."

Winder stepped closer to examine the racc.o.o.n costume, not Carrie Lanier in her bra (which was the type that unhooked in the front; pink with lacy cups).

Winder held up the animal suit and said, "Where's the AC?"

"In the back. Here, look." Carrie showed him. "The batteries last about two hours max, then forget about it. We tried to call the feds and complaina"what a joke. They haven't been out here since the day Petey Possum died."

"Do I want to hear this story?"

"Heart attack," Carrie Lanier went on. "This was Sessums. Billy Sessums. The very first Petey Possum. He'd been twenty-two years with Disneylanda"Goofy, Pluto, you name it. Billy was a pro. He taught me plenty."

"So what happened?"

"One of those days. Ninety-two in the shade, one twelve inside the possum suit. The AC went out, and so did Billy." Carrie Lanier paused reflectively. "He was an older fella but still..."

"I'm sorry," said Joe Winder. He put his notebook away. He was starting to feel p.r.i.c.kly and claustrophobic.

Carrie said, "You're gonna put my name in the press release?"

"I'm afraid not. It's company policy not to identify the actors who portray the animal characters. Mr. Kingsbury says it would spoil the illusion for the children."

Carrie laughed. "Some illusion. I've had kids grab my b.o.o.bs, right through the costume. One time there was a Shriner, tried to goose me in the Magic Mansion."

Winder said, "How'd they know you were a woman?"

"That's the scary part." Her eyes flashed mischievously. "What if they didn't know I was a woman? What if they thought I was a real racc.o.o.n? What would Mr. Francis X. Kingsbury say about that?" She took a pair of blue jeans out of the locker and squirmed into them. "Anyhow, I don't want my name in any stupid press release," she said. "Not for this place."

"Maybe not, but you did a brave thing," said Winder.

As Carrie b.u.t.toned her blouse, she said, "I don't want my folks knowing what I do. You blame me?"

"You make lots of little children happy. What's wrong with that?"

She looked at him evenly. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Joe Winder said.

"My job's crummy, but you know what? I think your job is worse."

Joe Winder wrote the press release in forty minutes. "Theft of Rare Animals Stuns Amazing Kingdom." Ten paragraphs on the crime itself, with a nod to the heroics of Robbie Racc.o.o.n ("who barely escaped serious injury"). Three paragraphs of official reaction ("a sad and shocking event") from Francis X. Kingsbury, chairman and president of the park. Three graphs more of scientific background on the blue-tongued mango vole, with a suitable quote from Dr. Will Koocher. A hundred words about the $10,000 reward, and a hundred more announcing new beefed-up security precautions at the park.

Winder put the press release on Charles Chelsea's desk and went home. By the time he called Nina, it was nearly one in the morning. He dialed the number and hoped she would be the one to answer.

"h.e.l.lo, sugar," Nina said.