The Hard Bounce - страница 43

“Damn. How big?”

“Sounded like one of those little dogs with fuzzy ears that just piss and shake.”

“Good. I don’t want to head up there and rassle with a Rottweiler.” Along with women, I don’t dance with dogs. I know guys who have; guys like Lefty and Petey One-Nut.

“If what I heard was any longer than my dick, I’ll buy you a steak.”

“Wow. That’s a little dog. Or a barking ladybug.”

“Hardy-har. You’re a fucking riot. You want the front or the back?”

“I’ll take the back door,” I said, climbing out of the car.

“Heard that about you,” Junior said with a cackle as I shut the door.

Point to Junior. That was a good one.

Luck came in the form of a pizza and a prayer. I waited in the back, leaning in the empty rear doorway to the shop next to Sid’s Vids. I watched shadows play in the windows. The shadows looked big, but I couldn’t tell what might be tricks of the light. I could hear the sharp yipping of an aggravated pet. It did sound smaller than a breadbox, which was a relief. Other than that, Sid seemed to be alone up there.

Junior came around the corner of the building, a large flat box in his hands, a huge grin on his puss. “Lookie, lookie,” he said, “Junior found a cookie. It appears Sid here ordered herself a big ol’ pizza that I seem to have intercepted.” He tipped the paper cap that read College Pizza.

“Nice hat.”

“Any headwear looks good on a man like me.” Junior hit the buzzer for Sidonia Sliva.

Sid’s voice replied from the console. “What?”

“Itsa pizza,” Junior answered in an Italian accent that would have embarrassed Chef Boy-ar-dee.

She buzzed us in. Either Sid never met an actual Italian before, or she was just too hungry to care.

One flight of creaky stairs up, I knocked on the door.

“C’mon in. The door’s open,” came the reply from inside.

So we went in. The apartment had the same reek as the store. It wasn’t as bad as the Dumpster incident, but it was still awful, like old meat and dirty underpants. My sinuses wanted to bust out of my head and run to the nearest aromatherapy clinic. How the hell could someone live in this?

Sid sat in a wide recliner, frozen. From the television she’d been facing, Homer Simpson said “D’oh!”

“Yo, Sid,” Junior said. “Dangerous habit leaving the door unlocked like that.”

Sid tried to leap out of her chair. She really did. All she managed to do was rock spastically from side to side. “What the fuck is going on here? What the fuck are you two doing here?” she croaked at us. She almost made it up into a half squat. I nudged her in the shoulder with the tip of my boot. Sid fell back with a thud into the recliner. The vinyl farted under the impact. I hoped it was the vinyl. She looked like a turtle who’d suddenly found itself wrong side up.

“Do you guys know who you’re fucking with? Who my business partners are?” Sid bellowed.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Colonel Sanders? He’s dangerous. Military background.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wait, I got it. You’re in with the McDonald’s Mafia, aren’t you?”

Junior was trying to find a place to put on his badass lean but couldn’t seem to locate a surface that wouldn’t ruin his pants. “Dude. Maybe we oughta think about this. That Grimace is a baaad mutha-”

“Shut yo mouth!”

Junior shrugged. “I’m only talking ’bout Grimace.”

“I can dig it.”

“Fuck you!” There still didn’t seem to be any fear in Sid’s voice. That wasn’t good. If anything, she was just getting more and more pissed.

“Well, I’ll tell you who she doesn’t know. Mr. Clean.” Junior picked up what looked like a leather handbag with eyes from behind a garbage pail. “Sid, your housecleaning skills suck.”

“Worse than yours?” I asked.

“At least I don’t have little piles of shit on my floor left by Free Willie of the canine set.” Junior held up the pudgiest chihuahua I’d ever seen. His tiny legs poked out from a body the same size and definition as ten pounds of cookie dough. His tail stub wagged happily.

The dog was the plan. Since we couldn’t very well threaten Sid physically, we had to threaten her dog. Looking at the cute little fat bastard, I felt guilt seep into my gut. I like dogs better than I do most people.