Disappearing Acts (8 page)

There was a silence.

“That's good. That's perfect! Anyway, hurry. I've got a surprise for you. You remember the dead body Meat found in the bathroom?”

Another silence.

“Yes! Yes, you got it!”

She turned her delighted face to Meat. “Yes, Dad guessed it! The dead body is the surprise!” She glanced again at the door. “Now let's get back in the closet.”

“Oh, Meat, come on.”

He shook his head.

“Why not? You love pizza.”

Herculeah was trying to get Meat to go with her and her father for a pizza.

“My dad'll drop us home right afterward. Call your mom and tell her you'll be late.”

“I'm not hungry.”

For once in his life it was the truth. It had been bad enough to hear Mike Howard's cruel imitation of him—to hear that stupid remark made more stupid by Mike Howard's imitation. “There's a girl in the men's bathroom” —pause, pause—“and she's dead.”

But to know that Herculeah had heard it too was unbearable.

“Well, we'll drop you home.”

“No.”

“Oh, Meat, you ought to feel good. You were proved right. There was a body!”

Meat waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal.

“And Mike Howard and his friend have been taken downtown to give statements. Don't you want to know if they told the same story we heard? Dad can find out.”

Meat shook his head.

“Meat, please.”

Meat and Herculeah were sitting at a table in Funny Bonz, waiting for the investigation in the alley and men's bathroom to be finished. Being in this room made Meat feel worse. After all, it had been on that very stage where he had stood and—

Chico Jones arrived then before Meat's dreary thoughts could continue. Herculeah said, “Dad, Meat won't go with us for pizza. Make him come. Arrest him.”

“I'm not hungry,” Meat told Chico Jones almost apologetically.

“Dad...”

“Drop it, Herculeah. Meat knows whether he wants a pizza or not.”

“Well, maybe he doesn't now, but when they set it down in front of us and he smells cheese and pepperoni and Italian meatballs, then he'll want it.”

“You're sure you don't want to come?” Chico asked him, putting one hand on his shoulder in a fatherly, un policemanlike way.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, don't hang around here. Go on home.”

“I will.”

“Want us to drop you off?”

“No.”

Meat walked out of Funny Bonz with them, and after Herculean and her father got in the car, he started for home. Chico Jones's car passed them and Herculeah honked the horn. He didn't look up.

He had felt miserable many times in his life, but he could never remember feeling quite this bad.

He was replaying that terrible moment in the closet one more time, and he was so miserable he almost didn't notice the girl who brushed against him.

He went three more steps before the realization hit him.

He spun around. “Marcie! Marcie Mulletl

She turned. Her look wasn't welcoming, but that didn't stop Meat. He felt as if he had been looking for this girl all his life.

“You don't know me, but I'm the person who found your wallet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes!” He took it from his pocket.

She looked at it as if she'd never seen it before.

“Was there any money in it?”

“Some.”

“That surprises me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “A guy bumped against me and yanked my purse off my shoulder and ran with it.”

“Well, guess where he dropped it—in Funny Bonz. That's spelled with a z.”

“Where?”

“It's a comedy club, just down the street.”

“Listen, would you mind showing me? I had some other things in my purse—some pictures and things. I'd really like to have them back. They mean a lot to me.”

“I don't think there's anybody there now.”

“Oh.”

“The police found a body in the alley, behind the Dumpster, and they've taken Mike Howard—he owns the place—and one of his friends to the station for questioning.”

Again she glanced over her shoulder. Meat looked too, but the street behind them was empty.

She shrugged. “It probably has something to do with drugs. Everything does these days. Drugs, drugs, drugs. That's all you hear.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, let's walk by. You can show me where it is.”

Meat began to walk with her, though he didn't want to. “Oh, by the way, I went by your apartment, and I've got some bad news.”

She turned to him quickly. “What?”

“Well, it looked like somebody had been in your apartment looking for something. There were clothes all over the floor and, well, it was trashed.”

Now came her first smile, though it wasn't the kind of smile Meat liked to see on a girl's face. Nothing anybody would want to paint and put in a museum. “Oh, it always is,” she confessed. “I keep my stuff like that. I can always find what I want.”

“Oh.” He was worried that he might look shocked, so he added quickly. “That makes sense.”

“Show me where this place is,” she said, looking at him. “What did you say the name was?”

“Funny Bonz.”

“Do you have time? Do you mind?”

He did, and probably showed it.

“I wouldn't ask, but those pictures mean a lot to me.”

Meat nodded. They walked in silence to Funny Bonz and tried the front door. Meat was relieved to find it was locked.

“The police must have left.”

“Is there a side door?” she asked, her eyes wide with innocence.

“Yes, but it's probably locked, too.”

“Just show me. I know how to get into places.”

Meat walked with Marcie Mullet to the alley. She was not as tall as Meat—he glanced behind at her as she turned into the alley—but she was wider.

“They found the body over there, behind the Dumpster,” Meat said.

Yellow police tape marked off the area.

“And, like I said, they took the owner and his friend down to the police station to give statements.

“This is the door.” Meat tried the doorknob. “Too bad, it is locked.”

Marcie Mullet stepped around Meat. With her back to him, she took something out of her purse and did something to the lock, and it opened with an ominous click.

“How did you do that?”

She smiled over her shoulder. “That's something my mom taught me.”

“My friend's mom is a private eye, and she uses special tools.”

“I use a knife.” She pushed open the door.

“I don't think we ought to go inside,” Meat said, but she already was. He followed, though he didn't really want to.

“You said the body was in the bathroom? Which way's the bathroom? You're going to have to show me. It's so dark in here.”

Meat followed her into the hallway. He pointed down the long hall.

“I'll check.” Marcie opened the door that said Guys and stuck her head inside. She looked back at Meat with real disappointment. “No, it's already been cleaned.”

“Too bad about your pictures. You might check with Mike when he—” and then he stopped.

Meat suddenly realized that he
hadn't
told her the body was in the men's room. He'd said it was in the alley. And she wasn't supposed to be looking for the body, anyway. And yet immediately she had gone to that door.

And then Meat knew.

And with the knowledge came a feeling of great power and certainty.

I, Meat McMannis, am about to solve a mystery.

This time it is I, not Herculeah, who is about to find the truth.

His feeling of power faded as Marcie Mullet started coming down the hall toward him.

And I, Meat McMannis, may not live to tell about it.

THE
SMILE ON THE CROCODILE

“You know, don't you?”

“Know what?”

Meat tried to wipe the horror from his face and replace it with a look of innocence. “I don't know what you're talking about.” His voice went up higher than he wanted it to. “I don't know anything.”

“You're the one who found the body.”

“Well, yes, I found the body. But that doesn't mean I know anything. You can find a body and be completely ignorant.”

“I heard you coming. You were whistling,” she said in a dreamlike way that for some reason made him think of somebody weird, like out of Shakespeare. Anyway, he didn't like it. “And I dragged Bennie into the stall, turned off the light, and hoped you wouldn't find him.” She smiled. “But of course you did.”

“Well, I couldn't help it. He fell out. I was minding my own business and he fell out. Where were you?”

“In the next stall.”

“You were there?”

“Yes. I was holding my breath, praying you wouldn't open the door.”

“I would never do that.”

“I couldn't be sure. Finally you ran out, and I followed a little way down the hall and heard you telling everybody about what you'd found. Then that guy who owns the club came back.”

“Mike.”

“Yes, good old Mike.” Her smile turned cruel as she said the name. “I barely had time to get out the door. I watched through the window as good old Mike dragged the body out and put it in the janitor's closet.”

Meat glanced sideways for an escape and saw a blank wall. Other side, blank wall.

“Maybe he was going to get rid of Bennie's body later,” she said. “He couldn't risk Bennie's body being found in Funny Bonz any more than I could.”

“Why?”

“Bennie told me Mike owes big money to the wrong people, and if the club doesn't make it, he won't either.”

“But why didn't you want the body found there?‘

“Oh, I had reasons.”

“What?”

“Because if Bennie's body was found in Funny Bonz, then the murder could be connected to me.”

“How?” Meat checked again. Yes, the blank walls were still there.

“If Bennie's body was found in the club, then the police might start asking questions about why he was there and then they would ask about his routine. Did you ever hear Bennie's routine?”

“No, no, I didn't know he had one. I just saw him that one time—and I thought he was a dead girl—the purse and the ponytail and all.”

“He had a routine all right.” She smiled. She was a girl of a hundred smiles, and Meat didn't like any of them. “And it was all about me.”

“You? You're not funny.”

“No, but I'm fat.”

“His routine was about fat?”

“His fat girlfriend. That was his routine—being in love with a fat girlfriend, having to kiss a fat girlfriend. ‘My girlfriend has so many rolls of fat you can't tell the boobs from the tubes.'”

“But that's terrible.”

“Yes, he was cruel. ‘You know how bra cups come in sizes A, B, and C? Her size is WOW.'”

Meat knew that would hurt because he had seen one of those WOWs himself.

“And he was getting ready to start going all over the country with his routine. He claimed he'd get on the
Tonight Show
and
David Letterman.
And there wasn't any doubt who he was talking about—he even used my name. Mullet the Gullet. ‘Restaurants have signs that say, Maximum Occupancy: 240 or Mullet the Gullet.'”

She looked at him. “You don't know how it hurts to be laughed at.”

“I do, I do. Look at me.”

She looked. “You're not fat.” “I am.” He held his arms slightly out at his sides so she could get the whole miserable picture. And all of a sudden he was back at the newsstand, the book of fat jokes in his hand.

“Listen, I'm so big I have my own area code. When I put on my blue suit and stand on a corner, people try to drop mail in my mouth.”

“Well, when I put on my yellow raincoat, people yell, ‘Taxi!'”

“When I step on the scale, it goes, ‘We don't do livestock.'”

“When I step on the scale, it goes, ‘One at a time, please.'”

Meat swallowed, mentally flipping through the hurtful pages.

“The last time I saw
2001,
I was standing on a scale.”

“My blood-type is Ragu.”

“I'm so fat I eat Wheat Thicks.”

Marcie Mullet seemed to be doing some mental flipping of her own.

“When I was floating in the ocean, Spain claimed me for the New World.”

“I had to go to Sea World to get baptized.”

“I have more chins than the Hong Kong telephone book.”

“When I was lying on the beach, Greenpeace tried to push me back in the water.”

They paused, both out of breath. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you making fun of me, too?”

“No, no, of myself. That was research I did for my routine at the club.”

“You're not fat.”

“I'm not?” A shiver of pleasure shot through his fear. “Do you mean that?”

The smile froze on his face as he saw the intent look on hers. She began to relive that terrible night.

“He had said we would talk at the club, but he pushed right on past me when I got there. He didn't even speak. I followed him inside. He went into the men's room. I even followed him in there.”