Mike Faricy - Bombshell

“Look I know it’s late, I’ve just been working a lot, had a halfway open night, wondered if you wanted to get together, that’s all. If it’s going to present a problem I can call another time.” I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate.

“I suppose you’d expect a late dinner?” she said, softening.

“Actually, I was thinking I would pick something up, what do you feel like?”

Twenty-five dollars worth of Chinese take-out and four bottles of wine later I pulled up in front of Heidi’s. She opened the front door as I came up the walk.

“Well, at least you parked in front so you’re not hiding, this time.”

“Why do you think there has to be something wrong before I want to come over and see you? Can’t you just accept the fact I enjoy your company? I thought maybe spending an evening listening to your conversation would be reward enough.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’re after, my conversation.”

“That might be part of it, find out what you’ve been up to? Who you’re seeing? When…”

“Just stop. I’ll figure it out sooner or later and you’ll be busted, but for right now come on in. Pork fried rice, right?” She blocked the doorway and nodded at the grocery bag full of little white containers.

“And dim sum,” I added.

“Okay, get your ass in here,” she said, stepping aside.

As was our custom we ate directly out of the containers. Heidi ate all her dim sum then moved on to mine. I made a point of never letting her glass go empty. She had finished the better part of three bottles of wine when she attempted to make grasshoppers for dessert, that didn’t work so well under the circumstances so we moved on to the bedroom course.

“Oh God, what kind of cheapo wine was that? My head’s killing me,” Heidi groaned from under her pillow.

“Couldn’t have been the three bottles you had,” I said.

“You were drinking, too.”

“I had a glass to every one of your bottles. That was before you decided to make the grasshoppers.”

“Grasshoppers?”

She lounged in bed groaning for another forty minutes, working up the courage to face the day. I tried to get something romantic happening with the proverbial back rub, but it didn’t work. Eventually we climbed out of bed and wandered out of her bedroom.

My clothes were scattered around the living room. As I pulled on my jeans I heard Heidi in the kitchen.

“God, I don’t remember any of this,” she said. She was standing naked in the middle of the room. You could tell she was running through her memory files and they were all coming up blank. Even hung over she still looked beautiful.

I couldn’t say that much for the kitchen. Almost a dozen little white take-out containers littered the granite counter top. Bits of rice were scattered here and there, a half eaten dim sum. There were two wine glasses, one was still partially full and the other, sporting a half moon of lipstick, had been drained dry. Three empty wine bottles stood on a distant counter next to the refrigerator, a fourth lay on its side and had rolled up against the microwave, barely a swallow left inside. We had left the ice cream out on the kitchen counter, next to her underwear.

Heidi stared at a puddle of melted ice cream that had dripped onto the kitchen floor. The blender had a sort of green glop sitting in it and judging from the spray pattern across the kitchen wall she must have run the thing with the top off.

“Not to worry, you made up for it in the bedroom,” I said.

“Apparently. Want some breakfast?” she said, placing an aspirin bottle on the kitchen counter then filling a glass up at the refrigerator tap.

“What have you got for breakfast?” I asked.

“I don’t know, any of that pork fried rice left?”

Unless we planned on eating puffed rice cakes and melted ice cream, I knew better than to check for any food in her house.

“I’ll go get us something, how’s that sound?”

“And a Latte, a double,” she pleaded.

I was driving back from the coffee shop, armed with four caramel rolls and Heidi’s double Latte when my cell phone rang.

“Haskell In…”

“Where the hell have you been, dipshit?”

“Mom?” I asked.

“I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour and a half,” Louie said.

“Sorry, I was in a meeting.” Thinking I should have checked my phone when I pulled my jeans on.

“Sure you were, listen as your attorney, let me state, I don’t want to know. I spoke with the good Detective Manning about your place.”

“And?”

“And, with any luck they’ll finish up and you can get back in there by the end of the day.”

“Fantastic.”

“Just keep your fingers crossed.”

When I returned Heidi had progressed to one of the couches in her living room. She lay curled up on her living room couch wearing a pair of sunglasses with a white terrycloth robe wrapped around her.

“Did you remember my Latte?” she groaned from the couch.

“Yeah, a double, and some caramel rolls.”

“Mmm-mmm give me,” she pleaded.

I set the Latte in front of her and went out to the kitchen for some plates, nothing had changed except a half glass of water sat on the counter next to the ice cream container and the open aspirin bottle. Melted ice cream was still pooled on the floor. Her thong from last night rested next to the toaster. I put two caramel rolls on a plate and brought them out to her, then ventured back into the kitchen and started to clean things up.

It took the better part of an hour, but everything was pretty much back to normal, well, except for the green blender spray across the kitchen wall. That would have to be repainted. I grabbed a shower, then peaked back into the living room. Heidi was asleep on the couch, snoring softly still wearing her sun glasses. Latte was dribbled down the front of her robe and only a few caramel crumbs remained on her plate. I knew better than to disturb her and tiptoed out.

I drove past my house taking a round about way to the office, just to see if I could learn anything. I didn’t. A few miles worth of yellow crime scene tape was still wrapped around my house and garage. The place looked like the site of some demented high school prank. There was a white Crime Scene van parked in my driveway with a city logo on the door, but I didn’t see anyone outside. With any luck they’d already finished and were relaxing down the block having coffee at Nina’s. I figured it was the wise move to just keep heading toward the office.

It was later that afternoon, I was eating a platter of Bar-B-Q ribs at a place called Fat Daddy’s, right around the corner. The tiny room had three small card tables and maybe a dozen folding chairs with ‘First Baptist Church’ stenciled across the back. There was an aged poster of Little Anthony and the Imperials held to one of the walls with yellowed tape. A more recent Otis Redding poster, maybe just thirty years old, was taped above the order counter. The air conditioner was either broken or turned off and the place smelled of my sweat and sweet, tangy Bar-B-Q grease.

With the exception of Fat Daddy, all four-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of him sweating behind the cash register, I was the only person in the place. Fat Daddy was sipping something from a travel mug, I guessed it wasn’t a Diet-Coke. I could hear the ice cubes rattle whenever he sipped. He hadn’t said much more than ‘What’ll you have?’ since I’d entered the place twenty minutes earlier.

My cell phone rang.

“Haskell…”

“Where are you?” Louie interrupted.

“My office. You hear anything from Manning yet?”

“Where exactly are you?”