Timothy Hallinan - Everything but the Squeal

“Gross,” Jessica said under her breath.

“Yeah, well, don't forget to floss,” I said to her.

She gave me Parent Stare Number Twelve. “Give me a break ,” she said.

“No problem,” Donnie said to the phone, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Really, doing great. Cold back there?” He nodded, glaring at everyone within earshot. “Sunny out here,” he said, just as a bucket of rain hit the roof.

“And the band just got a gold record,” the Old Young Woman said to the Toothless Man.

Donnie got through the call somehow and sat back down next to the little girl. He searched his pockets and came up with some coins, then went to the counter to order. The Mountain barked another number, and a thin guy with a lot of volcanic activity on his face went to the phone. The Mountain dropped change into his hands. Donnie came back with a burger and cut it into exact halves. He gave half to the little girl, who looked at it as though it were a whole Easter ham.

Jessica, who hadn't stopped chewing and drinking since we arrived, picked up the egg she had dropped back into the basket on our table. “Hey,” she called to the Mountain, “can I eat this?” I tried to kick her under the table, but missed.

The Mountain hovered over me. Malevolence rose from him in fumes like heat off a road, but it was aimed at me, not her.

“Is your name Dottie?” he asked. Sure enough, that's what the egg said: dottie.

“It's my middle name,” Jessica said without turning a hair. “Jessica Dottie Wilmington.” Her middle name was, and always had been, Jill.

The Mountain gave me another death stare, just to keep in shape, and then smiled at her. “Go to it, then,” he said. “I guess she's not coming anyway.”

Jessica picked it up. She started to crack the shell, and I looked at the name again and then took it from her hand.

“Hey,” she said. “That's mine.”

Her tone made the Mountain, who'd been lumbering back toward the pay phone, turn and stare. He'd had more than enough of me. “I gave it to her, shitbag,” he said, advancing. “You can take her money if that's your angle, but goddammit, that's her egg.”

“Dottie,” I said, talking fast. He was on top of me. “As in Dorothy? Is she blond? About thirteen, looks a little younger?”

“What's it to you? You already got one, don't you? What are you, trying to build up a string?” He leaned over me and I smelled the cheesy odor of the mummy's wrap he used to swab the tables.

“Dottie-I mean, Dorothy-Gale?” I said. “From Kansas?”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “I think maybe you ought to get out of here. Maybe you should stay out of here. Otherwise, something might happen to your face, and then how would you scam the little chicklets?”

“We have to talk,” I said.

“Eighty-six,” he said, “and I'm going to love it.” He grabbed the shoulder of my shirt and hauled me up.

“Jessica,” I said, “tell him who I am.”

She looked up at me through long blond lashes. “I don't really know who you are,” she said. “You told me your name was George.”

Tammy laughed. “They're all named George,” she said, sipping at her cup.

“You asshole,” the Mountain said. “I hope you can fly.” He picked me up as though I were made of balsawood and toted me toward the sidewalk. Various mouths opened in expectation.

“Wait,” Jessica said. “He's my-”

“Tell him in private,” I said, trying to make hushing motions with my hands. The Mountain's arms were tight across my chest and I was beginning to see an interesting pattern of little black dots.

“Tell me what?” the Mountain said. He didn't ease the pressure of his arms. I tried to say something, and produced a postliterate wheeze.

“My godfather,” Jessica said. “He's a detective.”

A hush, the kind they call Angel's Flight, seized the restaurant. Tammy looked up at me, betrayal in her eyes. Donnie took the little girl by the hand as though to protect her.

I tried again. “Can we talk?” It sounded more like the jet stream than it did like English, but the Mountain relaxed enough to let me grab a few cubic centimeters of air. He looked at Jessica, who was nodding faster than a presidential yes-man, and then at me.

“I guess so,” he said. Then, from a height of about two feet, he dropped me.

The one you want to talk to is Donnie,” said the Mountain, sitting on the sink.

“Is he the cute one with the guitar?” Jessica asked. She was perched, cross-legged and precarious, on the edge of the urinal. The Mountain had chosen the men's room as the site of our private talk. Since all the seats were taken, I was standing.

“Cute?” I said, massaging my ribs. I felt like a collapsed accordion.

“Sure,” she said. “You don't think he's cute?”

“Cute as a case of crabs,” I said.

“What's crabs?” Jessica asked. “I mean, I know what a crab is, but what's a case of crabs?”

“Little girl,” the Mountain said, “you don't need to know that yet.”

“Or maybe ever,” I added.

“Or maybe ever,” the Mountain agreed. “Anyway, he's the one who was tightest with her. Goddamn, she was pretty. Like to break my heart when she came in. Poor little Dottie.”

“So why do you think she didn't show up today?” I asked.

“Shit,” the Mountain said. “She hasn't come around for weeks. I just put the egg in the basket because I was hoping she was okay. Like magic, you know? If the egg was here, maybe she'd show up.” He made a hopeless gesture with his big hands.

‘‘How do you stand to work here?” I said.

“Well, once in a while I can make one of them call home. Then, maybe, I can make them go home. Anyway, Tommy's teaching me sumo.”

“How often does one of them go home?”

“Never,” he said.

“Why sumo?” Jessica said.

He looked from me to her. “I'm fat,” he said.

“You're big,” Jessica said, qualifying instantly for the United Nations. “Men are supposed to be big.”

The Mountain looked at her sadly. “Honey, I'm not big. I'm fat.” He looked back to me. “Is this joker really your godfather?”

“Ever since I was born.”

The Mountain stared down at the little yearbook picture of Aimee cradled in his enormous hand. It looked like a microchip. “Poor little Dottie,” he repeated.

“So how do I talk to Donnie?”

“I go get him, don't I?” He looked at the picture again, then sighed and hauled himself off the sink, which creaked gratefully. “I'll be back,” he said, giving me the picture as he opened the door.

“You're sweet,” Jessica said. The Mountain was blushing when he left. “I've never been in a men's room before.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“It's pretty seamy.” She leaned forward to see if she could peer under the wall of the stall surrounding the toilet.

“All part of your education.”

“Is this really what you do for a living?”

“I guess so.” At the moment I was wishing that Eleanor weren't in China and trying to figure out what to tell my parents and Roxanne, all of whom had expected me. I had a feeling it was going to be a late night.

“Can we sleep in town?” Jessica said. “I'd love to sleep in town.”

“Jessica,” I said. “I borrowed you. I didn't buy you.”

The door swung violently open, and Jessica lost her perch on the edge of the urinal. She went down, grabbing for support, and her hand splashed in the water. “Oh, no,” she said, sitting on the floor and staring at her wet hand. “Cooties and then some.”

“Wash it,” I said. The Mountain blossomed horribly in the doorway, looking like the Masque of the Fat Death, if there is such a thing. “He's gone,” he said.