Job or death in Philadelphia

Shumkova Lilia

Joe trotted back to his car, got another boxy white thing, and dumped it next to the first one.

"Get in the car," he commanded, though it took him more than a second to get inside and start the engine. He wheeled back to the right side of the road, turned on the headlights, and lit his cigarette.

"What did we just do?" I squeaked.

"Take this, you need it." He gave me his cigarette.

I don't smoke, but neither do I dump things on people's front lawns; so, the cigarette felt like the right thing to do.

"How was it?" my boss asked.

"Terrifying!"

"Yeah… Especially when I tooted my horn in the middle of the operation. Everything because it was so secretive."

"What was it?"

"My old toilet tank."

My cigarette flew out when I coughed. "Your toilet tank? You woke me up in the middle of the night to dump your toilet tank on other people's property?"

"You have to understand, I was too embarrassed to put them in front of my office. These rich people have so many kids, it's natural for them to throw out toilet tanks. Nobody would give a shit about it. And I'm a lawyer. I have clients coming. I have done so much work, by the way, since you left. I installed two new toilet tanks. Now, the toilet flush sounds like a military jet."

"So, that was the important business you needed to do. That's why you didn't come for dinner. That's why you didn't want to discuss Debbie's case with me!"

Toilet tanks did me in. From now on, I will investigate everything myself without Joe's help. I will just report the results. I will never let him know how I got my information. And I knew just where to start: Debbie's new house and her neighbors.

Next morning, I slept through my husband leaving for work, and didn't wake up for my children's breakfast. It was ten when I finally opened my eyes and dragged myself to the kitchen. After my nocturnal dumping trip, I felt out of place, as if I had just come in from Europe.

"Sleeping in today?" Larissa's voice had a sarcastic undertone to it. "You don't look good. You know, it's destructive for a woman of our age to spend nights out. Here, your cup of strong coffee."

"Thanks, Larissa. Did the girls behave this morning?"

"They were unusually quiet. I think your absence stressed them out. A daily routine is more important for children than anything else. They expected you to see them off, and as always, you weren't there for them. Have a piece of toast with your coffee. Don't just gulp it down. It's bad for your stomach." She gracefully put her fingers through her curly strawberry hairdo. She might be well into her sixties, but she insisted on looking forty-five.

I fixed myself toast and jam, watching how a secret thought was boiling inside the old lady like soda mixed with lemon juice.

"You know, Rachel," she finally gave up. "You know, I like to read before going to bed. I only read very good authors like Dan Brown. There is no point wasting your life on anything inferior. I mean horrors or mysteries."

I nodded in complete agreement.

"Though last night I was reading a very interesting historical novel about a great medieval artist. You wouldn't know his name, anyway.... Suddenly, I heard some noise. Heavy footfalls… It was two o'clock in the morning. Of course, I rushed to check on the girls. You know, I am a highly responsible and dependable person. And I got a glimpse of you, in this yellow jacket, getting into your red car and driving away." She wrinkled her lips disapprovingly.

"So?"

"It's not any of my business, of course, but I believe Alexander noticed your absence." Burning with curiosity, Larissa bent over the table and knocked down her cup with her skinny, sharp elbow.

"I'll talk to him." I stood up abruptly and left, leaving the poor old lady to brew in her own sauce.

CHAPTER 5

Debbie's current address was written in my memory in huge letters, and yet, being an exemplary assistant, I gave my boss an unanswered phone call, and only then did I set off for my trip.

It took me about an hour to get there. Why Deborah got a job in Center City to drive from New Jersey remained a mystery to me. The town's main street had a shopping center and a used car dealership. I stopped at McDonald's to use a bathroom and to grab something to eat. Larissa had an amazing ability to poison mealtime, and after a couple of skipped breakfasts, the whole idea of having a grandmotherly figure in the family didn't look so wise anymore. But try to tell this to Alexander! To have a live-in grandma is part of a healthy and happy childhood, and nothing could change his mind. I went in, munched down chicken salad, and followed it with soft ice cream to get my daily sugar fix. No matter what they say, fast food is a mood-altering substance, and it always works for me in stressful times.

Pulling in, I saw a couple of trucks and minivans. Right after me, a decrepit maroon Honda had pulled in and parked next to my Jag. The Honda's driver hadn't gotten out, just pulled down the windows.

Now walking back to my car, I peeked at the maroon car on the right. The driver, a very young blond man with sharp cheekbones, ate a sandwich. His car looked like a dump, with all those papers and clothes and newspapers swamping its seats. Even the car radio sounded fuzzy and out of tune, transmitting some weird talk show, as if several men were talking at once, describing their location and little observations: "12:15 Object One is in the parking lot," or "12:15 Object Ten stays at the office."

My sparkly clean Jag felt like a safe haven. Somehow, seeing other people's misery makes me appreciate what I have more. I drove back onto Main Street looking for Pike Road, finally spotted it and turned at the last moment. I found the number 2550 right away. It was especially easy, since several police cars were parked along the quiet street as a free attraction for a few local viewers.

Debbie shouldn't see me yet. That's why, getting ready in the morning, I put on my daughter's clothes: blue bellbottoms and a t-shirt with a yellow windbreaker. My red hair I hid under an NYU baseball cap. It was a decent outfit to become invisible in any crowd. The moment I approached Debbie's place, the entrance door opened, letting out two cops and a tall middle-aged man with cuffed hands. The man looked back at the house and smiled. He looked intelligent and handsome, and a little run down, like an old brick Georgian house.

"What's going on here?" I asked a woman in sweatpants and a t-shirt standing on the lawn.

"Her ex just got arrested for trespassing." She turned her head.

"Is it Debbie's ex?"

"Do you know her?" Ms. Sweatpants turned to me completely. Her gray and brown hair wildly went up in spirals.

Before I came up with a lie, the cops searching Debbie's ex's metallic Pathfinder popped its trunk and removed a long semi-automatic gun. They asked him for a gun permit; "In the glove compartment," he answered. After sorting through his papers, they found the permit. The police officers placed the gun in the trunk of the police cruiser and took off, leaving one behind to console Debbie.