((ooc: This thread takes place mid to late March. Continued from
The New Year’s Special. Guest-starring the grandmother Hull denies he has.))
The answering machine
beeped as she reached for the leash. It was pink, with a little silver clip. The machine was an old relic of by-gone days, when cell phones hadn’t reigned supreme.
But she hadn’t been answering her cell phone, either.
“Rupert, please. Pick up. Or… for Christ’s sake, just call me back. Look, I know you—” James’ hushed himself; she could just picture the man on the other end of the line, furtively cupping his palm around the receiver. “I know you took it. You’re not… I—have there been side effects? Is that what this is about? Listen, you’re still you. We can work through this. Just… let me know you’re still alive, okay?”
Another beep, and the machine went dead. Flipsy spun in a little circle on the floor, dancing between hand and leash as she tried to get the little poodle-spaniel clipped in. Easier said than done, with gloves on. They didn’t quite fit right: too big, by just a small margin. A man’s medium, when she needed a woman’s.
The dog park was a few blocks away, near her church. She hadn’t stepped foot in there since before New Year’s: you could call it a resolution, of sorts. She didn’t glance at it as she went by. It was a nice day out: the kind that tempted people to go outside without a coat, though they’d regret it about a half-hour later. The sun was out, the snow was almost all melted into dirty piles of road salt and lost pocket change, and the men of the park knew damn well to leave the Italian woman with the poodle alone.
A good day.
“Ms. Kelly. Don’t you look like a little tramp.” A dry old voice crackled.
“Mrs. Darling. Good to see you.” She meant it, too: there was something hard to dislike about the old woman.
“Still borrowing clothes out of your brother’s closet? You know there’s a Good Will on third. Get yourself some clothes from the dollar bin.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Darling. I’ll keep that in mind.” On the ground, Flipsy stood in front of her master, teeth defensively bared. The old woman’s black poodle growled sweet death threats and promises across the sidewalk. With a few more pleasantries, the dog owners went their separate ways, tugging their growling toy pooches behind them.
Such a nice old woman.
Back at the apartment, she hit
Delete All on her machine, killing its flashing red light. The pink leash went back to its hook on the wall. She checked the clock: 6:00 PM. Still a few hours left.
She went into her bedroom, and unscrewed the cover on the vent over her bed. She fished her hand around the bend, and came back with a black case. Cleaning the gun took a meticulous hour.
Then dinner, and getting dressed. She looked herself over in the mirror: the suit was a little loose, but all in all: not too bad.
Rupert tucked the gun into its holster, and settled the black fedora on her head. Hazel eyes flashed from under the brim. Not too bad, at all.
