4 Bodies and a Funeral

“Uh, yeah … ah, hell, come on up.” Then he disconnected the call.

Wesley waved to the concierge who knew his face, then walked to the elevator and pushed the call button. He shook his head, wondering what he’d find his friend involved in today. From the way the big guy was huffing and puffing, he might have a whole herd of prostitutes up there. His chubby buddy had a fat trust fund and made tons of money selling soft-core drugs and hard-core porn on the side. Chance worshipped vices and excess, and was fun as hell to be around.

On the ride up, Wesley mopped at his wet forehead with his sleeve. Just knowing he was close to the Oxy made him almost weak with relief. He jogged down the hall, then rapped on Chance’s door.

After a few seconds, the door opened and Wesley stared.

“Are you coming in, or what?”

Chance had answered his door in just about every outfit and stage of undress imaginable, but this one topped them all.

“What?” Chance looked down at his short, red, spandex unitard. “You’ve never seen exercise clothes before?”

“Not on you,” Wesley said. “The headband’s a nice touch.”

“Get in here, shithead.”

Wesley walked inside and closed the door. Chance climbed on a new treadmill that took up a big portion of the living room, and increased the speed until everything on him jiggled. In the stretchy suit and black high-top tennis shoes, he looked like an overweight superhero.

Wesley pulled on his chin. “What’s with the exercise kick, man?”

“Just thought I’d start taking better care of myself. This treadmill is great. I can work out and still watch TV.”

The big screen TV was playing porn, as usual.

“And look—” From the tray in front of the treadmill that was meant to hold a book, Chance picked up a reefer and lit it with a lighter. “I can get high while I exercise.”

“Nice,” Wesley said drily. “Does this have something to do with my sister’s friend Hannah calling you fat?”

“No.” Chance drew on the joint until his face turned red, then exhaled a stream of smoke. “Maybe. You put in a good word for me, didn’t you?”

“I will the next time I see her.” Wesley shook his head. The fierce and pierced Hannah would skewer Chance’s frat-boy ass and put an apple in his mouth before she ate him alive.

“Dude, I’ve got Grimes working on getting you into another card game. He knows he owes us since it was partly his fault we got cleaned out last time.”

“Okay, sure.” Wesley darted a look toward the cabinet where Chance kept his stock of pills.

Chance saw him looking. “Need some more OC?”

He tried to sound casual. “Yeah, but I don’t have any cash on me.”

“I’ll get it out of your winnings. It’s in the second drawer. Take what you want.”

Wesley was at the cabinet before his friend finished talking. “I’m going to need more of that urine screen, too.” To keep from testing positive when his probation officer asked for samples.

“Top drawer on the right.”

He pulled out a bag of the Oxy and felt a rush just holding a pill in his fingers. He popped one in his mouth and chewed to break the time-release coating. Instantly a feeling of euphoria bled through his chest and arms. As he floated toward oblivion, the thought slid into his mind that he’d forgotten to call Carlotta to tell her he wasn’t going to jail after all.

Oh, well, she was probably too busy having fun on her first day back to work to worry about him anyway.

5

Carlotta stopped by her locker for her purse and her cell phone, feeling miserable. At least the break room was empty—all employees had been dispatched in the aftermath of the disturbance.

Her dress was sticky and stiff and dotted with scorch marks from the sparklers on the cake. Cake and icing were everywhere—under her fingernails, inside her arm cast, in her bra. She winced as she turned toward the mirror, dreading the sight of herself.

She gasped in horror at her reflection. Bits of cake and icing clung to her face, eyebrows, chin and hair. She looked as if she’d been whitewashed.

The realization sent her running to the restroom to wash off what she could. She’d need mascara remover to get rid of the icing from her eyelashes, and a good exfoliant scrub to cleanse her pores. And she’d have to shampoo, rinse and repeat a couple of times to get the hardened mess out of her hair.

She dried her face and hands with paper towels, then checked her cell phone for messages. There were two messages from her friend Hannah, but nothing from Wesley. She dialed his phone but he didn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said into the mouthpiece, trying to sound upbeat. “Just wondering how things went today. Call me when you can.”

She disconnected the call, hoping against hope that Wesley wasn’t sitting in jail. Surely he or Liz would call her if the meeting had gone south, wouldn’t they? Carlotta bit her lip in frustration, tasting sugary remnants of icing. Swallowing her pride, she emerged from the break room to find the shimmering Maria Marquez waiting for her.

“Jack is pulling the car around,” the detective said, gesturing to a side exit.

Carlotta nodded and fell into step next to the woman, feeling like a crusty child who was being picked up from school to be driven home.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maria asked.

“Nothing a shower won’t fix,” Carlotta mumbled. “By the way, thanks for pulling me out of that mess.”

“No problem.”

When they got to the exit, Maria held open the door, like the parent. Carlotta walked through to see Jack’s black sedan sitting at the curb. She headed for the front passenger seat, but he intercepted her by getting out and circling to the back.

“I put down something for you to sit on,” he said. From his sweeping gesture, one would’ve thought he’d rolled out a red carpet for her instead of crinkled pages of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

“Thanks,” she said as she climbed in.

“Buckle up,” he said cheerfully, then closed the door.

She fastened the seat belt and watched as the two of them slid into their seats simultaneously, then checked mirrors, visors and their radios like a choreographed dance. They seemed to be perfectly in sync with each other, she noticed irritably. When the car pulled away, they conversed in low tones, as if they didn’t want Carlotta to hear what they were saying.

“Is it true that Eva McCoy has received death threats?” Carlotta piped up.

Jack adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see her. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s all over the Internet.”

He frowned. “I thought one of the terms of Wesley’s probation is that he can’t have computers at home.”

Carlotta frowned back. “We don’t have a computer at home. A coworker told me she saw the rumor online. Is that why you two were there?”

“No comment,” Jack said.