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Authors: Jerry Stahl
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bleeding eyeballs and lip foam—when she heard the call-waiting beep. She asked Mister Edward to hang on and hit Flash.
“Tina, it’s me,” said Manny immediately. “What are you wear ing?”
“Manny, really, I’m on the line with the funeral home. Is this one of
those calls?”
“One of what calls? I just heard there’s a reporter coming to your house. I wanted to make sure you look like a grieving widow.”
“Well, I usually answer the door in hot pants and a SPANK ME
T-shirt, but if you think that’s a bad idea, I’ll change.”
“Change back when I come over. Meanwhile, I’m just telling you, I got the word. A woman from the Trumpet is on her way.”
“Don’t they call first?”
“Not after a death. People might tell them to fuck off. Anyway, you should try and look, I don’t know... .”
“Sad?”
“Start off sad, then get angry. Those people love it when you throw them out. It shows you’re sincere.”
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, and silently thanked himself for making the call from the Thrifty Drugs pay phone. Fayton loved to tape calls from the station, and the transcript of this one would be hard to explain.
“You want,” said Tina, “I can throw myself on the floor and rent my hair, then hit her with a table leg. But right now I gotta go.”
“No, wait.” Manny swallowed and paused. “Just one more thing. I have to ask, what about insurance?”
“What about it?”
“Did Marvin have any? You know, is there anything coming to you?”
“He didn’t believe in it,” she answered. “His theory was, if you really believed in eternal life, life insurance was a waste of cash.”
Manny was beyond relieved. Now there really wasn’t any press ing motive. One more reason to let it ride as suicide. A pregnant widow left with nothing .... Who’d want to make her life any more miserable?
“Wait,” Tina said, in a tone he hadn’t heard before, something harder and tougher fortifying her words. “Do you remember what I showed you in the car?”
“That’s not something you forget.” “Well, that’s my insurance.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, and plunged on before he could summon one of the eight zillion reasons for stopping before things went any further. “You’re going to need some.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re pregnant,” he told her. “And you’re going to name the baby Marvin, in case anybody asks.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said choking up on cue. “Now I wish I had told him. Maybe then, he could have found a reason to live.” She sounded so convincing, Manny got a chill. “You’re scaring me.”
“I scare myself,” Tina said.
She clicked off without saying good-bye, and Manny wondered just what it was he thought he was doing. This woman had just murdered her husband, and now he was conspiring with her. Oh well .... He sighed and checked his watch. Que sera fucking sera.
For an extra second, Manny hunkered in the phone booth and took in his fellow losers milling around the prescription window. He made two home boys for stone dope fiends—the fellas liked to take the edge off with Tussionex, cough syrup of the gods, when smack was scarce— and made a jumpy young skeleton with a boob job as a mommy speed freak, no doubt stealing Ritalin from the hyperactive twins pounding the shit out of each other with Tonka toys while she fine-tuned her eyeliner. Manny’s own scrip was under a name he’d momentarily for gotten. He had a few different ones, in different parts of town. If this was Thrifty’s, he was Martino. That was it. The name of the mortuary advertising on the bus bench in front of the Thrifty minimall.
“I apologize,” Tina was saying to Mister Edward, who’d been on hold, “there are just so many loose ends to tie up. I’ve forgotten my manners under all this stress.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, a man of studied intonation. “Under the circumstances,
“Tina, it’s me,” said Manny immediately. “What are you wear ing?”
“Manny, really, I’m on the line with the funeral home. Is this one of
those calls?”
“One of what calls? I just heard there’s a reporter coming to your house. I wanted to make sure you look like a grieving widow.”
“Well, I usually answer the door in hot pants and a SPANK ME
T-shirt, but if you think that’s a bad idea, I’ll change.”
“Change back when I come over. Meanwhile, I’m just telling you, I got the word. A woman from the Trumpet is on her way.”
“Don’t they call first?”
“Not after a death. People might tell them to fuck off. Anyway, you should try and look, I don’t know... .”
“Sad?”
“Start off sad, then get angry. Those people love it when you throw them out. It shows you’re sincere.”
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, and silently thanked himself for making the call from the Thrifty Drugs pay phone. Fayton loved to tape calls from the station, and the transcript of this one would be hard to explain.
“You want,” said Tina, “I can throw myself on the floor and rent my hair, then hit her with a table leg. But right now I gotta go.”
“No, wait.” Manny swallowed and paused. “Just one more thing. I have to ask, what about insurance?”
“What about it?”
“Did Marvin have any? You know, is there anything coming to you?”
“He didn’t believe in it,” she answered. “His theory was, if you really believed in eternal life, life insurance was a waste of cash.”
Manny was beyond relieved. Now there really wasn’t any press ing motive. One more reason to let it ride as suicide. A pregnant widow left with nothing .... Who’d want to make her life any more miserable?
“Wait,” Tina said, in a tone he hadn’t heard before, something harder and tougher fortifying her words. “Do you remember what I showed you in the car?”
“That’s not something you forget.” “Well, that’s my insurance.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, and plunged on before he could summon one of the eight zillion reasons for stopping before things went any further. “You’re going to need some.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re pregnant,” he told her. “And you’re going to name the baby Marvin, in case anybody asks.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said choking up on cue. “Now I wish I had told him. Maybe then, he could have found a reason to live.” She sounded so convincing, Manny got a chill. “You’re scaring me.”
“I scare myself,” Tina said.
She clicked off without saying good-bye, and Manny wondered just what it was he thought he was doing. This woman had just murdered her husband, and now he was conspiring with her. Oh well .... He sighed and checked his watch. Que sera fucking sera.
For an extra second, Manny hunkered in the phone booth and took in his fellow losers milling around the prescription window. He made two home boys for stone dope fiends—the fellas liked to take the edge off with Tussionex, cough syrup of the gods, when smack was scarce— and made a jumpy young skeleton with a boob job as a mommy speed freak, no doubt stealing Ritalin from the hyperactive twins pounding the shit out of each other with Tonka toys while she fine-tuned her eyeliner. Manny’s own scrip was under a name he’d momentarily for gotten. He had a few different ones, in different parts of town. If this was Thrifty’s, he was Martino. That was it. The name of the mortuary advertising on the bus bench in front of the Thrifty minimall.
“I apologize,” Tina was saying to Mister Edward, who’d been on hold, “there are just so many loose ends to tie up. I’ve forgotten my manners under all this stress.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, a man of studied intonation. “Under the circumstances,
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