Plugged

‘Detective,’ says Deacon, tossing me the handcuffs from her belt.

‘You don’t want to do this.’

‘You’re a mind reader now, McEvoy? Those needles on your head some kind of antennae?’

That’s two hair jokes. I’m counting.

‘There are bad people after me, Deacon. You leave me here in restraints and I’m dead.’

Deacon shrugs and her breasts wobble, which some part of me can’t help noticing.

‘Don’t shrug. I’m fighting for my life here.’

‘You’re losing. Nice and tight now.’

Her eyes are golden and steady; she’s not changing her mind.

‘At least let me have the hat.’

Finally a smile; not the happy kind.

‘Look at you, McEvoy. Big sharpshootin’ soldier going to pieces without his hat. Didn’t seem to bother you earlier.’

‘Earlier, I had distractions.’

I swear her smile softens a degree; could be my imagination.

‘Yeah, distractions.’ Then the ice is back. ‘Now cuff yourself to the goddamn radiator or I will hobble you with a leg shot.’

I hate that word. Hobble. Halfway between hobbit and gobble, which for some reason does not conjure an appealing picture.

‘You’re not going to shoot me. We just. .’

Deacon’s finger creaks on the trigger. ‘We just what? I shot Josie and I’ve been sleeping with her for eight months.’

I pick up the cuffs but never get the chance to fasten them on my wrists.

Deacon is multitasking when Mrs Delano comes through the door holding a steaming tray of lasagne. The detective has her gun on me and one big toe through the band of her panties. It is without doubt the most surreal moment of my life.

‘I hope you don’t mind me calling so early, Mister McEvoy,’ chirps Delano, made up like Cyndi Lauper circa ‘True Colours’. ‘Your friend, the nice repair man, gave me your new key, so I did a little cleaning up.’

This is not the Mrs Delano I know. This person is actually smiling; there are teeth involved. The outfit has shoulder pads you could launch a jet from, but nevertheless she’s wearing outdoor clothing. For a moment I think that Delano has taken a beating, but then I realise she’s been a little liberal with the mascara. She looks like a crying stripper, but there’s light in her eyes. And not the usual death lasers; a warm light.

My neighbour doesn’t notice anything off for a minute. She has her downcast eyes/bashful face on and is smiling a teenager’s lovesick smile. Fixing the window, that’s what brought this on.

‘I know you eat at the club,’ she says. ‘But I thought we could watch a movie later this evening, Daniel, maybe split this lasagne. I baked it myself, we can reheat.’

Deacon freezes, one leg up, arse to the door. God help me if I laugh now.

‘What do you say, Dan? You want to spend some time with your best girl?’

‘Absolutely,’ I reply. Why, I have no idea.

In the fraction of a second left before someone gets hurt, I play out a dozen possible outcomes to this ridiculous situation. In the best-case scenario, I get shot in the dick. In the worst, I get shot in the dick and one of my balls.

Mrs Delano’s eyes land on the naked policewoman in my apartment. There is a beautiful Kodak moment of silence, then everyone starts yelling at the same time.

‘Hold on now, ma’am,’ says Deacon. ‘Police business.’

‘Get down, Delano,’ I shout. ‘On the floor.’

Mrs Delano’s cheeks pump up and turn crimson. I half expect flames to shoot out of her ears.

Deacon has got it covered; she’s a professional and her feet are planted in a wide stance now, but Delano throws her with: ‘I stacked your toilet rolls! Bastard!’

Deacon rears back like she’s been bitten on the nose, and she shoots me a glance that says what the hell have you and this crazy lady got going on?

The glance is her mistake, because Delano attacks, steaming lasagne borne aloft.

I cover my balls, because melted cheese sticks. Tough as Deacon is, there isn’t a naked person on this planet who isn’t scared of hot pasta, so she gives Delano her full attention and shoots the dish right out of her hands. There’s a bechamel explosion, minced steak spatters the wall like buckshot and I make my move.

I get off the floor fast, pistoning my legs like I’m coming out of a squat. Deacon already knows what’s happening, but she’s not fast enough to get the gun around. She screams in frustration, then I have her against the wall, cuffs snicked over her wrists, gun smothered in my fist.

‘This is kidnapping,’ she spits. ‘I am a friendly with a badge. Do you really want to throw that away?’

Friendly? Most of my friends don’t aim their weapons at my privates. Most.

Delano is still coming. She’s screaming too, something about me being just as bad as all the others, which wouldn’t be so bad except for the glass shards she’s swinging with every word. Deacon isn’t calming down either; she’s bucking like there’s a scorpion on her back, and trying her damnedest to get a heel into my crotch.

I have no alternative but to play into Mrs Delano’s fantasy.

‘Thank God you’re here, darling,’ I say, hoping she’s too far gone to notice my atrocious acting. ‘This woman tried to assault me. You saw the gun. Look, handcuffs.’

Delano’s eyes fog over and she stutters to a halt, gobs of lasagne dripping from her hands, splatting on to my good rug. I wince but don’t mention it.

‘Handcuffs?’

I push Deacon’s head into the wall as gently as I can, covering the side of her face with my palm. I’ve had relationships go wrong before, but never this fast. ‘Yeah. Can you believe it? I woke up to find this crazy lady holding a gun on me.’

‘Crazy lady,’ says Delano slowly. ‘I’ve heard that phrase before.’

‘I bet you have, you fucking lunatic,’ Deacon says, spitting the words through mashed lips.

‘You shut your filthy mouth,’ orders Delano, and without hesitation clocks Deacon on the crown with the corner of Pyrex dish in her hand. The blow has surprising muscle in it, and Detective Deacon goes limp in my arms.

‘Sorry, baby. Did I catch your finger there?’

Baby? ‘Ah. . no, I’m fine.’

‘Do you think we should kill her? Cut her up like in the movies? I have an electric carving knife. Penis looks good, baby.’

I lower Deacon on to the rug, then hurriedly pull on some pants, very uncomfortable with my penis being mentioned in the same breath as an electric carving knife.

‘No. No need to kill her. She’s confused, that’s all.’

Delano winks at me, or maybe it’s just hard to keep that eyelid open with all the mascara trowelled on to it.

‘Maybe she heard about Mister Pee-Pee and came to see for herself.’

‘M. . maybe,’ I stutter. ‘Whatever the reason, this woman has problems. We need to be compassionate, show understanding.’

‘Or slice her head off. I have plastic bags.’

Sure. We could toss her in the car beside her partner, then drive to the mall where I dumped Macey and line up all three bodies together in the Lexus. Hell, why not steal Connie’s corpse from the morgue to complete the set?

Mrs Delano squeezes my arm.

‘I’m kidding, Dan. It’s my crazy sense of humour. That’s why you love me.’ Her face is glowing. She looks young. ‘Remember that time you fixed my window? That was when I knew.’

I am not qualified to deal with this. Why does everyone I meet seem to have mental problems?

Ah. . but did they have mental problems before meeting you? Who’s the common denominator here, Dan?