Part 6 - Goldi: The Three Bears

The apartment — our apartment — was pitch black when I slammed through the door, the neon from the alley casting weird shadows across the kitchen table. I stopped so suddenly my purse slid down my bare arm and skidded across the floor, spilling its contents. I blinked, glaring around, and ripped off my dress. It was wet, heavy, and I hurried across the room and tossed it into the kitchen sink to deal with later. I should have just thrown it out then, but…

I pushed aside the beaded curtain and stepped inside our coffin of a bathroom and had to clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.

The woman in the mirror was gory, flecked, splattered with blood. I could feel it drying on my arms, how it crusted in the crook of my neck. I gagged and couldn’t stop gagging, my hands shaking so violently that undressing seemed impossible, but I never once thought of her face. Not once. I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t now. Just needed to keep my eyes closed, head down, let it all wash away.

I was still in the shower on my hands and knees with scalding water pounding my back when I heard the first refrains of music from the living room. A baritone rumble like a train in the distance.

“Little Red Riding Hood, you sure are looking good…”

I looked up, wiped my face with my palm and climbed to my feet. “Fuck.”

“You’re everything a big bad wolf could want….”

He was sitting on my couch with my bloody dress in his massive paw when I peeked around the corner, clutching a towel to my dripping body. He didn’t look up, just a swatch of matted brown hair and a pair of blue overalls, as if he’d come straight from work. “I never did think Red was a good look for you, Goldi.”

I stepped into the room, pushed a few strands of my wet, golden mop out of my face. “Papa Bear.” I forced a smile. “How ya doing?”

“You know, I never did care for that nickname.”

I lifted an arm, pointed toward my bedroom. “I’m just going to –”

“Sit down.”

I dropped into the leather recliner where we used to — no, not now. Can’t think about her now. No words. I just needed to concentrate. Focus on him.

“I’d like you to explain why you’ve a bloody dress in your sink,” he said, still without looking at me.

I’d like you to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my flat.

“It’s a long story, Papa… um, Steve.” I tucked the towel tighter around my breasts, pulled my legs up underneath me. A small target, as small as I could make myself. “How exactly did you get in here? Why? Why are you here?” Keep him talking. Get him out.

“Steve is dead.”

I blinked. See, that was the whole reason why I had nicknamed them Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear in the first place: three gay men living together all named Steve. This Steve was the burliest of them, brown hair from head to foot, over six feet tall like a grizzly, and a temper to match.

“Which Steve?”

He glanced up finally, his black eyes and voracious stare reinforcing his nickname. “Both of them.”

Shit.

“The cottage is,” he hung his head again, gripping the dress so hard I thought he would rip it apart. I could see the blood squeezed between his fingers. “Let’s just say I can’t go back there. I’m going to need to lay low. Stay with you for a while.”

I shook my head, sitting up straight. “You can’t.” I held up a hand as he opened his mouth in protest. “It’s really not a good time, Steve, I’m sorry.”

He held up my dress, twisting his wrist so the bloody bits fell forward, glowing even redder in the twittering neon lights of the back street bar across the way. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

I sighed, sat back, pulled my legs in tighter.

“What have you done this time?” he asked. “Where’s Red?”

“Something just as bad, I bet, as you’ve done,” I told him. “And you’re going to help me make it just right.”

Papa Bear stood in the bedroom doorway, his bearded face in shadow, watching me pee. I’d given up on modesty after we’d finished the whiskey. He wasn’t into girls anyway.

“This bed is too small,” he said.

I pushed past him, yawned, slipped into a pink thong. I looked longingly at the bed Red and I had shared for the past year. I bet if I laid down in it and breathed deep I could still smell her, feel the indentation of her in the mattress. The thought made my stomach flare, and I turned away, aware of the bear staring at me.

“The couch then,” I told him and struggled into a soft yellow tank top that set off my golden hair and my tits. “Take a nice nap; I’m going to try and figure out what the hell to -”

A knock at the front door made both of us turn. I pushed my way past Papa Bear, and he closed the bedroom door after me. Some sense of modesty he had; I still wasn’t even wearing back when I opened the door.

“Who is it?” I sang, knowing damn well who it had to be. The pigs.

“Police,” squeaked a voice, just as the door creaked open. Two of them; two little piggies glaring as if they wanted to blow my house down. I leaned my forehead against the door, let them take it all in — wet blonde locks falling around my shoulder, baby doll tank with my nipples pushing up at attention, and a long set of gams that ended in toes they’d give their paycheck to suck on: Keep it together, Goldi. You’ve dealt with pigs before.

“Officers,” I bared my teeth at them as they pushed past me into the apartment. “This is a surprise. I’m not on until later at the club; come by, and I’ll be sure to give you Smiley’s special discount. I’m afraid I don’t do house calls.”

The two little piggies looked around my place, their faces blankly identical. I thought I could hear the beginning rumblings of Papa Bear from my bedroom.

“We’re afraid we have some bad news, miss,” the first little piggy said, not meeting my eye.

“Oh? Are my tags expired? Mug stole my car last year, so it’s not that.”

“You might want to s-s-sit down,” said the smaller of the pigs, a little guy around my size. He kept looking around, unwilling to look at me. Shifty, beady little eyes. A pig’s eyes.

I made a big production of twisting my hands together as I sat on the couch, glancing quickly down to make sure my dress was nowhere to be found, but we’d thrown it in the trash. Just had to get it out of here before someone snooped. And that meant I needed to get these fools out of here first.

“What is it, officers? What can I help you with?” I asked, making sure to let my voice waver a bit, my eyes widen.

“You work at Smiley’s Cabaret, right, miss?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “But I’m not a dancer.”

“You are familiar with a young woman who does dance there, goes by the name of Red?”

I swallowed. Hearing this pig say her name sent crackles of pain and lust sparking through my body, and my throat closed. I didn’t have to fake this response. “Yes,” I whispered.

The pigs exchanged glances.

“We’re afraid she was murdered tonight, miss,” the first piggy said, and genuine sorrow flashed in his squinty black eyes. He must have been an admirer. “We have to ask you to come down to the station to answer a few questions.”

I put my hand to my mouth. “Me? But wait — did you say murdered? As in, killed?”

They looked at each other again, something passing between them. “Yes. Now, if you’ll just come with us….”

I stood, and my watery knees and shaking hands surprised even me. I pointed feebly toward my bedroom. “I just need to grab my purse.”

“And pants, ma’am. Please.”

I tried to get my facts straight in my head on the ride to the station, but all I could think about was my last moments with Red: how her lips parted in a silent, wet gasp, her blood hot and slick on my skin, her still form splayed on the disgusting concrete of that alley behind Smiley’s. Her face pale, eyes wide open and staring up at that goddamn light bulb, snug in its metal mesh.

I accepted the pig’s hand, and he helped me from the back of the squad car. When I looked up, rain falling lightly on my face and webbing my hair, I saw him: Wolfe stood just outside the station door, lighting an Ultra, and that’s when I remembered it. The flare of his match against the craggy cut of his face caused flashes of memory to slam into me, and I reeled just enough that the pig had to put a hand on my elbow.

I stared at Wolfe, and when he met my gaze, I could hear the screaming again, hear Red’s husky tones as she said, over and over: No. No more. I’m done, I’m leaving.

I blinked and ducked my head as we moved past Wolfe and into the station.

I knew what I had to do.

I rolled the coffee cup between my hands, trying to warm them up. I didn’t see any reason why they had to keep it so damned cold in this place. But, me wearing a bra was proving to be a bit of a distraction for the pigs, a distraction I played up. The waterworks and my cheap mascara did the rest.

“So you’re saying that you and the victim have been having an affair for the past year?”

I looked up at the cop, who had his fat arms crossed over a chest blessed with bigger boobs than I have. “It wasn’t an affair. We lived together. We were in love.” I dropped my eyes, saw her looking back up at me

“Riiiiight,” drawled the second pig. “Then why does Wolfe tell us he’s been seeing her, too? That she was his girlfriend?”

The thought of Red with that drunk fuck made my fingers curl, and the paper cup collapsed in my grip. Coffee erupted over my fingers and scalded the backs of my hands, but I didn’t feel it.

“She dumped him long ago. He’s lying to you,” I said to the floor, watching the coffee pool between my sandals.

“What makes you say that?”

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I heard them arguing at the club last night, before I left. He was yelling at her. He always yells at her. He yelled at her for years, which is why she was with me.”

I glanced up and saw the cops staring at each other, little piggy eyes dark until the single swinging bulb. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. He’s mental. He’s a drunk. And he spends like every waking minute at Smiley’s just watching Red, or waiting for her, even when she won’t talk to him.” I snapped my fingers and looked up. “Hey — isn’t he a cop? Isn’t he a cop here at this precinct? He was at Smiley’s. And he’s got motive.”

“Now let’s not make accusations,” the fat pig started.

“He’s on suspension,” the little pig chirped.

“The point is,” the fat pig said loudly, his jowls jiggling as his mouth moved, “that you heard them arguing? What about?”

I licked my lips and swallowed hard, as if this was beyond difficult for me to talk about, which it was. “Yeah. She was leaving. For good this time.” I set the crumpled coffee cup on the table. Initials. “I guess he couldn’t take it.”

Papa Bear was waiting for me when I emerged from questioning, his furry elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging over his clenched fists. He looked up, red-eyed and glowering.

“You always look so happy to see me,” I said, dropping into the plastic chair beside him.

“You’re always in some sort of trouble I have to save you from,” he returned.

I rolled my eyes. “I’d hardly say you saved me from anything.”

“Miss Lachs,” Bad Cop calls to me from the hallway, “don’t forget, we’ll need you back here tomorrow for the rest of your written statement. And don’t go leaving town, now — that wouldn’t look good for you.”

I nodded and gave a wave with my hand, which flipped into the bird once he turned his back. “Dumbass,” I muttered. I patted Papa Bear on the knee. “Let’s go.”

He stood with a rumbling groan, stretched. “They’re letting you go?”

“For now.” I moved to the rain-streaked window and looked down. In the mouth of the alley, Wolfe stood alone, surrounded by a cloud of gray smoke, the singular flare of a match blazing in front of his face. I watched as he lit the cigarette and took a long pull. “My, what big teeth you have.”