Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Background
Zee takes in the troubled son of a friend. No good deed goes unpunished. The druggy guy seduces Biggie, Zee�¢??s young ward. After ditching movie night to go clubbing, Biggie disappears.
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Life is lived in seconds and remembered as moments. As in "a moment of crisis." Our moment of crisis stretched into days, one on top of the other like a lopsided sandcastle. Only to be washed out to sea with the evening tide.
After two months, hope dissolved into resignation. Biggie had disappeared after Nick's savage beating, and now all we could do was wait.
But resignation did not come without the natural stages of grief. Oh, no, there were stages.
Strategic lists were made. Assignments were given. Nightly reports served with gin and tonic turned into accusations, mixed with anger and reprisals--hit repeat.
Possible sightings led to euphoria followed by crushing disappointment. The reward for information increased incrementally, equal to our desperation.
We consoled ourselves with the daily confirmation that her body had not turned up in the morgue and intentionally avoided speculation that she might be a victim of sex trafficking or chained to a wall in a basement of some deranged sadist. Not that we didn't think it. We just refused to say the words out loud.
All normal activities ceased. Finding Biggie was all there was to do. That and the wringing of our hands and the mingling of our tears with shampoo and body soap.
To our credit, we avoided crying in front of each other. And I know that may sound silly, certainty not newsworthy, but it kept us from demonstrating our ever-increasing fear that she might never again sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV and chew her toenails. A disgusting habit I would sacrifice a year of my life to see again. Make that two years.
We were like runners in a relay race. We took turns passing the baton of hope. As one of us succumbed to despair, another would step forward with renewed spirit.
On day 28, word came that Ike The Spike had been released from the hospital and spirited away to an island in Greece to undergo physical therapy. Hiding out from the bangers who beat him for non-payment of funds owed would be closer to the truth.
Whatever the reason, taking him out of the country relieved Q's consuming desire to disassemble him and feed his parts to the fishes. I reassured him that there would come a reckoning, but first, we find Biggie.
On day 63, the phone rang at 10 AM. Weary from running down false leads, no one jumped to answer the call. After a half dozen rings, Q picked up.
"Hello," he said. "Yes," he said. "Fifty thousand," he said. Then he listened.
I looked at Stella. She stared at Q as he picked up a legal pad, turned to a fresh page, and wrote down a phone number, name, and address.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Keep her there," he said and hung up the phone.
His absence of excitement was apparent.
"So, you think it's her?" I asked.
"I don't know. The girl this man is talking about is about 4-5 months pregnant."
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out onto the city. "Well, shit. It can't be her," I said.
"Yes, it could," Stella said matter of factly.
I sat back down and stared at Q. He stared at Stella.
No one spoke. The only sound, a constant tick-tock coming from a cheap knockoff cuckoo clock, Stella gave me for Christmas. A definite eyesore and one I would have gladly shit-canned had Biggie not fallen in love with the little plastic bird who made haphazard appearances and never on the hour.
And ... as if by some divine intervention by Father Time, little Tweety scooted out its door and cuckooed. Not a regular cuckoo, not cute, and sweet. No, this time, it sounded sinister with a mocking tone in a minor key.
In one swift move, I snatched it from its perch and hurled it across the room.
Bye bye Birdy. Hello, madness.
Author Notes
Zee: Author of cheap paperback novels. Rich, eccentric old cougar living in a condo in downtown Chicago.
Biggie: Filipino. Zeeâ??s unofficially adopted daughter. Computer guru. Eighteen but diagnosed with arrested emotional development and speech dysphasia after suffering a brutal beating as a child.
Stella: Thirty-something housekeeper. She lives with Zee. She Drives a motorcycle. She moved from her grandparent's farm in Oklahoma to Chicago in search of her birth mother.
Q: Big, mean, and beautiful. He lives in a condo next to Zee. Occupation, bodyguard, chauffeur, cook, and anything else zee needs. Upper crust educated. African American.
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