Freaky Deaky

"We also have a matter, this lady called. Say she gonna blow you up if you don't give her some money."

Donnell waited for the man's mind to work and put this and that together. Like he fooled with the Alpha-Bits floating in his milk sometimes, trying to make a word out of the letters.

"The lady that called put the bomb in the swimming pool?"

"Imagine she's the one."

"Is it gonna go off?"

"I don't know. That's why I say we have to get us a bomb man."

"Call the police, they'll take care of it."

"I'm afraid of what she'd do. You know, like she might be a crazy woman and it would set her off."

Right then Beaver's mama on the TV, a cute woman, began fussing at Mr.

Beaver, giving him some shit. Doing it just at the right time.

The man shook his head, didn't know what to think.

Had an idea then and said, "Was it Robin that called?"

"I suspect, but I don't know her voice."

"How much does she want?"

Here we go.

"Say she like two million, cash money, no checks. Get it from the bank and have it ready."

Look at the man blink his eyes.

"Yeah, she say to have it ready. You know, like in a box? See, then when she phones again, to tell us the time and place she wants it? You suppose to give it to me and I deliver it."

What happened: when Wendell didn't show up, Maureen called Homicide from the manager's ground floor apartment. The manager, a sour old man, stood at a window watching for Robin, bifocals gleaming when he turned his head, more interested in Maureen. Chris was reading the Bureau report on Robin Abbott, times and places in it familiar. He heard Maureen say, irritated, "Thanks for telling me. You know how long I've been waiting here?" She hung up, saying to Chris, "Wendell's got a body in an alley: female, black." Chris said, "And you have me."

Maureen said, "Oh, no. You're staying here."

Chris said to the manager, "Try Miss Abbott again, okay?"

The manager said, "She isn't back yet. I'd have seen her."

Chris said, "But will you try?" And said to Maureen, the manager busy now, "You talk to her, I look around. You need me."

Maureen said, "You don't have your badge or I.D. What do you show her?"

As the manager was saying, "Well, you're finally home…"

Voing up the stairs behind Maureen's nice firm athletic calves he said,

"Robin I see was at U of M the same time I was, before I went in the army. Right up from where I lived on State Street, by the Michigan Union, there was always something going on, some kind of demonstration.

Nice little girls screaming at the cops, calling 'em pigs." He shut up as they reached the second floor.

Robin Abbott stood waiting for them, the door to her apartment open.

She wore tinted glasses, her hair in a fat braid, shirt hanging out over jeans, barefoot, trying to look young and girlish and not doing a bad job. Chris checked her out over Maureen's shoulder, letting Maureen lead the way and introduce them.

"Hi, I'm Sergeant Downey'showing her I.D.-"and this is Sergeant Mankowski." Chris had his wallet out. He flipped it open and closed, staying pretty much behind Maureen.

Miss Abbott brought them in, saying, "Well, what can I do for you?" in a quiet, low voice, then lightened the tone as she said, "I don't recall witnessing any crimes lately."

Chris thought of saying he was glad she qualified that.

Miss Abbott had been arrested in '78 after jumping a bond set years before, convicted and sent away in '79. Maureen had the Bureau printout in her bag; he'd get a copy of it to go over in detail. He wondered what the round red design was supposed to be, painted on the wall. The rest of the room was a mess. Miss Abbott sure had a lot of books and magazines, and what looked like old newspapers, piles of them on a bookshelf. Chris wandered over there as Miss Abbott asked if they'd like coffee or a soft drink, Miss Abbott showing what a nice person she was. Maureen said thanks, but they didn't want to take up too much of her time. Just a few questions, if Miss Abbott wouldn't mind.

Miss Abbott said, Of course; what would they like to know?

See? Cooperative as well as nice. Maureen became official then, saying, "We understand you were at a party at the home of Mr. Woodrow Ricks last Saturday evening?"

Chris, looking at books, heard Miss Abbott trying hard to be of help, saying, "Was it Saturday? Yeah, I think so."

As Maureen said, "You think it was Saturday or you think you were there?" and Miss Abbott laughed and said, "Both," Chris let his gaze move to the desk close by, the surface nearly covered with typed pages, file folders, mail, magazines, notebooks…

He saw a notebook with a red cover lying on top. It had MAY-AUGUST '70 written on it big in black Magic Marker.