Deadly Dues by Linda Kupecek Page B

what if he’s having a stroke? It’s always the little pent-up balls of fire that collapse in front of you. Did I remember my cell phone? Did I remember to charge it?
    â€œBent!”
    I saw his mouth move and realized that he was actually looking at something. I squinted in the direction of his stare. From the slight opening at the top of the dumpster, something pale and limp was hanging down. It had five fingers, it was attached to an arm in a cashmere sweater, and a loud gold ring was on the evil pinky. A gold ring that was very familiar, as was the cashmere sweater. The hand swayed back and forth.
    Bent and I watched it, open-mouthed. Any passerby would have taken us for two cartoon characters. Not so. We were two idiot actors caught in a nightmare.
    â€¢ • •
    We stared at the horrible image at the end of the alley, our mouths open invitations for a cloud of moths or bats to invade.
    Then we turned to look at each other.
    â€œWe’ve got to get out of here,” I revved the engine. The Sunfire did its usual sputter and died.
    Bent grabbed my arm in the now too familiar nutcracker grasp.
    â€œNo, we should go and look.”
    â€œAre you crazy?” I kept turning the key but the engine just mewled like a baby and played dead.
    â€œWe can’t just leave him there! Alone!” It occurred to me that this hadn’t bothered any of us last night, leaving poor Stan alone in his office.
    â€œAnd what are we going to do?” I shouted back.
    A loud knock on the driver’s window sent me into a spasm, and the Sunfire started, no doubt from the adrenalin running from my hand through the key and into its innards.
    A uniformed policeman leaned down into the window. I rolled it down and smiled at him, calling all dimples into action.
    â€œEverything all right, folks?” He was young, blond and very serious. His vehicle was parked on a side street, a stone’s throw away, but mercifully not within view of the dumpster.
    Damn, I would get the only law enforcement officer in the world (aside from Ryga) who hadn’t seen the Bow Wow commercials.
    â€œJust fine, sir,” I dimpled. “Wolfgang and I were having a little disagreement, but it was all in fun, wasn’t it, honey?”
    Bent’s eyes crossed in horror. For an acting coach, he was lousy at improv.
    The police officer leaned closer into the car. I grabbed Bent by the shoulders and purred, “Right, honey?”
    Then I planted a large and forceful kiss in the area of his mouth. Bent’s eyes went somewhere in the direction of Mars, and from the corner of my eye I saw the police officer pull back. His eyes started to move in the direction of the dumpster. Just then, his car radio bleeted. He nodded at us, and strode across the street to his vehicle.
    â€œStop that!” Bent shoved me away, wiping his mouth. “That was revolting. I don’t believe in public displays of emotion.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, pulling the Sunfire into traffic and driving slowly the half block toward the alley. “It was wonderful for me, too. Now, without being obvious, which I know will be a big chore, try to get a better look at the dumpster.”
    I puttered along as slowly as I could, noting in my rear-view mirror that the police car had taken off in the opposite direction with its siren starting up. Thank goodness real criminals were attracting attention away from true innocents like Bent and me.
    â€œIt’s still there,” said Bent, craning his neck in a totally unsubtle way. “And some bottle picker is going to steal that ring pronto.”
    â€œShould we report it?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œNothing. We do nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.”
    â€œYou should be a pop-song writer. You have the lyrics down pat.”
    He sent me an insulted look, but at least he was quiet for the next ten minutes. Maybe he took my career suggestion seriously