Bad News

46

By Wednesday, Little Feather couldn’t stand it anymore. The last thing that had happened was Monday, when Fitzroy and Irwin went off to dissolve the partnership with the other three, after which the DA’s investigator, a very pleasant woman with unfortunate hips, had come for the hair sample, which Little Feather had palmed and presented with the aplomb of Blackstone the magician himself, while Marjorie Dawson had stood there pop-eyed, ashen with fear. Then the investigator went away, bearing the ringer hair sample in another plastic bag, tagged and dated and even more official than a notification from Publishers Clearing House, and after that, nothing.

Well, it would be at least a week before the lab would produce the DNA results, so there was nothing to do on that side except wait. But what about Fitzroy and Irwin? Not a word. Tuesday and today, both, Little Feather had left messages for Fitzroy at the Four Winds motel, but no response. What was going on? What was happening? By Wednesday, Little Feather couldn’t stand it anymore.

When Fitzroy and Irwin had left Monday morning, planning to follow Stan the courier back to wherever the other three were holed up, Little Feather had felt a bit of a pang, knowing what was on the schedule next and having grown—not fond—used to, maybe—used to Tiny and Andy and John. She also, she thought, had a higher regard for that trio’s capabilities than Fitzroy and Irwin did, so she didn’t consider it a shoo-in at all that Fitzroy and Irwin would come out on top in whatever events would next take place. But something had to have happened.

So what happened? Who was still standing? Why didn’t anybody get in touch with Little Feather and bring her up to speed on this thing?

Another frustration was not having a car. She was not only tired of taxis; she couldn’t afford many more of them. She was going to be very rich any minute now, but at the moment, she was running low on the ready. And the motor home wasn’t exactly transportation; it wasn’t that mobile a home. Once you brought it somewhere and attached all the hookups, you didn’t then take the motor home out two or three times a day for a spin around town.

Which meant Little Feather was mostly stuck in this strange dwelling, all alone, with no idea what was going to happen next, or when, or if she was in the gravy or in the soup, or what in hell was going on. By Wednesday, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Which was too bad, because nothing else happened until Thursday.

Two-something in the afternoon, it was, when the knock sounded at the motor home door. Little Feather was reduced by then to watching daytime talk shows, hating herself for it, remembering with new nostalgia the good old days in Nevada, dealing blackjack in cheap joints, fending off cheap drunks, driving around in her own little blue Neon; sold, when she’d moved east.

The estranged couple on this particular program had not quite come to blows yet when the knock sounded at the door, and Little Feather, with some embarrassment, realized she wanted to stay seated here in front of the television set; she wanted to see what would happen next in those people’s lives, rather than respond to something happening in her own. “I gotta get out of this,” she muttered to herself, offed the set with an angry gesture, and hurried over to open the door.

Andy. And with him a woman, late thirties, attractive without fussing over it, bundled up in a fox fur coat, grinning uncertainly as though afraid Little Feather might belong to PETA. “Hello,” Little Feather said, thinking, if Andy’s up, Fitzroy and Irwin are down.

“What say, Little Feather,” Andy greeted her. “I’d like you to meet Anne Marie Carpinaw.”

“Hi,” Anne Marie Carpinaw said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I haven’t heard a thing about you,” Little Feather said, thinking, this is why I never picked up any vibes from Andy. “Come in,” she invited, “and tell me all about yourself.”

“Thanks, we will.”

They came in and went through the process of uncoating and accepting an offer of coffee and generally settling in, so it was a good five minutes before they sat together in the living room and Little Feather said, “Okay, Andy, what’s happening?”

“Beats me,” Andy said. “I come north to find out what’s doing with the DNA. In fact, we called Gregory and Tom, you know, over at the Tea Cosy, and turned out they had a cancellation, some guy already broke his leg at some other fun spot, so Anne Marie and me, we thought we’d take a few days in the North Country, kick back.”

“But don’t ski,” Little Feather suggested.

“I skied in my teens,” Anne Marie told her, “and my thighs began to turn into rock-hard hams, so I decided my real sport was après-ski, and I was right.”

Little Feather nodded. “I’m pretty good at après-ski myself,” she said. “And with Andy talking DNA in front of you, I take it that means you’re in the loop on this thing.”

“Well, sure,” Andy said. “Pillow talk, you know.”

Anne Marie said, “Pillow talk. I don’t know why they call it pillow talk. When we’re talking, there’s no pillow around, and when there’s a pillow around, we aren’t talking.”

“It’s a whadayacallit,” Andy explained.

Little Feather said, “What I really want to know is, how are things with Fitzroy and Irwin?”

“Well, they had to leave,” Andy told her.

Little Feather had suspected that. “Permanently?”

“Oh, yeah, they won’t—” Then Andy shook his head, and said, “Not like that. You know, there’s permanent and there’s permanent.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Andy said, “they are permanently retired from this particular little operation here, because they’ve got a lot of stuff to take care of out west all of a sudden, so that’s where they went.”

“They’re out west,” Little Feather echoed.

“On their way,” Andy said. “So how you doing here?”

“I’ve got cabin fever,” Little Feather said, “and I’m going nuts, and nothing is happening, and it won’t be until next week sometime that the DNA comes back, and I’m stuck here. I’ve been leaving messages over at the Four Winds, because I didn’t know what was going on, and I hope you don’t think I was in on anything with those guys.”

“Little Feather,” Andy said, “we all understand that you were a helpless pawn in the hands of those guys, and we know you’re gonna be glad about the new situation.”

“Helpless pawn” hadn’t exactly been the self-image Little Feather had been hoping to project, but what the hell; leave it alone. She said, “Thank you, Andy, I’m already glad.”

Andy said, “We thought we’d find a nice restaurant tonight, one of those on the slopes, where you can sit there and dine at your leisure and watch the skiers fall down the mountain. You wanna come along?”

“I’d love to,” Little Feather said.

“Great.” Getting to his feet, Andy said, “We’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

At the door, Anne Marie smiled at Little Feather and said, “I just know we’re going to be chums.”

Meaning, Little Feather knew, don’t you dare look crosseyed at my man. “Chums it is,” she reassured Anne Marie.