Two Graves Dug by Penny Mickelbury

Author:Penny Mickelbury
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, New York City, Nuyorican Private Eye, Urban
Publisher: Penny Mickelbury
Published: 2016-07-29T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

I woke up to ringing and pounding. Everywhere. In my head and at the door and from wherever the telephones were. After incredible effort, I managed to sit up and open my eyes. I was in my bedroom, on the bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed. Including shoes. The phone was ringing, the doorbell was buzzing and somebody was pounding on my door which, being steel, sounded like a warm-up for the end of the world. And all of it was happening, simultaneously, inside my head.

I held it in my hands and squeezed, praying that all sound would cease, but God doesn’t answer the prayers of drunks. I’d learned that from my favorite aunt in response to the behavior of my favorite uncle. Now I knew how Tio Enrique felt when he held his head and prayed for deliverance. What I didn’t understand was why he subjected himself to this experience on a weekly basis. I groaned loudly, which was a mistake, and inched my self toward the edge of the bed, far enough so I could dangle my legs over the side. I released my head and placed my hands on the bed and pushed myself to my feet. I prayed some more: that if I passed out, I’d fall back on to the bed instead of on to the floor. But I only swayed, and wondered whether that meant my prayer was answered. I didn’t see the phone that lived in the bedroom.

I answered the door first, since I didn’t know where to look for the phone that lived in the living room if it wasn’t on the table or on top of the television. I’ve never liked phones that didn’t hang on walls or sit on tables and I was promising myself to be truer to my personal likes when Mike Smith barreled into my living room.

“Man, answer the damn phone!”

“Can’t find it, Mike,” I mumbled and leaned into the wall as he brushed past me toward the sofa. He tossed about the pillows and some newspapers and picked up the handset.

“What!” he shouted into the instrument. “Who is this?” He looked meanly at me. “He’s here but he’s in no shape to talk.” He gave me another look. “‘Cause he’s sick, that’s why. Got some kind of virus. Or maybe food poisoning. Puking his guts up. But I’ll tell him you called.” And with that he disconnected the call and tossed the phone back on to the sofa. “Will you push the buzzer and let Eddie in the building, please?”

He grimaced but I understood that it was supposed to be a crocodile smile and I pushed the door-release button. “How’d you get in if Eddie couldn’t?”

“None of yours,” he growled, sounding mean enough to make me think he meant it. “I’ve been calling you for two hours! You stink! What the hell are you doing drunk?”

“None of yours,” I growled back, sounding considerably less ominous. “I’ll be back,” I said, feeling a lot like I really and truly had either a virus or food poisoning.

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