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Instead…he now had to go fetch his gun and play cops and robbers again. Val would just love that.
Crow locked up the shop and switched off the lights, then went into the storeroom and through the doorway that led to his apartment. Like him the place was small and messy and filled with a lot of strange things. The front end of a 1966 Volkswagen Beetle (Crow’s very first car) had been converted into a jukebox and was parked in one corner of the living room. His coffee table was a snowboard on cinder blocks. His clock was a replica of Dali’s melted timepieces. Every inch of the walls was covered with head shots of Crow’s actor friends, interspersed with some very badly painted watercolors Val had done during one of her infrequent artistic phases.
His three cats, Pinetop, Muddy Whiskers, and Koko, flocked around him, rubbing against his legs and mewing for their supper.
“Hi, kids. Miss me?”
Pinetop made his usual, weird little ak-?ak-?ak-?ak sound and walked significantly in the direction of the kitchen. Crow followed dutifully and popped open two cans of aromatic glop, divided it into three equal portions, and laid out their plates. The trio promptly ignored him and set to their feast.
Humming to himself, he wandered into the kitchen, drank a Yoo-?Hoo by the open refrigerator door, peering pointlessly at the various Tupperware containers of mystery meat, mystery pasta, and mystery sauce that lurked on each shelf. One vaguely tumescent shape lay swaddled in Saran Wrap. Crow thought it might have been a zucchini, but he just wasn’t sure. He was afraid of it and didn’t want to touch it. He found a piece of celery that didn’t look too hideous and took it over to a large glass aquarium where a rather absurd-?looking guinea pig named Professor Longhair sat meditating on a rock. Crow lifted the top and set the celery down next to the guinea pig, who opened one eye, regarded the limp celery with obvious disdain, and returned to his contemplations. Crow went back to the fridge and had another bottle of the chocolate drink, staring once more at the scientific wonders evolving in there among his bottles of Yoo-?Hoo, Red Bull, and Gatorade. He shut the door and was wondering why he was stalling rather than getting his ass in gear when the phone rang.
Scooping up the receiver he said, “I’d like to order a large pizza, mushrooms and extra cheese, and an order of fries. ”
“For God’s sake,” said a voice, soft, laughing.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, the person you have reached is not a normal person. Please hang up and try your call again. ”
“Okay, fine. Bye. ”
“No! Wait! Hey, baby. ”
“Hello, idiot. ”
“You always say the nicest things. ”
“True,” Val agreed, “but not to you. ”
“Mm. So…what’s cooking?”
“Me. ”
“Don’t I know it?”
“No, I mean food. Supper. Turkey soup, to be precise. You are still coming over, aren’t you?” There was a brief moment of silence. “Don’t tell me you aren’t coming over, Malcolm Crow. ”
“Well—”
“Damn it, Crow…”
“Hey, babe, duty calls. ”
“Duty? What duty? Do you have a rush order for rubber vomit? Is there a desperate need for glow-?in-?the-?dark dog poop?”
“No, nothing nearly as important as that. Just three psychos on a killing spree. ”
“Seriously, why can’t you make it? I’ve been cooking since five o’clock. I have actually worked up a sweat. ”
“Are you covered in turkey blood and gristle?”
“No, but I do have a spot of gravy on my good blue shirt. ”
“You have to learn to control these domestic urges before they become an obsession. ”
“Ha,” she said dryly, “ha, ha. ”
Crow had a powerful visceral image of her standing in the bathroom that morning, naked and glorious.
“Actually, sweetie, I actually do have some important civic duties to perform. ” Briefly, he told her about the manhunt and what Terry had asked of him. There was a considerable silence on the far end of the line. After a while Crow said, “Uh…Val?”
