Goody One Shoe (22 page)

Billie’s body began to tremble. “I think I killed him.”

A patrol car careened into the mouth of the alley, sirens
wailing and lights flashing.

Billie winced.

The doctor put one final stitch in the knife wound on her
elbow.

She sat on the hospital bed in a scant gown that opened in
the back. Her skin crawled with gooseflesh from the air conditioning and the
remnants of Bat Head’s hands on her body.

She’d already undergone the debasing experience of a sexual
assault exam, even though she told them he didn’t get the opportunity. For
evidence, they said. The crime geeks made her strip, took her clothes, swabbed
her and scraped her and clipped her nails. She felt like victim and criminal at
the same time,  like she was being assaulted all over again.

“Billie, what happened? Are you all right?” Bruce stormed into
the tiny room and filled it with his presence and his voice and his cologne.

Billie put on her best outside smile. “Sorry, I can’t make
date night tonight.”

He touched her cheek near the stitch on her swollen upper
lip.

“Billie,” the doctor laid a hand over her knee.

She flinched.

“We’ll get you some morphine for the pain. Try to rest.”

“No, I just want to go home.”

The doctor sighed. “All right. I’ll get you some pain
killers to go.” He turned to Bruce. “Take care of her.”

Bruce glared at him. “She does a fine job of that on her
own.” He waited for the doctor to leave the room before turning to her. “What
the hell? Who did this to you?”

“Bat Head.”

His ruddy complexion boiled over with rage and turned the
colour of a red velvet cupcake. “How? Did he follow you?”

“He didn’t know it was me at first. When he figured it out,
all hell broke loose.”

“Billie,” Bruce looked at the ceiling and inhaled until his
chest puffed out, “you didn’t bait him? Didn’t try to make our edits come
true?”

She squinted and shook her head. Was he blaming her for
being attacked? She was the victim, for God’s sake. “It was coincidence. You
know, those things you and Doc Kroft keep saying all of this is? I say baloney.
It’s fated. I just know it.”

He put his arms around her. She rested her undamaged cheek
on his chest and closed her eyes.

“Billie, did he—?” he whispered, his voice more raspy than
usual.

She shook her head. “He tried.” She pulled away, tears
dripping into the stitch on her lip, the salt stinging through the numbing cream
that was fast wearing off. “I stabbed him.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me. But I had to. He was
going to ….” She looked away. “And the hate in his eyes? I honestly figured he
would kill me after. We said he’d become a serial killer, right? I’d be victim
number one. His trigger.” She gathered the hospital sheet into both fists.
“What if he dies? I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to save myself.”

“Did you have a chance to get away? Could you have run?”

The threat of tears stung her eyes and snot dripped from her
nose. “Maybe.”

He nodded. “But you chose to play superhero? Billie, it’s
not real. You’re not Batman for God’s sake.”

“Of course I’m not Batman. I’m not an idiot, Bruce. I’m not
crazy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and grimaced at the pain in her
ribs.

“Hey, how you doing?” Katherine stood in the doorway, her
designer-clad shoulder leaning against the jamb.

Billie mustered a weak smile. “I’m okay.” She gestured at
Bruce. “This is my boyfriend, Bruce. This,” she looked at him and raised one
eyebrow, “is my boss, Katherine.”

Bruce stepped around the bed and held his hand out.
Katherine smiled and shook it. “Nice to meet you. Billie, you never told me
about Bruce.”

Billie blinked. Had they become girlfriends now that
Katherine had shown a modicum of human kindness? Was Billie obligated to reveal
her private affairs to the harridan in the corner office? “Sorry.” It was all
she could manage.

“Well, I just wanted to check in on you. If you need to take
some time off, just let me know.”

“I’ll be in on Monday.” And at that interview Tuesday
morning. Maybe that was Katherine’s plan, to sideswipe Billie’s chances with
faux kindness. “I’m sorry about your jacket. They took it for evidence. I’ll
replace it.” And her life’s savings would be out the window.

Katherine waved her hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it.
I got it at a thrift shop for ten bucks.”

Billie gawked at her. “But, wasn’t it Holt Renfrew?”

“Hell yes, it was. Three or four seasons old. You have to
dig, but sometimes there are good brands and designers with the original tags
still on.” She huffed. “You think I can afford to look this good on the
pittance they pay me to manage the proofing pool?” Katherine rolled her eyes.
“Puh-lease.” She nodded at Bruce. “Well, it was nice to meet you. And
seriously, Billie, call if you need some time off.” She waved and slipped into
the hallway.

Billie listened to the click of thrift store designer heels
echo down the hallway and stared at the empty doorframe. She was left stunned
in the wake of Katherine’s Chanel cloud.

“Isn’t she the shrew?” Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and
took Billie’s hand in his. “She seemed pretty nice to me.”

“I don’t know who that was, but it’s not the Katherine I
know.” Thrift stores? Actual concern? No name-calling or backhanded
compliments? What was happening to the world?

“Maybe she’s got a good heart under that mask of makeup and
hairspray and fake nails.”

Billie snorted. “No way. You be careful around her. She
discards men like used dental floss. She’s a succubus.”

“A what?”

She smiled at him. “Never mind.”

“Billie Fullalove?”

She turned to find a police officer standing in the doorway,
his uniform pressed and tucked in, his hat under one arm. A wave of comfort and
safety blanketed her. It was an old and familiar feeling that she hadn’t
experienced in years. The same feeling she got every time her father donned his
uniform, every time she helped him starch his collar and iron crisp pleats into
the sleeves and the pant legs. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Constable Donnelly. I have to take your statement.”

She nodded, ready to tell her story, eager to hear of Bat
Head’s fate. “Will he be all right?”

“He’s in recovery. Apparently, you nicked an artery or an
organ or something. Serious, but he’ll live.”

A heady mix rippled through her. Relief with the distinct
aftertaste of disappointment.

The officer walked her through the attack and made notes.

As she told her tale, the heat rose in her cheeks and she
sat straighter on the gurney. When she told of the stabbing, she mimed the
action and thrust her empty hand into a mental red-ink reproduction of Bat
Head’s lean torso.

“And the knife you stabbed him with. That was his?”

“Yes. He dropped it when I pepper-sprayed him.” She bent her
arm and held it up for inspection. “I think that’s what cut my elbow.”

“Well, some cops say you should never fight back. That it’s
better to give in to save your life.” He approached the bed and put one hand on
her shoulder. “I come from the ‘fight like hell’ camp.” He held his hand out.
“Keep up the good work, Billie.”

She shook his hand. “I’ll try.”

“I’ll have this typed up. You’ll need to come by the station
and sign it over the weekend. But for now, go home and relax.” He tipped his
hat and left.

“Billie?” Bruce kneeled on the floor and pulled the legs of
hospital pyjama pants over her feet.

“What?”

He helped her stand, pulled the pants up and tied the
drawstring around her waist. “Next time you play superhero? Call for backup
first.”

EVERY MORNING PLAYED OUT
the
same. Gold Tooth, Tony Dickinson, sat in his usual spot. Billie nodded at him
on the way by. He would smile and put his hand over his cup, sometimes offer
her a quiet good morning.

Each day her desire to see him dead waned. Her fantasies of
his dismembered body parts strewn in the alley, or him hanging by the neck from
one of the gargoyles on her apartment building, faded. He looked less like a
giant mound of shit, and more like a huge, slightly melted, Oh! Henry. Her red
pen quit drawing horns on his head and a trident in his hands and replaced them
with a fedora and a submarine sandwich. She even bought him food. But she knew
he wouldn’t accept if from her, so she gave her offerings to Bruce to deliver.

Every day, Billie summoned the strength to ask Tony the one
question she needed an answer to. Finally, after a week of avoiding it, she
steeled herself for the truth, and eased her body, still aching from her run-in
with Bat Head, to the hard cement next to Tony.

“You’re not going to try to give me money again, are you,
Billie?”

She shook her head and handed him a cup of hot black coffee
and a bag with two apple fritters. “Just breakfast.”

He peered in the bag. “Oh, bless you.” He took a huge bite
of sweet pastry. “What happened to your face?”

She touched the stitch on her lip. The story had been numero
uno on the office hot gossip list. By the time she went for a follow-up
interview yesterday, even the barista in the lobby coffee shop knew what had
happened. There was no question it was Katherine who spread the story around.
Billie hadn’t figured out her motives. But if the sympathy gave her a leg up
with the editor-in-chief, well, dang, who was she to complain? “I got attacked
last Friday.”

“Attacked? You okay? He get arrested?”

“I’m fine. He’s still in the hospital, but cuffed to the
bed.”

“Hospital? What you do to him?”

“I stabbed him with his own knife.”

Tony laughed and nudged his shoulder against hers. “Good for
you. You have to testify?”

“Eventually. But you know how slow the system works. And he
has to recover first. But whenever they get around to trying him, I’ll be
there.” She scratched a non-existent itch on the back of her hand. “Tony, I
have to ask you something.”

He nodded and stuffed another mouthful of fried dough in his
mouth.

Billie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly between
pursed lips. “What’s his name?”

Tony froze. He swallowed hard and took a swig of coffee.
“Who?”

“Come on, don’t mess with me. You know who.”

He looked at his lap. ”I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s been twenty-two years. He got to go about his
life like nothing ever happened. Live free and out in the open. It’s more than
my parents got. Heck, it’s more than I got.” She shifted and turned to face
him. “Please, I need to know.”

Tony’s head shook in that Parkinson’s-like wobble he had.
“He hasn’t been free.”

“What do you mean? You keep tabs on him?”

“My parole officer keeps in touch. She fills me in. That
no-good scum is out now, but he was in jail most of the last fifteen years.”

“For what?” She could barely eke out a whisper.

“Rape. Of a fourteen-year-old girl.”

Billie shut her eyes and balled her fists. If only Tony had
told the truth back in ninety-three, this guy would’ve been arrested and
convicted. He’d have never had the chance to rape anyone. That’s two young
girls whose lives he’d ruined. Billie bet there were many more.

Her eyes flickered open. “I need his name.”

“He’ll kill me.” His face contorted and pleaded with her.

She squinted. “I don’t care,” she deadpanned.

“I deserve that.” Tony turned his gaze to his lap. “And it
don’t matter anymore.”

Billie sighed. “What do you mean?”

“I got some cancer.”

“What kind?”

“It’s in my liver. Don’t have a lot of time left.”

“I’m sorry.”

He huffed. “No you’re not.”

She touched his arm. “Yes. I am.”

He burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Billie. I think the
cancer is my proper sentence. It’s what I deserve for what happened to your
family. For what happened to you. I’ve hated myself. Hated him. It didn’t have
to happen.” He slumped forward and his shoulders convulsed.

Billie put her arm around him and hugged his body into hers.

He sobbed, his tears soaking through her light cardigan and
into her skin.

They sat that way for several minutes, oblivious to the
stares of passersby. He was probably accustomed to stranger’s stares. She
certainly was.

His sobbing subsided and he pulled away, swiped at his face
with his sleeve and sniffed. “Douglas.”

“Pardon?”

“Art Douglas. That’s his name. Arthur Richard Douglas.” He
ripped off a chunk of the fritter and tossed it at a trio of pigeons.

Her heart skipped one beat, two, four. Arthur Richard
Douglas.

“He’s all over the system. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
He turned to her. “Tell them to get him soon. I’ll testify. But hurry. I’ll be
lucky if I make it until autumn.”

Billie took Tony’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”

She got to her feet with tears in her eyes, pulled a twenty
from her pocket, and stuffed it in his cup. She turned and walked away before
he had a chance to protest.

Arthur Richard Douglas. Murderer. Rapist. All-around waste
of human skin. A real life Joe Chill.

Time to die.