After clocking a new personal best time on the outdoor FBI training course, Nora Phoenix walked nude across the stony locker room, toward the communal showers. She cranked a faucet handle and stood aside the cascading water, waiting for it to warm. She could feel eyes, like overly soft water, leaving a film on her skin.
Two men were showering directly across from Nora.
The first agent, soaping his balls, turned to the second agent. “Is she supposed to be in here?”
“Man, shut the fuck up,” said the second agent.
Nora washed her hair and scrubbed her body using a substance from the same bottle, which smelled of plum and pomegranate. She rinsed herself, shut the water off, and turned around dripping wet.
“You look like two Cub Scouts gaping at a stolen nudie mag,” Nora said. She gathered her hair and squeezed water out, onto her chest.
“How do you run so fast with them things?” asked the first agent.
“Meet me in the weight room at five tomorrow morning. I’ll show you.”
Nora grabbed her towel off a hook and sat on the bench by her locker. She uncoiled an extension cord to plug in her Lady Remington. An echo of footsteps traveled down the hall, turned the corner, and closed in on her. It was the Deputy Director. Nora rose to her feet, buck naked.
“At ease, Agent,” said Franklin. He had transferred from the Army and was acclimating to the Bureau’s laxer customs. “We need you to go to Ohio and interview Pauncy Placido, the world’s most notorious pervert.”
“Why me?” asked Nora. “Wouldn’t you say I’m a little green for this?”
“Pauncy might give you information that’ll help us track down his protege, The Pittsburgh Peeper, a man we believe has graduated from trespassing and kidnapping to murder. The case file and train tickets are on your bed.”
“Why would Pauncy want to help us?” asked Nora, wrapping her hair in a towel.
“He isn’t going to want to help us,” said Franklin. “But he may be compelled to provide you information. If you use your extensive psychological training and your, er—other assets—”
“My minor in Social Work?”
“Your tits,” spouted Franklin. “Your ample, round, unfathomably perky boobs. Your ass and your legs. And your face. You’re a knockout, Agent Phoenix, which is exactly what this case needs.”
“I appreciate the opportunity to be objectified for a greater purpose than providing some random guy on the city bus a half-chub.”
“Fantastic.” Franklin saluted.
Nora pulled a sports bra over her breasts.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Franklin said.
“Yes?”
“Pauncy hasn’t laid eyes on a woman like you in years. It might be beneficial if you wear something… stimulating.”
Nora could turn heads wearing coveralls and a rain slicker.
“Stimulating,” said Nora, trying to keep from rolling her eyes. “I can do that, sir.”
+
Sitting behind his desk, Dr. Harvey flashed every nickel of his thirty dollar smile. “If you stay for the weekend, I could show you all the grand stuff Toledo has to offer.”
“Sounds fun, Doctor. But my orders are to cross-examine Placido and hand in my report. Which means I’ll be poring over my notes all night in my hotel room. And my train leaves first thing in the morning.”
“But a girl has to eat,” said the doctor. “There’s a restaurant downtown with pierogies the size of my fist, slathered in butter. They’re delectable. Frankly, they make me ravenous. The butter and grease have ruined my shirtsleeves. My dry cleaner’s on speed dial, no kidding.”
Nora adjusted her plaid mini skirt and unbuttoned her blazer. She wore a purple brassiere beneath a semi-sheer black leotard. “I’m here on business.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Harvey, snuffing his Doral and hacking into his fist.
They walked across the hospital, traversed several sets of stairs, up and down and sideways, and were buzzed through two gates. “Many find our measures excessive,” said the doctor. “But a few years ago Pauncy told us his tummy hurt. We sent him to our finest nurse. As she put her ear to his stomach, Pauncy’s pecker poked out of his pajamas and popped poor Nurse Tally in the eye.”
“I see,” said Nora.
Dr. Harvey performed a secret knock and when the door swung open, he held it for Nora and touched the small of her back as she went in.
Three men were guarding four high-security cells. One kept an eye on the monitors. Another was practicing handling nunchucks. The third, obviously the chief guard, smiled politely.
“This is Donald Reed, head of security.”
“Thank you, Dr. Harvey,” said Donald. “I’ll take it from here.”
Dr. Harvey left and the man with the nunchucks was swinging them and took a glancing blow to the face.
“Is Harvey being Harvey today?” asked Donald.
“He asked me to dinner,” Nora said. “But I get asked out all the time.”
“If you ask me,” said Donald, “he deserves to be locked up with these degenerates.”
Nora took stock of her surroundings. She saw a spanking new bottle of Jergens on the desk by the security camera monitors. That was enough.
“Excuse me while I go through my spiel,” said Donald, pleased to have company. “While walking down the hall, stay all the way to the right. This will keep you out of jizz-flinging range. When you sit down to talk to Pauncy, cross your legs every half-minute or so, to let us know you’re OK. Pauncy has the ability to put people into a trance—and remaining under his spell can cause problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“You don’t want to know, Agent Phoenix,” said Donald, unlocking the door to the hallway. “Remember: stay to the right. And keep crossing your legs, the way I told you.”
Nora buttoned her blazer and took a deep breath.
“Oh, shoot,” said Donald. “I forgot to frisk you.”
Nora put her hands flat against the wall and spread her legs. Donald patted her down from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, unbuttoned her blazer, slid his hands up her sides and abdomen. He cupped his hands over her breasts and squeezed gently to feel for guns or knives hidden inside her silk brassiere. He slid his thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, ensuring the perimeter of the garment was free of grenades or chemical weapons. He lifted the skirt to do a visual check of her ass, tapping each cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers to ensure they were real, and they were. He concluded by running his hands up the insides of her thighs.
Donald inhaled her scent from the side of his hand. In a daze, he told Nora to go on ahead.
Fearlessly curious, Nora examined the cells as she passed them. The patient in the first cell was asleep.
Nora stayed to the right, her sleeve skimming the brick wall.
“Whip your dick out, Doll!” said the man in the second cell, who was ballroom dancing with a lanky and invisible partner.
The man in the third cell fashioned his fingers into a Tommy gun and made shooting noises with his mouth. The gun barrel followed Nora as she passed and globules of saliva arced through the dingy air.
The final cell had no bars and was well-lit. Pauncy was lying in bed, reading a paperback novella. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” said Pauncy. He got out of bed still reading. He didn’t take his eyes off the words until he bent the corner of the page and closed the book. Then his full attention was on Nora.
Nora was trying to wrap her head around the lack of bars or glass between her and this criminal.
“Let me guess,” said Pauncy. “They didn’t tell you the details about my cell?”
Nora said they hadn’t.
Placido blinked slowly, and faintly bowed his head. “Have a seat.”
Nora didn’t move, except to raise her chin a bit. “What’s to stop you from attacking me?”
“Is having one more second to skitter down that filthy hallway, hollering ‘OH OH The Bad Man is free and is going to get me!’ really make you feel safer?”
Nora sat down, clutching her bag, her feet flat on the floor.
“You’re part of his research,” said Pauncy. “We all are.”
“Whose research?”
“Cross your legs, Agent Phoenix,” said Pauncy, tapping a finger against his temple. “He’s watching.”
“Donald said he would be watching.”
“That’s not the big brother to which I’m referring.”
“Why should I believe anything a pervert tells me?”
“Legs, dear,” said Pauncy. “Mind your legs.”
Nora re-crossed her legs and sat up straight.
“Perverts are the last freedom fighters.” Pauncy caressed his nipples through his asylum onesie and a small amount of drool escaped his mouth.
“Wasn’t your family called The Cherryville Chickens?” asked Nora.
Pauncy’s eyes and nostrils grew large. “Would a chicken separate his shoulder to cram himself inside a single-tier locker, and remain completely motionless while a stampede of ponytails floods a sunlit room, all their tummies giddy with butterflies before the championship volleyball game?”
“If it’s an alternative to going to a singles bar, then yeah.”
Pauncy stared at Nora like she was a work of art he wanted to absorb. She didn’t bat an eye.
“You’re more transparent than the barrier that keeps me from leaping at you,” Pauncy said. “You grew up on bagged bread and whole milk, didn’t you? Got those strong wrists from shaking pom poms and jerking off the star quarterback.”
“Cornerback. And his tongue danced on my bud like Bill Robinson in Stormy Weather.”
Pauncy crossed his arms. “What’s a clever girl like you doing working as a drudge for the Eff Bee Eye?”
“It was my daddy’s dream.”
“And did your daddy’s tongue waggle on your flower like Ginger Rogers in Gold Diggers of 1933?” Pauncy snarled and thrust his hand at Nora, breaking the invisible barrier. A loud pop and a poof of smoke came from his person and he crumpled to the concrete. He held his crotch with both hands and trembled like a person speaking in tongues.
Nora expected the guards to come running down the hall. But they didn’t. She crossed her legs. “Look, if you help me, we both benefit. I’ll prove my competency to the Bureau, and in return they’ll get you out of this dungeon and into a nice facility.”
The chaos slithering through Pauncy’s nerves dissipated. He sighed, regaining his wits. “Your Doe-in-the-headlights manner tells me you’re only a trainee. Volo sexus te, Agent Phoenix. Tell me, what level of influence might a student have over her superiors, to get a man like me out of this hole?”
Nora stood, opened her blazer and jumped up and down three times. She turned around and flipped her skirt up.
“Touche,” said Pauncy, throwing his forearm onto his bed, coddling his genitals. “You have a currency that flows through the ages, forever retaining its value.”
“I need information to help me track down The Pittsburgh Peeper. Anything helps.”
The man in the third cell caught sight of Nora and an eruption of pretend bullets blasted through the air.
“Do me a favor. Act like one of Bedbug’s bullets has hit you,” Pauncy said, “and fall down dead.”
Nora turned toward Bedbug’s cell and imagined a hunk of metal tearing through her chest. She stumbled back against the wall, dropped to the floor, and exhaled one last dying breath. Bedbug stopped firing. He shrieked with amusement, curled up on his bed, and slurped at his thumb.
“You can get up,” said Pauncy. “That will keep him delighted for weeks.”
Nora felt both envious of and sad for Bedbug. What an existence.
“What information do you have for me?” Nora said, dusting off her blazer. “I can’t go back to Virginia with nothing.”
“Of all the birds waltzing into all the asylums in all the world, you had to dance into mine.” Pauncy grabbed his book and flopped onto his bed.
“Is that it?” said Nora.
“I’ve told you more than you need to know, Agent Phoenix. Run along.”
+
Nora’s roommate, Jessica, found Nora at the microfiche reader machine, in the FBI Training Center’s library.
“You have a phone call,” said Jessica. She pecked Nora on the cheek and rubbed her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” Nora giggled.
“You should be nice and loose when you talk to Franklin.”
“Franklin?” Nora said. “He’s on the phone in our room?”
“Go get ’em, Tiger,” said Jessica. She slapped Nora’s ass as she ran off, and turned to glare at a handful of nearby trainees. “What are you little fuckwads gawking at?”
“I’m downloading this into my spankbank,” the most courageous one hooted.
“It’s 1991,” said Jessica. “Download isn’t part of popular verbiage yet. And neither is spankbank. Quit fucking this story up with your anachronisms.”
“Doesn’t anachronism mean old-fashioned?” said one of the fuckwads.
“It works both ways,” said Jessica, fairly sure it did. “Go back to reading your book on bitemark analysis. Some reactionary judge will be counting on your testimony.”
Nora flew into her dorm room and answered the phone.
“Agent Phoenix,” said Franklin. “Bedbug is dead.”
“Oh, no,” Nora said, sitting on her bed. “What happened?”
“He turned his Tommy gun on himself.”
“That,” Nora said, “doesn’t make sense. For many reasons.”
“I know,” said Franklin, clearing his throat. “How’s your research going?”
“An article in The Pittsburgh Post, July 24, 1982, says Pauncy ejaculated from a seventh-story window and all of his scum landed on a Pittsburgh city council member’s lunch.”
“Wow,” said Franklin.
“But get a load of this. I worked it out in my head: Pauncy pounded his pud and plastered a Pittsburgh politician’s plate of potato patch fries. I believe we can use alliteration to follow the tracks of Placido and The Peeper.”
“Seems like a stretch…”
“There’s more,” said Nora. “Pauncy mentioned the movie Gold Diggers of 1933, which stars four women. One of the characters, Polly, is played by Ruby Keeler. The last thing Pauncy did before I left him was bastardize a quote from Casablanca. He called me a bird. Bird. Phoenix. Polly. Polly wanna cracker! I researched all the prominent women in Hollywood named Polly and found Polly Platt, who wrote and produced the movie Pretty Baby.”
“I’m not sure if this theory of yours…”
“Polly Platt penned and produced Pretty Baby! The movie Pretty Baby includes a song called ‘Pretty Baby,’ sung by Al Jolson. This song is featured in several films throughout the thirties and forties. Which totally reeks of coincidence until we find out, from 1928 to 1940, Al Jolson was married to, get this—our original ‘Polly’ from Gold Diggers—Ruby Keeler.”
“I don’t see anything unusual about stars marrying stars,” said Franklin.
“The movie Pretty Baby takes place in the red-light district of New Orleans, Pauncy Placido’s hometown. And if The Peeper is Pauncy Placido’s protege, he’s probably from the same city. I did some digging and found an old brothel, Patty’s Poontang Palace, on Basin Street. The building currently houses a business called Wendell’s Woodworkers. Which might as well be called Harry’s Handjobs. I think it’s a front and I believe The Peeper was born in this building. It’s possible someone there knows The Peeper’s history and may have other information we can use to determine his whereabouts.”
“If what you’re looking for is a short vacation to New Orleans…”
“Screw New Orleans,” Nora said, breathless. “I need another train ticket to Ohio.”
+
The train rumbled through the night, crossing the state line, drawing Nora closer to Pauncy.
What do I really know about myself? thought Nora. I can list what I believe are my best qualities. Persistence. Strength. Mindfulness. But am I a good person? And what does goodness entail? Is it different for everyone?
Across the aisle, a father held his sleeping son in his lap and was staring at Nora’s legs. She closed her eyes and ruminated on being a good person and a good agent. She sensed the eyeballs of the man across the aisle passing through her eyelids and settling on her pupils, like a hull against the Atlantic.
She was a good person, but she would use her gun if she had to.
Adapt. Endure. For her father.
Nora took a taxi from the train station to the hospital and walked into Dr. Harvey’s office, soaking wet from standing in the rain.
A lamp lit the surface of the doctor’s desk. All else was dark. The doctor’s chair squeaked.
“I’m lucky you were able to come in,” said Nora. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything. Anybody.”
“Au contraire, mein Liebe,” said Dr. Harvey. “You have lured me to a pivotal juncture.”
“Impressive,” said Nora. “I’ve met very few trilingual men.”
“Analingual is more like it.” Dr. Harvey stood and rounded his desk. “Quid pro quo, Agent Phoenix. You need to meet with Pauncy at this late hour and I want a midnight snack.”
“Latin, too?” said Nora. “You know how to get a wet girl wet.”
Dr. Harvey grabbed Nora and pulled her to the corner of his office. He turned her around and she braced herself by grabbing onto a bookshelf. She rapidly envisioned Pauncy Placido clutching her hips, unzipping his lunatic onesie, and slamming his voracious dick into her…
The doctor dropped to his knees, flung Nora’s dress over his head, spread her cheeks, and worked his tongue up and down and across and into her anus, pausing only to lube his tongue with saliva. This literally took Nora’s breath away. She threw her head back and pushed her ass into the pleasure. The doctor didn’t come up for air until Nora came.
Dr. Harvey fell to the floor, gasping, and pulled his dick out. Nora got down, grabbed the doc’s prick, smelled it, and was surprised by how clean it was. She had never encountered a dick so hot—temperature-wise. She lay her hand on his stomach and went to work, using her tongue in novel, inspired ways. Before long, the doctor clenched his abdomen, groaned, and blasted a watery load.
Nora spat the spunk onto the doctor’s hairy, bedraggled nads and stood up.
“Are they going to let me through the gates without you?” she asked.
“Yeah—yes,” said the doctor, sprawled on the floor. “Go ahead.”
Nora walked across the hospital and was buzzed through the gates. She performed the secret knock and Donald cracked the door open.
“You gave me Tuesday’s knock, sweetie,” he said. “It’s Friday.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t…”
“I’m just joshin’ ya,” Donald said. He opened the door and put his arm around Nora as she entered.
“Don’t forget to frisk me.”
“Nah,” Donald said. “Your dress is so wet from the rain, I can tell you’re good to go. Let me check your bag, though.” He performed a halfhearted rummage, handed Nora her bag and opened the door to the hall of cells.
Nora stepped lightly down the dim corridor. Her mind raced, not out of fear, but a perceived lack of preparation.
Before Nora was in sight of Pauncy, the famous pervert began asking her if she’d had to perform any crude favors for…
“Dr. Harvey’s sperm tastes like sardines and Lestoil,” Nora said, coming into view. She sat crosslegged on the floor, on Pauncy’s level.
Pauncy was sitting against the back wall of his cell, in the dark. He made a subtle gagging noise.
Nora cracked her knuckles. “Right now, I’d guess the doctor is out buying a bottle of muscat with toffee undertones, which I’ve been told pairs well with the flavor of my sphincter.”
“Stop,” said Pauncy. “You’re going to make an old man blush.”
“Can you tell me anything about Patty’s Poontang Palace?”
“Possibly,” said Pauncy. “But how does pinning down my protege’s place of birth help you?”
“Was he actually born in New Orleans?” Nora asked.
“Perhaps,” said Pauncy. “Or this could be a red herring and you can’t tell because the rare taste in your mouth has infected your brain. Tell me, Agent Phoenix, what wine pairs with bait fish? Vinho de Rhoda? Or would any cheap wine make a hearty seaman whistle while he works?”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Nora. “I’ve already talked to the guys at Wendell’s Woodworkers and they told me they were building a project for a young man named ‘Petie,’ who became irate when they cut ties with him. Petie said his grandmother would haunt them if they didn’t satisfy his wishes.”
“Did the grungy old whore rise from the dead?”
“No. And Petie never came back. My guess is he moved to Pittsburgh and is searching for a new woodworker to finish his project.”
“Well,” said Pauncy, “one theory is better than none theories.”
Nora clasped her hands, prayer-like, and closed her eyes. “If you help me find The Peeper, I can get you moved to a private hospital in Maryland, right next to an enormous Catholic school. They’ll give you a pair of binoculars and a tub of petroleum jelly. You’ll be in heaven.”
Pauncy scrambled across the dusty concrete floor, like an injured spider, into the light.
“FYI, I’m not a pedophile,” said Pauncy, perching on his haunches, his hands gripping his kneecaps. “I’m a classic pervert.”
“I assumed your torrent of volleyball players were… you know, what with all their butterflies and ponytails—”
“College volleyball!” said Pauncy.
“Oh. OK.”
“You’ve already whittled me down to pick your teeth. What more do you want?”
“I need to know what contraption Petie was building—is building.”
“His name isn’t Petie. It’s Josh.”
“And his last name?”
“Whittle-whittle-whittle,” Pauncy huffed. “I truly have no idea. Smith. Hughes. Joshman. Take your pick. Prick never told me. As if I could trust him if he had.”
“Would you describe the contraption? Please, Pauncy?”
Pauncy chewed a hangnail from his ring finger and quietly spit it out. “Your sweetness is cloying.”
Nora drew her finger through dust on the floor. “The moment before Harvey started eating my ass, I imagined your cock slamming into my wet…”
Pauncy recoiled. “Sweet Mary, warn a guy, why don’t ya?”
“I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“I might be crass but my tastes aren’t indiscriminate.”
“Fair enough.”
Pauncy tipped his head back and gazed at the shadowy ceiling of his cell. “I parted ways with Josh around the time he conceptualized this contraption of his. It wasn’t my cup of tea. I didn’t want to add kidnapping to my rapsheet.”
“This coming from a man who clubbed the husband of the mayor of Pittsburgh over the head and gave him permanent brain damage—all so he could sniff the mayor’s panties.”
“That was an accident. The guy appeared and I reacted. I didn’t go in there with a weapon looking to hurt anyone.”
“So what were you holding and why were you holding it?”
“It was a marble dildo. From Italy. I found it in the nightstand. Politicians bring home all kinds of expensive sex toys from Europe.”
“And you were carrying it around for kicks?”
“I didn’t know where to set it without making noise, so I shoved it in my pocket.”
“Why didn’t you just throw it on the bed?”
“The world remains flush with Monday Morning Quarterbacks…”
“You’re right,” Nora said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t there.”
Pauncy composed himself.
“Josh isn’t unhuman,” said Pauncy. “People use language like this to prop themselves up, to pardon their own sins or shortcomings—or at least cast a good, dense fog about them.”
Nora could tell Pauncy was raring to spill some tea about The Peeper. So she went quiet and let him.
“The contraption Josh is building is meant to place himself and his victim on even terms. It’s a platform with a short wall containing a double-hung window. On the victim’s half, there’s vinyl siding, to appear like a suburban home. When Josh wanders by the window, the person is supposed to view Josh’s naked body from his knees to his nipples. And Josh stands there peeping over the wall, glowering at his prisoner.”
“How is this supposed to help me pin down The Peeper? At any given time, ninety thousand people are unaccounted for in this country.”
“How many of those ninety thousand have worked in construction?”
Nora thought about it.
“Josh Joshman wants to be crowned King of the Perverts,” said Pauncy. “I think his endgame involves getting his victim to want to build the contraption.”
“How’s he going to pull that off?”
“Beats me,” said Pauncy. “Barbiturates? Brainwashing? Beefeater?”
+
Jessica lay on her neatly made bed, wearing a flannel shirt, panties, and tube socks. She glanced worriedly at her roommate. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing everything you can.”
“They found another body,” said Nora, “floating down the Allegheny, fingers filled with splinters.” She lay in her bed glaring, counting the flaws in the plaster ceiling.
“Cramming for exams right up to the last minute can be counterproductive,” said Jessica. “I’ve found, if I relax for an hour or two before an important test, my proficiency skyrockets.”
“You’re always so relaxed and confident. Brimming with answers.”
“I ain’t no dummy,” said Jessica. “But I’m far from perfect.”
“Me either,” said Nora.
Jessica came over, sat on the bed and laced her fingers with Nora’s. “Close your eyes, breathe slow and deep, and empty your mind completely.”
Nora had daydreamed about this. She guided Jessica’s lengthy fingers toward the little bow on her pajama bottoms. Jessica kissed Nora’s eyelids and brushed her lips against the tip of her nose. The pad of Jessica’s middle-finger parted Nora’s lips and painted the periphery of her clit, making infrequent and incidental contact.
“Oh Jesus,” Nora moaned. “Eat my pussy.”
Jessica removed Nora’s pajama bottoms and went to work with her tongue and her middle finger. She grabbed Nora’s ass, trying to pull its taut skin to a point. Nora tangled her fingers in Jessica’s hair; her moans undulated out of sync with her body’s contortions and she was nearly brought to tears as an orgasm tore through her nervous system.
Cuddling with Jessica, Nora fell asleep and dreamed she was directing a play. It was opening night. She scoured backstage, holding a script, running lines with every costumed person she crossed, and none of them had their parts memorized. Frustrated, she thundered onto the stage. A crew of fifteen were working on an elaborate set, which was falling apart as they built it. A multitude of voices bellowed to be let into the theater. Drills roared. Saws sawed. Actors cried. The walls shuddered. The noise became unbearable.
In the morning, Nora rushed to Franklin’s office and told him of her dream.
“You reckon this Josh fella is a thespian?” said Franklin, sipping his coffee.
“I think he is going to nab someone in theater, to help him build a compact, realistic stage with specific dimensions, that’s easy to tear down.”
“It’s good to see you so engaged,” Franklin said, leaning back in his chair. “Your father would be proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nora spent the entire day calling playhouses in Pittsburgh, talking to actors, managers, assistants, directors. She received enthusiastic feedback about Felipe Flatjack, the newest name in set design. This was a man she needed to speak to.
This ball was gonna roll whether it wanted to or not.
+
The acting studio’s walls and ceiling were painted black. Eleven students were on their hands and knees, miming hammering nails, on a stage. A man dressed in black sat in the audience and observed.
Nora approached Felipe with her badge out. “I’ve been told you’re the Michael Jordan of set design,” she said.
“I’d say I’m the Bob Vila of kicking ass and taking names.”
“Can I speak to you in your office?” said Nora, examining the students’ faces, trying to determine if one or more of them were here against their will.
“This is my office,” said Felipe, spreading his arms.
“Okay,” said Nora. “Do you have a system for keeping track of your students? I’m looking for someone named Josh. Or Petie.”
Felipe stroked his chin thoughtfully.
One of the students was asking a question about feigning fatigue, Felipe sprung up and bolted down the row of seats.
“Freeze!” Nora said, and unholstered her revolver.
Felipe dashed up the red-carpeted aisle, toward the exit. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.
All of the students bolted out the backstage emergency exit, except for one. Nora’s ears were ringing from the gunshots as she handcuffed Felipe’s lifeless arm to a seat and checked for a pulse. Stunned, she walked to the stage.
“Are you here of your own volition?” Nora yelled to the remaining pretend-hammerer, through the ringing in her ears.
“Yeah,” said the student. “My parents wanted me to be a lawyer and I was like fuck that. But now this Felipe guy is having me hammer fake nails for hours and I’m like…”
Nora looked around. “Is there a phone around here?”
“Um, there’s one in Felipe’s office.”
“I thought this was his office,” Nora said, gesturing to the studio.
“Well, he has a little room with a desk and a bookshelf and I think there was a phone, but he tried to get me to blow him in there, and I was like fuck that, you’re old and gross. But that only turned him on more…”
“Thank you,” said Nora. “We’ll get a psychologist to visit with you after we take your statement.”
“My dad says psychology is pretend.”
“Yeah,” said Nora. “Dads say lots of things.”
+
Nora Phoenix graduated from the FBI Training Academy and following the ceremony there was a reception.
“Congratulations, Agent Phoenix,” said Franklin, gripping a glass of champagne. “If you only remember one thing from your training: when somebody runs away from you while you’re talking to them, it doesn’t necessarily give you the authority to shoot them.”
“This has certainly been a learning experience.”
“We got lucky Felipe was The Peeper. Made it easier for us to sweep your little faux pas under the carpet.”
“I appreciate it, sir.”
Franklin gave her a hearty hug. And it went on a little too long.
“Also,” Franklin said, letting go of her, “there’s a phone call for you.”
“Oh. Where’s the phone?”
“Over in the hall.”
“In the entryway?”
“I guess,” said Franklin, walking away.
Nora went into the foyer and there was a white phone sitting on a table. She answered it.
“Have you made Daddy proud?” said the voice on the phone.
“Pauncy?”
“The new digs you acquired for me came sans petrolatum and my window was covered with a film that let in sunlight but obscured any view, so the binoculars they gave me were useless. But I applaud your efforts.”
“They’re letting you make phone calls, though,” Nora said.
“I’m allowing myself to make phone calls…”
Nora listened closely and could hear the squelch of gym shoes, followed by the echoey roar of a meagre but enthusiastic crowd.
Pauncy snorted. “It turns out, when a junior college is strapped for ticket-takers, they’ll hire just about anybody.”
“Where are you?” Nora said sternly.
“Ernest Stevens Memorial Gymnasium.”
Nora wrote down the name of the gym on her hand.
“It was great catching up with you,” Pauncy said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go slip into something a little more uncomfortable.”
The line went dead.
“Pauncy? Are you there? Pauncy? Pauncy?
He was not there.
