Lime Green Teddy Bears
Friday, May 2nd, 2008, 20:38
“What are you waiting for?!” Craig whispered.
“Well, which one is it?!” Mitch was on his knees, ready to knock. Well, that was what it looked liked, anyway; he was actually ready to jump up, kick the door down and shoot every motherfucking drug dealer in sight. He felt through his pockets and swallowed a few red tablets.
Craig lowered his bulky revolver and tried to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Most of the lights were out, but the corridor looked like any other overcrowded apartment building; stuffy and rundown. There were five doors on the left and five on the right. However, he could see why there was a hint of distress in his partner’s voice; none of the doors were numbered. “Fuck!” He wiped the spittle from his chin, jerked his head back and slammed his head against the chipboard wall. “Fuck! They knew we’ve been watching them!” He lifted a heel and kicked the wall. “Fucking slimy Mexicans!”
“Shhh!” Mitch held up his hand at the sound of breaking glass. He crossed the hallway towards the third door on his right. “This one?”
Craig was right behind him. “Shitshitshitshitshit! I don’t know! Which door? What did Marcy say?” he asked with a dry throat.
“She said ‘Third door on your right.’ I made a point of listening because you never do.” Mitch was breathing hard. “Hold on.” He took a deep breath and fidgeted with the microphone in his vest, “Marcy?! Marcy?! Come in!” Craig leaned over to listen in. “Marcy?! Shit! Nothing.”
Craig scratched his chin where a drop of sweat had been irritating him for the last minute or so. “You stay here, Mitch. I think they’re getting away through the window!” Craig ran along the wall to the window at the end of the corridor overlooking the street. “Fuck me! Come look over here! There he is! It’s Pablo Ramirez, the leader of The Mexicans! He’s got the bear! Let’s take him out from here!”
“Are you insane? With this gun? No, man. We’ll have to get down there ASAP. What the fuck is Marcy doing? Why isn’t she responding?! Why doesn’t she take him out?!”
“I don’t fucking know! Go! Stairs now!”
***
20:16
“Sorry, I’m a little late.” Chris’s apology was ignored.
“Where did you get it? It’s just adorable! Are you going to give it to her tonight? Her birthday is tomorrow, you know.”
Chris smiled at his wife. “I’m actually thinking of keeping it for myself, Mrs. Barnes. Where is she? Doing homework?” He kissed his wife on the cheek and walked into the kitchen.
“Upstairs. Reading, as usual,” she replied. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I got it down the road. You know the shop; Fluffy Love, I think it’s called. You should have seen the girl who sold it to me! Oh, boy is she ever a stunning brunette; legs up to here!” He reached for his whiskey glass on the top shelf above the fridge to make his point.
“Your daughter will be very upset if she hears shit like that coming out of your mouth, Chris,” she laughed and punched him on the shoulder. Chris juggled air and dropped the glass. “Haha! See what you get for talk like that? And now you have to clean up that mess, too! Dinner’s on the table.”
“Just kidding, honey. You know me. I would never, could never, cheat on you.” Chris bent down and started picking up the glass.
“How was work, Chris? I saw your story about Congressman McLaughlin’s sex scandal has made front page. Congratulations. The photos aren’t very clear; I couldn’t see any faces. It just looks like two pairs of legs, one pair advertising expensive stockings for high-profile prostitutes, and the other pair…yuck…I shudder to even think about it.” She folded her arms and leaned against the fridge while Chris picked up the finer splinters with a wet rag.
“Don’t worry, honey. I have a surprise up my sleeve. Anyway, that’s why I’m home so late. We had a bit of a celebration at the office. And--” He stood up and kissed her on the forehead, “I got a promotion!”
“Oh, that’s great news!” She hugged him, “Does that mean we can move out of this dump next month?”
“You betcha!” He said and kissed her full on the mouth.
“Hey!” She placed a finger on his lips. “A little later, I promise. First things first: Heavens forbid you come late tomorrow for Jenny’s birthday party, Chris; I’ve invited seventeen of her friends and hired a clown.”
“What? Why? Where are they all going to sit? This place isn’t big enough for the three of us.”
“Maybe if your ego wasn’t so big, there’d be more space.” She smiled, pushed him away and walked out, “I’m going to check on Jenny.”
“Have you guys eaten yet?”
He took the grunt as a ‘No’. A cold sweat took hold of his body. He listened for his wife’s footsteps going up the stairs. As soon as he heard the hinges of his daughter’s bedroom creaking, he sprinted to the sink. He drew the curtains, grabbed the bread knife and made a 5cm incision under the teddy bear’s tail. He shoved the diskette deep into its belly and placed it neatly on the kitchen table.
***
10:36
“Get me the FBI!” Peter McLaughlin threw the newspaper into the fireplace, and took a deep breath as the fire did its magic.
“Congressman, I would suggest you sit down and think this over. Can I get you--“
“Shutthefuckup, Belinda! Did you hear what I said?!” he bellowed. “Get. Me. The. Fucking. F. B. I. On. The. Line. NOW! I want this little prick’s balls by tonight, sack ‘n all!”
Belinda’s high heels click-clacked faster than usual over the office floor.
Peter McLaughlin walked over to his drinks cabinet, reached for his whiskey glass and poured a double Jack on the rocks. “God, forgive me,” he said and drank it all in one gulp. He walked to the bookshelf and, with a stiff arm, did away with all the family photos. “Little prick!” he shouted again.
His phone rang. The glass received the same treatment as the photos. McLaughlin lifted the receiver and started barking, “Is this the FBI? Who am I speaking to?”
“No. This is Chris Barnes, New York Times.”
“You little fucker! I’ll wring that fucking scrawny neck--”
“FBI? Interesting. Pulling a few strings there. Should make a great story! You listen to me, you fat, overpaid, good-for-nothing politician. Did you see the pictures in the paper? Of course you did. They are blurred with good reason; I--”
“You cunts are so predictable? Of course I know what you are up to; you journalists are all the same. Golden boys. Never fucked a whore before! And now you want money from me, you lowlife?” He covered the mouth piece, “Belinda! Get me a drink!”
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think, Congressman?” Chris knew he was pushing his luck; McLaughlin had an explosive temper.
“Oh, fuck you! So, what next? You are going to tell me that you have a tape with the whole…thing on it. How much do you want?!” McLaughlin sat down, took off his 100% Thai silk necktie and wiped where the sweat had formed on his double chin. “Thank you, Belinda.” He took a swig.
“FBI on line thr--“
“Get out, you worthless bitch!” he shouted.
The office door closed.
“Here’s the deal. 20:45. Tonight. Fluffy Love, 36, 7th Avenue. I’ll be carrying a lime green teddy bear. It’s the only shop that sells them. There are three left. I’ve asked the lady at the shop to keep two.
You show up with $5,000,000 stuffed in a similar looking teddy. As they say in the movies, ‘Come alone’; you know the implications if you don’t.
We exchange teddies and go home. You make a scene in the morning; I apologize- I made a mistake. My family and I move to, say, Hawaii. I send you a postcard and the three other copies I’ve made; you can destroy them, or watch them when your wife goes on a shopping spree in Paris with the tax payer’s money. You keep your job, your family, and your illustrious career. How does that sound?”
“Deal.”
“I thought so. Now, go get yourself a stuffed toy.” Chris slammed down the phone. “Yesss!”
“Go stuff yourself,” said McLaughlin as smashed another glass against the wall. “Belina! Get me the fucking FBI. Agent Marcy Goethe.”
“Line fucking three!”
“Fuck you very much, Belinda.”
***
11:36
“Get the blinds,” said Marcy.
“Get it yourself, chief,” replied Craig.
Mitch shot him a look and put out his cigarette in the oyster shell on her desk.
“Don’t fuck with me today, Craig Brown,” said Marcy, not looking up from a pile of folders on her desk. “Get the blinds and take a seat next your partner here. We have work to do.”
“Sorry. Jesus. Just kidding. Nobody jokes around here anymore.” Craig rolled the toothpick over his lips and walked over to the office windows looking over the whole tenth floor.
Marcy took off her glasses. “The Mexicans. They have just delivered to one of their biggest buyers. We know his location. I want you to take him out.”
“What? Agent Goethe, you took us off the case, because it got ‘too hot’ the last time. Then your new guys, and excuse me for being insensitive, a bunch of fucking rookies, took over and you lost them.” Mitch could feel his temper slip.
“Well, we’ve been watching him for a while now. The buyer has just moved into Claymore Apartment number 36, 40, 7th Avenue. Third door on your right.”
Craig was looking through the blinds, making faces at Marcy’s secretary.
“Talking about fucking rookies…” Marcy pointed at Craig.
“Hey, man. This is serious shit. I’m not saving your ass again,” Mitch said
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mexicans. 36, Claymore. Third door on the right. Got it. And this.” Craig tapped on his gun, walked over and sat down.
Marcy sighed, “Well, you are not going to need that.”She pointed at his crotch. “It’s too small. Here.” She placed two revolvers on the desk. “Knock. Kick open the door. Shoot everything in site. Leave the guns there. Drug war. Done. Promotion. Understood?”
Craig picked up one of the revolvers, “Jesus. It looks homemade.”
“It is, Craig. Made here. By the FBI. For cases like these. I need you to--”
“For hits like these, you mean, Agent Goethe,” Mitch interrupted.
“Correct. Is there a problem? Is therapy getting to you?” she asked.
“No...Not at all. Helping me to cope, that’s all. What time?” Mitch’s hand trembled as he placed the gun on his lap.
“20:35. I’ll be outside. You know where to get your gear. Take gloves this time, Craig. I don’t want any trouble. This is your last hit, gentlemen.”
“And the drugs? The last time we did a hit, there were no drugs. There was no drug money. It all mysteriously disappeared. Just what exactly are we looking for here?” Mitch found it hard to hide the suspicion in his voice.
“I hope you are not saying what I think you’re saying, Mitch.”
“And just what am I saying, Agent Goethe?”
Marcy saw the red button of her private line flashing; Peter McLaughlin was going to pay her well for this job. “You are looking for a green teddy bear. Dismissed.”
As soon as the door closed, Marcy picked up the phone, “Yes, Peter.”
“$2.5 million.”
“Deal. You have to go. This guy is a smart bastard.”
“Can’t you disguise one of your men as me?”
“No, Peter, I can’t. I’ve used all my resources. All my men are already disguised. My job is on the line for just speaking to you, you fat fuck. Now, play nicely and everybody gets what they want.
20:45. Sharp.”
***
20:12
‘Barnes is twenty meters away from the shop entrance. Over.’
Marcy ducked behind the counter. “Copy that. Are those two dumb fucks, Craig and Mitch, on their way? Over.”
‘Copy. They’ve just arrived. Over.’
“Copy. Don’t let them enter the building before I give the signal. I repeat: Keep them there! They’ll start shooting in the middle of the street if they see him. Over.”
‘Copy that, Agent Goethe.’
Marcy pulled out the earphone and tucked it under her wig. She lifted her skirt a little and walked out from behind the counter, “Good evening. How may I help you? Looking for anything in particular?”
“Hi. I…I’m sorry, are you new here? It’s just…it’s just...Where is Lacy, the blonde girl? I walk past here everyday and we have a chat now and again, you see. She was supposed to keep--” Chris looked pale.
“Yes, I got her message. She’s ill, apparently. Nothing serious. She’ll be back in a day or two. Now, how may I help you?”
“I want the lime green teddy bear,” said Chris, still rattled.
“A man who knows what he wants. One or two?”
“Only one, please.”
“Why was I supposed to keep two?”
“I only want one, please. Chris looked over his shoulder.”
“Hey. I know you. You are Chr--”
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you are talking about. Can I just get the teddy bear for my daughter’s birthday, please?” Chris swallowed.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s you. Chris Barnes from the New York Times. I loved that story about McLaughlin, the dirty old bastard.”
“Look, can I just--”
“Here you are.” She threw the teddy in his face. “Twenty-nine fifty. Have a nice evening.”
Chris handed her a fifty, “Here. Keep the change.”
***
20:39
“Hi, Jenny! How was your last day as a 6-year old?” Chris stepped into the room.
Jenny was lying next to her mother with their noses in a Dr. Seuss book.
“Daddy!” Jenny leapt off the bed and hugged Chris. “Tomorrow is my birthday party. Are you coming, Daddy?”
“Of course, darling. It’s going to be great! I’m taking off work early.” Chris looked at his watch behind her back. He picked her up and put her back on the bed. “Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hey. I know that face,” his wife said. “What’s going on?” She sat up and Jenny started reading again. Chris looked at his watch. 20:40. He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a message in pink crayon, Teddy has torn asshole. Changing it. No time tomorrow.
His wife giggled.
“What is it, Mommy?” asked Jenny.
Chris crumpled the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Nothing, honey. Would you like some warm milk?”
“Yes, please, Mommy. And two cookies, please.”
“Ok, but just because it’s your birthday.” She kissed Jenny, took Chris’s hand and walked out the room. “Are you serious? Can’t you change it tomorrow?”
“There’s only one left! I’ll see you in ten. Gotta run! The shop’s gonna close!” Chris sprinted down the stairs, went into the kitchen and had a peek through the curtains. “Well, fuck me. He’s here.” He grabbed the teddy, jumped over the sofa and opened the door. He walked down the hallway and got in the lift.
***
20:39
Peter pulled up in his daughter’s Mercedes Benz. He looked in the mirror and re-adjusted his fake moustache. He grabbed the leather travel bag with the cash and shook his head. “Fuck.” He pulled the hood over his eyes and had another quick look in the mirror, “I look like a fucking Mexican.”
“Evening, Congressman,” said Marcy. “Hahaha! That’s hilarious! You look like one of those overweight Mexican boxers. And the moustache! Ha! It’s red!”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” whispered Peter. “Nobody can know I am here! Call me…Jesus, or something.”
“Just fuckin’ with you, Jesus. The microphone’s off and my people have taken care of the cameras.”
“Shhh. Jesus. Here’s the money.”
“I don’t have to count it, right?”
“No. It’s all there. 2.5 million bucks. Buy yourself a new personality. Now, where’s the stupid bear?”
“Here you go. Twenty-nine fifty, please.” Marcy giggled again.
“Crazy woman. Have you stuffed it.”
“There’s no need. Chris Barnes is probably looking out the window now, making sure you are here. Just go stand outside with the bear for a few minutes. He won’t even make it out the door.”
“How will I know your guys popped him.”
“I will let you know, Jesus. Now go.”
McLaughlin went outside and looked very guilty; he paced up and down with the lime green teddy under his arm.
***
20:45
Chris kept his distance a few paces behind the two Mexican men walking in front of him. He stayed behind the bigger one. ‘Perfect,’ Chris thought, ‘McLaughlin won’t be able to react until I’m onto him. What the…?’
Both of the men pulled out homemade revolvers as they approached Fluffy Love; Chris felt his heart sinking; he stopped dead in his tracks and held the bear like a 7-year old would, “Hey!” His cry was deafened by the sound of the guns.
It was too late. The first bullet struck the teddy bear in the ear, sending the large frame of McLaughlin to the sidewalk. The next six or seven ripped the flesh from his face and chest. Chris crouched behind a sleek Mercedes Benz. The same woman that had sold him the teddy bear came running out. “What are you doing?! Craig!--“
“Dude, she knows your face!” shouted Mitch.
Marcy didn’t have a chance. Chris saw the bullet enter her left eyebrow, flinging back her head so violently that she fell on her neck with her legs in the air.
“Run, Craig! Run!” Mitch shouted.
Most of the people who had cowered behind bins, lamp posts and cars were starting to get up, some still with their packages or newspapers on their heads. One woman was looking for her shoes. “Call the cops!” shouted Chris, feeling a dead pulse in McLaughlin’s double chin while feeling for his money in the dead teddy bear. “Little fucker!” He ripped the moustache off McLaughlin’s lips and stepped into the shop.
He immediately recognized the leather bag on the counter; it was the same one he had seen that night at the Hilton when he filmed McLaughlin and the call girl. He hit the lights, threw the diskette on the floor and stuffed as much as he could into his teddy.
***
Saturday, May 3rd, 2008, 7:56
Belinda put on her make-up as usual. Her eyes were bloodshot from watching the news all night. “Eye drops. There we go,” she talked to herself. The bitter taste burned her throat. “That’s better.” She sniffed and shoved the gun into the front of her cotton panties as a tear rolled down her check, smearing her mascara a little.
“Kids just love a sad clown.”
The End
