"Oh, it's strange, something, something. Don't you mind just now! I'll get you food. You need food." He headed for the door. "You must be exhausted"
"I can wait. I just wanted to ask you a few questions first." I tried to smile, but it hurt its way into a grimace. Suddenly, I realized I was without makeup. I slid a hand over my chin. Lovely feeling.
"I'm curious about…" I started, then my mind blanked. "Oh damn, it was right there. What the hell was it?"
"You have had a lot of strain put upon you," the priest shook his head. "Rest, is what you need. Food, not questions."
"Sure…" I said, puzzled. The priest walked to the door, smiled, and left. I ran my hand over my face again and relished the sweet familiarity. Fine stubble grew there. It had always been a nightmare to shave regularly. I was due. I looked at my bare chest, felt the shallow depression of the scars. The door opened, and Elmo entered. He had a small case in one hand and a tall Styrofoam coffee cup in the other. He smiled shyly, like he was a girl at a sock hop and I was a boy. Then his eyes went wide.
"You okay, Boss?" He set the bag on the bed and the coffee on the bedside table. "Father says it's okay I come see you." He looked hesitant.
"Yeah, Fatso. Aces. Good job you got me here. Did you have any more trouble?" I lifted the plastic lid on the coffee. My stomach fluttered.
"No, I just drove around all n-night, then stepped into the office quick, this mornin'." He sat down in the chair by the bed. "The f-father said he's makin' you breakfast. Had to call somebody." Then he frowned.
"What is it Fatso?"
He rubbed his chin. "Must be cause I never seen you in some time without no…" Elmo gestured to his face. No makeup. "And them b-bruises…but…"
"What about it?"
"You look different, I guess." He rubbed his right forearm. I noticed the holes in his shirt. "I know you put on weight, but…"
"Christ, I almost forgot! You got shot last night. Are you all right? What happened?" I scanned my dead gunsel's chest.
Elmo pushed his jacket away from his left side, and then absentmindedly drilled a finger into one of the three bullet wounds in his chest. I heard a sickening fibrous sound like old burlap. "I was waitin' like you said, but then, I figured you was away for too long-and I thought anyway, I could check in with you and still cover your back, 'cause the elevator was broke-and, and trouble would come up the stairs." He shifted nervously. "I got up to the r-room, and you was-were gone. Then, I looked around and found a fire 'scape sign, and a door. The door was open, so I knew you was either wanderin' around outside, or there was some kinda trouble.
"I stepped quick out the door and saw two b-big fellas carryin' you down the stairs. There was this other guy too, and he had a gun. Shot me three times. Small bullets though, so I ain't too bad off. But I can feel them in there if I walk too fast. Need some duct tape is all." He smiled.
"Christ, Elmo. I guess you're lucky they didn't torch you or something worse."
"I guess they must'a figured I was a living p-person, 'cause they didn't check on me. I just got knocked down and I stayed down. Then, I followed them, when they forgot about me. They took you down to the basement through the service elevator. But a big guy, an Enforcer, he guarded the door. I had to sneak back up the stairs and find a way to the basement inside. I'm sorry I was kind of late."
"Don't worry about it, Elmo. An Enforcer?" My head was reeling. "Authority?"
"All rubber and steel, like." Elmo traced a large block shape with his hands.
"Then you started a diversion to give me escape time."
"No, Boss." Elmo rubbed a forearm again, abashed. "I kinda surprised another Enforcer by m-mistake. We shot it out. But I got away."
"Good work." I rubbed my chin, then noticed Elmo's mouth fall open-agog.
"Boss, things is looking different…"
"I know it's different." I was beginning to enjoy the sensation of a clean skin. I was also beginning to wonder why Tommy hadn't run for the makeup, or thrown me out as he had done on other occasions when I'd attempted to take the damn stuff off. Unless he was unaware. "You've got the makeup, Elmo?"
"Yeah, yeah." He reached over and patted the case. "And clothes."
My mind suddenly clicked. I swung my legs off the bed. "You said the Father was going to make a call. Damn!" I winced as I struggled out of the bedding. "Elmo, he'll probably call Authority. 'I've got this poor abused guy at my church, see.' You just said there was an Enforcer involved last night. Quick! Give me my clothes!" I struggled into a fresh coverall. This one must have been Tommy's special occasion suit. It was slightly cleaner. The spots were very bright, red, blue, yellow. Lovely. I struggled into my boots, lashed my pink skipping rope belt about me.
I was up. My gun! Elmo read my thoughts. He shrugged two bony shoulders and handed me his. 357 magnum. "I took it off the church steps last n-night," he said. I passed it back to him with a 'sh' sound on my lips and remembered the car.
"Fatso, did you empty the trunk?" He shook his head as I thought of the Monkey twins' guns: a couple of. 9mm automatics and an auto-shotgun. Perfect.
"B-but, Boss?" Elmo shook his head. "I, we should wait for the Father. He's got food and you is-are sick."
"No time to explain, Elmo. Come on." I pushed past him and he followed, case in hand. We ran down the hallway, and out onto the steps before the church. The sky was gray and cloudy; a few damp spots remained on the concrete. I scanned the area.
"Come on!" I scrambled ahead of Elmo. He followed as quickly as he could. His legs moved jerkily. "Come on!" I shouted again. The car was sitting at the curb like a badly landed airplane. Bullet holes pocked its length. A great dark stain seeped from beneath it.
I ran to the trunk, and then waited an impatient second for Elmo to hobble up to me. He jangled the keys in the lock, and the trunk popped open. I snatched an automatic, checked the clip for bullets and slid it into my pink skipping rope belt.
"Come on, Elmo. Drive." I jumped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. I suppose I was so used to seeing a clown anytime I looked in a mirror that for once I noticed my reflection in the shattered rear view on my side. I looked determined-and then I was floating over Tommy's head. He was huddled over, covering his face with his arms.
"No! No!" He cried shrilly. "Oh, it's him. It's him!" Two great sobs were dragged out of him with chains. He balled up his fists and then smashed his face repeatedly.
Elmo sat beside him in wide-eyed terror. Boss was crazy again. This time, Elmo seemed to make the connection. He quickly opened the case and pushed the tin of white face at Tommy.
"Here it is, Boss. H-here it is!"
Tommy frantically rubbed the makeup into his cheeks. It resisted application where tears soaked the skin. I heard a door shut. I looked away from the beleaguered clown toward the sound. In front of the Chrysler was a long black sedan. Its doors were open. Two Authority Enforcers clomped toward us in steel and rubber boots. Auto-shotguns twitched nervously in their hands.
"Boss, Boss!" Elmo became frantic. He stabbed at the ignition with the keys, dropped them, then desperately struggled under the wheel to retrieve them. Tommy didn't even look up. He was busily rubbing makeup into his cheeks. I noticed he was ready to trace on his lips. He repeated over and over. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't a' dropped him. I'm sorry!" The clown struck his forehead against his knees.
The Enforcers spread out. They leveled their guns at Tommy and Elmo and approached the car from opposite sides. I made a desperate attempt to enter Tommy. He was closed to me. The last time I had tried to remove the makeup, I'd been shut out for two days.
One Enforcer, crouching, reached quickly into the car and snatched the gun from Tommy's belt with one deft motion. He thrust it through his own, then stood there for some moments either puzzled or amused. He signaled to his partner, who complied by lowering his gun; then the Enforcer did something I'd never seen an Enforcer do. He removed his helmet and facemask. Simple as that. My emotional roller coaster took another savage turn, when I saw the face beneath the helmet to be Douglas Willieboy's.