Confessions of a Triple Shot Betty Page 17

  “This guy is going down,” I said.

  “No, he doesn’t do that,” Amber teased. “He’s squeamish about actual body parts.”

  “You know what I’m saying. He’s got to pay.”

  “Come on, Geena. Dude’s slippery as hell. He could talk his way out of a blow job in the Oval Office.”

  “Those days are over,” I said. “He’s met his match.”

  “And what’s your plan exactly, Miss Vengeance?”

  “I’ve got to think about it more,” I said, “but I know there’s a way. Are you in?”

  She hesitated. “Let me sleep on it,” she said.

  “Amber! He used you. He used all those girls. We can’t let him get away with it.”

  There was silence on her end.

  “Come on,” I urged, “in the name of slandered beezies everywhere.”

  She said, “I was in love with him, Geena.”

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Think about it. Call me when you decide.”

  2:00 P.M.

  Amber still hasn’t called. I’ve tried her cell ten times. Working with Hero today, it was hell keeping my mouth shut, but what could I do? My hands are tied until Amber gives me the green light. She doesn’t want me breathing a word to anyone until we’ve got some sort of plan.

  It’s official: Boys suck.

  Haven’t talked to BB since the party. Obviously he’s firmly entrenched in the enemy camp. Fine. He looked funny when he kissed, anyway. I opened my eyes once and his were kind of cross-eyed, like a Siamese cat.

  2:40 P.M.

  Dad was supposed to visit next weekend. We were planning on going movie-hopping, like we used to on scorching Saturdays when he lived here. Half an hour ago he phoned to say he wasn’t coming.

  “Are you serious? But Blood Moon opens next Friday. I really want to see it.” I hated how whiny and immature I sounded, but lately I was losing patience with his habit of eleventh-hour ditching. Besides, this movie was a huge deal—Snakes on a Plane and The Blair Witch Project were child’s play next to the hype surrounding Blood Moon, and nobody could beat Dad when it came to savoring a good horror flick.

  “Honey, I’m sorry, but Jen’s mother is sick right now, and she needs me to help out.”

  That was it. Something inside me gave way—a mudslide of messy emotions. “She needs you? Dad, did it ever occur to you that I need you?” There was a lump in my throat, but I kept talking. “Did you ever think about that?”

  There was a long pause on his end. Finally, he said,

  “Sweetie, I see how hard this is for you.”

  “Do you?” I snapped. “Because lately I get the feeling you don’t see anything but your little arm charm.”

  His voice hardened. “Young lady, you’re out of line.”

  “No, I’m just mad, okay? I’m pissed, and I’m not afraid to say it. If you want to be a part of my life, you better start showing up.” I hung up the phone. Then I stood there and stared at it, my heart pounding.

  Mom came into the kitchen, taking off her gardening gloves. I could tell by the look on her face that she’d heard at least part of our conversation. “You okay?”

  I shrugged. Then I burst into tears.

  She held me, stroking my hair and whispering, “Shhhh.”

  Sometimes, that’s all there is to say.

  6:10 P.M.

  Amber called me at last. Of course, I was with Hero, comforting her while she cried for hours in her room, watching Claudio in the vineyards with binoculars every ten minutes just to torture herself. She’s so strung out on him. Is love an STD? From what I’ve seen, it’s harder to cure than herpes.

  “Okay,” Amber said, “I’ve decided I’m in. But your plan better be good, or this is all going to blow up in our faces.”

  “Oh, hi there, Mom,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I’m at Hero’s.”

  “Don’t tell her anything,” Amber warned.

  I said, “I know, I know. I’ll be home in an hour.”

  “And whatever you do,” Amber whispered, “don’t tell Ben Bettaglia, okay? If the guy grapevine hears about this, we’re dead in the water.”

  “Sure, okay, I’ll pick up some cat litter. Anything else?”

  “Watch your back, G.” Then she hung up.

  Hero paused in her sobbing to look at me quizzically.

  “Why does your mom want cat litter? You guys don’t even have a cat.”

  “She uses it for . . .” I searched my brain madly, but all I could come up with was “teaching.”

  “She uses cat litter to teach English?”

  I nodded. “She’s kind of unconventional in her methods.”

  Hero frowned. “But how does she use it?”

  The girl was relentless when she fixated on something. “Um, when their papers are really bad, she gives them a little bag of cat litter. It’s her way of telling them their writing is crap.” I laughed. “She’s kooky.”

  Hero collapsed against her pink velvet pillows again. “The world’s gone insane.”

  I exhaled with relief. “Pretty much.”

  Tuesday, August 5

  5:05 A.M.

  Great, now I have to formulate a plan. I’ve sworn to bring down John Jamieson, and I’ve no idea how I’m going to do it. I feel like a tiny gnat plotting the demise of Godzilla.

  Evidence—that’s what we need. Witnesses. Like in a court of law.

  The stofers! We’ve got to find them. They know something, I’m sure of it.

  9:45 A.M.

  Saw BB when I skated down to KFC for my morning BM. OMG, he tried to IM me last night, but I LOL’ed. I mean, WTF? As far as I’m concerned, he’s totally FUBAR.

  11:30 P.M.

  I asked Amber if she knew where to find the stofers. She said she’d seen them a couple times at some weird little mini-mart on West Napa. I told her we’re going there after work. When she asked why, I said, “We need witnesses.” Then I filled her in on everything I’d overheard that night on Hero’s balcony, when the stofers were waxing poetic about the Cheez Whiz guy. She agreed that tracking them down was worth a shot, since so far we had exactly nothing in the way of evidence, witnesses, or even a plan.

  When we got there, Virg was behind the counter, filming the cigarette racks. George was standing by the magazines, flipping through a copy of Penthouse. Dog was playing a video game, twitching before the screen. Bingo.

  “Hey, Dog,” I said, positioning myself near him as he white-knuckled the steering wheel and worked the gas pedal. “How’s it going?”

  “You see that? I got serious air, man! That was hella cutty.” His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. I could see the colored lights of the game reflected there.

  “Listen,” Amber said, leaning one hip against the machine. "Forget The Fast and the Furious a minute, okay? We need your help.”

  His eyes darted from the screen to Amber’s cleavage, artfully revealed beneath the plunging neckline of her halter top. An exploding sound blasted from the speakers and the neon green Ferrari went up in flames.

  He slapped the controls. “Damn,” he said. “I almost got high score.”

  Amber smiled without parting her lips. “Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “We need to talk to you about Hero’s party. What you saw.”

  He looked from her to me and back again, blinking. “What did I see?”

  “You know,” I said. “The thing you were going to tell Uncle Leo when you were in the hot tub.”

  He squinted as if thinking hard, then shook his head. “Nope, sorry, don’t remember.”

  “Come on! Try,” I said. “It’s really important.”

  Amber drummed her fingers on the game console. “Chicks everywhere will thank you profusely.”

  Dog looked at her with a mixture of lust and concentration. I thought he might pull a muscle in his brain. “I remember the hot tub . . .” he said, “. . . bubbles. Pink bubbles.”

  “That’s right,” I prodded.

  "She had pink bubb
les?” Amber sneered.

  “Go on,” I told Dog, ignoring Amber. “Pink bubbles. What else do you remember?”

  "Virg had this kind sticky from Mendo. We were stoked.” His expression went all dreamy as he remembered. “There was a dude there looked like Carrot Top. Or wait, maybe that was the other party . . .”

  “Okay, try to focus,” I urged, masking my dwindling patience with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Think hard: Hero’s party. Last Saturday. There was something you wanted to tell Uncle Leo about the Cheez Whiz guy.”

  “The Cheez Whiz guy!” Virg cried, suddenly tearing his camera away from his face. “I got him right here.” He tapped his camera, excited.

  Amber and I turned to the counter. “You’ve got John Jamieson on film?” I asked.

  “Big deal,” Amber said. “He probably just taped one of his commercials.”

  Virg looked offended. “No, man. I got top secret footage. When he makes it big, it’s going to be worth buku bucks. I’m going to sell it to People magazine.”

  “Why, what’s he doing in this ‘top secret footage’?” Amber was still skeptical.

  Virg laughed. “He’s taking a leak.”

  "Great. Real crack team, here, Chief,” she told me under her breath.

  “Can I see? Do you have it with you?” I asked.

  Virg puffed up a little. “Yeah, man. I’ve got like seventeen hours of footage in here. You want to see George taking a dump on Mrs. Smeby’s car?”

  George looked up from Penthouse. "Come on, dude. That’s personal.” He looked more proud than embarrassed.

  Amber said, “Oh, Jesus.”

  “That’s okay,” I told Virg. “All we want is whatever you’ve got on John Jamieson.”

  “Oh, yeah! That’s right.” Virg was having a brain wave; I could see distinct activity stirring in his bloodshot eyes. He looked at Dog. “Remember, kook? We were gonna tell Hero’s dad about how Cheez Whiz set her up.”

  “Ding-ding-ding-ding!” I cried, running over to the counter. “What did you hear him say?”

  “Look, listen, and learn.” Virg pressed some buttons, watching the viewfinder, until he had it cued up. We leaned our elbows onto the counter and he turned the camera toward us so we could see. Then he pressed PLAY, and we were watching John Jamieson peeing into the fountain in front of Hero’s house.

  “Gross,” I said. “I skate around that fountain.”

  Then we heard John saying, “You see the look on Blondie’s face when PJ made that toast? That was so tight.”

  Corky’s distinct braying laughter was heard, and then he too stepped into view, whipped out his manhood, and peed into the fountain. “You think she faked that faint?”

  John wagged the drops off and tucked himself into his pants. “No. She’s the real thing—purebred pussy. I’d totally hit that.”

  Corky was still peeing. “You the Man!”

  John was looking at the house now, considering. “You think anyone suspects?”

  “What?”

  “That we set it up. You know, getting those shots of Ginger, making it look like Hero—you think anyone knows?”

  Corky finished peeing at last and said, “Naw. I mean, maybe Beezie, but who’s going to believe her?”

  “Yeah,” John said. “I guess you’re right. By the way, you get a piece of her yet?”

  Corky shook his head. “I tried at your party, but she left before anything got started. Total blue balls.”

  “Too bad,” John said. “Once you get her going, she’s the bomb. Best blow job in town.”

  I glanced at Amber, who was riveted to the screen. She looked both furious and fascinated.

  “You would know.”

  They laughed then, Corky’s horsy braying blending with John’s heavy artillery. It was a creepy sound.

  Virg pushed STOP. “See? Cheez Whiz guy and Corky, peeing and plotting.”

  “Oh my God.” I couldn’t believe it. Not only did we have witnesses, we had evidence. “How did you get this without them seeing you?”

  Virg used a deep baritone, like some sort of Rasta sage. “I be one wit de trees and de bushes—de eye in de sky.”

  I looked at Amber. “We’ve got it.”

  For a second I thought she might cry, but then she burst into maniacal laughter. “You’re right.” She leaned across the counter and kissed Virg on the cheek. “You’re so beautiful! I can’t believe this. We’re going to nail John Jamieson.”

  Virg was in shock. He touched his cheek. Then he registered what she’d just said. “We tried, but Mr. Vino didn’t listen.”

  “Ohhh, yeah . . .” Dog was a little slow on the uptake. “Now I remember. Monte Luna Dude—his wine is hella tasty!”

  I beamed at them. “This is going to change everything for Hero.”

  “Who’s Hero?” Dog ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than usual; his forehead scrunched into ridges of confusion.

  “Wipeout” suddenly started playing, and Dog punched the ANSWER button on his cell. “Dog here,” he said. “Really? Right now? . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sweet! Thanks for the four-one-one, man.”

  George put the Penthouse away. "What is it? Double overhead?”

  “Better. Fight at Taco Bell!”

  I got a bad feeling, all of a sudden. “Who?”

  “Ben Bettaglia’s taking on that Italian dude—you know, the one who hangs with PJ?”

  Amber said, “Oh, mierda.”

  “No kidding,” I said. “We’ve got to get over there and stop them.”

  George looked at me like I was crazy. “Stop them? There hasn’t been blood at Taco Bell in, what? Three days?”

  I turned back to Virg. “Can we borrow your camera? We really need that evidence.”

  Virg clutched it to his chest possessively. “No way. Nobody gets Baby.”

  “Please,” Amber begged. “We’ll love you forever!”

  Dog was already halfway out the door. “We got to get there, man! It’s going to be over.”

  A little kid with glasses walked in. The chime sounded as his light-up sneakers crossed the threshold, and he made a beeline for the video games. Virg watched him walk in, looked at the surveillance cameras, then back at the kid. “Hey, grom!” he called. “Want a job?”

  The kid turned and stared, his face blank.

  “I’ll give you ten bucks worth of tokens if you’ll man the counter for twenty minutes.”

  The kid ran over and took his place at the register. His chin barely cleared the cash drawer. Virg jumped over the counter, still clutching his camera. “Ladies,” he said, linking arms with Amber and me, “let’s nail this prick.”

  When we arrived at Taco Bell, there was already a crowd gathering in the parking lot. The text message tree had evidently alerted every kid within a ten-mile radius, and there was a good chance more were coming. I just hoped we could intervene before the bloodlust in that parking lot reached its boiling point. I cringed, thinking of all the broken noses and dislocated jaws that had graced that square of asphalt.

  As Amber and I pushed our way to the front, the stofer trio trailing in our wake, we spotted the nucleus of violence. Ben had Claudio up against PJ’s truck, a fistful of his striped shirt clenched in one hand. I was surprised at the little jolt of electricity that raced through my system. I heard my own words ringing in my head: Make them regretthis, or I will. Now Ben yanked harder on Claudio’s shirt and slammed him against the closed door of the truck so his head bounced against the window. Ben was at least four inches shorter than Claudio, and there he was, defending my cousin’s honor. It filled me with an unexpected surge of adrenaline. Either I was totally crushing on this guy, or there was so much testosterone in the air it was starting to affect my physiology.

  “Don’t hurt the truck,” PJ was saying, alarmed.

  Ben looked over his shoulder at PJ. “You’re next, buddy.”

  PJ looked shocked. “Ben, what’s up with you, man? What do you care about Hero?”
>
  I stepped forward. “He cares because she’s innocent.”

  Everyone looked at me, and I felt my heart rise into my throat as my eyes locked with Ben’s. “He cares because what you guys did was wrong.”

  “Oh, man,” PJ said, “are you still stuck on that, Sloane?”

  “Excuse me!” I told him, getting in his face now. I felt the crowd’s interest quicken as I jabbed at his chest with two fingers. “It might be nothing to you, but Hero’s totally getting shit on.”

  “We see her photos,” Claudio said. “She’s a hoochie!”

  Great. The guy barely speaks English, and what’s the word he commits to memory? Hoochie.

  “It was me in the photos,” Amber said, stepping forward.

  The crowd reacted with a collective gasp crossed with murmurs. Some guy called out, “Beezie!” Amber looked around at the ring of faces, her cheeks flushed. “I was totally tricked. We were all tricked.”

  “Pretty elaborate,” PJ said. “You sure looked like Hero.”

  “Photoshop,” I told him. “John was behind the whole thing.”

  PJ laughed. “You’re telling me John went to all that trouble just to make Amber look like Hero? That’s insane.”

  “It’s insane but true, dude.” Virg came forward, brandishing his camera. “You were set up, and we got proof.”

  The crowd was starting to lose interest. I could feel the tide of animal desire ebbing. There was too much conversation, not enough action. Somebody yelled, “Kick some ass, man!” but exactly who was supposed to fight whom was getting murkier by the second, and I could see the relief in Ben’s eyes as he backed away from Claudio.

  “Check it out,” Virg said, holding the camera up. Ben, Claudio, and PJ gathered around. “Exhibit A.”

  A few people lingered, craning their necks to see the small display screen, but most of them wandered off, disappointed. The process of clearing someone’s name wasn’t half as interesting as witnessing a cracked skull. They were getting in their cars when a cell phone rang, and seconds later someone yelled, “Fight at Jack in the Box!” Suddenly engines roared to life and the air was blue with exhaust. Soon it was only Amber, Virg, PJ, Claudio, Ben, and me. Even Dog and George had abandoned us for the promise of a little brutality with a side of fries.