Spoonbenders

Matty drew back in alarm. The rest of the room became visible to him. Mitzi had slipped off her chair, and was lying on the floor. Goji-vomit was everywhere. She’d stopped throwing up, but her mouth was still moving, calling out, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

He moved beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked her, but of course she couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t yell for help, couldn’t help her to her feet. He had nothing but a ghost voice and a pair of ghost hands. Useless! He’d have to go back to his body and call 911. But what then? Hi, I know I’m several miles away, but I know for a fact there’s an old woman who’s real sick in a bar.

The office door opened. The bartender, an old man with a huge, multi-chinned face like Jabba the Hutt, walked in, bent down, and helped Mitzi to her feet. He escorted her to the bathroom, and he and Matty waited ten, then fifteen minutes until she reappeared. She still looked horrible. Eventually the bartender guided her out the back door, to a car, and they drove away.

What was he supposed to do now? Mitzi had left without even putting away the last envelope. He knew exactly one digit of the combination. The only person left in the bar was the waitress, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t going to open the safe.

He’d failed.

—

He found Frankie in the basement, interrogating Buddy about the damage he was doing to the house. Then Frankie finally noticed him standing on the stairs, and said, “What?”

“It’s about our thing,” Matty said.

His uncle’s face lit up, and that made Matty cringe inside. They went to the kitchen, out of Buddy’s earshot, and Matty said, “I started again. Visiting Mitzi’s. I was just there.”

“Oh my God! That’s fantastic! Did you get the combination?”

“That’s what I want to tell you. I didn’t get it. And I won’t be able to. Payday’s been canceled.”

The telephone rang. Frankie ignored it. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a problem,” Matty said. “Mitzi got sick, and she left.”

“Sick? Sick? Mitzi’s never sick.”

“It was pretty bad. A lot of vomit.” The telephone wouldn’t stop. “Maybe I should get that.”

“Don’t pick that up. Could be anybody,” Frankie said. “Just tell me what happened.”

Matty didn’t want to say what Mitzi had been drinking when she threw up. Instead, he said, “I don’t think she’s coming back. There’s nobody there now but a waitress.”

“Payday is never canceled,” Frankie said. “It’d be like canceling—” He made a sputtering sound, looking for the word. “—gravity. Not possible in the realm of physics.”

Buddy appeared at the kitchen entrance. He pointed toward the front door.

“What?”

Frankie said.

The doorbell rang.

“Well, get it, dummy!” Frankie said.

Buddy slowly shook his head. Frankie stormed past him, heading for the door. Matty took advantage of the distraction and picked up the phone. Anything beat being yelled at. “Hello?”

A pause, and then a man said, “Oh! Hi. Is this Matty?” Matty didn’t recognize the voice.

“Yes?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Your mom’s told me a lot about you.”

“Uh…”

“I was wondering if she was home?”

“Can I say who’s calling?”

“It’s Joshua. Joshua Lee.”

The boyfriend. Or, as Matty had started to think of him, the Penis from Phoenix. “She’s not home right now. She’s at work.”

“She’s hard to catch. Do you know when she’ll be back? Or if there’s a better time to call?”

“It’s kind of busy here,” Matty said.

“Right. Okay. I’ll call back tonight.” He sounded desperate. No, like a desperate guy pretending not to be. “If you see her, tell her—wait. No, that’s okay. I’ll just call back.”

Matty hung up. Buddy was looking at him. “Has he been calling a lot?” Matty asked.

Buddy nodded.

“Is that Malice? I mean, Mary Alice?” He thought he’d heard her voice. Matty went outside, and Frankie was standing on the front lawn, saying, “Come on, Loretta. Please get out of the car!” Malice stood nearby, holding a lumpily full garbage bag. She saw Matty and walked up to him.

“Would you take this?” she asked. “He won’t.”

“What is it?”

“Clothes. Some other stuff he’d need.”

“Wow, your mom’s pretty mad.” Matty didn’t recognize the car, or the woman behind the wheel. One of Loretta’s friends, it looked like. Loretta sat in the passenger’s side, staring straight ahead, window firmly up. “What happened?”

“He didn’t tell you? We have to sell the house. Like, today.”

“What? That’s crazy. Why?”

Malice gave him a half-lidded stare. “Like you have no clue. You want to tell me what you two have been working on?”

“I…I can’t.” He felt so embarrassed. “I wish I could.”

Loretta had finally rolled down the window—but only to yell for Mary Alice.

“Wait,” Matty said. He leaned close to Malice and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you have any, uh, pot on you?”

Malice stepped back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m down to half a joint, and it’s really—”

“Mary Alice!” Loretta yelled. “In the car!”

—