It was not quite 7 a.m. when the phone rang. I had slept soundly for nearly nine hours, my dreams filled with primitive rituals, young boys eagerly selecting the most … the most gomorashu of the girls who emerged from a cocoon, banishment of the not-so-sexy to the land of the bald. There were a million questions left unanswered. If a young man selected a particularly gomorashu girl, was he entitled to unfettered access to her charms? If so, why was Pelvis apparently unattached? Aha! Because she had yet to enter the cocoon, for the second and presumably final time. Perhaps she would have been banished to the … what the hell was their name? It sounded like some high fashion Italian designer. The Guma-gachi? The bald man's paradise.
The phone rang again. I opened my eyes, rolled to my side and snatched the phone from its cradle.
"It's bloody early in the morning," I said. "You'd better have a damn good reason for calling."
"Howdy, Miss Fleetsmith. The sun is up, but y'all ain't?"
It seemed a question. "Uh? Texas? That you?" I managed.
"Yes ma'am, Willum Boone, at your service."
I rolled my legs off the side of the bed and sat on the edge.
"So, Boonie baby, how's she hangin'? That bimbo keeping y'all fit and hardy? I imagine she's—"
"Bimbo? Who y'all talkin' 'bout, ma'am?"
I stood up and walked to the bathroom, pulling the phone cord behind me. "I phone, I get some slut answering," I said as sarcastically as I could manage. I stare at my body in the full length mirror, brushing the hair from my face. "Don't tell me she's your sister, because—"
"Yes ma'am," he said.
"Yes ma'am, what?"
"Yes ma'am, she's my sister."
"Shit! No kidding? Your sister? But I thought … I thought—"
"Bimbo, y'all said."
"Oh, Texas, I'm so sorry. I just assumed—"
"Went to Atlanta, talked to some gal from the police, nothin' new to report. Seems this Werner Oerschott, in Atlanta, was related to our Hans Oerschott, some kinda cousin, and has the same affliction, with the fuzz 'n' all," Boone said, ignoring my rude remarks about his sister.
Shit! Had I really called her a slut?
"Then his body vanishes," I said, now wide awake.
"Beg pardon, ma'am?"
"Werner Oerschott, his body, it's gone," I said. "I just happened to be in the neighbourhood and popped by myself, to the CDC in Atlanta. A professional trip, you understand, to compare notes with the science guys there."
I thought I should rub it in, because now I remember. Old Boonie boy tells me there's no point in a trip to Atlanta then he ups and goes himself. Now I'm upset, again.
"You didn't know that?" I said. "Just how professional was your trip to Atlanta?"
"Then both Oerschott's is loose gorillas," he said.
Shit, I hadn't thought of that. Then there's some guy in … where was it? Arkansas, someplace in Arkansas. Three gorillas. Shit!
"We gotta talk," Boone said.
"Okay … and guess who else is talking?" I said. "Pelvis, the native girl. Now's your big chance to interrogate this young gal. The sun is up and now I'm up, so you can drop by anytime. How about breakfast? Say in an hour?"
"Yes ma'am," he said.
For some reason I should be angry, but I was eager to see him again.