A Fashionable Death (Part Three)

(Yes, yes I know. It's about damn time. I'd offer excuses, but they would be lies.)

As we approached the bus station in Detroit I dialed up Janet on my cell phone. She was supposed to be waiting for me but I wanted to be sure she was there. The last thing I wanted was to be alone at the downtown bus station surrounded by degenerates.

"You may speak." Janet's voice in my ear made me smile. She had always posessed this weird, superior quality, as if she were royalty, and had never said or done anything to make me think otherwise. It rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, but I loved it.

"Janet! Don here. The bus is about to arrive, I just wanted to make sure you were there to get me. I do not want to be hanging around this dump very long."

"Donald. My dear Donald, I am already here, have been for an hour. L'attente ici pour vous avec la prevision hors d'haleine."

With that she hung up. What more was there to say? The bus pulled into the station and everyone stood up, seemingly at the same time, and began shuffling around preparing to get off. I only had a backpack with me and was ready to go so I started maneuvering towards the front of the bus. I managed to make it almost all the way to the front by the time the bus stopped and the driver opened the doors.

When the doors did open, Detroit hit me in the face like Tommy Hearns in his prime. Diesel fumes, asphalt, body odor and the noise assaulted my senses and sent me reeling for a moment. I came back to myself just as I was being shoved from behind and cursed at. Ah, Detroit! It's a lot like New Orleans in some respects, the music and the people, but where Detroit smells like diesel fumes, New Orleans smells like a deep dark roux. I made my way through the bus station and out to the parking lot.

I spied Janet sitting on the hood of her car smoking a cigarette, looking regal. I had known her since grade school and she was my best friend in the world. In high school everyone thought she was a dyke because she cut her hair short, wore combat boots and didn't date any boys they knew of. I happened to know that she preferred older men and short, profitable affairs. She didn't think of herself as a prostitute so much as a provider of services. On more than a few occasions she had been dropped off at home in a limousine which prompted her parents to call me to find out what was going on. She still hasn't told me who she was seeing, claiming that if their identities became public it would 'compromise' them. I believe her.

As I got closer she tossed her cigarette down and ground it under what appeared to be a very expensive pair of heels, Ferregamos by the look. She was definitely wearing Chanel and I wondered if she was 'back in business', so to speak. The car she had been sitting on didn't say so, it looked like an old Honda, but if the shoes and clothes were authentic...well, what did I care? I was just happy to see her.

"Donald, darling, it's been too long. You're wasting yourself down in that abysmal swamp of a state. And putting on weight, by the looks of it. What are you eating down there?"

"Shut up Janet, the food is great and you know it. You look fantastic! But where's Mark? I was hoping he'd be with you."

She backed up and looked at me.

"Donald, didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?" I didn't like the question or the tone in her voice.

"Oh shit, Don. You don't know. Shit."

"Know what? What's wrong with Mark?" I was getting a bit panicked. Janet opened her purse and pulled out her cigarettes, offering me one. I accepted. After lighting them she spoke again.

"Don, Mark's in jail."

"What? What for? Why?"

"Hold on, it gets worse. He's been charged with murder."

"Murder?! Oh my god!" I was in total shock. I couldn't imagine Mark ever killing anyone.

"That's not all, Don. He's been accused of killing Robert."

I dropped my cigarette and may have fainted. I came to in the passenger seat of Janet's Honda, staring out the window. She may have been speaking, I don't know, it was all a blur. One of my best friends accused of killing my first boyfriend...it was too much to believe. I felt something pressed into my hand and looking down I saw it was a metal flask. A drink was exactly what I needed to clear my head. But what were we going to do?

(To be continued)


M. PotPie