Without a Head (part 5)
“You just gave me an idea. We could put his head on Ebay.”
“I think we’ll get more for it if it’s shrunk or we can leave it like it as is and charge them more if they want it shrunk,” she said as she brushed his teeth.
“I don’t want to sell it at all,” I said, handing her floss.
“I hate to just throw the damn thing out, after all he’s been through a lot to get like this,’ she shouted as she turned his head upside down and put her keys in it.
“We’re not going to toss it either. We’ll take a picture of his head, put if up for sale on Ebay and if people bid on it, one of them could be the killer.”
“I bet if we take it to a tanning parlor we could get more for it. How much do you think it’ll go for?” she asked, catching her keys that fell out his nose.
“I don’t know…what do you think it’s worth?”
“I’m not sure, but I know we could over charge for shipping and handling, they always do that.” She picked up her keys, and then balanced his head on her head. “Now I’m a head taller than myself,” she joked.
“What am I thinking? We’ll just put it out there and let the market decide. All we need is a couple of bids and maybe we’ll find his killer.”
She nodded her head, and his head fell off of hers. Fortunately I was able to catch it before she could punt it.
After several poses, hair styles, back drops, and lighting changes we had a picture we liked and posted it on Ebay and then waited. It wasn’t long before we had our first bid, which was just a nickel over our twenty dollar reserve. A few minutes later we had another bid that beat out the first bid by over a buck.
Using the doctor’s computer, Agnes put in counter bids driving the price up. The second bidder kept upping his price. When his bid reached four hundred we decided to stop bidding and take his offer. Using Pay Pal we made the deal and he gave us an address to send the head.
We were pretty sure he was the killer not only did he live nearby, but who else would have paid the extra dough for over night delivery? I had a friend who collected mail delivery service outfits and mail vans. I borrowed both and with Agnes hiding in the back in a large box surrounded in bubble wrap we were going to make this delivery extra special.
At eleven that morning, dressed like a man in a perfect fitting overnight delivery service outfit–matching socks and all, I knocked on the door, holding a square box with the Doc’s head in it. There wasn’t any answer. While I debated if I should leave it with out getting a signature, the door opened and two people dressed as a horse emerged.
“Delivery for Kevin Aldridge,” I said with authority.
“This is him,” said a voice from inside the horse, pretty sure it was from the front end.
“You need to sign for this,” I insisted.
“Okay, give me a minute.” He lifted his left hand out of the front hoof and signed for the box.
Good thing I’d had plenty of experience with people dressing as horses before, (I worked in costume store, (Equus Caballus being my specialty) because I was ready with a response. “I’ll need to see some I.D.”
“Okay, give me a minute. I left my wallet in my donkey outfit,” he said, as they galloped back into house. A few minutes later a vapor of man who looked better as a horse floated to the door, and with his hand shaking flipped open his wallet and the driver’s license skidded into view. It was him alright, but he didn’t look like the kind of man who dresses in a horse’s outfit, cuts off someone’s head and then tosses the body through a window, but nowadays who does? Then again, looks can be deceiving, especially when you’re licking a sugar cube.
I handed him the box.
Not even waiting for me to turn or leave, he tore off the ribbon, started to rip the cardboard apart, then after shaking the pop corn filler of its face, he spun it around a few times, before dribbling through a toothy smile. “Oh, yeah, this baby will look good on my resume,” he squealed.
“Resume?” Agnes shouted all the way from the truck.
“What’s with the head I asked? Who is it?” I said, hoping he’d trap himself.
“Who cares? It’s perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.”
“Perfect. Perfect. Perfect for what?” I said, hoping to get an answer I could understand.
“Does it matter? Does it really matter? We’re all here for such a short time. ” He looked at me like I had answered the same true and false question wrong twice.
By now Agnes, still trying to unwind the bubble wrap that was covering her face, stood next to me. “Did you kill him?” she asked subtly.
“No, I was flossing, but I know who did,” he said innocently as he scooped up a handful of sugar cubes from his girlfriend who just arrived, dressed like a male lion impersonator.
Maybe it was instinct, but I had a feeling something strange was going on here that somehow seemed familiar. Before I could express my inner confusion, I found a gun pointed at my head.
“Inside,” the voice said without asking us to wipe our feet. It wasn’t the horse guy or his female male lion friend that was doing the talking. No, this guy was a bit strange. From above the waist he was dressed like Snoopy, below that he was all FDR, wheelchair with out arm rests and all.
“Step inside. Our casa is your casa, as long as we don’t have to blow your brains out with a nebulizer. You know I was never fond of Truman, he never once mentioned Peanuts during his 1948 campaign.”
I’m willing to give most guys a break, but this group was taking weird to the limit and testing my knowledge of presidential politics. While I was thinking that we were into something that wasn’t going to turn out well, I was also wondering what row in Ford’s theater Lincoln sat in and if it was up front, was he wearing his hat. Agnes was able to distract the bad beings by popping some of the plastic bubbles. She ran out of the house, into the van and barely made it away while she tried to attach her hands’ free phone cord to her cell.
End Part 5