Polterheist(33)

"Oh, come on, of course this is happening," Lopez muttered schizophrenically to himself. "Don't pretend you weren't expecting it, one way or another. No, dreading it. Be honest. Why else-"

"But at least we know now why you're not arresting her," his mother added critically. "I suppose doing your duty by your father would interfere with your love life!"

"Now, Bridget-"

"What love life?" Lopez said morosely.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Connor."

"Yes, I think we've established that, Mom."

"What were you thinking?"

"I thought she'd be on the fourth floor," Lopez replied, as if this explained everything.

"What?" his mother said.

He sighed. "Never mind."

I feared we'd be trapped in family hell all evening if I didn't change the subject. So I said, "I hope you're feeling all right now, Mr. Lopez? I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh?" said his wife. "Then maybe you shouldn't have kicked him in the head."

"Mom, can we stop now? You've made your point."

"It wasn't my head, querida, it was more-"

"Connor, I insist that you-"

"Pop, maybe you should sit down for a minute," Lopez said loudly, taking his father's elbow and guiding him toward Karaoke Bear's sparkly platform. "You just got kicked-"

"Not there!"

They all stopped speaking and stared at me.

I realized I had sounded a tad hysterical.

I took a deep breath and glanced at Karaoke Bear, who was still lying on his little stage. Thinking fast, I said, "All of a sudden the bear short-circuited and toppled forward, toward . . ." I gestured to Mr. Lopez, then said to him, "I was afraid you'd get a nasty electric shock or something if he fell against you."

They all continued staring at me.

Mrs. Lopez was the first to find her voice-which I suspected was usually the case. "So kicking my husband was your solution? You couldn't just have said something to him?"

"I did," I said, annoyed that she wasn't receiving my explanation with more grace.

"She did," Carlos said gently to wife. "She shouted, but I didn't understand-"

"The bear short-circuited, too?" Lopez said, examining the prone performer at a safe distance. "Jesus, this whole place is falling apart, isn't it?"

"Too?" his mother repeated alertly. "You mean this has happened before?"

"Yeah, yesterday," Lopez said, still studying the bear. "Up on the fourth floor."

"You see?" Carlos said to his wife. "It was an accident, and Miss Diamond was looking out for my safety."

"Hmph," said Bridget.

"I hope you're okay, Mr. Lopez?" I said.

"I shall be fine," he said with a warm smile. "Thank you."

"Please don't thank me," I replied sincerely, seeing the way his wife and son were looking at me.

But despite the expression of mingled bemusement, speculation, and suspicion on Lopez's face, he asked me with concern, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said. "Just shaken."

"Connor is right about one thing," Bridget said, taking her husband's arm. "You should sit down."

"I just had the wind knocked out of me, that's all," he replied reassuringly. "But, yes, maybe I'll sit for a minute."

Karaoke Bear was near the ladies' winter accessories department, where an empty loveseat awaited a couple of weary shoppers. I watched Mrs. and Mr. Lopez walk over to it and sit down together. Next to me, their son let out his breath in a gush and sagged with relief, like a boxer taking a much-needed break between rounds.

"So those are your parents," I said.

"Those are my parents," he agreed, eyeing them with disfavor.

"Your mom's a little . . ." I didn't know how to finish the thought tactfully.

"I know," he said dryly.

I added, "But your dad's very . . ."

"Yeah. He is." Lopez smiled and started to relax a little.

I had always assumed, in my romantic imaginings, that he got his exotic good looks from his Cuban immigrant father. I had vaguely pictured his dad as a combination between a fiery counter-revolutionary and a sultry tango instructor who'd swept an ordinary New York girl off her feet decades ago.

Now I realized, looking at the couple, that only Lopez's dark coloring and straight black hair were inherited from his sire. (Well, that and his patience-which had quite clearly not come from his maternal line.) He got his masculine beauty from his mother, who'd probably been the most stunning young woman in whatever crowd her husband had first spotted her in. In the obvious ways, of course, Lopez looked nothing like his petite, fair-skinned, redheaded mom. But to someone as familiar with his face as I was, the resemblance was evident now that I knew who this woman was.

"I'm still a little unclear," Lopez said, turning to face me, "about why I found you apparently smothering my dad while my mom was whaling on you."

"It was all part of my grand plan to rescue him from the singing bear."

"Ah. Of course." Lopez nodded. "That should have occurred to me."

After a moment, I said inanely, "She calls you Connor." I'd never heard anyone call him that before.

"It is my name," he pointed out.

"You don't look like a Connor."

"I know," he said with a smile. "Everyone says that. Even my dad. But it was the name Mom decided on when I was born, and she usually gets her way."

That was easy to believe.

"But your father calls you something else, doesn't he?"

"Oh." He didn't seem pleased that I had noticed. "Yeah."

"I didn't quite catch what it was . . ." When Lopez didn't respond, I prodded, "What does he call you?"

He hesitated before saying, "Perrito."

On his tongue, the word sounded sexy and exotic. I tried to conceal the quiver of pleasure it always gave me to hear Lopez speak in Spanish.

"Is that your middle name or something?" When he shook his head, I prodded, "Why does he call you that?"

Lopez shrugged. "It's just my dad's pet name for me."

"What does it mean?"

It took him a moment to decide to tell me. "Puppy. Little dog."

I was charmed by this. "Puppy?"

"Sí, yo soy su perrito." He looked across the store at his father. "Thirty-one years old, an NYPD detective, and I'm still his little puppy."

"That's so sweet!"

He grunted.

I recalled that both his brothers were older. "Oh, that's right. You were the baby of the family, weren't you? The puppy trotting around after the big dogs?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I'm not sure it suits you any better now than Connor does," I said. "But I like it, anyhow, mi perrito."

That made him smile. "My brothers changed it to ‘burrito,' which they thought was hilarious. Thanks to them, that's what most other kids in the neighborhood called me."

"Burrito?" I said with a sympathetic laugh. "No wonder you wanted handcuffs and a gun when you grew up."

"Yep."

After a moment, I touched his arm and said, "I, uh . . . Look, it's not really my fault that meeting your parents went so badly, but I'm sorry about it, even so."

Lopez waved away my apology. "No, I'm sorry that they . . . That we . . ." He cleared his throat. "You know."

"I guess it was a shock to the system for all of us," I said. "Will you recover?"

"Hmph. Serves me right for agreeing to let them meet me at the store today, I suppose. But I thought, you know, it's a huge place, half a dozen floors, thousands of people . . . And you were supposed to be stuck in Santa's crib all evening. So what could possibly go wrong?" He smiled ruefully. "That'll teach me."

"You dad will be okay, won't he?"

"Of course," he said. "See?"

He gestured to his parents, who were still seated together. His mother was fussing over his father, who seemed to be enjoying her anxious attentions. As I watched, Carlos took Bridget's hand from his head (how many times did she have to be told I hadn't kicked him there? I wondered irritably), held her hand between both of his, and spoke soothingly, calming her down. Seeing his gentleness and the affection shining in his expression, it was easy to guess what had drawn Bridget to him nearly forty years ago, when she'd probably been a dazzling catch who could have any man she wanted. Then he kissed her hand flirtatiously and teased her about something, and the two of them laughed together.

"All better now," I murmured, recognizing that the storm had passed.

I recalled Lopez once telling me that he came from a family that always shouted noisily over stupid arguments but handled serious problems very quietly. Although it wasn't exactly flattering, I was nonetheless glad that his parents' disapproval of me qualified as just a stupid argument in their family.

Lopez, who was now looking around this area as if seeking an explanation for what had occurred here, noticed my blue stocking cap on the floor. He bent over to pick it up. Examining it, he said, "I think someone's stepped on it." He slapped it against his thigh a couple of times to dust it off, then shook it out a bit, making the attached ears bobble. Satisfied with its condition, he handed it over to me.

"Thanks." I just held it in my hands, not enthused about suiting back up. I didn't know where I'd spend the rest of my shift, but there was no way I was going to keep working with a possessed karaoke apparatus.