The Lion's Head
Jay Stevens had her afternoon coffee on the balcony of her apartment every day when the weather permitted. It was from that vantage that she observed her neighbourhood. Traffic filtered through the intersection, birds rattled around in the trees, school kids lugged their homework back home in oversized bags, and life went on as normal.
It marked the beginning of the home stretch — the final couple of hours parked in front of her computer in her home office before she could safely close her laptop without risking a passive-aggressive email from Vanessa Rogers. Officially the company pledged “flexi-time,” but unofficially Vanessa kept a vigilant mental record.
This afternoon something was off. She sensed an incoming commotion from the ground below. She craned her head over the railing of the balcony to see a man, about sixty years old, emerge from the entrance of the apartment building. He was carrying the head of a lion — taxidermied, Jay hoped. A woman of a similar age was chasing him, desperately grasping at his shirt. The man she’d seen before, he lived on the ground floor, but the woman was new.
“Webster!” the woman yelled at him. He shrugged the shirt from her grasp. “Terry belongs to me!” The Lion had a name, apparently.
“Rack off, Cheryl!” Webster yelled back over his shoulder. “His name’s not Terry! And the will clearly states that it belongs to me!” So maybe the lion had multiple names. Or none.
Cheryl stumbled on a crack in the path, only just managing to catch her balance. This allowed Webster to get a couple of paces ahead. “She wanted me to have it! You know that!” Her legs shuffled uncertainly as she tried to catch up. She reached out to grab his shirt again, but missed. Jay took a sip of her coffee, realising she wasn’t even trying to be inconspicuous about watching the show.
She looked up the path to see where Webster was going with Terry’s head. On the street a black car was parked. Two men in suits stood in front of it. Jay immediately clocked them as being lawyers. One of them held an A3 envelope, firming her theory. This one stepped forward, past Webster, and handed Cheryl the envelope. He said something to her, but not quite loud enough for Jay to discern from the balcony. Cheryl opened it and began reading the contents furiously, as Webster struggled to shove a lion’s head into the backseat of a car.
Suddenly Cheryl let out an “aha!” and slapped the papers with the back of her hand. She’d cracked the case, found the smoking gun, and was about to deliver the knock-out blow. “This is invalid!” she shouted. “Mum had no middle name! This document is fraudulent.”
“I rest my case,” Jay added quietly on Cheryl’s behalf.
Webster, huffing and puffing, stopped manhandling the lion long enough to call out, “it was Madeline! You didn’t even know her!” He then returned to cramming Terry into the car. Once successful, he struggled to secure the seatbelt around it. Safety first, Jay thought.
Suddenly the lawyer looked up at Jay. Oh shit, I’ve been discovered.
“Ma’am,” he called, “are you filming this?”
“Filming? With what? My coffee mug?” Jay took another sip.
He squinted into the sun setting behind the building. “Ma’am, this is a private conversation.”
“Are you sure?” Replied Jay. Cheryl did a double-take upon realising Jay was up there, then she began gesturing wildly at her.
“Call the police!” she called up. “They’re stealing from me!”
“I’m not calling the police, Cheryl.” She thought for a moment that maybe it would be better if she went inside now that she’d become one of the dramatis personae, but the scene was too delicious to exit.
Cheryl blinked at her. “Hey! How do you know my name?”
Jay rested her coffee down on the balcony ledge. She was worried she was about to throw it, mug and all, at no one in particular. “How do I know your name?” she jabbed a finger at her from the balcony. “You’re Cheryl, he’s Webster, the lion’s name was either Terry or something else, it used to belong to a lady with the middle name ‘Madeline,’ and there are two lawyers or possibly federal agents involved, and I know all this because you are performing a very loud pantomime in front of our building!”
Jay exhaled, calmed herself down, and took up her coffee again. Cheryl’s mouth worked soundlessly as she tried to figure out what had just happened. Meanwhile Webster and the two Men in Black had taken the opportunity to get into the car and were beginning to drive away. Cheryl did another double-take, much better executed than the first, and attempted to run the short distance to the kerb before doubling over from the effort and having to forfeit the chase.
“Fine!” she shouted after them when she caught her breath, no possibility of them being able to hear her. “But I’m keeping the heart!”
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