“Well, so we finally get some time together.
I was beginning to worry you didn’t want to see me!” Otto
giggled.
Wrenched back to reality, her worst fears
were confirmed. Otto grinned like an idiot behind a mask of zinc
oxide.
“You can’t have your favorite customer
getting upset, here,” he said. Then propped his briefcase up on the
counter and looked around the half full lobby before opening it. He
popped the two buttons on his briefcase, pulled out a grease
stained paper bag and crammed it into the change well. His hand
lingered, giving her the opportunity to touch him.
Cindy took tiny little breaths to fend off
the nauseating sensation. She grabbed the opposite side of the bag
and avoided his twittering fingers. He held on tightly as she
pulled the bag, until eventually it ripped apart.
“That’s okay. I got more so don’t worry,”
Otto said, working to calm her down. It wasn’t going to do if she
got this upset over little things. She’d have his laundry screwed
up in no time.
“So about what time do you think tonight?
Closer to eight would be better for me.” He figured as long as she
was getting all this free stuff on their date the least she could
do would be to show up after the dinner rush.
Cindy suddenly felt light-headed, her stomach
fluttered ever so threateningly. She swallowed hard, bit her lip to
concentrate on the pain and quickly began counting greasy
currency.
He continued talking as Cindy fought to close
her mind to the outside world. She encoded his deposit slip, then
shoved his receipt through the greasy trail the paper bag had
left.
“… course after that if you wanted, you could
see how we mix up the batter, maybe put some bacon on skewers you
know, start to learn a little bit about the business,” he droned
on.
“Got a little something special for you
again, more treats. Cajun style this time!” he grinned. Then pulled
a stained paper plate from his briefcase, restacked what looked
like dog poop on a stick. He shoved and crammed the whole mess back
into the coin well. It left a quarter inch crust of grease and
batter along the bottom edge of the protective glass.
“No, no, no thanks, please, oh please, no.”
She half whispered, afraid she might cry, fighting to swallow the
lump in her throat. She pulled the saturated paper plate through
the opening and placed it off to the side.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“Tonight then, closer to eight.” He gave her
his two-fingered salute, then executed two crisp left facing
movements and marched purposely out the door before she could
respond.
She shuddered as he departed the lobby. A
dark stain ran from his shoulders down the length and breadth of
his back, then transferred from his jersey to the back of the baggy
blue jean cut offs.
“Oh disgusting,” Carol exclaimed. She swooped
up the greasy paper plate laden with encrusted bacon strips,
depositing the whole mess in a waste basket outside the teller
area.
“Like it isn’t bad enough in here with all of
us sweating. You sure attract them, honey!”
Cindy grabbed the Lysol can and sprayed down
the counter area immediately in front of her, wiped the area clean
with a fistful of paper towels. Then sprayed again for good
measure.
* * *
I don’t know, thought Merlot, pulling the
black wig back and binding the hair to form a pony tail. That
doesn’t look half bad. He decided the odds of wearing a mask into a
bank and not attracting attention were slim to none and so, opted
for a disguise.
He wore a long, black haired wig, fake
mustache, a Band-aid over the bridge of his nose, sunglasses, bulky
loose fitting jeans, and shirt. He was beginning to believe there
just might be an outside chance he could pull it off.
He had been practicing with a series of
different notes, some stating he carried a bomb, others a gun, some
made no mention of any weapon, but simply asked for money. He
thought he would just bring a couple of trash bags, fill them with
cash, get in and out quickly.
He looked at himself in the wall mirror
again. He didn’t recognize the freak starring back at him from
behind the mirrored glasses, hopefully Cindy wouldn’t either. His
plan, such as it was, was not to say anything, just hand the note
to the teller.
He reminded himself once more to wipe down
the Saab for any trace of fingerprints. He planned to wear gloves
anywhere near the damn thing from this point forward.
* * *
Osborne’s head still throbbed after bouncing
off the brick wall. Add to that the chiming from the ice cream
truck servicing the crowd, Milton snoring in a semi-comatose state
on the couch and it was all too much.
He walked over to the snoring, drooling giant
and kicked his shin. Milton groaned but other wise gave no
reaction. He sprayed him again with disinfectant, then returned to
his desk, reapplied an ice pack to his tender forehead.
He lifted the blinds, glanced down on the
scene below, and was shocked to see someone had set up an Ipod and
speakers. Sassie and the rest of her ilk were dancing to the
delight of clapping police and a growing mob of onlookers. He
slammed the blinds down strode over to Milton and kicked him
again.
* * *
“All right, I’m moving. Relax will you,”
Daphne said to a
Pioneer Press
photographer in
response to his scowl and anxious arm directing her out of the
way.
He wanted to get some decent shots of the
thong clad picket line. He smelled a possible photography award,
maybe a Pulitzer. His eagerness to get the shot, the lighting with
just the right shadows had translated into a gentle but forceful
assist to the rather large, sweaty woman.
“Sorry, just trying to get this shot,” he’d
said, not in the least sorry.
Daphne struck a pose.
“You could take my picture.”
Like it isn’t tough enough hanging onto
readers, he thought, pointing the camera and absently clicking in
her general direction.
“Did you even take the picture? I didn’t see
a flash.”
He glanced up at the sun beating down.
“You wouldn’t, there’s enough natural light.
Look, I gotta get these other shots, so if you’d excuse me.” He
crouched and thrust himself delightfully close to Misty rubbing
suntan lotion on a friend.
“Don’t you want my name for the paper?”
Daphne called after him, stepping up to the ice-cream truck just as
her cell rang.
“Hello.”
“What’ll it be this time?” the ice-cream man
asked the large woman with the cell phone surgically attached to
her ear.
His name was Morris and he had lost track of
how many ice cream treats she’d purchased today, although he could
probably figure it out if he took the time to count the different
colored drips staining the front of her T-shirt.
He was thin bordering on gaunt, with dirty,
lackluster hair. He might have been labeled ‘unattractive’ were it
not for a definite rodent quality to his face, which caused him to
be described as “extremely ugly”. This, in addition to years of
selling overpriced ice cream to whiney kids and bitchy parents, had
left Morris with a noticeable twitch and a hair trigger temper.
He had parked his truck here on a lark almost
four hours ago and business had been booming ever since, which to
Morris’s way of thinking meant he had to work even harder.
“Are you still out of banana fudge bars? Hang
on, Lucerne,” Daphne said, pulling the phone away from her face.
“Well?”
“I told you before, you ate the last one
around two o’clock,” he twitched. “Where exactly, do you think I’m
gonna get any more? Pick something else.”
“Oh be quiet, you,” Daphne giggled into the
phone, pointed and mouthed the words ‘Creamy Dreamy bar’ to
Morris.
“Jesus, do I have this, do, do I have that,”
Morris muttered, jerking involuntarily for a moment before reaching
deep into his diminished cooler and handing her a Creamy Dreamy
bar.
“Here, now you’ve eaten the last of these,
too. So don’t come back here asking for another, cause I ain’t got
one. Four fifty.”
“Oh Lucerne, that’s so nice of you,” Daphne
giggled. She slid four dollar bills and two quarters across his
little counter, tore the wrapper off with her teeth and crammed a
third of the bar into her mouth.
“All right, Tracey, look, I’m gonna check on
ya all later, just making sure everything’s okay,” Lucerne
said.
“You are so sweet, you’ve really been a big
help. I can’t thank you enough. I just wish there was some way to
repay you,” Daphne said pulling the phone away from her ear,
licking dripping ice cream off her hand and phone.
“… maybe sometime tomorrow afternoon. You
could even come along,” he said just as she put the phone back to
her ear.
“Yeah, that would be fine with me,” she
replied, having no idea what he was talking about, concentrating
instead on the large drip of creamy vanilla she was going to miss
if she didn’t hurry.
“Whoops, gotta go,” she said clicking her
phone off and quickly attacking the ice cream before she lost the
large drop to gravity.
“Yes!” Lucerne said out loud, Tracey was
going to join them. Just rob this damn bank, pick her up and they
would be set.
* * *
Merlot was locking his office door before
heading to Wiener’s for poker night. His disguise, along with the
two trash bags, revolver and various robbery notes were hidden
beneath the cushions on the couch.
“Merlot,” Patti called sweetly from behind
the bar. She’d been almost nauseatingly nice ever since posting the
newspaper photo of Merlot with Dickie on the web site.
She leaned forward seductively as he
approached. Placed her hands on the bar and rested her breasts on
top so that it looked like she was offering them up.
“Just wanted to let you know, I packed the
kids off to the lake this morning with my ex. So, they’re gone
until next weekend,” she dropped her voice an octave or two, making
it sound extremely sexy.
Merlot swallowed hard, getting rid of the
reflexive urge to suggest they run to her place for a quick
ten-minute dinner and a sleepless night of debauchery. Any other
time he might have jumped at the chance, dismissing all thoughts of
propriety or consequences as only he could do.
“Oh man, that sounds great, Patti, I’m sure
you deserve a week off just to recharge your batteries and
relax.”
Patti moved her hands slightly, offering the
hors d‘oeuvre tray again.
He felt hot, as if the air conditioning had
suddenly shut off. A droplet of sweat slowly worked its way down
his spine.
“Look, rest up. Sorry, but I’ve got a meeting
I’m late for, see you tomorrow.” As he spoke he backed toward the
door, spun on his heel, and walked out as quickly as he could, not
sure he was capable of withstanding another offer.
* * *
Otto was late collecting his receipts, but he
didn’t want to leave his stand, afraid there was a good chance he’d
miss her and she’d get upset.
Typical, he thought, looking at his watch,
again. Already a half hour late for their date. He’d have to talk
with her about that, punctuality was important. He guessed she was
spending time in front of the mirror making herself look perfect,
time just getting away from her.
“You getting deposits, Otto?” Josh asked.
“Yeah, I know, I’ve got someone coming to see
me tonight. I wanted to be here when she showed up so I wouldn’t
have to run around looking for her at the other stands.”
“Her? You got a sister?”
“Naw, girlfriend,” Otto said.
“A girlfriend, really, no kidding? Wow, I’d
like to meet her, I can’t imagine,” he said the last part under his
breath.
“I’m just a little surprised that’s all.
You’ve never mentioned her before. How long you been going out?”
For once Josh had stopped working.
“You’d like her. Wants to learn all about the
business, you know, when she’s finally got the time, finishes her
other chores and all.”
“Other chores?”
“Well, yeah, you know laundry, cleaning, that
sort of thing, women’s work.”
“Laundry and cleaning? You mean to tell me
she does your laundry and cleans? I gotta meet this chick. How long
did you say you two been going out together?”
“Ahh, for a while now, sort of,” Otto replied
vaguely, suddenly feeling the urge to gather the cash deposits from
the other stands.
“A while?”
“Look, her name is Cindy. She’ll be asking
for me so tell her to just stay put, I’ll be back. I gave her a
half off coupon so just in case she lost it.”
“A half-off coupon? That’s really nice of
you, Otto.”
* * *
Cindy was finally calming down after the most
horrible day at work, ever. She replaced the receiver just long
enough to obtain a dial tone, having taken the phone off the hook
as an added precaution in the event that awful Otto person had
somehow found her home number. She shuddered at the mere thought
before dialing Merlot.
“Yeah,” he answered on the fourth or fifth
ring, absently nodded toward Victor to deal him in.
A moment later he put his finger in his ear,
got up from the table, and walked out the front door so he could
hear.
“Merlot, you in or out, man?”
“Hello, I’m sorry. Hello, hello?” ignoring
Dickie’s comment.
“Hi Tony, Cindy.”
“Hi, Cindy. How’s it going?” his mind flashed
to tomorrow and his desperate plan to rob the bank.
“I’m just taking it easy after another day
from hell. Look, I just wanted to apologize for not being able to
give you a couple of minutes today. It was really sweet of you to
come by, but we were so jammed. No one takes breaks during this
week. I just didn’t want you to take it personal, that’s all.”
“Hey ass wipe, you in or what?” Dickie,
yelled through the screen door.