17
The drive to Sal's took less than five minutes. As we neared the diner, I became aware of loud music and a lot of yelling. Crowds of people gathered at the entrance to Sal's Diner and spilled out onto the sidewalk. Their shouting was indiscernible above the clamor of a boom box blaring music across the street.
We watched as Sal ran out of his diner, still holding two eggs in his left hand and a spatula in his right. He waved the spatula toward the street and we heard him yelling in Spanish. As we pulled into a parking place on the street, Sal scuttled over toward us and switched to English. "What the hell is that crazy Mary Cromwell doing over there by the parking meter? Is she pole dancing? Oh my God. Call J.J. Call the cops! Get that crazy lady away from my place! Oh, no, this is bad for business; she's going to drive away the customers. Help, police! She's cuckoo! She's
loco
! Help,
help
!"
He ran over to my window and yelled in my ear. "Buzz, arrest that woman! She's going to cause a riot! People will revolt. People will riot. It will be Clark Kent all over again!" I suppressed a grin.
"That's Kent State, Sal." We slowly climbed out of the SUV and watched the spectacle before our eyes. Even my dogs looked shell-shocked and could only stare. A boom-box sat on the curb near Mary and hip-hop music blasted from its speakers. One scrawny, fish netted leg wrapped around the parking meter she shimmied up and down. It looked like Lawrence Welk meets the Disco Hoochie Grandmama from Hell. Whatever the hell it was, it hurt my teeth.
Trying hard to keep a straight face, I said to Sal, "Yep! You're right about one thing, Sal. That's Mary all right, but what the heck is she doing?" I blinked against the glare. "Oh, my God; what the heck is she
wearing?
"
"I don't know," Sal said, scratching his head with the spatula, "but it's got to be illegal. You better shoot her quick."
Fred appeared at my side and let out a whistle. "
Hoo-wee
. That is just wrong. No eighty-year-old woman should be allowed to dress like that. How the hell did she come up with that outfit?" Mary let go with a couple of hip thrusts. "Oh, my God!" Fred choked. "No eighty-year-old woman should be allowed to do that. I agree with Sal, we'd better shoot her quick or get J.J., fast! Didn't he follow us over?"
I felt a little queasy as I gaped like a mouth-breather at the odd scene in front of me. There was my mom's eighty-year-old friend Mary Cromwell in all her glory, ruby red lips smacking kisses at the crowd, pink feather boa flapping in the cool autumn air. She hacked as she spit out the feathers which kept sticking to the red blobby stuff that covered her lips and the acreage around them. She looked like a Botox reject from Hollywood. For a second, I didn't know if she was having a seizure or she attempted to pole dance on the parking meter.
"What the hell is
that
?" Evo's bewildered voice filtered through the haze of my brain.
"I don't know, but it sure is gruesome," Sam said.
Fred giggled. "Gruesome doesn't quite cover it, Sam; Ghastly, frightening, appalling, horrific."
Sam and I turned to Fred and said, "Shut up, Fred."
I was distracted from further comment when I heard my mother's voice shouting from the diner, "Mary Lou Cromwell, you get your skinny butt off the streets! Ian is
not
opening a strip club, and if he was, he sure as hell wouldn't hire you!"
Wolf whistles and hoots from other diners now on the street interrupted Mom's tirade. Pennies and nickels flew across the street as people threw change. It seemed to incite Mary, as she shook her booty to "
Shake your Booty.
"
Mom gathered steam. "Mary, I mean it! You're going to catch your death in that stupid dress. I just may be the one to kill you."
Mary wore a blue sparkly mini dress, reminiscent of the disco era with a halter neckline and no defined waist. It barely covered her butt and when she dropped the boa and bent to pick it up, it didn't. The crowd got an eyeful of Mary's black lace thong.
"Ohh Noo."
Black fishnet stockings covered her scrawny legs and her orthopedic shoes looked like cement blocks on her feet. Her tight blue curls were topped with a plastic tiara, and her faded grey eyes twinkled from somewhere under the sky blue smears she had troweled across her eyelids.
J.J.'s cruiser crept up the street until it pulled even with us. Sal immediately ran around the front of the squad and began yelling in J.J.'s ear.
"How're you gonna stop this, eh? Arrest her, or…or shoot her, or call the
loco
loony police. You gotta get rid of her, J.J. She's gonna have an accident!"
"Sal, slow down. I think you mean
cause
an acci–"
No, no! She's gonna have an accident right there in the street. J.J. ducked as Sal gestured wildly with his left hand. One of the eggs he held popped out of his grasp when he gestured toward Mary. We watched in stunned disbelief as it sailed through the air in slow motion. The crowd "
oood
."
The egg made a perfect arc, which by all the laws of physics should have dropped about five feet in front of Mary. Whether the wind caught it or my mother willed it, that egg had a mind of its own as it hitched in mid air, and shot another four-and-a half feet. The egg splatted squarely on Mary's gyrating butt.
"Aw, man. What a shot! That egg would have missed had her rear-end not been hanging out into the street." Fred hooted. The crowd stood momentarily shocked into silence as Mary continued to undulate to the Beach Boys on the boom box. She suddenly became aware that she had egg on her butt.
Several things happened at once.
The adults, "
ooo'd
."
The kids, "awwed."
J.J. slapped a hand over his eyes.
Fred and I slapped hands over our mouths.
Sal squeaked.
Mary squawked.
Egg dripped onto the boom box.
The Beach Boys groaned and died.
Silence descended. Wesley calmly stepped around the squad and crossed the street. He grinned and wagged his tail as he slowly sashayed to where Mary stood. He looked at the egg dripping off Mary's butt and looked at the boom box. He looked at Mary's butt again.
Now people insist that dogs are not decision makers, but I could almost smell the rubber burning as Wes pondered his options. Obviously realizing that discretion was the better part of valor, Wes dropped his head and licked the boom box. As egg dripped off Mary's butt onto Wesley's head, Mary snapped out of her stupor.
"
Saaalll
!" Mary rounded on the owner of the diner.
"
Jay Jaaay,
" Sal yelled as he beat it back into the diner.
"Wes-leee!" My egg-sucking dog looked at me after hearing his name.
"Maaa-rrry,"
Mom, Jane, and Joy all chorused from the door of the diner.
The crowd suddenly came to life and roared; applause and shouts filled the air. Coins flew in Mary's direction. One would think the Packers had just won home field advantage with such a hullabaloo. A tail wagging Wes looked up and grinned, egg dripping off one ear.
Mom and Jane intercepted Mary as she charged across the street bent on revenge. Wes must have thought the boa was some strange molting bird, because he gave chase and grabbed the end. A minor tug-o-war broke out which Wes won, and he came trotting back to the car with his prize.
Mom and Jane hustled Mary through the diner parking lot and stuffed her into Mom's truck. Last seen, Mary left a red blob on Mom's back window where she kissed it, and she waved to the crowd as they sped down the street.
J.J. spoke first. Hands on hips, he turned to us. "Well, it's going to be a zoo in there, so we might as well forget it." He consulted his watch and added, "Besides, Sal's going to be closing in a half hour. I'll call what's-his-name, Curly, to take the reports, so let's get out of here while we still can."
"It's going to take longer than that to fill you in on everything," I said.
Evo looked at his watch. "What time do you end your work day, Sheriff?"
"Call me, J.J. Tell you what, let me just call Edie and tell her I'll be on my cell phone if anything comes through Dispatch."
J.J headed back to the squad and we closed in as a group. Fred said, "Why don't we have Luis and Alfredo retrieve the live fish from Ian's, and meet us back at my house? We can call Hank, Ian, and Mag and make it a party."
"Great idea, Fred, I've been dying to show Hank your fish." Sam slipped an arm around Evo and rubbed his back. "Are you agreeable?" He looked like he just swallowed his tongue. He looked down at her and could only nod. I chuckled to myself.
That man had it bad.
Sam patted him on the waist. "Evo, why don't we go with Luis and Alfredo? We can take your truck and the boys the Jeep. We can meet Buzz and Fred back at the house later." She rubbed his back again and the man broke out into a sweat.
He tried for coherency and failed miserably. "Uh, I…That is, I don't think…Uh, is it wise, uh, shouldn't we, uh…Buzz?" Evo looked at me with
save me
written all over his face.
I looked at Sam and she winked. She knows, I thought. That little crapper knows Evo can barely be in the same room with her without exploding into a blithering idiot. I should help him out. He may not make it back alive if I don't rescue him. It was a lovely thought.
I flashed Evo an evil grin. "Sounds great, Sam. Luis and Alfredo, are you sure you're okay?"
They looked at each other. "Of course we are. We were not hurt. It was the poor cat and the man with the bag of money who had all the trouble."
I felt myself grin. "Okay. We can all meet back at Fred's, eat pizza, and look at fish."
Evo closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Thanks, Buzz."
Evo gained enough composure to grab Sam's hand as she moved away. He pulled her close and said in a quiet, rumbling voice, "You are playing with fire, my dear."
She turned her startling blue eyes on him. She raised her hand between their bodies, deliberately running it up the zipper of his jeans, and laying it lightly over his pounding heart.
His entire body jerked, and she smiled slowly. "I know. I can feel the heat. We still need to have that talk, you know."
"Talk," he croaked as he spun her away from him and nudged her toward my SUV. "Like hell we'll talk."
I heard Sam giggle as Evo practically picked her up and threw her into the truck.
As our little group began to disburse, the chugging and sputtering sound of a vehicle on its last leg made us all turn. The little Cooper came to a stuttering halt behind Luis and Alfredo's Jeep. Two men climbed out and started toward us.
Luis and Alfredo were the first to react. They leapt forward and each grabbed a body. "Mark! Tom! Our friends!" They shouted greetings as they pounded their friends on the back. Mark and Tom did the same. Suddenly, remembering they had an audience they stepped back. An awkward silence descended upon our group.
Alfredo shouted, "You are our heroes!"
Mark shifted uncomfortably. "Right. Heroes. We are not heroes, my friend."
Tom scuffed the ground. "No, we are not heroes, but we are your friends. Whatever happens, know that we treasure your friendship."
Luis clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder. "What is this? What are you talking about? You act as if you are going somewhere. We can all hang out together like friends do,"
Tom dropped his head and sighed. "Yeah, friends. Uh, we just stopped by to make sure that you are not hurt."
"No, my friend, we are okay. Would you like pizza? We are going to have pizza at our friend Fred's house."
"Good idea," I said. "Why don't you join us?"
Mark looked like he might cry and Tom looked sick. "I'm afraid we can't. We have to visit our sick Aunt Maria tonight. We have to go now. Thank you." They scuttled over to what was left of the Cooper and chugged down the street.
Luis looked at us and said sadly, "Those poor men; so many sick people in their family."
I asked, "What do you mean, Luis?"
"Every time we see them another relative is sick."
J.J. looked at me. He raised a brow and I winked. I put an arm around Luis and steered him toward the car. "That's too bad. Tell me, who exactly is sick in their family?"
18
The large man paced back and forth, wondering if he needed to go to Wisconsin and do the deed himself. His amateur hit squad had not been in contact with him, nor had he read anything online about the three South American scientists being murdered. He could find no trail of credit card receipts to even tell him where they were. What were those morons doing up there, drinking beer and eating cheese in Milwaukee? What must he have been thinking when he hired those two anyway? He ran a hand through his hair. Should he send Reymundo? It would leave him without a bodyguard, but which was the bigger risk?
"Damn," he muttered as his secure phone rang. "What is it?"
"It is Mark and Tom calling from America," Tom said in a small voice.