Mango Crush

by Bill H Myers

  Best thing would have been a crowbar, but I didn't have one. Instead, I grabbed what was left of the bathroom shower rod and jammed the short end of it into the face of the drawer. One good pull and the wood panel on the front popped off, giving me access to the contents inside.

  I reached in, grabbed everything that looked important and stuffed it into the same pillowcase with my soggy clothes and laptop.

  After a final look around, thinking about the good life I had lived in the motorhome, I headed back outside, dragging the pillowcase behind me.

  Abby was waiting for me, Rooster in a golf cart by her side. When she saw me dragging the pillowcase, she said, “Hey look, it's Santa Claus!”

  I smiled and said, “Not quite, but I do have goodies in this bag.”

  I put the pillowcase down beside her, pulled off my gloves and handed them to Rooster. “Here they are, good as new.”

  He didn’t take them. Instead, he pointed at the mountain of debris I'd pulled out of the motorhome. “Keep the gloves until you get that mess cleaned up.

  “While you’re doing that, I’ll take your lady friend back to her car. She can bring it up here and help you load things into it.”

  Before I could answer, Abby said, “Good idea.”

  She and Rooster headed out, leaving me to put the soggy mattress, broken furniture and everything else I had pulled out the wreck back into it.

  Fortunately, it was a lot easier putting it back in than it was getting it out. I just piled everything inside the gaping opening, not worrying about making it look good.

  When I finished, Abby still hadn't got back with her car, so I took a deep breath and walked around the outside of the motorhome. It had been my home, my escape vehicle, and had seen me through some amazing adventures.

  It had never broken down on me, never failed to start, and had taken me places most people only dream of. It had served me well and I felt bad that it had been wrecked beyond repair. It deserved better.

  A few minutes later, Abby returned in the minivan with Rooster in the passenger seat beside her. She popped open the rear hatch, and we loaded the few things I wanted to save from the motorhome.

  I started to get in to leave, but Rooster stopped me.

  “We've still got some unfinished business here.”

  I rubbed my head and asked, “Like what?”

  He pointed to the wreck. “What do you want us to do with it? Are we supposed to hold it until your insurance company calls?”

  I hadn't called them about the accident. I knew I needed to but didn't have my policy information until finding it in the motorhome.

  I didn't know how they'd want to handle it, but I was pretty sure they'd send an adjuster out to check the damage. I told Rooster, “Hold on to it until the insurance company calls. Probably won't be long.”

  He nodded. “Be sure to tell them it costs a hundred dollars a day in storage fees.”

  “I'll do that. Anything else?”

  He looked around like he was making sure no one was going to hear what he said next. Then he whispered, “You want to see what's left of the Vette? The one that hit you?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Abby answered quickly. “Yes, show it to us.”

  Rooster nodded. “Okay, it's over by the back fence. Let's go have a look.”

  He led us through the yard, passing cars that had been in accidents, some with minor damage, some wrecked beyond repair.

  After fifty feet, he stopped at a car covered with a blue tarp. He pointed at it and said, “That's it.”

  He pulled the tarp back, revealing the remains of a nearly new black Corvette.

  The front suspension had collapsed, the tires were flat and cambered at an awkward angle, and both left and right fiberglass fenders were gone, as was the hood.

  The windshield was cracked, and the front and side impact airbags hung deflated from their mounts.

  Inside, the steering wheel and driver's seat looked undamaged, as did the passenger seat. There was glass everywhere but no blood. No sign that the driver had been injured.

  Walking to the back of the car, I could see that the fiberglass body had a crack running from the center of the roof to the rear bumper. The rear suspension had collapsed; both tires were flat and were at an extreme angle, with the drive shaft lying on the ground.

  As I looked at the damage, Rooster pointed to the driver's seat and said, “They build these things so the people inside survive. It has a crush zone that diverts the impact down into the ground, away from the driver. This one probably had eight airbags. They all went off, saving whoever was in it.”

  While he was telling me this, I watched as Abby placed the flat of her hands on the car's roof. She closed her eyes and started humming softly. After a few moments, she smiled, opened her eyes and turned to Rooster.

  “Would it be okay if I sat in it? I want to feel what the driver felt.”

  He looked around, to make sure no one could see us, then turned to Abby and said, “Normally I wouldn't let you get in. These wrecks are private property, belonging to either the original owners or the insurance company.

  “But this one is different. Two days after the accident, the owner called and said to send it to the crusher. I asked him if he wanted to wait until his insurance company sent an adjuster, but he said no. They weren't going to file a claim. They just wanted the car crushed.

  “When I told him about the tow and storage fees, he offered to give us the car for what he owed. He said we could do whatever we wanted with it.

  “I figured if we parted it out, we'd get more than our money back, so I agreed. The car is now ours. Because we own it, I can give you permission to sit in it.”

  Abby smiled and tried the driver's door. It wouldn't budge. But because the window glass had been broken out, she was able to climb inside, NASCAR style. She put one foot over the door frame, pulled herself up, and slid into the seat.

  She had gotten in quickly, like it was something she had done before. Once inside, she put both hands on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. I wasn't sure what she was doing, but I suspected it had something to do with her gift.

  I figured the best thing I could do was to leave her alone and keep Rooster from asking what the heck she was doing.

  To distract him, I walked to the front of the car where we could see the engine. I pointed at it and said, “This car is pretty new, isn't it?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it is. A damn shame if you ask me. A car as nice as that. Totaled out.”

  I agreed with him. “Yep, it’s a bad deal. That car was expensive when it was new.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, probably cost over fifty thousand. New Corvettes aren't cheap.”

  “You said the owners weren't going to file a claim with their insurance company. Did they tell you why?”

  Rooster shook his head. “No, they didn't tell me anything. They just said get rid of the car; send it to the crusher.”

  To me, it didn't make sense, so I asked him about it. “That's not normal, is it? Wouldn't most people file an insurance claim so they could get their money back?”

  Rooster shrugged and said, “Rich people. Never know what they might do. But yeah, this is a first for me. The owner wanting to crush it before the insurance company looks at it. Maybe that's the way rich people do business. Send it to the crusher and go buy something else to crash.”

  He turned to see what Abby was doing. She'd been in the car for a few minutes. He nodded in her direction and asked, “What's going on in there?”

  I took a deep breath and said, “She's meditating. Trying to connect to whoever was driving when it crashed into me.”

  “She's meditating? Inside a wrecked car? What's that about?”

  I didn't know how to answer without telling him about Abby's gift, so I just said, “She's a little strange. Does things like that all the time. Sometimes she scares me with what she does.”

  Wanting to take his attention away from her, I asked, “You going to
part it out?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I'll pull anything salvageable and put it on Craigslist.

  “The seats are probably worth a thousand each. More for the pair. The wheels will probably go for twenty-five hundred. The engine could bring in five grand.

  “You interested in buying any of the parts?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don't need any Corvette parts. But Abby might want to take a look after you get the seats out.”

  Hearing her name, she crawled out of the car and came over to us. “Are you talking about me?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, Rooster says he's going to pull the seats out. I told him you might want to take a look after he does.”

  She turned to him and said, “You get the seats out by Friday; I'll pay you a hundred dollars to let me sit in the car again.”

  He didn't have to think about it. He stuck his hand out and said, “Deal!”

  We started to get back in the minivan when he asked a question that stopped us.

  “You folks lose a cat?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Yeah, we lost one. You find him?”

  Rooster shook his head. “No, I haven't seen one around here, but we've been visited by a lot of people who've been looking. They say it's a big, orange cat with no tail.”

  “Yeah, that's our cat. We haven't seen him since the accident. Is there any chance he was in the motorhome when you towed it here?”

  Rooster shook his head. “I doubt it. We went through it pretty good before we put it up on the flatbed. Wanted to make sure there were no gas leaks or hazardous materials. Didn't find anything and didn't see a cat either.

  “Course, the cat could have been hiding. They're good at that.”

  I nodded. “You sure there's not one here in the yard? Maybe he comes out at night.”

  Rooster shook his head again. “Not with Roscoe around. He roams this place after dark. He'll go after anything that moves. A cat wouldn't last long with him around. So no, I don't think a cat or anything else is in the lot after dark. The dog would tear it up.”

  Having just gone through what was left of the motorhome, I was pretty sure Bob wasn't in it. If he was, and had heard me while I was near him, he would have either meowed loudly or come out looking for food.

  Either way, I would have seen him. So I was pretty sure he wasn't in the motorhome. I didn't find his remains either; chances were good he got out alive.

  Abby reached into the minivan and pulled out one of the “lost cat” flyers she had posted around town. She handed it to Rooster and said, “We're offering a thousand-dollar reward to whoever finds and returns the cat. His name is Bob, and if you see him, call us right away. Don't let your dog get him.”

  Rooster nodded. “If I see him, I'll call you. But like I said, the dog would probably get to him before I could.”

  I didn't have much hope that Bob would be in the impound lot so long after the wreck. It was possible, but it didn't seem likely, especially with a big guard dog roaming the place at night.

  We got into Abby's minivan and drove away, leaving Rooster, Roscoe and the wreck behind. When we reached the street, I asked Abby, “What did you find in the car?”

  She smiled and said, “Keys. Three of them.”

  “Was one of them for the car?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don't think the Vette had a place for a key. Most cars don’t these days. You unlock them with a remote. If the remote’s in your pocket when you walk up to the car, it unlocks itself. You sit in the seat, press the engine start button, and it fires up. If you have the remote, you don't need a key.”

  I nodded. The Prius I had driven in Key West started the same way. Just have the remote in your pocket and press the start button on the dash, and away you went.

  Still, the keys that Abby found could be an important clue. If we could find out what they went to, we might be able to figure out who was driving the Vette when it rammed into the motorhome.

  I figured she was thinking the same thing, but I asked to be sure. “So, these keys you found, they probably belong to either the owner of the car or the driver. Maybe they're the same person.”

  Abby nodded. “That's what I was thinking. I don’t think the Vette was broken into. Whoever was driving had gotten in using the remote. That's the only way they could have gotten the doors unlocked and the car started. The owner claims it was stolen. But if it was, how did the driver get the remote? It wasn't in the car, so he likely had it in his pocket when he ran.

  “We need to figure out who had access to the remote and find out from them if it was stolen or if they gave it to someone. I think I know the answer to that question, but I can't prove it. Not yet anyway.

  “But having the keys I found could help, especially if we can find out what they unlock. Might be a long shot, but it's all we've got right now.”

  A long shot was better than nothing. With Abby, a long shot was almost always a sure thing. At least it had been in the past.

  She pulled the minivan up to the stop sign leading to US Forty-One and asked, “Where to now?”

  I knew she had a list of places she wanted us to visit, but I was tired and dirty after spending two hours digging through the wreck. I had blood on my arms and shirt and didn't feel like going anywhere except back to the beach house, our temporary home.

  Before I could tell her this, she said, “How about we go back home? I'll make you lunch, and while I'm doing that, you can wash up and put some clean clothes on. After we eat, we'll rest a bit then go back out. That sound good to you?”

  It did. It was like she had read my mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, we turned onto the narrow drive that led to the place where we were staying. Abby pulled up close to the house and said, “We're home.”

  For me, it wasn't home, but it was a safe place to spend a few weeks while I recovered.

  Abby got out and used the key fob to open the minivan's lift gate. She grabbed the pillowcase I had filled with clothes, swung it over her shoulder and headed for the front door.

  I started to say, “Let me get that,” but I was too tired. I just wanted to go inside, clean up and rest.

  But I didn't want to leave the fireproof safe that I had gone to so much trouble to retrieve in the unlocked car. It was too inviting a target for thieves.

  While the chance of someone coming up our private driveway in broad daylight with theft on their mind was slim, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take.

  I went to the back of the van, used both hands to lift the safe and lugged it into the house. It was heavy, and I didn't want to carry it any further than I needed to. I put it in the room nearest the door, which happened to be my bedroom.

  With the safe inside, I headed to the bathroom and washed up.

  I tended to the cuts on my arms and decided to take a quick shower to wash away the sweat, grime, and smell of the burned-out wreck.

  Stripping off my clothes, I turned the water in the shower on and stepped in. Five minutes later, Abby tapped on the bathroom door and said, “Lunch is ready. Come eat with me.”

  She didn't have to tell me twice. I stepped out of the shower, dried off and instead of putting on the clothes I'd worn in the wreck, I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped in the bedroom to look for something clean to wear.

  I didn't expect Abby to be standing there waiting for me, but she was. She smiled and said, “You clean up nice. Maybe you should take more showers. Maybe one with me.”

  I had to think fast to come up with something to say that might leave the door open to future showers. The only thing I could think of was, “Sure, anytime. Right now if you want.”

  She shook her head and said, “Not now, you need to eat.”

  She pointed to the bed. I thought maybe it was an invitation, but it wasn't. She had picked out fresh clothes and laid them there. The price tags had been cut off, and they were ready for me to put on.

  But I hesitated. Even though Abby had suggested we shower together, I did
n't feel comfortable dropping my towel and standing naked in front of her while I dressed. So I said, “Thanks for the clothes. I'll put them on as soon as you leave.”

  She grinned and said, “Spoil sport.”

  Then she turned and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen to join Abby for lunch. She had made us turkey on rye with mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomatoes.

  There was a cold can of soda on her side of the table and a bottle of water on mine. The doctor had warned me about caffeine, and it looked like Abby was going to be his enforcer.

  We didn't say much while we ate. We just enjoyed our sandwiches along with the peaceful sanity of the beach just outside our door.

  As I was finishing up, I heard a few notes of music coming from the room off the kitchen. It reminded me of the tune the ice cream man used to play when he drove his truck through our neighborhood when I was a kid.

  Back then, we'd drop whatever we were doing and go running to find the truck so we could buy a nut-covered drumstick or an orange sherbet pushup. The pushups were the best but cost more than a Popsicle. If we didn't have enough dimes, the Popsicle was what we ended up with.

  I was hoping we wouldn't have to settle for something like that in our search for Bob.

  Abby got my attention by tapping my hand.

  She pointed over her shoulder. “I'm washing your clothes. The ones from your motorhome. Time to put them in the dryer.”

  It wasn't the ice cream man I'd heard. It was the washing machine letting us know it had finished a load.

  The designers probably figured the ice cream tune would create a happy feeling when their customers heard it.

  When Abby got back from putting my clothes in the dryer, I said, “You didn't need to do my laundry. I can do it myself.”

  She nodded. “Good, because that was your one free pass. I'll do your laundry today but never again. From here on out, it's your job.”