by Julie Hyzy
“There’s a Gas City,” Lucy said, pointing down the street.
I nodded and Lucy grabbed my arm. “This is the place with the really good Slushies. Can I get one?”
I looked at her as I started to pull in. “It’s cold outside. How can you want to drink a Slushie in this weather?”
“Look out,” she said.
I turned just in time to see this red Firebird stop short. We’d both been heading for the same gas pump, and I covered my mouth when I realized how close we’d come to hitting one another.
The Firebird driver, a big guy, sent me a furious look, but swerved over to a different pump. I shrugged, pulled up to pump eleven, and grabbed my credit card.
Just before I ran my card through the machine, I realized that I had to go inside to the convenience store anyway to buy Lucy’s Slushie. I shook my head, mumbling about the cold and how it felt more like January than March, as I pulled open the door to the warmth of the mini-store for Lucy’s drink and to pre-pay for gas.
Inside, an elderly gentleman wearing a plaid flannel jacket, leaned up against the protective glass window, talking to the cashier behind it. He had on a baseball cap, its brim pushed high over wiry white hair.
“Yeah,” I heard him say to the girl behind the glass, “my son lives out of town, you know. He’s got a real nice family and a real important job. And every year he sends me a Christmas card and tells me all about it.” The guy nodded, staring out at the dark night, oblivious to the girl’s pained looks of boredom.
Her dark brown eyes implored me to interrupt, but I had a mission. I headed over to the Slushie machine and poured a big cup of blue mush. The old guy continued to drone on about his son’s life and how exciting it was. I heard him mention the Christmas card again. This was March and he was waxing poetic about a Christmas card?
I thought about Lucy. When she was back at the residence for special folks, next week, would she be telling everyone her memories from home like this fellow did? My heart went out to her, and to the old man, too.
The fellow whose car I’d nearly hit had come in, too. He stood next to the old guy, shooting impatient glances between the two people waiting to pay.
I came up behind them all, Slushie and credit card in hand.
The old man ran a finger underneath his reddened nose, continuing with a sniff, “And my son writes everything that he’s done for that entire year on the card, and, boy, does he write good, too. And I take my time reading it so I’ll know what he’s been up to.” He shifted position, a wistful smile on his face. “I really look forward to getting that Christmas card.”
Suddenly becoming aware that others waited in line, he moved aside. The dark-eyed girl asked Mr. Firebird, “May I help you?”
He paid for his gas with a twenty, and I’d expected him to head directly back out the door. Instead, he turned, and nearly bumped into me.
I got a good look at him, and knew immediately that I didn’t want to mess with this guy. While he might have been handsome, he was badly bruised, which skewed the symmetry of his face. I willed myself not to react—anyone who looked like that was best avoided.
He must have been in a fight recently. From the looks of him, maybe more than one. He grimaced when he saw me there.
Solidly built, he moved well, effectively avoiding a collision with me. Beneath his open winter jacket, I could see he was well-muscled. I snuck a quick glance at the battered face again. I could only wonder what the other guy looked like.
Taking an involuntary step back, I said, “Oh, sorry. Today just isn’t my day, is it?” His grimace faded, a little. All I wanted at this point was to pay for my stuff and get out of the man’s way. If he proved to be a troublemaker I didn’t have a prayer.
Kill ’em with kindness, I thought, and injected friendliness into my voice. “Sorry about almost hitting you,” I said. “I was talking to my sister.”
“No problem,” he said in a softer voice than I’d expected. “I’m getting rid of the car anyway. In case you’re interested.”
A red Firebird. Yeah. Not exactly my style. I stepped back a little, leaning to look out the windows, pretending to consider it. “Hmm,” I said. “Nice car. I’ll think about it.”
“Well, in that case,” he reached in his jacket pocket and took out a business card. “That’s me.”
I read the card, feeling a paradigm shift in my brain. “Oh,” I said, almost to myself. I looked him over again, seeing a bit more of the handsome and a bit less of the bruising. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out a card of my own, and handed it over.
He studied it and nodded. “I read your magazine all the time,” he said. “It’s great.”
I shook my head and laughed, wondering if anyone told the truth anymore. “It’s not a magazine, it’s a television show. Like 60 Minutes. But I’m sure you meant you read the captioned version, right?”
“You got it,” he said. He smiled then.
And I found myself smiling back.
Holding our respective cards, we gave awkward nods, and he headed out to his Firebird to start pumping his gas.
The Christmas card guy had started back into his monologue, and I waited for a break in the story to step up to pay.
Back out in the cold afternoon, I handed the card and the drink to Lucy before filling the tank
When I got back in she asked, “What’s this? Who’s Ron Shade?”
“Take a look,” I said. “He’s a P.I.”
I heard the soft purr of the Firebird next to me, and Ron Shade, private investigator, drove off with a roar.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
I thought about it for a moment before pulling into traffic. “You know how I accidentally got mixed up with all those bad people?”
She nodded.
“Well he does that sort of thing on purpose. That’s his job.” I wondered what this Shade character would think if he knew the excitement I’d just been through this week. Probably pooh-pooh it—all in a day’s work for him.
“Oh.” Lucy was silent a moment, then brightened as she handed it back. “Hey, maybe next time you have a problem with bad people, you should call this guy to handle them instead. That way you can stay safe.”
I gave the card a look, pocketed it, and smiled at her. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
THE END
Connect with Julie Hyzy online at www.juliehyzy.com
or
http://juliehyzy.blogspot.com/
Books by Julie Hyzy
Artistic License
Alex St. James series
Deadly Blessings
Deadly Interest
White House Chef Mysteries
State of the Onion
Hail to the Chef
Eggsecutive Orders
Manor of Murder Mysteries
Grace Under Pressure
Table of Contents
Deadly Interest
