0.5 Scooped

by Gina LaManna

  “Me too.” Blake leaned forward, rolling his eyes. “My first adult friend is getting married, and I tried to get a drink without a shirt and shoes, and they got real pissy.”

  “Why don’t you have a shirt or shoes?” I looked down at him. “Not that I’m complaining. I mean, that came out odd. I just mean…”

  “You know what?” Blake looked at the ceiling. “That’s a great question. Chuckie, why’d I leave my shirt and shoes at the bar?”

  “You were stripping to a karaoke song,” Chuckie said. In response to my questioning eyes he gave his shoulders a lurch. “What? I was invited to the party, too.”

  “I was a stripper for a hot minute,” I said.

  “Realllllly,” both men said in unison.

  “No, quite literally a minute,” I said. “Now I’m trying to find my family. But my mom was a really good one.”

  “I’ll believe it, if she looked like you.” Blake winked. “Give me your number. I’ll call you sometime. And when I take you out, I promise you I’ll wear a shirt and shoes.”

  “Not necessary,” I mumbled, glancing out the window. Chuckie snorted, and I hadn’t realized he’d heard me, since we were already nearing the bar. I blushed. “I’m not sure this is the best way for us to… you know, meet. I’m kind of arrested; you’re kind of arrested…”

  “Give him your damn number. He’s not a bad guy,” Chuckie looked in the mirror. “You’re worse than two kindergarteners with a check yes or no sign on a crumpled piece of loose leaf.”

  “Alright, fine. Do you have a pen?”

  Chuckie handed me some paper and a pen, and I scrawled my digits on the back of an unused parking ticket.

  “We’re here,” Chuckie announced. “Make out sesh is over, kids.”

  Meg pulled up behind him and waved. I slipped out of the seat as Blake waved his fingers at me and slid the slip of paper into his pockets.

  I wanted him to call me.

  I waved back.

  I didn’t want him.

  I did.

  Meg raised her eyebrows at me as I hesitated outside of the car. “Dang, your stars are aligning today, girl. You got to share a backseat with Ryan Gosling over here?”

  “Uh, Meg, meet Blake,” I said dumbly.

  Meg leaned through the squad car’s window. “Hey, you sexy ass convict, you. I bet your mug shot will be one for the books. Anyway, thanks for taking care of us, Chuck. I’m Lacey’s bodyguard, so I’m gonna walk her in since it’d be irresponsible of me not to. Then I’ll just return that van right to that kid’s momma’s house. Just like we found it.”

  Chuckie rolled his eyes. “You’ve got an hour to get the van back before the alerts go out.”

  “Yes sir.” Meg saluted. I waved and Blake smiled a goofy grin as the cop car pulled away.

  I turned around to face the dim bar that potentially held the single flame of information that could lead me to my family. If that flame went out… I’d be a very sad, fat woman. Probably fat, at least, due to all the ice cream and wine I’d consume to drown my sorrows.

  Even a phone call from Blake wouldn’t be able to cheer me up.

  ** **

  After Meg and I waved goodbye to Chuckie and Blake, we headed into the bar. Shotz was a dark, gritty sort of place with a lot of character. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing location on the planet, but the bar’s personality made up for its lack of cleanliness.

  The corners of the joint were perfect for private chats; with high, wooden booths and heavy, thick curtains lining the walls, conversations were private, muted events. The bar itself contained just the right level of stickiness – signifying cheap drinks and generous pours. The wait staff was polite, yet non-intrusive, which the ‘mind your own business’ type of clientele greatly appreciated.

  I spotted Enrico in one of the corner booths. He waved me over, a bottle of wine already on the table, two glasses standing empty in front of him.

  Meg tapped my shoulder. “Yo, I’m gonna go do some investigatin’ at the bar.”

  I glanced towards where she was staring and saw a beefy man, skin covered with tattoos, sloshing beers behind the counter. “Cool. Enjoy.”

  As Meg sashayed over, I tried not to hurry too quickly to my target. I didn’t want him to sense my over-eagerness and mistake it for desperation. (Of course it was desperation, but I didn’t want him to know that, either). The line between eagerness and desperation was much finer than I’d ever realized.

  “Buona sera.” He greeted me with a nod as I slid into the booth. “Good evening. I trust your gelato was tasty?”

  “The best, as always.” I smiled.

  “May I?” He gestured toward the wine bottle and the empty glasses.

  “Please. And thank you.”

  There was a slightly awkward silence as I watched the red liquid slosh into my glass. Though this was a business meeting of sorts, I didn’t feel quite right pouncing on Enrico for information. At least not before we’d clinked glasses and enjoyed a sip of vino. That would just be rude, even though the excitement inside my body was building up to such a level that I felt my head might pop right off.

  “Your friend, she found a man, yes?” Enrico tilted his head toward the bar.

  I glanced over. Meg’s chest spilled onto the coasters at the bar. She was twirling her peacock feathers in one hand. “Yeah, she usually does.”

  “But a good friend, I think.” Enrico smiled, but his expression seemed distracted.

  “Absolutely.” I gave a single nod. “She’s the best there is.”

  “I imagine.” He swiveled his head back. “You have a man?”

  “No, not for me. No man, no family. I’m alone right now.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—”

  “Oh god, that came out really pitiful. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m fine. I’m happy on my own, really.” I forced a smile and took a sip of wine, hoping the warm liquid would give my cheeks a pink tinge of rosy happiness, a bubbly sensation I couldn’t quite muster on my own. “I can handle being by myself. I’m just looking for my family more for, well, logistics’ sake, I guess.”

  Enrico gave me a wide, sad smile. “Of course. On that note…”

  I looked up and followed his wandering gaze. “Yes?”

  He coughed, spluttering a bit, and fumbled for his wallet. “Here.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but then I noticed two men in inky black suits entering the bar, and I closed my mouth. They were small and looked some variety of Latin heritage: dark hair, olive skin and muscled arms.

  The men’s eyes flicked around the bar with an intense concentration, pausing ever so slightly on the table I occupied with Enrico.

  “I need to leave. For your safety,” Enrico said. “Take this. Go.”

  “Wait, will you be okay?” I grabbed his wrist, feeling a slightly damp piece of paper land in my hand. Apparently he was nervous, too, judging by the sweatiness of his palm. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with anyone. To be honest, I don’t really understand what’s happening.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. But you should go out the back way. I’ll tip your friend off. I’ll talk to them.” He nodded at the two men that looked like some combination of FBI agents, Secret Service, and high profile bodyguards. I was slightly intimidated, to say the least.

  As I stood, he closed his hand around mine, pressing the paper into my palm. He shot me a meaningful look, and rose, marching off towards the new visitors.

  I tried to be casual, but wasn’t completely sure I succeeded as I scurried towards the bar. I yanked one of Meg’s tail feathers.

  “We need to go,” I hissed.

  “No, we don’t,” Meg said. “We don’t gotta leave my bar ever.”

  “Uh, yeah.” I glanced behind me. “We need to leave now.”

  “Nope.” Meg turned around and faced me, her cheeks red with an excited flush. “It’s mine. I ain’t going nowhere.”

  “What’s yours?” I asked, warily loo
king behind us. Enrico jabbered in a foreign language, using what sounded like a rather rapid, angry tone of voice. “Can we please discuss this outside?”

  “We don’t have to discuss anything outside. This bar is mine.” Meg gave me a huge grin. “I just bought Shotz.”

  “What? No way. What?” I pulled her off to the side, setting my wine glass on the counter and not even caring when it tipped over and shattered in the sink. “That’s impossible. The money? You have cash? Meg,” I gasped. “You didn’t rob a bank, did you?”

  She shifted, and I couldn’t tell if it was out of awkwardness or guilt. “It’s just a gentlemen’s agreement right now, just between me and him.” She nodded at the beefy bartender, who ignored us. “But yeah, I bought it. And, yeah, I do have the money.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Around the time your mom passed away, my great aunt Cheryl also left this earth to go kick it with God– she was the aunt with the licorice sticks as hard as toffee. She was like nine hundred years old, but she left me a lot of money. I guess her kids didn’t visit her all that much, so I was a big part of the will.”

  “Meg, that’s –I’m sorry about Cheryl, but I’m – congrats?” I winced. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Lace, your mom had just died. That was a much bigger deal. Cheryl had been playing peek-a-boo with the Pearly Gates for about the last century. It was her time. It wasn’t your ma’s time. It seemed unfair to complain or tell you about it.”

  I gaped at her, wondering how I’d been so lucky to get such a kickass friend. I couldn’t think of a thing to say that would follow up Meg’s announcement in an appropriate fashion.

  “I was gonna tell you about the money sooner or later,” Meg said, looking around shiftily. “I wasn’t trying to keep a secret, I just… the right time hadn’t popped up yet.”

  “Meg, I don’t care about the money. That’s, well, good for you. You finally bought the bar you’ve always wanted. And I bet your Aunt Cheryl would be proud.” I flinched a little, wondering if my mother would be proud I’d stayed on at TANGO.

  “Aunt Cheryl sure would. She downed Jack ‘n Cokes like water her last few years. I always respected that woman,” Meg said with a tear in her eye.

  “Yeah, me too,” I said, my gaze suddenly drawn to a target behind Meg.

  Enrico was shooting daggers at me with his eyes, and I knew he was trying to tell me he could only hold off the guards for so long. Which was a scary thought, considering they looked like a pack of hungry dogs leaping at the edges of their ropes for food – a tasty delight named Lacey and Meg-the-Peacock.

  I tugged Meg’s arm. “We’re going to go celebrate! I’m buying you a steak. Far from here.”

  Meg followed my twitchy line of sight and, thankfully, caught on.

  “Ooooh.” Her eyes scanned the two men with blatant suspicion. “Gotcha.”

  We’d have to work on her subtleness at a later time, however, ‘cause we needed to boogie.

  She relented to my tugs at her feathers and followed me behind the bar. I felt like I was walking a peacock that sounded like an elephant. It was the least sly exit in the history of sneaky exits.

  “That way. I parked the car around back.” Meg led me to the rear exit, and gestured towards the hidden van, which had gotten us into a good amount of trouble. But in our defense, it had gotten us out of just as much. Or it would, if my slowly forming plan worked in our favor.

  ** **

  After tiptoeing around the corner, we picked up the pace and jogged in the direction of the van. Or rather, I started jogging and Meg picked up her pace to match that of a gimpy turtle. I was jiggling the handle on the door when she arrived.

  “Oh shoot,” I said. “We don’t have the keys.”

  “Were ya born yesterday, chickadee?” Meg fumbled with a few wires under the hood, worked some magic on the lock, and hopped in the vehicle as it roared to life. “Did they teach ya nothing in school?”

  I grumbled out the window about memorizing a song about state capitals instead of learning to lift cars but was cut short as Meg careened around a few corners.

  “I’m gonna lose these mofos,” she said, turning the steering wheel. Her arms twisted into kama sutra-esque poses, and I admired the flexibility of her elbows.

  “Meg, I don’t think anyone’s following us.” I turned around, but toppled straight into Meg’s lap as we swerved into an alley.

  “Maybe not yet, but I’m preemptive with my actions. That’s why they call me a planner-ahead.”

  “If we were planner-aheads, we would’ve never stolen the dang car in the first place.”

  “Planner-aheads have the right to improvise if necessary.” Meg honked to dispel a pickup game of kickball among teens as she careened down a residential gravel alley.

  “Slow down!” I gasped, looking behind us to make sure all of the children had leapt out of the way. Fortunately, they had survived, seemingly unscathed.

  “I’ll slow down when I lose them.”

  I craned my neck at the serious turn in Meg’s voice, and saw a sleek black car following us. I wasn’t a car person, but it looked expensive and shiny, kind of like a real-life Bat Mobile.

  “Oh, crapola.”

  “Shitola crapola is right,” Meg said. “It’s a lucky thing you got me. I basically drove for a living at my last job.”

  “Your cop job?”

  “Heck yeah. I turned my siren on and raced circles around the city. Whipped shitties in every part of town.”

  “Uh, do you mean doing donuts?”

  Meg grunted and glanced in the mirror. Seemingly disgusted with what she saw, she cranked the wheel and we slid towards the driver’s side once again. I face planted into Meg’s lap.

  “Whoa, girlfriend, it might have been a while since you got any action, but I’m doing just fine.” Meg lifted my face from her lap with a yank on my ponytail. I latched onto the stability handle above the window to avoid revisiting Meg’s privates.

  “Oh, no. You have to stop,” I said. We were rushing towards the end of the kickball alley. At the end of the block, the alley would dump us into an incredibly traffic-filled street. My friend-turned-bartender-turned-racecar-driver showed no signs of slowing, let alone stopping.

  “Not in this world, girlfriend. WHOOOOOP!” Meg cackled as we approached the end of the alleyway.

  With a wild shout – I’m not sure from whose mouth – we burst straight into traffic. I forced my eyes shut and said a little prayer.

  By the force of the stolen-car gods, Meg somehow maneuvered the car to shoot straight through a miniscule gap between a semi-truck and a teensy smart car. We were not squished, dented, or banged up in any way.

  Meg smiled and kept right on truckin’ down the alley on the opposite side of the busy street.

  “Holy—” I tried to slow my racing heart, but I couldn’t manage to speak, move or utter any other sound. I did squeak out a quick sign of the cross.

  “Amazeballs is the word you’re looking for, I believe.” Meg winked at me.

  “Meg!”

  “Praise my name all – oh, Sweet Mother of... freakin’ A.” Meg slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.

  The black car that had been trailing behind us one second before now blocked the alleyway in front of us. Either they were magic, knew time travel, or had multiple cars. And whether the answer to that was A, B, or C, it didn’t matter. We were in trouble.

  Meg reversed the car and sped off, the wheels screeching as our bodies were flung backwards. The black car chased us down the alley, and I saw something peek out the window of one of the cars. It might have been a gun, or binoculars, or really any number of shiny metal objects. It was impossible to tell. The only fact I was sure of was that my hands were sweating and my heart was about to bust out of my ribcage.

  The dilapidated minivan shot back into the busy street, and this time I didn’t have time to say a prayer. Though we made it into the street alive, we cut off a bright, shiny new co
p car. Coincidence? I think not.

  I should have said a prayer.

  It took less than half a second before the copper’s lights flashed on and the siren screamed for us to pull over.

  I glanced back and saw a baby-faced newbie, a kid whose ink on his police diploma probably wasn’t even dry yet. He looked nervous and eager, which didn’t bode well for us.

  But suddenly, I had a change of heart. I glanced at Meg. “I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?” Meg bit her lip as she prepared to dodge traffic.

  “Pull over. Let’s get arrested.”

  “I can outrun that baby cop,” Meg said. “Don’t insult me like that.”

  “I’m not worried about the police. I’m worried about the army of black cars.”

  Meg and I looked around, and even she had to admit that the place seemed crawling with them. Maybe it was paranoia, but it felt like every third car on the road was flashy and black. Even more eerily, it seemed they all had a driver sizing us up with shifty eyes.

  “And if we get arrested?” Meg raised her eyebrow.

  “I trust you know what to do.” I threw the ball in her court, hoping it’d ramp up her enthusiasm for the only idea I could see getting us out of this situation in one piece. Since when had we become fugitives? Or something worse? We weren’t even running from the law. We were running from criminals.

  “Oh, I always know what to do,” Meg said. She eased the creaking van over to the side of the road, threw it into park and plumped her hair. As the cop came over, she pushed her ladies up and did a little wiggle and wink in my direction. Then very sweetly she puckered her lips and lowered her window. “Hey sugar, do we have a problem here?”

  The baby-faced cop looked at the two of us, seeming a bit confused, and tripped over a simple, “Hello.”

  “You can arrest us,” Meg said. “I assume I was being reckless with my driving. Rather wild, one might say.”

  Was Meg trying to get arrested or a date? I rolled my eyes and looked out the other window.

  “Uh, yes… ma’am.” His pink cheeks deepened in their blushed color. “Reckless driving, no use of signal, speed above the lega—”