Eggs Benedict Arnold
Page 15
“Toni,” said Suzanne, “we’re here to spy, not do a meet and greet with cowboy Bob and his sidekick.”
“Still,” said Toni, a little wistfully, “it’s nice to get hustled once in a while. Helps build a girl’s ego.”
But Suzanne had turned her eyes on a tawdry red velvet curtain that was rigged across a postage stamp-sized stage. The music had suddenly changed from Kenny Chesney’s “Down the Road” to Rod Stewart’s “Do You Think I’m Sexy.”
“Oh man,” said Suzanne. “They have strippers!”
Their waitress, who’d just arrived with their beers, said, “Oh sure,” as if it was the most natural thing on earth.
“You didn’t mention strippers,” Suzanne hissed at Toni.
“I thought you knew that,” said Toni. “Heck, I thought everybody knew that.”
The red velvet curtain suddenly parted to reveal a shiny brass pole.
“And not just regular strippers,” said Toni. “Pole dancers.” She sounded impressed.
“And now,” came a deep, male voice over a crackly loudspeaker, “please welcome Lady Dubonnet!” There were hoots and whistles as Lady Dubonnet, clad in skimpy black push-up bra, fishnet stockings, and red thong, took the stage.
“Ai yi yi,” Suzanne said with a laugh.
The scantily clad young woman crooked her leg around the pole and spun enticingly as the music pulsed and throbbed: If you really need me, just reach out and touch me, come on, honey, tell me so.
“Now that takes skill,” said Toni. “Plus a certain amount of poise.”
“Are you referring to parading in your undies in front of drooling men or just wriggling around in general?” asked Suzanne.
“In general.” Toni giggled.
“I’d think all that spinning would make a person dizzy.” Suzanne observed.
“Probably just part and parcel of the job,” said Toni. “Occupational hazard.”
“I’d probably get an imbalance in my inner ear,” said Suzanne.
They sipped their beers and watched Lady Dubonnet perform her routine. When the song ended, she bowed to an energetic round of applause and picked up several dollar bills that had been carefully placed on the stage.
When Lady Dubonnet came hustling toward them, on her way to the ladies’ room, Suzanne did a slight double take and said, “I think I know her!”
“Who is she?” asked Toni.
“Kit Kaslik.
“Oh wow,” said Toni.
“I’m going to talk to her,” said Suzanne. And just as Kit went flying past their booth, Suzanne reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Watch it!” snarled Kit, jerking away fast, her dark eyes snapping with anger. “You can’t treat a girl like . . .” Then she saw Suzanne and Toni and paused, midsentence. “Who’re you two?” she asked, thrusting out a hip and placing a hand on it in a confrontational gesture. “The local Salvation Army do-gooders come to save my sorry soul?”
“It’s me, Kit,” said Suzanne. “Suzanne Thetz. You remember, I used to teach at your high school?”
“Oh . . . yeah.” A faint smile flickered across Kit’s face and she seemed to relax a bit.
“And this is Toni Garrett,” said Suzanne.
“Hey,” said Kit, nodding slightly.
“How do?” said Toni. “I really liked the way you wiggled your way through that song.”
“She didn’t really,” said Suzanne, hastily. “Fact is, you shouldn’t be working here at all.”
“I guess it’s not exactly a high-test career path,” added Toni.
“Tips are good,” said Kit. She projected a wry smile, but there was sadness in her eyes.
“Honey,” said Suzanne, sliding over and pulling Kit into the booth with her. “You are so much better than this. So much better.”
That was all it took. Kit shook her head and sighed deeply. “It’s hard to find a really good job around here.”
“It sure is,” agreed Toni.
“Don’t tell me you enjoy this,” said Suzanne, in a soft voice.
“Not really,” said Kit, sniffling now. “Frankie, the manager, is always pushing us to fraternize with the customers. That’s what he calls it, fraternizing. But he really means hitting on them. Hard. Get the guys to offer to buy a drink, then order something fancy and expensive like a Pink Squirrel or a Golden Cadillac. Or a bottle of five-dollar champagne that Frankie marks up to thirty bucks.”
“Whatever happened to a plain old brewski?” muttered Toni.
But Suzanne was focused on the bigger picture. “This is not a job with a good future,” she told Kit. “From here it’s a slippery slope to gosh knows what.”
“Or a slippery pole,” added Toni.
“Tell you what,” continued Suzanne. “The Cackleberry Club ... you’ve heard of the Cackleberry Club?”
Kit nodded.
“We’re having a big event this Saturday,” explained Suzanne. “A Take the Cake Show plus an evening gourmet dinner. And we could use a little extra help. Maybe . . . well, would you be interested?”
“You mean like waitressing?” Kit wasn’t particularly thrilled.
“More like an assistant for the cake event,” said Suzanne. “And, yes, a waitress in the evening. But I can pretty much guarantee you wouldn’t have to wear fishnet stockings.”
“Or take anything off,” added Toni.
“That’s a really nice offer,” said Kit. “And you both seem very kind. But... can I think about it?”
“Seems like you already are.” Suzanne smiled as Kit slipped out of the booth.
“Sweet girl,” said Toni, once Kit had left.
“Too sweet for this place,” said Suzanne. She was relieved there weren’t any more pole dancers performing for the time being. Just a song playing on the jukebox with one of the longest titles in history: “How Could You Have Believed Me When I Told You that I Loved You, When You Know I’ve Been a Liar All My Life?”
“Listen,” said Suzanne, “they’re playing Junior’s song.
“Where is that little creep, anyway?” wondered Toni, fidgeting nervously.
“Hey,” said Suzanne, “did you know that Carmen Copeland may have made an offer on the Driesden and Draper Funeral Home?”
“What?” Toni swiveled her head back toward Suzanne. She obviously hadn’t heard. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Gene Gandle mentioned it today. When he came in to do the interview with Carmen.”
“Draper’s gonna sell out?” asked Toni.
“Maybe,” said Suzanne. “Although the whole thing sounds fishy to me.”
“What’s Carmen gonna do with an old funeral home?” asked Toni. “Fill it with bats and broomsticks and move in?”
“The words fine dining were mentioned.”
“No way!” screeched Toni. She stared at Suzanne, her mouth agape. “That’s what you’ve been talking about.”
“Yes, it is,” said Suzanne, a little glumly. “In fact, I already checked out a little house over on Arbor Street. An adorable bungalow-style place that has a dining room with French doors that would convert perfectly into a wine bar. And room for about seven or eight tables in the rest of the downstairs.”
“Cackleberry Club West?” asked Toni.
“I was thinking more of Crepe Suzanne’s.”
A grin lit Toni’s face. “Perfect! Oh, Suzanne, you’re such a smarty. A real entrepreneur.”
“Still,” said Suzanne, “all that’s a pipe dream. Gotta make the Cackleberry Club profitable first.”
“I thought we were making a profit.”
“Making a living,” said Suzanne. “Big difference.”
“See?” said Toni. “That’s why you’re CEO. You’re plugged in to all this tricky business stuff.”
“Unless Carmen aces me out.”
“She’s one mean malefactor,” said Toni.
Twenty minutes later, they’d nursed their beers about as much as they could and fended off several unwanted advances.
&nb
sp; “Where is Junior anyway?” worried Toni. She alternated between nervousness and full-blown hostility.
“Maybe he came and left,” suggested Suzanne. She was ready to call it quits herself.
“No,” said Toni. “I’ve kept an eye out. He’ll show up. He has to.”
Those seemed to be the magic words, for suddenly Junior Garrett swaggered in through the front door.
“There’s the little runt now,” Toni hissed, as she watched Junior walk halfway down the bar, then swing up easily onto a bar stool.
“Gonna have himself a drink?” mused Suzanne, sliding down in her seat, but still keeping an eye on him.
But Junior didn’t seem to be placing any kind of drink order. Instead, he reached inside his leather jacket, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the top of the bar. A youthful-looking bartender quickly put his hand on the envelope and made it magically disappear.
“Whoa,” said Suzanne.
Junior lit a cigarette and looked around nonchalantly for a couple of minutes, seemingly studying the crowd of bikers and truckers that stood arguing by the pool tables. Then he stood up and casually sauntered back outside.
“Did you see that exchange with the bartender?” asked Toni, looking morose. “Junior is up to something.”
“Hmm,” was Suzanne’s measured response. “I don’t suppose those were auto parts.”
“You ever see a crank shaft fit inside a business-size envelope?” Toni snapped.
“Can’t say’s I have,” said Suzanne.
“So now we gotta follow him,” said Toni. “See what the deal is. See if Junior’s gonna run back to some lab that’s pumping out crystal meth.”
“You’re talking about investigating,” pointed out Suzanne. “We stuck our noses in somebody else’s business last night and look where it got us.”
“Suzanne . . . please!” There was real panic in Toni’s eyes.
“Okay, okay.” Suzanne couldn’t bear to see Toni in such turmoil.
They tossed down a five-dollar tip, sped along the dingy hallway that led past the restrooms, then slipped out the back door. As they were climbing into Toni’s car, Junior rumbled past them.
“There!” exclaimed Suzanne, pointing. “He’s pulling out onto the road.”
Toni gunned the engine and her tires spit gravel.
“Easy,” warned Suzanne. “We don’t want to tip him off.”
“I’ll hang back,” promised Toni.
Suzanne glanced at her friend. Toni looked determined, but sad. As though Junior, who’d betrayed her time and again, had finally managed to drive a stake through her heart. On the other hand, Toni had resolved to save Junior from himself or whatever drug-dealing loonies he was involved with. So she must still have feelings for him. Suzanne shook her head. Toni was between a rock and a hard place without a cushion to sit on.
They spun down County Road 18, hanging back, but always keeping Junior’s taillights in view.
When they came to a series of S-curves, Suzanne said, “Now drop back a little more. We don’t want Junior to catch us in his rearview mirror.”
“I will, I will,” said Toni, following him through the turns. Then they were on the straightaway again.
“I wonder where he’s going?” asked Suzanne. This part of the county was hilly and slightly woodsy, populated mostly by cattle ranches and dairy farms. Then again, most drug operations weren’t set up in the heart of town, right next to the post office for ease of shipping.
“He’s turning,” said Toni, in a tight voice. She slowed way down and they both watched the sweep of headlights and flash of taillights as Junior hung a left turn.
“If we follow him through that turn,” said Toni, he’s gonna catch on sooner or later that he’s being tailed. He’s not blind.”
“Then do your flying thing,” prompted Suzanne.
“Are you serious?” asked Toni as they turned onto the gravel road behind him. Really?”
“Do it carefully,” said Suzanne.
Toni punched out the lights. “Just pray we don’t hit a deer or skid on a loose patch of gravel.”
They didn’t. In fact the road was fairly straight and Junior’s taillights, a quarter mile ahead, served as a solid beacon to guide their way.
Then the road twisted through a grove of trees and dipped across a narrow, single-lane bridge, the boards echoing loosely as they crossed.
“Lost him,” said Toni, wrinkling her nose.
“Where’d he go?” wondered Suzanne, peering into the night.
Toni suddenly hit her brakes, snapping their heads and causing Suzanne to flail out and grab hold of the dashboard. “There he is!” she whispered.
Suzanne followed Toni’s gaze out the driver’s side window. It took a few moments, but finally her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she could see a glint of something—Junior’s car—half hidden behind a small, ramshackle building. To the left of Junior’s car stood an old farmhouse where a few lights glowed. Behind it was a large, hip-roofed barn.
“Now what?” asked Suzanne.
“Now we sit and wait,” said Toni. Slowly, quietly, she backed her car down a small incline and into a grove of poplars. Branches scratched against car doors and windows, sounding spookily like fingernails.
“What are we waiting for?” asked Suzanne. She was shivering slightly, now that Toni had turned the heater off.
“Junior,” was Toni’s single terse word.
They sat there for five minutes. Then their wait stretched into ten. When Suzanne was about to suggest the futility of this night watch, Junior surprised them by suddenly reappearing as a shadow. Hastily crossing the yard, Junior slithered into his car, fired up the engine, and rocketed away fast.
“Should we follow him?” asked Suzanne.
“No!” hissed Toni. “We gotta see if this place really is a meth lab!”
“How will we know that?” asked Suzanne, curious and leery at the same time.
“I dunno,” said Toni. “Maybe we can peek in the windows or something.”
“Do you actually know what a meth lab looks like?” Suzanne asked.
Toni thought for a moment. “Maybe like bubbling beakers full of green goop with steam rising up?”
“You know what?” said Suzanne. “You’ve been watching too many old Frankenstein movies on the late-night creature feature. You’ve developed a William Castle fixation.”
“The only scary movie I watched lately was Saw” said Toni. “And it scared me to death.”
They climbed from the car and tiptoed quietly across the road, easing their way toward the farm house. Halfway there, a dog, an aging black Labrador, padded up to greet them.
“Hey, baby,” whispered Suzanne. “You’re not going to bark, are you?”
The dog gave a desultory tail wag in response to her voice.
“Seems like a sweet old mutt,” said Toni. “Thank goodness he’s not exactly your crackerjack guard dog.”
“If Baxter was here, he’d be barking his head off,” said Suzanne. She dug into her handbag and pulled out a plastic bag filled with jerky treats.
“You keep dog treats in your purse?”
“At all times,” said Suzanne. “It’s the only bargaining chip I have with creatures of the canine persuasion. The only thing that stands between reason and chaos.”
She handed the jerky to the dog, who accepted it with a certain gravity. Suzanne gave him another. She liked the dignified old fellow. “Now lie down and be cool,” she told him.
They slid behind a clump of dried lilac bushes. Not much cover, but better than nothing. Then eased their way gently up to the back of the house where two windows glowed an eerie green.
“No way,” said Toni in a low voice. Lights were obviously on inside, but their view was blocked by window shades pulled snuggly down.
Suzanne tried peeking in from the side, but no luck. Just a sliver of... nothing.
Toni made a forward motion with her hand. Got to get closer.
But Toni was moving forward aggressively. Along the length of the house, toward the front porch. She hesitated, then put one foot on the porch step, then another. Waved for Suzanne to follow.
Against her better judgment, Suzanne did. Climbed up three steps, crossed a broad porch badly in need of paint, and joined Toni at a window that was pushed up a few inches. A tattered window shade, the color of old parchment, fluttered in the breeze. Shadows moved back and forth behind that shade. Soft voices formed indistinct words.