At the barn two days later
“We’ve not had any action yet, Andy, but we’ll stay a few more days. We’ve got our work cut out for us. We’ll continue to keep our car in the shed so Billy doesn’t know we’re here. Meanwhile, I’m going to walk down to the creek today, to see if anything’s happening there.”
“You look great in that outfit you’re wearing. No one would suspect you’re not Amish.”
Gramma pressed her hands against the white apron worn over a long-sleeved brown dress. She retied the strings to the white cap covering her gray hair. “My boots add just the right finishing touch, don't they?”
“They look especially fetching with your black stockings,” Andy said. “By the way, you look good without makeup.”
“Thank you. Now enough about my forward fashion. Although I may get a crack at Project Runway. Hmmm. Back to work. I got a creek to get to. While I’m gone, you get to the courthouse in Lewisburg. You know what to look for.”
Gramma set off down the earthen ramp of the banked barn. The sun was high in the sky and the air was clear and warm. Trudging across the fields, she was deep in thought about Grampa and Sweetums. Hearing the clap of horses’ hooves on the highway berm, Gramma turned to watch a black buggy, pulled by a slender thoroughbred horse, moving away from the farm towards town.
Her attention was diverted to a truck roaring off the main highway and onto Philip’s property along the creek.
A black four-wheel drive, crew-cab pickup raced through the field, kicking out clogs of dirt behind it. Loud hip hop music blared from the cab. It slid to a stop at the creek and three men got out and sat down along the bank. Cigarettes were lit and passed back and forth, one to the other. In between puffs, there was loud laughing.
“That coward Philip isn’t going to do anything to us,” Billy bragged. “Especially not after the whupping we gave him last time we were here.”
They all laughed and made derisive comments about the Amish.
“It’s time they came into the twenty-first century. All that peace and love ain’t gonna get them a thing. Just more of what we gave him,” Billy said.
A voice greeted them from out of the field. “You think so?”
Billy and his friends stood up and faced the vision speaking to them.
There was Gramma in all her Amish getup glory, hands on hips and leaning forward.
Billy’s face became crimson. “Well, what do we got here?”
“You got more trouble than you can handle, that’s what you got,” Gramma replied.
Laughter erupted. The three men moved towards the woman, looking her up and down.
“One more step, and it’s not gonna go well for any of you.”
The men laughed again.
“Look at you,” Billy said. “Dressed in those stupid clothes you Amish women wear.”
“Philistine,” Gramma replied.
Billy didn’t know what a Philistine was, but he was sure it wasn’t good.
“You, an old Amish woman is threatening three men who’re a third her age? Have you been smoking the same stuff we’re smoking?” Billy picked a stub from his pocket and lit it. “This is good weed. You’re gonna find out how good it is. Let’s give ’er a hit off it,” he said to his friends.
Gramma jumped on Billy first. She knocked his feet out from under him and before he could do anything, she kicked him into the creek.
Billy’s friends lunged for Gramma, one on each side.
Gramma jumped back, assumed a self-defense pose, and began pummeling the men, first one then the other.
Between yelling and thrashing, neither of the men laid a hand on Gramma.
She finished them off with the same medicine she gave Billy. Into the creek they went, head over butts, without a chance to defend themselves. She found their marijuana stash and tossed it in the water after them.
“Beatdown,” Gramma yelled to them.
Standing in the middle of the cold creek water, Billy and his friends shivered and stared at their attacker.
“I’m not one to lecture, but smoking is filthy, not to mention that your habit is especially disgusting. And illegal.”
The men started to talk all at once.
“Oh, dear. You three have no manners. Please, let me finish.”
They shut up.
Now. You were lucky today. You got darling, sweet me to come talk some sense into you. You don’t wanna know what comes next. Here’s some real good grandmotherly advice. Stop acting like spoiled rotten children. Leave Philip and his family alone. Never, and I mean never, come on his property again because if you do, I’ll make today look like a kindergarten class. Do I make myself clear?”
The soaking wet men nodded their heads.
"Oh, yes. I know who you are and may recommend to the local police that you be entered into a program I sponsor here to help young people like you turn your lives around. It's past due."
Crickets.
Back at Philip’s barn
“So now we know who owns the property Billy and his friends are living at,” Gramma said. “Good work, Andy. Your time in the courthouse paid off. Since the owner is a well-known politician, my next move is to telephone him and let him know what’s been going on there. I have a feeling he’s not going to like it.”
Gramma phoned Chatty Mae at the Development to locate the cell phone number of the property owner.
Chatty Mae took just a few minutes to get the information to Gramma. “I was going to call you anyway. Poppy Gold escaped from custody. The boss wanted you to know.”
“Thank you, Chatty Mae. She's a slippery one. Anything else new?”
“Carl's back from Italy. He was out back measuring your fence. What's he up to?”
“He's up to something that's not gonna happen. That's what. What else you got?”
“Just that I saw Sneaky Rex hanging out in your backyard yesterday. Considering Sweetums’ puppies and all . . .”
“Oh, dear,” Gramma said. “Gotta go. Thank you.”
Gramma arranged a meeting with the politician owner of the farm next to Philip’s.
She texted Carl the yard park is a 'No go' on her part. Carl didn't text back.
At the meeting
Gramma told the politician everything she knew about Billy Brady and what he’d been up to.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you all that about what’s been going on at your farm that you rent to Billy and his friends. This has gotten pretty ugly. The Yoders are considering calling in the Amish mafia to settle this if something isn’t done. I’m sure you don’t want that kind of action and publicity.”
The politician was apologetic and unnerved. “I certainly don’t want anything like that to happen. I’m appalled at the renters’ behaviors and, well, Billy is a distant relative of mine and if the press gets hold of this . . .”
“I know he is,” Gramma said. “The Yoders just want your assurance the harassment and violence will stop. If so, they won’t take any action against anyone about this.”
“Billy and his friends will be off that property and no longer a problem to the Yoder family. They have my word. Oh, and if the Yoders want to buy that farm, I’d be willing to sell it to them for a fair price.”
Gramma relayed the politician’s offer to Philip and Sarah.
“Thank you, Gramma, for all you’ve done to clear this up. Before you go, how is Tipsy? We loved that little goat and were happy to see her go to a good home.”
“Tipsy’s great, enjoying the entertainment lifestyle.”
After Gramma left the farm, Philip and Sarah decided to take the politician up on his offer to sell the adjoining farm to them. They figured with the money in their milk cans out behind the barn and help from Philip’s parents, they could swing a cash deal.
Chapter 15
Memory Lane and Biker Gangs
“Your Mini Bus rides so smooth,” Andy said. “I’m glad we’re taking this to Orlando instead of my car.”
“It’s eve
n smoother than Dad and Mom’s new car. Don’t tell ’em I said that, though,” Lola said.
“I commend you two on your keen observations and fine taste,” Gramma answered. “Hey, put the transponder on the windshield, would you, Andy? We want to be ready when we have to go through the toll booths. It’s easier to just have the toll paid electronically. Amazing device. We’ll have a man on the moon yet.”
“We had a man on the moon,” Andy said. “We’re gonna do it again someday.”
“I know. I was just checking to see if you were listening,” Gramma said.
“Didn’t you meet one of those astronauts, Gramma?” Andy asked.
“Met almost all of them. One of the brightest group of men and women I’ve ever come across. And the stories they told about being on the moon. Some amazing things they saw. Not everything made the papers and books, you know. I sure hope I can go next time they plan a lunar landing. I’d like to see what it was they saw in outer space and on the moon.”
“What did they see that didn’t make the papers and books?” Lola asked.
“Read their autobiographies. There’s a lot in there,” Gramma said. “Until then, let’s just say, they solved the origin of the universe.”
“You serious?” Andy said.
“I’m always serious,” Gramma answered. “Well, almost always. I guess. Sometime, there’ll be a movie made about what really happened.”
“That must’ve been awesome meeting the astronauts. How’d you manage that?” Lola asked. She thought about that. “I don’t know why I’m even asking how you managed that.”
“NASA came to me decades ago with a little in-house problem they were having. I solved it for them so they repaid me by introducing me to all the astronauts. I’ve been meeting them ever since. When a new batch comes up, I go over to Cape Canaveral at the Kennedy Space Center.”
“You met the Queen of England once, too, didn’t you?” Lola said. “I’d like to meet her. Heck I’d like to be Queen.”
“Don’t wish to be anyone or anything other than what you are, Lola. You, too, Andy. You never know what burdens the other person may be carrying. Some people’s lives look good, but they’ve got their own set of troubles.
As for Queen Elizabeth―met her in 1961. Long after her Coronation. She was beautiful and smart, but there was an issue she was having with some relatives of her father King George VI. She took my advice and got it settled.
I met her husband the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark. He was gorgeous. Oh, my, did I say that out loud? Well, he was. Philip’s father Prince Andrew was handsome, too. I didn’t meet him, but saw the painting Lazlo did of him. If it’s accurate, whoa. Anyhow, I digress. What were we talking about?” Gramma was flustered.
“Queen Elizabeth,” Andy reminded her.
“Right,” Gramma said. “Beautiful and smart . . . and lucky.” She sighed.
“I like this drive to Orlando,” Lola said. “It gives us time to talk. Tell Andy and me about when you met Elvis Presley. Was he gorgeous, too?”
“He was. Above all else, Elvis was polite and spiritual. I loved that about him. He wanted me to do some investigating for him. Seems he had a problem with one of his girlfriends he couldn’t get resolved. I don’t want to say much about it because it was personal. After I figured out what was going on and told him, he stayed in touch with me until he died. What a loss.”
“You’ve met so many interesting people, Gramma. Why did they consult you?” Andy asked. “Instead of someone else?”
“I think it’s because I could get the job done and I kept their confidence. That was so important to all of them. And, our group has the talent and resources to accomplish what others cannot.”
Andy felt proud to be a part of it.
Lola wanted in on the action.
“Hey, are we going to any of the parks while we’re in Orlando?” Lola asked.
“Not this time,” Gramma said. “I love all the parks, every one of them, but we have other things to do right now that can’t wait.”
Gramma was nervously watching in her rear mirror, then turned her attention back to the side mirror. She adjusted both to get a better view.
The Mini Bus was slowed down to well below the speed limit.
Andy looked in his side mirror and let out a whistle. “Lola. Look behind you.”
Following close behind them was a biker gang. Dozens of riders.
“What on God’s green earth,” Gramma started to say. She thought there must be 50 bikes or more involved. Some of the bikers had women sitting behind them while others were riding solo.
The gang stayed close to the VW back bumper for several miles. Eventually, some bikers passed Gramma, getting in front of her, while others were in the center lane, surrounding the Mini Bus.
“Where’d they come from?” Andy asked. “And what do they want with us?”
“Central Florida’s Orlando area had biker gangs here for more than four decades, but these guys who’re following us are different,” Gramma said.
“Whattya’ mean ‘different?’ And what do they want?” Lola asked.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, you two,” Gramma said. “These guys are part of the 99 percenters. The law-abiding bikers. Look.” She pointed to the rider closest to her driver’s side door.
Andy and Lola leaned in to get a better view.
Gramma slowed even more and rolled down her window. They could see the smiling biker pointing to his right forearm.
“Oh, my goodness. That’s Gerry,” Gramma said. “He’s a Miami lawyer I met years ago. Yoo Hoo, Gerry,” she yelled out the window. “How are you?” She waved his way, smiling her best.
Gerry smiled back and nodded.
The biker kept pointing to something on his arm, all the while grinning at Gramma. He’d point at her to gain her attention and hold his arm out for her to take a look.
“What is it? What’s he trying to tell you?” Lola asked.
“Lola. Roll down your window and get a picture on your cell phone of what Gerry’s pointing to,” Gramma said. “He wants me to see it, but I don’t want to look away from the road.”
Lola positioned her camera for some shots of Gerry’s forearm. She took several pictures.
Andy took photos of the other bikers. “This is awesome. Some of them are waving at us. Look. Gerry’s making a phone call.”
Gramma’s cell phone rang. She had Andy answer it for her.
Andy saw it was from Gerry. He put the call on speaker phone so they could hear what it was about.
“Hi, Gerry. Good to see you. What’s up?” Gramma asked.
“I recognized your Mini Bus as soon as we got up close,” Gerry said. “Cool luggage rack. That’s new since I last saw you. Looks vintage.”
“It is. I got it at Ted’s. We had a wild time at his junkyard with some zombies, Gerry. You’d have loved it.”
“I heard. What a bunch of goofs. Nobody believes in zombies. Why’d they think they’d get away with that?”
“Crazy people do crazy things,” Gramma said.
“Hey, can you see the tattoo on my arm?” Gerry asked.
“Not very well. Lola’s got some photos of it. When we stop for gas, I’ll check them out.”
“Okay. Don’t forget you’re coming to the house next month. Good seeing you. I’ll call you later. Bye all.” With that, Gerry gave her the peace sign, and he and his gang sped off a side road toward Kissimmee. All 50 plus bikes roared away.
“What’s the tattoo of, Lola?” Andy asked. “Show it to us.”
Lola shrieked and started laughing out loud. “Oh, my Gosh. Wait’ll you see this Gramma.” She showed Andy the photo.
Andy laughed and said, "What a hoot."
There on Gerry’s right forearm was a Traditional tattoo in bold colors of someone sitting on a 1950 Indian motorcycle. You couldn’t miss it. Seated there was Gramma in a black leather motorcycle jacket.
“What? What is it?” Gramma asked.
“One of you tell me . . .” She pulled the vehicle off to the side of the road.
“Oh, my,” Gramma said when she viewed the picture. “He said he was going to do that, but I thought he was kidding.” She took a close look at the tattoo featuring her and the jacket and let out a whoop. “He’s something else.”
“Why’d he do that, Gramma?” Andy asked.
“That tattoo is me wearing a 1913 vintage Schott motorcycle jacket. It’s just like the one Gerry owns that was his Dad’s. Someone stole it from him a few years ago. He hired me to track it down and get it back for him. He told me if I could do that, he’d get a tattoo of me wearing that very same jacket. I thought he was just funnin’ with me.” She took another look at it. “That’s so cool. It looks just like me. Don’t you think so? Huh? I mean, that’s my best side, too. I think it really captures me.”
“It sure does,” Andy said.
“Where’d you find the jacket?” Lola asked. “And how’d you know where to look?”
“It wasn’t difficult. I just followed Gerry’s ex-girlfriend around for a while and noted she was going to flea markets selling vintage clothing. When I saw his jacket among her sale items, I called him. I laid low and waited for Gerry and his buddies to join me, which they did in about a half hour. The rest is history. Let’s just say she willingly returned the stolen jacket to Gerry and his ten biker friends. It caused quite a stir at the flea market off I-95. They recovered, though.” She took another look at the photo. “Heh, heh. This is great. I’ll bet that tattoo would win any ink competition, anywhere. Even one on television. Joe Capobianco would so love it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Andy said. “It’s rad.”
“Why don’t you get a tattoo, Gramma?” Lola asked.
“Cuz tattoos are unique and original. If I got one, it’d make me easily identifiable. In my line of work, I can’t afford that luxury. Besides, I aim to die being the last person on earth who doesn’t have a tattoo.”
The Amazing Adventures of Gramma Page 12
