“I’m still trying to come up with one,” I told him.
“If you spend too much time thinking about a thing, you’ll never get it done,” he told me in his sage teaching voice. “Take things as they are. Punch when you have to punch. Kick when you have to kick.”
“Not helping,” I said.
Jun Fan raised his hand in a sweeping gesture to indicate the assembled class.
“Simplicity is the key to brilliance, Floyd,” he told me. “Just tell them what you need, let them figure out the how,” he said, then went to join Verna and Miss Penelope and the dogs.
I was about to head up the hill toward Goliath and the others when Wanda’s patrol car rolled up the road. Not far behind her was Dot’s convertible.
“Goliath,” I yelled out. “Your friend is here.”
The Munchkin turned around with daggers in his eyes, but he trotted down the hill when he saw I wasn’t kidding.
Pino stood in place and mimicked Goliath’s gait, to the great amusement of Jun Fan and the ladies.
Wanda got out of her car and ran over to me, giving me a big hug. After a few seconds, she loosened her grip and planted a big, wet, kiss on my lips. Her mustache tickled a bit, but I didn’t mind.
“Thank you,” she said, with a look of pure gratitude on her face.
“Am I that good of a kisser?” I asked.
Wanda snorted.
“No. I meant thanks for finding Roman. He showed up just in time and voted against the amusement park project. Then my cousin cast the deciding vote. Kresge will not be turned into Denmarkland.” She let go of me and her expression became a lot more serious.
“I’m sorry the F.B.R.M. came after you,” she said. “I’ll do what I can to get Morrison back, but my hands are kind of tied.”
“I was hoping you could get us into the compound,” I said.
“Floyd, try to understand. Whatever happens with Morrison, I have to work with these people. You may not like what the F.B.R.M. does, but they’re on the side of law and order. Just like I am.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand.” And I did. Sort of. I respected her dedication to the job, but I was still disappointed.
“Don’t look so dejected. I can’t act, but I can still help,” she told me. “The Worland City sheriff is a friend of mine. He radioed and told me a train passed by there a while ago. You have about thirty minutes before it shows up, then it’ll be too late for Morrison. So you have to hurry.”
“Then we should get started,” I said.
“Hey! Lib...Floyd!” Goliath called from behind Dot’s open trunk. “I got something for you!”
Goliath had one arm around Dot’s leg and was puffing on a cigar. Dot was petting his head, sort of the way you’d pet an obedient dog.
Goliath nodded toward the open truck and said, “Take a look.”
Inside was a pile of pistols, shotguns and rifles and boxes of ammunition. Most of the guns were bigger than Goliath. Peeking out of the bottom of the pile was something that might have been a bazooka.
“I had sweets here go out to my cabin and bring back some supplies! We could outfit an army!” Goliath said with a huge grin.
Wanda looked at the stockpile in the trunk of the car with an expression that moved back and forth between alarmed and terrified.
“Huh-uh! No guns!” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We don’t need them. I have an idea.”
“Damn liberals,” Goliath muttered.
“Wanda?” I said. “How many handcuffs do you have?”
“Just one pair, but I have a box of wrist ties,” she said.
“That’ll do,” I said.
“So let’s hear this big plan of yours, MacArthur,” Goliath said.
“Get everybody together and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” I said.
Goliath turned to Dot. “Give me some sugar, sweets.”
She squatted down and put her tongue in the nasty little man’s mouth. Wanda and I turned away, saying nothing. Privately I hoped our own kiss hadn’t been so...unpleasant looking.
“Go back to the bar, baby. I’ll be back in a bit,” Goliath said, then pitter-pattered over to Jun Fan and the rest of the class.
“Let’s grab those cuffs,” Wanda said.
I walked her over to her patrol car. Once we were far enough away that Goliath couldn’t eavesdrop, she took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket.
“Roman asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it to me.
Written on one side in Elvis’s cramped script was my name.
“We were both in a hurry to go after the vote, but he asked me about you. Then he made me wait so he could write this.”
“Oh, we identified the body you found,” she added, opening her trunk to get out the cuffs. “It was Charlie Watts, the Elvis hunter you told me about. Coroner says he died of a heart attack.”
I felt a little guilty about the grim satisfaction I took from learning it was Watts’s body I’d found. He was a bastard. In fact, there wasn’t a single person I’d ever met who I liked less. And he’d beaten me. Again. If the guy’s diet hadn’t consisted entirely of red meat, he would have been the one holding a letter from Elvis.
Sometimes the nice guy doesn’t finish last.
Floyd,
The Sheriff told me you’ve been looking for Jon Burrows. And about the lifestyle thing. Can’t say I understand it, but a man has to find his own way. I’m awful sorry about putting you through so much trouble to find me, but I appreciate you showing up like you did.
I’ve got to thinking it might be time for a change. You gotta have change to grow. So I’m going on a long drive. When you’re behind the wheel, you’re free. That’s what I need now and I’ll be heading out as soon as I finish this letter.
Wanda also told me about your friend. And what you’re doing to help him. Reading this, you’re probably holding two conflicting feelings in your heart. Helping him, or coming after me. You’ll have to make your own choice, but I’ve always said that a person who puts someone else’s needs above their own is a real hero. You strike me as the hero type.
I’m sure whatever you decide, you’d make Elvis proud. Besides, you found Jon Burrows once. If you really want to, you can find him again.
Roman
I looked up at the people I’d gathered to rescue Morrison. None of them knew who Roman really was. And they probably didn’t care. They were here to help out a friend.
I remembered what Zora had said, back at her nail parlor—I’d have to ask myself a question. It was the same question I always asked myself. What would Elvis do, if he were me?
He would help Morrison.
I stuffed the letter into the pocket of my jumpsuit and went to tell the rescue party my plan.
* * *
Wanda filled us in on what she knew about the F.B.R.M. compound. It wasn’t much.
The little office complex was surrounded by a ten-foot fence. Wanda told us it was electrified, not enough to kill, but enough to seriously discourage anyone from trying to climb it, as if the razor wire across the top weren’t enough.
She’d never seen any of the Goons carrying sidearms, so she didn’t think they’d respond with lethal force. Wanda also thought there was a total of twelve to fifteen agents, but couldn’t give a precise number because they all sort of looked the same. If things got hairy—her words, not mine—she would come in as a peace officer and break things up.
I looked around at the members of Jun Fan’s class. Each one silently acknowledged they were ready to go. Morrison had twenty minutes, more or less, before Relocation reinforcements came and took him away.
“Okay everyone,” I said. “Let’s get Morrison back. Good luck.”
Miss P. and Ver
na went over to their tandem bicycle, the dog pack quickly following after and leaping into their respective baskets. As the two ladies seated themselves, Miss P. said, “You’ll be sure to let Roman know my role in this foolery? I would very much like to spend some time with him again.”
“As soon as I see him,” I told her.
Not that I expected to.
Miss P. smiled. “Very well. We’re off!”
Verna and Miss P. started pedaling down the hill toward the front gate.
“All right, everybody get into position!” I said, and the rest of the group quickly moved off to their designated tasks. Wanda stayed behind with me.
“I have to go,” I told her.
“I know. I want you to take something, though.”
Wanda went to her patrol car, opened the passenger door and picked a radio off the seat.
“So you can call in the cavalry,” she said, holding it up. “And this. Just in case.”
It was a holstered gun.
“I thought you said no lethal force.”
“Just in case,” she repeated.
The jumpsuit didn’t have a belt to mount the holster on, so I took the pistol out of the leather. I was about to slip it into my pocket, when Wanda cried out, “Wait!”
She took the gun from me and flipped a small lever on the side of the pistol.
“Safety was off,” she explained. “You’ve used one of these before, haven’t you?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“You’ve never used a revolver?”
“I’ve never used a gun,” I explained.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, this is the safety.” She showed it to me again, and demonstrated the on and off positions. “You’re going to want the safety on if it’s in your pocket. I’d really hate for you to shoot anything off.”
“So would I.”
“Me too. The next time we play doctor I don’t want it to be for an amputation.”
Wanda looked away. I think she may have snorted a little.
“Firing a gun is easy,” she continued. “Point, squeeze. It’ll jump in your hand a bit, so be ready for that.”
She handed me back the gun and I double-checked the safety.
“Don’t pull it out unless you have to.”
“I never do, Wanda.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Good hunting.”
Wanda stepped forward and embraced me, then quickly stepped back again.
I smiled at her, then turned and quick-timed it to my position.
* * *
The only break in the electric fence surrounding the F.B.R.M. complex was the ten-foot wide rolling gate that faced the train platform. On the street side of the fence, next to the gate, was a small gatehouse. A lone Goon occupied the little office twenty-four hours a day. Taking out a single guard wouldn’t be much trouble, but the problem with the gate was that it opened from the inside. When the train rolled up, Guard Goon’s job was to radio in to other Goons, who would then come running to man a similar little hut on the inside of the fence.
Overcoming that obstacle would be a challenge for most would-be gate-crashers, but not for circus performers.
Verna and Miss P. approached the gatehouse on their bicycle while the rest of us stayed out of sight.
Phase One had begun.
The two ladies slowed the bike, stopping a few yards away from the gate. Miss P. coaxed the guard out and away from any alarms he might be able to trigger.
“Pack! Fell!” she yelled.
All six of the Pomeranians leapt from the tandem bicycle’s baskets and assaulted the Guard Goon. He didn’t stand a chance.
Buster sprinted behind the Guard Goon’s feet and bunched himself up into a squat little pile of tripping fur. Albert and Coco hopped into the air in concert, flying smack into the Guard Goon’s chest, knocking him back over Buster. Dante pounced on the fallen Goon’s throat, much as he had with Goliath. Then Ernie and Fergie got the poor bastard’s wrists between their jaws.
During the dog attack, Verna had dropped the kickstands on the bicycle and started a truncated stretching routine. On Miss P.’s sign, she removed her skirt and blouse, revealing a full-length leotard with a pink sash. Then she took a tiny collapsing trampoline, about a foot square, out of one of the bicycle’s baskets.
Verna sat it down not too far from the gatehouse, paced off thirty feet, turned and ran at it with bounding steps. The taut black surface sent her somersaulting up to the roof, where she landed with a light thump.
Verna took four small steps and cartwheeled over the fence and razor wire onto the roof of the interior guardhouse. From there she sprang down to the ground, opened the door and went inside.
Seconds later, the rolling gate opened and the rest of us moved in.
Wanda had warned us that the Processing Center, the building closest to the gate, would have a number of Goons inside, and that opening the gate was going to make a lot of noise. The problem for our troupe was that the building was much closer to the gate than the rest of us were. Miss P.’s dogs were marvels, but I was concerned the two little old ladies would be no match for a pack of F.B.R.M. Goons. That’s where the Magnaninis came in.
Once Verna had made it up to the roof of the exterior gatehouse, the brothers had set off straight for the gate in full Rolling Magnanini mode, whooping in Italian. The combined ruckus of the yelling brothers the gate opening did exactly as predicted—it brought the Goons out from the Processing Center. All five of them.
When they saw what was going on, the goons sprinted for the interior guardhouse where Verna was still holding down the switch that opened the gate. But they weren’t fast enough. We’d timed it so that the Rolling Magnanini would reach the gate just as it was opening, then the Brothers would aim for the door of the closest building.
The Brothers had timed it too closely, though. As I came rushing down the hill I saw them steer the human ball of Magnaninis toward the unmoving side of the opening. They were still too wide to fit through the gap, but the two brothers on the sides, Guido and Luigi I think, tucked in themselves into the middle, turning the ball into a wheel that sailed through the gate with room to spare.
The Goons saw the tumblers fly through the gate and slowed, making them easier targets. The brothers crashed through the five Goons like a bowling ball through pins, sending all five suits to the ground.
Verna and Miss P. rushed in, zip-tying the Goons’ wrists before they could recover. Miss P. proved particularly adept at it, unsurprisingly.
The four Magnaninis sat there, rubbing aching body parts, as the rest of us came through the fully opened gate. Well, the rest of us less Goliath. Miniature legs and oversized feet do not a fast runner make.
“You guys okay?” I called out to them.
“We fine,” Carlo said. “Les go busta some cranios!”
The Italian’s bravado didn’t extend to him, or his brothers, getting up off the ground just yet though.
“You and the girls hold the gate. I want to make sure we won’t have a problem getting back out,” I told him.
Verna overheard me and chuckled. Turning to Miss P., she said, “Did you hear that sweet, sweet man? He called us girls!”
Carlo’s brothers looked relieved by my suggestion. Carlo didn’t put up much resistance to the idea either.
“Buona difesa!” he said.
Goliath finally made it through the gate, huffing and puffing and trying to catch his breath.
Time for Phase Two.
* * *
Our best guess was that Morrison would be in the main office building, but we had to pass the processing center, a smaller storage building and a garage filled with black SUVs on the way. Jun Fan led, followed by me, Pino and Goliath bringing up the rear. Goliath had rear guard in part because
he was too slow to go first, and in part because we hoped any Goons coming out of buildings as we passed might not notice him, and Goliath could take them from behind.
That’s exactly what happened when we reached the storage building.
Pino had just passed the door when a Goon walked out. He must have heard the door open, because he turned around to face the agent and beeped his nose twice. The agent was so surprised to see a militant clown inside the complex he just stood there, staring, as Pino inflated a long blue balloon. The Goon reached for his side, but Pino held up his hand, one finger raised in the universal “just a minute” sign. He tied off the balloon, twisted it into a handle and a hilt, then held his inflated sword in en garde position. The Goon finally reached for his club or tazer, but it was too late.
Goliath came up from behind him and delivered a punch into the Goon’s knee pit. I felt for the agent, a little anyway, as he went down on his back. Pino jumped into the air, knees to his chest, and cannonballed onto the Goon’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He’d done it so quickly that the guy hadn’t been able to utter a sound. He’d be fine in a few minutes, but Pino didn’t pass up the chance to beat on the F.B.R.M. man with his balloon sword a few times before he popped a big red ball in his mouth and taped over it with duct tape. It’s amazing how really useful that stuff is.
After knee pit kicking the Goon, Goliath had just kept going and caught up to me and Jun Fan.
I signaled to Pino to come on, but he just gave me a thumbs-up. He turned his attention back to the Goon and performed the most wanton act of cruelty I’ve ever seen. Pino tickled him. Armpits. Kneecaps. Sides. The Goon’s face was turning bright red and he was clearly trying to scream, but no sound came out. The four of us watched, horrified.
The Goon’s torment finally came to an end when he peed his pants. Satisfied, Pino stood up and allowed the agent to roll over on his side and curl up into a ball. Pino walked around to the Goon’s head and pet it gently. Then he took a card out of his clown fatigues and tucked it into the Goon’s front jacket pocket.
Pino stood and smirked, his painted-on clown smile making the look even more disturbing. With a Charlie Chaplin shuffle, he joined us at the corner of the storage building. Jun Fan gave the malefic clown a disappointed shake of his head. “Showing off is the fool’s idea of glory.”
Elvis Sightings (An Elvis Sightings Mystery) Page 25
