by Wendy Byrne
But I digress. We were on a mission. To my way of thinking, this should have been an in-and-out kind of affair.
Alice turned and spoke. "I don't see stinky Phil anywhere." Despite the rumble of conversation inside, her voice seemed to carry like it had wings. And I could swear everyone in the place turned in our direction.
My face flushed. While I appreciated Alice's…shall we say pluckiness…sometimes I wished she'd temper her words. All eyes were focused on us again, and the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea.
The inevitable trail led straight to Stinky himself. Once again I had to ask myself why we were here.
Save Nate. Save Nate. Save Nate. The mantra pulsed inside my head, propelling me forward. I had to think about Madman Charlie to get me back in the mode to tackle any task, no matter how despicable.
Phil's beady brown eyes bore a hole straight through me as we got closer. In one hand he held a serving tray while he loaded dishes from the table onto it with the other. Once he spotted me, his movements became a little more forceful, if the increased clanking of the dishes was any indication. No doubt he wasn't happy to see me. The feeling was mutual.
The Qs and I circled around him, but the words refused to come out of my mouth. Apparently, the others were having the same problem. Something about Phil apparently rendered previously articulate women speechless—but not in a good way like a fan girl moment over a superstar. More like in a how do I keep myself from catching the stink kind of way.
"What do you want?" The words growled out of him like they came from the pit of hell. Holy cow, even his voice was scarier than I'd remembered.
I sucked in a whiff of the peppermint oil before I took a giant step forward. "I was hoping you'd have some information about Jen Crowder."
His beady eyes shifted their gaze from one of us to the next. "Even if I had it, I wouldn't tell you."
I cleared my throat. "I'm not sure why you're mad at me. I defended you."
"Bull. You sicced the cops on me."
"Honest mistake, but still." I stopped to take a big gulp. "I really need your help. It's Nate Crowder's ex-wife. What do you know?"
He eyed me with a scary staredown. "She's a druggie."
"Is? Does that mean you know she's still alive?"
He gave me a pfft in response. I wasn't quite sure how to interpret that but didn't have time to rationalize it out like I normally might have. He knew something, and I'd dig until I discovered what it might be.
"Why should I give you any information?"
"Because you want to do what's right."
He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes that he rubbed with his grimy hands. "Tell you what. You do me a favor, and I'll do one for you. Get me back my wife, and I'll see what I can find out."
That seemed like a pretty tall order for this early in the day. I wasn't a miracle worker, after all. The guy needed an extreme makeover both inside and out, and I wasn't about to take up that kind of challenge when I had other things occupying my mind.
"How about we talk about some other kind of compensation?" Cops paid off informants all the time. I figured this could be a similar kind of arrangement.
"I'm not interested in money. I just want my Sally back. I really do love her." He sniffed and straightened his shoulders. "It's either that or nothing."
"Let me confer with my partners." I drew the ladies into a huddle and whispered, "What do you think?"
"You're right. The guy needs a bath in the worst way," Ramona said.
"The peppermint oil isn't coming close to eliminating that stench. I imagine he'd smell better if he were dead. Not wishing he was dead, but the guy has some serious hygiene issues," Alice added.
"If I were his wife I wouldn't come within ten feet of the guy," Dolly said.
"Okay, I get all that. But is there a way we can fix him up, give him some manners, do an Eliza Doolittle kind of makeover—but do it all at warp speed? Because, as I don't need to tell you ladies, time is of the essence."
"Let's take him outside and hose him down for starters," Alice said.
"You know we can't do that, but maybe we can find a place interested in a project," Viola said. "But then we'd have to give him some manners. That might be the hardest part of all."
This might take some finagling. I turned back toward Phil. "What time do you get off work? I'll make some phone calls."
"Are you going to call Sally?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes and a slight sneer that almost looked like a smile on his face. The guy was human after all.
"I'm going to be brutally honest here, Phil." I leaned as close as I dared but paid a price when my eyes started to water, and I had to back off a smidge. "You need to clean yourself up."
"What? I took a shower Monday." His tone wasn't defensive but skirted the edge.
"Yeah, but that was five days ago." Junior high hygiene lectures were not my forte, but I did the best I could. "Have you ever heard of a makeover?"
"Huh? Makeup." He shook his head. "I draw the line there."
"No, Phil, not makeup." How could I couch this in terms he'd understand? "You know how you find that perfect pickup, just the one you were looking for, but it needs a little tune-up and a good solid paint job? That's what we're proposing for you. We'll set it all up and come back at quitting time to pick you up. Believe me, Sally's going to love your new look." I didn't leave him any room for him to change his mind.
We skedaddled out of there as quickly as we could. But now came the really hard part—figuring out how to make good on my promise.
That's how we spent our afternoon—talking a nearby salon into servicing a well-deserving client. Yes, I left out some specifics as to how big a project this might be but agreed to compensate them at double their rate for their trouble along with a big tip. Finally, we got a place that not only had an opening, but they agreed to the challenge I'd presented to them. I fibbed and told them they'd be featured in Men's Style Magazine. No such magazine exists, but I was desperate, so I told a little white lie.
When we escorted him to said spa after he got off work and they took a look at what they were in for, I had to ante up even more money for them to let him inside. The manager said he was scaring away customers.
Apparently, they no longer cared about the fake magazine article. I had to pay triple their normal cost just to get him in the shower. But finally we worked out a deal. Phil agreed to a good scrubbing even with what he called flowery body wash and shampoo. I had to say the sight of him in one of their white robes gave me a little giggle. Luckily, I'd bought him some clothes to exchange for his, which looked like they'd been lying on the bottom of a pigsty. After changing, he got a haircut, shave, and a manicure and emerged a new man. He still had a bit of a snarl, but at least he smelled better.
And, dare I say, he almost looked handsome. Maybe I was stretching it a bit, but let's say I could see why Sally fell for him in the first place.
Now for the etiquette part, which I suspected would meet with a lot of resistance on his end. No doubt it would be the hardest part of all. "Okay, Phil. Let's get some dinner and talk about how to win Sally back," I said as the ladies toddled behind me to the fanciest café we could find in town.
"First off, you need to practice helping Sally into her seat," Dolly said as we all stood behind our chairs.
He'd already taken a seat and looked up at us like we were crazy. And he might have been right. "Say what? You can't get into your own seat? I call Sally my old lady, but she isn't old like you ladies. She gets in her seat just fine."
Alice rapped him on the arm with her purse. "First off, never call a lady old. That's rude no matter her age. It's not an endearment, no matter what you think."
"Say what?"
"It's not polite," Viola said.
"Okay, I'll show you how it's done." I demonstrated with Alice, which was probably a risky move on my part. No telling when that woman would go off script on me. But it worked.
"You mean like that?" The look
on his face was similar to as if we'd told him monkeys could fly.
We nodded, and he stood in response and one by one helped us with our seats. He got off to a shaky start and overcompensated for Alice's petite frame, but all in all, not bad.
Dinner itself was a mess of fits and starts as we had to begin with the basics and work our way up. I started with the concept of putting the napkin on his lap rather than tucked into his collar and told him not to lick his fingers. By the time Ramona told him not to slurp his soup, we'd beaten him down so that he no longer asked why after every one of our rules. But by the time dessert was served, I felt like real progress had been made.
"Did I pass?" he asked, like the idea really meant something to him. "Do you think Sally will take me back?"
"You did good. I think if she sees you're a changed man, she'll come around."
"You might need to be persistent so she's knows you're different on the inside and out, but don't push too hard," Dolly said.
"You need to woo her. Bring her flowers for no reason. Just be thoughtful," Ramona said.
While I had high hopes, I didn't want to set the bar too high. "Just be yourself. Not your old self but this new self that isn't snarly or mean or scary. Take a shower every day, put on clean clothes, and make sure you brush your teeth."
"Thank you all for your help." He shrugged. "Sometimes a guy just needs a break to give his life a reset. Bud gave me that job at the bowling alley, and that helped. Now you ladies"—he looked down at his new attire—"gave me a fresh look. Sally's the love of my life. She always has been."
"You need to tell her that then," Viola said.
He nodded as the glistening of tears filled his eyes. "Thank you again." He pushed back in the chair like he was going to get up but then stopped. "Now I owe you one. I'm going to fill you in on Jen Crowder and the people she was hanging with. Have you ever heard of Hell's Tavern?"
OMG, not there again. While Alice clapped her hands in glee, I gulped. Our last time there we'd barely escaped with our lives. "Yes, we've been there." And it wasn't pretty. Stray bullets flying, drunken brawls, and all before seven o'clock in the evening. I surely didn't want to get there late in the evening. Who knew what might be going on there?
"We've got some friends there," Alice said. Friends might have been pushing it, but I didn't want to interrupt her flow. "Who should we look for?"
"There's a guy by the name of Spike. He's a scary-looking dude. His specialty is Chinese throwing stars. You know what those things are?" Phil said.
I thought I might faint. Not like pretend faint but really truly faint. I could tell by the kid-in-the-candy-shop look on their faces, they were totally up for this harebrained idea, but me? Not so much. While I wrestled with how to temper their enthusiasm, Phil interjected.
"But you ladies shouldn't go there. It's not safe unless you're packing."
Thank you, Phil, for being the voice of reason. I was tired of handling that mantle on my own. Who would have thought it would have come from him? Still, I'd take his potential assessment for risk of trouble any day of the week.
"We've got nunchucks in our purses. Doesn't that count?" Alice asked.
"You're sh—I mean…not to be rude, but that's not going to cut it." He rubbed his fingers against his now-clean jaw. "Spike's not bad if he's by himself. Trouble is, he mostly travels in a pack. I could go there with you and see if he'll talk to you ladies. Alone. That will stop anything bad from happening." He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "At least I think."
Let's just say his words did not instill the necessary boost of confidence I'd been looking for. On the other hand, the ladies were more than ready for an adventure.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rather than cram into the car with the ladies, Phil rode on his motorcycle while we followed. While I appreciated his commitment to follow through on his promise, the idea of going back there still scared me to death. The last time we'd been lucky. I wasn't so sure the odds would be with us again.
Judging by the excited chatter echoing through the inside of the car, the ladies weren't very worried. Sometimes I seriously wondered if I was losing my mind getting into these things. This was Nate though, so I had to buck up and get things done. We were Nate's last hope. Or at least the drama queen part of me thought of it that way.
I followed Phil down the unmarked trail filled with ruts and bumps along the way. We arrived later than the last time we'd come, so I imagined the place might be into a full-on fist fighting, bar brawling frenzy by now. Back then, we'd observed Hell's Tavern from the outside, and the idea of going inside that crazy place gave me the heebie-jeebies. Based on the outside appearance, there had to be rodents the size of squirrels inside, along with a cast of men and women whose rap sheets were longer than the average novel.
Phil pulled his bike off to the side, and I parked next to him. I tunneled through any and every possible excuse I might have for not going through with this. While I couldn't let Phil go in there alone to ask questions, I didn't want to go in there myself either.
Quite a conundrum.
The ladies got out of the car faster than I'd ever seen them move.
"I don't know about anyone else, but I'm dying to see inside that place," Alice announced as she walked toward the trailer.
To my surprise, Phil snagged her arm. "I think it's best if you let me go in there first."
"We know some people who hang out there, so I'll be fine. Do you know Snake?"
"He's back in jail for violating his probation."
She shook her head. "That boy never did have a lick of sense."
"I'm sure the bouncer will remember us from last time we were here," Ramona said.
"Henry got his head split open by one of the guys here. Hasn't been the same since. I don't imagine he's here tonight."
To my surprise, the ladies seemed to be more pensive than I'd expected after Phil's revelations and updates. Thank goodness. Nothing like a dose of sanity to get them to wake up and fly right. Just as I was about to claim victory for once, Ramona sucked in a breath and let out an ahhh sound like she didn't quite know what to say. Based on the sparkle in her eye, I knew whatever she was about to say, I wasn't going to like it.
She pointed toward the trailer. "Is that smoke?"
Instinct had me running behind Phil toward the trailer despite any misgivings I might have had. Even if they were scary, despicable scumbags, I had to warn them the place was on fire. No doubt the place would go up like tinder soaked in kerosene.
"I'll go around back. You go through the front," Phil called as he sprinted ahead of me.
I burst through the front door, my heart beating out of control and my breath coming in short pants. Guys were sitting around drinking like they didn't have a care in the world. "You need to get out. There's…ah…fire."
To my surprise they started laughing. No doubt my mouth hung open as Phil charged through the back door.
"We're roasting a pig out back, and some backdraft came inside," one guy noted.
"That and Earl managed to track in some of the embers, starting the floor on fire. Our new bouncer, Mickey, tried to put it out with some vodka—not too bright that one. Luckily the bartender sprayed it with the seltzer. That did the trick, but we had to open the back door to let the smoke clear," another guy filled in.
"You're welcome to stay for our pig roast if you'd like. Lucas caught it himself," a third supplied.
I started coughing. I wasn't sure if it was the visual of catching a pig and roasting it, or the backdraft, or the idiocy, or all three combined. If they said anything about squealing, I was definitely going to hurl. Right here. Right now.
One of the men came close and poked me. "You're that lady that solves crimes, aren't you?"
I wanted to answer but was distracted by the leather vest over the stained white T-shirt that looked like he'd changed the oil on his car before he came here and the oil pan had spilled over his shirt, hands, and hair. His biceps were huge
but not what I would call muscular—just ginormous.
Instead of answering, I nodded, uncertain where he was going with that kind of question. From my experience, it could run the gamut from contempt to admiration.
While I was considering what to say next, Phil stepped in front of me in total protective mode. Sweet. Geez, all it took was a little bit of kindness to soothe the savage beast in no time flat.
"We're looking for Spike." He was back to his growling voice. Apparently he pulled it out of his back pocket when he needed a little extra intimidation.
Wistful thoughts of being able to have my own brand of growl made me smile, which made Mr. Oily T-shirt take notice like he might have thought I was flirting. I threw up a little in my throat.
"He's in here somewhere," Oily said. "Didn't bring his usual posse, so he's probably keeping a low profile. It takes a while to get the regulars to accept any newcomers. But you, young lady, can come here anytime."
What was I supposed to say to that? The last thing I wanted to do was hang around this bunch. So far I saw no evidence of mass carnage, so I nodded and plastered a fake smile on my face.
Phil grabbed my arm, ready to whisk me away, right as the Qs stumbled inside.
"Geez, it stinks in here," Alice announced, quelling the crowd no doubt due to more shock and awe. The Qs were quite good at that.
Time stood still. You could have heard a pin drop. All those clichés happened simultaneously. Oblivious to the swift change in the atmosphere, the ladies sifted through the hazy space.
