If You See Kay Jig

by Quinn Glasneck

  I winked.

  “Girl, you get around, don’t you?” She focused back on the field as Morgan stepped up to the hammer. “This is so fun. Why didn’t I know they had burly men to throw big shit like this?”

  I turned my head when I felt eyes on me. I wondered if another member of “the family” was going to have a little talk with me today. But when I turned, I saw it was the animal control guy.

  “Kay, get me up, would you?” I asked, reaching my hands toward her.

  Kay stood and took my hands, she pulled from the front and Delight pushed from behind, and I was able to get back to my feet. “Thanks,” I said, brushing my skirt as he came closer.

  “That’s the last of the wild beasts,” the guy said, looking a little disheveled and mud streaked.

  I looked down and wrinkled my nose. It looked like puke spattered his shoe.

  “One of the opossums was pretty hung over.”

  13

  Saturday Morning

  The Celtic Festival

  I left Delight with Kay watching the end of the hammer throwing competition. There was nothing to be done at the tent until Colleen delivered the first couple of boxes of booze, or so I thought.

  When I walked up, I found Meadow had tied back the sides of the Hooch tent and was busy with a shovel.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Just cleaning up some of the droppings. I told the maintenance crew that you needed some straw, and they’re on their way over in their utility task vehicle.” She lifted her chin toward the point of the roof. “The animal guy missed one. I wouldn’t walk under there.”

  My gaze followed hers up to the top of the tent where a squirrel dangled from a single paw, swaying back and forth and snoring.

  I looked down at the little stand I’d set up for Twinkles’s kissing booth, but the tub of gravy I had planned to use, so Twinkle both did his job and liked his job, was opened and licked clean. I dragged the kissing booth to the back of the tent. I’d get some more gravy at the store on my way home tonight, and we could try again tomorrow.

  Where was Twinkles anyway? I wondered, posting my hands on my hips and looking out across the field.

  I didn’t see Connor, but Guido was there, standing over by O’Toole’s Meat Pasties.

  Meadow stopped beside me. “That man’s job is the thing of nightmares,” she said.

  I reached in my pocket and turned on Dick’s recorder.

  “Guido Stromboli’s job is the thing of nightmares?” I repeated for the recording.

  “It’s disgusting how someone can make a living doing what he does. How can the man live with himself, knowing all of the pain and fear he causes?” Her nose wrinkled with disdain. “No, not disgusting. It’s horrific.” She slid her hands up each arm, pushing her sleeves above the elbow like a guy at the bar who was looking for a brawl. She turned back to me. “What was in the envelope he forced on you earlier?”

  “I didn’t look,” I whispered.

  “Chicken?” She canted her head.

  “More like an ostrich, I would say.”

  She leaned over the bar and pulled my red handled competition hatchet from the shelf. My name was engraved on a brass plate. I’d won it two years ago at the Celtic Festival in Boston. It had been a day of stiff competition, and I felt a lot of pride in having won. Its hyper-sharp edge was in a protective leather hood. “This is beautiful,” she said. “Are you in the competition today?”

  “I had thought about it. But this dress doesn’t give me any room to move, so I’ll probably skip it this year.”

  “You could change into something else,” she offered.

  “You don’t know how hard it is to get zipped into this get-up. Are you doing any competitions?” I asked, opening a box of commemorative plastic shot glasses and making sure they didn’t have drunk-animal cooties.

  “No. I’m just here selling my bowls.” She started to put the hatchet back on the shelf then stopped and looked around. “Is there a safer place to put this?” she asked.

  “Because…” I couldn’t imagine anyone looking for or caring about my hatchet. No one could use it in the axe throwing contest without someone recognizing it as mine.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, her gaze focused down the walking path.

  I swiveled to see what had caught her eye. There was Guido Stromboli.

  Meadow stuck the hatchet back on the shelf where she’d found it. “I was just thinking that anyone could come up and get hold of this. It’s obviously an expensive tool.” She looked back at Guido then at me. “I hate for it to get in the wrong hands.”

  Our conversation stopped as two vehicles buzzed over on their electric motors. A crew got out and started pitching a thick carpet of straw over the floor. It was a good idea. Not only would it cover the mess left behind by the animals but would make it easier to stand all day with something cushioning under foot.

  Colleen was in the second vehicle. Her helpers unloaded a box of Irish Whiskey and a box of Scotch Whisky. I knew never to make the mistake of serving the wrong one to the wrong clansman or clanswoman.

  Delight meandered in. “You know, I am really enjoying my day.”

  “Have you seen Connor and Twinkles?”

  “Oh I’ve had my eye on Connor. I have indeed. I didn’t realize what fine thigh muscles that man has.” She walked around the end of the bar and reached for a bag she had stowed there. “He is fine, girl, and by that I mean fine.”

  I couldn’t argue with her about that. “Did he still have Twinkles with him? What was he doing that you saw his fine thigh muscles?”

  “Yeah, he had Twinkles. He was over in the field tossing a tree.” She pulled out two long aprons.

  “They call it a caber,” I said, reaching for the apron she handed out to me. “Hey, did you know that back in the 16th century, the name for an apron that a woman wore when she was gardening, or cooking was called a coverslut?”

  “Huh, learn something new every day, don’t you? A coverslut. I like it.”

  “I thought you might.” I turned the sign to “Open” and people immediately started our way, like a magnet pulling at metal. “I have both whisky and whiskey. Just tell me your clan or kin, and I can pour you the right constitutional,” I called out.

  Delight stood at the cash register, checking armbands and ringing up drink tickets.

  I looked up at the first guy in line. “Clan McGregor,” he said. “I see you’re back on your feet now, lass.” He gave me a broad wink.

  “Yes, I recognize you. Sorry about that,” I said. “First one’s on me.”

  Delight and I were catching up with the rounds when I heard a familiar voice. “A beaver walked into Hooch’s tent. He looked around and said, Is the bar tender?”

  I smiled at Morgan. “You and Kay are apples from the same tree. How was your match this morning, who were you up against?”

  “Bumpass Golden Cocks. We won. We’re here for a celebration drink.” He smacked Polar Bear in the chest.

  I took his tickets and poured out the shots. “Well done, Beavers!”

  Polar Bear’s nose went up in the air, sniffing like Twinkles did when he caught a whiff of Scotch eggs with their rich sausage scent.

  I sniffed, too, but wasn’t picking up anything but the freshly strewn hay with maybe a soupçon of drunken forest animal.

  He turned and focused on Meadow with a kind of dopey grin.

  Huh. This was interesting. I smoothed my hands down my coverslut to dry them off. “Meadow,” I called out. “Come meet my friends.”

  “Morgan, Polar Bear, this is Meadow Bush Whacker.”

  “Bushwalker,” Delight corrected.

  “Meadow,” Meadow said as she extended her hand to Polar Bear with a dewy, dreamy look in her eyes, as her gaze travelled up to his face a good foot and a half above hers.

  Okay, it was a little May-September in terms of age difference, but to each their own. They both looked like they’d just been struck by Cupid’s arrow. />
  “Maple syrup,” Polar Bear purred as he bent and kissed her hand.

  I sent a wide-eyed look at Morgan. Morgan leaned over and whispered in my ear, “He’s got a thing for maple syrup.”

  “Like a maple sugar daddy?” Delight asked.

  Meadow blushed and did a kind of a wobble that might have been a curtsey as Polar Bear’s lips lingered on her hand. “If you like maple syrup,” she cooed, “I have some over at my tent. I make it myself every year. I was just having some on my acorn muffins.”

  Without looking around, Polar Bear set his empty shot glass on the bar and followed Meadow over to her tent.

  “Hey,” Morgan said. “Did you hear what Polar Bear said to the maple tree?”

  I quirked an eyebrow.

  “I’d tap that.” He chuckled as his gaze travelled up to the squirrel still dangling from one paw, still swaying, still snoring.

  Delight and I turned and looked too.

  “I knew a guy back in Texas that looked exactly like that squirrel. His name was Stinky. Well, not his given name, mind you. That’s just what folks liked to call him. Everyone thought he was a closet drinker. We couldn’t figure it out though. No one had ever seen him drinking or buying alcohol, or going to a bar, nor nothin’. Folks checked him out, you know, to see if he didn’t have one of them hidden flask thingys. They make fake cleavage that is really just bags for wine, and bracelets, we checked his umbrella to see if the handle weren’t hollow. Stinky was a drag queen with my cousin Dwayne’s show.” She stopped to tsk and shake her head. “Yup. We looked all through his things and never could find no booze. He swore he was a teetotaler. But of course, that couldn’t be true. He’d stagger around, singing songs, getting in fights, causing a hullaballoo. Poor thing. Sometimes, he’d get so drunk, we’d call the ambulance for fear he’d choke if’n he passed out. And he was often passed out.”

  “And yet no one ever saw him drinking?” Morgan asked.

  “Nope. Not ever. One night he got pulled over by the police. They did a breathalyzer that read .37, and he was headed for jail. But BJ’s friend Rex was there, and you know, he’s got a lot of pull with the sheriff. Rex said that he’d just seen Cal − that’s Stinky’s real name, Cal − and he was sober as a monk. So instead of hauling his skinny behind to the jailhouse, they took him in to Austin to the hospital there. The doctors diagnosed him with a thing called auto-brewery syndrome. Seems like he don’t need to go to no bars to buy his drinks. Stinky’s body was its own still and fermented shit in his stomach when he ate too many carbs. Don’t believe me? You can look it up. He’s on the Internet.”

  “That sounds really dangerous,” I said.

  Delight rang up the next customer before she answered. “Yeah, well, since it has to do with how many carbs the man eats, now that he has a diagnosis, he knows what to do. He’s now on that − what you call it? Keto diet − he basically just eats meat three times a day. Bacon and burgers. He can eat bangers all day and not get drunk. He’d probably like calling them bangers, too. He’s into that kind of thing, if you see what I’m saying. He likes him some sausage.”

  Just then the squirrel released his grip and dropped on top of Delight’s head.

  Wide-eyed and flailing, Delight hollered out, “What is it? What’s got me? Is it a fairy? Did I catch me a leprechaun?”

  “It’s furry if that helps,” I said.

  14

  Saturday Night

  My Apartment

  I was comfortably wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on my living room couch. I had a sappy Hallmark movie on the television. Twinkles lay on the floor where my hand dangled. A cup of hot cocoa rested in my lap.

  Officer Goodman had just texted me with an offer of a massage, which sounded wonderful. But I had turned it down. I wasn’t in the mood for fun. I was in the mood for sulking in my flannel pajamas.

  After everyone had left the festival, I had still been prepping my tent for the next day, which took forever since I was still stuck in the dress from hell. Good thing Kay dropped by my apartment with Chinese takeout. She was able to wrestle the hooks open and the zipper down. I thought I was going to have to sleep in the darned dress all night. Tomorrow, I’d go to the festival half-zipped and get someone to help me sausage myself back into the wench casing.

  That manila envelope of doom was still under the passenger’s seat of my car. Its contents had me in a stew. Yes, I was procrastinating the inevitable by not opening it. But whatever it was was going to suck. I owed Mr. Cheatham so much money. More lawyer bills on top of the mountain of lawyer bills I’d already accrued? No, this felt like it. This was probably my breaking point. My point of no return.

  I was about to fail.

  Fail myself.

  Fail Hooch.

  Fail my loyal customers.

  And worse of all? I’d be back in the corporate world with a nine to five job, being tortured by pantyhose, leaving Twinkles all alone.

  I set my cocoa aside and pulled a pillow out from behind my back, plopped it in my lap and buried my head. Okay, I was crying. I deserved a good cry. I had been through a lot. And now it was all in vain.

  My phone rang ‘Bad Boys’ and I waited for the call to go to voicemail. I ignored it while I was having my pity party.

  My phone rang again, ‘Bad Boys,’ and I swiped to see who was being so persistent. Justice.

  “Yes?” I asked, trying not to let the sound of my tears color my voice. I was, after all, still the boss.

  “BJ there’s a fire down here that needs to be put out.”

  “You can handle it, can’t you?” I asked, not wanting to uncurl myself from my warm nest and deal with whatever was happening at the bar.

  “I already called your dad and the fire department is on their way. I just thought you’d want to be here.” Her voice sounded as jaded as always.

  “Did you say fire? Actual hot flames fire?”

  “Fire. Flames. Smoke. Heat,” she deadpanned.

  I was up out of my nest, running for my bedroom. “On my way,” I called out then swiped the phone to end the call. Okay, I thought, yanking off my pjs, leave Twinkles here. The fire engines will take up space, parking is limited, I’ll just jog. I yanked into my yoga pants, pulled on a t-shirt, dropped down on my carpet and laced up my tennis shoes with no socks. I was out the door with my jacket in hand in less than thirty seconds.

  My feet flew as I ran down the block. My breath expelled forming clouds in the cold night air. I was so glad to have my full lung capacity in that moment. Down the block around the corner, I could smell it now. My pace quickened. Up ahead I could see the swirl of red lights like a corona above the block where Hooch’s stood. Billowing smoke, with its acrid smell, hovered in the air. I ran even harder, though, what my being there quicker would do to help I had no idea.

  As I got to the right road, I saw the street was filled with Hooch patrons breaking the public drinking law by hanging out with their steins in hand. I was going to be written up. This was going to cost me a fortune. Done. My career, my business, done. Done. Done.

  I slowed to a walk. Done. That was so depressing. I stopped and dropped my hands to my knees trying to catch my breath as I took in the enormity of this situation. My gaze scanned the throng, wondering if Joseph Russo was there, with his citation pad out.

  As I turned my head, I spotted Kay walking toward me from the direction of her apartment. I stood back up and waited for her. Her brows were pulled together in worry lines. “Connor called to see if I was with you. He told me about the fire.”

  “Have you seen Justice?”

  “She’s in Hooch’s with Connor.”

  “What? They’re in there?” I pushed off as if I could run into a blaze and save them.

  Kay grabbed my hand. “They’re not in danger. The fire was in the trash dumpster, and the firefighters already put it out. The crew is just getting their hoses put away.”

  “Then why is everyone in the street?”

  “Justice thought it was a go
od precaution. She said she’d call them in as soon as your dad gave the all clear.”

  “How do you know this and not me?”

  “Connor called to congratulate me on winning the storytelling medal and to give me shit about having an unfair advantage after making the pilgrimage to the motherland and kissing the Blarney Stone. He was here drinking with the Beavers when it all happened. He just kept me on the phone, so I could fill you in when you got here.”

  I nodded, then hand in hand we pushed through the crowd and into the bar.

  Everything was fine.

  There wasn’t even any smoke in here.

  Kay stalled as her gaze travelled along the back wall. There, Justice had hung up a clothes line to which she clothes pinned picture after picture after picture of Kay, sopping wet, tear-stained, disheveled, and grinning through her misery. A different crowd of laughing Italians were giving their thumbs-up in each image. Included at the bottom of each photo, I could see was the story that was posted with the picture and an English translation.

  “I knew she was going to do that.” Kay frowned.

  Justice walked into the main room with Connor right behind her.

  “You’re evil,” Kay said.

  “Thank you.” Justice’s face didn’t shift but visibly lit up with an inner glow of happiness. Nicodemus wrapped his little paw across his stomach and took a bow as if he was accepting his share of the credit in this photographic display.

  Kay walked over and started to unclip the photos. “And pay back is hell. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. But when you least expect it. BOOM! Your payback will arrive with a bright red bow on it.”

  Nicodemus snickered into his paws.

  Justice rolled her eyes.

  I focused on Connor. “It was Sal wasn’t it?”

  “Why did you say Sal?” he asked.

  “Because in the family, Sal sells the insurance, and Guido is the butcher. I assume that this was the message that I needed insurance, and my ‘visit,’” I did quote fingers in the air, “from Guido would be farther down the line.”