My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  “Did you know them before the break-ins?” I asked.

  Grandad chuckled and was joined by his friends. “Why would I know the Bleds?”

  “I just feel like our families have known each other forever.”

  “It would feel that way to you.”

  “Did you introduce my dad to The Girls?”

  “Of course. Tommy always had a keen mind. Could’ve been an engineer but the job reached out to him. He designed The Girls’ new security system.”

  “That’s so weird. I always thought we met The Bleds through my mom.”

  Grandad frowned. “Why would you think that?”

  Because Mom’s family has known them since 1938.

  “I don’t know. They’ve always been so close.”

  “The Girls fell in love with your mother. No doubt about it. Love at first sight. We all felt that way. There’s something about Carolina. She walked into the mansion and they adopted her on the spot.”

  I tried to stay calm. Finally, somebody who would talk to me. “How did Mom end up in the Bled Mansion in the first place? She wasn’t a debutante.”

  Grandad chuckled. “The Girls don’t like debs. They think that kind of stuff is useless for young women. Makes them into show dogs.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, gripping my glass until it hurt. “So how did they meet?”

  “Your dad brought her for dinner. It was their first date, but The Girls insisted.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Why do they do anything? I love them, but I don’t get the Bleds. Never did.”

  So The Girls knew both my dad and knew of my mom. And my parents just happened to meet and get married? Yeah, right.”

  “How did my parents meet?” I asked.

  “On a case. You know that.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “I thought that might just be Dad being romantic.”

  “Romantic about a murder,” said Grandad. “That does sound like my boy.”

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “A basketball player strangled his girlfriend in your mom’s dorm. Your dad caught the case and Carolina was a witness. She placed the player on the floor when the kid claimed he was at a bar.”

  “Convicted?”

  “30 years. Tommy dots all the Is. It was his first big case and it put him on the map.”

  Patricia came back with our tacos and we dug in. I think Aaron got a little teary-eyed. I know I did. The fry bread was like nothing I ever tasted, fluffy and crispy at the same time. The meat? Sort of creamy and spicy. The Girls would say that those tacos were made with love and they’d be right. I could taste the love.

  Aaron inhaled his taco and trotted back to the kitchen.

  “Where’s he going?” asked Robert between bites.

  “Probably to talk to the chef,” I said.

  “I hope he gets the recipe,” said Janet. “Barney has to make this at home.”

  Big Mike slapped the table. “If you learn to make this, I’ll come to visit.”

  “That’s what it takes?” asked Barney.

  “Will ride for tacos.”

  The discussion went to who visited who and my mind went back to my parents. Dad just happened to catch a case in Mom’s dorm. A coincidence that worked out for me, if it was a coincidence. I doubted it. So many things weren’t.

  I finished my taco and when Patricia came back to ask about dessert, I ordered the carrot cake and asked where the bathroom was. Patricia said there were port-a-potties out back and I held back a cringe. Raptor was watching. If I said anything less than enthusiastic about peeing in a stinky plastic pod, she’d say something about me being fancy. I grew up on Hawthorne Avenue and I knew fancy. I definitely didn’t fit the criteria. Being half Italian, Raptor grew up on The Hill and she had a different idea.

  “Okay,” I said cheerfully and booked it out of there. Maybe it was a bit cowardly, but I didn’t want another zinger. It was getting old. Super old and I had to share a bedroom with Raptor that night.

  I heard her voice behind me but managed to block out the nasty.

  Only four more days. Only four more days.

  Instead of going directly to the pottys, I went to the kitchen to find Aaron sucked up to the chef’s shoulder, listening to instructions on fry bread. I tapped his shoulder. He didn’t respond.

  “Can I have your phone?” I asked.

  Aaron never lost focus on the food. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it behind his back. I took it with a wince. It had some mysterious meat stuck to it and a smear of something best left unnamed. I took it to the trash can and flicked off the meat while the dishwasher looked me up and down.

  “That dude says you’re his partner,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you were the DBD girl.”

  I didn’t cringe at the label and I was proud of myself. To some people, I was that. To others, I was a nurse or Tommy Watts’ daughter. I was starting to think that was okay. The people who really knew me knew that I was all of those things and more.

  “I am,” I said.

  “Can I have your autograph?”

  I signed his apron and gave him a hug, which seemed to be the better part to him. I hoped he didn’t tell anyone that I smelled like Aaron, because I definitely did.

  He opened the back door for me and I made a beeline for the outdoor bar, walking out of sight before calling Spidermonkey.

  “How’s the investigation going?” he asked.

  “Nowhere,” I said. “I’m not doing it.”

  Spidermonkey paused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not doing it.” I told him that Grandad and his crew wouldn’t cooperate and I’d had it. “I’m calling about my parents.”

  “You mean, the people who will insist on you investigating Hal’s death?”

  “They can insist all they want. I’m on vacation.” I told him what Grandad had said.

  “I remember that case. It was national news at the time. God, your father was so young. I remember thinking, how can that kid be in charge?”

  “You remember Dad? That was forever ago.”

  “He was unforgettable. A skinny Howdy Doodie type who looked about fifteen. He was charming though. Reporters were lining up to interview him.”

  “That I believe. Can you find out how he got that case?”

  “I’ll look into it. I’m more interested in Ace,” said Spidermonkey.

  “How come? He told me how he met The Girls.”

  “He did, but something about that bothers me. It doesn’t seem odd to you?”

  “The break-ins are odd. I’m thinking that was The Klinefeld Group.”

  Spidermonkey began typing like crazy. “I have no doubt. It’s something about your grandad and The Girls that’s bothering me. They requested he take the Prie Dieu case, right?”

  “I guess. Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s important. I’ll get back to you.”

  He practically hung up on me. I guess the grandad connection was pretty intriguing. I was more interested in The Klinefeld Group doing break-ins way back when. Hopefully, he would look into that, too.

  I took a deep breath and picked a likely port-a-potty. That potty was the cleanest I’d ever seen in my life. My shoes didn’t even stick to the floor. What a concept. They had a hand-washing stand nearby and that’s where I was spotted.

  “Mercy Watts!” yelled a biker. “How’s it hanging?”

  I never know what that means. I’m a girl. If something’s hanging on me, we can safely assume it’s a bad thing. “Okay, I guess.”

  The next thing I knew, I had a beer in my hand and was posing for pictures. Wallace showed up at some point and we posed together. A guy offered me twenty bucks to let her pee on my foot. That was an easy no. I expected them to ask about my father or the murder at The Rally Inn, but all anyone cared about was Double Black Diamond. I got crazy questions ranging from how Wade smelled to post-perf
ormance eats. I made it a habit to not smell guys if I could help it and the band favored Thai food, the hotter the better. That seemed to befuddle the asker. “But they wrote that song about barbecue?”

  DBD did write a song about licking barbecue sauce off women, but I didn’t think it reflected their actual eating habits. I only managed to avoid an argument over sauce because Grandad came out looking for me. He got me out the way only a Watts can with distraction and compliments. I was going to be partying at The Rack and Ruin that night, according to Grandad. There was something about a charity ride for a Pediatric ER and I was out.

  “You are smooth,” I said.

  He hugged me as we walked. “Who do you think taught your dad?”

  “I never thought about it.”

  We wormed our way through the crowd to get back to dessert. By the end, I was seriously bloated and ready for a nap. I was even willing to get back home on the Flea to have it. No such luck. Aaron couldn’t be pried out of that kitchen. I even offered to eat crab, but he ignored me so I got stuck in the sidecar with an equally-bloated Wallace. Patricia informed me that Wallace the Wonder Pug loved black beans like that was a good thing. I assure you, it wasn’t. She started gassing ten minutes into the ride and even at sixty miles an hour the stink got me.

  After two hours of racing through the Black Hills and barely surviving multiple twisting canyons, I was done. More than done. I was ready to call Uber and get the heck out of that sidecar at all costs. At a handy stop sign, I tapped Grandad’s thigh.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked with a big grin on his face.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where the road takes us.”

  “Can you be more specific?” I asked. “There has to be a destination.”

  “Why?”

  Wallace spun in my lap and burped.

  “‘Cause it smells bad in here.”

  Grandad patted my helmet. “You can’t tell me you aren’t having fun.”

  Yes, I could.

  “Er…yeah,” I said.

  “Then we ride until we run out of road.” He slapped down his visor and rolled on the throttle.

  That is a long, long time. Somebody help me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  NOBODY HELPED ME.

  Two hours later, we slowed down and got in a long line of bikes turning into a driveway manned by cowboys on horseback. Acres of bikes filled the fields around a stone house with tables and tents surrounding it.

  I tapped Grandad and he flipped up his visor. “Almost there, sweetheart.”

  “Where is there?” I asked.

  “The Stone House. Big Mike says we have to see it.”

  “What is it?”

  “A party that pops up during the rally. A ranch family puts it on every year. We had to come today.”

  There was something about the way he said it that made me suspicious. “Why?”

  “It’s No Panty Wednesday.” He grinned and flipped down his visor.

  “No way!” I tapped his leg again and yelled, “I can’t go to something called No Panty Wednesday with my grandad!”

  I could hear him laughing in his helmet. We stayed in line. I thought about hoofing it out of there, but where would I go? There wasn’t a town for miles and I’d given Aaron back his phone. From what I could tell, the people around The Stone House were fully clothed, but it was hard to tell from a distance.

  “Don’t tell Mom!” I yelled at Grandad. “She’ll think I’m corrupting you!”

  More laughter in the helmet. He’d probably tell Grandma J, just to bother her, and she’d tell Mom. Great. She’d never believe that Ace Watts, the workaholic, wanted to go to No Panty Wednesday.

  It didn’t take too long to make it through the line. We drove past the cowboys and followed their directions to a packed field, parking in a long line. Wallace went nuts over the horses. Suddenly, she was a herding dog. She strained and snarled at her rhinestone leash like she was a German Shepherd or some breed equally intimidating. The cowboys thought she was hilarious.

  “Wallace the Wonder Dog!” yelled one and he began recording.

  I’m sure I looked even less tough than usual, being dragged around by a ten-pound dog with a Napoleon complex. I tried to pull her toward The Stone House but made no headway until Big Mike made a shushing sound and pointed at her. The pug dropped to the dirt and put her paws over her eyes. The cowboys high-fived and rode off in a swirl of dust. I picked up Wallace. “You’re vicious.”

  Bark.

  “You’re practically a police dog.”

  She bit my hand.

  “Dammit, Wallace.”

  Raptor stalked over and took Wallace from me. “You’re terrible with animals.”

  I wasn’t when they were normal animals. It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t know any. “Fine. You be the dog whisperer. I’ll get a beer.”

  It was my turn to stalk off with Wallace barking in my wake. I didn’t get fifteen feet before Raptor screamed and Wallace ran up to trot beside me.

  “I guess she isn’t a dog person either,” I said, stooping to pat her wrinkly head.

  Bark.

  “You can bite her again.”

  “I heard that!” yelled Raptor. “Did you hear that, grandpa?”

  The answer was laughter. I enjoyed it, but I’d pay for it later. I’d have to sleep with my hand on my taser.

  I picked up Wallace’s leash and we walked around The Stone House over uneven ground, expecting drunks stumbling around sans underwear. But The Stone House wasn’t like that. I didn’t spot a single drunk. The scene was calm, except for a couple bickering loudly at a table. Steve and Jeanette. I took a hard left past a small band playing Randy Travis songs on a knocked together stage. The black-hatted lead had a great voice, rich and throaty. Randy would’ve envied him. Bikers cheered his efforts while gathered around rough wooden spindle tables, talking and laughing.

  Grrr.

  Wallace went stiff, for once, looking like a real guard dog. Dozens of phones came out as a stuffed skunk rolled up. Wallace barked and lunged. Everyone laughed, including me. Grandad gave me a beer and unclipped her leash.

  “She might tear it up,” I said.

  Grandad grinned. “She’s all bark and no bite.”

  “She bites me and Raptor.”

  “You’re not a skunk.” He steered me to an open spindle and gave me a black marker. “Sign your name. Mercy Watts and Wallace were here. Could be worth something someday.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “No kidding,” said Raptor, sipping a lemonade and getting an elbow from Robert.

  “I love this place,” said Janet. “The band is great.”

  “It is,” said Barney. “You want a drink?”

  “I’ll have a beer since you’re driving,” she said significantly, but she needn’t have bothered. Most of the bikers sipped light pilsners over a long period of time. A group of bikers that I would’ve described as badass every day of the week with tattoos, piercings, and well-worn leathers ruined my idea of bikers forever. They were drinking a round of Cokes and didn’t even smoke. Beyond them was a younger table where the No Panty Wednesday idea was in full evidence. A couple of women about my age were wearing skin tight spandex dresses with slits up the sides. No panties there. I wanted to take a picture for my mother. My cutoffs wouldn’t seem so bad.

  Janet scooted between me and Grandad to whisper, “They probably came in on bikes.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  “Think about it,” she said with a wrinkle of her delicate little nose.

  “Oh, right. That would be…breezy,” I said with a laugh.

  “To say the least. Why are their boyfriends fully dressed?”

  I looked over and, of course, the men were only showing forearm. I shrugged. “Different rules for the jewels.”

  She slapped my arm. “Mercy.”

  “You don’t really want to see them pantyless, do you?”

  “Heaven forbid.”
/>   “Check out the tutu by the bar,” I said. “You could wear that.”

  “I don’t see—oh, my,” said Janet at a woman wearing a bikini top with a net shirt, a sheer pink tutu with a black thong underneath. “I would never.”

  Barney butted in. “I wish you would.”

  Janet gripped her beer so hard it ran over. “Where is your mind?”

  “After twenty years of marriage, right where it should be,” he said with an irrepressible grin. “I’m buying you a tutu.”

  “You better not.”

  They went back and forth. Then Grandad leaned over. “You think Grandma would like a tutu?”

  “Are you trying to scar me for life?” I asked.

  He dimpled at me. “It’s a simple question.”

  “Why do you bother me?”

  “I’m a Watts. It’s in the DNA.”

  I picked up my beer. “I’m taking a walk. You talk to Robert. He probably thinks you’re charming.”

  “Everyone thinks I’m charming.”

  “Not your granddaughter. Do you talk this way to Weepy, Snot, and Spoiled Rotten?”

  “They can’t handle it.”

  “Put me in that camp.”

  Our whole spindle laughed and I took off to look at the menu at the barbecue area and talk to the lovely photographer who was actually a professor at Stanford. She came out every year to help her family put on The Stone House party. She asked me about DBD. She’d been to one of their concerts in 1980. She was in college and it was the highlight of her freshman year. She thought I was lucky to know them. I was, but for reasons different than the ones she was thinking of.

  She looked up and sighed. “Another storm coming in.”

  “Is this normal? These storms are hardcore,” I said.

  “It’s the time of year. Afternoon storms are normal.” She barely got ‘normal’ out when it hit. Everyone was running every which way with jackets over their heads. I ran for our spindle, but only Raptor and Janet were there, squatting underneath.

  “Where is everybody?” I yelled over the deluge.

  “They saw the storm and went to get the bikes,” said Janet. “They thought we could outrun it.”

  “This trip just keeps getting better,” said Raptor with a glare.

  “Why are you looking at me?” I asked.