by Tracy Ellen
“Thank you.” I patted her shoulder and stood up straight with a groan, my bare legs numb with cold. “Listen, Kenna. I get you’re protecting somebody. I can’t blame you for lying about the Kenyon bar story.”
She stopped laughing and regarded me suspiciously. “You can’t?”
“Nope, not for that I can’t.” I started jogging backwards towards Jazy’s car under the tree. “What I do blame you for is treating me like an idiot by lying so poorly.” I scoffed in derision. “Are you a changeling or what because no Axelrod worth their weight would ever come up with such a lameass Farmer in the Dell story as that.” I called out, “Thanks for the ride, Sister. Have a good night!”
Kenna laughter was carried off on the night wind, as she shouted at my back, “Anabel, you’re such a complete bitch!”
“Love you, too!” I waved, and turned to run down the conveniently lit path the Prius’ headlights provided to Jazy’s waiting vehicle.
I nonchalantly opened the door to the driver’s side of the beater. Jazy had read the situation correctly and was reclining out of sight in the back seat. I got in and had reached to close the door when I heard Kenna screech, “Bel, wait a minute! What about the dog?”
“Merry Christmas!”
Slamming the door shut, I threw the pissy bundle of jeans on the passenger floor and turned on the ignition. Moaning in painful ecstasy when the heat blasted out and hit my cold legs, I churned a little gravel before the little rust bucket roared past Kenna’s idling car.
I grinned at the fleeting sight of Kenna’s mouth gaping in horror at her gift.
I glanced back at Jazy’s scowling face and grinned again. “You owe me a new pair of jeans, Jazzle-Dazzle.”
Jazy’s lip curled. “So I smell.” We churned gravel again at the intersection before the tires grabbed the road and we rocketed off. “And Gus Wilson?”
“He’s a dead issue.”
I was right, running around in the countryside with Tre and Jaz was exactly what I had needed tonight. I felt more alive than I had all week.
Chapter VI
“Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong” by Spin Doctors
Saturday, 12/15
8:00 PM
I stopped down the road and asked Jazy to drive. I had to rub the circulation back into my legs.
The mean mommy voice reluctantly agreed we didn’t need to beat the crap out of Jazy because she was suitably contrite all the way home to my apartment.
I was relieved. Unless I was in the midst of a red-hot fit of rage, Jazy would probably wipe the floor with me. It was true, I was practicing some fancy fighting tricks, but Jazy routinely threw bales of hay, dominated vicious-tempered horses as part of their training, and every now and then, got into catfights with jealous wives or girlfriends. If we were talking a shoot-out, it would be a different story.
I had to be content with saying, “By the way, Ms. Misquoter, the Ides of March has nothing to do with the phrase ‘in like a lion and out like lamb’.” I paused and started laughing. “I think that’s from the Farmers’ Almanac.”
Jaz began laughing, too. Between gasps, she couldn’t apologize enough for putting me in danger, at the same time she pounded the steering wheel and bemoaned the fact that I always got to have all the fun. Somehow, even my chafing red rash visible on my bare thigh was worth a high five, as if getting pissed on was a ninja badge of honor for fighting my way off that farm.
Was it wrong of us to consider the evening fun, in light of all that transpired?
We didn’t think so either.
Had Gus Wilson not been a mean bastard that abused his animals, his farm would not have been targeted. We didn’t plan on somebody snitching us out to the farmer to bring him home. Once there, it was Gus’ choice to chase me with the intention of blowing my brains out, instead of calling the cops. It could be argued that it was his destiny to die a nasty death for all the pain and suffering he caused over the years. Yes, I had lured Gus towards the doghouse with my barking and dog talking, but it was his boots that got tangled up in the torture chain he had himself installed. It had come down to him or me tonight. I was lucky, his karmic number was called, and that was that.
‘Firearms and alcohol do not mix,’ the accountant voice declared with conviction.
‘Yep. Case closed,’ the detective voice agreed.
Jazy was totally astonished that our older sister had showed up on the scene. She had called Tre while I was with Kenna, and Tre was freaked out, as well.
After talking it over, we agreed Kenna’s farmer in the bar story sounded like BS overall, but had some elements of truth. We believed she stumbled upon some information that convinced her that Tre and Jazy may be in trouble and that she followed the farmer’s truck to the area and then lost him. Otherwise, it made no sense why Kenna would be in the area, but not know where the farmer lived or what exactly was going down. I had observed Kenna closely and was convinced she knew nothing about Jazy’s horse rescue operation.
Jazy couldn’t believe somebody snitched their mission out. She was adamant that Tre and I were the only ones that knew the details about tonight’s mission. Not even their third triad member knew where they were hitting tonight, since the location was Jazy’s choice and the third had not been involved in the reconnaissance or planning. It was never discussed that Tre J would be a traitor. Even if Jaz or Tre believed that I would snitch, it couldn’t have been me. I didn’t know any names or locations until we arrived at the farm.
“Could you have been followed?” I asked.
“No.” Jazy shook her head decisively. “But even if we had, until we arrived at the farm they wouldn’t know where we were going. How would the person know how to contact the farmer?”
“Okay, follow that thought a step further. Say they somehow got a cell phone number from the physical address when they followed us to the farm. If he had a cell phone, and if they had called to tip off the farmer, could he have driven the distance from a Kenyon bar to arrive back at his farm within the first ten minutes we were there at his barn?”
Jazy didn’t hesitate. “No way. It’s a solid twenty minute drive.”
It was reaching, but I asked anyway, “Could your phones be bugged?”
“Nope, we use throwaway phones and use code words. We also have code names.” In spite of the worry clouding her eyes, Jazy smiled slightly over at me. “We never discuss that particular hobby horse over our personal cell phones.”
“I’m glad you guys are very careful because I hear prison food blows. Do I get a code name?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, but you have to do more than one rescue to earn a code name.”
I eyed her profile in the passing headlights. “You have a rule about code names?”
“Sorry, but our rules are need to know.”
I smiled in admiration. “Way to run a tight ship, Lollipop.”
Pleased, she nodded quickly. “We really are careful, Bel. We believe in what we’re doing.” She grimaced, her voice full of anger. “My God, if people saw the sorry, sickening condition of some of the animals we’ve rescued, everyone would want to save them, too. It’s so fucking heart-breaking.” Stopping herself, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We understand we could be in deep shit if we’re caught, so we do everything we can think of to prevent that from happening. Tonight was the closest call we’ve ever had.” She took her eyes off the road again to glance over at me. “Thanks again, Speedy Morales.”
“Gonzales, but you’re welcome,” I corrected distractedly, determined to figure out the puzzle of who had snitched. “How long have you two been in the rescue business?”
“Two years and twenty-two horses,” Jazy stated promptly.
“A-MAZing.” I reached over and patted my sister’s arm. “You and Tre are amazing, too. Most people would sympathize with your cause, but to actual risk their personal safety to do what you two are doing?” I shook my head. “That takes a lot of guts, brains,” I smiled, “and a set of huge ball
s.”
“Thanks, Bel.” Jazy flushed at my compliments. She pulled up to my building and parked in front of the main doors while demanding, “But huge balls? How come whenever women are complimented on doing something daring, men get the credit?”
“Hmm, good point.” I laughed. “Would you prefer huge hairy vaginas?”
She laughed. “My God, is that my only choice?” She quieted down and shot me a quick look. “Tre and I wanted to tell you about the rescues before now, but…”
I held up hand. “But I didn’t need to know. Hey, we’re cool. I totally respect you can keep your mouths shut.”
The bookstore was open until nine, so we sat in silence and watched people coming and going on the sidewalk, trailing puffs of white breath in the crisp winter air.
The blue Christmas lights twinkling in the Spruce branches lining the window boxes in front of Bel’s Books display windows hooked my gaze. After a few moments of being mesmerized, it gave me an idea.
I sat sideways in the bucket seat, wincing as my bare legs stuck to the duct-taped leather when I moved. “Lean back and close your eyes, Jaz.”
She obeyed, but then muttered, “I can’t believe I just did that without question.”
“Me neither. Now shush and relax, it’s time to figure this out.” I turned off the radio. “There has got to be an explanation for how the snitch discovered your operation, but we’re being blind.” I said gently, “Let go of your ego. Let go defending your position of impregnability when you’ve clearly been compromised. A mistake was made tonight, so accept somebody wasn’t careful enough.”
Jazy kept her eyes closed, but murmured wryly, “There goes my ego, so now what?”
Other than the gently blowing heat through the vents, my low voice was the only sound in the car. “No matter how careful we are in life, Jazy, we’re human. Statistically speaking, you know and I know we’re bound to screw up. The only thing that counts now is to solve the puzzle for the safety of your future missions. Do you agree nothing else matters?”
“Yes, I agree,” she replied, softly.
“Good. As a starting point, let’s assume the farmer was at the bar when he was notified us bitches were on his farm. If somebody had notified him any sooner, he would have been waiting for us, right?”
Jazy grimaced slightly and nodded.
I asked, “None of us used our phones on the drive to the farm, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Let’s work our way backwards through your day. What did you and Tre do before coming to my apartment to ask me to help?”
“We dropped off Reg and Anna at her house.”
“Okay, and before that?”
“We got Taco John’s in Rosemount.”
My stomach tightened in hunger. “Did you eat inside?”
“No, drive through. Then we ate our tacos in the car on the drive back to North…”
“Wait!” I cut in, incredulous. “Anna ate mystery meat at Taco John’s?”
“No, but Reg did.” Jazy smirked. “Anna bitched him out.”
I relaxed. “Where were you before Taco John’s.”
Jazy said, “We took NanaBel to the airport.”
“Did you drop her off or go in?”
“We parked and went in,” Jazy answered. “We were early and Anna got all weepy and wanted be with NanaBel until the last possible moment. You know how trippy she’s been lately.”
“Oh yes, I do. Go on,” I urged, trying to recall NanaBel’s email because something niggled.
Jazy shrugged slightly, but didn’t open her eyes. “I ended up being glad we walked in with NanaBel. The airport was busy.” Jazy frowned. “Man, people were really rude, too. Anyway, Reg handled NanaBel’s luggage while Tre and I said our goodbyes. Then we hung back and waited. Anna and NanaBel were having a discussion about something,” she made hand quotes, “very important that Anna was freaking out about.”
It sounded like Jazy was still holding a grudge against her future sister-in-law for the broom closet episode in Diego’s office and the church bridal luncheon. Being scared of a mouse and divulging our position on a ninja mission, in addition to being a hormonal hot mess, was not the way to score Brownie points with Jazy.
I murmured, “I bet Anna was talking over plans for my surprise birthday party.”
“I said important,” Jazy quipped, and grinned at my offended huff. “Let go of your ego, Bel, because you aren’t getting a party, so don’t worry. Everybody decided we could never surprise you, so why put forth all that effort for nothing?”
“Oh.” I was caught off guard by her bluntness. “Well, I guess I can’t blame them.”
‘I can!’ The sex kitten voice was aghast. ‘So they suck at surprises--is there not one ounce of ingenuity between the pack of them? A girl is only twenty-nine once! What about white cake and pink buttercream frosting? What about presents? My God, at the very least there should be naked dancing men!’
‘She has valid points,’ the accountant voice was outraged, as well.
Touching the bare spot on my left ring finger, I agreed it was a travesty not to receive cake and presents. I wasn’t so sure about the concept of nude male dancers at a co-ed birthday party, although if my arm was twisted, I could probably be convinced to entertain the idea. However, I would never be one of those asswipes that guilted their friends into throwing a birthday party. Celebrations in life should originate freely from hearts that wanted to give, not be considered a big, fat worthless effort.
‘We can still give your sister a big, fat lip,’ the mean mommy voice suggested with relish.
‘A quick rabbit punch would do it,’ the detective voice concurred.
I cleared my throat. “What did you and Tre do while Anna and Reg were busy with NanaBel?”
Jazy stretched and yawned, but kept her eyes closed. “Oh, we did our duty as American women and rated men’s butts based on their nationality.”
Putting aside my birthday blues, I asked, “Oh yeah? Who won?”
“Mr. China,” Jazy replied, laughing a little. “Not only his butt, but his whole frickin’ body was a thing of beauty. The dude moved like a dancer. Tre bet he was some kind of martial arts expert.”
“What did you bet?”
Jazy smiled. “I bet he was some kind of expert, alright.”
I teased, “It’s been four hours and you don’t know the answer yet, Jaz? Is the world ending?”
“I have his card.” She patted her purse. “I haven’t phoned him yet, but one of these fine nights, I might be tempted to give him a call to find out.”
Inspiration struck then, but my thoughts were interrupted when Jazy jerked upright. The glower on her face was so black; I hurriedly looked out the window. I searched for a knife-wielding Svettie, or anything else that would cause Jazy’s strange behavior, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I just thought of something,” she replied, but the light-hearted mood of a few moments ago was gone. Eyes focused inwardly, her smile was unpleasant. “Yes, I might be calling him very soon.”
I raised my brows. “Geez, Sybil, why do I feel like that is some kind of threat, not a promise?” I probed softly, “Should Mr. China be scared?”
“All men should be scared of me.” It was freaky when she frowned and grinned, but I was reassured when her eyes stayed dark blue and didn’t flash red. “Are you finished walking me backwards through time, or whatever the hell you were doing?”
Jazy was obviously not in a confiding frame of mind. Tre was right; Jazy was an unusually crabby girl with strange mood swings lately. Unfortunately, I couldn’t compare notes on our bad dreams, since I couldn’t tell her about Dickie or why Luke and I weren’t engaged. Besides, my bet was something more than a couple of nightmares were responsible for Jazy’s uncharacteristic moodiness. If it was any other woman, I’d immediately suspect a man was the cause, but Jazy never had man problems. Men had Jazy problems.
&nbs
p; I sighed. “No. Sit back again and close your eyes.”
Jazy sighed back in exasperation, but did as I asked.
“Other than judging international ass, did you and Tre do anything else at the airport?”
Impatiently she recited, “We sat there and watched people, we chit-chatted, we each drank a coffee. Tre asked me what I thought of going to Vegas a couple of days early to do some sports betting on a few tracks racing horses and then…”
I stopped listening to her litany because I finally recalled what NanaBel’s email had said that niggled at my brain. NanaBel considered Anna and Tre J honorary grandkids. Add Jaz and Reg--that made four.
‘Who was the fifth grandchild at the airport that saw her off?’
Jazy’s eyes flew open and she exclaimed aloud, “Son of a…we talked about how Gus Wilson used to race a horse at Canterbury Downs! I did tell Tre out in public we were ‘visiting’ his farm tonight at seven. Not any other details, though.” Jazy rubbed her face and calmed down. “We talked in low voices. It was wall to wall people, so I guess we could have been overheard if somebody wanted to hear what we were saying bad enough.” Her face screwed up in puzzlement. “What I don’t see is how anybody would figure out what we were doing from only those sketchy comments, or why they would care?”
I didn’t need to hear anything else. It wasn’t a coincidence that a fifth member of our family was slithering around the busy airport when Jazy and Tre mentioned the name of the farmer they would be stealing a horse from this evening.
I had to hand it to her; the un-cousin gave new meaning to carpe diem. The way she had pulled on a loose string she had randomly overheard to unravel Jazy and Tre’s rescue operation was fiendishly clever, but I never said the demon bitch wasn’t smart.
As for Kenna...I wanted to believe Kenna’s story that she accidentally stumbled upon information and tried to prevent something bad going down that could or could not involve the girls. I desperately wanted to believe my older sister would never be an accomplice to any plot of our ex-cousin’s to maliciously harm people. I wanted to believe Kenna unconsciously protected the identity of “her friend” out of years of habit when she lied to me, since she knew I didn’t like her hanging with the psycho. But then again, I also wanted to believe in Santa Claus.
