“It’s about time to head out anyway,” said Merle. “Let’s get some lights on and get ready.”
“Aww,” complained Vic, pushing himself up to his knees. “I neber figure dis dumb show out.”
“Never mind, Vic,” said Frank, tipping the bowl of popcorn up to his muzzle. He chewed noisily as Merle tossed the blanket back onto Garrett’s bed. “We have more important things to do tonight.”
“You mean it? I can come wit you guys?” Vic’s round face split into a grin. “Finally, some action around here.” The dullard stood and flexed his muscled arms.
“Yes, you can come,” agreed Merle, “but only if you follow the rules and do what I say.”
“You not my boss,” said Vic with a scowl. “Only Mr. Kline can order me around. And besides we’re paying you aren’t we?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Frank. “You did say we had to pay dese bums dint you?”
“Do you want to help or not?” asked Merle unable to keep the frustration from his voice.
“Merle doesn’t want to boss you around,” Frank assured Vic. “It’s just that we need to follow the plan that Merle and I made. If you bust in there and don’t follow the plan, then you could get hurt.”
“Or scare them away,” admonished Merle. Turning to Frank, he whispered loudly “You said you could control him.”
“He’ll be a good boy and do what he’s told. Won’t you, Victor?” asked Frank in a stern voice.
“Yes,” agreed Vic, with enthusiasm.
Frank captured the smaller man’s eyes and held his gaze. “We’ve talked about this before haven’t we, Vic? At home, you’re the boss, while Mr. Kline is away on vacation. When we leave the estate, who’s the boss?” Merle grinned to himself. Vacation, is it? They all knew Daniel Kline was doing a nickel in the state pen for his part in mob related activities.
“You de boss,” replied Vic sulkily. He hung his head and played with a frayed strand on the arm of the couch.
“Okay then,” said Merle, turning the lantern up, “now that’s been settled, let’s go over the plan, once more. Before we start, I’m going to ask you one last time: are you sure you want to do this without the police?”
“Positive,” asserted Frank. “Our operations may be legit now, but we still don’t like coppers in our business.”
“Dat’s right,” agreed Vic. “Dey took Mr. Kline away and he dint do nuttin.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Merle, as if daring the dragon to challenge him.
“Your call,” accepted Merle. He unfolded a piece of paper from the table. He laid the sheet out for the others to see and picked up a pencil that had rolled beside the lantern. “Garrett has watched your boys at the brewery for two weeks now. He left me all the details here.” He tapped the pencil on a pad of scrawled notes. “This is a detailed map of your new properties, including the beer gardens and the caverns below the stockyard. It’s just as you suspected, a handful of your employees have taken up skimming the barrels of beer from your stocks. The beer is hidden in the lower passages and then sold off to various buyers at a great discount.”
“Who’s doin’ dat?” asked Vic with a scowl. “We pay dem lots of monies to work in our nice factory.”
“It’s okay, Vic,” said Frank, putting a hoof on the smaller man’s shoulder. “Merle here doesn’t know all the names of the men involved, just the ring leader. That’s why we’re going out tonight, so that we can see who is stealing from you and we can deal with them.”
“Deal with them?” asked Merle, his eyebrows raised. “You know I can’t be privy to any unlawful retribution.”
“Fire them,” assured Frank.
“Do we have to fire dem?” asked Vic. “Mr. Kline tell me he always give em bedder jobs far away when dey steal stuff. Maybe we should do dat?”
“We’ll discuss this later,” said Frank. Walking back to the table, he tapped the notepad. “Are you sure it’s Cale Clarke?”
“Garrett wouldn’t have said so if he didn’t see it with his own eyes,” intoned Merle.
“Hey,” complained Vic. “I like Mr. Clarke. He has a big belly and always makes me laugh. We’re giving him a bedder job far away for sure.”
“Come here,” said Frank, waving the younger man over to the table. “Pay attention, so you know what’s going on.” Frank waited for Vic to come up beside him and then nodded for Merle to go on.
“Okay Vic,” said Merle, tapping the map with his pencil. “You and Frank will take this tunnel that can be accessed from the well house. When you get down to this juncture, you will take a right; it’s a small tunnel, and Frank will have to bend down to navigate it. It’s not far, though, and it comes out on a ledge above this second tunnel, here.” Merle traced a second squiggly line on his map. “The lower tunnel is where they load the wagons, and it can be accessed from the beach. My partner and I will be posing as sailors from the docks, and we will be bringing the wagon in that way. You understand everything okay?” he asked Vic.
“Yes,” agreed Vic nervously. He looked to Frank uncertainly.
“It’s okay,” rumbled Frank. “All you have to do is stay beside me and keep quiet. We will be able to watch Mr. Clarke and his pals from our hiding spot. Once we see that he is indeed stealing from you, we can send him his walking papers.”
“We’re gonna make him walk to his new job?” gasped Vic. He frowned. “I told you de new jobs are always far away. Mr. Kline sends dem by boat.”
A knock at the door interrupted them before Frank could respond. “Right on time,” chirped Merle, rubbing his claws together. “Come in.”
A slim woman walked into the room. She was dressed in dark clothing and her hair was pulled into a bun. She smiled at the men and came up to the table. Adjusting her thin rimmed glasses, she glanced at Merle’s map. “Gentlemen,” she said sweetly.
“You boys remember Coral? She helps us out sometimes. With Garrett away for a couple of weeks, she volunteered to drive the wagon for me,” said Merle.
“She don’t look like any sailors I know,” scowled Vic.
“Nonsense,” said Merle. He turned to the woman and nodded. “Have you been practicing your cussing?” he asked.
“Damn straight,” she acknowledged.
Flying into the back area, Merle retrieved a black toque and pulled it over his ears. A soft purple glow lit up the counter as P.C. came out of standby mode. His head swiveled to take in Merle’s shadowy form as the little dragon gathered a piece of wood for the stove.
“Is P.C. coming?” asked Coral.
Merle snorted and slammed the door on the woodstove. “Not on your life,” he said crankily. “He’s being punished.” Merle scowled at P.C. with disgust. “You are grounded, mister,” he reaffirmed. “And that sink better be shining when I get home.”
The robot did not respond. P.C.’s head swiveled back to its original position, his motors wound down with a soft whir, and his eyes faded to black.
* * * *
The Pig’s Bottom was known for its heaped portions of smoky back ribs, simmered roasts, and bacon decorated entrées. If a man had a hankering for pork, this was the place to dine. The staff were always friendly, and despite its simple décor of old wagon wheels and farm utensils, the restaurant was clean and cheery. The eating room was divided into three sections with the main floor flanked by two upper areas that looked down on the common room.
When a customer came in and wanted to take on the legendary Pig’s Bottom Challenge – two pounds of ribs, a one pound ham, two additional pounds of bacon, a side of potato wedges and your choice of coleslaw or garden salad – the challenger would be centrally seated in the lower section, so the other diners could cheer the contender on. The event had gained great notoriety within Deep Cove, with only one man – Fat Tom - having ever successfully beaten the challenge.
Azi thanked the man that had guided them to their booth and looked around uncertainly. Espying the wooden coat rack two booths down, she nodded to Alex Junior when he offered to t
ake her coat. The man scowled at his father and held his hand out for the older man’s garment. “Why can’t we eat someplace nice for once?” he asked in a sour tone.
“You know why,” was his father’s simple reply. The older man didn’t look at his son as he squeezed into his bench seat across from Azi. “I’ve been poor; doesn’t sit well with me.” Junior groaned and went to the coat rack. Off to their left, the crowd chanted lustily as two serving girls appeared with four heavily laden trays. The girls settled the trays beside a muscled man in a checkered shirt. The crowd erupted with applause, and a loud pig squeal split the air.
“Ridiculous,” whimpered Junior with a glance over his shoulder. “We can’t even enjoy supper in peace and quiet.” He returned to their booth and made as if to plant a kiss on Azi’s lips.
Azi turned her head and caught the man’s intention on her cheek. “I don’t know,” she admitted with a smile and a quick wipe of the wet imprint from her skin, “it looks like fun. Besides, what’s the harm with a few people coming together for a good time?”
“You know him,” grunted Senior, flipping the menu open, “he’s a spoiled boy. Only thinks of himself.” The old man did not look up as he spoke.
Junior frowned and seated himself beside Azi. Glancing to his fiancé, he questioned her with his eyes. When she shrugged, he turned back to his father. “I didn’t mean anything by that Dad. I just thought that maybe you wanted some time for reflection before the opening ceremonies at the plant tonight. I know how much you hate giving speeches and all.”
“Time is a luxury isn’t it, my boy?” returned Potty coldly. The old man’s eyes suddenly bored into his son from across the table. The younger Potty shrank back from his father’s angry glare. “Give me any more time to reflect, and I might find myself in the company of others.”
“Dad,” admonished Azi, reaching across the table to take the old man’s hand. “You’re just nervous about tonight. Everything will be fine.” Her look was kind as she squeezed his hand. Junior nodded in agreement and threw his arm around the woman’s shoulders.
A cheer erupted from across the room as the lumberjack tore a section of ribs in half and dove in teeth first. The crowd chanted the man’s name “Danny…Danny…Danny! ...SOOOOWeeeeee!” Azi used this distraction to slip out of Junior’s embrace.
Senior hesitated briefly, the anger leeching from him. “You’re right, my dear. My stomach is a little upset, that’s all.” Their server appeared at the table and Senior slammed his menu closed. “What’s your special?” he boomed.
“Tonight’s special is pork knuckle in your choice of barbecue, savory nut, or glazed honey sauce. It comes with a potato and side of coleslaw.”
“Perfect,” said Senior. “I’ll have a beer with that.”
“A beer?” Junior sounded amazed, “but you never splurge on beer.”
“Son, you may think you’re the brightest up-and-comer to hit the streets of the corporate world, but what you haven’t learned is how to read a man. If you’re lucky enough to live as long as myself, you’ll need this skill.”
Junior looked uneasy as he turned to their server. “We’ll have the same,” he said, sending her on her way with the menus. He leaned across the table and whispered loudly to his father. “Why are you being so rude to me, Dad? And what the hell do you mean, I can’t read you?”
“Not me, you big lout,” said Potty, pointing a finger at the challenger who was busy two-fisting bacon into his mouth. “If I was a betting man, and I am,” he nodded with a wink at Azi, “I’d say that big boy over there is going to finish that meal.”
“So what?” asked Junior. His confusion was evident.
“Well, dummy, if he finishes it, we all get a free drink. It says so on that poster, up there.”
“Whatever,” groaned Junior “I should have known you wouldn’t spend a dime on a decent beverage for yourself.” He placed a hand high up on Azi’s thigh and gave her a playful squeeze.
Azi slapped the man’s paw away and mouthed “Alex! We’re in public.”
Junior sighed and cracked his knuckles as though he wasn’t put off by the woman’s predictable behavior. “Now where are you going?” he asked in exasperation as his father eased himself from their booth.
“Didn’t you notice the side alley and the sign pointing to the outhouses out back?” asked the old man. “Of course not,” he continued before his son could answer. “I’m going to speak to the owner about getting this place hooked up to the new sewer system. I can’t afford to sit here and watch you pawing at that poor girl when there’s money to be made!”
* * * *
The tunnel was cold and damp. Frank rolled from his stomach to his side in an effort to get comfortable. Beside him, Vic was sleeping like a kid who had spent the day at the playground. His snores echoed within the confines of the tunnel. Frank didn’t mind the snoring, and was grateful for the warmth of his companion.
Merle had been right: the passage that brought them to this ledge had been cramped indeed. Frank had had to crawl on his hands and knees to get through, his head canted down so his horns wouldn’t scrape the tunnel overhead. To make matters worse, Merle’s map stated they should close off their lantern at the junction to avoid detection. The ensuing fifty yard crawl had been made in complete darkness, causing Vic to bump into his rear on several occasions.
There had been light at the end of the tunnel, however. When they arrived at their objective, they were able to see several men in the cavern below. The hiding spot was much higher up than Frank had expected, and the men below were distant. Lanterns were scattered across the rocky sub terrain, and several stashes of beer barrels were stacked beside the paved roadway leading into the lower chamber.
The companions had been huddled on the narrow shelf of rock for over two hours now, and Frank was growing restless. He had confirmed Cale Clarke’s presence by his big belly when the man passed by a lantern below. Bernie Awl had stood out almost as much as Clarke, with his tall frame and rounded back, but the other men were shadowy husks of vague familiarity.
“Wake up,” whispered Frank. He kneed Vic in the butt, and the other man woke with a snort.
“Dat better be your hoof in my back.”
“There’s a lantern moving in the distance, below. It must be Merle and Coral. Once Cale and his goons take Merle’s money, we’ll have them.”
“Den we can go home? Dis rock sucks.”
“Yes, we can go home,” assured Frank.
They watched for several minutes as Merle’s wagon crawled along the distant roadway. They were too far away to hear any of the conversation, but Cale bulled himself to the front of the group and stood talking with Merle, at length. As Merle passed something to Cale, the cavern filled with bright light. Sirens erupted, and a scratchy amplified voice echoed up to their hiding spot. “GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES. DO IT, NOW, AND DO IT SLOWLY”
“What the hell?” snorted Frank. Forgetting himself, he tried to stand and bumped his horns into the overhanging rock.
Vic yawned. “Oh ya,” he said above the sirens. He leaned in and nodded to Frank. “Dey probably gonna arrest him now.”
“Arrest him?” rumbled Frank. “What’s going on, Vic?” The minotaur’s eyes flashed almost as red as P.C.’s.
“I forgot dat Cale axed me if he could use some of our beer to catch bad guys. He said since I was in charge he needed my permission.” Vic poked himself in the chest, looking full of himself. Grinning at Frank, he returned his attention back to the goings on over the ledge.
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” shrieked Frank.
“How we gonna catch bad guys if I tell everyone? Besides I told you, I forget, duh…” He rolled his eyes.
“Moron!” bellowed Frank, swatting Vic behind the ear.
From below, more commands were issued through the loud speaker. “DON’T DO IT, LIZARD BOY. STAND DOWN. YOU ARE COVERED ON ALL SIDES.”
“We don’t work with coppers,” exclaimed Frank, with a
shake of his head. “All this time, and you knew where the beer was to begin with? It wasn’t being stolen, at all.”
“I’m not working wit dem,” snapped Vic, rubbing at his ear. “Dey do dere own bidness. I’m just in charge. And how I asuppose to know if someone is stealing our beer? You de one said it was missing!”
“Come on,” snapped Frank, spinning on his hooves and knees and heading for the lower tunnel. “We better get down there and explain this to Merle and Coral.”
From below, the sirens ceased and a loud interference filled screech reverberated up the canyon walls. “TAZE HIM AGAIN, BOYS; HE’S STILL MOVING.”
* * * *
Merle shuffled from the back of the police wagon and into the light of the street lamp. Glaring at the two officers awaiting him, he held his chained hands up to the light. “This is a mistake,” he said not for the first time.
“Tell it to the judge, buddy,” snapped one of the policemen.
“Maybe we should talk to the sergeant,” whispered the second cop. “I know this guy. He lives down the street from me.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Merle. “Peters, isn’t it?”
“Come on, Waters,” said the first cop, yanking on Merle’s chains. “It’s late, and I got me a roast that’s been simmering for hours.”
Waters scowled at Merle and grabbed the dragon by the elbow. Escorting their prisoner into the cellblock, they marched him down a dimly lit corridor. They stopped at the booking desk and took his prints before leading him to a detaining cell.
‘I never see Garrett getting wrongly arrested. Ooh, and Poor Coral,’ thought Merle with a shudder of regret. The clanking of the cell door snapped him from his thoughts and he turned, holding his hands up to Waters. “What about the…,” he began, and then swallowed his words.” His jaw popped open and his head swung back to the corner of his cell, his mind registering the figure huddled there. “P.C.?” he droned. “No, no, no. What have you done now, you pile of scrap. If you were scrubbing Mrs. Wichuster’s cat again…”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 5
