Parker gave Johnson a quizzical look and then turned to Murphy and said, “How do you explain the bag of money, the mask, and why you were cleaning off your shoe?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Oh, so the money and the mask just magically arrived in your possession, is that it?”
“Something like that, yes, sir.”
“I don’t believe in magic, and neither will any judge or jury.”
“Do you believe in coincidence?”
Parker and Johnson exchanged looks.
Parker said, “Not when it comes to breaking the law of the land, pal.”
“I’m speaking about the laws of the universe,” Murphy said.
“I’m not here to debate metaphysics with you, buddy. But where you’re headed you’ll have all the time in the world to ponder the mysteries of the universe.”
Murphy’s eyes widened in hope. “That sounds very nice.”
Parker smirked. “It won’t be. And that’s no coincidence. Guard!”
Officer Locke returned and unlocked the door. Parker and Johnson strutted out and into the hall. Parker cast a final glance back at Murphy. The suspect had already returned to his origami-making.
Once outside the lockup, Johnson said, “What do you think?”
Parker set the little origami crane on top of the water cooler near the back office. He replied, “I think if I see or hear about another coincidence I’m going to shoot someone.”
A white-haired and lanky police officer with a long neck and beak of a nose approached the two detectives on his way to the water cooler.
Parker greeted him, “Hey Krane, how’s it goin’?”
“Good, Parker. Congrats on nabbing that SOB.”
“Thanks, but thank Sarich when you see him. He’s the one who made the arrest.”
“Roger that,” Krane said.
Officer Krane stepped over to the water cooler and pulled down a small paper cup from the dispenser. As he was about to fill his cup he noticed the origami crane sitting on top of the plastic water bottle. He picked it up and said, “Cool. My little girl will love this.” He glanced about, and then dropped the little paper bird into his shirt pocket.
Noodle
Parker and Johnson exited the jailhouse and recognized Freya in the park across the street from the station. She was walking a big St. Bernard.
Johnson said, “Well looky there. What a coincidence.” He offered Parker his gun so that he could ‘shoot someone.’
Parker said, “Let’s go say hi.”
“Nah.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. I want to rib her about Joy.”
“You go. I got paperwork to do.”
“Sure you’re okay?” Parker asked, concerned.
“Yeah, fine.”
Parker slapped Johnson on the back. “Okay, I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Sure,” Johnson said, and walked off.
Two cops, three-year veteran McCoy and his rookie sidekick, Lopez, approached Johnson on their way into the station. Like Johnson, they were both single guys and the three of them now and then went out on the town together.
“Hey, Johnson, how ya doing?” greeted McCoy. “Good job on nailing that bank bastard. Let’s do a little celebrating this weekend, eh?”
Johnson didn’t stop to chat. He grinned, nodded, gave the cops the thumbs up, slapped McCoy on the back, and kept walking. “Damn tarot witch,” he muttered to himself.
Brock jogged across the street and caught up to Freya. “Nice pooch,” he greeted. “What’s his name?”
“Well, hello, Mr. Parker,” Freya said cheerily. “This is Loki.”
“St. Bernard?”
“That’s right, but sometimes I have to wonder about the saint part. Isn’t that right, Loki?”
Loki replied with an indignant woof.
“Come here often?” Brock asked, squatting onto his haunches to pet the dog. He grabbed the loose, furry flanks behind the dog’s ears and gave them an affectionate shake. “Kinda far from where you live, isn’t it? I mean, I assume you live near the cafe you set up at.”
“A bit of a stroll, yes. But unfortunately my current circumstances are such that Loki hasn’t much space to run around in, so the walk does him good. This is his favorite spot. How is life treating you, Mr. Parker?”
Parker stood back up. “Great, actually, and no thanks to you.”
Freya smiled. “Happy to hear it.”
“We got that bank robber we’ve been after.”
“Congratulations.”
“And, I had a nice long chat with Joy.”
“Good for you,” Freya said.
“So, you see, you were wrong.”
“Was I?”
“Dead wrong.”
“I was just a conduit, Mr. Parker. You can shoot the messenger if it makes you feel better.”
“Ho, ho,” Brock chortled. “Isn’t that just like you people. You’re no different from a hack politician. Blame anyone and anything but yourself.”
“Really, Mr. Parker, a politician?” Freya grinned. “Can’t we leave name calling out of this?”
“So that’s all you have to say after all the trouble you caused me?”
“Mr. Parker, if you would like your lucky penny back I’m afraid it’s no longer in my possession.”
“Screw the damn penny. What I want is for you to admit that you were wrong, and that all this mystical hoodoo voodoo crap is a scam.”
“I would if it were so,” Freya replied, “but I don’t believe either of your assertions are the case.”
“I just told you that Joy and I—”
“Talked. I heard you the first time.”
“You just hate to admit that you were wrong.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yeah, I do. And while we’re on it, what did you say to Johnson? He’s been acting like a weirdo ever since he sat down with you. Did you put a whammy on him like you did me?”
“Sorry,” Freya said, “client confidentiality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Loki here has a rendezvous with a Poodle on the other side of the park. Good day, Mr. Parker.”
Brock watched Freya walk off.
After a few feet she halted and turned to face him. She said, “You know where to find me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Stop using your noodle, Mr. Parker. The answers you seek are not in your head.”
Loki led her away, eager to meet his Poodle friend.
“Noodle?”
···
Joy entered her apartment and spotted Murphy’s small suitcase where he had left it. She set the carry-on on the sofa, opened it, withdrew some neatly folded clothes and a toiletry kit, and set them aside. A framed picture sandwiched face down between a white T-shirt and a pair of blue pajamas caught her attention. She lifted it from the suitcase, expecting to see a photo of the mysterious woman that Murphy had spoken about. She turned it over, and smiled. It was a close-up picture of a funny-looking dog. It was like no breed she’d ever seen, but it was cute.
Joy dug a little more and found on the bottom of the suitcase a small, Ziploc plastic bag containing a big, multi-colored puffball of some sort. Curious, she picked up the bag and opened it. She withdrew a handful of colorful rabbit’s feet and rubbed the soft fur against her cheek. “Murphy’s luck,” she giggled. Joy retrieved her cell phone from her purse, did some tapping, and pulled up a travel app.
Eureka!
A silk scarf over her still tender and stitched head, Joy looked pensively out the airplane window. She smiled and returned to her laptop computer. She typed:
What mortal has not been painfully acquainted with the diabolical dictum: ‘If anything can go wrong, it will’?
The jinx, sometimes known as Murphy’s Law, is a merciless reminder that despite our big brains and all our accomplishments, we are human after all.
Part misery, part screwball-comedy; the phenomenon can make one wonder if there isn’t some
thing innately whimsical, or even roguish about the universe. Or, to its hapless victims, plain obnoxious.
···
The young woman working the counter at the airport’s rent-a-car agency handed Joy back her credit card and, with a smile, the keys to her rental. She turned to the window and pointed towards the car lot and the white Mazda Miata that would be Joy’s for the next twenty-four hours.
Joy slipped behind the wheel of the sports car and entered the address of her destination into the Miata’s navigation system. According to the readout, she had a two and a half hour drive ahead of her. Joy then reached into her purse and pulled out the white rabbit’s foot that Murphy had dangled from her own car’s rearview mirror. She fixed it to the rental’s, started the car, and zipped away.
···
Murphy sat on his cot contentedly making his little origami statues. Leroy worked on his crossword puzzle, and Morris, his face covered with shaving cream, stared into a tiny wall mirror.
Murphy heard a squeaking sound, like that of wet fingers rubbing on glass. He looked up and smiled in relief. The stress he had been under earlier was gone and his murphometer was back in operation. He was picking up something.
He observed Morris wiping the tiny wall mirror with his fingers. Murphy was about to say something, but he bit his tongue. The mirror fell from the wall and shattered across the floor.
“Oh, great,” Morris moaned. “Just what I need, another seven years of rotten luck.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and petitioned the universe, “Getting a little redundant, aren’t we?”
Leroy laughed. “Morris, my man, you could make a padded cell look like a minefield.”
Officer Locke entered with a broom and dustpan. He noted the shattered remains of the mirror on the floor, shook his head, and passed the equipment to Morris.
“It’s not my fault, Officer Locke,” Morris insisted as he swept up the pieces. “Shit just happens to me.”
Locke said, “Looks like shit, smells like shit, tastes like shit. Let’s just step in it and find out! That’s you, Morris.”
“I’m telling you,” Morris whined, “the universe has it out for me!”
“That’s right,” Locke said. “Blame all your lousy decisions on the universe. Born under a bad sign, right? All you guys are innocent, I know, I know…”
Officer Locke took the broom and dustpan from Morris and walked off.
“Hey, someone,” Leroy said, looking up from his crossword puzzle. “A thing of protection, eight letters, first letter, T.”
Morris and Murphy answered in unison, “Talisman!”
Leroy said, “You guys are good. Okay, here’s a tough one. Greek prophet of doom, nine—”
Again Morris and Murphy answered at the same time, “Cassandra!”
Enjoying himself immensely, Leroy said, “Will of heaven?”
Morris and Murphy said, “Kismet!”
“Impressive!” Leroy said, “Okay, next one; a cry of joy or satisfaction.”
Morris blurted, “Bingo!”
Murphy shook his head and answered, “Eureka.”
Leroy said, “Sorry, Morris. Six letters, eureka it is.”
“Damn,” Morris said. “I should have known. I always crack under pressure. I always fumble at the three-yard line…”
Murphy said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Morris. You’re really good at this.”
“Yeah, Morris,” Leroy said. “You’s a regular walking dictionary.”
“It’s just a hobby,” Morris replied. “One of the few things I’m any good at.”
“Wish I had somethin’ I was good at,” Leroy mourned.
···
As Joy drove through the Kansas countryside and reviewed the past few days, it occurred to her that it would be a good idea to narrate her adventures out loud. Doing so, she figured, would have an organizing effect, as well as provide material for her article in progress.
She reached for her phone and tapped at it to bring up the dictation app. Nothing happened. The screen was frozen. She gave it a shake, slapped it against her thigh, and then held down some buttons in an attempt to reboot it, but to no avail. After another try the screen went completely black. She realized that she hadn’t charged the phone since before meeting Murphy.
She dropped the phone into her purse on the seat beside her and flicked on the radio. Being in the middle of nowhere, she hit the scan button and finally picked up a station.
A disc jockey said, “…And from our oldies request line, here’s a song you surely haven’t heard for a while, the trippy 1967 duet with Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra, Some Velvet Morning.”
Joy smiled and said, “No, you sure haven’t.” She turned up the volume, relaxed, and enjoyed the green countryside to the classic psychedelic pop song.
(Lee Hazlewood)
Some velvet morning when I’m straight.
I’m gonna open up your gate.
And maybe tell you ‘bout Phaedra, and how she gave me life and how she made it in.
Some velvet morning when I’m straight.
(Nancy Sinatra)
Flowers growing on the hill.
Dragonflies and daffodils.
Learn from us very much.
Look at us but do not touch.
Phaedra is my name…
Some thirty minutes later Joy saw a sign ahead. It read: Eureka, Kansas. Population 3,113.
A Different Drummer
Joy stood waiting next to the FOR SALE sign in front of Murphy Drummer’s house. She was snapping photos with a PowerShot camera when a pickup truck pulled up and an elderly man in a well-worn cowboy hat swung open the cab door and got out.
“Hello!” the old man greeted, a big smile on his face.
“Mr. Cloverman?”
Lucas Cloverman nodded and said, “And you must be Miss Daley. Welcome to Eureka!”
They shook hands. Joy noticed his bandaged finger.
“Thank you.” She acknowledged the two-story pink house. “It’s pretty.”
“Oh, it is, it is. The previous owner took excellent care of it too. Did all the work himself. Well, he, his deceased grandpa, and myself. But Murphy—the owner—did most of it.
“You don’t say? So why so cheap?”
“Oh, well, umm, must be the neighborhood.”
Mr. Cloverman gestured to the other homes on the block, which looked as if they had been in the path of a tornado.
Across the street a neighbor, Lamont Moody, set a ladder against his house. He climbed up the ladder, a bucket of paint in hand.
“Not everyone takes the kind of pride in their home that Mr. Drummer did,” Cloverman said. He called to the neighbor, “Hello there, Lamont!”
Lamont Moody shouted back, “Stay away from that place, lady. It’s cursed!”
Joy turned to Lucas, “Did he say cursed?”
“Aw, don’t listen to him,” Lucas said with a dismissing wave of his hand. “I guarantee you it’s not—”
Moody’s ladder broke, and he went crashing to the ground, the bucket of white paint landing on top of him. He hollered, “Cursed, I tell you!”
Lucas cleared his throat and said, “Shall we go inside?”
They walked up the steps to the front porch. Joy gave the porch swing a playful push, and as Mr. Cloverman opened the screen door, she noticed a horseshoe hanging above the front door.
Waiting inside, tail wagging with excitement, was Lot. In his mouth was a yellow tennis ball.
“Well, hi there,” Joy sang, bending over to pet the dog. The dog dropped the ball at Joy’s feet and looked up expectantly. “What a unique-looking dog. What is it?”
“Mr. Drummer says it is a mix of Nepalese Noouf, Andorran Arfhound, Tibetan Tuolumne, and Redbone Coonhound.”
“I’ve never heard of such breeds.”
The old man chuckled. “They may only exist in Murphy’s vivid imagination.”
“What’s his name? He, right?”
“His name is Lot. He likes y
ou. He usually barks at strangers, but for some reason, he didn’t bark at you. Odd.”
Joy picked up the tennis ball and tossed it rolling across the living room. The dog trotted after the ball, picked it up, and returned to Joy, dropping the ball at her feet. He sat obediently and looked up in anticipation of another toss, tail sweeping the floor.
“Now you’ve done it,” Cloverman chuckled. “Not now, Lot. Maybe the nice lady will play with you later.”
Lot seemed to nod in understanding. He lay down, his head between his multi-colored paws.
Joy kneeled and scratched the pooch behind the ear. “Smart doggie,” she remarked.
“Oh, yeah. Mr. Drummer trained him real good. Sometimes I think ole Lot is part human.”
“Does he come with the house?” Joy asked, only half-joking.
“Why, I-I never thought about it. But, seeing how fond he is of you…”
“Why did Mr. Drummer leave him behind?”
“He didn’t want to, of course. Broke his heart. Broke it into little bitty pieces. But, well, it’s a long story, ma’am.”
Recognizing that the old man didn’t really want to talk about it, Joy turned her attention to their tidy surroundings. She noted the room’s gentle pastels and uncluttered space, which she thought portrayed a feng shui-like tranquility and simplicity.
“It’s adorable,” Joy said. “Peaceful.”
“Yes, peace and quiet were very important to Murphy.”
“You seem to know him well.”
“Since he was a little boy,” Lucas Cloverman said proudly. “His grandpa, may he rest in peace, was my best friend. Come on, there is much yet to see.”
Joy continued her tour of the house. She noted the packed bookcases and marveled at the huge amount of hobby-related items.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “All this stuff will be cleared out in a week or so. He’s only been gone a few days.”
They headed up the staircase and into Murphy’s room.
“Was Murph-Mr. Drummer always so tidy?”
“Yes, ma’am. He has an aversion to chaos of any kind.”
“Is he OCD or something?” she asked.
Lucas lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head. “To be honest, I-I don’t know what his religion is. But I do know he has the utmost respect for the Creator of the Universe, ma’am.”
Murphy’s Luck Page 14
