by Gina LaManna
The man considered a wave back, his hand pulling up around his face with slightly twitching fingers, but then he dropped it and turned inside, shutting the door behind him.
“That was awkward,” Meg said. “I haven’t seen one of them in a while.”
“One of what? A man?” I asked.
“A gun that size,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “All we did was make that poor guy uncomfortable. Anastasia was wrong. She just doesn’t like people that are a little bit different invading her town.”
“Mmm,” Meg said. “I think you read him all wrong. See? You gotta start giving less fudges about making others uncomfortable. You don’t notice the little details, like I do.”
“But you were poking through his hair. How did you see anything?” I strapped her helmet to my chin.
“I had to peek around the door. It’s better for him to think I’m a bit strange than for him to realize I’m sticking my nose into his home.”
I shut my trap, amazed at Meg’s rock star sleuthing. “Wow,” I said. “Great job! One question. Are you spying every time you behave strangely?”
Meg waggled her eyebrows. “That, my dear, you’ll never know. By the way, don’t strap up yet. I wanna check something out.”
“We’ve been sitting in the front driveway for too long,” I said, clasping my helmet strap to cement my point. “We have to get out of here, or he’ll be coming back and waving that gun at us. I’m not in the mood to get shot at.”
“Well, I’m protected,” Meg said, patting her hundreds of pockets. “This peanut brittle could stop a bullet any day it’s so freaking hard.”
“I don’t disbelieve you,” I said, “but I don’t have Kevlar Peanut Brittle attached to a vest, so let’s giddyup.”
“Fine,” Meg said, snapping her ‘hawk strap. “Have it your way.”
Instead of driving easily down the driveway from which we’d come, Meg roared the engine to life and zoomed halfway down the winding drive, skidding to a stop before we reached the road. I shouted a warning to her, but the words sailed off into the wind, ignored completely by my friend. She tipped the bike towards the grass and flew off the rocky pathway. We were outside of the line of trees that ringed the man’s house, and therefore we’d become nearly invisible to anyone watching through the windows. The bumps made my teeth chatter and my stomach bounce against my throat. I held on as tight as I could, my life resting in my sugar-laden best bud’s hands.
I yelped in pain as my finger gripped the edge of the peanut brittle, nearly slicing one off with the sharp edge. “Where are we going?” I demanded.
“I’m looking for something,” Meg said.
“Get to the road,” I said, a cattail nearly striking me in the face. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Aha,” Meg said. “Found it.”
She guided the bike from the bumpy ditch-slash-boulevard onto a new, hidden narrow path. I don’t know how she’d found it: the path was little more than weeds which had been beaten down by a stampede of feet and a variety of small motor vehicles over time. It led the way in a jagged line towards a small forest of trees at the back of the house. It wasn’t as wide as a sidewalk, but the path could easily fit Meg’s bike.
“You can thank me now,” Meg said.
“How did you know this was here?” I asked.
“Spidey Senses,” Meg offered.
“Mmm,” I said, still gripping tight. However, the bumps had significantly decreased in size since we’d jumped on the path, and now allowed for conversation. “Spidey, huh?”
“Well, that and I saw a snowmobile, an electric bike, and a moped lined up against the side of our friend’s house. Nobody has toys like that without a place to ride them. I took those toys to mean that our guy has a place he needs to get year ‘round. A place inaccessible by car.” She chuckled. “I could see having one or two of the toys for fun, but all three? No. They serve a purpose.”
“Wow,” I said. “Carlos should have hired you instead of me. Where did all these smart observations come from?”
Meg cackled. “You know, when I wasn’t busy punching out the idiots I’d arrested for calling me fat, I made a decent cop. Well, before I got fired.”
I sat back on the bike. I knew my friend was smart, but she was on a roll today. I needed to step up my game, or Carlos would be looking to adopt Meg into the Family and replace me with a new and improved mobsterista.
Despite my fear of Meg’s impending adoption, I leaned closer to my friend, grateful for her help.
Meg rode deeper into the woods; from the front, it’d looked like the tree line around the house had been only for privacy and maybe a bit of wind resistance. I hadn’t noticed the dense forest in the back of the man’s yard. He didn’t have any neighbors within a few acres back here. The wilderness was beautiful and eerie, all at once.
“You sure you want to keep going?” I asked. “We could just say screw the sauce for now and come back with Anthony.”
“I’m not going to take offense to that,” Meg said, “because I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it. What would Anthony do that we can’t?”
“Well,” I said. “He’s got a gun. And he’s bigger.”
“Not by much,” Meg grunted. “And I’ve got a gun in here somewhere. Don’t worry; we’re just taking a peek. That’s all Anastasia asked. Plus, that sauce was dang tasty and I want some for myself.”
Unable to argue with her logic, I sat back for the next few minutes until the road suddenly came to a dead end. Flanked by underbrush and dense foliage, we were completely overshadowed by the tall trees, and large leaves all around us. Mosquitos hummed, and I realized we were cutting it close to our evening deadline.
I shifted uneasily. “Let’s just peek around a bit and get back to Julio.”
“Yeah, sure,” Meg said. “Whatever you say.”
The two of us were becoming professionals at getting on and off Meg’s bike. It took less than a handful of seconds to dismount and take wandering steps deeper into the woods.
“Hide,” I said, gripping Meg’s wrist as we came to a gap between two large oaks. Beyond the opening, I caught a glimpse of a log cabin – sturdy, plain, and simple, smoke curling from the chimney and creating a gray blotch on the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to sink.
“What is this place?” Meg asked, as we crouched behind a bush taller than either of us and wide as a truck.
“Something that someone has gone through a lot of effort to keep private,” I said. Of course I couldn’t know this for sure – I was basing my assumption on the fact that the house had no visible driveway, walkway, or entrance of any sort. The place had been freshly built, as evidenced by a dumpster behind the cabin, still full of building materials, and the fresh smell of chopped wood hanging in the cool evening air.
“This place is not functional,” Meg said. “I’m not a plumber, but I don’t think they got a functional toilet out here. No way there’s running water. Plus, they didn’t even care enough to seal up all the openings. This is Minnesota – anyone living there in the winter is gonna have an icicle for a—”
“—finger,” I said, jumping in to prevent any descriptive images I’d prefer not to have in my mind. She was right. There were huge gaps in the cabin’s frame, and it was barely conducive to camping, let alone living. “But I don’t think anyone’s living here. It’s on this guy’s property anyway, and he’s got a perfectly good house.”
“We don’t even know his name,” Meg said. “Bummer. I wanted to email him about his hair products.”
“You might get the chance to see him again sooner than you think,” I said, my lips pressing firmly into a straight line. “Let’s head out for now. No use getting in trouble for something we’re doing for free. If we don’t come up with a clue to the sauce before the barbecue, we’ll come back out here and poke our nose around a bit more. At least, enough to satisfy Anastasia’s curiosity.”
“We might
see him even sooner than you think,” Meg hinted, poking me on the shoulder.
“No, we don’t have time to go back now. Let’s go let Julio have his date. I want to catch up with Anthony regarding the fireworks assignment before it gets too late.”
“You might not have a choice about seeing him again,” Meg said bluntly. “Help me haul the bike behind the bushes. We’ve got company.”
Chapter 6
Slipping into the densest underbrush we could find, Meg scattered a few evergreen branches over her bike, perched where we’d stashed it behind the thick bush. We weren’t hidden well, but unless someone was specifically looking for us, I hoped it’d be good enough. Seconds after we’d lodged everything into position, including Meg’s wild hair, the rumble of a four-wheeler sounded a short distance away. Meg barely had time to poke my visible hand with a pointy stick before I tucked it against my body and huddled near the closest tree trunk.
Luckily, the man from the house on Sixty-sixth Street sailed right past, his eyes barely darting from the road before him. His hair blew back in the wind, sailing free on his vehicle.
“Did you see that?” Meg mouthed.
I wasn’t sure if she was referencing the fact that the man looked like a greasy Herbal Essences commercial, or that he carried a large sack affixed to the back of his four-wheeler. The bag was cloth – a heavy burlap material tied securely with what looked like twine. It was hard to tell since he passed us by so quickly, but it was clear that it was full of lumpy objects which clanked with a distinctly metallic noise. With as little rustle as possible, I followed Meg a few steps to the edge of the clearing. Probably looking like cartoon characters, we poked our heads under the low hanging branches and watched as Grease Ball (my new nickname for our four-wheeling friend) parked the vehicle and unloaded the sack in a hurry. It was almost too heavy to carry, and he set it down for a moment, his face wincing with the effort as he wind-milled his arms and massaged his shoulders.
“He’s got a good masseuse technique,” Meg said. “I can appreciate that. But either that bag is happy to see us or…”
My friend trailed off as my eyes followed her pointed finger. Sure enough, the burlap sack clearly outlined a long rod sticking straight up in the air. Though I couldn’t tell for sure the contents of it, I had a burning hunch it was in the firearms family. Either that or the bag contained a supremely well-endowed metallic broom.
“Yikes,” I said. “That doesn’t look good.”
“I beg to differ,” Meg said.
I gave her a funny look, but she quickly revised. “I mean, I like guns.”
I didn’t bother to ask which type of guns she meant, and instead focused on watching Grease Ball as he slid the sack onto his shoulder and moved with pained-looking steps towards the log cabin. A light clink-clank made me uber suspicious of the contents in the bag, and my initial assessment that he was a just a normal guy moving to suburbia was quickly disappearing. I had no reason to believe he was doing anything illegal. Building a cabin on one’s own plot of land was perfectly legal, and so was toting around a pack of metal objects. Maybe they were building tools, or farm tools or, you know, a large metal broom.
What wasn’t legal was creeping on someone else’s property. So despite my misgivings that everything was on the straight and narrow at the house on Sixty-sixth Street, it was Meg and I who were trespassing. It was time we skedaddled – and fast. Using a pathetic combination of hand gestures and whispers that were more like hissed shouts, we somehow stumbled our way onto the back of Meg’s bike. Neither of us had time to fasten our helmets before she roared the engine to life, and all hope of a subtle exit flew out the window.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as I choked on wind. I wondered if this was how dogs felt as they lolled their tongues out of car windows on the freeway.
“If he’s got as many guns in there as I think he does, we don’t want to be caught out here where nobody can hear you yelp,” she shouted.
“I don’t yelp,” I yelped back. Maybe I was a yelper. “Now he’ll know it was us.”
“But he doesn’t know who we are,” Meg said. “Nobody introduced themselves back there. Good job, Captain Awkward. If you weren’t so socially inept, he’d know our names.”
Bittersweet comment or not, I realized she was right. I started to tell her so, but I heard a loud male voice yell after us as Meg skidded onto the twisty, pseudo-dirt road.
“Who’s there?” Grease Ball shouted.
I caught the briefest of glimpses of him just as Meg rounded a curve. A gunshot rang out through the wilderness and took a hunk of bark off a tree only a few feet away. Thankfully, Meg was used to being shot at, and the bullet didn’t faze her a bit.
“Hang on tight,” she roared, nudging the bike into higher gear. “I told you we’d be off-roading.”
Now wasn’t the moment to argue that if we hadn’t off-roaded in the first place, we wouldn’t be getting shot at. Damn overachiever, Meg! I grumbled about her doing too good of a job, but she couldn’t hear me.
With a yeeehaw she took the next curve extra sharp. I’d been holding both helmets in our haste to get away, but suddenly her mohawk-studded, blinding orange helmet was wrenched from my grip. It tumbled off into the underbrush, bouncing out of sight.
I thought about mentioning it to Meg, but the chances of her wanting to stop and recover it were much too high. I valued my life more than her helmet, I was sorry to say. Maybe if we ever solved one of these dang cases, I could buy her a new one. But that was a big if.
I’d like to say we rode off happily into the sunset, heading back home with a large jar of Dave’s Special Sauce and a new grandmotherly figure named Anastasia as a friend, but that would be false. Meg skidded onto the main road near the house on Sixty-sixth, and all gunshots ceased. The ringing in my ears died down for a moment, but it came back as Meg re-applied the pedal to the metal. She didn’t lift her foot once until she had safely parked at her bar.
By the time we arrived back at Shotz, both of us looked as if we’d been tossed through a wind tunnel, electrocuted, and then beaten with a whole lot of twigs and berries. Meg was complaining of her lost helmet, while I bargained with her to forgive me.
“Just hope he doesn’t find it,” Meg said darkly. “That helmet is one of a kind.”
“Thank goodness,” I said, catching myself before I explained that helmets should never be created so bright. “I hope you’re right, but I think it bounced well away into the underbrush where it’ll be safe.”
“I’m gonna go relieve Julio,” Meg said, looking as cheery as if it were Christmas morning. Firefights always got her in a peppy mood. Even she couldn’t be dampened by a missing helmet. “That was awesome, partner.”
Sufficiently stiff, I barely managed to contort my lips into a smirk that I hoped passed for a smile. “Right, partner.”
“Wanna drink?” Meg asked.
“I have to call Anthony and keep working,” I said.
Meg eyed me up and down. “It helps with the pain.”
“Then yes, please.”
“And it’ll help you forget that you look like a swamp monster when that hunk of yours picks you up,” Meg said as an afterthought.
I groaned and headed inside. “I’ll take a double.”
** **
Anthony stood out as soon as he stepped foot in the bar. Most of the patrons glanced his way; he had a tendency to turn heads of both the male and female varieties, each for very different reasons. As I was of the female variety, my head turned to watch his glorious form fill up the doorway to Shotz. I barely noticed some of the men sizing him up, as if torn between kneeling before him and declaring their loyalty, or wanting to put a knife through his heart.
“Shut your mouths, gents,” Meg called from behind the bar. “And stop drooling, ladies. Welcome, Anthony.”
My friend pinched my backside and leaned in close. “You should feel lucky, chickadee, he’s only got eyes for you.”
I glanced b
ack at her, the pinch restarting my thoughts after a blank period in which I’d stared at my former gym-trainer-turned-bodyguard-turned-almost-boyfriend.
She sighed. “Young love. Go say hi.”
“I’m afraid,” I said. “It looks like a bomb exploded in my hair.”
“Then why are you afraid?” Meg asked. “It’s Anthony that’ll be afraid. That hair of yours – you should’ve listened when I was asking Grease Ball about his hair products. You could use some smoothing gel.”
Before Meg could finish lecturing me on the benefits of conditioning my locks, Anthony had crossed the room and made his way to us. His eyes never leaving mine, he stepped up and placed one hand on the bar inches from me. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
The other patrons of Shotz didn’t bother to look away or mask their curiosity. Though they watched us closely, it would’ve been impossible to hear the conversation. Anthony spoke in low, husky tones meant only for my ears. In response to the other customers’ keen interest, he snaked his other arm out and rested his hand on the wooden platform. His stance pinned my body to the counter, daring anyone to interrupt our obviously personal conversation.
“What happened to you?” Anthony said in a gravelly tone.
“Oh, you know,” I shrugged. “Wild ride.”
Anthony’s eyes glittered. “Would you like to share? I thought I told you to be careful.”
“Well, we were careful,” I said, shifting under his intense gaze. “But careful doesn’t always mean that things go as planned.”
“Sugar, nothing ever goes as you plan.” He lifted a hand towards my bird’s nest of a hairdo and plucked out a stray leaf. “I don’t even know why you bother to make plans.”
I exhaled a long, loud sigh that began deep in my gut. “Me neither.”
Without thinking, I leaned forward until my head rested on his chest. Anthony didn’t react for a moment, standing stiffly with one arm on either side of me as Meg very loudly clanked two double vodka cocktails on the bar behind us.
