“Hi, Tom.”
“Hey there. You sound beat.”
“Yeah. It’s been a crazy day.”
“That’s nothing new for you. How’s it going with that girl? Meat Loaf?”
“Huh? Oh, you mean Cold Cuts. Okay, I guess. I’m meeting her for breakfast. I had to twist Milly’s arm, but she’s coming along, too.”
“What…Milly doesn’t like her?”
“Oh, they’ve just had a few minor disagreements.”
“What about Glad? Any more news on finding her ashes?”
“I should know more tomorrow.”
“Okay. How was work today?”
My heart skipped a beat. With everything else going on, I’d forgotten all about it.
“I dunno. Same old, same old. How about you, Tom? Work going well?”
“Yeah. Well, not really. That damned Jergen’s always on my ass about something. I don’t know what the asshole’s up to now. Muller overheard him saying something about heads were going to start rolling soon.”
“Geeze, Tom. That sounds bad.”
“Not as bad as your tortilla dip, I hear.”
My face flushed. “How’d you find out about that?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“Ha ha. A blabbermouth named Jorge, more like it.”
“Can’t keep any secrets from you.”
I felt a stab of guilt. “That’s right. Goodnight, Tom.”
“Goodnight, Val.”
I clicked off the phone, frustrated with myself for not trusting Tom enough to tell him the whole truth. I should have told him about Capone. About work. About the odd papers I’d found in Jergen’s tax file. But I knew Tom had held back information, too. In fact, I didn’t know who was spinning the truth more, me or Tom.
His voice had been joking, but I could tell Tom was truly worried. Whatever was going on at work must’ve been vexing him sorely. Tom had told a joke that was actually funny.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Kelly’s Pub?” Milly said. “This is the same place Cold Cuts ‘Kamikaze Kerry-ed’ my date with Dexter.”
Milly scowled at the name painted on the glass front of the small restaurant. I had my hand on the door. “Come on, Milly. Don’t start. And wasn’t it Scary Kerry?”
Milly shot me an angry glare. “Who cares?”
I opened the door. She raised her chin and huffed through it. At a table in the back I saw a girl in a Goth outfit. I steered Milly toward her.
“Hi, Cold Cuts,” I said.
“Darn. How did you know it was me?”
“I’ve seen pictures of you in this one. You got my friend Winky in Garvey’s parking lot.”
“Oh. For a minute there, I thought I was losing my touch. Hi, Milly.”
Milly looked away. “Hi.”
“Sit down, you two,” Cold Cuts offered. “I’m gonna run to the john for a second.”
Our butts had just flopped onto the seats when a nice-looking, athletic man dressed in khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt came over with two empty cups and a pot of coffee.
“Hi ladies! Welcome to Kelly’s. Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” we chimed in unison.
The man glanced around and winked a blue eye. “What happened to the grave robber?”
“She’s no grave robber,” Milly said sarcastically. “She steals lives from the living.”
Cold Cuts appeared from behind me. “Oh, boohoo, you two. You can’t go back to your crummy jobs.”
“Wow. No one will ever mistake you for Mother Teresa,” Milly said snidely.
“Aren’t you the funny one,” said the guy with the coffee. He grinned, revealing nice teeth and a set of killer dimples. “I like a girl with sass,” he said to Milly and walked away.
Milly perked up – until Cold Cuts opened her mouth again. “Don’t you see, girls? This is your golden opportunity. You have a blank slate. You can be anything you want to be now.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Reinvention. Think about it. Val and Milly, 2.0.”
“Give me a break!” Milly said sourly.
“Come on, Milly. Think about it. Is the brand new, Milly 2.0 still a blonde?”
“I think she’s a redhead – with a red-hot temper to match,” I said.
Milly scowled and shoved me hard on the shoulder.
“What’s her motivation?” Cold Cuts asked.
Milly piped up. “To seek her revenge – on you!”
Cold Cuts cocked her head and sighed. “Still there, are we? Okay, what kind of car is Milly 2.0 gonna run my ass over with?”
“A freakin’ red Ferrari, okay?” Milly said, then sat back and pouted.
“Abso-freakin’-lutely!” Cold Cuts said encouragingly. “So, what’s her favorite food?”
Milly looked at me, caught off guard. “Can I still like nachos?”
I shook my head in amazement. Somehow, Cold Cuts had worked her magic again. She’d engaged Milly and was already winning her over. Incredible.
“Sure you can,” Cold Cuts encouraged. “So, what’s the new Milly’s favorite color?”
Milly’s eyes scanned to the left, then straight ahead. “Yellow!”
“Huh,” Cold Cuts said, skipping a beat. “I would have guessed red. Oh well. And does the new Milly 2.0 go out with losers?”
Milly’s scowl had been replaced by a look of determination. “No way!”
“My point exactly,” Cold Cuts said. She folded her arms and sat back in her seat.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “What is the point of all this?”
“I have an idea,” Cold Cuts confided. She opened her mouth to speak, just as the coffee guy returned.
“Everything all right here?” he asked, and winked at Milly.
“How would you like to be your own boss?” Cold Cuts asked us.
The guy answered. “I’d highly recommend it. The hours suck, but the pay is crummy.”
“Excuse me, do I know you?” Cold Cuts asked, a tinge perturbed.
“No. I just own the place. Name is Vance. Nice to meet you all.”
“Okay, Vance,” Cold Cuts said. “So, if being the boss is so bad, why do you do it?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “For the glamour, of course.” He grinned again, then he cocked his head and opened his mouth. He pointed a finger at Cold Cuts. “Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t you the same woman who was in here a few weeks ago? With this lady?” He pointed at Milly. She blushed.
“Uh…I don’t think so.”
“Yes. I remember now. Rainbow Mohawk chick, right?”
“Good eye,” Cold Cuts conceded.
“Good ear, more likely. The only thing I recognize about you is your voice. And your beautiful friend here, of course.” Vance held his hand out and shook my hand.
“I’m Val.”
“Nice to meet you.” Vance turned to Cold Cuts.
She eyed him warily, then extended her hand and shook his. “I’m Cold Cuts.”
Vance eyed her up and down. “Hmm. Let me guess. Ham?”
Milly giggled. Cold Cuts didn’t.
“Very original. You can leave now.”
Vance mimed a look of devastation. Milly came to his rescue. “Don’t take it personally. She’s mean to everyone.”
“And you are?”
“Milly Halbert.”
Vance smiled at Milly and nodded his head gallantly. As he left, I watched Cold Cuts size Milly up as she smiled shyly down at her coffee cup.
“Guess your Cloak of Invisibility has a glitch in it,” Cold Cuts said.
Milly looked up. “What? No. I’m sure he wouldn’t have recognized me if I wasn’t with you.”
“From what I heard, it was the other way around,” I said.
“So, would you go out with him if he asked?” Cold Cuts teased.
Milly gave a wry smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not too good at the dating thing.”
“It’s true,” I said. “Milly
could be featured on Wide World of Dolts.”
“I’m not talking about the old Milly,” Cold Cuts said. “What would the new Milly do? Would she go out with Vance?”
“Oh.” Milly brightened. “The new me? Yes. Maybe. With the right costume…and the right back story.”
“Exactly my point,” Cold Cuts said.
I sighed. “You said that earlier. So what exactly is your point?”
“A whole new life. A whole new career. For all of us.”
“What do you mean?” Milly asked.
“I’m talking about dressing ourselves up and shutting other people down.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Girls, we could be like the Ghostbusters of bad dates! We could offer a service doing the same thing I did for you, Milly, with that Preston guy.”
“Dexter.”
“Dexter, Preston, Poindexter. The name doesn’t matter. A bad date is a bad date, right?”
Milly and I shrugged. “True.”
“So, how many times would you have paid good money to get out of a bad date?”
Milly’s eyes grew as wide as boiled eggs. “Oh my gawd! Plenty of times. Like – a jillion times!”
“Exactly my point.”
“That’s genius!” Milly said. “We could help all the women on all those dating sites. We could be gazillionaires! I bet I know a hundred women in the Leadership Ladies alone! And we’d be doing a public service….”
Cold Cuts broke in singing a little jingle, “When you’re on date, and it’s going bad – who you gonna call?”
We exchanged excited glances and shouted together, “Date Busters!”
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “A woman is out on a bad date. She calls us, and then what?”
“We show up in our disguises and shut it down,” Cold Cuts said. “Guaranteed he’ll never call again. I know you two can do it. Your disguises at Garvey’s were phenomenal.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me. By the way, Cold Cuts. How is your grandmother doing?”
“She retired.”
“Oh.”
She shrugged. “It was time. So? What do you girls think?”
“I love it!” Milly said.
I shrugged and grinned. “What the hell. I’m in.”
***
I left Milly and Cold Cuts at Kelly’s Pub, yammering away like new best friends. I had an appointment with a scar-faced garbage eater. But first I had to pick up a mustachioed peanut head. Lucky me.
Goober was waiting for me at the assigned pick-up point, the corner of 1st Avenue and 4th Street. The post office was a good rendezvous point, he’d explained. Its arched porch, designed to protect post boxes from the rain, gladly did the same for him, free of charge. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining, so I had the top down. Goober walked over and hopped in the passenger seat.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Val. Feels good to be working with you again.”
“Thanks for backing me up in case Capone tries any tricks. Like last time.”
“Not a problem.”
As I pulled off of 4th Street onto 9th Avenue, I started to worry.
“What if Capone doesn’t come, Goober? Milly might have chased him away for good with that rabid dog attack of hers yesterday.”
“What’s the payout?”
“Huh? Oh, fifty bucks.”
Goober whistled and shook his peanut-shaped head. “And I’m working for pizza. Don’t worry. He’ll show.”
Goober was right. Capone was waiting outside Old Northeast Pizza with a plastic bag that looked just about the right size to be containing Mr. Peanut. My heart picked up at the thought that Glad was so close. I parked Maggie. Capone ran over to me before I could get out of the car.
“I got it,” he said. “Where’s the fifty?”
I reached for my wallet.
“Let’s see it first,” Goober said.
“Look man, I got it all wrapped up to protect it. I promise it’s the Mr. Peanut bank. The real deal.”
I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Capone handed me the bag, then snatched the fifty out of my hand. Goober started to get out and whack him, but I put a hand on his shoulder. Capone stood beside the driver’s door as I removed the package wrapped in newspaper from the plastic bag.
He must have used the whole Sunday paper. I handed Goober page after wadded page. Finally, I reached the last sheet. I pulled the paper away and my heart sank. It was a pink plastic pig with a Planter’s Peanuts can crammed onto its head like crown. Capone eyed my expression, laughed and took off. Before I could speak he’d dashed around the corner of the building.
“Dammit! I should have known!”
“I’ll get his sorry ass!” Goober climbed out of the car and took off after Capone. He’d just rounded the corner out of sight when I heard a man yell out in pain. Yes! Goober got him!
I tossed the pig in the backseat and climbed out. I was almost to the corner where they’d both vanished when Goober came around it, limping on his right foot.
“Goober! Are you okay?”
“Tripped on a damn beer bottle,” he said. “I think I sprained my ankle.”
“You want to go to the hospital?”
“Hell no.”
“Then I’ll take you home.”
“Okay.”
I wrapped Goober’s arm around my shoulder and started leading him to the car.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To take you home.”
“Not without my pizza first. I earned it.”
I smiled at Goober. “Yes, my friend, you certainly did.”
Goober straightened his back. “Thanks.”
I helped him hobble into the pizza shop and settled him on a stool. “What would you like? Anything. My treat.”
“I’ve been wanting to try the sausage and pepper,” Goober said. “Extra cheese?”
“Coming right up.”
“And a beer?”
“Sorry, we don’t serve beer,” said the pizza guy.
“Then you still owe me one,” Goober said to me.
“Okay.” I placed the order with the tattooed pizza baker, then fished a couple of sodas out of the side fridge and sat next to Goober.
“What are you going to do now, Val? Any more ideas where the piggybank could be?”
“Not a one.”
“Too bad. I miss Glad, too, you know.”
I looked over at Goober. “Yeah. Thanks. But you know, Goober, I don’t feel that bad about it anymore. Someone told me recently that memories don’t reside in objects, but in our hearts.”
“I totally concur.” Goober slugged down half a Sprite. “I prefer to collect experiences, not things.”
“How’s it going with you guys? At Jorge’s place?”
“Well, I’ve been a solo act for a long time, Val. Cohabitation requires adjustments in one’s habitual routine.”
“Geeze, Goober, sometimes I think you were an English professor in a past life.”
“Close. Sociology.”
“Get out of here!”
“Yeah. Human behavior fascinates me.”
“Well, I suspect you stay pretty fascinated at Jorge’s.”
Goober smiled and sucked down the rest of his soda. “You have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I woke up thirsty and fumbled into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave read 1:34. Crap! I poured a glass of water from the kitchen tap and drank it down, then padded back to bed. After tossing and turning in the tangled sheets, I finally gave up on trying to go back to sleep. I reached for my cellphone to check for messages. The display read 6:49 a.m. I got up to make coffee and noticed the microwave clock still read 1:34. What a dumbass I am. It wasn’t the time. It was the leftover minutes from reheating last night’s dinner.
I did the math. Suddenly I didn’t feel so tired anymore. I’d gotten a good night’s sleep, considering I’d passed out around 9:30 last night. I smiled. Not just because of that
. I’d also just remembered it was Taco Tuesday. Then I remembered I didn’t have to go to work. Sweeet!
Yes, the day was shaping up to be a good one, indeed. I finished brewing my cappuccino and went back to bed to enjoy it at my leisure. I didn’t have to be dressed until 10 a.m. That’s when Milly and Cold Cuts were coming over to discuss our new business plan.
***
Cold Cuts arrived as her natural, red-haired self. She carried a laptop in one hand, a folder in the other. She looked eager and determined – definitely her scariest outfit yet. She set the laptop up on my kitchen counter and showed us her handy work. She’d already designed a fabulous website and a couple of pretty cool logo ideas for Date Busters. In less than an hour, all three of us had agreed on everything and ordered business cards for express delivery. Milly was to hand them out at the next Leadership Ladies meetup on Thursday. Geeze. Maybe this was going to be a lot easier than I thought.
“Hey Cold Cuts,” Milly said. “We’re busting bad dates. But how do you define a date as bad?”
“When it’s not good, you just know,” she answered. “But remember, we don’t have to decide. If a woman buzzes us, she’s already made that call.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Milly said. “So what’s a good date? To you, Cold Cuts?”
“I dunno. Someone who doesn’t make me want to castrate them.”
Milly chuckled. “And you, Val?”
“Someone who’s company is even better than being alone.”
That’s a good one,” Milly said. “Me? I want a date that feels as good as being with you, Val. I want to marry my best friend.”
I blew Milly a kiss. “Is that a proposal, Milly?”
“No!” she laughed. “A man who’s my best friend.”
“Ah, the elusive man’s best friend,” Cold Cuts said. “My suggestion? Come back reincarnated as a golden retriever.”
***
“It sounds like Lunch Meat has her act together,” Tom said absently. He smiled at me from the doorframe, but his eyes seemed distant. Taco Tuesday wasn’t living up to its usual spiciness.
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