The Thief Who Stole Midnight

by Christiana Miller

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  While all this drama was going on with Mike and Maddie, there was more trouble brewing across town. Mike's Granny Ruby, the born-again Wiccan, had decided to fly into Chicago with her new, sexy, young husband, Seth. They had just gotten back from their honeymoon, and they wanted to surprise Mike and Maddie and see the baby. Either she didn't hear about Mike's fake MRSA, she didn't care, or she knew Mike was full of crap. Given the way that woman could read palms, option three would be a safe bet.

  So, anyway, there they were, at O'Hare airport. To really imagine what that meant, you have to understand that whenever Granny Ruby went anywhere, it was always a production. To begin with, she looked like a traveling Ren Faire in her gown and cloak and her eye-catching, multi-layered, Celtic-themed jewelry. She also had a walking staff and a holstered, ceremonial athame, (made of bone and obsidian), which she somehow managed to get past all the security checkpoints. Whenever anyone asked how she did it, she winked and said she had put a spell of invisibility on it. Whether that was true or not, it had never been confiscated, so maybe there was something to her claims of spellcrafting magic.

  But the flashiest items of all were the custom-made, ruby-sequined orthotic shoes that kept Ruby's feet comfy and supported in all their blinged-out glory. And it turned out her new husband shared her fashion sense -- although he preferred Birkenstocks.

  Granny Ruby complained that whenever she flew anywhere, the other passengers would make a wide berth around her, and security always pulled her out for a full-body search. And she didn't understand why. As far as she was concerned, it was a blatant case of religious discrimination. But as far as the rest of the world went, it was just common sense. She was lucky she had never gotten strip-searched. Although, knowing Granny Ruby's libido, (which she attributed to amino acid supplements), she'd probably enjoy it.

  As they disembarked from the plane, Ruby lit up a European cigarette while Seth used a fan made of owl feathers to fan the smoke at the exterior of the plane and the interior of the connecting tube.

  Ruby reached up to the sky, turning her face upward, and started chanting. "We thank you, spirits of the air, for guiding this plane safely here. May its future voyages be as safe and uneventful as this one was."

  Seth sang random musical notes and continued waving the smoke at the ceiling until Ruby dropped her hands, her benediction done.

  Just then, a stewardess rushed out of the plane, livid. "You need to put that out. Now. This is a non-smoking area."

  "You're preaching to the choir," Ruby cackled, as she handed the cigarette to Seth. "Neither of us smokes. Filthy habit."

  Seth pinched off the lit end and stored the remainder in a plastic baggie.

  "Then what do you call that?" The stewardess snapped, pointing at the baggie.

  "A religious ceremony," Ruby snapped back. "And you're welcome."

  Ruby nodded at Seth, and he pulled out his wallet and flashed their ministerial credentials at the stewardess.

  As they walked away, the stewardess shook her head and muttered, "Whackos."

  Ruby turned, and without breaking stride, gave her the finger.

  Meanwhile, back in Chicago, Maddie's parents, Taki and Irini, had gone to Zeke's Tavern, to have dinner with baby Sophie. Calling it a tavern was a bit of a misnomer. It was actually a restaurant built around an old, wooden, fully stocked bar and pool hall that used to be the tavern, but Zeke wasn't about to rename it. It started out life as a tavern and it would die as a tavern.

  Taki, Maddie's dad, was a rotund personification of Zorba the Greek. Here was a guy who loved life and everyone in it. Laid back and fun to be around, unless you pissed him off. He could yell with the best of them. Irini, on the other hand, was part Greek and part yenta. She was a small, energetic, busybody who lived to butt into everyone's life and tell them what to do and who to do it with, all while spreading liberal amounts of guilt.

  Irini was definitely the boss in any scenario she found herself in. Mike should have realized he was in trouble when, during the wedding ceremony, Irini corrected the priest and started instructing Mike and Maddie where to stand and what to do next. I can't imagine what's going to happen at the baby's christening.

  Anyway, Taki and Irini were sitting at a table in the restaurant, with Sophie in her baby carrier, tucked on the far side of Irini, to discourage random strangers from coming by and cooing over or touching the baby, and spreading their germs. Or heaven forbid, snatching her and running out into the cold.

  Rio, Maddie's best friend, could see them from her seat at the bar, but they hadn't seen her yet. Which was just the way she liked it.

  Rio watched as Irini flipped through the Real Estate section of the Sunday paper, pen in hand.

  "You're not helping," Irini snapped at Taki.

  "Why? Because I won't butt into their lives?" Taki drank his beer and looked around.

  Rio ducked her head down over her drink, so he wouldn't notice her.

  "Who's butting? I'm not butting. Is it a crime to want my granddaughter to grow up in a safe place?"

  "Chicago is a safe place."

  "Not safe enough. She has an El-stop as her backyard. You want her playing on the tracks, instead of climbing a tree? Breathing in exhaust fumes from all the cars on Clark Street instead of sitting in a tire swing?"

  Taki sighed and grabbed the paper and pen from Irini. He quickly scanned it, marked an entry and shoved the paper back to her. "There. Are you happy?"

  "Charming fixer-upper in ethnically diverse neighborhood?! Are you trying to kill me?"

  "What?! You wanted me to pick a house, I picked a house."

  "In an ethnically diverse neighborhood? Do you know what that means?"

  "Is this a trick question?"

  "It means get used to being mugged."

  "What are you talking about? Look out the window," Taki said, gesturing. "Every neighborhood in Chicago is ethnically diverse."

  "That's exactly what I'm saying. And don't even get me started on charming fixer-upper." She shot him a dirty look and went back to reading the paper. "Besides, we want them to move closer to us, not stay in Chicago."

  "You know what people are making into homes now? Factories. What about the old abandoned brewery in our neighborhood? We can put a down-payment on it for the kids."

  Irini stared at him, opening and closing her mouth a few times before words finally came out. "You've finally lost your mind. I ever hear you say something like that again, I'll call a judge and put you in a home. A factory. Do you know what kind of chemicals they use in factories?"

  Just then, the overworked, blonde waitress came by with a tray and set three steak dinners down.

  "What's this?" Irini snapped. "We didn't order this."

  "Oh, yes we did," Taki chortled, pouring steak sauce on his T-bone.

  "No, we didn't. Take it back."

  "He's already eating it." The waitress said. "The policy is, you eat it, you buy it."

  "Why would we order a T-Bone for a baby?!"

  "How am I supposed to know? My job is to serve it. Not to figure out why you're unfit parents. You don't want it? I'll take it back. But he's still paying for his." She grabbed two of the plates and hustled off.

  "I ordered a Caesar salad!" Irini hollered after her, but the waitress waived her off.

  Irini turned to Taki. "Why do we even come here?" she snapped. "Don't you eat that. It's not good for your cholesterol."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Taki said, savoring his bite of steak. "My cholesterol's fine."

  Just then Nick walked in and sidled up to the bar, next to Rio. The two of them had dated for a bit, but it wasn't meant to be. Mainly because she never could get all that interested in his dangly bits. But, on the positive side, he was the date who finally pushed her out of the closet.

  "How ya doin', sexy?" He was always kind of smarmy, now he was smarmy and balding. But he never let that get in his way. He was about ninety-percent sure he was a player, even
if the rest of the world was only ten-percent sure.

  Rio rolled her eyes at him.

  "Don't get your combat boots in a twist. I'm talking to Blondie there." He said, winking at the blonde waitress.

  That definitely got her attention. She walked over and slammed the unwanted steak dinners down in front of them. "You want steak for dinner? You gotta pay for them, but they come with a free beer."

  "Yeah, sure, whatever." Rio managed to spurt out.

  "Good." She pulled two drafts, slapped the check down in front of them, and stalked off.

  "My God, that woman is a force of nature." Nick whistled, appreciatively. "I would totally do her."

  Rio laughed. "You're a guy. You'd do the lamp post, if it was dressed in a French maid's outfit."

  "Probably," Nick nodded in agreement. "Don't tell me you'd pass up the opportunity to tap that?"

  Rio shrugged. "I like to think I'm a bit more discriminating."

  Nick hooted with laughter, almost choking on a piece of steak. "Tell me that again, when she's naked and bent over in front of you. The libido is a harsh taskmaster, my friend."

  Rio sipped her beer to hide a smile. "You'd make a lousy boyfriend. No wonder you're single."

  Nick grinned at her. "I'm not single. I'm just waiting for you to realize we're perfect for each other. We're two halves of a three-way, looking for completion."

  Rio snorted. "Forget about it. I don't revisit old stomping grounds. Especially once the earth's been salted."

  But Nick just laughed and took it in stride.

  One thing Rio had always liked about Nick, was that he was always looking for the humor in everything. Not many men could handle their girlfriend telling them, after they have sex for the first time, that she's decided she's a lesbian. But Nick took it in stride. If anything, he started seeing opportunities for how it could benefit him. And actually, if Rio was going to hook up with a guy to go trolling for a chick for a three-way, Nick wasn't a bad choice. The problem was, he knew it.

  "Shut up and eat your steak," Rio said, hiding a grin.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Back at Mike and Maddie's place, Maddie was frantically calling the cops again.

  "I can't believe you got rid of the landline," she snapped at Mike.

  "Cops are supposed to be reachable on cell phones." Mike said.

  As Mike started washing veggies for the veggie tray, Maddie gave up on getting through to 9-1-1 and flipped through the phone book, looking for the non-emergency number. Maybe she'd have better luck with that.

  "Finally!" she muttered. The phone was ringing and the call again later message wasn't picking up. Maybe she'd get to talk to a real, live person this time.

  "What's the deal with beets? Can you actually eat them raw?" Mike asked. "Or do they need to be pickled? And what are you supposed to do with beet greens? Can you use them for anything? Or are they just decorative?"

  "Quit yammering" Maddie said. "I think the call's going to go through."

  "Seriously?! Sweet! I need to get this on camera." Mike rushed out of the kitchen. Then he popped his head back in. "Stall until I get back."

  Not that she needed to. It took Maddie so long to get through the automated answering system, Mike was back with his Flip before she was able to get a live person on the other end of the line.

  "Oh, thank God. I want to report a robbery." Maddie said, as Mike filmed the call.

  "What's missing?" a young-sounding male voice asked her.

  "Well, nothing. Nothing's missing."

  "Great," the cop said. Then, Maddie heard him say -- muffled, like he had his hand over the receiver. "We got another fruit loop."

  "I'm not a fruit loop!" Maddie said. "That's offensive. I want to speak to your boss."

  Instead, the cop laughed and hung up on her.

  She looked at Mike, shocked. But Mike just motioned at her to keep going. So, she dialed again. This time she got a lady cop. The lady cop didn't laugh, she just hung up.

  "This is why the crime rate in Chicago is so high," Maddie yelled at the phone. "You call the cops to report a crime in progress and they laugh at you." Then she sighed and started dialing again.

  "Put it on speaker," Mike said. "I want to get audio."

  So, Maddie put it on speaker and went through the automated system again. While she waited, she started chopping up the veggies that Mike had deserted on the counter.

  Finally, she got through to a stressed-out sounding, older male cop. In the background, there was all kinds of noise. Hollering voices, tooting party favors. But it didn't sound like the cops were holding a party. It sounded more like they had arrested a party that was still going on, in full swing.

  "This is Maddie Keyes," Maddie said.

  "Jesus, lady. Again?"

  "Yes, again," Maddie snapped. "Remember that burglar who robbed my apartment? He's still here. Sleeping in our bed."

  "Dead to the world," Mike yelled.

  Maddie glared at him.

  "What?! He is!" Mike protested.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," The voice on the phone said. "You got a dead burglar on your bed? That's different. You didn't tell us you killed the guy. Hold on a sec. Let me get the number for the coroner. When you call, ask them to send out a meat wagon."

  "He's not dead!" Maddie screamed. "You think we'd kill him and then call the cops? What kind of people do you take us for? He's snoring like a buzz-saw."

  "Correct me if I'm wrong," Mike added, jumping into the conversation. "But dead people tend to be quiet sleepers."

  There was silence on the phone for a long second. Then the cop said, "Are you kidding me? I don't know what's wrong with you people, but I'm not in the mood for pranks tonight."

  "It's not a prank." Maddie turned to Mike and hissed, "Would you stop?! You're not helping."

  Over the phone, they could hear a crash, followed by a scream of pain.

  "I have freaking Armageddon going on over here," the cop snapped. "Why don't you go annoy the Fire Department instead?"

  "We have this conversation on tape. We're making a documentary," Mike yelled. "Cameras are rolling as we speak. So, if you don't get out here now and pick up our burglar, your ineptness is going to be documented on video."

  There was a muffled sound, like someone putting their hand over the phone, and they heard the cop saying, "It's not enough we got a station house full of nuts, I gotta couple cashews on the phone who think they're the next Spielberg."

  "We're not nuts!" Maddie yelled. She was getting tired of being called crazy. "Is this call being taped? I want your boss to hear it. Heck, I'll come down to the station house with a copy of the footage that we're taping right now. You people are completely unprofessional. I want your name and your badge number."

  The cop turned back to the phone. "Lady, we're busy. It's New Year's frickin Eve, for crissakes."

  "Yes, I know. But there's a burglar asleep in our bed," Maddie said.

  "So you say. You know how many law-breakers I have on my hands who are awake?"

  "Would it kill you to drive over and check it out?" Mike said. "We pay your salaries."

  "We have four homicides, ten armed robberies in progress and alarms going off all over the city. We have more drunk and disorderlies than Wisconsin has cheese. Snoozing burglars aren't tops on the priority list tonight."

  "So what are we supposed to do with him?" Maddie snapped.

  "I know how you reality TV people work. Go wake up your actor... I mean, burglar, tell him that he's not getting his 15 minutes of fame tonight and that he can go home. Better luck tomorrow."

  "He's not an actor!" Maddie screamed.

  "Then lock the bedroom door and go out for a drink. We'll have someone there in a couple hours. Three, tops."

  "Three hours?! The station is down the street. We could carry him there in fifteen minutes," Mike yelled.

  "Knock yourselves out."

  Maddie took the phone off speaker and put it to her ear. "What if he was about to shoot me in the h
ead? How long would it take you to get here, then?"

  She listened. "Well, that's one way to cut down on over-population," she snapped, ending the call and tossing the phone on the table.

  "What? What did he say?" Mike asked.

  "He said he knows where we live and if we call again they'll charge us with a misdemeanor."

  They both looked at each other, frustrated.

  Then Mike looked up at the clock. "What time did you say your parents were gonna get here?"

  Maddie followed his gaze. "Oh, crap." It was twenty to nine. And their apartment was half-organized and half in the throws of Hurricane Snooz-O.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They rushed into the living room and started cleaning and straightening like the Devil was at their backs. Mike threw a bunch of crap into a box and shoved it into the back of the closet.

  Just when he thought they were getting things under control, Maddie started nagging him about how they should sign up for classes down at the shooting range. So he had to stop what he was doing and pay attention to her. Because heaven forbid that a spouse gets caught not listening.

  "We have a baby. We need to start thinking about security." Maddie said, ending her rant.

  "And security is you with a gun? I don't think so," Mike replied.

  "Why not?" Maddie said, hands on her hips. "Why shouldn't I have a gun?"

  "You're a mom. Moms don't carry guns. It's just a fact."

  "According to whom? Folks Who Carry Guns dot com?"

  "The National Association of Motherhood," Mike snapped at her.

  "At least I can handle a paintball gun without shooting myself in the foot," she snapped back.

  Mike glared at her. The woman had a memory like a freaking elephant. "That was one time! One time. And it wasn't my fault."

  But Maddie just snorted.

  "You wanna know why women and guns are so wrong? P.M.S. There is no lock strong enough." Mike said, picking up another box full of stuff and stuffing it in the closet.

  "You are so sexist," Maddie said.