by Mike Faricy
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean what was it before this, white blonde, right? And then, didn’t you have that blue at the very end? This is a huge change. It will take some time, especially for you because you’ve always been so particular about looking your best. When did he do this to you?” I didn’t mean to make it sound like an assault, but I think that’s the way Heidi took it.
“Two days ago. I brought in a photo as a general idea. He wouldn’t let me see it until he was finished, served me prosecco the entire time, it took about three hours. He had this assistant bitch named Adella helping him. Guess where he was last night?”
“The salon?”
“No, idiot, Adella’s. I can only hope he had to wait in line before climbing on top of that fat slut,” she said and thrust out her empty glass again. I refilled her glass and took the first sip from mine.
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“I’m not getting a wig. And, if it’s got anything to do with forgiveness you can just forget it ‘cause I’m not interested,” she said and then gulped more wine. I noticed it wasn’t quite as large a gulp as earlier.
“No, I’m thinking revenge.”
“Now you’re talking. You have my permission to shoot both of them and leave them face down in the mud. I’ll pay you, just name your damned price.”
“Look, Heidi, listen to me, the best way to get even is to get happy.”
“Happy? When in the hell did you suddenly become practical? Don’t you see what I look like? Happy? God, I look insane is what I look like.”
“No, you don’t. You look … umm, beautiful. Settle down and put your big girl pants on, you want revenge? Flout this like you’re walking on the red carpet at the Academy Awards and you look like a million bucks, because you do. Has anyone stopped you on the street and told you that you look ridiculous?”
“Well, no, but….”
“Okay, so the entire nation doesn’t think you look ridiculous or insane, for that matter. Get out there and flaunt it, start telling people you paid a lot of money for it in New York City or Paris and they’ll have a completely different take on it from the one you’re giving right now.”
“You think?”
“I know. Honest. In the mean time we could eat dinner and maybe just come up with some form of repayment for your buddy, Alphonse.”
“I told you, his name is Alexi, but thanks I get what you’re trying to do.”
We’d barely settled into our meal when my phone rang. Maddie.
“Hello.”
“Hi Dev, let me speak to Morton.”
“Sure Maddie, hang on, he’s right here.”
Heidi gave me a surprised look when I climbed off my stool and put the phone up to Morton’s ear. He raised his head for a brief moment then returned to his soup bone. After a moment or two he turned slightly to move his ear away from the phone.
Both of us could hear Maddie was using her Morton voice. Heidi sat there mesmerized listening to the one sided conversation coming out of the phone.
“Hi Morton, how’s my boy? It’s mommy. Are you being good, Morton? Morton, say hi to Buster, he’s my special friend. Say hi to Morton, Buster?”
There was a pause and then a male voice said, “Hi, Morton.”
“Can you say hi, Morton? Say hi to Buster, Morton. Come on, say hello to your new friend.”
I panted then barked into the phone, Morton looked at me disdainfully and Heidi had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing.
“Oh, Buster, come on back in the room. You missed Morton saying hi.”
I waited a moment then said, “Hi Maddie, hey how are things going for everyone down there?”
“Oh, Dev,” she said sounding disappointed. “Mom’s making progress. Dad’s back at the office. Hey, look I better run, I’ll call tomorrow,” she said and hung up before I could get another word in.
“What or who, in God’s name, was that?” Heidi asked.
“Didn’t you hear? That was Morton’s mom.”
“Look at him, it’s like he’s already trying to forget about it. He’s embarrassed, poor thing,” Heidi said.
Morton was lying at her feet, but now his paws were on top of his head like he was trying to hide.
“And what’s with that screwball voice, you’ve heard that before?”
“She calls everyday, sometimes twice a day.” I went on to explain the basic situation. I told Heidi about Maddie’s tattoo, I skipped anything related to Maddie’s convincing argument the other night when she talked me into watching Morton for a couple of days. I explained her mom’s bike accident. I mentioned Maddie’s Morton voice again, and that she had extended her stay for a few more days and that I thought it was because of this Buster guy and not necessarily her mom.
“So, you’re about to join me in the same boat,” Heidi said and raised her glass in a toast.
“Hunh?” I said in response.
“I’ve been dumped and you’re about to be. All aboard,” she said and we clinked glasses.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Given the wine I suspect both of us probably had a foggy memory of the early morning hours. I know I woke up with a smile, I could hear Heidi down the hall in the shower. Morton was asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was raining just now and had been for most of the night.
Heidi returned from the bathroom maybe twenty minutes later. She already had her makeup on and a towel wrapped around her.
“How’s the head?” I asked.
“I’ll live,” she said getting down on her knees and looking under the bed. “But right now I’m looking for my thong, what did you do with it? I want to be in the office and review some files for that investors meet … Oh. My. God. Morton, did you do this?” she said and held up the remnants of her thong. Basically, about all that was left was an elastic band to wrap around her waist.
“Damn it, Morton,” I said.
“Don’t blame him, he probably learned it from you,” she said then threw what was left of the thong at me.
“Can you stop and get one on the way?”
“What store is open to sell thongs at seven in the morning?”
“Look at it this way, every guy in your meeting would love to get into….”
“Don’t even go there, you perv. Besides, I don’t want Morton hearing that kind of talk.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’ll just go au-natural to complement this exotic hair.”
“Believe me, they’d love it. You should take a selfie and….”
“You are such a sleaze.”
“You want me to go out and find some place open, maybe a twenty-four hour drugstore or something?”
“No, thanks, I might stop on the way and pick something up. Hope you enjoyed yourself, Morton.”
He suddenly raised his head and his tail began to wag, thumping back and forth on the floor.
“I’d better get going,” she said stepping into her dress.
“I’m tempted to make you stay. Just the thought of you without….”
“Stop,” she said holding her hand up like a traffic cop. Then she bent down and gave me a kiss. “Thanks for what you said last night it meant a lot to me, Dev.”
“And I did mean it, Heidi. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, well, except for maybe all the heads turning to look and wish they were with you.”
“That’s sweet. Thanks, I’ll call you for my luggage, okay. I want to get into the office and be well prepared for these folks.”
“Get out of here and give me a call when you can. And thanks for last night.”
“Thank you, catch you later,” she called from the staircase.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lake Phalen is located on the north end of St. Paul. It was named after a somewhat nefarious early pioneer, one Edward Phelan, an individual so beloved that he fled early St. Paul in the 1840’s after six months incarceration, barely beating a murder rap. He joined a wagon train headed west. Along the w
ay, his fellow travelers having had enough, murdered the guy and left him in an unmarked grave somewhere on the side of the trail.
I pulled into the park around the lake at ten minutes before ten, just as the rain stopped and the clouds parted to let the sun through. I parked a few spaces over from Natasha’s camper, then grabbed the leash and took Morton on a quick walk to wear off any after effects of Heidi’s thong and hopefully calm him down for a stay in my car. I knocked on the back door of Natasha’s camper at precisely ten o’clock, rattling the glass louvers in the door. The park area was filled with walkers and the occasional jogger.
“Yes,” Natasha’s voice groaned out.
“Dev Haskell, Natasha.”
“We’ll just be a minute,” she called.
I waited more like fifteen minutes before the door opened and a young guy, I guessed about twenty, no more than twenty-five, called thanks over his shoulder. He looked over at me, winked, gave me a thumbs up then headed across the parking lot and down the road without saying another word. Natasha and Princess Anastasia made their appearance a few minutes later.
“Good morning, Mr. Haskell, I hope you had a pleasant evening,” Natasha said.
“Apparently we both did.”
“Oh, umm, my contractor, he’ll be working on the house while we’re involved in the competition,” she said using that Ivy League accent for emphasis.
“A twenty year old contractor, and on foot, who knew?”
She ignored me and walked out onto a large grassy field. There was a guy at the far end of the field throwing what looked like an orange tennis ball to a dog. Natasha took one look, turned to me and said, “Oh, that will never do. Mr. Haskell, would you be so kind as to ask that gentleman to leave. I can’t have another dog near Princess Anastasia, especially this close to the competition. We’ve only a few days left. Would you mind terribly? Perhaps you might suggest some other venue to him.”
“I’d be happy to try, but if he says no there’s really nothing I can do about it. This is a public park.”
She flashed a smile for just a nanosecond that was meant to be anything, but pleasant. Then, in that Ivy League accent said, “But still, please try, we’ve so much work to do.”
With that she began working Princess Anastasia through her paces. I strolled about thirty yards over to talk to the guy, but as I got closer he called to his dog then tossed the ball in the opposite direction and began to walk away. That was probably a good thing because out here in the middle, the field was becoming a lot wetter than it appeared and I was beginning to sink into the ground. I glanced around. Natasha’s back was to me, working the princess. I lingered for a moment or two then headed back, prepared to take credit for the pair’s departure should she ask.
Over the course of the morning they were watched by various passers by, usually walkers who would stand for a minute or two then continue on their way. Two young mothers pushing strollers stopped for a rest on one of the park benches to sip coffee and watch. They sat there for about fifteen minutes before the kids began fussing and they moved on.
Natasha broke for lunch around one. I hurried over to my car and let Morton out. From what I could tell he hadn’t begun to eat the driver’s seat. I grabbed a Frisbee off the floor of the back seat and threw it around for some exercise.
I’d fling the Frisbee toward Morton and most times he was able to grab it in midair. Then he’d run back to me and drop it close to my feet. I’d been tossing the thing for a good twenty minutes. When I wasn’t throwing the Frisbee, I was watching nice looking women ride past on bikes or push strollers around the lake path. Occasionally one would drive past in a car.
We were just about finished with the Frisbee when a car rolled past, slowing slightly as it neared the camper. It was a flat black Chevy Camaro with heavily tinted windows. I wouldn’t have noticed it except as it rounded the curve in the road it appeared to list heavily toward the driver’s side, almost like the shocks were broken.
I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. Most likely the shocks were fine, and the vehicle was responding to the dead weight it carried behind the wheel; I guessed a fat guy with thinning ginger colored hair and pork chop side burns. Fat Bastard from the other night. I could only hope he still had the gauze bandage across his forehead along with the black eyes. I wondered if he’d been able to replace his baseball bat.
I watched the car disappear around the bend, traveling deeper into the park. If I hurried I could jump in my car and I’d have half a chance of catching up to him. But then what? And, if I didn’t catch up, missed him somehow and he came back this way, Natasha and Princess Anastasia would be alone and there was no telling what he would do.
We settled onto the grass next to the camper and waited for the door to open.
Natasha and Princess Anastasia exited the camper about fifteen minutes later. Morton gave a casual glance as the camper door opened and then was on his feet a half second later when the princess appeared. I barely got hold of him by the collar as he lunged forward in an effort to introduce himself.
“Inappropriate distraction, Mr. Haskell. I would find it preferable if your dog were not present,” Natasha said as they strutted past us.
Princess Anastasia pranced by with her nose in the air not paying Morton the slightest attention.
“I’m afraid there may be a slight problem, Ma’am.”
“Oh,” Natasha stopped and turned. “Can’t you simply place him in that car of yours?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that, that’s not the problem. But, I just recognized someone driving past. It may be nothing, but I had a run in with him the other night.”
“Run in?”
I gave her a brief history, neglected to mention that it was Morton who left the guy knocked out on the sidewalk. I followed that with the part about the guy with the sandwich who ending up rolling, literally, in the street. Then I told her about getting the ID on the Mercedes, phoning Tommy Allesi and dropping the car off at The Lady Slipper.
“And what? You, for some unknown reason, didn’t think this might be important? Didn’t think I would be interested? How did you leave things with Mr. Allesi?”
“How did we leave things? Well, actually, Morton pissed on one of his bushes by the front door.”
“What?” She smiled and laughed. “Oh, my, God. That is simply splendid.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I don’t know, I would guess our fat friend out there must have driven a lot of miles before he found us here. Unless, you might have some idea?”
“Me? You’re suggesting that what? That somehow I informed Mr. Allesi or one of his henchmen as to our whereabouts this afternoon? Hardly, I can assure you. No, I’m afraid nothing quite so sinister. Unfortunately, this is a spot we used and enjoyed all last summer and fall and in my naïveté it hadn’t occurred to me that Mr. Allesi would have seized on the possibility. My fault I’m afraid. So now, what exactly do you purpose?”
“I think you might as well get to work and we’ll see what happens. Hopefully nothing will. I’ll keep an eye out and then when you do leave I’ll be here to make sure no one follows. Maybe choose a spot for tomorrow that’s not a regular. Okay?”
Natasha nodded and then started putting the princess through her paces. They worked the remainder of the afternoon. When I wasn’t keeping my eyes peeled in all directions I occasionally walked a few feet over to my car to check on Morton. He seemed just fine.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was approaching dinner time and the park traffic had thinned out considerably. Hardly anyone was walking on the paths and only the occasional car passed by. Natasha seemed to be bringing things to a conclusion and had worked the princess through a series of drills that caused the two of them to circle further and further away from the camper and toward the center of the large green space we occupied.
I saw the car a moment after I heard it screeching around a curve. It suddenly shot up the handicap access ramp at the corner, across the sidewalk and then accelerated i
nto the field headed toward Natasha and the princess.
The two of them turned to look in the direction of the engine roar as the flat black Camaro sped across the field swerving left and right and tossing clumps of wet sod out from the rear wheels.
“Natasha, Natasha, the car, run, he’s coming for you,” I called and started toward them.
Natasha gave some sort of hand command with a clap and took off running back toward the camper. Princess Anastasia pranced alongside of her, oblivious to the car closing behind them. I ran toward them, pulling my Sig Sauer out from the holster in the small of my back as they crossed the field. The Camaro cut sharply to the right in an effort to head them off.
Natasha watched as the Camaro fishtailed then skidded in a broad turn, tossing mud and debris behind it before righting itself and picking up speed. Mud and chunks of sod flew from the rear of the vehicle as it cut deep ruts across the sodden grass and plowed ahead, gaining on them.
Natasha cut at a ninety degree angle and the princess followed right alongside her.
The Camaro slid left and then right in an effort to adjust direction then suddenly ground to a halt in the middle of the field with the wheels buried up to the axels in mud. It shifted into reverse and spun the wheels which only served to mire the vehicle deeper into the muddy field.
Natasha glanced over her shoulder then made a bee line for the camper with Princess Anastasia beside her. I jogged a little further then walked the rest of the distance toward the Camaro, circling wide so that I came at it directly from behind.
I couldn’t see anything through the dark tinted windows while the driver shifted into drive then back into reverse and continued to spin his wheels. I was maybe fifty feet away and had no desire to get any closer. The tinted windows remained rolled up.
I took careful aim with the Sig Sauer and fired a round at the rear tire, but couldn’t tell if I hit the thing. The engine began to roar and the wheels spun in an effort to get out of there, but only succeeded in digging a little deeper hole. I fired twice more, after the third round I heard a definite hiss coming from the rear tire.
