Thoroughly stunned, I turned and walked in a total daze to the door. But as I opened it, I began to wonder: What if that guy tries to snag the basket from me?
Clutching the basket tighter, I quickly stuffed the bills into my pocket and steeled my back, taking confident, measured strides out the bank door to our car.
Jesus or no Jesus—I resolved, clenching my fists—if anyone so much as looks at these muffins, they’re going to eat a basket sandwich today for lunch.
Chapter 3
My mind was still reeling from my first “bank job”—a.k.a. charity case?—and run-in with the hottest guy in the free world as I pulled the Miata onto a road near Bender Lake. Sure, I guess I was lucky he’d been nowhere in sight after I’d bolted from that sweet bingo lady at the bank. But deep inside, I’d hoped to catch just one more glimpse. I mean, guys that dangerously good-looking almost never cross into my world, unless they were stealing plasma TVs or Porsches. Without even trying, he’d suddenly made the boys at Breton look like sissies with their pin-striped uniforms, designer sneakers, and glow-in-the-dark smiles. Oh, how I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through his wild, sun-kissed hair . . .
A pothole shook me from my reverie as the Miata nearly stalled in a stretch of mud. The road we were on was unmarked. Hell, everything around here was unmarked! But that’s what the owner of a nearby filling station had warned me to expect. When I’d asked him about rentals in the area, he took one look at my dad, snoozing in our now hopelessly-dented Miata with leaves and muffin crumbs plastered all over his face, and heaved a sigh. Shaking his head like we were certifiable losers, he muttered under his breath.
“Well, I reckon the last dirt road west of Bender Lake might have something for you. If they let you in.”
Let me in what? I’d wondered later as I cautiously steered the Miata towards a dark stand of woods, scanning the old tires and rusty appliances that littered the overgrown road. I turned to my dad, who’d finally woken up and was devouring the last of the blueberry muffins, and patted his arm.
“So, you sure you’re ready for the high life?”
My dad shrugged, so I proceeded slowly over a rocky patch until I saw a broken, homemade sign on the ground.
Turtle Shores Trailer Park.
A smiling turtle by a lake was painted on one side with an exploding cannon on the other.
Kind of a mixed message, if you asked me. I didn’t think much of it till I saw my dad glance up and shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“B-B-Bunther? Bunther LAYK?”
“Yeah, Dad, we finally made it to Bender Lake. And don’t get all fussy on me. It’s the only place where no one’s gonna pry into our business. See what I mean?”
I pointed to a coffee can in the mud with the words Leave Rent scrawled on it.
“Wow, something tells me you don’t have to fill out an application to live here. Must be a pretty trusting crowd, if that’s where they leave their cash—”
“No!” My dad shook his head. All at once, his eyes looked strangely alarmed. “Ammo, Wobbin. They goth ammo—DUCK!”
Before I could ask questions, a screeching sound soared over our heads, followed by a fiery blast. Screaming, I dove to cover my dad, coughing at billows of smoke.
“JUSTIN! JASPER!” I heard a woman holler. “You knock that off, ya hear?”
Too frightened to budge, I kept my face buried in my dad’s orange polyester blazer, my forehead sweating up a storm.
“Oh my Lord, she’s just a baby!” I heard a woman cry. “And you gone and scared her half to death. Come here, sweetheart.”
A pair of unwelcome arms pulled me upright in the seat and nearly squeezed the stuffing out of me. When I was finally released, I found myself staring at a very large . . . skunk?
Black, bouffant hair with platinum streaks filled my vision, until I leaned back and took in the fluorescent purple eyeshadow and blood-red lips with a strategically-placed beauty mark on one cheek. For a sophomore who wasn’t even allowed to wear makeup at Pinnacle, the effect was downright . . . frightening.
I screamed again.
“Aw, it’s all right, honey,” the woman purred with another bear hug. “How do! I’m Brandi with an I,” she winked, “not a Y. Welcome to Turtle Shores.”
She waved aside a cloud of smoke. I couldn’t help noticing that her frame was squeezed into a skin-tight black velvet jumpsuit with rhinestone swirls in embarrassing places. Like maybe she was a pole dancer channeling Elvis?
“Sorry about the TNT Twins.” Brandi rolled her eyes at the two large boulders that had begun to wiggle. To my surprise, the boulders actually stood up, and a helmeted head and set of limbs poked out of each one. They cautiously inched closer until I could see their get-ups were made of stone-colored paper mâché.
“Those two will blow up anything that don’t have sense enough to run for cover,” Brandi sighed. “And they’re a bit touchy about newcomers.”
“You the law?” One of them growled.
I glanced down at my nerdy uniform and mud-splattered sportscar.
“In a convertible?” I replied. Funny how no one seemed to be bothered by the fact that a nearby bush was on fire.
“Could be undercover. They got all kinds of tricks,” his boulder buddy snarled, holding up a smoking PVC pipe. From the odd, french-fry-crossed-with-gasoline smell, something told me they’d just shot a potato out of it.
“Who you runnin’ from?” His partner persisted.
Everybody! I wanted to say.
“Well, uh we,” I began to explain, “Ouch! Sweet Mother of God—”
Gasping, I grabbed my arm, realizing my dad had actually hit me.
“No innnfo, no naymzzz,” he hissed into my ear, spraying spittle while he was at it.
Gotcha—no info, no names. Nodding, I rubbed dad’s slobber from my ear. Just for kicks, I decided to play this one straight.
“Listen, people. And boulders,” I said boldly, “we’re just looking for a place to stay. You got something or not?”
“Why, you don’t need to say another word, child!” Brandi cut in, giving me yet another hug.
Swear to God, if that woman so much as touched me one more time, I was gonna slap her silly. Luckily, she lifted her chin instead to Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum and set her hands on her hips.
“You boys know the rules,” Brandi chastised with a shake of her finger. “T’ain’t a soul here that’s got to explain nothin’ if they’re willin’ to be neighborly and pay rent.”
“We can pay rent!” I promised excitedly, feeling the bingo lady’s money burn a hole in my pocket. Seeing this as our only chance, I unbuckled my seat belt and popped out of the Miata.
“Here, how much for the first month?” I pulled out some cash and took an enthusiastic step forward. “Do you have a roomy double-wide, or—ahhhhhh!”
Quick as a flash, I found myself in total darkness, like I’d fallen into a hole in the ground. Yet every time I tried to move, my limbs were hindered by something gooey and gelatinous and horribly disgusting, like . . . like . . . jello?
“Ahhh!” I cried again. Struggling to reach up, I pushed over the grassy trap door that had slammed over my head. But my relief at seeing daylight was shattered by the sudden arrival of a dozen orange and honking . . . beaks? All at once, they nipped at my forehead, cheeks and nose until I was practically in tears.
“Ow! Ow, stop it! Get back, you rotten—”
“Attack Geese! Attention!”
A sharp whistle drilled my ears. Instantly, the birds backed off and fell eerily silent.
Petrified, I swallowed gulps of air to try and calm down. Then I dared to peek my nose out of the hole. Before me stood a grizzled, one-armed man with a gray ponytail and an army-green patch over one eye. A line of white geese were parked in front of him like a row of soldiers. With another shrill blow of his whistle, the birds obediently waddled off into the woods in single file.
Laughing, the boulder boys high-fived each oth
er and did an awkward, mid-air tummy bump, landing in the mud. They rolled over and grinned like happy pigs. I glanced over at my dad, who was shaking his head like he’d expected as much.
What?
Why did my dad seem so casual with all of this?
“You can call me Colonel,” the old man announced, interrupting my thoughts. He stepped forward and held out his only hand to give me a lift. “You already met my special forces. Finest avian defense squad within a hundred-mile radius.”
With surprising strength, he jerked me out of the hole and onto my feet in seconds flat. Just as I suspected, I was covered from head to toe with oozing, red gelatin. Curious, I swept a little off my lips with my tongue.
Strawberry-banana. God, if it wasn’t so damn creepy, I’d actually say it tasted good! But what if I attracted ants?
“Figure you’ll be wanting a trailer,” the Colonel stroked the stubble on his chin, “for what we like to call an indefinite period of time?”
Trembling, I nodded, feeling unbearably itchy.
“Well the only one I got left is back there, in them trees.”
He motioned to a shadowy and foreboding stretch of woods, the kind Hansel & Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood definitely should not be wandering into. Squinting, I couldn’t make out anything at all, like the trailers had somehow been . . . camouflaged?
“No guns, no drugs. Period. You got that.”
It wasn’t a question but a command. The Colonel glared at me with his flinty eyes until I agreed.
“We got our own style of protecting each other here, as you can see. Anybody who brings in guns or drugs will be hoisted by the TNT Twins’ trebuchet and sent flying till they drop into the middle of Bender Lake. Rent’s due the first of every month, which happens to be next week. I don’t think I gots to explain what will happen if ya don’t pony up your share.”
I shook my head vigorously.
“Excellent. Now Justin ’n Jasper, you man the tree stands with your spud cannons in case anybody’s on the prowl for this little lady or the fella she’s with. And Brandi will show you your new digs and help you settle in. Oh, and she’ll give you a map so you don’t fall into any more holes.”
I breathed a shallow sigh of relief.
But the old man just glared at me and waited.
Nervous, I shuffled my feet, feeling gelatin squish between my toes. The silence got really awkward, but his stone gaze wouldn’t let up.
Honestly, I didn’t have a clue what this guy wanted, or what the rules were in this nightmare fairy tale from hell. All I knew was that the slimy jello inside my bra was starting to make my skin crawl. Finally, it hit me—
“Oh, th-thank you!” I stuttered, feeling so icky I thought my skin was about to peel off. With a quick downward glance, I was quite certain it was time to kiss my red-stained uniform goodbye.
The Colonel gave me a little wink before he turned to leave. “My pleasure. By the way, darlin’,” he added, “that pretty car o’ yours sure as hell better not have a tracer.”
A what? I fretted as he walked away, wringing my hands. He soon disappeared into the woods without looking back.
Holy cow, was any of this for real?? I stared at my dad, who was leaning his chin on his hand like he’d already resigned himself to our fate. Before I could grill him about his peculiar familiarity with this place, Brandi sidled up to me again. I quickly held out my palm so she wouldn’t even think about giving me another hug.
“Watch your step, honey,” Brandi smiled brightly, plopping herself down on the hood of the Miata for a lift, “and you’ll avoid all the traps. Too bad you didn’t get the one filled with coconut custard. It’s really good!”
“All I can say is,’ I huffed, slipping behind the steering wheel of our car and feeling the jello slosh in my underwear, “our new trailer had better have a hot shower.”
“You know, plumbing can be a little tricky at Turtle Shores,” Brandi confessed, gazing sheepishly at the dirty sink inside our broken-down trailer.
No shit.
Considering the fact that I was now covered in mud that had spewed from the kitchen faucet, I’d say the woman was spot on.
I just wanted to fold into myself and cry.
I wanted to hug Sparkle to my chest and then text half a dozen semi-friends, frenemies or not, and even log onto their idiotic Tumblr accounts—anything to forget that I’d actually planted myself in the Land of the Lost and Incredibly Sticky. It wasn’t enough that they’d already covered me in red goo, now the mud made me smell like the bottom of a swamp! What was I going to do if the plumbing didn’t work?
“Cheer up!” Brandi smiled. “You can always clean yourself up with a few baby wipes and rat your hair, like me. A little hairspray goes a long way, honey. Did you know that I do hairdressing on the side?” Her green eyes got particularly bright. “Along with my late-night shift at the Moo & Brew Drive Thru—we specialize in banana splits and beer. I get really great tips when I wear these rhinestones.” She sashayed her hips happily. “Here, try a hush puppy.”
She handed me a plate that had been sitting on the kitchen table and offered one to my dad on the sofa, too. “Lorraine over by the dogwood trees fried these up for lunch, with real cheese and bacon inside. She don’t leave her trailer much, on account of her eyesight, but she’s a wonder with a fryer. She does most of the cooking for us at Turtle Shores.”
Brandi pulled out a handkerchief with the word Graceland embroidered on it and dotted mud off my lips. I wondered where on earth she expected to wash it.
“You do realize that’s how everything works here, right?” She added. “On the barter system?”
I saw my dad nod while he relished his hush puppy. I took a small bite of one myself and was stunned by the intense rush of flavor. Cheddar cheese, bacon and onion, all rolled together in a soft pillow of corn meal with a crispy crust. It was nothing short of . . . divine.
“See, most of us here are pretty low on cash,” Brandi said quietly, as if that glaring detail was any kind of secret. “And to be honest,” she crunched into a hush puppy and chewed, “we can’t really get into the other trailer parks. Some folks claim we’re too loco, if you know what I mean. But they’ll talk trash about anybody! So we just take care of each other: I do hair, Lorraine cooks, Granny gives the best advice in the whole county, and Bixby repairs leaky roofs and siding—when he’s not huffing paint, that is,” she sighed. “Just be careful not to light any cigarettes near his trailer, okay? Oh, and the Colonel and the TNT Twins keep guard against nosey cops and criminals, and especially the exes. Ain’t no secret ’round here that old boyfriends and girlfriends always cause the most trouble!” She chuckled a little. “Creek provides pretty much everything else you could ever need.”
“Creek?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” she winked. “Chances are, he’s already done more for you than you could repay him for in a lifetime. Here, I think there are some tissues in this drawer.” She opened a bin beside a rusty oven and handed me a packet with Buckeye Motel written on it, like it had been stolen. “A few swipes of these around your face, honey, and you’ll be as good as new. Call me if you need anything!”
“Wait, what’s your cell number? I left mine back at the—”
“T’ain’t no phones, silly!” Brandi roared, rocking back on her kitten heels. “They don’t work here anyhows. You just open up your door and let ’er rip.” She turned the door handle and leaned outside. “Howdy-doodle!”
Her voice echoed through the woods, but I didn’t exactly hear a reply. All I could detect was the sound of the TNT Twins blasting yet another target in the distance. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw a man swing from a rope through the trees.
“Criminy,” Brandi sighed. “Bixby must be huffing paint again. And I wanted him to fix my toilet, too. Take a number, I guess.”
She shrugged and patted me on the back. “Well, if you need any help, sweetie, I’m in the silver Airstream to the ri
ght of the biggest maple tree over there, covered with thatched branches and leaves. Our trailers are all hard to spot, if you get my drift,” she grinned. “But don’t ever think that means we don’t know what’s goin’ on. Toodles!”
Brandi wiggled her fingers in my face before she headed out the door. “I’ll be back in the morning with some of Lorraine’s sausage and cheese grits. You’re gonna think you died and gone to heaven.”
“Right—heaven,” I mumbled uncertainly.
I tried to force a smile as she hopped down into the mud from our trailer that was barely half the size of my old dorm room at Pinnacle. All of a sudden, I craved my dry bed there with its overly starched sheets and aroma of industrial cleansers everywhere. At least it was clean! I gazed around our grubby trailer, which was so small that I could touch the kitchen table, the range, and an overhead bunk bed without moving an inch. Not to mention that it was covered from floor to ceiling in shades of “burnt orange”, “avocado” and “harvest gold” like some sicko shrine to reruns of That ’70s Show. I was afraid that if I squinted, my father in his pimped-out leisure suit might actually disappear into the sofa’s retro, hallucinogenic hues. Shaking my head, I folded my arms and glared at Dad.
“All right, start talking,” I demanded.
He looked at me, confused.
“How is it you’re so familiar with this place? Every time I turn around, you’re practically lip-synching with these people, like you’re totally used to their drill. Do you have relatives here or something? You always said our ancestors were English lords who came over and topped Cincinnati’s social register. Not backwoods bumpkins—”
My dad flinched.
No, more than that. A pained expression came to his face, as if my words had somehow pierced his . . .
His . . .
Soul.
Oh my gosh. Who was this guy, anyway? Just yesterday he was the Royle McArthur—the loudest, baddest, most infamous law-shark of the Tri-State region. He had no soul! And now all of a sudden he seemed like a total stranger?
Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) Page 3
