by Mike Faricy
“Nice to meet you, please call me Merlot,” he said extending his hand.
Karen nodded, dutifully playing her role.
“Merlot? Like the wine?” Cindy asked, taking a half step forward returning Karen to the background.
“Yeah,” he replied, wisely thinking that would not be a good tale to tell right now. Maybe laughing a bit too nervously before turning toward Tommy hoping he might interject some bartender’s etiquette and save his sorry hide.
“Ladies, what’ll it be?” Tommy asked.
“Why, I think I’ll have a glass of merlot, then,” Cindy cooed, all smiles.
“Just a Coke,” Karen said, staying in character.
“So, like what? I mean, do you own a winery or something?” Cindy asked.
“How about you just call me that and I’ll tell you some other time. It’s a long story and, well, you know.”
Actually, the telling of the event itself didn’t take that long. But, climbing naked out a second-story bedroom window after throwing up two bottles of red wine on a married woman while he husband charged up the stairs always led to more questions. It might shed an unfavorable light on the whole first-impression thing.
“Do I call you Anthony or Tony?” she said, picking up her glass of wine and raising it to Merlot.
“Tony would be fine.”
They chatted on and off over the next hour and a half. Karen sipped Cokes and kept a governor on the conversation until finally, after her third coke, she left to use the ladies room. It was another axiom when dealing with women. They always went to the ladies room in multiples, unless there were only two, and one of them was there strictly in the role as the third wheel. In that case, the rule was the third wheel went alone, and the woman you were really interested in got about six minutes of uncensored airtime.
“Gee, Tony, it was really nice of you to invite me tonight. Are you sure, I don’t owe you something for all this?” She asked, rubbing her index finger briefly across the back of his hand.
“No, I wouldn’t think of it. There have to be some perks to working nights and being the owner. Having you stop in is one of them. Really nice of you to drop by,” he said, spotting Karen making her way across the room.
“My pleasure,” she said, starting to slide out of the booth. He was suddenly aware of her breasts taking on a life of their own as they bounced their way across the booth an inch above the tabletop, ultimately swaying to rest just above his forehead.
“Really, really nice to meet you both,” he said.
“Well another zoo day tomorrow at work,” she said, holding out her hand.
He took it, gently pulled her close to him as he did, kissing her cheek.
She turned quickly, gave him a second kiss on the lips, not a lingering, mouth-open kiss, but a good beat or two longer than a peck. Something akin to an electrical charge surged through their bodies.
“Working tomorrow? It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah, special hours because of the fair, you know. Anyway, thanks again Tony, we enjoyed talking to you,” she laughed, throwing her purse over her shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks for the Cokes,” trumpeted Karen, ruining the moment.
“The pleasure was all mine, ladies. Thanks, I still owe you dinner,” he said making a point to specifically address just Cindy.
“We’d enjoy that,” she said smiling.
“We,” he contemplated. Not bad. Then wondered what in the hell he was doing in light of his plan to rob the bank where she worked?
* * *
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Karen asked driving home.
“What do you mean?” Cindy said.
“I mean, this guy, this Merlot character. Cin, not that we want to go into your past, so I won’t, but for starters the guy calls himself Merlot.”
“But I called him Tony.”
“Honey, were you listening? He introduced himself as Merlot, and he doesn’t own a winery, so don’t get on that jag. He’s either a drunk, a goofball, possibly a looser, but more likely all three. I mean, let’s face it, your luck hasn’t been all that great the past couple of years.”
“Oh, I don’t think.”
“Remember your last great love, Sheldon? If I recall correctly, after mooching off you for three months he drained your bank account. Hey, and what’s with the ‘we’d enjoy dinner’ line? What did I miss?”
“I kinda liked him. He bought us drinks,” Cindy said.
“The way you’re dressed, any guy in there would have bought you drinks. Look, I know how it is. Jesus, the last time I can remember being in bed with someone my nieces slept over and got scared in the middle of the night. I’m just suggesting that you go slow, that’s all.”
“Oh, did you see the way he looked at me when we left?”
“Yeah, and I saw the way you gave him that kiss, too. Look, I’m just suggesting you think this through, okay? Just don’t get all wound up, fall in love, and then we pick up the pieces a month down the road because he ends up doing what everyone warned you about. That’s all I’m saying, okay?”
“Well I don’t think he’d ever do that to me, he’s too sweet.”
“That’s three glasses of merlot talking,” Karen said.
* * *
They fled the fairgrounds, reeking of the swine barn, after getting shut down by a mother and daughter in the beer garden.
“Roll past that bank again, Lucerne,” Mendel directed as the three of them crammed into the front seat. He had to slam the door two or three times to get it to stay closed, the window rattled dangerously with each attempt.
By the time they had circled the block for a second pass two more cars had pulled in front and dispatched people to make what looked like a pretty fat night deposit. They also spotted a St Paul police car parked on the opposite corner. Two bored patrolmen in the front seat.
“See, what I tell you, boys? So damn much money the cops got to sit there at midnight and make sure everything’s okay. We make a score like this, we got a real name for ourselves.”
“You fixin’ to kidnap another bank president, Mendel? ‘Cause in case you forgot that last one we grabbed didn’t work too damn well.” Elvis said.
* * *
A few hours later Lucerne and Mendel stretched out on the motel room double bed. Elvis sat on the floor, beneath a closet shelf, not quite passed out.
“No man, I’m telling you, there’s only one way,” Mendel said, sounding more rational after the better part of a case of beer.
“We hit the damn place fast and hard. We plan a getaway route and a backup. In and out in just a few minutes, do it when the traffic’s heavy. Most likely be five maybe ten minutes before the cops ever get there, hell, we’ll be long gone.”
“But how we gonna actually do it? I mean, are we gonna blow it up, knock out a wall? What?” Elvis asked.
“No,” said Mendel, “we don’t need to blow it up. How ‘bout we work on planning, take our time, come into the bank at different times, end up in there together. We don’t need to blow anything up. We’ll just waltz in, scoop up all that money waiting for us, walk back to the car and Lucerne here takes us home. Lucerne?”
Lucerne was stretched out next to Mendel, surrounded by a half dozen empty beer cans, whispering. His breathing was heavy and he played absently with the hair on his chest.
“So, what you wearing then? See through? Right. What ya see?”
“Lucerne,” Mendel shouted, reached over and swatted the phone from his brother’s hand. “Damn it, I told ya before, them gals ain’t worth the time it takes to call. She don’t know your ass from the next stupid bastard. She just talks to fools to take your money, dumb ass!”
“Well, then that’s gonna be pretty hard there, ain’t it, Mendel, ‘cause that phone belongs to that old heart attacked banker back in Henderson, and I ain’t gonna have to pay one red cent. And for your information, I’m getting to know her, building a relationship. I seen Tracey’s picture on TV and she’s shy and d
on’t like going out alone and all, it even said so.”
“That’s just about the stupidest God damn thing you’ve said all day. I was just at the part where you drive our getaway, so pay attention, damn it.” Mendel tossed the phone back onto Lucerne’s chest.
***
It wasn’t the first time Daphne had been disconnected today. That was just an occupational hazard. But she had just finished telling the familiar voice she was wearing a black baby-doll nightie, thinking she’d have him for at least another ten minutes. The timing seemed unusual.
She adjusted her headset, brushed the sugared crumbs off the front of her T-shirt, stuffed the better part of another jelly doughnut into her mouth, and clicked onto the next line.
“Hey there, this is Tracey,” Daphne said, taking a hearty second bite before cooing. “Well, what do you think I’m doing baby? I’ve been waiting for your call, tell me your name again, honey, I love the way you say it.”
* * *
“This is Merlot.”
“Hi, Tony.”
It was Cindy’s voice and he straightened the moment he heard it.
“I just wanted to thank you again for the really nice night. It was fun getting to know you,” she finished with a sipping sound.
“Yeah? I’m really glad you came over, Cindy,” meaning it.
After too long a pause she added,
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say. I had a great time, thanks and be sure to come to my window if you’re ever in the bank again.”
“Yeah I’ll be sure to do that. Appreciate the call. Look, I still owe you dinner. I know you’re working tomorrow, but if you could swing by about 9:00, after our rush here, we could have some time to really talk. Maybe just the two of us,” he added, hoping she’d ditch wet blanket Karen.
“Tomorrow? Umm, I think I’ve got something going, but let me try and cancel it. I’ll see you at, what, 9:00 you said?” she sipped again.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, bye, bye.”
He thought what in the hell did I do that for? Christ, thinking with the wrong head.
Mmm-mmm, Cindy thought. She sat crossways on an over stuffed chair and sipped her glass of wine. It wasn’t a merlot, it was a shiraz, but she closed her eyes and pretended all the same.
* * *
It had been a very, very long day at the fair. Sixteen hours in fact, and Otto O’Malley felt like telling the woman at his stand to drop dead. By the looks of her she was half way there. He kept that thought to himself, attempted to smile, the consummate professional. He took her money in exchange for one of his Deep-Fat-Fried-Bacon-on-a-Stick.
He knew instantly the old bag had never been the adventurous sort. She didn’t go for the hickory, maple, or his new introduction, Cajun Bar-B-Que.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he smiled.
His smile always came across as a sneer, unless the woman happened to be good looking. Then it came across as a half sneer, half leer, with a slight reptilian flick of the tongue across his upper lip. This old bat just got the sneer as his fingers snatched her five-dollar bill.
“Excuse me, but my change?” She stepped back to read Otto’s sign featuring a neon pink pig in a swimsuit roasting in a lounge chair. The swimsuit pulled down to show just a hint of his butt crack, the kids loved that part.
“Oh, change, didn’t I give it to you?” he stalled, a slim outside chance at this point.
“No, you did not.”
“Oh, sorry about that, it’s been a long day,” he added, not the least bit sorry.
He had five Deep-Fat-Fried-Bacon-on-a-Stick stands scattered across the fairgrounds. Each one situated beneath the neon pink pig in the swimsuit.
He had schemed, scammed, and labored for over thirty-five years to get a stand at the fair, surviving some colossal failures along the way. There was the BBQ Cauliflower on a stick, the Turtle on a Stick, and who would ever forget his poorly received Cone of Sauerkraut, just to name three. None of them met with the sort of success he was looking for, but he’d learned from his mistakes.
All that occurred before he read a book on simplicity. That got him thinking why the hell not? So he divorced his wife and came up with Deep-Fat-Fried-Bacon-on-a-Stick The rest was simple, high calorie, artery-clogging history.
Along with keeping each of his stands supplied throughout the sixteen-hour day, he made all the bank runs, carrying a leather briefcase, dressing like any other fool at the fair, trying desperately to blend into the crowd. Which was hard to do when you were a fifty-eight-year-old, five foot seven, fat, red-headed guy with a crew cut carrying a loaded forty-five.
Making the bank runs for five stands had him covering about twenty miles a day on foot. He stuffed the cash into his briefcase and brushed his fingertips across the forty-five jammed in his belt. Then made his way to the handicap parking area where he climbed into his pickup and drove three minutes to the bank.
He wasn’t a fool. Walking twenty plus miles over the course of any day it made sense to just print up a fake handicap tag and hang it from his rearview mirror. He bribed the guard at the handicap lot as a backup plan.
Saturday
Merlot poured his second cup of coffee as he looked at used car ads waiting for the meat delivery.
The two delivery guys soon joined him. They were red faced, dressed in white, juice-stained coats embroidered with their names on the front. Kevin and Larry. They had just hauled the meat order into the walk in coolers.
“You guys done?”
“Yeah, double check us,” Larry said and handed Merlot the delivery slip.
“Looking good as always,” Merlot said a few minutes later, then signed the packing slip, tore off the top copy, handed the rest back to Larry.
“Thinking of buying a used car?” Larry asked looking at the circled ads.
“What? Oh, no, not really.” The term ‘corroborating evidence’ exploded in his head.
“Well then, why’d you circle all the car ads? You want a used car? Kevin’s got a van for sale. Don’t you Kevin? What do you want for that thing? Real good runner,” Larry said, not giving Kevin a chance to answer.
Merlot didn’t care about Kevin’s price. He just wanted the conversation to end.
“No, one of the waitresses was looking for a car. I told her I’d check the paper, that’s all,” attempting to move on.
“You guys catch the Twins last night?”
“God damned Twins. I can’t figure out what they need more, fielding, hitting or base running,” scoffed Kevin.
“Tell him about the wife’s van, Kevin. Thing runs like a top. And the wife’s taken good care of the thing. Hasn’t she Kevin? Changed the oil regularly, no maintenance beyond the normal, no accidents, just picking up kids. About sixty thousand miles, got it in 2004 although it’s a 2005 model.”
“She’s thinking about something a little more sporty,” Merlot said.
“Well, you had a van circled here, and this one’s a van. She got kids, this waitress?”
“I don’t really know, but you’re right about those Twins, they need help in all departments.”
“Know what you should do Kevin? Drive the wife up here for a steak tonight, show Merlot and that waitress the van. She’ll buy it soon as she sees the damn thing. What price you got on it, Kevin, that van?”
“Sold last night,” Kevin said, finally able to get a word in.
“Sold? What? Jeez, Merlot, it would have been perfect. She just drove it with the kids. You know picking them up, dropping them off, just family stuff.”
“Look guys, thanks, I’ll see you Monday morning, have a great weekend but I got a busy night and I had better start getting ready for it, gotta fly,” he said, backing toward the swinging kitchen door, making an exit before he had to hear about Kevin’s van again.
“Hey, Merlot, you forgot your want ads. Jeez, you sold it, hunh? Why didn’t you tell me?”
* * *
Cindy hit her snooze alarm at least three times before she bolted up
right in bed. She ran to the kitchen and gobbled three aspirins. The sight of the wine bottle made her head throb, and the need to be at work by 7:00 did absolutely nothing to help.
On any given Saturday morning there might be two or three nigh deposits, but during fair week there were upwards of thirty, totaling anywhere from fifty to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. They had to be counted, recorded, bound and ready for the first courier run at 9:40. She was half toying with the idea of phoning in sick as she stepped in the shower, but knew she wouldn’t make the call. She’d never taken a sick day in four years.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, letting the water run down her shoulders. Had she set a dinner date for tonight?
Great first impression, she thought, and scrubbed furiously. She toweled dry as she half ran to her bedroom to get dressed. Let’s see, the guy invites me to his restaurant for a glass of wine. I repay him by calling back drunk, unable to remember if we set a dinner date.
***
Great! Merlot thought returning to the kitchen once he watched the meat truck drive away. Why not just ask the guy to come along when I buy the damn car? So much for keeping everything below the radar. At least at this hour he could swing past the bank, get another look and feel for the place, drive down a few side streets and maybe begin a plan.
There was a little more traffic on the streets than he expected, but nothing like the day before, and he had plenty of time to leisurely cruise the side streets. He was making his second run past the bank when he caught sight of Cindy dashing across the sidewalk and slipping into the bank.
Damn it, he thought, reminding himself of their dinner date. What in the hell was he thinking?
It had been his experience that when things started to get shitty he usually did one of two things; either he found a way to step in it or he just plain fell down and rolled in it. This seemed to be no exception. He had arranged a dinner date with a teller from the bank he planned to rob.
But what better way, he reasoned, to garner inside information. He could loosen up pretty bank teller Cindy with an evening of drinks and dinner.
