Mad Mouse js-2

by Chris Grabenstein

I strap on my watch.

  I'm meeting him in an hour. Ceepak can hear it then.

  • • •

  A little before eight, the public parking lot next to Schooner's Landing looks full even though the shops don't open for another hour or two. Since it's a long holiday weekend, most of the rental houses and bay-side condos are crammed with extra guests bunked down on floors, flopped on sofas. Unfortunately, cars can't sleep on couches, so the extra ones come here.

  I see a lot of white minivans in the lot-at least ten. No surprise there. I see one last parking space. It's a good one. Near the sidewalk. You can see the front door of Salt Water Tammy's from that spot. I want that spot.

  So does the woman in the silver Lexus. Her tires screech when she jams on the accelerator to get there a nanosecond before I do.

  She smiles. You know, the “Oh, were you planning on parking here, too?” smile.

  I wave. The old “No, go ahead, pull in-you beat me fair and square” wave.

  I shift into reverse. The great spot was also the last one in the whole lot. Now I'll have to go park around back, near the loading docks, Dumpsters, and service entrances. Maybe I can park behind the candy shop in Salt Water Tammy's spot. After all, Tammy's not coming in to work today. That's why Katie and I are meeting so early in the first place.

  I guess Katie came to the same realization. She's already taken her boss's spot.

  I see her Toyota parked in the space that says “Reserved.” I admit defeat. I go park over at the condo construction site. I find a spot near a bulldozer and start walking the half mile back to where I just was.

  Katie Landry is worth it. Every inch. Some people may wonder what I see in Katie-besides, of course, her flaming red hair and hot bod. Well, for one thing, she's sweeter than fifty packets of raw sugar, which is something I know because I did the sugar bit once when I was a busboy. Another guy and I had a contest. He won but we both bused our tables a whole lot faster that day.

  Katie also has this playful little bounce in her step, like she can't wait to see what's up ahead, what's next. She's someone to ride the Mad Mouse with, that's for sure. I'll bet she'd just giggle every time that car jigged and jagged her around some scary new curve. I'll bet she'd smile and say let's ride it again.

  She's also got that Irish Catholic sense of duty (or guilt) that turns a bunch of us into cops and firemen and teachers and nurses. Katie tells me her best days are when some kindergartner quits crying because she helped him figure out how to stack his blocks so they don't fall down. Her kids call her Miss Katie, and if she ever gets married I'm sure she'll invite her whole class to the wedding. She'll probably serve juice boxes and cookies with the champagne and cake, too.

  I reach the parking lot where I wanted to park in the first place. The early morning breeze is flapping the sails on the schooner that gives the mall its name. Manicured shrubs and flower beds glisten in the sun. It's not dappled dew or anything poetic. It's just what's left after the sprinklers spritz the plants first thing every morning. To keep green things alive in our sandy soil you need to hose them down on a regular basis. That's why most of the homes down here have lawns made out of pebbles and rock chips.

  Through windows, I see a shopkeeper folding T-shirts, another dusting off his wall of sand-dollar clocks. One lady comes out to hang a banner in front of her shop, those flags people in suburbia fly in front of their McMansions. You know, the leprechaun for St. Patrick's Day, the scarecrow for Halloween, the martini glass for any general-purpose party. The lady finishes unfurling a brown bear banner and sips coffee from a cardboard cup with one of those too-hot-to-handle wrapper things around it. The Sun Coast Coffee Company. Upstairs. Top floor. Coffee is my friend. And Sun Coast is obviously open.

  I'll go up there, grab a couple of cups, maybe even a soy latte for Katie, then hustle down to Candyland.

  I have a plan.

  I must be waking up.

  The hike has done me and my foggy brain good.

  Now if I can only pull off telling Katie to get the hell out of town without letting her know why.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Halfway up the first ramp, my cell phone rings. It's Jess.

  “How's Olivia?” I ask.

  “Holding her own. But the bruises won't be going away for a while.”

  “Great.” I have one, too. It changed colors this morning.

  “The doctors say she can go home.”

  “Awesome.”

  “You guys catch him?”

  “The paintballer?”

  “The total jerk who did this.”

  “We're working on it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Our investigation is ongoing.”

  “What?”

  Yeah. I didn't like the way it sounded either. I try again.

  “We're still, you know, following up on some leads and stuff.”

  “So the answer is no?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it just another paintball?”

  “What?”

  “Olivia thought she heard glass shatter. She told me there might have been a bullet or something.”

  “Like I said, our investigation-”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Danny. How long have we known each other?”

  “Long time.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, man.”

  Jess has never talked to me like this before. Then again, one of our friends-the one I think he's falling in love with-was never shot at before either. And, back in the good old days, like last week, I could tell Jess just about anything. Now it's different. The chief says I have to be professional.

  “I'm sorry, Jess.”

  “Tell you what, Danny. If you find whoever did this, call my cell. We're staying on the mainland.”

  Great! I want to scream. Stay there! Stay until it's safe.

  “That might be best.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I'll call you when we catch him, Jess. I promise. As soon as I know anything definite.”

  Jess doesn't say anything. I think he hung up before I even said his name.

  The phone call carried me up to the top deck. I clip my cell back onto my belt and round the corner.

  I freeze.

  Harley Mook is sitting at a table downing a tiny cup of espresso under a green umbrella.

  “Hey, Detective Danny!”

  He's holding his cell phone with one hand and yammering away to someone. With the other hand he's waving like a lunatic to me. Like I won't see him even though he's the only person sitting outside sipping coffee.

  “Love the uniform, dude!” Mook's conversation is over just as I reach his table. I'm wearing my summer cop getup: khaki cargo shorts, blue polo shirt, and baseball cap with POLICE stitched across the crown. “Where's your weapon?”

  “I'm not authorized to carry a sidearm.”

  Mook leans back. Surprised to hear me talk like such a cop. I'm only doing it to help me remember I'm in uniform and, therefore, can't punch him in his big fat face for insinuating he and Katie were ever a hot item.

  I look at his eyes. They're red-rimmed, bloodshot. It's still last night to him, but I think his meth has worn off. He must hope a double espresso can jumpstart his heart.

  “Why aren't you on your way to Atlantic City?” I ask.

  “Where?”

  “You guys said you were going down to A.C. The casinos?”

  “Did we?” He yawns. “Oh, you mean at the diner? Yeah. We thought about it. But, the motel already has my credit card, and they'll charge me for the whole weekend if I check out.”

  Mook. Cheap as always.

  “So, we decided to stick around. Thought I'd hang with some of my old school buds.”

  “I'm busy today.”

  “Not you, pal. Nothing personal, but you're not that much fun anymore. You've been hanging out with Seedpack too much.”

  I know he mispronounced Ceepak's name on purpose. I let him.

  “Enjoy your coffee,” I say
and start for the door into Sun Coast.

  “You here to see Katie?”

  I stop.

  “Maybe.”

  “She works downstairs, right?”

  “So?”

  Man, we even sound like we're fifteen again. At least I don't add a “What's it to ya?”

  Mook smiles. He knows he's annoying me and he's loving every second of it.

  “Say ‘hey’ for me.” He looks at his watch. “I'm meeting up with this guy from back in the day. Tell you the truth, I never really liked him, but hey …”

  Maybe the feeling was mutual.

  “Sort of a doofus, you know? But he called out of the blue yesterday, said he had that weed I was telling you about. Primo ganga. Jamaican. You ever do Jamaican?”

  “Just Red Stripe.”

  “The beer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Beer just gives you a gut,” says Mook. “Weed? Completely non-fattening. Except for the munchies, of course.”

  Marijuana. Like the T-shirt says, it's a special kind of stupid.

  “Never pictured this dude for a dealer,” Mook says. “Wheezer was always more like a loser.”

  “Enjoy.” I head for the door. “See you next summer.”

  I go inside to order some coffee. For sure I'll see Mook sooner than next August. I'll be seeing him when “Seedpack” and I go ask him a few questions about his ARMY buddy's minivan.

  “For me?” Katie unlocks the door and sees the tray with three cups of coffee jammed into the cardboard circles.

  “One for you, two for me.”

  “Great. Let me lock the door.” She leans in to twist the key.

  “Something smells good.” I sniff her hair.

  “That's chocolate, Danny. The store is full of it.”

  “No. Your hair. Smells great.”

  She laughs and her green eyes sparkle. I take another deep whiff of her hair.

  “Rosemary and chamomile organic conditioning,” she says. “Enjoy it while you can. In another hour, it'll reek of candy apples.”

  “Yum.”

  “Help yourself.” She points to a tray where shiny red apples are lined up on a sheet of wax paper. It looks like some kind of Apple Day parade and the flat-bottomed balls are carrying sticks for flags they forgot to sew.

  “Maybe later,” I say.

  “So? How was the big dinner?”

  “Did you talk to Olivia?”

  “Nope. Was she working last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you guys get one of her tables?”

  “No. Katie …”

  “What?”

  I'm not ready. So, I change the subject. “Hey-were you and Mook ever a couple?”

  “Uh, no.” She does this funny little puff of air out one side of her lips that sends her bangs floating up above her face like wisps of cotton candy. “I think we played spin the bottle once. In fifth grade or something. I think I had to kiss him.”

  “You lost, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you two never …”

  “Never what?”

  “You weren't ever a couple?”

  “Me and Mook?”

  “What about that summer we all met?”

  “Nope. I was hanging with Becca and I think she knew Mook. Maybe they were dating. I forget. Becca dated a lot of guys.”

  “Still does.”

  “And then we met Olivia in the dressing room at-”

  “Teeny's Bikinis!” I know this because it's one of my favorite stories-probably because it involves three topless girls giggling at each other when one of them forgot to slip the little hook in the eye on the half door and the three of them ended up sharing a changing booth. I always figured they became friends because they had nothing left to hide from each other.

  “And you knew Jess, who I knew already because he was a lifeguard.” Katie giggles. “Remember how all the girls used to hang out around Jess's chair?”

  “Yep. It's why I hung out there, too.”

  She smiles and goes behind the counter to empty a bag of jelly beans into their Plexiglas bin.

  “You want some help?”

  “Sure. Thanks”

  I move behind the counter and get the gist of it pretty quick. You open a cardboard box, pull out the five-pound plastic bag of whatever, find its bin, pour it in. If the cop thing doesn't work out, here's a possibility.

  “Hey, Katie …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Last night …”

  “It's okay you didn't call.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I figured you'd call and tell me all about your big night. What happened? Did you and Ceepak hang afterwards, celebrate some more? Is that why you need two cups of coffee this morning?”

  “No.” Moment of truth. “The thing is, we were shot at again last night.”

  “WHAT?”

  Remember-keep it simple.

  “Just another … you know … kid with a paintball gun. Maybe the same guy … from the beach.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I'm fine. Just a bruise. Olivia was a little less lucky, though.”

  “What do you mean? Olivia?”

  “She was in the parking lot with me and Ceepak. She took a shot in the ribs.”

  “Ohmigod.”

  “Don't worry. Jess took her to the hospital. Mainland Medical.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Jess says so. Treated and released.”

  “I should call her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you guys know who's doing this stuff?”

  “We're working on it but, you see-I'm not supposed to talk about it too much.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Grab that box there.”

  “The Junior Mints?”

  “Yeah.”

  Before I bend over, Katie frowns.

  “You've got to catch this guy, Danny.”

  “I know.”

  “No matter what. I mean it. It's not funny. People shouldn't get their kicks like that, hurting other people.”

  I try to make her smile.

  “We should all play nice.” I put it in kindergarten terms.

  “Yes. We should.”

  “Don't worry. We'll get him.”

  “Good.” She surprises me with a kiss on the lips. Mook may have kissed her first, back in the fifth grade, but I doubt little Katie Landry lingered on his lips like big Katie's lingering on mine. It's the sweetest kiss of my whole life, in fact, and not because we're in this candy shop and there's chocolate fumes and sugar dust in the air.

  When we're done, Katie looks into my eyes.

  “Do your job, okay, Danny?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “I mean it!”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” She checks her watch. “Eight twenty-five. I better hustle.”

  “Okay. Ceepak's meeting me here in, like, five minutes.”

  She moves some rainbow-colored suckers around on the top of the counter. I rip open another cardboard box.

  “Where do these go?”

  “Second shelf.”

  I bend down, lift out the plastic bag.

  I hear a crack. Cinnamon hearts start to trickle down to the floor behind me. I see their Plexiglas bin has a tiny hole bored in its bottom so it's paying off like a slot machine, raining down a steady stream of red beads.

  I look to my left.

  Katie's on her back on the floor.

  There's a small circle of red seeping through her white blouse like a leaky pocket pen.

  “Katie …”

  I cradle her head.

  “Daaa.” she can only croak out half my name, the gurgling in her chest cuts off the rest. Her eyes go swimming before they roll up white and flutter shut.

  “Hang on, Katie.”

  I can barely say it.

  “Hang on.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ihear kno
cking on the glass door.

  Ceepak. I raise my head above the counter and scream. “Call nine-one-one! Call nine-one-one!”

  Ceepak reads my lips and slams his palm against the lock above the doorknob. When the lock won't pop, he slams the door's steel frame with his shoulder. He bounces back and does it again, putting his bulk behind it. I see him wince at the impact but the door flies open.

  “She's hit!” I call out.

  Ceepak punches the shoulder mic to his walkie-talkie.

  “This is Officer Ceepak. Urgently request Medevac helicopter. Schooner's Landing. Saltwater Tammy's. Gunshot wound.” He peers over the counter and sees Katie sprawled on the floor, her head cradled in my lap. “Severe chest trauma. Send the helicopter now. Over.”

  “Ten-four,” I hear our dispatcher say. “I'll check with the chief and-”

  “Now! Do I make myself clear, over?”

  “Roger. But Medevac is state and-”

  “Do it. On my say-so. Over.”

  “Roger. But-”

  “Send the chopper, Helen. Send it now.”

  “Roger. Wilco.”

  When you ask Ceepak to call 9-1-1, he calls 9-1-1. He crouches behind the counter, looks at Katie's chest.

  “A,B,C,D, Danny,” he says. “Make sure her Airway is open.” He scoops some pinkish foam and chunky vomit out of Katie's mouth. “Second, monitor Breathing.” He bends down to listen to her nose and mouth. “Shallow but steady. Check Circulation.” He grabs her wrist and flicks over his watch so he can monitor her pulse. “Weak. Check for any Disability.”

  “Disability? He fucking shot her!”

  “Danny? Focus.”

  I hear sucking sounds echoing Katie's short, hollow breaths. Every time her chest expands, I hear a gurgling wheeze, like someone's Hoovering the bottom of a milkshake.

  “Is there any Saran Wrap in the shop?” Ceepak asks. “Perhaps a plastic bag?” Ceepak tears open Katie's blouse. I see blood has seeped into and stained the bottom of her left bra cup. The one over her heart. “Danny? We need a sheet of plastic. ASAP.”

  Ceepak pumps Katie's chest.

  “Any plastic will do.”

  I pull the half-empty bag of Junior Mints out of its box, dump the chocolates on the floor, hand Ceepak the plastic bag.

  “That'll work. See if you can secure some tape.”

  “Tape.”

  “Roger that.” He keeps pressing down on Katie's chest at regular, rhythmic intervals. In between pumps, he spreads and smooths the plastic bag over her chest wound.