by Nic Saint
And now Strel was pursuing her dream to become a singer and Stien of becoming a lawyer. Maybe I should revisit my dream of opening a bakery?
And I’d just arrived in the kitchen again when Sheikh Ahmad Al-Ahmad El-Ahmed of the kingdom of Khameit waltzed in, a wide smile on his pink round face, his large amber eyes gleaming with eager anticipation.
As usual, he was dressed in designer jeans and a crisp white polo shirt.
The moment he caught sight of me, he said, “So how about that tour, Edie? When are you taking me on that tour? Cassie said I should ask you so now I’m asking you. What about today? Today seems like a fine day for a nice tour.”
I held up my hands in supplication and did my best to plaster an equally engaging smile on my own face—which was a little hard to accomplish as my face isn’t readily made for smiling. “Sure. Why don’t we do a tour after breakfast?”
“Yippie!” he cried, pumping his fist like a baller scoring a touchdown. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life! Brooklyn here we come!”
“But let’s make it quick,” I added before his enthusiasm got the better of him. “I need to be back at the store before my customers miss me.” Actually, I didn’t. My sisters could handle the store. But I didn’t want to spend the day trudging around Brooklyn with this guy in tow.
He displayed a happy grin. “A whirlwind tour of Brooklyn with the loveliest American hostess I could ever have imagined. Exactly what I wanted!”
Chapter 6
“So, Edie,” said the prince, licking his lips eagerly as he took a seat on one of the high stools and settled in for the duration. “Tell me all about the house.”
Um… “What do you want to know?”
“Has it always been in your family? Why is it called Safflower House? Who was Safflower? Was he a real person or is there some other reason for the name? Are you rich? Why do you still live at home with your grandmother?”
I held up my hands to stem the flow of questions and laughed. “Hold the phone, Prince. One question at a time, please!”
“Just call me Fonzie,” he said. “That’s what my friends call me. And I consider you a friend, Edie. I consider you my wonderful American friend.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Fonzie? Like… Happy Days Fonzie?”
“That’s the one! I love Happy Days. I watch it all the time back home. Just to get a good idea of what America is all about and prepare for my super trip.”
“I don’t know if Happy Days paints an accurate picture of our country, Fonzie,” I said dubiously. “It’s just a TV show.” And a pretty old TV show.
But he wasn’t having any of my skepticism. “Can you show me everything, Edie? I want to see where Potsie and Fonzie and Richie and Ralph Malph hang out—at Arnold’s of course! Can you take me to see that famous funny diner?”
“Well, I don’t know if they still have diners like that,” I said. When his face fell, I quickly added, “I can take you to something a lot better, though. Ray’s Pizza. Or Not Ray’s Pizza. Or one of the other ones.”
“Oh, I love pizza,” he said, his smile returning. “So tell me about the house, and about your grandmother, and about life in America. You must be thrilled to be an American. To be able to live in this great and wonderful country?”
“Well, yes, I suppose I am,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “Though I’m sure your country is just as great, right? At least you have amazing weather.”
“Hot,” he said curtly. “Khameit is extremely hot. Which is nice, I guess, but I think your climate agrees with me more. I like that you have so much green. Like this wonderful, amazing garden. It’s so fresh and so delightful, Edie.”
“You don’t have gardens like ours in your country?”
“Well, we do, but only indoors, where there’s climate control. It’s hard to get anything to grow in the desert. Which is why I’m over here now,” he said proudly. “Learning as much as I can about this great and wonderful USA.”
His eyes were shining, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that perhaps things weren’t exactly like in Happy Days anymore—if they ever were.
“So do you drive a genuine American car?” he asked now. “A Cadillac? Or a Chrysler or a Buick or a Chevrolet? Or do you drive a very large GMC car?”
“We don’t drive a car, actually,” I said truthfully.
“But then how do you get where you have to be?” he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
“We’re New Yorkers. Either we walk or we take the subway and hope it doesn’t break down and gets us where we need to be. Or sometimes, when we’re in a hurry and have money to burn, we take a taxi, or an Uber.”
“Oh, we have Uber! The drone taxis. The helicopters. The yachts. Though I use my family’s fleet, of course. And one of my father’s many, many yachts.”
“Of course you do,” I muttered. An Uber chopper? Now that was a first.
“Do you have the driverless cars here, too? I like the driverless cars.”
“Nope. I don’t think driverless cars and New York traffic are such a great match. They would take out large swaths of bike messengers and jaywalking pedestrians in no time.”
“Oh, I’m so happy I’m here!” he cried, clapping his hands with glee. “And I’m so lucky to be a guest at Casa Cassie—a regular all-American home with a regular all-American family!”
“We’re the lucky ones,” I assured him, though I wasn’t entirely truthful. He was a great guy, and very enthusiastic and all, but he was a little exhausting, and I wondered if he was going to keep this up the entire time he was here.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Edie? Is there a man in your life? Or…” He held up his hand. “A woman? I know Americans love the homosexual lifestyle.”
I decided to ignore that last remark. Political correctness probably hadn’t penetrated the kingdom of Khameit yet. “I do have a boyfriend. He’s a cop.”
His eyes went wide. “A cop! A real NYPD cop!”
“Yeah. He’s a homicide detective.”
He was actually clapping his hands now in glee. “Can I ride in his cop car? Can I watch him arrest the bad guys? Can I touch his gun? Please tell me yes!”
“I don’t know about that, Fonzie. Sam is not exactly in the habit of allowing tourists to tag along on the job.”
“But I’ll pay him!” he cried, taking out a thick wallet and displaying an outrageously substantial amount of greenbacks. “I’ll pay him with dollars. I have a lot of dollars. NYPD cops must love dollars, too, do they not?”
I placed a hand on the cash and urged him to return it to his wallet. “It doesn’t work like that, Fonzie. You can’t pay a police officer as if he’s a tour guide. Besides, the kind of work Sam does can be very dangerous. And we don’t want anything bad to happen to you, do we?” When he gave me a sad look, I added, “You know what? I’ll ask him. No harm no foul, right? And yes, I’m sure NYPD cops love dollars. I’m pretty sure all Americans love dollars.”
“I love dollars, too,” he confessed. “They’re so nice and crisp. I love to touch them—don’t you love to touch them? I could touch them all day long.”
“Yes, I love to touch dollars,” I said, deciding to humor him. I was a hundred percent sure Sam would refuse Fonzie’s ridiculous request, and the offer of a substantial bribe, but at least I wouldn’t be the bad guy in the story.
Fonzie’s smile had made a sudden comeback. “I want to take lots of Instagram pictures to show my friends back home. They’ll never believe I joined the NYPD! Maybe I can even arrest someone!” He extended his index finger, narrowed his eyes, and adopted a strange throaty voice. “Being that this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well do ya, punk?” He then convulsed into laughter, clearly enjoying himself.
“Um, yeah, I don’t think Sam is into the whole Dirty Harry thing, though.”
“I love Dirty Harry! Don’t you love Dirty Har
ry? He’s so wild!”
Just at that moment, my phone chirped, and when I picked it out I saw that it was Sam. Speak of the devil… “Sam? We were just talking about you.”
“Hey Edie. Just wanted to let you know that there’s been an incident.”
“An incident?”
“Yeah. You better get over here and see for yourself. Your buddy Skip Brown is involved and… Well, there’s something else you need to see.”
“I’ll be right over,” I said, then glanced at Fonzie, who was looking at me with wide-eyed anticipation. “Um, can I bring a friend?”
“Sure. Just get over here now. Oh, and Edie? Brace yourself. It’s pretty bad.”
Chapter 7
I would have set out on foot, since the place Sam had mentioned was only a couple of blocks from the house, but Fonzie insisted we take an Uber. If he was expecting an Uber helicopter or drone or whatever, though, he was about to be disappointed. Then again, since he obviously wanted to experience life as a regular American, he was going to get exactly what he asked for.
While we were waiting on the doorstep, he told me that usually his family traveled with an entire entourage. A private chef, housekeepers, chauffeurs, security detail, the works. And when he told his dad, who runs the kingdom of Khameit, he wanted to travel all by himself and forgo the usual perks, the king was shocked. “He told me at least to stay at one of his apartments, the 432 Park Avenue penthouse, or his pad at the One57, or rent the Mandarin Oriental for a fortnight, but I told him no. No way. Absolutely not. I want to stay with an ordinary American family and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well, I don’t know how ordinary we are,” I began, but then our Uber arrived and we both got in.
I could have told him that we were witches, and that Safflower House had once been the home of the most powerful witch of all. Then again, maybe he didn’t need to know those pesky little details. Better let him think we were ordinary.
The Uber driver was a young Asian man who was all smiles when he caught sight of Fonzie. “You Taiwanese, sir?”
“No, I’m not Taiwanese,” said the prince. “Are you… American?” he asked tentatively.
“I’m genuine New Yorker,” said the man.
Fonzie nodded appreciatively. “You like hot dogs and American football?”
“I’m Giants fan,” said the driver, his smile still firmly in place. “I go every game, with my daughters. They love Giants, too.”
The prince turned to me with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Oh, all right,” I told him. “We’ll catch a game while you’re in town.”
“I love American football!” he cried. “I want to catch the ball when Mickey Mantle swings his bat.”
“Um, that’s baseball,” I said. “And you won’t be able to see Mickey Mantle in action, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, Mickey play ball in heaven now,” said the driver.
“This is Fonzie, by the way,” I told the guy. “He’s an actual prince from the kingdom of Khameit and he loves America. Don’t you, Fonzie?”
Fonzie’s eyes practically popped from their sockets. “I love—love—love America! Oh, I love America so much you can’t believe! I love everything about it!”
“Me too,” said the driver enthusiastically, violently changing lanes before leaning on the horn when he almost collided with a yellow cab. “Though I like New York more.”
Fonzie frowned. “Is New York a country, sir?”
“Sure it is,” said the driver. “New York is nation in its own right.”
This seemed to puzzle Fonzie, and for the next few minutes he peppered the driver with questions about this quirky interpretation of geography.
I had to smile at their enthusiasm. I’d never met anyone who was as crazy about the US as these guys—and they weren’t even from around here!
We quickly arrived at the corner of Jackson and Glenwood, and I saw from the substantial number of cop cars that we’d come to the right place.
Prince Fonzie and I both got out and when Fonzie tried to pay the driver, the latter waved his hand. “You don’t pay. It’s Uber!” he said, and drove off.
The prince stared after the disappearing car. “Free taxi? Amazing!”
“Not free,” I told him. “You pay through the app.”
“Pay through the app,” he repeated reverently. “How very American!”
I trudged up to Sam who was talking to one of his female colleagues, and when he caught sight of me, he gave me a warm smile. “Hey, honey.”
“Sam,” I said, my cheeks starting to burn at the sight of him. He looked as healthy and wholesome as usual, his sturdy frame setting him apart from his more scrawny colleagues. He was casually dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a navy blue shirt stretched taut over an impressive chest. I had the powerful urge to jump his bones the moment I laid eyes on him. I restrained myself with some effort, and asked, “So what was it you wanted me to see?”
He glanced over at Fonzie, who stood taking in the scene with visible relish. “Is that your friend?”
“Yep. That’s Sheikh Ahmad Al-Ahmad El-Ahmed, Crown Prince of Khameit, but you can call him Fonzie. He’s one of our guests and he’s crazy about the US.”
Sam gave me a worried look. “Are you sure it was such a good idea to bring him here? This might not be the kind of thing he wants to see.”
“He insisted. Oh, and he would like to go on a ride-along with you. He’ll pay handsomely. He has a lot of very nice, very crisp dollars and he would like nothing more than to shower you with them.” Sam gave me a skeptical look and I patted his shoulder. “Don’t decide now.”
“Yeah, right,” he said with a snort.
Just then, Sam’s partner walked up. “Pierre!” I cried. “You look great!”
Pierre flashed me a quick smile. “Thanks, Edie. I do feel great.”
Judging from his sober expression he didn’t feel all that great at all. I was glad to see him, though. Ever since his accident he’d been absent from the force and it was good to see him back in the saddle. He and Sam couldn’t be more different, but exactly because of that they formed an amazing team.
And that’s when I caught sight of Skip, seated in the back of an ambulance, one of those funky thermal blankets draped across his thin shoulders.
I joined him. “Hey, Skip. So this is why we didn’t get our delivery this morning, huh?”
He gave me a sheepish look. “Sorry about that, Edie.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. What happened?”
He gestured to the alley behind us, and that’s when I saw a small group of cops standing around what appeared to be a dead person.
“You better take a look,” Skip said. “Some maniac murdered my uncle.”
Chapter 8
I walked over to where the body of Skip’s uncle was lying, and took a quick peek. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and I quickly turned away again. I might be part of the neighborhood watch, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed witnessing the kind of death and destruction that seemed to be part of everyday life in the big city.
When I turned away, I bumped into Fonzie, who stood gazing down at the body of the slain man with visible excitement.
“Is that man dead?” he asked fervently. “Is that a dead man? Is he dead?”
“Yes, he is. It’s Skip’s—my friend’s uncle. He was murdered this morning.”
“Is this how Americans handle conflict? You kill each other? Skip had a fight with his uncle so he decided to kill him? Is that the American way?”
“No! Of course not. And Skip didn’t kill his uncle, someone else did.”
“I like it. You have a problem with a person—you kill them dead. Problem solved.”
“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea, Fonzie,” I intimated.
“But it’s the American way!”
I grimaced, and saw how Sam was eyeing the prince curiously.
“Can you please explain to him that this is not the way we
handle conflict in our country?” I asked Sam.
Sam arched a humorous eyebrow. “But it is, Edie. This is exactly how we handle conflict in this country. You of all people should know that.”
“Oh, please,” I muttered.
Skip, who’d left his perch on the ambulance, joined us. “I want in, Edie,” he said now.
“In on what?” I asked.
“I want to become a full-fledged member of the neighborhood watch.”
“Oh. Um. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, and judging from the resolute expression on his face I wasn’t going to be able to keep him out even if I wanted to.
“I saw the killer, you know. He said something about me being either part of the solution or part of the problem. And then he left my uncle to die in this horrible alley.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m going to be part of the solution, Edie. I’m going to help you guys catch my uncle’s killer if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Okay,” I said. “Though I’ll have to discuss it with Strel and Stien first.”
“Me too!” said the prince enthusiastically. “I want to be part of your vigilante force, too, Edie. I want to kill the bad guys. Shoot them with guns or stab them with knives or blow them up with bombs until they’re all dead.”
“Um, that’s not exactly what the watch is about, Fonzie,” I said. “All we do is go around and make sure people lock their doors at night, be neighborly, put their garbage in the trash and clean up after their dogs. Things like that. We don’t actually hunt and kill killers.”
“Oh,” said Fonzie, looking confused. “But you are a vigilante force. You’re like Charles Bronson. Death Wish one and two and three and four and five and the exciting remake with Bruce Willis? I’ve seen them all. Very American way.”
“No, we are not a vigilante force,” I said emphatically. “We’re simply a neighborhood watch. We watch out for each other. And we leave the rest to the police department. We most certainly do not go around killing people.”