Mustard on Top

by Wanda Degolier

  “Moe is with my mom. I wonder what he’ll do when he comes back and the house is swarming with pigs.”

  “Who is Moe?” Ben asked.

  “The ringleader.” Jeremy tilted his head to look at Ben.

  “Ringleader?” Helen asked.

  “The leader of the guys who did this to me. He took my mom out, so I’d be alone. Duh.”

  “Ben, Agatha’s in trouble.”

  “She’s not in trouble unless you do something stupid. He’s after me not her.”

  “Moe will leave if the cops are here,” Helen reasoned.

  Jeremy hooted. “Are you kidding? With the kind of coin I owe him? He might leave tonight, but he’ll be back, and he’ll be pissed.”

  “There.” Ben tossed the ropes aside, and Jeremy lifted his newly freed arms.

  “But you can press charges,” Helen argued.

  Jeremy rolled his good eye. “I hate cops! They’re worse than thugs. Go ahead, get them involved, I’ll tell them the two of you did this to me. I can lie with them best of them.”

  Helen pursed her lips and looked at Ben. “What do you think?”

  “Well, if the victim is unwilling to press charges or identify his assailant, there is not much the police can do.”

  “Thank you,” Jeremy said.

  Ben continued, “Even if Agatha is out with the ringleader, neither is committing a crime. Plus, chances are the police will be gone before she gets back.”

  Helen resigned herself. “Fine, but I’m waiting here until Agatha returns, then she and I are having a little talk.”

  “I’m staying with you,” Ben said. “What’s that thing on your foot?” Ben asked Jeremy.

  Helen’s gaze dropped to a large white bucket nearly the size of a beer keg. Jeremy’s foot was immersed inside almost to one knee.

  “An accessory to go with my attire.”

  “Pleasant guy.” Ben glanced at Helen.

  “Seriously, what is it?” Helen stepped closer. The bucket was filled with a light gray substance. Tentatively, she touched it. The surface was cool and hard. “Is that cement?”

  “Three cheers for the genius,” Jeremy said.

  “Your foot is in a bucket of cement. Why?”

  Jeremy rolled his good eye. “Maybe not a genius after all.”

  “Be nice.” Ben handed him a glass of water.

  The glass wobbled in Jeremy’s trembling hands. Blood dripped down one side as he drank. He handed the empty glass back to Ben.

  “Jeremy, you need a doctor,” Helen said.

  “I said no already.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Ben held up three in front of Jeremy’s face.

  “Three.”

  Brandishing seven, Ben asked, “And now?”

  Jeremy squinted. “Seven.”

  “What month is it?”

  “October.”

  “What day?”

  “Friday.”

  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

  “I don’t fucking care.”

  Ben glanced sideways at Helen, and she sensed his question. She shook her head no; they couldn’t force him to accept medical attention.

  “I got to piss.” Jeremy reached toward Ben.

  Ben grasped his hand and pulled Jeremy to a standing position. Skin and bone, he had the birdlike body of a drug addict.

  With his leg protruding from the bucket at an odd angle, Jeremy was forced to contort his body in order to stand upright. As Ben pushed the bucket a few inches toward the bathroom, Jeremy shrieked. “God damn. Fuck. You’re going to break my fucking leg.”

  “Watch your language.” Ben demanded as he stooped over and balanced the bucket on the rim so Jeremy could stand comfortably.

  “Ben, be careful.” Helen worried Jeremy’s spindly leg would snap if the bucket fell.

  “What are you, the sissy brigade?” Jeremy lashed out.

  “Do you need to pee or not?” Ben asked.

  Helen moved to Jeremy’s side. “Put your arm around me.” Jeremy flung his arm over her shoulder. She’d expected him to smell of urine and sweat like her homeless friends, instead he smelled of smoke and vinegar.

  Crouched low to the ground, sweat beaded on Ben’s hairline as he struggled to keep the bucket balanced. Together, the trio inched forward.

  It took several minutes to cross the floor. When they reached the bathroom door, Ben addressed Helen, “We can handle things from here.” Jeremy lifted his arm and grabbed the doorframe. Helen, happy to be relieved of crutch duty, backed away.

  Helen went to the living room. Two chairs had been overturned, and the table’s centerpiece lay on the floor. Helen began tidying up. She was adjusting a crooked photo on the wall when Ben came in the room.

  “Where’s Jeremy?”

  “I left him in the bathroom. Does Agatha own a wheelbarrow?”

  “A wheel… ah, for Jeremy. There’s one in her shed.”

  After much wrangling, the three of them got Jeremy situated in Agatha’s wheelbarrow. They moved him into the living room where they settled in and waited for Agatha to return.

  Chapter 7

  Energy coursed through Agatha as she stepped onto her porch. She turned to Moe. “Thank you for a delightful evening.”

  “My pleasure.” Moe raised her hand and pressed the back to his lips.

  Agatha tilted her head to the side and smiled, but when Moe’s gaze settled on her mouth, her heart skittered. Moe stepped closer. She hadn’t anticipated that Moe would make an advance.

  In her shock, she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that would keep up the mutual charade, she kissed him back. Unfortunately, Moe was a good kisser, and Agatha found herself thinking about things she hadn’t considered for years.

  “Oh, my.” Agatha fanned herself after two more kisses. “I better go in.” She clicked open her clutch and retrieved her keys. She wouldn’t open the door until he left. “Thank you again for a lovely evening.”

  Moe smiled then did an informal military salute with his right hand. “Until we meet again.”

  Giddy at the prospect, Agatha reminded herself their courtship was a ruse. “Goodbye.”

  Moe hummed the Romeo and Juliet Overture as he backed away with his hand over his heart. Agatha tried not to grin, but failed.

  Once he reached the Lincoln, Agatha unlocked the door. She peeked over her shoulder before pushing the door open then, misjudging her step, she tripped and sprawled across the entryway.

  Embarrassed and angry with herself for being distracted, she scrambled upright, hoping Moe hadn’t seen it. Moe was halfway up the walk. “I’m okay!” Agatha held up a hand and waved.

  Moe halted. “You sure?”

  “Fine. Fine.” She’d scraped the skin off her knee and it stung. She backed into her house, closed the door, and threw the lock.

  She was reaching for the light switch when someone said, “Don’t turn on the light until he’s gone.”

  Her adrenaline spiked, sending a jolt of pain through Agatha’s chest. In the dark, she made out two figures on her couch and a blob in the middle of her living room floor.

  Not willing to obey an intruder, she flipped the lights on. Relief flooded her when she recognized Helen and Ben on the couch. The blob was more puzzling. “Jeremy?”

  “Shh.” Ben put a finger to his lips. “Make sure Moe’s gone.”

  “Oh.” Agatha peeked out the front window just as the Lincoln pulled away. “He left.” She faced her guests. “Why is Jeremy in my wheelbarrow?”

  “The lovely Moe had his thugs beat the living shit out of me. ” Ice laced Jeremy’s tone, his swollen eye a taut pillow in his gaunt face. “They left this particularly attractive memento for you.” He pointed to the bucket.

  “You’re always at your most articulate when you’re being sarcastic,” Agatha said.

  Jeremy sat on a pillow in the wheelbarrow. The bucket lay flat in the base, forcing his knee to point to the ceiling. Agatha straig
htened her posture and hoped fear wasn’t showing on her face. “What’s the point of the bucket?”

  Jeremy’s throaty chortle disgusted Agatha.

  “Jeremy, show respect,” Ben said.

  “The point is: when they decide to kill me, the lazy bastards will have an easy time of it. Where am I going to go?”

  “Enough with the language,” Ben intoned.

  Agatha considered. “That’s actually very clever.” Moe kept surprising her. She inclined her head toward Helen and Ben. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Two people come out your back door and we came over to investigate,” Helen said.

  “Am I worth the money, Mother, or are you planning to let those faggots murder me?”

  “Can you curb your insults?” Ben asked.

  Before the drugs, before the gambling, Jeremy had been her brightest child. Agatha had believed they were kindred spirits. “Seems to me you have a misplaced sense of responsibility,” Agatha said to Jeremy. She turned to Ben and Helen. “I’m sorry to have involved you both in this. I think it’s best if you leave and pretend you never saw anything.”

  “What?” Helen stood up. “I am not leaving you to deal with this on your own.”

  “You have your own worries, Helen. I will not involve you in this mess. Now please just go.”

  Something akin to a choking laugh emitted from Helen’s throat. “I am not leaving.”

  “Me either,” Ben put in.

  “Great. Now we’ve got the three musketeers,” Jeremy said.

  “I can’t believe how calm you are.” Helen planted her hands on her hips.

  “She’s like the tin man, she lacks a heart,” Jeremy chimed in.

  There was a thud, and Jeremy groaned. Ben had kicked the wheelbarrow.

  “Whatever is going on, I am NOT letting you deal with this mess alone,” Helen said.

  “Ah, aren’t you sweet,” drawled Jeremy.

  “I think we should call the police and let them handle matters,” Helen said.

  “No police,” Jeremy protested.

  “You’d be better off in prison than dead,” Helen shot back.

  “With his demeanor he wouldn’t last in prison long,” Ben added.

  “Can I speak here?” Agatha asked. She waited for Helen’s and Ben’s full attention. “If I thought calling the police would do any good, I would. But, I’ve been through this before and know from experience, the police can’t do anything without solid evidence. Jeremy’s broken-up body is not enough. Even if it were, the police probably couldn’t Moe and his minions. These guys pride themselves on evading the police.”

  “So what do you plan to do?” Helen demanded.

  “I’ll gather enough evidence to actually catch and prosecute these guys.”

  “A dead body might just clinch the deal,” Jeremy bit out. “You can’t beat them.”

  “Oh no. Nooooo,” Helen drew the word out. “I love and respect you, but that is a horrible idea.”

  Agatha refused to be a doormat that bled money. “I’ve researched the psychology behind con men and loan sharks. I know who Moe is, who his thugs are, and how they’ll act. I can handle them. Trust me, I’ve got this under control.”

  “Under control? So Jeremy’s beating was all part of your plan?”

  Helen’s shrill tone irritated Agatha. “His beating is unfortunate, but I knew they wouldn’t kill him.” Agatha eyed Jeremy. The contempt glaring in his one open eye spoke volumes. His hatred hurt like a stab to her heart. Stupid drugs. At least incapacitated he couldn’t attempt to murder her again, nor could he use, maybe the bucket was a blessing.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking when they broke my nose, unfortunate.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t want either of you involved,” Agatha said.

  “We’re here whether you want us or not,” Ben said.

  “Thank you.” Helen sounded grateful. “Convince her to call the police would you?”

  Ben inhaled. “Agatha’s right. There’s not much the police will be able to do. Moe and his thugs will disappear, only to come back later.”

  “Yes,” Agatha said. “While I stand between them and my money, I’ll be safe. Moe is trying to romance my life savings out of me. I’ll let him think he’s on the right track long enough for me to gather the evidence I need to put him away.”

  “What about him?” Helen jutted her thumb at Jeremy.

  “I’ll leave if you’ll get this god-damned thing off my leg. I’ll go real fast.”

  Agatha frowned. “I’m still sorting that out.”

  *****

  The Romeo and Juliet Overture repeated itself in Moe’s head. He thought love was a smarmy emotion worse than drugs or alcohol for draining a man’s bank account. Moe chuckled to himself. Things had gone well with Agatha.

  As he’d expected, the old lady hadn’t been wooed a long time. She’d batted her eyes like a teenager, and he found her flirtation cute in a strange sort of way. Plus, she had a quick wit and an unexpected intelligence. She didn’t deserve a son like Jeremy.

  Moe had the driver drop him off a block from his hotel, King’s Rest Stop. The sign, a gigantic crown with colored light bulbs for jewels, several were missing, dwarfed the hotel.

  Time for phase two: questioning Jeremy. Moe wanted, no needed, to be Agatha’s dream man. The quicker she fell for him the better, and if Jeremy proved his worth, he just might let him live.

  Moe climbed the stairs that led to Sammy and Rocco’s room. Their raised voices drowned out his humming. Moe wished they were more professional. He yearned for a quiet assassin. Sammy and Rocco’s mindless chatter drove him crazy, that and their messiness and stupidity. Moe knocked.

  Sammy opened the door and stuck his head out. Moe stifled the urge to clock him. Never open your door until you know who is on the other side. Thug 101.

  Sammy straightened his posture and said, “Yo, boss. What can we do for you?”

  Moe pushed past him into the room. Two open pizza boxes sat on the dresser next to the television, which was airing a Love Boat rerun. Rocco sat on one of the double beds. Dirty clothes were scattered across the floor. Moe picked up the remote and turned up the volume. Canned laughter made the lampshades vibrate.

  “How’d it go?” Moe asked.

  “Perfectly executed boss,” Sammy answered.

  Moe had his doubts. “So where’s my boy?”

  Rocco and Sammy exchanged glances.

  “Where you told us to leave him,” Sammy said.

  Moe clenched his jaw. “Where, exactly, do you think I told you to leave him?”

  Sammy crossed his arms over his chest. “In that woman’s house. You said ‘leave him in the old lady’s house.’” Sammy backed up. “He’s tied to a chair in the kitchen.”

  Moe clenched a fist before relaxing his hand. “No. What I said was ‘not to leave him in Agatha’s house.’”

  “I told you so,” Rocco said to Sammy.

  “Shut up moron,” Sammy shot back.

  “Enough.” Moe’s voice sliced through their bickering. He wanted to bash their skulls together, pluck their eyeballs out, and feeding them to the sea gulls. Maybe then he’d get some respect. Unfortunately, he abhorred violence.

  Oh, he appreciated the way a good beating could motivate a person, he simply didn’t enjoy getting the sticky, red goo on himself. The truth weighed on him heavily as he realized, again, his disdain kept him from becoming very rich. He had the brains and the balls for the job, just not the taste.

  Moe hurled the remote at Rocco, hitting straight in him square in the forehead. Rocco yelped, and Sammy lunged for the door, but Moe grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lifted him off the ground. Sammy, gasping, clutched at his throat. Moe tossed him across the room where he landed on the bed then bounced to the floor.

  Disgusted, Moe walked out. Now he had another mess to deal with.

  ****

  Helen abhorred Agatha’s vigilantism, but since she couldn’t dissuad
e her, she decided to do everything possible to keep Agatha safe. First, they’d tried to convince Jeremy to enter rehab. He’d refused, insisting they, “Get the damn thing off my foot.”

  Agatha suggested they leave the bucket on, reasoning, “If they couldn’t get Jeremy to go to rehab, they’d bring rehab to him.” Jeremy’s tantrum put any toddler’s to shame. His antics cemented Helen’s opinion that Agatha was right. Jeremy needed the drugs out of his system before he’d ever make a rational decision.

  While Helen, Agatha, and Ben talked about what to do, Jeremy fell into slumber, pronounced with twitches and scratching. The three brainstormed about how to beat Moe and what to do with Jeremy. After two hours of discussion, they settled on the idea of hiding Jeremy. They concluded that without Jeremy to use as a punching bag, Moe would have no leverage. Plus, if hidden Jeremy would be safe.

  For her part, Agatha would act as if she’d never seen Jeremy in his battered state. The trio hoped the added mystery of Jeremy’s disappearance might startle Moe into making a mistake.

  Helen was relieved to have settled on a plan even if she didn’t like it. They talked about checking Jeremy into a hotel, but short of gagging him, none of them trusted Jeremy not to draw attention to himself. Ben pointed out someone should be nearby when Jeremy went through drug withdrawals.

  “My basement.” Helen cried when she’d puzzled out the perfect space.

  “No.” Agatha and Ben responded simultaneously.

  “Listen, the basement is soundproof and lightproof. The windows are blacked out from when Theo turned it into a darkroom, so no one will see Jeremy. There’s a bathroom, and stairs to keep him from escaping, and I’ll be able to make sure he’s okay. It’s perfect.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Agatha said.

  “Anything we do will be dangerous. The idea is to work as a team, and spread out the risk.”

  “What about Theo? I’d never forgive myself if Moe discovered Jeremy and went through Theo or you to get at him,” Agatha said.

  “Theo and Helen will stay in my hotel room,” Ben said. “ I’ll stay at the house.”

  “What? You can’t do that,” Helen cried.

  “Yes he can,” Agatha put in.