Eggs Benedict Arnold

by Laura Childs

  Gripping the window ledge, Toni put her face flat against the house, and tried to peer in.

  “Anything?” Suzanne whispered.

  Toni put a hand up to silence her, twisted her body slightly, moved her feet to get a slightly better angle, and ... creak!

  The offending board underfoot sounded like a rifle shot in the still of the night.

  One of Toni’s hands flew to her mouth, then she gazed at Suzanne with wild eyes. “Oh shiznit!” she cried. ‘They heard us!”

  Chapter eighteen

  “Run!” Suzanne cried hoarsely, as she grabbed Toni’s arm and gave a rough jerk.

  They pounded down the three steps onto a brown lawn that was more hardpan than grass.

  But they weren’t fast enough.

  One man came thundering out the front door, another man barreled out a side door they hadn’t noticed before. Not only were they trapped like rats, but front-door guy carried a gun!

  “Who are you?” demanded the guy with the gun. He was in his late twenties, wearing jeans and a dirty Pantera T-shirt.

  Suzanne slid to a stop. Toni bumped hard against her. “Uh ... is this where the party is?” asked Suzanne. She tried to still her wildly beating heart and sound upbeat and a little coy, too. Slightly flirtatious.

  That stopped the two guys dead. “Party?” said the one in the dirty T-shirt. He lowered his gun slightly. “You know anything about that, Eel?”

  Eel, who wasn’t much of a prize in his rumpled blue shirt and grey sweatpants, leered at Toni. “Can’t say’s I do, Lenny.”

  “Sure,” said Toni, grinning like a maniac, picking up on Suzanne’s ruse immediately. “We were just tipping back a few beers at Hoobly’s and heard a rumor about a party out here.” “No party,” said Eel. He sounded a little wistful.

  “Okay then,” said Suzanne, backing away. “Wrong house. Sorry about this, guys. We sure didn’t mean to barge in on you, uninvited.”

  “Maybe some other time,” added Toni.

  “Not so fast, snoopy lady,” said Lenny. He waggled his gun, a gray, snub-nosed revolver, directly in Suzanne’s face.

  “Hey,” said Suzanne, “do you guys know a fellow named Bo, by any chance?” She sounded far bolder than she felt. If she could put together a connection here ...

  Eel gaped at her. “Who?” There wasn’t the slightest bit of recognition in his voice. “Don’t know who you’re talking about, lady.”

  “Man,” said Toni, giving a goofy smile and smacking her palm against her forehead, “we really got our signals crossed. Crazy us, huh?” Again she and Suzanne tried to pull away.

  Lenny moved to block them again. “No,” he said, and this time he sounded decidedly thoughtful, “something’s going on here.”

  Eel frowned. “You think they’re ... like ... DEA?”

  DEA, thought Suzanne, that’s Drug Enforcement Administration. These guys do have something to do with drugs.

  “Nothin’ like that,” Lenny said slowly, “but we gotta think this through. We can’t just let ‘em waltz out of here scot-free.”

  “What do you wanna do with ‘em?” asked Eel, as Toni threw him a hopeful smile.

  “Lock ‘em in the barn for now,” said Lenny. ‘Till I make a couple of phone calls and figure this out.”

  * * *

  “I’m gonna kill Junior when I get my hands on him,” snarled Suzanne. She was perched on a hay bale in the dusty, dimly lit barn. “I don’t know what Junior’s up to with those two assholes, but something illegal’s going on!”

  “Stand in line,” said Toni, pacing back and forth. “Because I guarantee there won’t be anything left of Junior except scraps when I get through with him!”

  “Gonna run him through the meat grinder,” growled Suzanne. “Then fry his skinny butt.”

  Toni let loose a deep sigh. “Look,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this. Since I was the birdbrain who got us into this.”

  “Why did we leave our cell phones in the car?” seethed Suzanne.

  “Cause we didn’t count on getting caught,” said Toni. “That stupid Junior!” She scuffed at the dirt with the toe of her boot.

  “If it wasn’t for his crappy, shady dealings, we wouldn’t have followed him out here,” grumped Suzanne. “Wouldn’t be locked inside this stupid barn!” She stood up, walked a few paces, then kicked the barn door for good measure. “Ouch!”

  “The thing is,” said Toni, as Suzanne hopped around on one foot, “what are we gonna do now?”

  Suzanne limped back to her hay bale, plopped herself down, and studied their surroundings. “Well,” she said finally, “it’s a frigging barn, not a cement block prison with razor wire strung around it. There’s a hayloft upstairs, so maybe we can climb that stupid ladder over there and jump out a window or something.”

  “And break a hip?” said Toni. “We’re not getting any younger.

  Bone loss starts as early as your forties, you know.”

  “Please,” said Suzanne. “Don’t remind me.”

  Toni plunked her bottom down on a hay bale as well, put her chin in her hand, thinking. Minutes passed. Then Toni said, “Was that guy’s name really Eel? Did I hear that correctly?”

  “Eel and Lenny,” said Suzanne. “Some tag team, huh?”

  “Yeah,” muttered Toni. She turned up the collar on her jacket. “Cold in here.”

  “Gonna get colder,” said Suzanne. “And more dangerous once those guys come back for us.”

  “Then we gotta figure a way out,” said Toni. She stretched her legs out, staring morosely at her cowboy boots.

  “You hear something?” Suzanne asked. She cocked her head, frowned.

  “No.”

  “Because I’d swear there was a distinct rustling coming from that far corner.”

  “Maybe ... mice?” proposed Toni.

  “Pretty big mice,” said Suzanne. She got to her feet, brushed off her bottom, then crept over to the corner of the barn. “Oh man!” she said.

  Toni came over, curious now. “What?”

  “Animals,” said Suzanne, pointing at two stalls. “Two goats and a mule.”

  “Say now,” said Toni, “we could always get some goat’s milk if we’re thirsty. That could help with our bone loss, too.”

  “As long as one of them is female,” said Suzanne.

  “Oh,” said Toni, peering speculatively at the underside of one of the goats. “Good point.”

  “So how can we put these critters to good use?” wondered Suzanne.

  “What if we got the goats to head butt the door?” asked Toni.

  “It’s a pretty big door,” mused Suzanne. “And awfully small goats.”

  “Okay then,” said Toni, determinedly, “what if we used the mule to kick down the door?”

  “Interesting idea,” said Suzanne. She didn’t know much about mules except that they were half horse and half donkey. And even though she wasn’t familiar with donkeys, she knew how hard a horse could kick. Had experienced it firsthand a few times.

  But getting a mule to kick down a barn door turned out to be a lot harder than it sounded.

  “Backing up this mule is like trying to back up a dump truck,” complained Toni. She was hanging on for dear life from the big mule’s halter. “This guy is ginormous and I can’t seem to find reverse.”

  “Just keep backing him up,” urged Suzanne, patting the mule on the flanks, trying to urge him backward with gentle pats and kind words.

  “What am I, the mule whisperer?” asked Toni. “Hey, this ain’t working.”

  “If we get him close enough,” Suzanne reasoned, “maybe he’ll just do what comes naturally.” She paused, then took a quick step backward. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” asked Toni, peering around the mule.

  “He just did what comes naturally.”

  “Huh?” asked Toni. Then she caught a whiff. “Oh man, did he just do what I think he did?”

  “Afraid so,” said Suzanne.

  Which set t
hem to giggling.

  “If I had a plastic bag,” said Toni, still trying to wrangle the mule, “I’d stuff some of his equine output inside and set it on fire.” “For what purpose?” asked Suzanne. “And, may I add, you are completely off the hook.”

  “Throw it at that farmhouse,” said Toni. “Get back at em.”

  “A twisted idea,” said Suzanne, “but appealing, nonetheless, for what they’re putting us through.” She joined Toni at the front of the mule. “This isn’t working.”

  “No kidding,” muttered Toni.

  “What we need is . . .” Suzanne glanced around the barn.

  “A whip?” asked Toni.

  Suzanne’s eyes searched the pegs on the walls, skittering over curry combs, leather leads, and more halters. Finally, she found something that might work. “How about a harness?” she asked.

  Once it was settled over the mule’s shoulders and flanks, controlling the mule was a little easier. In fact, the mule seemed to pick right up on the notion of pulling and backing up. And it wasn’t long before they had his backside rubbing directly up against the barn door.

  “Now kick!” Toni implored the mule. “C’mon, gonzo guy, give it a real whack!”

  “We gotta back him up even more,” said Suzanne.

  “His tail’s already flat against the door,” sputtered Toni. “But he’s not doing anything.”

  “Then we have to frustrate him,” said Suzanne. “Goad him into kicking.”

  “Gotcha,” said Toni. She tugged at one side of the mule’s harness. “Give it a try, boy, you can do it. Give that door a good, swift kick and there’s a carrot in it for you.”

  The mule stared stolidly at Toni without blinking.

  “Apple?” asked Toni.

  Suzanne stepped in front of the mule and threw up both arms. “Hyah!” she yelled loudly. She made a loud, clicking sound. “Move it! Move it!”

  The mule tossed his head back, the whites of his eyes suddenly showing, as if to say, Say what? And, wonder of wonders, let loose a thunderous kick against the barn door.

  “Awright!” cried Toni. “Progress! You’ve developed an excellent rapport with this animal, Suzanne. Now do whatever you did again.”

  Suzanne waved her arms crazily and clicked and clucked until her tongue ached.

  Bam! Blam! The barn door shuddered on its antique hinges.

  “He’s doing it!” yelled Toni. “All we need is one more good...”

  Crash! The barn door suddenly split up the middle!

  “. . . kick!” finished Toni. “Atta boy!” She reached up and patted the mule’s broad forehead.

  Suzanne grabbed the mule’s halter and eased him forward, out of their way. Then they both put shoulders to the door and shoved ... hard!

  “It’s giving way!” yelled Toni. “I can feel it!”

  But it wasn’t the door that gave way. Instead, the old latch simply capitulated.

  “All that kicking must have loosened it!” Suzanne cried excitedly; as they shoved open the door. Fresh air assaulted them and little bits of moonlight filtered down through the trees as they made a mad dash for Toni’s car.

  “What about the mule?” asked Toni, as they ducked under an old wash line, then skittered around an old pump. “I promised him a carrot! Or maybe it was an apple!”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Suzanne cried, as they pounded across the blacktopped road, slid down the grassy incline, and jumped into Toni’s car.

  Suddenly, a yard light flashed on and they heard faint yelling from inside me farmhouse!

  “They know!” said Toni.

  “Then we gotta get out of here!” responded Suzanne.

  Toni cranked the ignition, floored it, and then they were fishtailing crazily up the incline and onto the road. Her wheels spun wildly for an instant, laying a thin carpet of rubber. And then they rocketed down the road, Toni handling her car like Danica Patrick at Indy.

  “They’ll never catch us now!” chortled Toni.

  Suzanne put a hand to her chest to still her beating heart. “That was awful.” She reached over and put a hand on Toni’s shoulder. “Take it easy. Don’t put us in a ditch.”

  “What a rush!” cried Toni, still reveling in her surge of adrenaline.

  “It was a disaster,” replied Suzanne, enjoying the gush of warmth from the car’s heater. “We have to drive directly to the law enforcement center and tell Doogie or whoever’s on duty what just happened!”

  “Whadya mean?” cried Toni. She’d gone from crazy happy to flustered and upset.

  “I’m talking kidnapping and probably drug dealing.”

  “No way!” screeched Toni. “If we tell the cops what happened, we implicate Junior!” She slowed the car down. “Please,” she begged, “we can’t tell anyone about that place until I talk to Junior. I gotta try to extricate him from this mess!”

  “Then you’d better set him straight ASAP!” warned Suzanne.

  “First thing tomorrow,” pleaded Toni. “Okay?”

  “But Junior’s coming to your house tonight,” said Suzanne.

  “Good point,” said Toni.

  “So,” said Suzanne, cooling down a little, trying to come up with a logical plan, “you’ll stay over with me.”

  “Then we talk to Junior first thing tomorrow,” said Toni. “Both of us together.” Her eyes darted from the road to Suzanne, then back to the road again. “Right?”

  “And then we’ll call Doogie,” said Suzanne. “And report those jerks.”

  “Of course, we will,” said Toni. “Only . . . can’t we do it anonymously?”

  Chapter nineteen

  Thursday morning at the Cackleberry Club was Foggy Morning Soufflé day, which Toni had taken to calling Soggy Morning Soufflé. In any case, it was a worthy concoction of whipped eggs, milk, and flour, combined with grated Swiss cheese, butter, and mustard, sizzled in a fry pan, then thrust into a hot oven to pouf said soufflé up to towering proportions.

  Petra hummed in the kitchen, prepping her soufflés, while Junior Garrett slumped at the counter of the Cackleberry Club, looking all the world like a beaten-down prisoner of war. His black T-shirt hung loosely on his skinny frame, even his normally tight jeans seemed to sag.

  Toni had called him in early on the pretext of car trouble and now Suzanne and Toni had been haranguing Junior for a solid ten minutes. Sometimes they took turns, sometimes they yelled in tandem. Once in a while, as she was whipping her eggs, Petra yelled out her two cents’ worth as well. Obviously, they’d clued her in regarding last night’s fiasco.

  “Don’t you ever go near Lenny and Eel again!” Toni warned.

  Junior gave a pitiful shrug. “How can I? Since you guys probably ruined it for me.”

  “I don’t want to hear that crap from you, Junior,” said Toni. “You were dealing dope!”

  “Which,” said Suzanne, “last time I looked, was highly illegal!”

  “Everybody smokes a little weed,” Junior whined.

  “No, they do not,” said Toni, shaking a stern finger at him.

  “Besides,” said Junior, “I wasn’t making the actual deals or delivering the actual stuff. I was just handling the financial end. You know, collecting money.”

  “You were the bag man,” said Suzanne, disgustedly.

  Junior brightened at her characterization. “Yeah, that’s it, I was just the bag man. No big deal, huh?”

  “Al Capone’s bag man went to prison right alongside him,” said Toni, winging it.

  “Is that so?” said Junior.

  “All the money men are going to prison these days,” Suzanne told him. “Bernie Madoff, the Enron guys, sleazy hedge-fund managers, mortgage fraud guys, IRS cheats, even a few governors. And, unless you’re careful, you could end up as their cell mate.”

  Junior gave her a wary stare. “What are you gonna do? Try and send me to the ‘lectric chair?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Suzanne, “we don’t have the luxury of capital punishment at our dispos
al. We are, however, going to send Sheriff Doogie out to that farmhouse. Hopefully to discover a serious amount of incriminating evidence and place your pals Lenny and Eel under arrest.”

  Toni gave Junior a menacing stare. “And just what exactly is Sheriff Doogie going to find out there?” she asked.

  “Just a few measly plants and some grow lights in the back bedroom,” mumbled Junior. “I told ya, it ain’t that big a deal.”