Mind-Bending Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  It would be tricky, considering the fact that he'd allegedly seen me kill Tyson. But I'd come up with something. I had no choice.

  I fell asleep around three in the morning and woke up at eleven the next day. After racing through Riley's state-of-the-art shower, I changed and raced over to Oleo's to hire two Chechen goons to not rough up the people of Bladdersly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "You want us to get tattoos?" Ron asked as our burgers arrived.

  Oleo's was the best burger joint in Iowa. Thick slabs of well-seasoned meat, with just the right amount of grease, went a long way to steeling my nerves for the rest of the day.

  "No, I…" I looked at Riley, who discreetly cleared his throat. "I mean, your new boss, Riley, wants you to carry out a little investigation."

  Ivan turned to Ron. "It is a good thing we did not kill him if he is our new boss."

  Ron agreed. "We have only killed two bosses before. We did not realize it would end our jobs."

  Riley's right eyebrow went up. "It took two times for you to learn that?"

  Ivan looked at him curiously. "Of course. I kill one. Ron kill the other."

  Any normal person would worry about this. But these guys only ever worked for bad guys, so it wasn't an issue. Well, not for me.

  "Obviously." Riley rolled his eyes, and I kicked him hard under the table. Ever the consummate professional, he didn't even wince.

  "There are two tattoo parlors in Bladdersly," I said. "You two will take one. You go in, inquiring about tattoos, make small talk…"

  Ivan frowned. "What is small talk?"

  "I think," Ron replied, "that it means you talk to very small person." He held his hand out at about three feet high for good measure.

  "Oh. Got it." Ivan nodded.

  "You just chat about the town or something," I explained. "Small talk is meaningless chatter that puts people at ease. Then somewhere during that, you ask about the murder. Were they working that night? Did they see anything?"

  "And then we break their legs." Ron nodded as though he knew this was coming all along.

  "Um, no. Just questions. That's all," I said.

  "Gentlemen," Riley said without the slightest hint of sarcasm. "I'm sure when you worked for Wally," he referred to their latest boss, deceased not by them. "You had to interrogate people. Get information."

  Ron smiled. "Yes. We hurt them to get the answers we liked."

  Riley corrected, "You mean the answers you needed."

  "No, I mean the answers we liked. What good is information if it is not what you want to hear?"

  "That's not how it works…" I started to say.

  "You aren't going to hurt anyone," Riley said firmly. "Just ask if they saw anything that night. Or if they've heard anything relating to the case."

  "Okay." Ron nodded. "And then we get tattoos."

  "It really isn't necessary to get tattoos," I insisted. "You just go in there, ask to see some artwork, and tell the guy you need to decide later."

  Ivan looked disappointed. "But we want to get tattoos."

  I gave in. "Okay, fine. Get tattoos."

  "But you said we could not," Ron pointed out. "I am confused."

  "Forget I said that. Just go into the shop and tell them you are thinking of a tattoo…"

  "Which one are we thinking of?" Ivan asked.

  I was getting frustrated. "I don't have a clue. Just come up with something on the fly."

  Ron scowled. "I would not get a fly. Flies are weak and can be smashed. I would rather get a goat."

  Ivan looked at his friend. "But I want to get a goat."

  "You can both get goats," I said. This was quickly getting away from me. "Just make sure you get the information to find out if anyone else saw me at the shed with Tyson Pancratz."

  "Justice for Pancratz!" Ron said, tearing open his shirt, buttons flying, to reveal the shirts Ronni was making.

  "That is not very loyal to Merry." Ivan shook his head.

  "But is loyal to my wife," Ron insisted.

  "That might work for us," Riley said, ignoring the fact that my brother-in-law was wearing a shirt that pretty much implicated me in murder. "Your shirt may do all the talking for you."

  Ron seemed confused. "How can shirt talk?" He thumped his chest. "I talk for me. Only me."

  Ivan studied Riley. "You do not seem so smart. Maybe we should not work for you."

  "What he means," I interrupted, "is that by wearing that shirt, the tattoo shop guy might start talking to you about the case without you having to bring it up."

  "That would be helpful." Ron rubbed his chin. "But I never have had a shirt talk for me before."

  "In America," Ivan intoned. "People wear their opinions on their shirts. Not so back in Chechnya. We can talk for ourselves there."

  Ron nodded. "Yes. I think we can agree that America, while is a wonderful country, can be very silly."

  "Agreed," Ivan said.

  This line of thinking wasn't getting us anywhere. Or maybe it was. It was kind of hard to tell. I almost wished Betty were here. She'd probably do a better job with the tattoo guy than these guys. Then again, she'd probably convince the artist she was a thirty-year-old midget who was old enough to get one. I wondered what she'd have done? As my mind went through a dizzying array of ponies, Catalonians, and king vultures, I remembered where I was and what I was doing.

  "Who's going to handle the second shop?" I asked Riley.

  "We can go together to second shop," Ivan said.

  "I can do it," I suggested. "I don't think you guys should be seen leaving one and going into the other. It might look suspicious."

  "Maybe I should go," Riley said.

  "You?" I looked him up and down. "You look like you're on your way to a country club golf fundraiser." I pointed to his black polo shirt tucked into khaki slacks. "They'll never believe you want a tattoo."

  "I could totally get a tattoo," Riley sniffed.

  "These guys are bad news according to Kurt. Bikers." I left out the part where their wheels were not the motorized kind.

  "Let's go together," Riley said. "We've portrayed a couple before."

  "You cheat on my brother-in-law?" Ron had a stormy expression.

  "Guys," I said. "It's just for pretend. And that might work. If they recognize me and it's bad, I have backup. If they don't, we might get a little closer to finding out what we need to know."

  The backup plan was Betty. Good thing I had her number on speed dial. Of course, I would never let a ten-year-old get a tattoo. That would be very irresponsible, and Kelly would probably kick me out of the troop.

  "Okay," Riley said. "It's settled. We drive to Bladdersly and park somewhere off of Main. Ivan and Ron will take the shop on the same side of the street as the shed. Merry and I will take the one across the street."

  We took my very nondescript silver minivan and drove the ten miles to Bladdersly. By the open-mouthed, wide-eyed gazing that I saw in the rearview mirror, it quickly became apparent that my brothers-in-law had never been here before.

  "This is just like Grozny!" Ivan said in astonishment.

  "Reminds me of home!" Ron said, a little misty in the eyes.

  I guess it did a bit. Grozny had its charms but mostly rocked a sort of shell-shocked, third world vibe. Just like Bladdersly.

  "I changed my mind," Ron said. "I am not getting tattoo of goat. I am getting Chechen flag."

  "You could get a goat wearing the Chechen flag," Ivan suggested.

  We drove down Main Street to look things over. Sure enough, there were the two tattoo shops, both inexplicably named Tattoo Shop.

  "Why do you have two diners with same name?" Ivan asked upon seeing Ela's and Ella's.

  "Because they are morons." I turned to look at them in the back seat. "Bladdersly is not a good town—unlike Who's There, which is amazing and would never have two tattoo shops named Tattoo Shop or two diners named after the same woman."

  The men nodded as if they realized this.

 
; "We can go get food after tattoos," Ivan mused.

  "But which one?" Ron asked. "Ela's or Ella's?"

  Riley agreed. "We have to check those places out too. We could have the guys check Ela's after they see the tattooist. We can go to Ella's after visiting our shop."

  "Okay. That just leaves the two taverns, Elrond's Comics, and the Pump & Pawn."

  Riley's eyebrows went up. "Do you think we should do all of those today?"

  "Let's play it by ear." I pointed out a side street, named after Millard Fillmore, with plenty of parking, and Riley pulled over.

  "Okay guys, this is it. You'll take the shop across the street and Ela's. When done, text me." I held up my phone.

  Ron patted his flat abs. "I want dessert. We should eat first."

  "This is a job," I reminded them. "You are working for Riley now. You go to the tattoo place first. Then the diner."

  Riley added, "And don't mention Merry at all."

  "How are we supposed to do this without mentioning Merry?" Ivan wondered.

  I shook my head. "Just don't unless they bring it up. Act like you don't know me." I thought about the bitter rivalry between our town and this one and added, "And don't mention that you live in Who's There."

  The men got out of the car first. Riley and I stayed behind to wait until they'd gone into their shop. Otherwise, it would look like Bladdersly was suddenly getting a huge influx of business, and that might seem suspicious.

  Ron and Ivan walked across the street. Then they started talking to each other.

  "What are they doing?" Riley asked.

  The men began to argue. Muscled arms were flailing around, and faces were getting red.

  I called Ivan and put him on speaker. "What are you doing?"

  "Oh! Hi, Merry!" He waved at the van, forgetting everything we'd said.

  "Go in, and stop arguing, please," I said through gritted teeth.

  "We are discussing goat tattoos. Not fighting."

  I heard Ron's voice, "Ask Merry if she thinks you should get big goat, and I should get goat wearing clothes like stuffed animals that our wives make."

  "I don't care," I hissed. "Get whatever you want. Just go in there!"

  Ivan shrugged, and the two men entered the shop. Once they were in, we got out and made our way to the shop on this side of the street. Riley put his arm around me as we walked through the door.

  The inside was dark and dingy. The walls were covered with artwork I assumed were of tattoos.

  "I guess the guys should've come to this one," I whispered while pointing at a whole wall full of goat tattoo art.

  "What do you want?" A large, gruff man who resembled a bear walked through a door in the back. He had a long, bushy black beard, a bandana around his head, and a leather jacket that said I Believe Lance Armstrong.

  "Hello!" Riley said cheerfully. "My wife and I are thinking of getting matching tattoos for our anniversary."

  "Oh really?" The bear man sneered. "I suppose you want something cute like hearts."

  "No." I pulled away from Riley's embrace. "We were thinking of something edgier." I turned toward my "husband." "Right, honey?"

  "Oh, Cuddlepuss!" Riley took my hand and brought it to his lips. "I was thinking you could get Property of My Hunk of Burning Love."

  Cuddlepuss?

  "You're still joking about that?" I laughed and then turned to the tattoo guy. "We were thinking of something interlocked." My eyes went around the room to spot five racing bicycles in the corner. "Like two bike wheels."

  "I love that idea!" Riley pulled me into his arms and dipped me, planting his lips on mine. It took all I had not to flip him.

  "Bikes, huh?" the guy said. "What could you guys actually know about bikes?"

  "Well." I pushed myself free of Riley. "My husband rode in the Tour de France once."

  Riley transitioned smoothly as the giant eyed us suspiciously. "Well, now, Sugar Buns, that was a long time ago. And I was just an alternate on the US Team. Thank God nothing happened to Lance Armstrong, or I would've had to step up."

  Bear softened slightly. "You knew the Great One?"

  Riley waved him off. "Not well. I was nowhere near his league. But he was a very humble and gracious man."

  The giant looked him up and down for a moment. "Name's Bear."

  "I'm Alan," Riley said. "And this is my wife, Eunice."

  Eunice. He knew I didn't like that name. We once had a contact in Belarus named Eunice. She set fire to my shoes. While I was wearing them. Just for fun.

  "You want bicycle wheels?" Bear asked.

  "That's what we were thinking," I said, looking out the window. We were across the street from Elrond's Comics and The Opera House. "How long have you been in business, Bear?"

  "Nine years." He grunted, hefting a huge binder onto the counter. "Why?"

  "Just checking to see how long you've been tattooing." Was that a word?

  "Twenty as an artist." He flipped the binder open to a page full of bicycle images.

  "Do you work mostly at night?" I wondered.

  "That's when most people want to get them. I usually get a lot of business from The Dew Drop Inn and Rabid Squirrel. I'm not open every night. There are some zoning regulations."

  So he preyed upon drunk people when they're stupid. This guy should've been in the CIA. He looked like he could handle himself.

  Bear grunted. "This your first tattoo?"

  Riley jumped in. "My first one. But Kitten Thighs here has one already."

  I didn't like where this was going.

  "It's my name in huge cursive letters on the high, inside part of her thigh."

  I could've killed him.

  "I think," Riley continued, "that you should get my name around the edge of the two interlocked wheels."

  "Not happening." I forced a smile.

  "Names are not a good idea." Bear pushed up his sleeve to reveal a list of crossed out names, seven in all—all female.

  I flipped through the binder. He really did have a lot of bike stuff. "I like this one." I pointed to a bicycle with tires made of dragon scales.

  Riley came over and nodded. "Do you have anything with a lot of cats? I mean a lot of cats. Eunice here is a bit of a cat hoarder."

  Bear scowled. At least, I think he did. It was hard to tell with that beard. "I specialize in bikes and goats. If you want something else, go across the street."

  I saw an opening as I followed his finger pointing to the street. "Hey! You have a nice view! And working late, you probably see all kinds of strange things."

  "I see some." Bear turned his attention back to Riley, who appeared to be enthralled by a tattoo of a dragon giving birth (graphically) to a bicycle.

  "I really don't know much about Bladdersly at all," I said. "We're from Des Moines and staying with Alan's family out in the country. But I did hear there was a murder somewhere on Main Street recently."

  Bear didn't respond. But his eyes were on mine, and it was uncomfortably intense. Like he was trying to see into my skull.

  "That's right, my little Pickle Lips," Riley said casually. "Some poor young man. Pancratz or something like that. I heard some woman did it."

  I went to put my arm around him but pinched him savagely on the back. "I heard she was framed," I added.

  Bear interjected, "I did hear she's some bimbo from Who's There."

  Bimbo?

  "I heard that too," Riley said. "They said she murdered him in cold blood."

  "Some idiot woman. That blowhard Mordecai from the Pump & Pawn said Pastor Malone saw the whole thing." Bear shook his head and flipped ahead in the book. "How about this one?"

  He pointed to a drawing of Lance Armstrong's head with two intertwined bike wheels behind his head. "That's original art. I drew that." He looked across the street and scoffed. "That other bastard has no talent. He couldn't do something like this. Hell, he even copied my shop's name."

  "Mordecai?" I asked innocently in an attempt to get back to the subject at hand. "That's
an unusual name."

  Bear nodded. "It is. Weird. Just like that guy."

  Not as weird as Bear, obviously.

  "What makes him weird?" Riley asked.

  "Acts like he's the whole chamber of commerce or something. That man's a gossip. Thinks he knows everything that's going on in this town. But he's got some big skeletons in his closet."

  White teeth appeared in the beard. Was he smiling?

  "He pretends he doesn't know that…" the man started to say as a loud crash came from the street.

  Across the street, Ron was standing inside the tattoo shop, looking through a broken window at a skinny man lying on the sidewalk. Ron shook his fist and began climbing through the window while Ivan tried to pull him back in. I guess using the door was something that hadn't occurred to him.

  Riley ran out the door with me on his heels. Ron stalked toward the man on the sidewalk, who was trying to crawl away. Riley got in between the men. I was a few feet away. The skinny guy sat up and wrapped his arms around my legs.

  "Are you alright?" I said to him as I tried to disentangle myself.

  The man pointed at Ron. "He's crazy! I'm not giving a guy like that a tattoo!"

  Ron was breathing hard, not from exertion as much as anger. His outer shirt was missing, and his Justice for Pancratz shirt was on display over a ridiculously muscled chest.

  "You make bad small talk!"

  Bear appeared next to us, a cell phone in his hands. "You guys know him?"

  "No," Riley said quickly and easily. "I think this was just a simple disagreement."

  That was the understatement of the week. Shattered glass was everywhere. The kid was lucky he wasn't cut. I glared at Ron, who didn't see it. What was he thinking? We didn't want to draw this kind of attention to ourselves!

  Bear began tapping on his phone. "Police? There's been a fight."

  Argh! Now the police were on their way! And those guys knew me. That's all I needed, to be seen at the scene and in the middle of a fight.

  "Honey," Riley said. "Why don't you head to the car? I know you don't like the sight of blood, and you look like you might faint."

  Bear shook his head. "You shouldn't get a tattoo, then."