The Arrival of Richard III

by Kari August

  Clarence nodded. “Send them in.” He stood and walked around his glass desk.

  A petite, pretty blonde walked in, wearing a conservative business suit. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Ingrid.”

  Clarence shook her firm grip and said, “Have a seat.”

  She gracefully sat down in one of his leather chairs and crossed her ankles.

  A slightly taller, more buxom woman, and with, if possible, blonder hair walked in next. She was wearing a tight pair of jeans, high heels, and a stretch tank top. She smiled amiably and said in an engaging voice, “Hi, I’m Taina.” She took a seat next to Ingrid. Hello, Taina. She was just his type.

  Clarence walked back around his desk and sat in the chair facing them. This was fantastic! No wonder they had a reputation for being so good at what they did. Who would suspect these blondes of being capable of any misdeed?

  He began the meeting. “So, you ladies are part of the Russian Mafia?”

  Taina suddenly jumped out of her seat and frowned fiercely, no longer friendly. She leaned both her arms on his desk and glared. Clarence wanted to take a peek at her cleavage, but didn’t dare. She spoke angrily. “Estonians don’t appreciate being referred to as Russians. Keep that in mind, chump.”

  Clarence nodded. Taina sat back down and crossed her legs, swinging one irritably back and forth. Jeez, that chick was tough. What a quick temper.

  Ingrid cleared her throat. “My sister’s correct. We refer to ourselves as the Estonian syndicate. It sounds so much nicer.”

  “Are you the boss?”

  “No, our mother, Mama Tiiu, is. She’s unavailable at the moment.”

  Taina smirked. “Yeah, she’s in the middle of making blood sausage and sult. See if Mama Tiiu offers you any.” She eyed him up and down disdainfully. “We don’t forget an insult.” She turned sideways, no longer wanting to look at him.

  Clarence was too afraid to ask where Mama Tiiu had obtained the blood. He could only imagine what sult was. He spoke again, hoping not to upset Taina the Terror. “So, I understand you women are for hire.”

  Ingrid, the proper young lady, adjusted her purse in her lap and answered primly, “It depends on the job and for how much.”

  “I need some trucks tampered with.”

  Taina narrowed her eyes. “We don’t kill truckers, sleazebag. They’re the staple of our economy.”

  Ingrid inquired politely, “What do you have in mind?”

  “I want some tires slit or brake lines cut. Simple stuff.”

  Ingrid smiled briefly. “But only if the truck is disabled at a rest stop. We wouldn’t want the trucker in any danger on the road.”

  Taina smirked. “You got that straight, you lowlife piece of paska.”

  Ingrid’s mouth gaped open. She frowned. “Taina, stop. You know Mama forbade you to use such terrible language.”

  Taina looked contrite and pleaded, “You’re not going to tell her, are you, Ingie?”

  Clarence wanted to know, so he risked it: “What’s paska?”

  Taina breathed in and out angrily several times before hissing, “Runny poop, you fuckwad.”

  Ingie didn’t object. Apparently it was all right to call him a fuckwad, but not runny poop. This was getting really weird. Clarence wanted these two dangerous broads out of his office as soon as possible.

  “Uh, could you send me a list of your charges? You know, slitting tires is such-and-such a price?”

  Miss Prim and Proper stood and smiled. “Yes, certainly. Once we agree on the cost, you can send us the details of where and when.” Taina was already strutting out the door. Too bad such a nice ass was wasted on the Terror.

  “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. York.” Ingie held out her hand for a farewell shake.

  Clarence shook it, then wondered what he had gotten himself into.

  For a while, Dickie was pleased to see things settling down and the cookie business running smoothly. In fact, things were flowing so well that when Ned had called to check in, Dickie had told him to stay away as long as he liked. They were surviving just fine. Dickie had asked whether he was on another camping trip, but Ned had hesitated and said only that there was another project he was going to begin working on. Dickie allowed him his privacy and didn’t pursue the topic further. But funny things started to occur almost as soon as Dickie hung up the phone with Ned.

  First, Cody and Dickie had to postpone packing fudge-coated cookies because the sauce didn’t arrive on time. Dickie knew the Doogemits wouldn’t be happy about that.

  Next, the vehicle carrying the strawberry preserves went missing for a while. But when the delivery company called Dickie to say that the truck carrying caramel sauce—Dougie’s favorite, no less––was stranded at a rest stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, Dickie knew he had to take action. Something was definitely going on, and he needed to find out what.

  He called an urgent group business meeting for early the following morning. Everybody attended except Cody, who had started back to school. Dickie paced back and forth in front of the dining room table and explained the situation. He ended with, “Ladies, I suspect foul play.”

  Charlena gasped, and Caroline nodded thoughtfully, while Lindsey questioned, “But by whom? And why?”

  Dickie answered sharply, “I have my suspicions, but that’s what we need to find out.”

  Lindsey frowned. “How do you propose doing that?”

  “By questioning the driver of the caramel-sauce truck.”

  Caroline offered, “Should I try to get his phone number?”

  Dickie shook his head. “Caroline, love, this is the type of crisis that is best handled in person. I suggest driving to Lincoln, Nebraska, ourselves.”

  Lindsey’s frown deepened. “A road trip? In whose car? Ned took his, and Charlena’s sportster only seats two.”

  Dickie replied, “Why, we’ll commandeer the RV. It has wheels, doesn’t it?”

  Caroline jumped out of her seat excitedly. “Oh, can I drive? I’m a good driver.”

  Charlena chimed in, “So am I.”

  Lindsey asked, “Is my British driver’s license valid here?”

  Everybody shrugged. Nobody knew.

  Dickie declared, “Then it’s settled. Charlena and Caroline are driving. Ladies, be ready to leave shortly.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Dickie strapped on his seat belt. “Shall we begin?”

  By coin toss, Charlena was taking the first shift. She started the engine and made a few tentative taps on the pedal. “Where to now?”

  Lindsey was navigating and reviewed the map she had found in the center console. “First, follow Thirty-four through the Thompson River Canyon. By my calculations, taking into account distance and speed limit, Lincoln should be about seven and three quarter hours from Estes Park.”

  Dickie smiled. “Excellent.”

  To Dickie’s great relief, Charlena quickly caught on to maneuvering the huge vehicle through the twists and turns of the road. None of them had ever been on this route before, and they were astounded at the jaw-dropping height of the surrounding cliffs. Charlena briefly pulled over to the side of the road so they could watch a few mountain sheep ably scramble up the rocks.

  Continuing on, they came to the busy town of Loveland, where Charlena had to slam on her brakes to avoid hitting a car that swerved out in front of her. Lindsey then directed Charlena to take 25 north toward Cheyenne. Once they passed the heavy traffic around Fort Collins, Charlena grinned and said, “All right. Let’s see what this baby can really do.”

  She accelerated, but the RV started shaking disconcertingly at seventy-three, so Charlena set the cruise control at seventy. They gazed at the expansive views in the surrounding plains of northeastern Colorado until they hit the Wyoming border, where Dickie observed, “Have you ever seen such odd-looking cows?”

  Lindsey stood up and peered out the window. “Those aren’t cows. Oh, my God. That’s a herd of buffalo.”

  “Where? Where?” The RV veered sl
ightly off the road as Charlena looked around. She quickly corrected the vehicle as Dickie informed her, “They were back there on the right.”

  Charlena hit her hand on the steering wheel. “Rats, I didn’t see them.”

  Lindsey spoke up: “Charlena, look out. You’re missing the exit for Eighty east.”

  She turned sharply right onto the ramp, causing the RV to rock.

  Dickie suggested, “Why don’t we switch drivers at Cheyenne? You ready for your turn, Caroline?” He glanced back and saw Caroline biting her lower lip. She nodded tentatively.

  By the time they reached the Nebraska border, all passengers had taken their appropriate positions and assignments. Caroline had the steering wheel in a death grip, afraid to go any faster than forty-five. Any automotive or truck that passed honked at them. While Dickie waved his fist from the passenger seat in front, Charlena took care of the window immediately in back of Caroline with a somewhat discreet raising of her finger. Lindsey usually didn’t even bother to glare, but just flipped the bird automatically from the second seat anytime she heard a vehicle starting to pass as she continued to study the map.

  Lindsey spoke up: “I think we should take a break at Sydney, Nebraska. According to an advertisement on the side of this map, the world headquarters to . . . I think it’s—the map is smudged—I think Cadela’s is there.”

  Charlena asked, “What’s Cadela’s?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “I have no idea, but it must be a decent-size town for a world headquarters, and probably has a gas station and someplace to eat lunch.”

  An hour later they all walked into the entrance of the huge sporting goods store and stopped short.

  Lindsey was the first to verbalize, “Oh. My. God!”

  Charlena and Caroline remained speechless, gaping at the walls.

  Dickie was smiling. “Brilliant. Have you ever seen so many magnificent specimens of stuffed beasts?”

  Charlena found her voice. She pointed. “There’s a dead mountain lion. Ooooh, and the poor grizzly bear!”

  Caroline was turning in circles, her mouth still open.

  Lindsey tucked her arm into Caroline’s elbow. “Honey, why don’t we look at the merchandise? Just cover your brow with your hand and don’t look up. Thatagirl.” Lindsey started leading Caroline over to the women’s clothing section.

  Charlena followed Lindsey as Dickie informed them, “I’m heading over to the weapons section. Let’s meet in fifteen minutes at the store restaurant.” Charlena nodded.

  As the women turned corners around glass counters, Dickie distantly heard male store clerks addressing them: “Ma’am.” Pause. “Ma’am.” Pause. “Ma’am.”

  He heard Caroline asking, “What are we supposed to say back?”

  Charlena answered in a loud whisper, “I think you just nod.”

  “Okay.”

  Five minutes later, Dickie looked over the rack of shotguns. He had been one of the first to use fired artillery in battle in England. If only he could have used these advanced weaponry against that whoreson Tudor.

  He stepped over to a display case of daggers. One caught his eye, the Supreme Hunting Knife. Extending from a carved handle was a five-inch blade. Splen-did. That word sure stuck in his head. He asked the clerk how much it was. He opened the wallet that Ned had insisted he use instead of a money pouch. Not that he normally had carried a money pouch in his day either. His servants had handled most common monetary transactions when he had been king. He hadn’t sullied his hands with base trade. My, how times had changed for him. He should be used to it by now, but he admitted he wasn’t. He would always essentially be a fifteenth-century man, and the fact that memories were intruding into his thoughts more and more these days didn’t help the situation any.

  He paid the clerk and headed with his purchase over to the restaurant, where he found the girls already seated at a table. They all had changed into matching pairs of short shorts they had found on sale. Charlena and Caroline ate a buffalo burger each, Lindsey an elk burger, and Dickie venison. They were back on the road shortly thereafter, Charlena behind the wheel. They started making good time again. Dickie insisted that they stop in the small town of York, where they filled up with gas and then drove on, switching drivers again. Caroline cautiously increased her speed to sixty-five and the honking stopped.

  It was early evening when they finally pulled into the Best Trucker’s Rest Stop, the one, the trucking company had told Dickie, that their caramel truck was stranded at. Caroline pulled into the first available parking spot. She turned to Dickie and asked, “What do we do now? How are we ever going to find him here?”

  Dickie looked around at the maze of trucks and admitted they had a problem. There seemed to be just hundreds and hundreds of trucks parked parallel to one another. “Uh, let’s get something to drink and figure this out.”

  They crammed into a vinyl booth five minutes later and each ordered a cup of coffee. They were tired and no longer talkative. They listened listlessly to the truckers, talking at the adjacent serving counter.

  “Yeah, man. I’m stuck here another day until the mechanic can fix my brake line.”

  Dickie’s eyes widened and the girls straightened on alert as they looked over at the lean young man with a heavy beard and grungy jeans who had just spoken. He dropped some dollars on the counter and walked toward the door. Dickie quickly dumped some money on their own table and motioned for the girls to follow him. “Remember, stealth, ladies, stealth.”

  The trucker meandered around the parking lot, with the group sneaking behind, until he came to the cab of his truck, stepped inside, and closed the door.

  They stopped next to an adjacent vehicle and Lindsey pointed out, “This must be our driver. Look, the side of his truck reads: ‘Take a Break with a Saucy Number. Hot or Sweet, We Can’t Be Beat,’ and the picture shows caramel sauce over ice cream.”

  Dickie took charge. “Ladies, this could prove dangerous. I want you to stay behind me at all times.” They nodded agreement and held back a few feet as Dickie advanced.

  When he came up to the cab, he knocked loudly. The trucker opened the door, stepped down, glanced at Dickie, then looked the women over. “I’m not interested in any truck-stop whore tonight, pimp. Leave me be.”

  Charlena gasped while Lindsey and Caroline looked at each other and snickered. Dickie saw red. He needed to defend their honor and now! In one swift motion he grabbed his new hunting knife out of his boot, grabbed the trucker’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and held the blade against his neck. “Apologize to these lovely ladies.”

  Lindsey practically shouted, “Dickie, what are you doing? Stop that.”

  “Ladies, stay calm. This man needs to be taught some fifteenth-century manners. Now say you’re sorry.”

  “What the hell?” The trucker glanced sideways at the women. “I’m sorry. Now what do you want from me?”

  Dickie relaxed his hold on the trucker’s arm, but kept the knife in place. “Why does your brake line need fixing?”

  “It’s cut.”

  “And just who cut the line?”

  “How the fuck do I know?”

  Dickie tightened his hold on his arm again. “Watch your language in front of the ladies.” Yes, these were the same ladies who had been giving the finger to passing motorists, but the trucker didn’t know that. “So nothing happened before you found out your brakes were cut.”

  “Not really.”

  “Then you must have cut your brakes yourself.”

  The trucker frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  Dickie raised his brows. “Perhaps somebody hired you to.”

  “Huh?”

  “Perhaps you knew it would sabotage the King’s English shortbread cookies.”

  “Are you on crack?”

  Dickie asked suspiciously, “What’s that?”

  “Look, nutball, I’ll tell you what happened if you drop the knife.”

  “Only if you vow an oath to do so.”
/>   “I swear I will. Now will you let go?”

  Dickie removed the blade and released his arm. The trucker turned around while rubbing his wrist.

  Dickie commanded, “Begin your story.”

  The trucker looked briefly at the women again. “Uh, I met a hot number from Florida in the diner. I invited her back to my cab. Just when I thought we were going to get it on, she sucker-punched me and said I couldn’t compete with the dough she was getting from some dude named Clarence. Then she ran out of the cab.”

  Dickie muttered, “It’s just as I thought. Go on.”

  “I called for her to come back, but she sped away with some other blond in a sports car. Next thing I know, my truck’s brakes don’t work. I’m guessing that one behind the wheel cut the lines while the other one was in the cab. The whole thing’s crazy. I have no idea why. I don’t got no enemies.”

  With a regal nod, Dickie said, “You can withdraw.”

  “Huh?”

  Dickie frowned. “You’re dismissed.”

  The trucker shook his head incredulously. “What a nutcase. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d bother to call the authorities on you.” He turned, stepped back into his cab, and closed the door.

  Dickie looked at the women. “Ladies, let’s regather our forces and head to the RV.”

  They all sat around the bolted-down banquette table as Dickie explained what he knew about the competition between Ned and Cousin Clarence. He shook his head grimly. “The truth of the matter is that Cousin Clarence possesses some of the same unfortunate tendencies as my brother George. I need to have a serious talk with Clarence.”

  Charlena stood up abruptly. “Let me.” She looked around at their doubting faces and explained further. “I can do it. I can help Neddie. Connie has empowered me to stand up for myself. I’m sure I can help Ned.”

  Lindsey looked at her skeptically. “What would you even say?”

  Charlena hesitated. “Well, I’d tell him to stop bothering Neddie.”

  Lindsey shook her head. “I really don’t think—”

  Charlena added, “See, I want to help Neddie. Just me. Not my daddy, but just me. I think it will finally put to rest anything I owe Neddie for what I did. . . .” She looked down at the floor and bit her lip. When she looked back up, she could see she hadn’t persuaded them.