What could I say but, ‘yes’?
After a scrumptious Thanksgiving dinner, I snuggled into my recliner and flipped on the ‘Whatchamacallit Bowl.’ I remember the kickoff after which I slipped into a tryptophan induced coma and woke up midway through the fourth quarter.
I had slept through my part of the bargain and had nothing left to look forward to but a day fighting traffic and women riding an estrogen high.
This year, many of the stores decided, in their infinite wisdom, to begin Black Friday at midnight on Thursday. I nixed that idea right away. A man has to draw the line somewhere. Thankfully, Maggie wasn’t keen on shopping in the wee hours either so a potential conflict was averted.
The flip side of the coin was that she was up at the crap of dawn, flinging the sheets aside and urging me into action lest we miss the best deals.
I had just gobbled a piece of toast and washed it down with a hastily poured cup of coffee when I was hit with the next bit of good news.
“By the way, we’re picking up Mary on the way to the mall. You don’t mind, do you?”
Mary Murphy is the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel, a flop house with twenty sleeping rooms that share four hall baths. It’s not an establishment that I’m proud of and I probably would have put it in mothballs years ago, but a friend once told me that “everybody has to be somewhere.” Unfortunately that includes many who are barely clinging to the bottom rung of the social ladder. For forty bucks, which can be earned in less than a day at the labor pool, these unfortunate fellows can have a warm place to sleep for a week.
Given their somewhat shaky background, someone has to be on site to enforce my house rules and that person is Mary.
Although Mary is well into her seventies, she’s a robust 200 pounds and not a person to be trifled with. Several have tried and come home to find their worldly possessions stuffed in a garbage bag on the street curb.
Mary has no problem occasionally stepping over the line of lawful eviction. I have made it a policy to look the other way. So far, it has worked. The tenants know they have to toe the line if they want to keep a roof over their heads because frankly, there’s just no other place like the Three Trails.
If Mary was a football player she would make a great fullback, busting a hole through the defensive line. I’ve seen her part a crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Upon reflection, I figured that it might not be a bad idea to have Mary in our backfield at the local mall.
We picked Mary up without incident, but as we approached the mall, the traffic was horrendous. Cars were swerving between lanes, jockeying for the best spot to enter the massive parking lot. Horns were blasting and middle fingers were prominently displayed.
When the lane ahead of me finally opened, I accelerated to close the gap. A car approaching from a side street ignored the stop sign and barreled into my lane.
Mary shrieked, Maggie dug her nails into my thigh and I applied the brakes, stopping the car inches from the jerk’s vehicle.
Having averted a tragedy, I turned my attention to removing Maggie’s death grip from my leg.
“Uhhh, Mr. Walt,” Mary said, tapping me on the shoulder. “We got company.”
I had incorrectly assumed that the driver ahead would have simply moved on after forcing his way into my lane, but to my surprise, he had shifted into park, and was huffing our way.
As he grew closer, I could see the fire in his eyes and the spittle on his lips. When he reached my door, he pulled the handle, but thankfully our car was new enough that the doors lock automatically when it’s put in gear.
Frustrated, he banged his fist on my roof. “You almost hit me, you asshole!” he bellowed.
I rolled the window down an inch or two. “That’s because you pulled out in front of me. You should be more careful.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
He pounded the roof again. “Get out of the car and let’s settle this like men!”
The guy had fifty pounds and thirty years on me, so I knew right away that wasn’t going to be an option.
“Let me have a crack at ‘em,” Mary begged from the back seat.
“No, I have a better idea,” I replied, reaching inside my coat.
I had always balked at carrying an off duty weapon, but on more than one occasion it would have come in very handy, so reluctantly, I began carrying.
I pulled my badge from my shirt pocket and held it up to the window. “Are you sure you want to pursue this conversation?”
He took a quick look and kicked the side panel. “That don’t mean shit!”
“How about this?” I asked, pointing the barrel of my snub-nosed .38 at his chest.
In an instant, the red in his cheeks turned to white. “Sorry, Sir,” he said, backing away. “I didn’t mean nothin’.”
“You might want to be more careful about flying off the handle like that. The next guy might not be as nice as me.”
“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled.
As he headed back to his car, I called after him, “Drive safely now!”
I hadn’t noticed, but traffic had come to a standstill. Everyone was interested in how the altercation would play out. As the guy sped away, I got ‘thumbs up’ and ‘high fives’ from the occupants of the closest cars.
Maggie heaved a big sigh of relief. “I’ve heard of road rage, but that’s the first time I’ve seen it up close. What do you think might have happened if you weren’t carrying a badge and a gun?”
I knew what could have happened. My partner, Ox, and I had seen more than one road rage victim hauled away in an ambulance.
“Wish you woudda let me out of the car,” Mary said. “I woudda taught that jerk a thing or two.”
I had no doubt that she would have, or gone down trying.
“I think he might have learned something from the experience.”
“Why do people act like that?” Maggie asked, shaking her head.
“It’s the holidays,” I replied, turning into the parking lot. “They bring out the best in people.”
Naturally, every parking spot had been filled and I fell in line with the parade of vehicles circling the lot waiting for someone to pull out. It was like the old kid’s game, musical chairs, where everyone makes a mad dash to secure a seat but someone is always left out. Being a scrawny kid, that someone was usually me. Unfortunately, I didn’t seem to be much better at musical parking spots.
Suddenly, the station wagon in front of me slammed on the brakes.
“Looks like someone’s pulling out,” Maggie said, craning her neck.
“Yeah, but the wagon in front of us will take it,” I replied.
Sure enough, the wagon pulled into the vacated spot.
“Oh well,” Maggie sighed, “it was a handicapped spot. We couldn’t have used it anyway.”
I noticed that the station wagon did have a handicapped license plate.
I was about to move on when Mary punched the back of my seat. “Hold on a dang minute, Mr. Walt.”
I stopped as ordered and we watched a twenty-something gal hop out of the station wagon.
“Handicapped my ass!” Mary hissed. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that gal!”
Before I could respond, Mary popped open the back door and headed for the unfortunate girl who was just coming around the back of her vehicle.
Apparently Mary was still feeling the adrenalin rush from our encounter with Mr. Road Rage and was about to vent her frustration on a new target.
“Sure hope you’re heading to the passenger door to help your poor granny out of the car.”
The girl stopped abruptly. “What? Who the hell are you?”
“A concerned citizen,” Mary replied, pointing to the handicapped sign. “You look mighty fit to me.”
“So what are you?” the woman replied indignantly, “the parking police?”
I could see Mary stiffen and I figured it was time to intervene. I stepped out of the car and flashed my badge. “I’m sure w
e can clear this up,” I said, stepping between the woman and a red-faced Mary. “If you have a legitimate reason to use the handicapped spot, no harm, no foul.”
The woman took a look at my badge, rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, you got me. Borrowed my mom’s car because I knew parking would be scarce. I was just trying to get some toys for my kids before all the good deals were gone. We’re a little short on cash this year. Are you going to give me a ticket?”
“Are you going to pull this trick again?”
“Never! I promise!” she said, crossing her heart. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
I turned to Mary. “What do you think? It’s Christmas. Shall we cut her some slack?”
I could see that Mary was wavering. She’s tough as nails on the surface but soft and squishy underneath.
“Sure, why not?” Mary replied, giving the repentant woman a fierce but obviously fake evil eye. “As long as she promises!”
The woman held up her hand. “I swear!”
“Okay then,” Mary said, opening her purse. She fished out a fifty dollar bill and handed it to the woman. “Buy those kids of yours something special.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Thank --- thank you so much. Maybe there is a Santa after all.”
After we were back in the car and had resumed our search for a parking spot, I remarked, “Since when are you so flush that you can be giving away fifty dollar bills?”
“Since I met Morty,” she replied. “He gave me some money for Christmas shopping,” she said, holding up a wad of bills.
Morty Friedman and his pal, Earl Lassiter, had won the Powerball Lottery. With his new-found millions, seventy-two year old Morty could have had his pick of twenty year olds to keep him company well into his dotage, but for some reason, Mary’s swashbuckling personality had tripped his trigger and the two had become --- well --- a twosome. For Morty, Mary was the personification of Wonder Woman --- the later years. **
“So anything new cooking between the two of you?” I asked, hoping for a negative response. Morty had offered to take Mary away from the Three Trails and put her up in a fancy apartment, but Mary had declined.
“Nope. He says that his offer to move me is still open whenever I’m ready, but I can’t leave the Hotel.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that I would never find another person that could do what Mary does.
“I guess we’re what the younger folks call ‘friends with benefits.’ My benefit is that I get some extra spending money once in a while and Morty’s benefit --- well --- it’s more personal.”
I looked in the rear view mirror and Mary was blushing.
I was about to make a snide comment about how money for sexual favors sounded a lot like prostitution when I felt Maggie’s fingernails digging into my thigh again.
“Are the two of you happy?” Maggie asked, giving me the sideways evil eye.
“Happy as two kids in a candy store.”
************************************
** Lady Justice and the Lottery
http://amzn.to/1exhji6
“Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it Walt?”
“Absolutely!” I replied, massaging my wounded leg.
Finally, at the far end of the lot, a spot opened up. The store was a good two football fields away, but beggars can’t be choosey.
As we huffed up to the front entrance, I heard, “Mary! Mr. Williams! Merry Christmas!”
I looked toward the voice and saw a vaguely familiar figure standing behind a Salvation Army donation kettle ringing a bell.
“Hi --- uhhh ---.”
“That’s Reggie Crowder,” Mary whispered. “He lives at the Three Trails.”
“Hi Reggie. Merry Christmas to you, too! Nice of you to volunteer your time to the Salvation Army. They do good work.”
“Oh, I’m not volunteering. This is my job through Christmas. Some days I freeze my ass off, but I get eight bucks an hour. It keeps a roof over my head.”
I felt about three inches tall thinking that this poor guy had to stand out in the cold five hours to pay for his cheesy room at the Hotel.
“Say, Mary, have you seen Leroy?”
“Not my day to watch him,” she replied sarcastically. “Why do you ask?”
“Didn’t see him come in last night and I knocked on his door this morning to see if he wanted to go to the soup kitchen with me for breakfast, but he didn’t answer. Just worried about him, that’s all.”
“No law against sleeping somewhere else,” she replied. “Maybe he got lucky.”
“No, not Leroy. He’s not like that.”
“Well, whatever.” Mary opened her purse and put a ten spot in the kettle. “Here, maybe this will help.”
We pushed through the automatic doors and Maggie spotted a sign above one of the counters.
‘IPads. $99.00! Today only!’
“Ohhh, that would be perfect,” she squealed. “We took up a collection for David and I was volunteered to buy his Christmas gift.”
Dave Richards is the Broker/Owner at City Wide Realty where I worked for thirty years before turning in my briefcase for a badge and gun. Maggie still works there and is one of the office’s top agents.
We pushed through to the counter and Maggie signaled to a clerk. “I’d like one of those IPads, please.”
“You’re just in time lady,” he said, reaching for a box. “This is our last one.”
Before Maggie could get her hands on the box, a woman shoved her aside and made a grab for the box. “I’ll take that!”
Mary was on the woman like a duck on a June bug. She grabbed the woman’s arm with one hand and the box with the other. “Sorry,” she said, handing the box to Maggie and glaring at the woman. “All sold out!”
The woman could see that she was outmatched. She jerked her arm away and stormed off.
Mary smiled at Maggie. “Ain’t shopping fun?”
For the next hour, we fought our way through the mob. I found an aisle that was less well traveled and told the girls that I would wait for them there.
I was about to relax a bit when a young boy came tearing down the aisle with his mother in hot pursuit. “Aiden! Come back here this instant!”
Naturally, little Aiden did just the opposite. He accelerated and turned his head to see how far Mom was behind.
I realized too late that Aiden’s head was exactly the same distance from the floor as Mr. Winkie and the boys. The collision that followed took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes.
I was bent double, gasping for breath when Aiden’s mom informed me that I should watch where I was going.
I figured at that point, I had experienced enough shopping for one day. A man has his limits. I set out to find Maggie and Mary to tell them that I’d be waiting in the car.
I had just turned into another aisle when I saw them at the far end. I stopped to wave, but the lady behind me must not have noticed my brake lights. I heard a ‘crunch’ and felt a stabbing pain as the lady’s cart connected with my shin bones.
I was on the floor nursing my wounds when I heard for the second time, “Hey mister, watch what you’re doing!”
Somehow through the pain, I found the girls and begged them to leave. They caved when they saw the pitiful look in my eyes.
We were halfway to the car when we heard the screams coming from the store entrance.
“No! Please! Just take it! Please don’t hurt me!”
I looked just in time to see a ruffian in a ski mask push Reggie to the ground. He grabbed the Salvation Army donation bucket and sprinted toward a van that had been idling a few feet away.
I heard the door slide shut and the van peeled out across the lot, scattering shoppers heading to and from their cars.
I ran back to the store as fast as my injured shins would let me and Mary was hot on my heels. By the time we got to poor Reggie, the van had disappeared around the corner.
Mary shook her fist shouting, “Come back here you
creeps! My ten bucks is in that bucket!”
Reggie was shaken, but unhurt.
“Any idea who did this?” I asked.
“No. The jerk was wearing a ski mask.”
I called 911 and reported what had occurred. Fifteen minutes later, two black & whites arrived. While I was waiting, I asked people that had witnessed the incident if they had gotten a license plate. Naturally, no one had. A whole parking lot full of witnesses and no one knew a thing.
An hour later, we were finally in our car heading home.
I was worn to a frazzle. My shins hurt, my nuts ached and my thigh would probably be bruised from Maggie’s death grip.
It hadn’t been a pleasant day.
I made a mental note that next year I would not ask to watch football on Thanksgiving Day.
CHAPTER 3
I had just settled into my easy chair with a bag of frozen peas between my legs when Maggie bustled into the room.
“I was thinking that since both of us are off tomorrow, it would be the perfect time to clean the apartment and put up the Christmas decorations.”
My heart sank as I processed the ramifications of that simple announcement.
Cleaning, for Maggie, is not just ‘a lick and a promise’ as my grandma used to say. When Maggie cleans, she CLEANS!
I envisioned a day filled with dusting, sweeping, mopping and waxing, followed by numerous trips from our third floor apartment to the basement to haul boxes of Christmas crap which would be strewn throughout the apartment.
My great expectations for a leisurely long weekend had certainly taken a nasty turn.
I was searching for the right words to respond when my cellphone rang.
“Walt, this is Captain Short. I have a problem and I hope you can help. I know you are scheduled to be off the next two days, but the flu bug has taken out a bunch of our guys and we’re shorthanded. Any chance you could come in? I’ll make it up to you later. I’ve already talked to Ox and he’s okay with it.”
My first thought was, “Yes! A reprieve!” but I knew Maggie was listening. “Certainly, Captain. Maggie and I had plans for tomorrow but I know she’ll understand.”
Naturally, Maggie was disappointed, but she shrugged it off. “No problem. It’s a whole month till Christmas. We’ll just do it another day.”
Lady Justice and the Organ Traders Page 2