Two Crazy_Fickle Finger of Fate

by Margaret Lashley

“Oh.”

  “Was he missing an index finger?”

  “He was missing every finger except his thumbs.”

  “Oh my gawd! How did that happen?”

  “My theory? He was dumpster diving. He rigged the lid open, but when he went to haul himself out, he knocked the lid closed. It landed on his hands and cut his fingers to the bone.”

  “Did that kill him?”

  “Probably got knocked out when the lid hit. Concussion, loss of blood most likely.”

  “Did they find his other fingers?”

  “Nope. Inside the bellies of a few stray dogs and cats, most likely.”

  “Yuck. The finger I found was wrapped in a cloth. Probably not his, then.”

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “In an alley. I mean, in a couch that was in an alley.”

  “I won’t ask what you were doing on a couch in an alley.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hmmm. Wrapped in a cloth, huh? It still could be this guy’s finger. You know, people like macabre souvenirs. Maybe someone picked it up, held onto it until it started to stink, then ditched it in the couch. Where was the couch?”

  “In the alley between Sixth and Seventh avenues.”

  “Hmm. Let me look. Yeah. His toe tag says “found in dumpster off of Ninth Avenue and Second Street. That’s pretty close by, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But Darren, are you…I mean…you’re looking at his body right now?”

  “Yeah. Just wanted to be sure about the tattoo. Wanna go out again? Give it another try?”

  “Thanks, but….”

  “You still seeing that cop?”

  “I was until recently.”

  “Then let’s go out. Take it slow. If it’s just friendship, so be it.”

  “Why would you want to go out with me again?”

  “Because you, Valiant Stranger, are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”

  “It’s easy to compete with cadavers.”

  “Ha ha! Come on, what do you say?”

  “I’m kind of in a jam right now. I’ll call you when I’m up for it.”

  “Fair enough. Good luck. Call me anytime, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Darren.”

  I clicked off the phone and washed my hands. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I was going to need some more figurines.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Did you bring the salt shaker?”

  “Oh crap. I’m sorry, Val. I knew I was forgetting something.”

  Winnie’s features scrunched together and her head drooped. We were inside her van, parked in my driveway. It was 6:30 a.m. We were going over our scheme to catch Loo’s arson plan, on tape this time. As I held the recording device in my hand and explained it to Winnie, I felt a little like James Bond – if he had boobs, trepidation, PMS and a conscience, that is.

  “It’s all set to automatically record. You don’t have to do a thing. Just get it in the salt shaker. Do you think it will fit?”

  I handed Winnie the micro recorder. She laid it along the length of her index finger and nodded confidently.

  “It should work. It’s shorter than my finger. The salt shakers are exactly as long as my finger.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Oh. Well…there’s lots of down time between customers.”

  Okay. “So, you think it’ll be safe inside the salt shaker? I mean, if someone uses it?”

  “Yeah. I think we’re cool. Loo sold the stove yesterday. I saw some guys hauling it out last night. Unless somebody likes salt in their coffee, we should be good.”

  “And you think you can get the recorder into the shaker and set it on the table in the corner booth without Loo or Latrina noticing?”

  Winnie looked up at me.

  “I’m not a child, Val.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…this could turn dangerous. I don’t want you to get caught.”

  “Trust me, Val. It should be no problem. We’re supposed to open at 7:30, but if I didn’t go in early and get the place going, I don’t think we’d open before ten. They’re always running late.”

  “Okay. Good. But promise me, if you hit a snag you’ll text me. I’m only a few minutes away.”

  “Right. I promise.”

  I hugged Winnie, climbed out of the van and shut the door. Winnie sat frozen in the driver’s seat like a worried, plus-sized mannequin. I tapped on the window.

  “Hey. Are you okay?”

  Winnie rolled the window down a crack.

  “Yeah. Just nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “Me either. You know, you don’t have to –”

  “No. I want to. You’ve been good to me and Winky. Not many people treat us with respect. I want to return the favor.”

  Hot tears filled my eyes.

  “Thank you, Winnie. You could be saving me from jail time. I’m not keeping score, but if this goes off as planned, I’ll be the one owing you. Big time.”

  Winnie grinned. “Yeah. Okay.”

  I smiled and gave her a thumb’s up.

  “Good luck, Winnie. And remember, I’m right here if you need me.”

  Winnie nodded, looked straight ahead and put the van in drive.

  “I’ve got this,” she said to herself.

  I watched the van’s taillights disappear down the street. The sky was just starting to pink up from the coming sunrise. A lump formed in my throat as I thought about Winnie and her day ahead. Like Goober had yesterday, she was putting her butt on the line for me. It was both scary and wonderful to know there were people on the planet who thought I was worth the risk.

  I went inside and fixed a cappuccino. Winnie texted me ten minutes later. It read: “Shaker in place.” I sent back an emoji “thumbs up” symbol.

  The trap was set. Now all we needed were the rats.

  ***

  At noon, I got a call from Winnie.

  “Val, there’s a problem.”

  The hair on my neck prickled.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. But I’m not at work.”

  “What happened?”

  “I set the salt shaker up with no problem. But when they came in this morning, Loo and Latrina were at each other’s throats again. They kept arguing and acting real paranoid, you know? Bingo Bob came in, and then they all three kept looking at me funny. I don’t know what I was doing wrong. Maybe I looked at them too much. Anyway, they told me to make a pot of coffee and go home. I made the coffee and carried it over to the booth. I poured them each a cup and tried to take the salt shaker, but they had papers piled on top of it. I’m sorry, Val.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll just pick it up in the morning. It might actually be good. We can record them all evening this way.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks for understanding, Val.”

  “Thank you for helping, Winnie. Call me in the morning and I’ll go with you to pick it up.”

  “Thanks. That place is kinda creepy in the dark.”

  “It’s kinda creepy in the daytime, too.”

  ***

  I made myself a glass of iced tea and went out in the backyard. I unfolded a lawn chair next to the old RV and pretended I was camping out with Glad. I spent the evening in silence, watching the pelicans and ibis fly to their roosts as the stars blinked on one-by-one like nightlights illuminating their way home. Right before dusk a dragonfly landed on my hand. I reached up to touch my mom’s pendant on a chain around my neck and the dragonfly flew away. I took it as a good sign.

  ***

  At the crack of dawn, I got up and pulled on my stealth spy outfit – black sweatpants and a dark-gray t-shirt. I perked a cappuccino and googled the news. The headline read: “Major Fire on Gulf Boulevard.” My gut fell a foot closer to the floor. I scanned the article. No address was mentioned, but there’s no denying it. The gut knows what the gut knows.

  Winnie’s headlights flashed in my front window. I inched into my sneakers, sprinted outsi
de and jumped in the van.

  “Morning, Winnie. Let’s get going. I think we should hurry.”

  “Why?”

  There was no point getting Winnie upset over nothing. I made up an excuse.

  “I ate some bad seafood last night and I’m not feeling so great.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll step on it.”

  Winnie hit the gas. The g-force sent me tumbling backwards.

  “Oh no! I’m sorry!”

  “Don’t be. Put the pedal to the metal.”

  “What?”

  “Mash the gas pedal to the floorboard.”

  “Oh. Got it!”

  The van turned right onto Gulf Boulevard on two wheels. After a couple of blocks, I could already see the glow of the fire in the purple morning twilight. It formed an eerily beautiful, light-orange backdrop for the flashing red-and-blue lights of every cop car and firetruck in Pinellas County.

  “Wow! What’s going on, Val?”

  “I’m not sure. Tell you what. Turn right here. Let’s take the back way on Boca Ciega and avoid this mess.”

  I pointed the way and we skirted the main arteries already clogging with gawkers and early-morning commuters. We parked in front of a house a block behind Water Loo’s and stared through the windshield as a firetruck shot a plume of water at the smoking hull that was once the most disgusting coffee house in the world. Water Loo’s had gone down in flames.

  “Oh no! Your salt shaker!” Winnie cried.

  “Yeah. Shit. But there goes your job, too. I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yours either.”

  I blew out a big breath.

  “Shit. Hey. Since we’ve both got nothing better to do now, let’s go get a closer look.”

  The Dodge’s worn-out struts squeaked in protest as we climbed out. We walked toward the blaze until we reached a yellow tape stretched around the scene. It fluttered in the pre-dawn breeze, daring us not to cross it. Winnie and I joined the crowd of dozens of pyro-maniacal onlookers mesmerized by the smoldering heap. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later. Right behind the ambulance I spotted a lemon-yellow hummer. A few seconds later, I saw Finkerman’s frizzy brown hair bobbing in the crowd. He walked up to me and handed me a card, his eyes already on the lookout for the next empty palm.

  “Lady, if you feel injured or traumatized by this in any way, give me a call. There’s cash in catastrophe.”

  Finkerman shot me a smarmy smile. It disappeared the instant he recognized me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer.”

  Finkerman looked over at the blaze, then back to me.

  “Don’t tell me. Is this the place?”

  “Yep.”

  “The million-dollar policy place?”

  “Yep.”

  Finkerman scanned the charred remains and grinned with the right side of his mouth.

  “Okay, Ms. Fremden. You’ve got my attention. Tell me what I need to know right now and we might be able to scratch your name off the Michaels’ lawsuit and write in a new one.”

  “What do you need to know?”

  “How much are you worth?”

  “Geeze, you get to the point, don’t you. I don’t know for sure.”

  “Guestimate it. As a percentage of a million.”

  “Not even twenty-five percent.”

  “Okay. So we’ve established Loo’s the bigger cash prize. But still, you had possession of the finger. That’s troubling. A guy like me could plow that fact into the ground until a nice nuisance settlement sprouted up.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess you do. Possession of said missing body part is usually good for at least ten grand, Ms. Fremden. But I’m willing to consider dropping it for this ‘bigger fish,’ as you say. Just hand over the recording.”

  “Yes. That sounds good. There’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The recorder was in there.”

  I nodded toward the burnt-out husk of the building. Finkerman stomped his foot, then regained his composure. His eyes looked up and to the left as his brain concocted another scheme.

  “So, you’ve got no evidence. How inconvenient for you and me. But I might still be able to make this work. You’re worth a quarter mil. How do I know you didn’t set that fire yourself, you little arsonist, you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s see. You knew about the insurance money and the arson plan. You approached me, leveraging it to get you off the hook with the finger dealio. And gee, I just happened to run into you in the parking lot while the place was going up in flames. Arsonists do love to admire their own handiwork.”

  “That’s…that’s despicable!”

  “I know. And I’ve got it all on tape.” Finkerman patted his pocket. “Looks like you might be in even hotter water now, Ms. Fremden. I’ll be in touch. And by the way, you owe me for the recording device. I’ll send you a bill.”

  “You’re ridiculous! Isn’t talking to me about all that stuff some kind of conflict of interest?”

  “Lady, if there’s money in it, I got no conflict. And you? Unlike me, you’ve got no proof.”

  I grabbed for Finkerman’s shirt pocket, but he covered it with his hand. He smiled like Snidely Whiplash and disappeared into the crowd. A second later, Winky emerged from the same throng of people gawking at the catastrophe. He sidled up next to me and bit into a boiled egg, as if he was enjoying popcorn and a show.

  “Hey, Val pal! Can you believe that? Some people’s got some rotten luck, you know?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  He took another bite of egg. His nonchalance aggravated me.

  “What are you doing here, Winky?”

  “Came to see Winnie. She was antsy about something all day yesterday.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “She didn’t say. But I could tell somethin’ was getting her all riled up. Left without sayin’ a word this morning. I hitched a ride over to make sure she was okay.”

  His surprising compassion softened my attitude.

  “You really like her, don’t you.”

  “Yep. She’s a good egg.”

  Winky caught himself off guard with his own joke and laughed.

  “Good egg. Now that there’s funny.”

  “Yeah.”

  Winky raised the last bite of boiled egg up like a toast to the blackened building.

  “To Water Loo’s. I’ll miss your booze. But Loo and Latrina? Not you twos.”

  “You’re the quintessential country poet, Winky. I bet Glad loved the poem you recited at her memorial service. I never thanked you for that.”

  “It’s never too late to say thanks, Val.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Winky put his arm around me. We watched the firetruck put out the last flame. Suddenly Winky’s arm flew off my shoulder. He jerked back, raised both fists in air and beat them down on an imaginary table.

  “Gaul dang it!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There goes my free clothes box!”

  Yep. And my get-out-of-jail-free card.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Have you seen Winnie?” Winky hollered.

  The crowd at Water Loo’s last-ever barbecue had doubled. It was getting hard to hear above the din. I cupped my hand to Winky’s ear and yelled.

  “She was right beside me. I talked to this guy Finkerman, and she disappeared. But she’s got to be in the crowd somewhere. Or back at the Dodge. Want me to show you where we parked?”

  “Sure. I could use a nap.”

  I took a step in the direction of the van and found myself staring at a chest-full of blue. The face attached to the chest was handsome, with sandy blond hair and sea-green eyes.

  “Hiya, Tom-Tom,” Winky said.

  Tom nodded at Winky, then locked eyes with me. I looked away and watched Winky pull a pin
k boiled egg out of a pocket in his cargo shorts. He tapped the egg on his forehead with enough force to crack the shell. I felt Tom’s hands softly grip my upper arms.

  “Val, what are you doing here?”

  I shot him a hard look and pulled away.

  “Trying to save my own hide. With no help from you, thanks very much.”

  “Look, Val. I told you it would be worse if I got involved. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Because I just don’t. You’re selfish, Tom. You put your own needs above mine. I’m in big trouble. I need help. Where are you? Off with someone else!”

  “Val, I –”

  “I thought I had a plan. But it just went up in flames. And you won’t…you’re not….”

  I burst into tears. Dammit! No! I didn’t want Tom to see me cry. I looked over at Winky. He’d finished shelling the egg. Flakes of pink shell littered the asphalt like hobo snow. He reached into his shorts pocket. I gasped.

  “Where did you get that?” I yelled.

  Winky looked at me like a deer in the headlights. “Huh?”

  I ran over and snatched the salt shaker from Winky’s hand. Inside was a little contraption that looked like a computer thumb drive.

  “Yes!!!” I screamed.

  I grabbed Winky and kissed him on the lips. He nearly fell backwards.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Well, I kinda lifted it from Loo’s last night. If I’d a knowed you loved salt shakers so much, Val, I’d a snatched you one, too.”

  “Why did you take it?”

  “I ain’t no thief, if that’s what you mean. I just love me some Easter eggs. Every year, Winn Dixie down the road has ‘em cheap as dirt. I bought me a dozen yesterday on my way to see Winnie at work. She weren’t there. So, I sat myself down at the booth, like always. Somebody’d left a pile a papers all over it. I shoved ‘em to the side and started eatin’ my eggs. All of a sudden, old Loo hisself come over and tole me to get lost. Said Winnie wasn’t coming back ‘til tomorrow. Val, I needed the salt to eat my eggs. What’s a feller to do? I stuck the shaker in my shorts pocket. I was gonna bring it back. But I guess it don’t matter none, no more anyhoo.”

  “Oh, it matters. It matters plenty! Thank you, Winky!”

  I grabbed Winky’s hand and jumped up and down.