Plot Boiler

by Ali Brandon

  By the time she made it downstairs and waved her committee out the door, Darla had decided on her course of action. She’d head over to Perky’s with a heaping helping of Texas charm and attempt to bring this obnoxious sheep back into their diverse fold. He might be a jerk, but what mattered was the success of the block party.

  James was waiting on a pair of matronly women who had stopped in while Darla was busy with her committee. She waited until her manager had finished ringing up the two before briefly explaining the “King George” situation, drawing a commiserating nod from him.

  “I want to get over there before they close, since they’re only open until four on weekdays,” she told him. “No point in letting this drag out.”

  Then, with a glance over at her store mascot, who was still lounging on the counter and now snoring loud enough to riffle the newspaper stack, she added, “If you can hold down the fort again, I think I’ll take Hamlet with me as backup. If Georgie doesn’t cooperate, I’ll just have him speak to my associate.”

  “You do realize that Hamlet will likely not be allowed inside the coffee shop?”

  “Yeah, health code and all that,” she said with a dismissive wave. Then she added with a smile, “You do realize I was kidding about the backup, right?”

  “I am not always certain with you. And, never fear, you may consider the fort held.”

  “Thanks. And if we’re not back in a reasonable amount of time, go nose around Perky’s for signs of foul play. With that man’s attitude, he might toss me and Hamlet into his coffee roaster, just to say he can.”

  “If that happens, you may be assured I will see to it that your tombstone reads ‘Roasted in Peace’ as an appropriate epitaph.” Then, as Darla chuckled a little at this bad bit of wordplay, he added, “While you are in the lion’s den, perhaps you might do a bit more corporate spying, so to speak. I am hearing rumors that Perky serves a particular blend that is especially appealing to the younger crowd.”

  “Kona Blue Party,” she promptly confirmed. “I’ve heard about it, too. I was already planning to buy a pound of it so we can try to figure out why it’s so—”

  The splat of newspapers hitting the floor cut her short. Once again, Hamlet had decided that his comfort outweighed the customers’ convenience of a free local read. Tsk-ing, Darla scooped the newspapers up and neatly squared them back on the counter again.

  “I know, Hamlet, the news is depressing,” she told him as she glanced at the headlines while stacking them again. Apartment Fire Leaves Three Homeless. Teen Recovering from Drug Overdose. Vandalism Spree Ends in Arrest. “But that doesn’t mean you have free rein to toss the papers all over the place.”

  Hamlet blinked and lifted a paw, as if about to dispute that statement. Then, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to educate her, he settled back to resume his nap.

  “Not so fast,” Darla told him as she reached beneath the counter for his leash and harness. “I might not be able to use you as my muscle, but at least you can walk over to Perky’s with me.”

  A few minutes later, Darla had buckled a protesting Hamlet into his harness and, clipboard under her arm, started off toward the coffee shop. Hamlet, after his initial bout of grumpiness over being rousted from his comfy spot near the register, seemed to enjoy the outing. While not exactly prancing, he strolled with purpose, black tail lazily following after him. He’d learned to walk on a leash a few months earlier, courtesy of a “feline behavioral empath” whom Darla had consulted to help Hamlet out of a funk. To her surprise, the curmudgeonly cat had taken to his new harness like a champ, and daily walks were now part of their routine. And Darla had to admit that she rather enjoyed the attention the two of them drew while out and about. How could one not feel elegant and adventurous when accompanied by an oversized panther of a cat?

  The afternoon was hot by Brooklyn standards, but Darla was used to Texas’s sweltering heat and so didn’t even break a sweat as they headed up the street. Besides, she was dressed for the weather in lightweight khakis and a yellow Pettistone’s polo shirt, and had a water bottle tucked into her shoulder bag. It helped that the street was also nicely shaded by dual rows of brownstones and a few strategically placed small oaks, taking the sidewalk temperature down a few degrees.

  Even so, Darla had still done her usual barefoot check of said walkway before starting out. Only after she’d determined that the concrete was cool enough for her bare flesh—meaning it also was safe for feline paws—had she set Hamlet down for their walk.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at Perky’s. The independent coffee shop was located in a staid brownstone similar to Darla’s building. Like most other brownstones nearby, this one also had been converted into living spaces above and retail below. A glass entry door there at ground level led to the former, while Perky’s occupied all of what was a converted garden apartment. Reaching it required taking several concrete steps below street level.

  Just as with Darla’s building, those stairs were enlivened with a sturdy wrought iron balustrade that served both as a handrail and as a comfortable place to lean while sipping one’s coffee. George, however, had cleverly added a matching wrought iron gate that, when closed and locked, would effectively bar all but the most athletic from heading down to the coffee shop after hours. Of course, at this time of day the gate was open. With Hamlet at her side, Darla descended into King George’s realm.

  FOUR

  A faint aroma of brewing coffee beans wafted up as Darla and Hamlet walked down. Since the last time she’d been there, someone—probably Livvy—had taken time to throw a fresh coat of mango-colored paint on the peeling front door, and there were now two oversized terra-cotta pots each holding a fragrant bush with pink blooms that she recognized as oleander. No doubt Livvy had been responsible for those, too. The bold colors put a cheery bit of chic back into the shabby kingdom.

  Too bad no one had bothered to re-gild the Perky’s name onto the window at the same time, Darla thought. It looked like most of the “P” from the mottled glass had been scraped off, so that the name on the door now read “erky’s.” Given that the establishment’s owner had a definite knack for irking people, perhaps the revised name was appropriate, she thought with a silent snicker.

  But she also noticed with approval the addition of a little glass-and-wicker bistro table and chairs on the sunny narrow landing area outside the coffee shop. Since the place was more of a retail venue, it offered little inside seating other than a few high barstools at the counter and a couple of wooden benches where customers could wait for their to-go orders. The table was a nice little touch. Maybe, Darla wondered, these recent curb appeal touches mean that George is now on board with the July Fourth festivities?

  Darla hesitated at the door, wondering if she dared try to skirt the health code—and George’s bad temper—by bringing Hamlet inside with her. Technically, he wasn’t even allowed to hang out in her bookstore’s upstairs loft now that the coffee bar had been installed there, either.

  Of course, Hamlet had never been a stickler for rules.

  Darla, on the other hand, was . . . at least when it came to other people’s establishments.

  “Sorry, Hammy, but you’re going to have to wait here.”

  Darla set down her clipboard and detached his leash long enough to thread the end through the loop she’d wrapped around one of the decorative iron bars; then she refastened the snap-hook to his harness, giving it a final tug to be certain he was safely secured there in the shade. That accomplished, she reached into her bag and pulled out her water bottle and the folding pet bowl she always took on their walks.

  “I promise I’ll be inside for only a few minutes,” she told the cat as she poured a couple of inches of water into his travel bowl and set it beside him. “Meow if you need anything in the meantime.”

  By way of answer, Hamlet flopped onto the cool concrete, back deliberately turned to
her. Darla rolled her eyes but didn’t let this display of cat-itude sway her as she turned the knob on the coffee shop door and walked inside.

  The previously faint coffee aroma was now a full-fledged cloud that enveloped her as she walked to the counter. She gave an appreciative sniff while glancing around.

  The shop’s layout was similar to many coffee establishments Darla had patronized before, the public portion of the coffee shop a rectangular space the size of a traditional living room. A work counter complete with sinks and refrigerators took up most of the back wall, but was mostly hidden by the rough-hewn service counter in front of it. Rustic shelves ran floor to ceiling on two side walls.

  The wooden planking displayed blends of bagged coffee—both beans and ground—along with coffee mugs and espresso cups in various colors and configurations. Another shelf displayed herbal concoctions: teas, infused oils, and so on, which she knew was Livvy’s specialty. One shelf even held official Perky’s gear: T-shirts, mugs, and reusable shopping bags.

  A pleasant enough place despite its owner, Darla mused as she walked up to the counter. Just enough retro vibe to be interesting, but not so kitschy that it would scare off traditionalists.

  The shop was currently empty of customers, however. The King himself was the only one besides her in attendance. Wearing a tent-sized short-sleeved blue shirt with a jumbo Perky’s coffee cup embroidered on the back, he was bent over the antique coffee roaster in the corner.

  Unlike the small, sleek stainless steel unit that Robert sometimes used at the bookstore, this was an embossed copper machine. It was similar in size to a meat smoker like her father used back in Texas, but topped by an oversized funnel-shaped feeder. A few stainless parts appeared added to the equipment as an afterthought, no doubt automating the machine for modern-day use and lending it a definite steampunk look.

  As she watched in interest, George released the door on the roasting drum, spilling out a steamy caramel-colored waterfall of roasted beans into a spinning cooling tray.

  “Looks wonderful,” she exclaimed, drawing the man’s attention.

  George grunted and straightened. “Oh, it’s you. What, you need a real cuppa coffee, and not that swill you pour over at the bookstore?”

  “Our coffee is top-notch, thank you very much,” she replied, her initial smile pulling taut. Their coffee ought to be good, she told herself, given that they bought most of their beans pre-roasted from a couple of well-known outlets. “Actually, I’m following up one last time to see if you’re still planning on taking part in the July Fourth block party. We’ll need the balance of your contribution if you’re going to have an official booth on Friday.”

  “Wha’did I tell you the other day? You ask me, that block party is gonna be a big bust.”

  “Well, things look like a big bust in here right now,” Darla reflexively replied with a pointed look around the empty shop. Then, recalling her original intention to kill the man with kindness, she made a swift mental reset to “charm” mode.

  “Seriously, George, I really think this event will do a lot for the entire retail neighborhood. And everyone on the committee thinks it’s important you take part.”

  “Yeah, I bet they do,” the man said with a snort. He reached into the spinning cooling tray and snatched out a couple of beans.

  “Here, try this,” he demanded, handing her one and then popping the other into his mouth. “Just like a cuppa the best coffee you ever had.”

  While George crunched loudly, Darla cautiously bit down on the still-warm bean he’d offered. She wasn’t yet used to the idea of popping roasted coffee beans like breath mints, but she knew that Robert did the same thing anytime he roasted a day’s worth of product, assuring her it was an important part of the quality control process.

  As the robust coffee flavor filled her mouth, she gave an appreciative nod. George might be a jerk, but he definitely knew his way around a roaster.

  “Really good. Now, about your share of the sponsorship . . .”

  “Eh, talk to Livvy about it,” he exclaimed as his wife peeked her head around the open door at the far side of the back counter. “I’m gonna go take a walk.”

  To her surprise, he grabbed a red vapor pen identical to Penelope’s from beneath the counter and, leaving the cooling coffee beans still swirling in the tray, clomped to the door.

  Darla felt a brief instant of panic, recalling that Hamlet was tied outside. What if George wasn’t pleased to find a cat on his landing and aimed a kick Hamlet’s way, or something equally heinous?

  Instinctively, she rushed to the door and caught it before it closed after him. She saw in relief that George had ignored the black feline now curled beneath one bistro chair (and who, Darla noted, was giving the man his patented evil green stare). Instead, George was intent on his vaping pen. Puffing on it like a hookah and trailing a stream of aromatic vapor behind him, he started up the concrete steps.

  Her concern for Hamlet resolved, Darla sent a quizzical look after George. Somehow, the blustering coffee shop owner didn’t seem the type to give up his cigarettes. On the other hand, maybe he’d decided that, as a master roaster, he needed his sense of taste and smell at full peak.

  Darla shut the door after him and turned back to Livvy, who gave her a small smile. The young woman was dressed as if she might have just come back from yoga class, wearing capri-length black tights beneath a man-tailored pin-striped shirt, too small to have been borrowed from George. As usual, her black hair was scraped up into a messy topknot, giving her the look of a disheveled pixie.

  “Please don’t think I was eavesdropping, but I overheard your conversation with Georgie,” she said in a soft voice, taking a sip from the oversized coffee mug she held. “No matter what he says, we both think your block party is a marvelous idea. How much do we still owe the committee?”

  Darla told her, and Livvy set down her mug and reached beneath the counter, pulling out a leather-bound check register that looked as if it was a contemporary of the coffee roaster. She wrote out the check with a ballpoint pen and ripped it from the ledger, handing it with a flourish to Darla.

  “There, all paid up. Now, what do we need to know about the event?”

  Smiling, Darla opened her clipboard and tucked the check away, then pulled out the information sheet that she and the committee had drafted for the vendors. She and Livvy went over the details for a couple of minutes before Darla glanced back at the door.

  “Sorry, I’d better go. Hamlet—my cat—is waiting outside. You can call me or any of the committee members if you have more questions.” Then, recalling one of her other motives for coming over to Perky’s, she added, “Oh, before I forget, I wanted to pick up one of your special blends to try out.”

  “Sure thing, which one do you want? We’ve got a really nice Jamaican that sells well. Oh, and if you like a medium French roast, Georgie has one he calls Oui, Oui. And if you want to try a dark roast—”

  “Actually, I was hoping to try the Kona Blue Party blend.”

  Livvy choked a little, and her pale green eyes opened wide. “You want Kona Blue Party? Y-You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Livvy frowned. Then, looking from side to side as if expecting to be overheard by someone, she leaned closer. “Darla, do you know what Kona Blue Party is?”

  “Of course,” Darla said, a bit puzzled now. It occurred to her that perhaps George had instructed his wife not to sell his special blend to the competition. That possibility made her even more determined to try it.

  Summoning a no-nonsense smile, she assumed a confidential tone. “I’m sure you don’t sell it to just anyone, but a couple of girls at the bookstore said it’s the best they ever had. And since I’m in the coffee business”—she put finger quotes around the words to downplay any sense of her as competition—“I really want to try it for myself.”

  “Coffee business,
” Livvy murmured. “Good one. All right, if you’re really sure.”

  Her attitude still reluctant, Livvy nodded and reached beneath the counter. “We have one bag left. Will that be enough?”

  “I’m sure that will last me a couple of days,” Darla agreed as she eyed the small, plain brown bag, which, somewhat to her surprise, lacked the usual gold Perky’s sticker in the shape of a coffee cup. Enough for one pot, tops. “How much?”

  Livvy named a sum that made Darla raise her brows, the more so when the woman added, “Cash only.”

  “What is this stuff, gold?” Darla muttered, digging into her purse.

  Not that she wasn’t familiar with coffee that commanded a king’s ransom. Certain Brazilian and Guatemalan coffees were easily fifty dollars or more a pound. Not to mention the so-called civet cat poop coffee that cost more than three times that. But despite the outrageous price, she was more curious than ever now to try George’s special blend.

  “Thanks,” Livvy said as she took the money and handed over the bag. “Enjoy.”

  “I will.”

  Tucking the small bag into her purse, Darla grabbed up her clipboard again and made her good-byes. Mission accomplished, she thought with pride as she headed out the door to where Hamlet waited.

  The cat was still curled up beneath the bistro chair looking sulky as she set down her bag and clipboard to unfasten his lead.

  “Sorry, Hammy,” Darla told him. “I know you don’t like our friend George, but you’re just going to have to chalk this one up as taking one for the team. I’ve got a check from his wife, meaning I can put another check on my list. Get it?”