“You threatened my babies, and for that, your goose is now cooked,” Momma Peach told Bob. “I came here to take the venom out of your fangs and you helped me do that in a matter of seconds, you pathetic dumb-dumb. But I ain't stupid. I know that when I see one snake, I better look for the nest to find its eggs.”
“Oh, I see,” Bob said. With skill and ease, he jumped up and slid over the counter and landed on the floor on agile legs that told Momma Peach the man was skilled in martial arts. “So, you figured out that I'm going to start running some of my pals from New York through your town on regular business trips, did you?”
“I figured that out. But first you had to take care of a little side business, ain't that right?”
Bob grinned. “Graystone is dead. My sister is behind bars with her husband. The bank is at my disposal. I'd say I fulfilled the promise I made to my old man. Now it's time to get down to business. This little town is perfect for running drugs and guns. And with my position at this little bank, I’m in the perfect place to launder the dirty money.”
“I figured you were up to something. If you only wanted revenge you would have never gotten a job at the bank. There were plenty of other ways to get close to Felicia and Floyd.”
“Aren’t you clever. And it also occurred to me that you didn't record our conversation. If you had,” Bob stopped grinning and hissed at Momma Peach, “I would be in handcuffs right now, wouldn’t I.”
“I figured you would come to that conclusion.”
Bob stepped close to Momma Peach, keeping the gun in his right hand aimed at her chest. “What games are you playing, woman? I searched your records. You ain't with the FBI. You're just a small-town nobody who owns a stupid little bakery.”
Momma Peach narrowed her eyes and looked Bob in his face. “I have my town to protect from you wise-mouth...wise shirts...wise...whatever you call yourselves. Now you tell me who the other snakes are and where they're at.”
“You have a reputation for being a very clever woman,” Bob told Momma Peach, shaking his head. “But right now, you're being pretty stupid.”
“Listen, punk,” Momma Peach snapped at Bob, “the police can take you down for murder, but that still leaves a trail of snake eggs in my town. I'm not even worried about you. I'm worried about who is going to take your place when you’re locked up. Now I want names!”
Bob shook his head in mock wonder. “You're incredible,” he told Momma Peach. “Do you really think you're going to walk out of here alive? Let alone with names?”
“Yep,” Momma Peach said and touched her ear. “Michelle?”
“Loud and clear. I have the whole confession on tape,” said Michelle as she walked into the lobby.
“Now, tell me the names I want and maybe I won't stomp you into the dirt so hard,” Momma Peach told Bob with a look of satisfaction spreading over her face.
Bob's face drained of color as he looked from Michelle to Momma Peach. “You’re dead,” he hissed at her. “I’m no rat. You won’t get a single name from me. And if you lock me up, you'll be dead before dawn.”
“Road blocks are set up all over town,” Momma Peach told Bob. “The State Patrol is securing all exits up and down the interstate. The only way you're getting out of here is on foot. You can kill me, but when you're caught, and you'll be caught for good, you'll fry for your crimes. Now tell me the names of the other snakes in my town!”
“Tell her,” Mark begged from the floor. “Your plan didn't work, man. I told you this woman was dang smart. Did you listen to me? No—”
“Shut up!” Bob yelled at Mark. He stared at Momma Peach with venom in his eyes. The once-civil banker was gone and all she saw before her was the vicious criminal. He practically snarled, “I don't like losing.”
“You are a loser,” Momma Peach said and clasped her hands together. “Your kind are the true rats, boy. And my kind sets out the rat traps. Now give me some names.”
“I saw a man in here tonight...he had a rifle with him,” Mark said in a whimpering voice. “He's out hiding in the woods.” Mark raised a finger and pointed at Bob. “That guy ordered a hit on you, Momma Peach. He was going to make it look like you were shot dead after killing me...a drug deal gone bad.”
“I see,” Momma Peach said. “Michelle, it seems we have a snake in the woods... Michelle? Michelle, did you hear me?”
But before she turned around, Michelle had already taken off, sprinting silently into the woods behind the motel. Over the miniature earpiece, Momma Peach heard the grunt of a large man hitting the ground and groaning in pain. The shooter didn't stand a chance. Momma Peach knew that all he saw before his life flashed before his eyes was Michelle’s lethal kick and a disabling punch that tore into his body worse than hot bullets. And then Momma Peach heard the satisfying click of handcuffs cinching closed and Michelle’s expert hands inspecting and disabling the shooter’s rifle.
There was a small silence as Bob looked confused. “I've taken out the shooter,” Michelle's voice finally came through in Momma Peach’s ear.
“There’s no more shooter. And you’ve got no more chances, boy.” Momma Peach smiled sadly.
Bob gritted his teeth. He aimed his gun at Momma Peach. “You're still dead,” he said.
The sound of approaching sirens floated into the lobby. Bob kept the gun trained on Momma Peach as he backed toward the side door of the motel lobby. “I'll be back for you,” he promised with an evil grin and yanked the door open. As soon as he did so, he was met with a kick to the stomach. He flew backward into the lobby and as he fell, Momma Peach swung her purse into the hand Bob was using to hold his gun. The gun flew out of Bob's hand and crashed down onto the floor. Momma Peach quickly kicked the gun away. As soon as he recovered his breath, Bob yelled and shoved Momma Peach down onto the floor, trying to prevent her from reaching the gun. Outraged, he turned to run just in time to see Michelle kick the lobby door shut.
“You just made the worst mistake of your life,” Michelle told Bob. She whipped off her wet leather jacket and dropped down into a fighting stance.
“You want a piece of me, cop?” Bob growled and matched Michelle's position. “I'll tear you limb from limb.”
“Get him, Michelle,” Momma Peach yelled out. She crawled up onto her knees. “Stomp that spider into the mud! Teach him to never threaten my babies again!”
Mark slowly began to crawl toward the gun laying on the floor. Momma Peach reached out and grabbed his legs. “Sit still or I'll smack you into yesterday!” she warned Mark in an undertone. Mark hunkered back down.
“Where I come from, we don’t pull our punches with nice little lady cops,” Bob hissed at Michelle as they began circling each other in the lobby. Michelle remained deadly calm, her eyes never leaving his. Outside, three police cars raced into the parking lot and slid to a stop. She knew the first thing the cops saw would be the shooter, handcuffed and still unconscious. She had left him shoved up against the lobby wall nearest the woods, in plain sight.
“You pushed Momma Peach down. Now, you pay,” Michelle told Bob.
“Die,” Bob hissed and suddenly threw a flurry of quick, feinting punches, and then a vicious front kick toward Michelle. Michelle ignored his fake punches, and then spun to one side to block his kick so his foot merely glanced off the side of her body; she used her momentum to continue swinging around and followed through with a devastating roundhouse punch. Her fist caught Bob on the side of his face and nearly took him to his knees. He shook his head as if to clear his vision, and in a fury charged at Michelle and began throwing one hard punch after another with lightning-fast speed. Michelle blocked and dodged each punch with such skill and calm that he seemed to grow tired without even being able to touch her. Again, she waited for him to leave himself vulnerable, and then delivered a front kick to Bob's stomach followed up by a roundhouse kick with all the power in her compact fighter’s body. Bob went flying across the lobby and landed on the floor. He stood up unsteadily, wiping a trail of blood from his n
ose and bellowed in rage. Again and again, he tried to charge at her, and she deftly avoided his blows, swept his legs out from under him, and delivered powerful blows that knocked the wind out of his lungs. Finally, he staggered to his feet as she advanced on him with a series of blows that he struggled to block, his face bloodied and streaked with sweat.
He collapsed to his knees. With the last of his strength, he stood up, yanked a switchblade knife from his pants pocket, and snapped it open. “Die, cop!”
“No thanks,” Michelle said and crouched down again, barely winded. She grinned as he heaved and gulped air, attempting to recover. “Whenever you're ready.”
Bob charged at Michelle with a murderous, desperate rage in his eyes. Michelle waited until the last, perfect second when he swung the knife in the air in a deadly arc. Then she launched forward, kicked the knife out of Bob's hand, and flipped her body over his in a powerfully elegant front flip. Before Bob could turn around, Michelle had him in a choke hold, her legs around his waist as her body weight dragged him down to the floor. Bob pushed at Michelle's arms as she squeezed all but the smallest stream of air from his body.
“Nobody, and I mean nobody, pushes Momma Peach down,” she whispered in Bob's ear. Bob struggled weakly to break free, but Michelle was too powerful for him and he succumbed. He felt handcuffs being fastened painfully tight around his wrists and moaned pathetically, as if he knew a life in prison was all that awaited him. The last thing he remembered was seeing Momma Peach standing over him and saying with satisfaction: “This is one spider we stomped real hard.” And then...only darkness.
“Why didn't you tell me that you knew Bob Connor was going to run a crime ring through our town, Momma Peach?” Michelle asked. She took a bite of delicious peach bread and watched Momma Peach using a rolling pin to flatten out a ball of fresh dough. “I wish you would have told me.”
“One step at a time,” Momma Peach told Michelle as she hummed to herself. “My mind was full of some mean folks that needed to be taught a lesson. I knew that Bob Connor was bad news when I saw him working at the bank.” Momma Peach smiled at Michelle. “You know, you look lovely in that white dress. White is your color. And I love the way you're letting your hair flow freely today. So nice.”
Michelle couldn't help but smile. “Thank you, Momma Peach, but please, don't try and change the subject. You should have told me.”
Momma Peach continued to work on the dough with her rolling pin. The kitchen was hot and sweat was seeping out in beads on her forehead, but she was happy. Outside, the birds were singing, the sky was blue, and the honeysuckle bloomed full of life and fragrance. The air was warm and sweet and the pine trees tall and alive. “I learn to take one thought at a time. I knew when I saw Bob Connor working at the bank something was smelly. Bob Connor seemed like the type of snake that crawled in and out of many holes instead of just one.”
“You mean running drugs and guns through our town and laundering money through the bank?” Michelle asked.
“Yes. Murder and revenge may have been his first objective, but he wasn't stupid,” Momma Peach said. “Now, how is Momma Peach's famous peach bread?”
Michelle sighed and then smiled happily, popping another bite into her mouth and chewing it with a blissful look on her face. “The taste of this...the brown sugar with the peaches...it’s almost as good as one of your hugs, Momma Peach.”
“Thank you. And tell me, what’s next on your mind?”
“Well,” Michelle said and jumped down from the counter she was sitting on, “we have our arrests, we have Bob Connor on tape admitting he killed Mr. Graystone. Felicia and Floyd Garland are going to prison on different charges. Mark Thompson is having his motel demolished and the court ordered him sent to rehab and after that, strict probation. I would say all’s well that ends well, except that your bread might be a bit too sweet today.”
Momma Peach stopped rolling out the dough. Her face went from pleasant to serious. She narrowed her eyes at Michelle and shook the rolling pin in her hands at her. “What did you say about my bread?”
Michelle giggled. “Just teasing. The bread is perfect, Momma Peach, just like you.”
Momma Peach winked at Michelle. “I know,” she said and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “I gave Mandy the day off. She has a hot date with Ralph. I swear that boy wears the ugliest shirts in the world. Yesterday he showed up at my bakery wearing a neon blue shirt...poor thing looked like a demented blueberry.”
Michelle laughed. “I bet he did. But he's a nice kid. And Mandy seems to really like him.”
Momma Peach went back to rolling out the dough. “What about you? Any hot dates lined up?” she asked in a careful voice.
Michelle took a bite of peach bread. “Detective Mayfield thinks I'm cute. Of course, he's sixty-five years old. I don't feel like dating a man who has to be in bed by nine,” she sighed.
Momma Peach nodded. “I met a man at the grocery store yesterday,” she ventured, “a Mr. Ryan Hillford. He's new in town...and he's single. No wife, girlfriend, fiancé, nothing. I talked to him and—”
“Oh, Momma Peach, you didn’t—”
Momma Peach raised her hands at Michelle. “Before you use your Kung Fu on me, let me explain.”
Michelle dropped her head forward. “To borrow your phrase, Momma Peach...give me strength.”
Momma Peach chuckled. “Mr. Hillford is about your age and very handsome. He's opening up a paint and carpet store in Mrs. Call's old store. You know, the store that sits off by itself on Dove Street.”
“Paint and carpet?” Michelle exclaimed. “Momma Peach, what's this guy supposed to do on a date? Bring me a bucket of paint instead of a rose? No offense Momma Peach, I like roses, not paint.”
“Well...he seemed nice,” Momma Peach fussed at Michelle. “My husband, my James, didn't work a fancy job, either. No shame in good, honest work. Good, honest work buys you flowers, not just paint. Now, I want you to at least meet this man. He's coming by the bakery around lunch to buy some bread, as it so happens. I told him you would be here and—” before Momma Peach could finish her sentence Michelle ran out of the back door faster than anything she had ever seen. “I’m going to have to work on that one,” she sighed.
The phone rang in the front of the bakery. Momma Peach wiped her hands on the white apron tied around her waist and hurried to answer the phone thinking the caller might be Rosa. “Hello, Sweet Peach Bakery, this is Momma Peach speaking. Is that—”
“Who is this?” Aunt Rachel asked. “Is this Norma? Where have you been, Norma?”
“Oh, give me strength!” Momma Peach cried out in a whisper. “Aunt Rachel, it's me, your niece...Caroline! You called me. It’s Caroline from Georgia!”
“I don't live in Georgia,” Aunt Rachel answered in a confused voice. “Who is this? Where's my breakfast? Let me tell you about how late that breakfast has been lately...”
“Aunt Rachel,” Momma Peach said in a louder voice, and then began to tiredly bang the phone against her head a little as her aunt went on and on. Just then, Rosa walked through the front door of the bakery, saw Momma Peach beating the phone against her head, and eased up to the counter.
“Aunt Rachel?” Rosa whispered.
“Yes,” Momma Peach exclaimed in frustration and turned to look at Rosa. “Nice dress, Rosa. Love the pink,” she said and continued to listen absently to the cranky tirade coming through the phone. Finally, she sighed. “Aunt Rachel, this is Caroline. You called me.”
“Carolina? I live in Virginia, not North Carolina,” Aunt Rachel said. Even from miles away Momma Peach could hear the woman cackle under her breath, no doubt grinning from ear to ear as she sat in her wheelchair stirring up trouble. “Where's my breakfast? And who are you?”
Momma Peach pursed her lips in frustration. “It's Caroline, your niece!”
“Knees? Knees don’t trouble me. But I've got gas,” Aunt Rachel announced. “Beans give me gas, you know. Don't serve me beans for breakfast. I'll s
ue you if you do.”
“How can I serve you beans for breakfast when I'm hundreds of miles away?” Momma Peach practically yelled into the phone. “Aunt Rachel, did you get the replacement check I sent you?”
“Check? Oh yes, the nurses check my blood pressure every day. Who is this? Why are you talking to me?” Aunt Rachel asked with another cackle. “Maybe you ought to check my gas instead? I get lots of gas, you know.”
Momma Peach handed the phone to Rosa. “Take this phone. I’m going to take a little trip and smack an old woman,” she said in a strained voice. But then, suddenly, she turned as she caught a buzzing sound near the window. She craned her head forward, spotted a fly on the front display window, and yelled out, “Aha!”
Rosa stepped back with the phone in her hand and watched as Momma Peach snatched up a newspaper, rolled it up, and began creeping across the floor like a soldier preparing to ambush her enemy. The fly sat on the front window as if wondering what the crazy lady with the newspaper was up to. As soon as Momma Peach got close enough, she attacked. “Die, fly!” she yelled and began swatting at the fly as fast as her arms would allow. The fly took to flight and landed on a faraway shelf. “Oh, you think you can escape me, don't you,” Momma Peach whispered and began creeping across the floor.
“Momma Peach will call you back, Aunt Rachel. She's busy right now,” Rosa spoke into the phone in a sweet voice and hung up. Mandy walked into the bakery just in time to see Momma Peach launch a second attack. She walked over to Rosa, leaned against the front counter, and watched Momma Peach chase the fly around. “It's nice to have things back to normal,” she told Rosa. “Nice dress.”
“Nice top,” Rosa complimented the blue blouse Mandy was wearing. “I know just the eye shadow you need to match it... I'll get it out of my purse. You keep an eye on Momma Peach.”
Mandy smiled. She watched Momma Peach go after the fly with fiery eyes. “Come to me, I won't hurt you...much...now stop being stubborn and stay still...oh, you know you want to say hey to Momma Peach...”
A Dash of Peach Page 15