Malicious Mischief

by Marianne Harden

  “Sir,” I said. “Just tell me which mall Andre Rostov works at. I’ll move the car.”

  “He’s—” The guard broke off, however, as something loud, a lot louder than a moan or even a groan, rumbled from overhead. Then he looked up, to the overhang above the Pinto, his eyes growing wide, and wider, then bulging like a squished guppy. “Oh, no,” he gasped.

  I stared at his petrified face. “What is it?” I asked, as the groaning from above got even louder. “What’s wrong?”

  But his attention was fixed on the overhang as he wiggled his big body out from between the door and jamb, then drop down to his feet inside the building and slammed the door.

  Jane stretched to look out the windshield. “What’s was that all about—”

  Her mouth had dropped open, eyes staring up. A second later, I knew why, as a hair-raising snap shattered the soupy air and one corner of the overhang broke free from the building. Then it all happened fast, too fast to move or react. A squeal flooded the car, as nails affixing the overhang to the two support columns on Jane’s side of the car surrendered to the downward weight and started to twist out. Frozen in horror, I watched the overhang rock backward and forward before the columns buckled, and the nails stripped free entirely. The remaining corner fastened to the building gave way, then, under the pressure the overhang collapsed onto the Pinto with an earsplitting bonk.

  Jane and I locked eyes. I tried to beat down all thoughts of panic. No use. I gave into panting. Jane merely tugged on an unseen mustache hair, eyes relaxed. Cucumber cool.

  “Oh well,” she said, sighing. “I’m way too much woman for him. I bet he’d have popped an artery or something. I like ape sex.”

  I squinted in the dim interior to examine the Pinto’s roof, hoping, praying it would continue to hold until I got Jane out of the car. The overhang didn’t seem to want to stop moving. It went on rocking, only now up and down. With my side of the car too tight for an escape, I released my seatbelt and reached over Jane for the passenger door handle as though in slow motion, as if my body was fighting against my brain. The car’s interior spun a little from my fast breathing, tilted, but I got a hand on the handle, pulled down and pushed. The door wouldn’t budge. I spied the small knob for the lock. Found it up. Still, my second try to open the door was no better than the first, the third just as useless.

  Jane stretched her spry five-foot body and peered out her side window. “It’s a good bet we’re trapped. It seems one of the columns fell against the door.” Then she lifted her cell phone and punched a few numbers. “Look,” she said into the mouthpiece. “You listen to me when I talk to you. I said I want pineapple and Canadian bacon on my pizza. I am too being serious,” she added and hung up.

  I was halfway into believing that a phantom blow to my head had knocked me silly when I realized she was, indeed, serious. “Pizza? Now?”

  She nodded. “I must say, Rylie, I like you. I’m not sure why. Oh, that reminds me. I need to pick a bone with my next-door neighbor.”

  I stared at her as she dialed yet another number. “Can’t that wait?” I said. “We’re stuck in here. The police are probably on their way. And the roof could collapse.”

  She shrugged rather testily and ignored me. “Come on, Dil; pick up the phone, dammit. Okay, have it your way,” she said, and I recognized the automated sounds of voicemail. “Here’s the deal. Your cat climbed into my yard yesterday and pooped all over the place. Stinks to high heaven, too. Honestly, what the hell kind of crap are you feeding him nowadays? Smacks of bargain basement shit. You know, I put my money on your new security guard. Probably buying cheap and pocketing the rest. If I were you, I’d take a hard look at him. Just last week, he got his nose all out of joint when I told him to get your trash bins out of my roses. Hard to say, but I’m betting he left off the cat’s invisible fence collar on purpose to piss me off. Dil, I’m telling ya, you better see that pussycat doesn’t escape again, or I will, hear me?” She hung up, took a breath, and turned to me. “Okay, where were we?”

  Now positive I was brain-injury cuckoo, I tore my bulging eyes off her and took another glance around for a way out. Of course, I realized now that we might have a chance to escape through the back seat door, especially since the overhang had stopped wobbling.

  And then I heard it, a deafening whoop, whoop, whoop coming from over our heads. “What’s that?”

  “A helicopter,” she said with a blasé jerk of one shoulder. “I mobilized it to help us.”

  “You called for a helicopter? When?”

  Somehow, I knew the answer before she said it.

  “When I ordered the pizza. Pineapple and Canadian bacon is code for big trouble. Huh, is that thick expression on your face because you think we’re in extreme jeopardy? Well, I guess I could have ordered anchovies and black olives, but calling out the National Guard seems too much. It’s only a silly patio overhang, not terrorists.”

  My mouth dropped open when an Asian guy in a classy blue suit suddenly appeared at Jane’s window, freed the passenger door of the offending column as if it were a mere toothpick, and signaled for Jane to roll down the glass. A tiny wire snaked from his ear to mouth, and his eyes were incredibly dark, dangerously dark. Half my spit dried up just looking at him. He was uber ripped and smoking hot, in an Incredible Hulk meets Tim Kang sort of way, but with the added oo-la-la of long, sinuous black hair. Square chin. Statuesque. Not that I was in the market for a man. No sirree bubba. After all the grief they’d caused me lately, I’d sworn off things with penises. Still, I’m no man-hater. Frustrated is more the somber truth. I’m two for zero in the love department, more if being honest, but why talk numbers now. But before Detective Thad Talon, there had been Zach O’Neil. A great guy. A former cop. He was my first real love. But also my best friend. And one kiss from me drove him straight to the priesthood. Major ego killer.

  “We’ll have you free in a moment, Miss Gettelfinger.” Incredible Hulk raised his voice over the noise from the helicopter. “Anyone hurt?”

  We shook our heads in rapt unison.

  “I brought a blanket.” He produced one that looked like cashmere. “In case of shock.”

  “You silly boy, you shouldn’t have,” gushed Jane at full volume, though I noticed she grabbed the blanket and brought it to her nose. “It smells like you, Luke. All male.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, revealing a slim keyboard of perfect teeth. “I’ll need you to roll up the window now, for your own protection.”

  Luke stepped back and turned away to cough. He gave a scarcely noticeable shake to his head and looked our way. “Sorry, ladies,” he called out. “Dry throat.”

  Jane frowned and buried her head in her whale of a purse. After several seconds of rummaging, she produced a cough drop. “Here, suck on this.” When Luke hesitated, she added at the top of her lungs, “Don’t make me spank you, darling boy.”

  He bent to her level. “Thank you,” he mouthed, coughing a little, smiling less. I reckoned Luke wasn’t a fan of cough drops, or was it Jane for which he lacked a taste?

  Luke moved away, seized one of four hook-ended ropes that had dropped from above and out of sight. I paid way too much attention to his powerful hands as they nimbly fastened each hook to evenly spaced points on the overhang. Still staring, I yelled to Jane, “What’s going on?”

  She exhaled another deep breath into the blanket and rolled up the window. The outside racket lessened, but only by a little. “Don’t you just love how he throws himself into his work?” she shouted. “That’s why I permit him to be my bodyguard.”

  “He works for you?” I shouted in a choked voice.

  “Tasted and approved,” she barked and smacked her lips. “I’m gonna have to ask you to keep quiet about this,” she added, eyes hard. “Can I trust you to do that, doll face?”

  She shifted her attention to Luke and wiggled her fingers when he looked over.

  “Sure. Why not,” I muttered. “A helicopter, a hunky bodyguard. What�
��s to tell?”

  Luke moved around to the front of the Pinto and did a thumb-up motion to the unseen helicopter pilot. If Luke was gorgeous before, it was nothing to how he looked with his long, flowing Jesus-hair blowing wildly by the rotors. After a quick scoot up to the dashboard, Jane cupped her chin in a propped hand. I couldn’t see her face, but I swear I saw her mouth form a moan.

  “Relax,” she called out to me. “Luke will take care of everything, even the security guard.”

  After that, we sat in silence. The helicopter lifted the overhang. We watched, rooted to the spot. Luke looked in top form, so it must have been persistent dryness causing him to cough into his sleeve as he grabbed the fourth metal hook. The overhang swung over the Dumpsters and the wind from the rotors sent Halloween party favors flying all around like vivid shrapnel. Luke scurried, collected, crumpled the soggy stuff into a huge wad, and threw it away. He used up a few more minutes prying up and over the rusty Dumpster lids to keep more trash from blowing out.

  When the helicopter lowered the overhang to the asphalt just ahead and to the right, Jane, as I was doing, clapped and cheered. Turns out being rescued was sort of a rush. Luke waved for me to drive off, and as I did so, I saw two things in the rearview mirror: Luke disappearing inside the unemployment office, and a better view of the helicopter—gaily painted in alternating stripes of yellow and gray—as it touched down at the rear of the lot. But still, there was no sign of the after-hours security guard from inside.

  My head had a pulse as I thought about how I might be in deep shit. Suppose he’d already called the police from inside the office then insists they charge me with unlawful restraint once they arrive? Suppose Talon was called in to drag my sorry butt to jail? Suppose my being locked up in the pokey caused me to renege on a payment to the tax assessor, only to make Granddad and me homeless.

  Hello, God. I’d like to leave now.