by Gale Borger
Back to my story, it all culminated one afternoon right here at Mom's, out in back of the barn. Okay, I know what everyone is thinking, but honestly, we had a dead horse, a dead man, and half the town as chaperones, so let's all keep our minds out of the gutter, shall we? Anyway, in front of half the town plus the news media, J.J. grabbed me, pulled me close, and whispered in my ear. The fact he was talking about murder didn't matter, the damage was done.
He made it look like we were all cuddly and couple-like, and suddenly we became front-page news. My humiliation was complete when the gossip at Sal's said he'd uttered sweet nothings in my ear, leading the women of the town to try to do me in. Then their mothers started giving me the evil eye, and I was sunk. Explanations were useless, and my own mother refused to confirm or deny any rumors. That was certainly good enough for the gossip mill, so Green and I became the new town soap opera, As the Stomach Churns.
Taking another swig of beer, I stared at the culprit in this saga. Thinking about that entire episode made me pissy and I gave J.J. the stink eye as I touched my toe to his camp chair and tilted back in mine. I've got to give him credit though. J.J. can sure keep up the facade like a pro. He grinned at me and I sucked on my beer. I gave him an insincere toothy grin and he laughed, patting my ankle affectionately, as if he meant it.
He smiled like a contented old lap dog and leaned over to fluff my hair. Again. This caused a ripple of comments to flow through the crowd and I sighed. Might as well give up, or break his arm again, Miller. I was too content to argue, and to be perfectly honest, I kind-of enjoyed the temporary notoriety it afforded me, bad haircut and all. Feeling comfortably muzzy, I grinned, leaned back again and scratched the ears of my Newfoundland, Wesley. Wes was showing me the love, and leaned his 160-pound frame against my knees.
At once, I had a slight feeling of vertigo, and that feeling didn't come from a bottle. As Wes wallowed in doggie bliss, he leaned more of his weight against my chair. My feet slowly left the ground as it shifted to the left and back. I leaned forward and kicked my feet, trying to regain my balance without spilling my beer (we do have priorities in Wisconsin). As my chair passed the point of no return, my arms flapped in a drunken imitation of a dog paddle and my toes fluttered helplessly in the air.
"Whoop." My feet flew up. Wes woofed, excited at the prospect of playing tackle.
J.J. finally noticed I had a problem when I punted his beer across the yard. I toppled to the left and it flashed through my mind the picture I would make rolling ass-over-teakettle down the hill with a beer in my hand.
Without so much as missing a beat in the conversation, my sister Mag's boyfriend, Ian, reached out and shoved me back toward the upright position. J.J. grabbed my foot as it swung by, and pushed Wesley over as he righted my chair.
As my chair hit the ground, he grabbed the beer out of my hand, pointed at my face, and said, "You owe me one, Miller." He fluffed my hair, swigged my beer, turned, and resumed his conversation with FBI Bob. The crowd, "Ooo'd."
"Whew. How many coupons for that ride?" I blinked and tried to clear my head. I looked across the yard and saw my Bulldog, Hilary, lapping up the remainder of J.J.'s beer. She loved beer, even though it gave her gas, so it was always a good idea to curtail her drinking habits. There's nothing on earth worse than Bulldog beer farts in a small room. I strolled over and picked up the can. Hill looked up at me with those sad eyes of hers. She heaved a great sigh and passed some wicked gas. She looked around as if she couldn't believe something like that could have come out of her butt. She gave me an accusing stare–like I had anything to do with it.
"Yes, Hill, you did that, but you could have at least been polite enough to share it with J.J." I made my way back over to our group.
Hearing J.J.'s name, Hilary perked up, waddled after me, and parked herself on J.J.'s foot. He leaned over and rubbed her ears. "How's my best girl, Hill? You're the prettiest girl in town, ya know?"
I smiled at the two of them. He sure loved my dogs. I guess that's something.
My mom sat a few feet away with her friends and I heard Joy say in a stage whisper, "Gerry, did you hear that? J.J. just told Buzz she's the prettiest girl in town."
I suppressed an undignified snort and poked J.J. He nodded and smiled in acknowledgement as we eavesdropped on the geriatric wild women.
Mom sounded doubtful as she replied, "You sure he was talking to Buzz?"
Jane nodded and said, "He always was a smart feller."
"Who's a fart smeller? Is it that damn Bulldog again?" Mary Cromwell sniffed the air and took another swig of beer.
A small stream of beer shot out of J.J.'s mouth as he tried to hold back a laugh. I pinched him while Mom scowled at her friend and shushed her. "Mary, not so loud. We were talking about J.J. and Buzz."
"J.J.'s a fart smeller? Boy-oh-boy, what those youngsters won't do for entertainment these days. I can tell you one thing though." She leaned forward and poked a thumb to her chest. "In our day we had better things to do than sniff someone's farts." She sat back and grinned.
Jane's hands fluttered in Mary's direction. "Mary, Stop!"
"Stop? Stop what? We're talking about farts. Now I like a nice long fizzer every now and then, but just lately I've been getting a little juicy…"
"Mary!" Joy, Jane, and Mom looked horrified.
J.J. snorted and beer shot out his nostrils. He began to cough and I slammed him on the back. Bob barked out a laugh and Al looked horrified. J.J. gasped for breath and dropped his forehead on my shoulder. He shook with silent mirth.
Mom's friend, Jane, bit her lip and sent a worried look our way, but she must have figured we were preoccupied and tried desperately to shush Mary. "Mary, be quiet, I mean it. One more crack like that and–"
"Yep, I know just what you mean, Janie. I like to crack one off every now and then, just like you. Sometimes I save 'em up if I know I'm going to be in an elevator. You know, so everyone is looking around wonderin' who did it." She slapped a scrawny knee and guffawed at her own joke. "No one suspects the little old lady."
"Mary!" This time all three women yelled.
"Oh, Jane, Joy, get off your high horses. You did it right along with me back in the day, and you know it. She pointed at mom. "And you, Gerry Miller, remember the frozen food section of the grocery store? Wow! If those turkeys weren't already dead, they would have been after you cracked off that doozy."
She turned to us, but contrary to Mom's protests, Mary waved her off. She took another swig and belched loud and long. "It was later in the evening after we'd eaten polish sausage and sauerkraut over at Bodgie Burns' house. We went from there to the Herr-ee Chest for some Weiss Bier.
Good old Gerry forgot to get the lemons. Boy did we have some major boomer-action going on after that."
Mary blinked myopically at the small, humiliated group of women and continued. She pointed at my mom with her bottle. "Hah! Gerry here got the munchies so we decided to stop at the Pig a few towns over. Anyway, we had to cheese it really bad, so we ran around to the frozen food section where we thought no one would be. Just as your momma cracked off the cheezer of the century, Old One-Eyed Larry came around the corner." She looked at my red-faced mom.
"Larry didn't know what hit him, 'cause you laid that rattlin' whopper on his blind side. That old boy whipped around and tripped over your feet. His skinny ass flew through the air and he landed right in the chicken livers."
Mary guffawed as we piled on top of each other trying to stay quiet.
"Yup, old liquored up One-Eyed Larry swore his dead daddy had come back to haunt him, so there he was, a-layin in the frozen chicken livers a-prayin' to God for salvation. You wouldn't believe the things he confessed."
She was holding her middle and laughing so hard she could barely speak. "Hah-ha–he thought Ger's gas was fire and–ha-ha–brimstone. He was a hollerin' and a-prayin'. He–hah-ha–couldn't–hee-hee–get out of the freezer. He looked like a beached whale floundering in the frozen foods, so we pulled him
out and ran like heck."
By now tears rolled down my face and the entire yard full of people uproariously hooted and guffawed. Mary played to the crowd and my mom looked around for a hole to crawl into.
"He-hee–Old Larry, he smooshed some of the meat cartons he laid on and had chicken livers flash frozen to his butt. Ha-ha. He stumbled home and every hound dog in town followed him, nipping at the chicken livers. Last seen Larry was praying the hounds of hell wouldn't chew off his leg."
Mom looked ready to faint, and Joy got up and put her hands on her hips. She lifted a finger to Mary, about to let fly when Mary's son, Ted Puetz hurried up to the group. "Mother, for God's sake shut up! Have a little decency for once."
Mary gave him an evil glare. She stood nose to nose with Ted and wobbled a little before she poked him in his ample belly. "You may be town constable, young man, but if you speak to me in that tone of voice again, I'll (burp) kick your butt into the next zip code. Do you understand me?"
Ted actually scuffed the grass with his toe. "Yes, Ma."
"Okay then. Us girls were just talking about how smart J.J. is to be chasing after Gerry's daughter, and we got a little carried away, so go run over there and grab me a beer like a good boy."
We all stared silently at Mary: our mouths hanging open like a bunch of Bluegills on a hook.
"And another thing." She snatched the beer out of Ted's hand. "You're in U-nee-form! What are you doing with a beer in your hand? What happened to professional ethics around here?" She spun around and took a swig of the confiscated beer, giving us a wink and a grin.
Ted turned a blotchy shade of purple and stomped back toward the grill.
"Putz." Mary snorted as she flopped back into her chair.
At that J.J. lost it. He roared with laughter and I joined him. Apparently everyone in the near vicinity heard the exchange and uproarious laughter echoed off dad's barn.
My sister Fred and her old college roommate Sam walked up and Fred said, "What's so funny?" The laughter began all over again.
2
Evo grabbed his cell phone from the cargo pocket of his pants and took it out of the waterproof bag. He tried Sam Fernandini's office and was told she was on vacation. He swore and ranted some more before he called his brother's home phone, rewarded with his voicemail–again.
He waited while his brother's lengthy message blabbed in his ear. Probably got some bimbo over there. Tony always has a girl stashed somewhere. Sam's on vacation. Tony's not answering his phone. Evo's jumbled mind flashed red as he wondered if Tony and Sam were together. Stupid! It's none of your business. Why would you even care? Tony is free, rich, and single, and Sam is beautiful; a bitch, but beautiful. What is she doing with my little brother anyway? I'll wring her unprofessional cheating neck!
Evo barked from Tony's answering machine. "Dammit, Tony. Where the hell are you? This is Evo. Dump the bitch and pick up the phone–this is important. The good news is, I discovered a small, secluded lagoon in northeastern Venezuela overflowing with beautiful Endler Live Bearers."
Tony made a flying grab for the phone, still dripping from the shower. The answering machine squealed and Tony swore. He fumbled with the phone as it slipped out of his wet hands, hitting the table with a crash. He picked it up and dried it with a bath towel.
"Evo, is that you? What are you yelling about? Did you say you found wild Endlers? I ran in from the shower and only heard part of your message–hold on a second. I'm standing here wet and in my skin."
Tony heard Evo mutter, "Like I wanted to hear that," as he picked his towel up off the floor and wrapped it around his hips. He turned on the speakerphone just in time to hear Evo yell, "Too much information, kid. Get some pants on. Tony grabbed his digital recorder. "Evo? Hold on. I'm going to record this so I don't miss anything."
"Are you alone, Casanova? Because this is huge, and probably should stay between us until we can track down Fernameanie. Uh, you don't have any idea where she is, do you?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know where Sam is. She's out of the country on vacation. It was just me and my fish tank last night, thank you very much. Hah! I slept with the fishes. Ha! Sometimes I kill me. Anyway, whaddaya got going there, Big Cat?"
"Geez, you sound more American every day, you idiot. Mother would kill you. Anyway, I'm investigating an environmental complaint lodged by some locals so I snuck up the backside of one of our drilling sites in Cumaná, Venezuela. I came across a black mangrove lagoon just overflowing with Endler Live Bearers. It might be a part of Laguna de los Patos, but I doubt it. I don't think I am that far north. I'll give you my bearings and if you would chart it for me, I'd appreciate it."
"No problem, Evo." He wrote down the coordinates. "So, what happened? What else did you find?"
Evo popped another antacid and walked to the shoreline, staring at the devastation. "I found hundreds of thousands of dead Endler Live Bearers, that's what I found."
"Oh, shit, are you kidding me, Evo–dead Endlers? The entire lagoon is dead, or just part of it? See if you can salvage even a few. Boy, after Sam and I discovered that the good citizens of Venezuela built a garbage dump adjacent to the only lake where Endlers existed and wiped them all off the face of the earth, I thought we would only see them in captivity. If there are any salvageable fish, it's nothing short of fantastic, Evo!"
Evo shifted his phone to the other ear and began to pace. "Tony, Tony, listen to me. These fish may all be dead, too. Luis skimmed the lagoon for live fish, so I hope some make it home. Literally thousands of floaters are washed up on the beach as we speak. I got pictures. I'll send some to you.
"We have got to get a hold of Fernandini and we have to keep this quiet. Only you, Luis, his brother Alfredo, and I know so far, and I'm not talking to anyone until I find the source."
"What about the samples?"
"I have samples of both water and dead fish. I'll bring Alfredo in to help with the diagrams and soil samples while I look for the connection and interview the locals. Is there anything else you would need?"
"Yeah, to be there in person, and to get Sam back from the States."
"She said she wanted to visit there again someday. Didn't she go to undergraduate school or something up there? Funny, I was thinking about her and Wisconsin earlier."
"You were thinking about Sam in the jungle, Evo? I thought you barely tolerated her." Tony scrunched up his eyes, waiting for the explosion.
"I do, er…I did. Uh, never mind–leave her out of this. What the heck is she doing way up there, anyway?"
"She's visiting her old college roommate, Fred Miller and her family. I guess they had a lot of classes together until Sam split off and specialized in fish. Her friend Fred–"
Evo interrupted, "What the hell kind of name is Fred for a girl, anyway? Is she some kind of woman who wants to wear the pants all the time? Probably dresses like a man too. I hear a lot of that goes on in the States. Now it comes down here with Fernandini being called Sam. Next thing you know, Mother will want to be called Melvin."
"Sweet Virgin Mother, Evo. Are you 40, or 140? Fred is a nickname, like Tony. When people are close to one another and they love them, they give them nicknames. Fred's whole family has nicknames. There's Buzz, Al, Fred, and Mag.
"They call their parents, The Bill and Gerry Show. Hell, Mag is short for The Maggot. I've spoken with most of them and cannot wait to meet them. You're such a tight-assed Neanderthal!"
"I am not! I tell you, Tony; you know it's my life's dream to meet a woman named after a disgusting little worm that feeds on necrotic tissue."
"Good Lord, Evo, lighten up. Mag would surprise you, but I am happy to hear you want to meet the Miller family."
"Isn't the Bitch-thyologist supposed to be here working on your project? Come on, Tony, I'm counting on you getting your degree so we can make our plans a reality. How can we start our own business if the key to our success lies with a woman more interested in shopping for shoes in the States than finishing crucial research?"
&n
bsp; "Evo, don't call her that, and she's not a shoe-shopper. It's not like that at all. Sam hasn't been on a vacation in years, the opportunity came up, and we're stalled in the research until the final water samples of the test lakes come in at the end of the month. I was invited to go, too, but I declined so you and I could hang out, so get your ass home."
"Oh." Deflated and irritable, Evo lifted the bill of his muddy ball cap and scratched his forehead. I'm sorry, Tony, don't mind me, I'm probably just jealous. I do know I'm wet, tired, shot at, and I want red meat and a beer. Shit, I think I need a vacation too. Tell you what, don't worry about me. You should go to the States. I won't even be back until the end of the week, or so, and I am not good company for anyone–just ask poor Luis and Alfredo."
"Shot at?"
"We're okay."
"A long shower, a Band Aid for the bullet hole and a large chunk of cow and you will once again be a lean, mean party machine, my man. You get back here on Thursday or Friday, and I will add your ticket onto mine. What day will you want to leave for Wisconsin?"
"Leave for where? What the heck are you talking about, leave for Wisconsin? I'm not going to the States with you, Tony. I'm in the middle of a job here. I have an inspection to conduct, reports to write, media to contact, and probably some damage control to deal with. I probably won't get back to Lima before Friday."
"Great, our flight out will be Friday night. Just think of it, Evo, fresh air, bon fires, beautiful women and American Football–and you have to admit, you love American beer, my little suds sucking sibling."