Not So Peachy Day

by Wendy Meadows

  Rosa gave Sam a concerned look. “Where is Momma Peach?” she asked.

  “Upstairs,” Sam assured Rosa. “Don't worry, guys. We caught the bad guy and Momma Peach is safe and sound.”

  “Really?” Rosa asked. Sam nodded his head. “Oh, thank goodness. I was really worried.” Rosa smiled at Timmy. “See, I told you everything would be okay, didn't I? Your big sister would never tell you a lie.”

  Timmy studied Sam's face. “You really captured the mean man who kicked you?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” Sam told Timmy and rubbed his hair again. “Yes, champ, we caught the bad guy. But,” he added, “Momma Peach and me still have a little business to take care of before bed. So I'm going to need you guys to hang out here a little longer, okay?”

  Timmy sighed and looked at the television and then looked around the warm bedroom. He rested his eyes on a queen size bed covered with an inviting blue comforter. “Do you think...will Momma get mad if I just lay down while I wait?” he asked Sam. “I won't fall asleep, honest.”

  “Momma Peach would fuss if you didn't lay down,” Sam smiled and with caring arms picked Timmy up and carried him over to the bed and laid him down. “Now listen to Old Sam,” he said, “you close your eyes and rest for a bit. Momma Peach will come for you shortly.”

  Rosa stood up, turned off the Nintendo, retrieved her laptop, and walked over to the bed and scooted in next to Timmy. “I think I'll watch a few game shows and then rest my eyes,” she told Sam and helped Timmy crawl under the blue comforter. As Timmy got settled, the lights flickered and dimmed. “Sam?”

  “The generator might need to be checked,” Sam said in a calm voice. “I'll go check with John. You guys stay put.”

  “What do we do if the power goes out?” Rosa worried.

  Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Just stay exactly where you are, keep the bedroom locked, and don't leave this room until I come for you. Is that clear?” he said to Rosa. It was spoken in a calm tone, but the firm look in his eyes told Rosa it was an order. Rosa nodded her head. “I'm sure the power will stay on,” he said, hoping to sound confident. “Now, you stop worrying, young lady, and get you some rest. Old Sam will take care of the generator.”

  Sam began to leave the room. “Sam...wait,” Rosa called out in a scared voice. Sam turned around. “I...stay for a minute...please.”

  Sam saw a scared little girl begging for her daddy to stay with her. “Sure,” he said and walked over to the bed and sat down next to Rosa. “You don't need to be scared.”

  “I am scared,” Rosa confessed. “When the power went off before it was so dark I could barely see in front of my face. I'm scared of this storm…but I'm more afraid of...the dark.”

  “Me, too,” Timmy told Sam and pulled the comforter up to his chin. “I don't like the dark...it was really, really dark in the attic.”

  “Well,” Sam said and rubbed his chin, “I'm not particularly fond of the dark, either.” Sam continued to rub his chin. “You know, guys, when I lived in the desert I experienced a lot of dark nights. But there was one night...nah, you guys don't want to hear Sam's boring old story.”

  “Yes, we do,” Rosa said in a quick voice and grabbed Sam's hand. “Please, Sam, tell us your story.”

  Sam smiled. “Okay, honey,” he said and patted Rosa's hand. “Settle back and close your eyes and let Old Sam tell you his story.”

  Rosa reluctantly crawled under the comforter, laid her head back on a pillow, placed her laptop to her side, and closed her eyes. “Ready,” she said.

  “Timmy, champ, close your eyes.” Timmy yawned, looked around, and closed his eyes. “Okay,” Sam said, “it was mid-August and the desert was boiling. I mean it was hot enough to fry eggs on the sand. And the worst part was that there was no rain in sight. But, that was desert living for you. It was the same every year. Anyway,” Sam continued, “on one particular night...wait,” Sam stopped. “I'm getting ahead of myself.”

  “Take your time,” Rosa yawned.

  Sam smiled and pulled the comforter up to Rosa's chin. “I need to explain a little about the town I owned in the desert,” Sam said. “Years ago, I built myself a little town in the middle of the desert...a tourist town with an attraction about a famous shooting.”

  “Wow,” Timmy said and let out a weak yawn. “Real...cowboy stuff.”

  “That's right, champ,” Sam told Timmy. “Old Sam loved his little desert town even though it sure got hot sometimes.” Sam paced himself and listened to the storm howl outside. “I never minded the heat that much, though, and neither did the tourists who stopped in my town, except one woman who happened to come along in the hottest August on record.” Sam slowly folded his arms together. “Mrs. Blake was the woman's name, and boy was she ever a grouch. This woman could fuss the ears off a tortoise at a hundred paces on a good day, so you can imagine how fussy she was when she drove into my town in a car that lost its air conditioning.”

  “Fussy,” Rosa said, slowly drifting off to sleep.

  “You bet,” Sam said. “Mrs. Blake was angrier than a rattlesnake being slapped across the face. Now, usually Old Sam can handle grumpy people, but Old Sam was a bit hot and grumpy himself. So when Mrs. Blake fussed at him, well, he fussed right back, which didn't go well. So, what does Mrs. Blake do? She gets even madder and storms off up the road on foot, in the heat, in the middle of the day, without any water. So what does Old Sam do? Well, Old Sam decides he better go after the crazy woman and talk some sense into her before the heat melted her brain.”

  Sam looked down at Rosa and Timmy. Both sleepy campers were dropping off. “Off I go,” he continued, “down the hot road leading out of my town, with two bottles of water in my hand, feeling mighty grumpy. And wouldn't you know it, before I could catch up to Mrs. Blake, a rattlesnake crawls out onto the road. Boy, did I ever jump back a good hundred feet.” Sam began lowering his voice. “Now I had a rattlesnake between me and a crazy woman. I had no choice but to make a big loop around the snake, which meant I had to walk off the road and out into the desert... I didn't get far before I ran into another snake...boy, did I jump out of my hide and make a run for it...” Sam stopped talking and checked on Rosa and Timmy again. “Out like little lights,” he whispered, leaned down, kissed Rosa and Timmy on their foreheads, and crept out of the bedroom only to run into Momma Peach. “Oh, hello.”

  “Was that a true story?” Momma Peach asked Sam in a curious voice.

  “Well,” Sam said slowly and grinned, “it was a really hot day.”

  “Uh-huh,” Momma Peach made a face at Sam and peeked her head into the bedroom. “Oh, my sweet babies,” she whispered, “how I love you so.”

  Sam gently pulled Momma into the small but welcoming living room. “What's the plan, Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach checked a wall clock. “We have half an hour before we have to get our backsides over to that truck stop.” Momma Peach sat down on a comfortable white sofa. “Not bad,” she said, looking around. “Mr. John has good taste.”

  “Momma Peach,” Sam begged, “what's your plan?”

  “Andy Pracks,” Momma Peach said, becoming serious. “Mr. John is still watching him for us, but we'll need to go fetch the snake in a few minutes.”

  “Fetch him?” Sam asked. He drew in a deep breath. “Okay, Momma Peach, I'm all ears.”

  Momma Peach folded her arms together. “Andy Pracks is going to be our pick-up man,” she explained.

  “Pick-up man?” Sam asked.

  “He's going to stand at the back door, with his hands and feet still tied together of course, and greet Mr. Coplin.” Momma Peach settled back on the couch and yawned. “My, I could fall asleep right here and now, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”

  “Momma Peach,” Sam pleaded, “don't get distracted.”

  “Oh, I ain't getting nowhere near distracted. Well, maybe I would if I were back home eating one of Mrs. Edwards’ lousy biscuits. But I ain't back home. I am stuck here in this
storm with my babies trying to figure out how to catch a deadly snake without getting bit.”

  “And Andy Pracks is the bait?” Sam asked.

  “He sure is,” Momma Peach explained. “It's going to take one snake to catch another snake,” she explained and patted the couch. “Sit down, Mr. Sam, and let me explain.”

  Sam sat down next to Momma Peach. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. “This feels nice,” he said and nearly drifted off to sleep. “Talk to me, Momma Peach.”

  “Well,” Momma Peach told Sam, “it occurred to me that Coplin wants Andy Pracks dead. So why not let the man kill Andy Pracks himself? Or at least try. You see, Mr. Sam, all we have right now is the word of a killer who thinks he’s still got power over us. So we need to knock Coplin down a notch and catch him in the act of murder...attempted murder, that is.”

  “Of Andy Pracks.”

  “That's right,” Momma Peach told Sam. “Now listen, I took myself up there to that attic and beat some sense into that snake...or at least it seems that way. I can clearly see darkness in that monster's eyes. But for the time being, he's willing to play along. I am guessing he's hoping to turn Coplin back to his side once his boss arrives. But I know that Coplin sure ain't interested in the likes of Andy Pracks.”

  “Momma Peach, we’re taking a mighty big chance here,” Sam said and opened his eyes. “But then again, I’ve never known you to play it safe. You're a very unconventional woman who plays a dangerous game of cards, even when you’ve only got a pair of fours in your hand.”

  Momma Peach chuckled to herself. “You said it. But I also understand the minds of ugly people and how they think.” Momma Peach checked the wall clock again. The lights flickered and dimmed.

  “I better go check the generator.” Sam stood up, stretched his back and checked the time. “I'll hurry.”

  Momma Peach stood up and walked Sam out into the lobby. “I also called Martha and told her to keep an eye out for Coplin,” she explained and looked at the coffee station. “Martha and those nice truckers have our backs, Mr. Sam. I think this night will end in a good way, you wait and see. Now hurry with that generator and meet me back upstairs in the attic. Time is ticking away.”

  Sam jogged out of the lobby toward the utility room. Momma Peach hurried over to the coffee station and made two cups of hot coffee and then got her backside back up to the attic.

  When she got there, John gave her an agitated look. “I need to check on the generator,” John told Momma Peach, watching the light in the attic grow dim and begin flickering.

  “Mr. Sam is checking on the generator. The man is an expert,” Momma Peach assured John. And true to her word, a couple of minutes later the light in the attic grew brighter and stopped flickering. “See, I told you.” She looked at Andy. “Now listen, turkey, we're going to walk across the street to that truck stop. I expect you to behave yourself and do like we told you, or else.”

  “I'll tell Coplin you'll kill me if he doesn't give me the money,” Andy hissed at Momma Peach. “I'll play your game.”

  “Coplin wants you dead, chump, so you better play my game or you’ve got even worse odds of getting out of this alive,” Momma Peach warned Andy. “If you want to live to see daylight you better slap some sense into that head of yours.”

  “You think you're smart, don't you?” Andy asked Momma Peach. “Well, let me tell you something, lady. Mr. Coplin isn't a stupid man. A man like him didn't achieve his position by being stupid. Mr. Coplin has worked for some very powerful people in his time. The man is an ex-Navy Seal, too. You're going up against a trained killer who scares even me. You think you can beat him?”

  “Yeah, yeah, trained killer, real bad guy, yadda, yadda, yadda,” Momma Peach yawned. “Boy, I have heard those sob stories before.”

  “You're a dead woman,” Andy promised Momma Peach and tucked his head down, expecting to receive another beating.

  “Boy,” Momma Peach said, spotting Sam entering the attic, “when daylight comes, the only dead person around here is going to be you if you don't shut your mouth and do right.”

  “Generator was running low on fuel. I topped it off,” Sam told John and clapped him on the shoulder. “Are we ready?” he asked Momma Peach.

  “Baby,” Momma Peach told Sam and handed him a coffee, “I am past ready to get this night over with.”

  Across the street at the truck stop, Martha, Beth and a few truckers were stationed at every window keeping an eye out for Vern Coplin. “Oh, Momma Peach,” Martha worried aloud, “I sure hope you know what you're doing.” Martha didn't know Momma Peach very well and simply hoped it would not all end in tragedy. If she had known Momma Peach better, she would have known that no one got the best of Momma Peach in a fight.

  Chapter Nine

  Vern Coplin crept through the raging blizzard, stopped behind a tall pine tree, and studied the back of the truck stop through a pair of night vision goggles. He searched for any signs of life and came across a very cold Andy Pracks standing at the back door of the truck stop standing in an “at ease” military stance, as far as he could tell. “You're a dead man,” Vern promised and continued to survey the area. No one else was in sight and the truck stop windows were all darkened and shuttered. “Okay,” he said, whipped out his cell phone, and dialed Andy's phone. “This is Coplin. I'm around back.”

  “Good,” Momma Peach told Vern and peeked out of the back kitchen window of the truck stop. She searched the storm and rested her eyes on the tree line about five hundred meters away. “Mr. Andy Pracks is getting mighty cold, so you better hurry up with my money, boy.”

  “Not so fast,” Vern said. He wasn't anxious to walk into a trap. “I want Andy to meet me halfway, is that clear?”

  “Clear as ice,” Momma Peach said, “but no deal. Andy Pracks is staying right where he is, chump. If you don't like that deal, then take a hike and let me go to the media with my little old recording.”

  Vern squeezed the cell phone so tight he nearly broke it in half. “No! But no tricks,” he growled.

  “Boy,” Momma Peach said, “I ain't interested in bouncing a ball off my nose. You just get my money to Andy Pracks and take a hike. I'll deal with Andy after my money is delivered.”

  Vern rotated his eyes back to Andy. The man was standing very still, staring out at the tree line. “Fine,” he said. “I'm moving up to Andy now. If I see anyone appear, I'm going to detonate the explosives,” he warned Momma Peach.

  “Just bring me my money, chump,” Momma Peach told Andy and ended the call. She turned around to Martha. “Okay, Mr. Sam is up on the roof with Mr. Ralph. Their job is to film Coplin, who will most likely try and put a bullet in Andy Pracks. Your job is to get the hot water boiling...and don't forget to put as much cayenne pepper as you can find, too.”

  “Yes, Momma Peach,” Martha said and waved at a short, old woman standing next to the main stove. “Okay, Beth, let's get the water boiling.” Beth waved at Momma Peach and turned on the stove. “What are you going to do, Momma Peach?” she asked.

  “I am going to wait for Mr. Sam to give me the green light,” Momma Peach told Martha. “When Mr. Sam does, you just make sure those nice truckers come running like linebackers.”

  “Will do,” Martha promised.

  “Thanks,” Momma Peach told Martha and hurried into the main dining room. The dining room was empty. Every trucker, except for Ralph—the nice trucker who had given Timmy his nephew’s snowsuit and wanted to help even more by taking a stakeout position on the roof—was tucked away inside their trucks waiting to be called out by Martha. “Not a good time for a potty break,” Momma Peach said and ran to the ladies bathroom. “Darn Tabasco,” she fussed, cramming her body into a small stall just in the nick of time. When Momma Peach finished using the bathroom she reached for the toilet paper. “Oh, give me strength, there ain't no toilet paper,” she cried. “Oh, give me strength!” She started fumbling in her purse for some tissues instead.

  While Momma Peach remained
trapped in the stall, Sam eased his head up over the edge of the roof and looked out at the storm. He spotted a shadowy figure exit the trees at the far edge of the truck stop lot and begin moving toward Andy. “Here he comes,” he told Ralph.

  “Don't worry, Sam, my cameras are up and running,” Ralph said, monitoring a handheld security screen. The poor man was hunkered down in a pile of snow shivering his butt off. “I'm spoiled by the warmth of my truck,” he told Sam through chattering teeth.

  Sam patted Ralph on his shoulder. “It's cold,” he agreed, “but you're doing just fine. Just a little bit longer, I hope. We're very blessed that you were around.”

  “When Martha told me Momma Peach was searching for a security camera I knew I was the man she needed. When I'm not driving trucks, I work private security. I keep the equipment on hand just in case. It helps pay the bills.”

  Sam kept his eyes on the dark figure below. Vern Coplin was easing through the snow, looking to his left and then to his right, searching for any signs of a trap, gripping a deadly gun in his right hand while holding a black, empty briefcase in his left hand. “I'm going to see to it that you get a nice thank you,” Sam promised Ralph. “Okay, my friend, let me use your cell phone.” Ralph handed Sam his cell phone and then tucked his head down against a strong gust of wind. Sam did the same. “Wind is cold enough to cut a man in half,” he complained.

  “Worst storm I've ever seen,” Ralph said, blocking snow from his face. He looked at the security camera and spotted Vern about fifty meters away from Andy. “You better call Momma Peach fast.”

  Sam hunkered down onto his knees, bent over, and called Momma Peach. Momma Peach heard Andy Pracks’ cell phone ringing from the pocket of her coat. The only problem was that her coat was waiting for her on the counter outside the bathroom stall, while she continued to dig in her massive pocketbook for tissues. “Oh, give me strength!” she cried. “Of all the timing! This Tabasco sauce will be the death of me…”