by Mike Faricy
“My God, I don’t believe that. You’re one of the famous butt guys from the Vikings game.”
“Infamous is more like it,” he groaned.
“Well, I think you’re very nice, all the same,” she said and kissed him fully, lingering there for a good moment. A passing car honked and she backed off.
“Thanks,” he said.
“The pleasure was all mine. Hey, my car is right over there so sorry to be a party pooper but I’ve got another early day tomorrow. Can I call you? Or even better, you could call me.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, walking her to her car.
“Hey look, sorry you had to leave your glass of wine back there. You know, I don’t live too far from here, just down the street actually. You want to stop over for a glass of wine? I’ve got an early day tomorrow, too. You don’t have to, I just thought maybe…”
“Sure, I’ll follow you,” she said.
Over the course of the three block drive he ran down a mental checklist of everything he’d need to make the night complete. He’d learned long ago to be ready. Clean kitchen, clean glasses, clean bathroom, clean towels, clean sheets and clean toothbrush.
Following his car, Cindy was reminding herself this was not a good idea since she had to be at work early in the morning. But, she was good at lying when she had to be, telling herself she would only stay for one glass.
Merlot knew from experience that one of the most difficult items of clothing to take off a woman was her shoes. Removing shoes signaled the start of other things to come. If she dropped her shoes they clomped to the floor, and the potential noise seemed to inhibit taking that next step. He eliminated the problem by simply slipping out of his at the front door, Cindy did the same, not giving the matter a second thought.
He quickly poured her a glass of wine to sip during the obligatory house tour, innocently dimming the lights in his bedroom before they moved on to the bathroom where she noted the toilet seat was down and the tub was clean.
“Here look at this, I finally have a place for all the clean towels and wash cloths,” he said innocently making sure she was able to see the half dozen new, unwrapped toothbrushes he had on hand.
“Expecting a lot of company?” she asked, leaning against the door-frame.
“No, I’ve just always been a stickler with the dental deal,” he added, years of giving the same performance allowing him to sound nonchalant.
“More wine?”
“I don’t know if I should,” she responded.
Yeah, I’ve heard that before he thought as he gently took her glass and walked back to the kitchen where Dean Martin was singing.
“What time do you want to get up? I’ll set the alarm,” he asked two and a half hours later. He had been giving her a long back rub, still fascinated by the lacy tattoo scrolled across the small of her back.
She was naked, half asleep, eyes closed, enjoying the back rub for the past fifteen minutes. They’d made love for the better part of the preceding hour.
“Five fifteen,” she murmured, not opening her eyes, sinking deeper into sleep.
Ugh, he thought, not losing the rhythm of the back rub.
* * *
Otto had thrown his sweat-encrusted shirt in the trash, bagged it and hauled it outside. He was in his recliner, wearing boxers, sipping a cold beer, clicking the remote until it landed on the weather channel. He set his feet in the Epsom-salt-bath and felt the stress and strain of the day begin to leave his body.
A computerized version of a female voice promised more beastly heat for the remainder of the week.
* * *
Miss Suzie Q fell asleep on the couch clutching the pillow to her chest. She was dreaming about a show where she was the star, and there were all these different men arriving to work on her house. A carpenter was laying a new kitchen floor, a painter was redoing her dining room, an electrician was wiring her personal workout room while a plumber installed a new Jacuzzi, large enough to hold them all.
Somehow they all ended up in the Jacuzzi. The workmen wore their tool belts. Bubbles were mounded up around Suzie Q so she could see them but they couldn’t see her. They were taking turns filling her champagne glass and Creedence Clearwater Revival was playing in the living room.
Unfortunately she woke up. It was sometime after 3:00 a.m. when she sat up wondering what in the world? T.J. never let her sleep on the couch. She turned off the lights, filled a glass with water, tip toed upstairs and stood looking at the undisturbed, king-sized bed.
“Dumpling? T.J.?”
* * *
“I’d like to go over this one more time,” the detective said to T.J. at about the same time.
He was a thin-haired, sallow man with bags beneath the bags under his eyes and stale coffee breath that T.J. had found impossible to avoid. They were in a grey, windowless cinder-block room. They sat opposite one another at a cigarette burned Formica table.
T.J. removed his glasses. He’d found them undamaged on the front seat of the GTO amidst a mountain of shattered windshield. He rubbed his tired, burning eyes and repeated what he had said a number of times before. Only now, he was so exhausted he groaned as he spoke. “Look, detective, don’t you think you should be out there trying to get these guys? I mean you saw what they did to my GTO. To the OK Corral.”
“Yeah, about the car,” the detective checked his notes. “Tell me again why you were there? Did they have something against your car?”
“Something against… they didn’t have anything against the GTO. It was just there. I parked that way, blocking the exit, so they couldn’t make their escape. I was there, in the GTO because that’s what I do every night before I go to bed. I drive down to the Corral and make sure everything is all right. That’s why I was there tonight, just checking on things and lo and behold, there was a robbery in progress.”
“The Corral?”
“My gun shop, the OK Corral.”
“So you didn’t think the police could handle it, is that it?”
T.J. rubbed his face, a combination of exasperation and exhaustion. “Apparently not, because no one arrived on the scene until ten minutes after these guys were long gone.”
“There was an attempted bank robbery tonight, sir.”
“Yeah, I heard it on my scanner. So I end up in a shoot-out, sprayed down with an AK stolen from my shop. Meanwhile you’re out chasing a mouse running across the bank floor.”
“Did you realize, sir, that you were discharging your weapon within city limits?”
T.J. closed his eyes thinking those guys are already across the state line. He made a mental note to remove the “Support Your Local Police” sign above the cash register.
Wednesday
Otto woke one minute before his alarm went off. The sun, just beginning to rise, chased the night sounds away. The glow from the weather channel illuminated the living room, forecasting exactly the same as when he drifted off to sleep. Sub-Saharan temperature, sub-tropical humidity, St. Paul in late August.
He stretched in his recliner then pushed the lever forward and landed in the pan of Epsom salts, sending a wave washing across the carpet.
Today he chose a Twins jersey, Twins hat and some pin stripe baseball pants he had cut off just below the knee. He pulled up white cotton knee-high socks, and slathered level 50 sunblock for added protection. He laced up his jungle boots, pulled on his Twins cap with white handkerchief pinned to the back, looked in the mirror and knew she would find him irresistible.
* * *
It seemed no more then a couple of minutes before the alarm jarred them awake.
Cindy snuggled against Merlot as he gently stroked her back for a couple of minutes. Eventually she opened her eyes, realized she had to drive home, shower, and change into work clothes.
By the time she got dressed he was in his robe, holding a mug of coffee, walking her to the door, asking for a third time if she wanted a travel mug. She kissed him lightly on the lips, then waved as she climbed in h
er car.
That was certainly stupid, he thought to himself. What the hell was I thinking? I’m going to rob her damn bank.
He attempted unsuccessfully to go back to sleep, after forty-five minutes got up, spied Cindy’s black thong wedged down at the bottom of his sheets.
It had been his experience that women, not unlike other mammals, marked their territory, leaving earrings, lipstick, a bracelet, some sort of article behind. Apparently in Cindy’s case that article was her black thong. He carefully folded the thong, placed the small garment in a dresser drawer in the hope she’d return.
* * *
Merlot was ordering his usual latte and French doughnut from Chrissie. Thinking of Cindy, absently humming the chorus from Dean Martin’s Volarie.
“You’re in a good mood and up early, or are you just on the way home from last night?” Chrissie half laughed giving a little bounce which she knew always got Merlot’s attention.
He smiled, nodded, and made some vague comment about a meat-order.
“Merlot, hey, you okay? You’re looking kinda strange.” She snickered, gave another of her special little bounces.
“Yeah, sorry what were you saying?”
“Never mind.”
He casually paid and left, unaware of Chrissie’s suddenly cooling attitude.
He was so early this morning that he had to unlock the Lounge door to let himself in. So early that he didn’t have to contend with Patti smiling sweetly and telling him she didn’t want guys like him around her kids. So early that he strode into his office to find it wonderfully empty, no Osborne or Milton to contend with. Life at this hour was good as he sat down at his desk, sipped his Latte and day dreamed about Cindy.
* * *
Cindy was down on her hands and knees, stretching, groaning, reaching up to grab the last of the night deposit bags from the small overnight vault. There had been so many this morning that they were piled a couple of feet up the slot. She had to pull them out, yanking them down and out of the shaft.
“There, could have been worse,” she gasped, looking at the stack Carol had piled on a cart. It would take them the better part of two hours to count and record all the deposits.
“Could have been worse? When did you get to be so happy about this shit?” Carol said.
“What can I tell you, I’m just in a good mood. Guess I got a great night’s sleep.”
She had racked her brain on the drive home and then on the way to work wondering what she had done with her thong, finally deciding that Tony must have hid it. It had been her experience that some guys liked to keep mementos. Cindy had lost earrings, lipsticks, bracelets, and apparently in Tony’s case, her thong. Hopefully it would be his excuse to ask her back.
* * *
Otto had already delivered the sacks of batter mix and slabs of bacon to his stands, and he was almost finished with the first of the day’s ice deliveries. He had ignored the crew at the ice company when they elbowed one another snickering at his Twins jersey.
He hoisted another bag of ice onto his shoulder and carried it to the stand. Josh was there dipping skewered bacon slabs into a pan of maple-flavored batter. The fifty-pound bag of ice was turning Otto’s shoulder numb.
“Twins suck,” screamed a pack of boys from across the street. They were pointing at Otto, “Hey, Twins suck!” they called before they took off skateboarding down the street, “Twins suck! Twins suck!”
“Otto, not having much luck in the fashion area this week, are you?” Josh laughed.
“There a game today?”
“Noon game. Maybe they can pull out of this slump. Winning three out of the last thirteen isn’t going to cut it” Josh said.
A noon game, thought Otto, perfect. Drop the deposits in the night drop slot until about 3:00 so she doesn’t see me. Then with the Twins ahead, he could walk up to her window, give her the famous Otto smile, they would connect and the rest would be romantic history.
* * *
“Now what’s wrong with you?” Billy Truesdale asked Trevor as they swung the last of the cash-filled bags into the rear of the armored car.
Trevor had been making noises all week, getting progressively louder as the weekend loomed closer. Billy had seen it before. Tomorrow, Trevor would be all doubled up, complaining of stomach pains. He would call in sick on Friday, say he was going to the doctor to get checked out. Coincidently Monday was Labor Day.
The doc, Trevor’s dickhead brother-in-law and a gynecologist by the way, would prescribe four days of rest for Trevor and probably a muscle relaxant administered in a large Margarita glass.
The truth was Trevor and his malpracticing brother-in-law would leave Thursday night heading north to the White Fish lake chain. They’d fish for walleye or croppies at sunrise and drink beer for breakfast.
“Oh, man, I don’t know what the hell is wrong. It’s been bugging me since Monday, so it’s not food poisoning. Just seems to be getting worse. Wonder if I should get this checked out?”
Billy looked at Gary, then at Trevor, said, “Maybe it’s just that you’re so full of shit, Trevor. You’re gonna go fishing this weekend and you’re gonna leave us high and dry, aren’t you?”
Trevor suddenly did start to look sick.
“No, man, this time it’s for real,” he gasped.
“Oh yeah, well do what you want man, but don’t try to con us. It’s the busiest week of the year for this run, it’s all we do, we’re all busting our ass, and you want to go fishing, fine. That’s okay, screw your buddies.”
“I don’t know, man.”
Billy ran down a list of replacement helpers in his mind. They were shorthanded as it was and his worst fear was they wouldn’t send anyone. What the hell? he thought, Just sit back, listen to the Twins this afternoon, whatever happens, happens.
“Ugh, this is bad, man,” Trevor groaned.
* * *
“This is exactly the sort of thing I don’t need.” Osborne declared slamming down his office window blinds.
Sassie had organized the striking dancers into a picket line. Clad in thong bikinis, they were marching back and forth across the entrance to the Beaver Hut carrying signs. All to the delight of the assembled news crews and a gathering crowd of well wishers.
“Doesn’t anyone care that a business man in this community is being strong armed by these, these over endowed trollops!” He spotted Serpentina in her nurses uniform.
“You traitorous little tramp. Look, Milton, for God’s sake, I’m up here devoid of medical attention and that ungrateful wench is down there picketing my establishment. And from the look of things that ingrate Sassie has encouraged some of the Fat Farm to join her as well. Dear God!”
For his part Milton had been feeling feverish and light-headed. The discoloration was beginning to work its way up his arm. He had difficulty opening and closing his hand. The hand looked like a purple football with fat purple sausages where his fingers ought to be.
* * *
Cindy felt flushed. They were swamped, with the extra bodies and the heat blazing in through the drive-up windows, the pretend air-conditioning, the temperature in the teller area hovered just over ninety.
She didn’t care about any of that because it was already past the noon hour. She’d had a fantastic night and she hadn’t had to deal once with Otto.
The baseball game came across on a static-filled radio. The good news was the Twins were actually ahead in the bottom of the eighth, the bad news was the game had another inning.
* * *
Otto’s ears perked up when he learned the Twins were ahead three to one. He had timed things perfectly, ready to make his deposit. Sitting in his truck, he slathered on another glistening layer of sun block.
* * *
“Oh, oh, looks like it’s bacon buddy time,” Carol snickered alerting Cindy and the other girls in the teller area.
Cindy was in the middle of a count, she looked up and saw Otto, absently waiting at the back of her line. It was the longest li
ne in the lobby, and she groaned inwardly.
He smiled, looked positively demented. Then nodded at her, an acknowledgment of their private, intimate moment.
Oh please she silently prayed.
I knew it, he thought, perfect timing.
Everyone in the teller area paused to listen through the static of the portable radio as the announcer called the pitch and the ball began arching skyward. There were two on for the Angels, two outs, bottom of the ninth, and this couldn’t be happening, could it?
“And he’s going back, back, Benny racing, on the track, at the wall, jumping and it’s a home run. The Angels win four to three out here today. Another disappointing afternoon of Twins baseball.”
A collective groan rose from the teller area. As if on cue Otto stepped up to Cindy’s window, rested his sunburned forearm, the one sporting Donald Duck, on the counter directly in front of her.
“Well, I suppose you’re wondering where I’ve been today?” he looked like an escapee for a psychiatric ward. There was a strange sheen to his forearm and she nervously thanked God for the four layers of high tempered glass separating the two of them.
“I’m sorry would you mind stepping to the next window, please. I think I’m about to get very sick.”
With that she left her window, determined not to return until Otto had departed.
He eventually stepped to the next window, a look more vague than usual on his face. Carol quickly counted his cash and slid the deposit slip through the well.
“Anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“Well I hope that other girl is all right, that Cindy.” He said nodding to the empty area where Cindy had been standing minutes before, then turned and walked out the door shaking his head. Damn women get so nervous around a real man they don’t know what to do.
Two kids on bikes rolled past.
“Twins suck!”
* * *
Merlot’s prayers had been answered. He was up in the attic at his mother’s in the middle of the afternoon. He could not believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. There was a gun in the attic, a pistol, packed away for years. With any luck he could find it.