by Eve Gaal
Throbbing with re-wired, fired up audio equipment, the car thudded and lurched like a busted washing machine. At the light, he revved his mufflers like a race-car. “Are we almost there?” Penny asked, wondering if the kid's license plates were valid. She had spent a whole day at the police station and didn't want to go back.
“No,” he said, with an eerie look, “Not yet.” Now that she heard his favorite tunes, she looked at him differently. The innocent face she saw earlier became the visage of a mole from subterranean central earth. His crooked, buckteeth made Penny think he gnawed through his cage every morning before going to work selling burgers. Besides grease and perspiration permeating the small car, she also got a whiff of gym socks and marijuana.
“I think I need to go the bank,” Penny shouted. “Is there a bank around here?”
“All over,” he pointed across the street at a bank on the other side. “Which one do you want?” he yelled back.
Holding onto her seat cushion she said, “Any one will do.” He turned into the strip mall, her body jolted against the door and her stomach swirled like a whirlpool. This ride needed to be over. “Great, thanks I think this will be perfect.” The muffler and the music roared, but Penny tried appearing calm as she swung open the door. Attempting a smile, she struggled with her bag, but focused on getting onto solid ground.
“Don't you want me to wait?” He asked, still revving the engine.
“What?” Penny asked.
“Want me to wait?”
“No!” she yelled her reply so he'd understand. After taking a deep breath of some fresh island air, she eyed a strip of grass in the parking lot. “This will take forever.” She waved goodbye but knew he couldn't hear what she was about to say, “Thanks, you got me part of the way.” Turning away, she heard the drumming, cursing music fade into a similar sound that pulsated through her entire being like foreign matter that needed to be expelled or exorcised.
Moments later, she puked up her avocado burger next to the curb and it reminded her of a green alien in her Martin ad campaign. A dead alien who possibly ate the remnants of her normal days on Earth.
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Six
As the sun crept closer to the Pacific Ocean, John thought about his long, hectic day that strangely enough began with Tina, followed by an accident, an airplane flight, Heidi and a few moments with Carl. 'It was just a matter of time before she met someone else.' Carl had said before the elevator closed. Time–the entity or substance that slips mysteriously through our fingers and leaves dust trailing and laughing behind us like a hyena in the Kalahari Desert. He had to find out what Carl meant–he had to know who and most of all he wanted to know how, she found the time–to find someone else. Someone better, someone obviously richer, probably better looking–his aching heart wanted answers. He thought about all the hours he had wasted without her. Fragmented recollections of lost minutes and lonely mornings were gatecrashing his memories. The evenings they slept apart, because she had to get up early for a sales meeting with Tina and Ron. The lost portion of his life, the crumbs, the residue, the dregs of his once happy life, were shattered because of another man, like a jigsaw puzzle missing the last and final piece.
Though hungry, John figured he'd eat with Carl. Running back to the hotel he kept thinking of ways to patch together the past. It might be too late, but if he could just talk to her, even for one minute, he'd at least apologize for wasting her time. If she'd consider giving him another chance…. Bubbling with emotion, he told himself that he'd act on his feelings immediately and marry her in a microsecond.
Sprinting through the lobby to the elevator, John pushed the button for the fourth floor, and jogged down the hall to room four-twenty-two with sweat beading down his face. Banging on the door, he couldn't believe his horrible luck. Where did Carl go this time? When kicking the door didn't get a response, he finally crumpled onto the carpet, in front of the room with his back to the door. Was this a test of faith? Or some strange karma, black-hole matrix, thingamajig like Tina yakked about?
An hour later, the resort manager tapped him on the arm and said, “Excuse me, sir but you can't sleep in the corridor.”
“I'm waiting for the person in this room,” John replied, stifling a yawn.
“Oh dear, room four-twenty two?” the manager asked, looking at the door. A sour expression came over his self-important face, “A man staying in this room went to the hospital a few hours ago.”
Standing quickly, John asked, “Are you serious? Oh, sh…shoot, is he all right?” Poor Carl, someone should be with him. Grimacing, he balanced himself by leaning on the wall. Pain, hunger and fatigue were testing his strength, but now he felt like a football had hit him below the belt. Carl was a friend, an old man and a decent person. He didn't deserve to die alone.
The manager could tell he had shocked John, “If it's any consolation, they usually tell me when it's fatal—he'll be fine. Don't worry, the local hospital's not far, I'll write down some instructions.” He pulled out his card and a pen and jotted directions on the back.
“What happened?”
“No news is good news,” the manager replied, waving his hand towards the ground with a dismissive wave, “I had a quick glance before they put him on the gurney. Too much sun and maybe dehydration. Probably spent too much time on the beach–happens all the time.” Returning his pen back to his dress shirt pocket, he handed John the card and asked, “What about you, are you all right?”
That word again. Time. Too much time on the beach–happens all the time. “Thanks,” John said, grabbing the directions and running for the stairs. “Yeah I'm fine,” he shouted, rounding a corner and thinking about time. There is never enough time for anyone truly in love.
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The bank president looked at the messy haired woman sitting in front of him, and wondered why she looked so utterly disheveled. His eyes darted between his computer monitor and back to the tourist/bag-lady in front of him.
“Have you been to Honduras lately?” he asked with a slightly suspicious tone in accented English.
“No, what does that have to do with my maxed out credit card?” Penny uncrossed her legs when she felt the banker's eyes linger on her dusty knees. Both feet on the ground, and sitting up straight, she figured she could play along with another foolish interrogation.
“Miss, you don't bank with Hawaiian National on a regular basis, am I right?” he asked, acting like she might be a tough customer with a bad attitude. “Yes, you're right. I mean, no I don't.” Flustered, she looked around at the interior of the bank and thought it looked exactly like every other bank. Decorated with metal, glass and polished wooden veneers, ubiquitous velvet ropes divided aisles where customers waited for tellers to take their money. Getting money was always harder than depositing money, and why would this place be any different. Honduras? Her mind raced wondering why he would ask such a stupid question.
“Well I think we can figure out how to access some of your funds if you'll cooperate with my questions.”
“Okay, sorry, I'm cool.” Penny surrendered, “it's been a bad day.”
“Anyway,” the banker continued, “did you buy gas yesterday on Cherry Ave?”
“Nope.” Just access the funds, and stop with the ridiculous questions, she kept thinking, nervously tapping her toes. A tiny bit of money for a hotel room, a shower and a ticket home would solve most of her immediate problems.
“Well, do you share your card with someone?”
“Yeah, my dad,” she said, realizing he might have spent too much money. Glancing across his desk, she saw a green poster with a picture of Santa Claus advertising holiday loans, taped to the wall. If everything failed, it was good to know she might have other options.
“Well I think your dad's card was stolen and used to run up over five thousand dollars' worth of charges.” Pushing a few more buttons on the keyboard, he asked, “Did you want me to cancel that card?”
Stolen? “Definitely,” Penny answered, with a worried look on her face. Leaning closer to the bank president, she asked, “Am I going to be responsible for that money?”
“Not if you didn't use any of it. Looks like, whoever stole your card used it for phone calls to Central America and to buy gas for trucks at refueling stations. Unless you drive a semi and have friends in Nicaragua, you should be in the clear.”
“What about my ATM card?” Penny asked, “Any one turn it in?”
“Yes, Miss, it looks like you left it after picking up a prescription at a pharmacy. Does that sound right?” Scrolling down with his mouse, he read her the notation on the monitor, “Called Himmel residence and left message regarding ATM card.”
“Oh yeah,” she said sadly. “I got distracted….” That son of a…. Good thing Dan didn't have it.
“Well, I'm sorry, but we can give you some blank checks with your account number on them. You'll still need to reapply at your own bank for a new credit card and the ATM card.”
“I understand that, but what if I need to rent a car. Don't I need a credit card for that?”
“Usually, yes, but there are a few rental agencies that deal exclusively with foreign tourists and they take cash.”
Great, now she was a foreigner. “Can I borrow money from your bank with one of those checks you offered me?”
“Yes, but only with a new account.”
“Cool. Put me down as one of your newest members. Is three dollars enough?
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Her slender fingers shook every time she pushed the incoming call line. “Martin Automotive Group, how may I help you?”
“Who is it?” Fist sat under the counter, holding the gun to the operator's waist. He stared at her bare legs, smiling a treacherous grin and exposing his crooked, yellowing teeth.
“One moment please,” she pushed a button and transferred the call. Prodding her to speak, he poked the cold hard weapon against her ribs. “It was for parts,” she said, pulling her legs snuggly under the chair.
“Just remember we need Darin and any friends who know about our stuff.”
She looked down at the mean face, down into the barrel of the gun and smelled his body odor wafting up to her nose. “I'm not afraid of you, Mister, my dad's an attorney.” He was a disgusting pig and she felt like kicking him with her pointy-toed pumps right where it counted. Too bad the annoying asshole had a gun and a hairy friend. Where's your bald friend?” she asked, hoping he would go find him.
The phone rang. “Martin Automotive, one moment please.” Fist pushed the gun into her side.
“Who is it? You little twat,” he whispered, spittle flying onto her pencil skirt.
Strolling up to the counter, the tall one heard Fist's muffled voice muttering profanities at the operator.
“Who is it, bitch?” Fist kept pushing her with his heavy black revolver.
The operator pushed the button. “No, Darin's not here right now,” she said, her hand shaking, her lips quivering. Fist pushed the barrel harder, reminding her. “But he wanted me to tell you to come on in. I think he has something for you,” she sputtered, trying to remain professional. Wanting to end the call quickly, she almost disconnected the call, but the lady asked for directions to the dealership. Smoothly, she rattled off the directions, ending the call by saying, “Thanks for calling Martin Automotive.”
The tall bald guy stared at her while she spoke. Fist drew his gun back and waited until she put the phone down.
“Who was it?” They both asked at the same time.
“It was some girl that's been calling Darin.”
Leaning over the counter, the bald guy asked, “What's her name, beautiful?”
“Penny,” the operator replied, looking down under the desk where Fist was climbing out and returning the gun to his waistband.
Fist grinned at the bald man. “Merry Christmas. Yeah baby, we got Darin now. Isn't this whole project called Penny something?”
“Yup,” the tall one replied, whistling through his teeth, “It's called Operation Penny.”
* * *
Chapter Seventy-Nine
When John walked into Carl's hospital room, he saw a side to his old friend that would make anyone blush. Nurses were flirting with him, poking him in personal places and breaking into uproarious laughter over crude and embarrassing jokes about his manhood.
“Hey, John, I'm glad you came, these women are making my blood pressure go off the chart.” Three or four of the ladies giggled, quickly dispersing and returning to their stations. Carl patted a young one's shoulder and after whispering something into her ear and making her blush, she quickly dashed from the room.
“Are you really glad I came? Didn't you say Penny met someone else?”
“Yes, but that doesn't mean we're not buddies. A guy my age with all my problems needs all the friends he can get.” A nurse came to refill his water pitcher on the rolling table next to the bed. Smiling from ear to ear, Carl said, “John, this is Betsy, and she's one of my new friends. Right Betsy?”
Betsy looked like a friendly, heavyset woman with a tiny silvery bun, a white nurse's smock and navy scrubs.
“Are you kidding? I've never met anyone like you before, Mr. Carl. You have been causing an inordinate amount of trouble around here for the last few hours. Now, is this nice man taking you off our hands?” She asked, looking up and making the sign of the cross. A small wink at John indicated that his presence answered her prayers.
“I guess so doll,” Carl sighed.
“You better mind your manners, or I'll call the head nurse and I know you won't want to jump in the sack with her.” Betsy smiled at her bold statement and Carl enjoyed her sarcasm.
“Don't be embarrassed in front of John,” Carl continued. “You know you loved it when I asked you to join me in this amazing mechanical contraption they call a bed.”
“Yeah, yeah—you're talking big, but this is after we took control of the crankiest guy on the planet by pouring medication into his veins,” she said with a smile, removing the IV and the bandages.
“You love me cranky or not,” he exclaimed, looking at Betsy. Who shook her head, and continued smiling while listening to him spout off about what a Romeo he could be now that he felt better. “Thanks to her, I'm cured John. This incredible woman took my lifeless body and using heavenly magic, she breathed life back into it. Come here honey and show me you care.” Puckering his lips, he held out his tomato colored, sunburned arms for an embrace.
Backing away, Betsy looked at John, “Would you please get this naughty young man out of here?”
John laughed, and said, “Sure, but it looks like you two might need some time alone.”
“See Betsy? Even John knows we're meant to be,” Carl said, sitting up.
“Give me a break,” Betsy said, “I've got George Clooney in the room next door and I need some time with him—alone.” Pretending to worry about her appearance, she sucked in her stomach, pinched her cheeks and left the room.
“Sorry Carl,” John opined, “You've been dumped by a bigger name.”
Carl went to the closet to get dressed. “Happens all the time,” he said, pulling on his pants and getting ready to leave, “Every time.”
* * *
Chapter Eighty
After reading all the brochures at the airport, Penny decided that if she was going to see the Big Island she should fly into Kona and drive up to Hilo. After exchanging her ticket, she went to the bank of pay phones to call her father. He didn't answer, but she left a message. “Daddy, where are you? I'm on vacation in Hawaii and I hope everything is all right. I'll call you later. Bye.” Next, she dialed John's phone, again receiving voice mail. “John,” she said pausing, “I miss you and…,” she didn't know what to say so she said the first thing that came to her mind, “I love you.” Inside her head, a scolding voice reprimanded her for not explaining everything, and yet an answering machine did not seem
like the best place to admit her foolishness. What she wanted to say was: I miss the smell of pine sawdust in your hair and the way you squeeze me wearing that plaid flannel shirt with cold metal buttons. I miss the way you wrap my hair around your pinkie, and I miss the five o' clock shadow that scratches my cheeks every time we kiss. Almost bursting into tears, she hung up.
Lastly, she dialed Tina's cell phone.
“Hello, this is Tina,” the familiar voice yelled into the receiver.
“Hey, Tina, it's Penny.”
Tina couldn't believe she finally had Penny on the line, but standing in the lobby of Honolulu International Airport, made for a very bad connection. The crowds, the overhead speakers, the monks, the children and tropical birds all created a symphonic cacophony, making speaking on cell phones almost impossible. “We need to talk,” Tina shrieked.
“I can hear you fine, why are you screaming?” There were things in life that never changed. Tina and her dramatic vocalizations were absolutes she could count on like the fingers on her hand.
“Where are you honey?” Tina shouted into her cellular phone.
“I'm in Lihue, at the airport,” Penny said, wondering why Tina was arrogant.
“I can't hear you, speak louder,” Tina screamed into her phone. “Did you say you're at the airport? Hello?”
“I'll call you later. Merry Christmas, in case I can't reach you.” Penny hollered back. Her conversation with Tina reminded her reality could wait. This time she wanted to have a vacation from her current miserable vacation. The Big Island sounded exciting, and soon, she hoped, all the negative experiences and memories regarding, Dan, and the police would wash out with the tide.