“But we don’t even like Mae and Hal!” Quiche’awn protested. “We don’t want them. They were about to kill us before Melono showed up.”
“You’re not going with the purpose of freeing them,” Larry explained. “I couldn’t care less about what happens to them, though it would be nice to let them off alive, seeing as how they have children to take care of… speaking of which, I wonder what happened to the children when Mae and Hal got kidnapped… doesn’t matter, I guess. The important thing is that you need to get as close as you can to this Sinclair character and see if he’ll lead you to your mother’s family tree. Find the tree and you may find more than just Notmie and Melono’s lineage.”
“Do you mean to say,” Notmie began, “that— AAAAAAAAARG! ”
This bout of thinking hurt his head more than any had done so far, but this was something good, he could feel it. He was about to land on a big idea that would put them steps forward in the search.
“Keep going!” Melono urged.
Notmie let out one more groan before continuing. “Quiche’awn’s mother was… working on my family tree. It seems as if her death was related to her work on that tree. But the tree was finished when we found it in the back of the limo. Why would she be working on it? Someone must have put her up to it, or hired her to do it knowing that she was capable of tracing it back seven greats to Baron! And that someone must have been—” Notmie couldn’t finish, there was a vein in his forehead that was threatening to burst if anymore thought pulsed through it.
“French,” Quiche’awn finished for him. “That person must have been related to Sinclair, or it could have even been Sinclair himself.”
Melono studied Quiche’awn as he fell silent and put his head in his hands. He seemed to be taking the revelation about his mother’s killers pretty hard.
Notmie, unfortunately, didn’t seem to catch on to the feelings Quiche’awn was emoting, and presented a rather inconsiderate question.
“So that explains why your mother was whacked, but what about your dad? Who silenced him? Who gave him the ol’ eternal sleep-er-oo? Who turned off his lights, so to speak? Who snuffed out the old bast—”
“Notmie, we get it,” Larry interrupted, trying to muffle the brewing anger behind Quiche’awn’s murderous stare.
Melono crossed her arms and shook her head slowly. “My God, Notmie, you’re one of the most insensitive people I think I’ve ever met.”
“Give him a break,” Larry said, coming to Notmie’s defense. “He’s just used most of his brain power already, and as we all know, being sensitive to a person’s emotional state can be most strenuous. We should focus on what conclusions he’s just drawn for us, not the idiotic things he just said.”
“Yeah! Give me a break! I’m only… er… human… yeah, that’s it, human.”
Larry looked concernedly at Notmie for a moment before composing himself again and addressing Melono. “As I was saying, you three ought to be getting your stuff together.”
“We don’t really have anything to get together,” she said.
“True, so it shouldn’t take long. You’ll also need to bring some extra clothes for you and Notmie. You’re going to be auctioning off those shirts, remember?”
Melono nodded. Quiche’awn nodded too.
But Notmie asked, “Wait, why are we auctioning off our shirts?”
Melono sighed exasperatedly, though she wasn’t actually surprised that Notmie would need a refresher on this integral aspect of the plan. She glanced over at Larry and noticed that he was pinching the bridge of his nose—one of his tells. He was out of patience. She knew from experience that this meant it was time to leave the room. She had seen Larry lose his temper only once since she’d known him…
It was seven years ago and they were driving through Lynchton on the way back from a heist Melono was a part of, working undercover, of course. Larry had gotten a warning from his mother about Melono’s safety and had then delivered the message just seconds before the life-threatening scenario was to take place. Melono escaped safely and Larry had offered his house to stay at until Melono’s partners, who had suddenly realized with Larry’s arrival that she was working undercover for the police, had given up looking for her. But that’s not important.
What’s important is that Larry and Melono were driving through Lynchton when suddenly the car sputtered and died. Melono had offered to get out and see what was wrong, but Larry insisted that she had been through enough that day and that he could do it himself. Considering the people in the town, Larry was actually lucky that the only person who saw him was a little boy trying to catch crickets. The boy walked up to him fearlessly, stuck his hand out, and pinched Larry hard on the leg. Larry let out a muffled yelp, but made a conscious effort not to draw attention to himself in such a hostile town.
“Go away,” he told the boy patiently.
The boy nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Y–you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk, what do your mom and dad teach you?”
“They teach me ’bout killin’.”
“Killing who?”
The little boy looked incredulously at Larry. “People like you, o’ course!”
“Oh, do they now? So how do you kill someone like me?”
“We jus’ have ta pour water on ya. Ya melt because your skin is nothing but ashes, and ashes melt when they touch water.”
“First off, no they don’t. Ashes don’t melt. Secondly, you can pour all the water on me you want, but I’m not going to melt.” Melono was impressed by how patiently he explained these basic things to the boy.
“That’s also what they tol’ me. They tol’ me that people like you lie a lot, so I shouldn’t believe anythin’ ya say.”
“How can they teach you not to believe anything that I say and also teach you that I can’t talk in the first place?”
The little boy laughed. “They teach us ’bout that too!”
“About what?”
“’Bout yer circle thinkin’. Just ’cause ya don’t talk doesn’t mean ya can’t speak lies.”
“But… but that doesn’t make any sense! Don’t you understand that, little boy?”
“What I understand is that ashes all come from Oklahoma and we hate Oklahoma and it’s because that’s where the ashes come from.”
“Ashes? Oklahoma? What? How on earth did you get that? They taught you that too? Have you ever been to Oklahoma? Everyone there is just like you!”
The kid stomped on Larry’s foot for no apparent reason. Larry had to muffle another yelp. The little boy laughed and did it again and again until Larry had to move his foot out of the way.
“What the heck is the matter with you? Can’t you see that hurts?”
“You can’t feel pain. Ashes don’ feel pain! Ashes only try ta kill white people. That’s why we kill the ashes first. When white people die they become ashes and we pee on the ashes and then we bury the ashes so that the ashes can’t kill us so that means yer made of ashes so were ya once a white person?”
Larry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wha—? You pee on people’s ashes? No. No. I was never a white person. No! That doesn’t make any sense! No sense! Mother didn’t tell me this would happen! Would you leave me alone so that I can fix my car? Please! Please just go!”
The boy didn’t leave. Instead, he kicked Larry in the shin. Larry tried to ignore it and continued tending to the car. Melono, sensing the situation heating up, got out of the car herself and began searching for a reason the car might have stopped. As soon as Larry leaned over to look into the engine, the little boy kicked him as hard as he could in the butt, causing Larry to fall forward and bash his head against the hood. He whirled around to glare the boy as his face became a shade of maroon.
Larry’s rage didn’t seem to faze the kid who punched him in the groin before delivering the final blow:
“N—!” Well, no need to spell it out for you (literally). You get the picture.
“
What the hell is wrong with you?!” Larry grabbed the boy by the shoulders and spun him around to face the other direction before shoving him away. “ Go home! Go home to your racist parents and misguided friends! Leave me be! Rahhh! ”
The little boy trotted on home, singing “Ashes to Ashes” by David Bowie.
Melono watched as Larry began thrashing and tearing at his clothes. She knew that she’d better get him in the car and get going before the little boy reported back to his parents and an angry mob headed their way. She looked under the hood of the car and immediately found the problem.
“Ahh, here it is. This hose just came loose. Here we go, Larry, let’s just get in the car and off we go.”
She led Larry to the passenger’s side, knowing full well that she would be risking both of their lives if she let him drive in this state, and they headed back to Larry’s house. As soon as Larry was back in his right mind, he made a promise to Melono that he would some day pay her back for saving his life.
It was five full days before Larry’s face resumed its normal color and it was three more before his veins stopped bulging.
So, with that memory fresh in her mind, Melono decided to encourage the others not to follow in the way of the little racist boy of Lynchton by upsetting Larry, who she suspected had some sort of a short fuse and high blood pressure, which don’t mix well.
She turned to the others.
“Notmie, Quiche’awn, get the f—”(I don’t believe I need to spell out this for you, either) “out of this kitchen right now.”
And they did.
* * *
Larry’s mother wasn’t present for the departure. Instead, she sat in her room, insisting (well, Larry said she was insisting, but of course it just sounded like random mumbles to the others) that she wouldn’t see the trio off because she couldn’t bear to see them leave and she hated goodbyes.
“Does her saying that seem ominous to anyone else?” Quiche’awn remarked after Larry had relayed the message to them as they waited on the front porch.
“Only a bit,” Melono said, though it was obvious that she really meant, “A great big deal.”
So, shaken up “only a bit,” Notmie and Quiche’awn also bid adieu to their host, but not before he could give them a few last words of wisdom. For this, he pulled them aside one at a time.
Larry summoned Notmie and they stepped off to the side of the porch.
“You’re smarter than you think, Notmie. The curse may not play as big of a role in your stupidity as you think it does. Just remember to keep on using your mind, no matter how painful it may be. It seems that when you do actually think, good things happen. Stay here for one second, I’ll be right back.”
Larry entered the house and reappeared shortly after carrying a canvas bag with objects poking out awkwardly from it. He reached his hand inside and pulled out a small, ordinary hand mirror.
Extending it out to Notmie, he said, “Keep this with you and check it often; you have a lot of adjusting to do, and you’ll find it useful when you least expect it. Do not lose this or you will sorely regret it.”
Notmie took hold of the mirror, but didn’t hold it up to his face, still fearing the horrible ordinary beauty it might show him.
“Wow,” he said. “I feel just like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. If I look in this mirror, will I see you?” Notmie hesitantly began to raise the mirror to his face.
“No, you’ll only see yourself.”
Notmie snapped the mirror back down to his side. “Then why do I need this? Is it supposed to help me see deeper into myself or something?”
“Not quite.” Larry paused and placed a hand on Notmie’s shoulder. “You know, I never thought I’d say this to you, Notmie, but you need to stop thinking so metaphorically about what you’ll need to do to break the curse.”
There was a silence between the two before Larry spoke again.
“You can go now, Notmie.”
“Oh, right. Okay then… I’ll just… go. I’ll be going now.” He turned and headed toward the car, looking over his shoulder at Larry as he left. “See? I’m going. Leaving, yep, I’m leaving. I’m just about gone. I’m—”
THUD.
“Heh, I didn’t realize the car was right there,” Notmie said sheepishly to the others before rubbing the kneecap he’d just smashed into the door.
Larry then pulled Quiche’awn aside and began speaking to him, though Notmie couldn’t tell what was being said. Larry entered the house after a while and came back carrying Quiche’awn’s cape, which Quiche’awn gladly accepted and immediately began to snuggle with. Though Notmie couldn’t hear what was being said, he did see Larry hand Quiche’awn a large bottle of wine before sending him off to the car to join Notmie.
Quiche’awn re-fastened his cape as he strode over to where Notmie was waiting while Larry said his goodbyes to Melono.
“Hey! That’s no fair!” Notmie protested as Quiche’awn brought over the wine.
“What’s no fair?”
“You get a bottle of fine wine and all I get is a lousy mirror that I could have bought at the store! I hope that wine tastes awful! I hope it gives you the worst hangover you’ve ever had!”
“Whoa, Notmie, harsh words, harsh words,” said Quiche’awn. “I don’t think this is for me anyway. Larry told me to save it for when ‘the time is right,’ whatever the hell that means. Personally, I’m thirsty, so now is beginning to feel like the right time.”
“Capt—I mean, Quiche’awn, can I ask you something?”
“You just did, doofus.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Go ahead, Notmie. Ask away.”
“Why were you so nice to me when I just came out of the coma, and why are you turning mean again?”
Quiche’awn sighed and leaned up against the car. “I was a troubled man, Notmie. I’d had a rough past and I was struggling with some long-standing issues. Talking with Larry for two weeks really helped me sort through some of the more nagging ones.”
“So, you’re fixed? You’re not a nutcase anymore?”
Quiche’awn tried to resist letting Notmie get to him, but it was a struggle. “No, I’m not a nutcase. Anyway, we talked a lot about my parents and about my childhood in general with particular emphasis on—”
It was at this point that Notmie lost interest entirely and began banging his head on the car and repeating, “I can’t get in. The car is locked.”
“Notmie, are you even listening?”
“Nope. I can’t get in. The car is locked—”
“You wanted to know why I’m turning mean again?”
“—the car is locked. I can’t get in. The car is—”
“You, Notmie, you! You’d make just about anyone relapse into whatever negative habits they were trying to kick!”
“—in. The car is locked. I can’t get in. The car is locked—”
“Will you at least stop banging your head on the car? I think you’re leaving a dent.”
“—get in. The car is locked. I can’t get in. The car is locked…”
When Melono made her way over to the car, she paused a moment to examine Notmie’s behavior, then opened the driver’s side door, tossed her things onto the seat, and then turned to look back at her cousin.
“Notmie.” He kept banging his head. “Notmie! Stop it. The car’s not locked. Did you even bother checking the handle?”
Notmie shook his head, giving Melono an incredulous look that said, Now why would I do that?
Quiche’awn knew he’d been doing better, but he wasn’t going to kid himself into believing he couldn’t relapse into meanness again, or that Notmie wasn’t apparently doing everything in his power to make that happen. But no, he wouldn’t let it get to him; he wouldn’t become aggressive again. He wondered for only a split second if passive aggressing counted, and decided it didn’t, at which point he knew immediately the best passive-aggressive way to get back at Notmie, the one thing he could say that would really get to the dummy
. “ Shotgun! ”
“Man!” Notmie said, slapping the car in a fit of frustration. “The one time you call shotgun is the one time I really want it!”
But Notmie couldn’t go against a shotgun call, so he loaded himself into the back seat, looking at the others through the steel grating.
Melono looked back out the window where Larry was still standing on his front porch, and she waved. He waved back, headed inside, and then Melono started up the squad car and pulled out of the long driveway and out onto the main road toward Lynchton.
“So, Mel,” Quiche’awn began, “what’d Larry give you?”
“Can’t tell you,” she replied.
“Wha—why not? I’ll tell you what I got. It’s” —Quiche’awn held up the bottle and looked at the label— “1864 genuine French Champagne.” He looked at Melono and smiled, but his face quickly grew disturbed upon realizing: “ French? ”
He felt wronged, thoroughly wronged.
“Why on earth would he give me French wine after all we decided about my connection with the French?”
“Oh yeah,” Notmie interjected, “you never told me what you decided about the French while I was in my coma.”
Quiche’awn ignored him.
“What’s with that, anyway? Giving out parting gifts to us like he’s the flippin’ Wizard of Oz!” Quiche’awn put his feet on the dashboard and began clicking his heals together, repeating, “There’s no place like home.”
“Oh! If we’re playing Wizard of Oz, can I be the Scarecrow?” Notmie asked.
“Obviously,” said Melono.
“Aww… thanks, Melono. You can be Dorothy if you’d like. And you can be the Cowardly Lion, Quiche’awn.”
Quiche’awn ignored the gibe. “But seriously, Mel, what’d he give you?”
“Give it up, because I’m not telling.”
“Fine.” But he adjusted in his seat to try to see where she might have put it on her side of the car.
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