by Brian Bakos
48. The Circle Completed
Bert rolled up to the speaker unit to place the order. Ted and Judy were fighting so loudly in the back seat, though, that he wouldn’t be able to make himself heard. He turned toward them angrily.
“Cut that out!”
“He started it!” Judy cried.
“I did not!” Ted shot back
Sally turned back toward them now.
“Shut up, both of you!”
The kids shut up, rather surprised at her rage.
Bert’s odd behavior at the funeral home had put Sally in a foul mood.
What was going on back there? she wondered. You don’t suppose he was having an affair with that Armstrong woman?
For the first time in years, she felt a possessive jealousy toward Bert. He was still quite a hunk, despite his weight problem, and these rich women had all kinds of lustful desires. Screwing another woman’s husband came as easy to them as rolling off a log.
She glanced ruefully down at her own ample girth, then up at her reflection in the visor mirror. She was still young, why did she look so old?
What’s happened to us?
Was there a way back from the joyless dead end their lives had become; could she help to improve things? She had to make the effort – starting today, as soon as they got home and shook off the chill of that ghastly funeral parlor.
A tinny voice came over the loudspeaker: “May I take your order?”
“Uh, yeah ...” Bert said. “We’ll have a number 3, a number 4, and two number 6’s. All of them super-sized.”
“And to drink?” the speaker said.
“Cokes,” Bert replied.
“We carry only Pepsi products,” the speaker said.
“I don’t like Pepsi!” Judy shouted.
Bert looked back toward her.
“Do you think they care?” he said. “They decide what you like.”
“That sucks!” Judy said.
“Welcome to the real world, kid,” Bert said. “The whole damn place sucks.”
“Please don’t use that kind of language,” Sally said.
Bert returned to the speaker.
“Okay, whatever,” he said. “We’ll take Pepsis, then.”
“Thank you,” the speaker said. “Please pull around to the second window.”
Bert started moving, feeling oddly humiliated by the exchange. He couldn’t even stand up to a goddam hamburger joint speaker today! As he drove past the first window, the woman taking orders glanced his direction. She was large and tough-looking with tattoos covering her arms. Bert looked away quickly.
“Everybody’s got an attitude these days,” he grumbled to himself.
Judy shouted out the window at the order taker: “I still don’t like Pepsi!”
Bert stopped at the second window. Directly ahead of him, a young man dressed in a tight, colorful bicycling outfit exited the restaurant carrying a drink.
“Get a load of that guy,” Bert said. “He looks like a real fag.”
The kids giggled.
“Yeah!” they both chimed in.
Bert leaned out the window and shouted at the cyclist.
“Does your mommy know where you’re at?”
“Bert ... please,” Sally said.
The cyclist glanced briefly at Bert, then looked away. This was quite a week he was having, all right. First he almost got run over by that lady downtown, and now this jerk. He hopped on his racing type bicycle and pedaled off with his drink.
$$$
After watching Debbie vanish into the funeral home, Laila turned away from the awful building, hoping to block it from her consciousness. She breathed a heavy sigh.
“So, Frank is really, truly gone ... after all these years.”
She could still hardly believe it, but it was a truth that became more acceptable by the moment. She’d gotten rid of the whole Armstrong family, too. Any future contact with her step children would be handled by John Hogan. She’d instructed him to be somewhat less of a hard ass than he was capable of being. Just settle quickly with those two and get them gone!
Bert Nagy was out of her life, as well. She’d considered paying him substantially more in his ‘severance package,’ but decided that doing so could arouse suspicion. Besides, it would be admitting to herself that she’d actually initiated a murder plot. This was not in keeping with the mythology she was spinning around her last days with Frank Armstrong.
In her mind, the myth was far more important than unvarnished truth. She must keep up appearances at all costs. When true love came into her life, not too far down the road, she needed to have a ‘clean slate,’ as it were.
Of course, there was the off chance that Bert might suddenly appear to confront her. She felt the reassuring weight of the 9mm in her handbag. Any discussion with that gentleman would quickly end in her favor. The pistol was yet another legacy from her loving husband, she made herself believe.
She scanned the vast parking lot. Nobody else was around – just empty vehicles amid the chirp of birds and the caress of a gentle breeze on her cheek. She felt the haggard, stricken look that had been oppressing her visage begin to depart. Radiant happiness took its place.
Joy rushed toward her from out of the perfect day. Laila opened her arms wide to receive it. She could not restrain herself; she cocked her head back and announced to the world:
“Yippee!”
She gripped her cane by the midsection and hoisted it above her shoulder like a javelin.
“That old guy was wearing me out!”
She wound up and hurled the cane with all her strength. It sailed away, an airborne scapegoat taking all of her misery with it. She turned back to her car, paying no attention as to where the thing might end up. The young man riding his bike on the sidewalk sipping a Pepsi had no such option, however.
With perverse accuracy, the cane struck him right in the head. The force of the blow stunned him. He tumbled off his bike and lay sprawling in the funeral home driveway.
Laila didn’t notice any of this, as she was too busy with her escape. She yanked open the door and hopped into her car. Her movements were smooth and youthful; she was no longer the debilitated person she’d been in the funeral home. She twisted the ignition key with authority.
“Adios, everybody!” she cried.
The big engine roared into life.
“When it’s my turn to go, there’ll be a lot less fortune lying around, let me tell you!”
She pulled out of the parking space, leaving behind her previous life on the oil-stained asphalt. A whole new world was opening up now. A wicked, lustful side of her personality barged to the fore. Laila had scarcely believed it existed, but now she reveled in it.
“Las Vegas first!” she cried. “If the high roller dudes are half as good as I’ve heard, it’ll be quite a trip.”
Driving fast and reckless, she hurtled across the parking lot and began a victory lap around the funeral home.
“Then on to the Caribbean for some of that dark meat,” she chortled. “It’s bigger and blacker and harder in the Bahamas!”
The future beckoned seductively with infinite possibilities. True love was her ultimate goal, but that would come later – after she’d indulged a lifetime of pent-up desires. And Sharese Lee was just the person to accompany her on a swath of conquest around the globe!
Workers were hauling a body into the side door of the funeral home. They dodged out of the way as she roared past them.
“Sorry, guys!” she called.
Lonnie gestured to John Hogan. Blackjack got out of his chair and joined him at the viewing room door.
“Where’s Mrs. Armstrong?” Hogan asked.
“She sent me away,” Lonnie replied. “She said that she wanted to drive herself.”
“Hmm.” Blackjack stroked his chin. “That’s not good.”
“I tried to tell her that,” Lonnie said.
“Let’s go,” Blackjack said.
The two men hurried down the hallway
to the main door. Debbie Armstrong caught sight of them and followed in their wake.
Laila raced by the front entrance and toward the exit driveway where the cyclist was lying injured and disoriented. She didn’t even notice him there. Her mind was occupied with more immediate concerns.
Burn this outfit ... a stiff drink ... put the house up for sale ...
The cyclist managed to crawl far enough away to avoid getting hit. Laila didn’t see the bike either until her front tire crunched over a wheel.
“Oh, wow!”
She stopped and lowered her window. The injured man looked up at her from the pavement.
“Be careful,” she cautioned. “Don’t you know that riding a bike can be dangerous?”
“@#$!!,” the cyclist said.
Laila closed the window.
“My, such language!” she said. “And he was kind of cute, too.”
In her rear view mirror, she saw Lonnie, Hogan, and Debbie coming out of the funeral home door. Let them deal with this ill-mannered young man.
“So long, folks,” she said.
She roared down the driveway toward the street.
“Look out world, here I come!”
$$$
Bert fumbled with his bag of fast food as he manhandled the SUV through traffic. He ran a yellow light just as it was turning red.
“Watch it!” Sally cried.
Bert grinned maliciously, pleased that he had brought more upset into Sally’s life.
“It sure took them long enough to get our order ready,” he grumbled.
“My burger’s cold!” Judy complained.
Sally riffled through a bag and held up a little cardboard package of fries.
“This is definitely not a super sized container,” she said.
Bert held up another package of fries.
“Mine’s the same way,” he said. “If this is a super sized container, I’ll eat this Pepsi cup!”
He snatched his Pepsi from the cup holder and held it up dramatically. For a moment or two, the car had to steer itself.
The kids giggled.
“I’d like to see that,” Ted remarked, elbowing Judy.
“Yeah!” Judy cried, elbowing Ted.
“Let’s take all this stuff back,” Sally said.
“Damn right!” Bert said. “I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”
Bert relished the thought of laying down the law to the restaurant staff. How dare they shortchange the French fry order! He’d insist not only on proper super sized portions, but also on a coupon toward the next purchase, if there was a next purchase – if he didn’t punish them further by never coming back. He’d be sure to stick it to the manager, too!
The fast food workers would have to stand in for all the people he was unable to strike back at: Laila Armstrong, that bald-headed Hogan, the bodyguard goon – the IRS. The funeral home was coming up on his right.
By God I’ll never go into that place again! Bert thought rancorously.
He looked over his shoulder to check traffic, momentarily taking his attention from the road ahead. He began swerving into the left lane.
“Get me a Coke this time!” Judy shouted.
Laila’s car abruptly pulled out in front of them from the funeral home driveway.
“Bert!” Sally screamed.
He jerked his head back around, his eyes went wide with fear. Laila’s rapturous expression gave way to terror as she saw the SUV bearing down on her. Her eyes locked with Bert’s in an instant of dreadful clarity. Bert slammed on the brakes, his Pepsi and fries spilling out.
A terrified chorus filled both vehicles: “Ahhhh!”
At the funeral home door, Hogan, Lonnie, and Debbie gaped with horror. From his place lying on the asphalt, the cyclist observed the spectacular collision. Shattered glass sprayed over him, and a French fry container tumbled away in the wind.