Bobby's Diner (14 page)

“I think I do.”

We’d been talking for nearly an
hour when we emptied the bottle. Helen wasn’t a woman who could hold her
liquor. She was small and probably didn’t do too much drinking around Harold.
The new friendship we were
 
making was
built, in part, by the telling of small secrets
 
through the consumption of fermented grapes. I had the feeling Helen
knew more than her fair share of confidences and she parceled them out slowly
and suggestively. She simmered, was hot and swampy. You’d never know it until
you spent some time with her. But, this plain throw-back-type-of-woman had an
edge.

CHAPTER 22

“What were you thinking?”

“You said they’d need
motivation.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to
destroy their property!” “Don’t raise your voice with me, Mayor. You’re in this
as deep as I am.” Zach Pinzer stared right through Harold Pyle. He knew he had
tied a Gordian knot in the noose that tightened around the mayor’s neck.

“I want out. This isn’t good.”

“You want out. You can’t get out.
Money’s been exchanged, I have contracts signed. We’re going through with this,
understand? This project will happen, with or without you.”

“Without me.” He yanked his
briefcase from the chair and stormed out leaving the door wide open.

“Leyla.”

“Yes, Zach.” She flung her long
blond hair from the sides of her face and tugged at her hemline.

“Sweetheart, get me Tweeter on
the phone, will ya?” “Yes, Zach.” She smiled seductively and turned her back to
him. “Zach?”

“Yeah.” He looked up and she stared
back at him looking behind her, he loosened his tie.

“Will you come by tonight? I have
something you need to see.”

“What time?”

“Whenever you get off. Why don’t
you call. I’ll have a nice hot bath ready for you with a bottle of Moet. I
really need you tonight, Zach.”

“You better leave early then,
sugar. ‘Cause I can’t wait.” He grabbed at his crotch and she sizzled enjoyment
before she left his office. “Call Tweeter!” He leaned forward in his seat and
yelled to her before the door shut.

***

He’d been under pressure for
months and was still reeling
 
about the
conversation with Pinzer when he pulled onto the
 
freeway on-ramp heading out of Phoenix. He
made a good impression with the people at Channel Five and no longer had to
worry about the likes of Zach Pinzer and his associates. He’d
 
stated publicly his intentions—good
intentions. He wanted the
 
women out,
sure, but not that way. He never intended
 
when
 
he told Pinzer to “handle
it” that he would hire some ape to do his dirty work.

Traffic was treacherous and he
slowed before sidling into the flow of merging cars. His mind raced around
an
 
excuse
 
or
 
better
 
yet
 
an
 
alibi
 
regarding
 
his involvement with Chariot International
Incorporated.

“Christ!” He yelled in part
because of the speeding sedans, minis, trucks, semis, convertibles, and SUVs
and also in part
 
because he was angry
with himself about getting involved
 
with
thugs. What was he thinking! How could he have let things get so out of
control? His indicator blinked on and off alerting other drivers his intention
to merge into the middle
 
lane.
Back-to-back traffic destroyed his composure. No one cared anymore about anyone
else on the road. He barely squeezed in-between a large black vehicle and a
red, white, and blue
 
postal van. He
hated city driving especially by means of the freeway.

When he returned to Sunnydale,
he’d have to lay out a believable defense of his involvement—muddle the money
trail, cover his tracks. Pinzer was a loose cannon and couldn’t be trusted.

“Fuck!” He flipped-off the driver
in the black car that shimmied up too close next to Pyle’s driver side and
sped
 
forward to a safe distance. Harold
listened to himself, sometimes speaking aloud, about the wasted paper
 
used
 
to
 
produce
 
different
 
documents
 
to coordinate this
deal—the
 
intent of sale signed, the
earnest money paid, a quit claim
 
deed
issued, plat recordings pulled, the closing agreement and escrow instructions
filed. Destroying or better yet losing these documents would prove a tricky
proposition, but it could be done. He wondered if a 1098 (or was it a 1099) had
been issued
 
yet. He’d have to check with
the accounting department.

The mayor’s mind swirled around
the complexity of a sale such as this one.

The traffic was relentless. He
saw through his rear view the same truck that swerved toward him a few minutes
earlier.
 
The driver once again eased
into a position closing in on his left. Harold put his elbow on the rim of the
window and covered the side of his face with his hand. He promised he would
just ignore the previous incident. Harold decided he would slow up so the
driver would end up passing him by virtue of the others driving at a steady
fast pace in the next lane.

With his hand hiding his face,
the mayor lost himself again in a whirlpool paper trail of contracts, checks,
and settlement
 
agreements. But, his mind
was diverted when he heard a repetitive insistent honking. The mayor dropped
his arm and looked to the driver making all the noise. The driver of the SUV
continued honking. The mayor lifted his hand and shrugged his shoulders in a
question-mark gesture. The driver honked steadily every so often looking over
and smiling through the dark windows of his car—Harold could see his teeth— he
must be smiling.

Harold felt badly about flipping
the man off. Then, he thought the driver was trying to communicate that
something was wrong with his car. Maybe a
 
seat belt was hanging out or a wheel was shimmying or a tail light was
out of commission. Harold could barely see the man’s face through the window, it
was too dark of glass but he was sure he saw him smile. Then, all at once the SUV
took an impetuous swerve toward his car. The mayor jerked the steering wheel
nervously to the right and almost crossed the line into back-to-back traffic in
that lane. The mayor looked angrily
 
over
to the black SUV. What the hell was wrong with this guy? The SUV’s window
rolled slowly halfway down to reveal a large dark-haired man with black
sunglasses. Even from the distance he could see the man’s mottled skin. The man
motioned at Pyle to lower his window.

Stopping himself from another
too-quick-to-act decision, Harold decided to take a couple of deep breaths. He
would apologize to this volatile creature then be on his way.

Harold pressed on the window
control his eyes darting in-between the cars in front of him and to the man
beside him. But, before he could get out his apology, the guy yelled out
something that he couldn’t quite make out. From the rush of the cars, the wind
took the breath of the driver’s voice away along with the speeding cars.

“What?” The mayor yelled louder.
The mayor directed his eyes between cars in front, in the mirror behind, to the
passenger side-view and back to the driver of the S-UV. Each time the mayor
could glance at the man, he was looking at the traffic as well. Finally, the
man and he looked at each other catching their timing just right. The man
smiled strangely and shouted again something
 
once again inaudible. “You’re… man.” But again, the
 
rushing
 
wind swept his words away.

“I’m sorry! I apologize.” Harold
yelled as loud as his voice could manage. There. That should do it. The mayor
began rolling up his window but the man began his incessant honking again.

Then, he yelled louder and the
mayor barely could understand the man’s entire statement. It was drummed out
by
 
other honking, tires whirring,
engines rolling forward, forward, forward, and sirens in the distance.

Harold repeated his regret. “I
said, ‘I’m sorry! I apologize!” The mayor’s voice was even louder this time. As
loud as he believed he could yell.

“You’re a D-E-A-D man!” The
driver’s voice boomed out the threat. The mayor couldn’t believe what he was saying.
He looked into the rear view at his face in doubt. Maybe he’d misunderstood.
The noise was thunderous. He could have been mistaken. Harold looked once again
at the man.

Then the driver repeated with a
boom and nodding his head. “You’re a dead man, Mayor!”

Pyle’s eyes widened and he rolled
up his window.

He sped up and drove into the
next lane to his right. The man followed and sped up onto his tail. The mayor
pushed onto the accelerator and slipped into the left lane, then again to the
left lane next to that one. The man did the same. The mayor sped
 
up again now cruising close to 85 m.p.h. and
swerved with less control to the furthest lane he could without entering the
high occupancy lane. The man copied his every move. Speeding up, changing
lanes, speeding up again. The mayor began to
 
panic and slipped quickly without looking into the H-O-V lane and almost
cut off a woman with a toddler in a child’s seat in the back. The mayor
quickly
 
yanked
 
his
 
steering
 
wheel
 
in
 
order
 
to compensate but his
Avalon drifted a little too far to the right and slipped luckily between two
other cars. Traffic peeled away from him as he snaked to the left then the
right. His head was beaded in a profuse sweat and it trickled into his wide
eyes. He grappled at something, anything to wipe his brow. The man in the black
car showed up again this time on his passenger side, he rolled down his window.
Harold did
 
likewise. He’d talk this guy
down. The man sneered with a cigarette hanging out of his glowering lips.
Before Harold could say a word the man bellowed out of the car. “Having fun,
Mayor?”

The mayor realized this wasn’t
coincidence at all. He’d been set up. This goon was Pinzer’s henchman. But Pyle
stared far too long at Tweeter and didn’t see the brake lights in front of him
before it was too late.

CHAPTER 23

“Well, Georgie, you’ve been more
than hospitable to me and I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Not at all, Helen. Don’t be
silly. I’ve enjoyed your company, actually. Since Bobby died I don’t get a lot
of visitors.” I thought back and realized I’d never gotten a lot of visitors
even when he was alive, but decided to keep it to myself.

“Well, Harold should be back soon
and I don’t want to be late with his dinner. Thanks again, Georgie. Can we do
it again sometime?”

“I’d love to.”

“Then, till next time.”

“Bye, Helen.” Helen got into her
car then drove off and Gangster ran outside between my legs.

“You be careful, cat. You’re
coming back in again in a little bit so don’t go too far!” My yelling sounded
like some insane mother with a reckless toddler. I wondered if the neighbors
ever heard me.

While cleaning up after our wine,
my thoughts turned to Helen, having her stop by felt good in one sense and odd
in another. She seemed very closed-off, cool. Even so, it was nice to have a
friend and I figured they came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and moods. I
chalked off Helen’s distant personality to acting the wife of a politician and
felt a little sorry for her.

***

The digital display on my phone
read: Pyle, Harold. When I picked up the phone she sounded overly cool like
when there’s the sudden drop in temperature before a thunder storm.

“Helen, what time is it?”

“I’m sorry to wake you. Oh,
Georgette, call me back when you get up. It can wait until tomorrow.”

I looked at the clock, it was
just minutes before midnight. I knew if she was calling this late it was because
she felt the need to. “No, it’s fine. What’s up, Helen?”

“Oh, how do I say this?”

“What Helen?” She had gotten my
attention by sounding
 
more worried about
the situation than the time. “What is it?” I pressed her harder.

“It’s Harold. It seems he’s
gotten himself into an accident—on the freeway, leaving Phoenix.”

“Oh my god , Helen.” I adjusted
myself up into a sitting position. “Is he okay?”

“Well, that’s just it, Georgie.
The doctors say that I should just wait to come down till tomorrow. That he’s not
responding neurologically. He’s stabilized. He’s out of
 
immediate danger. But, he’s not responding
neurologically. That’s what they said.”