Dutch Me Deadly (8 page)

Jackie gave her hands a little clap. “This is so exciting. I’m gett
ing butterflies already. My first formal presentation! All right,
everyone, let’s form a nice, straight line.”

“Shortest first?” asked Osmond.

“I’m sick of doing shortest first,” complained Bernice. “Marion’s always in the lead. Give someone else a chance.”

“How about tallest first?” Jackie suggested.

“Then the short people in the back won’t be able to see what’s up ahead,” protested Alice.

“Oldest first?” Jackie said, a little less patiently.

“Age discrimination!” yelled Osmond.

Her voice exploded from her mouth like grapeshot. “WHATEVER! Just get in a damn line!”

I sighed with relief. Their highs were obviously wearing off because they were sounding more like themselves again. I phoned the cab company I’d used earlier, and by the time I finished my call, they were queued up like schoolchildren filing in from recess. Wow. Jackie was a natural at this. It gave me confidence that she’d get the job done.

I hoped.

“You’re not comin’ with us, dear?” asked Nana.

“Gotta find the boys. If they ate the cake
and
your muffin, they’re probably still flying high, so I’m thinking they might be in dire need of rescuing about now.”

She flashed me a look somewhere between guilt and regret.

“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “I’ll find them. And please don’t feel guilty. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m not frettin’ about that, dear. It’s just that—if you happen to look for ’em in a little shop called the Erotic Outlet, would you mind pickin’ me up a catalog? It’ll save me a bundle on postage.”

Eight

“How old are they?”
asked the bouncer at the
Moulin Rouge
.
He was tall and muscle-bound, with gold hoops in both ears, wrap-
around sunglasses, and a Technicolor serpent tattooed across his shaved skull.

“Early seventies!” I shouted above the music. “One is six-footish,
smartly dressed, and wears a very nice toupee. The other one’s about a foot shorter and has a head the size of a medicine ball—with hair plugs in the front. Kinda makes him look like a Chia Pet.”

“A what?”

The Dutch were obviously spared TV advertising that made salad shooters and leaf-sprouting pottery indispensable holiday gift items. “It’s not important. Can I go inside and look for them?”

“Not without paying an admission charge, you can’t.”

“But I have to find them,” I said anxiously. “They’re high.”

“So’s everyone else in this crowd.”

“But they don’t realize it!”

He peered at me over his sunglasses and rubbed his fingers together. “Thirty-five Euros or they stay there, and you stay here.”

I dug my heels in. “Casa Rosso was only going to charge me thirty.”

“Casa Rosso doesn’t include two free drinks with the price of admission. Make up your mind. There’s paying customers lined up behind you.”

“Are you sure I—”

“I’m sure. Next!” He waved me away and motioned for the guy
behind me to take my place. Discouraged and frustrated, I picked my way back through the crowd toward a narrow bridge where demonstrators in white robes waved signs that were going mostly
unread by the hard-core revelers. JESUS SAVES. THE END TIMES
ARE HERE. REPENT. THE END IS NEAR. And my personal favorite, WORLD BIBLEFEST 2025! MAKE YOUR RESERVATIONS NOW.

“Emily? Oh, thank God! A friendly face.” Beth Ann Oliver latched onto my arm like a tick onto a beagle. “Jackie is going to be so put out with me. I thought I could keep track of everyone after she spotted your group and left, but it was impossible. Some detective I turned out to be. I don’t know where anyone is anymore.”

I sighed. “Welcome to the club.”

“What am I going to do? They all scattered after the big blowup.”

That earned her my undivided attention. “Blowup?”

“It was frightening, and pretty embarrassing. Not to state the obvious, but I don’t think some of these people from Maine like each other very much.”

“Oh, my God. Did the Hennessys and Bouchards actually follow through with their rumble?”

“Just a sec.” She dug a mini notebook out of her jacket pocket and flipped to the first page. “Jackie told me to take detailed notes, but I was scribbling so fast, I’m not sure I’ll be able to read my own handwriting.” She squinted at the page. “I need more light.”

I whipped out my super-bright LED pocket flashlight and shined
it on her notebook.

“Perfect. Okay, here’s what I have. ‘Red Leader blazes path through darkest sections of city. Arrives at destination without incident. He suggests we ask for group rate at seamy porn place. Miss Manners reels with indignation and says that going inside wasn’t part of the plan. Red Leader asks what the expletive she’s doing in this bleeping expletive place if she’s not going to see the bleeping shows? Mr. Bulky demands to know if they have other options.’”

What
? “I’m sorry. Mr. Bulky? Miss Manners? Are these people on our tour?”

“I don’t know who everyone is yet, so I gave everybody a code name. You know, like the Secret Service does with the President and his family.” She continued. “‘Miss Manners indicates that everyone wants an overall view of the area rather than a visit to a specific hotspot, because no member of a St. Francis Xavier’s graduating class would demean themselves by watching lewd acts performed live onstage. Red Leader appears not to give a flip. He grins lecherously and disappears into the building.’”

“I assume Red Leader is Dietger?”

“Right. Him, I know. ‘Mr. Bulky grows irate and yells at Miss Manners that she’s not the bleeping class president anymore, so she had no bleeping right to speak for everyone else, and how were they supposed to find their way back to the bleeping hotel without Red Leader? Ms. Godzilla, attired in a polka-dot scarf and ballerina length skirt that exposes her thick ankles, cackles with laughter. She tells Miss Manners she’s full of horse bleep and is bleeping self-righteous because Ms. Godzilla recalls Miss Manners and Mr. Clean bleeping every time they could find a bleeping horizontal surface back in high school. Godzilla asks if that’s a bleeping double standard or plain old run-of-the-mill hypocrisy?’”

Beth Ann paused, frowning at her notes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I may have left out a bleep. These Mainers are insanely fond of expletives.”

“I’ll insert it mentally. So what happened next?”

“‘Miss Manners screams at Mr. Clean that if he doesn’t shut Godzilla the bleep up, she’ll do it herself, to which Mr. Clean asks what the bleep she wants him to do, to which Miss Manners answers, “Bleep her!” Godzilla, who looks happy to have stirred the pot, doesn’t bat an eyelash and scoffs that Mr. Clean doesn’t have the guts to bleep her.’”

I regarded Beth Ann skeptically. “Reptiles have eyelashes?”

“Literary license.” She continued breathlessly. “‘From the depths
of the crowd, an eerie voice shouts out that he’ll bleep her. “So will I!” shouts another. “She’s a pimple on the expletive of the world.” Mr. Greenjeans, dressed in an attractive Bar Harbor, Maine jacket,
saunters over to Godzilla and tells her that he’ll do the honors,
because he’s been wanting to bleep her for fifty years.’”

“Mr. Greenjeans is Pete Finnegan!” I blurted out, wondering if he was on a deranged mission to knock off every woman who didn’t see eye to eye with him. Uff-da. Had whacking Charlotte unleashed his appetite for killing?

“I’ll make a note,” said Beth Ann, looking a little exasperated by the interruption. She inhaled an excited breath. “‘Godzilla gets twitchy. The Mainers close in on her. She fends them off with an evil growl, scattering their ranks, then makes an end run around them and vanishes into the crowd. “So what are we supposed to do now that Miss Manners has ruined our evening?” gripes Mr. Bulky. “Have you noticed how she ruins everything?” Mr. Clean suggests Bulky eat bleep. “Don’t blame my wife for ruining your bleeping life. You did that yourself. You and Little Lotta!” Everyone who isn’t yelling at each other appears discomfited by the exchange.’”

Discomfited
? Real people actually said “discomfited”?

“‘Little Lotta swears she has a bleeping glandular problem and refers to Mr. Clean as a bleeping expletive. Miss Manners laughs demonically and insists that Lotta would eat a rock if it was covered in buttercream frosting. Mr. Clean doubles his fist. “Let’s settle this once and for all, Bulky. Just you and me. No holds barred. A fight to the finish. I’m going to ring your clock so bad, you won’t know—” Mr. Greenjeans suddenly rages that no one cares what the bleep they do anymore. He tells them they’re bleeping irrelevant and they better get over their bleeping selves because the world didn’t revolve around them anymore.”’

Gee. Pete Finnegan was getting absolutely verbose.

“‘Someone from the crowd yells that Greenjeans is right. “You bleeping people are has-beens!” Someone else shouts that they should grow up. Hissing ensues, followed by boos. “Let’s get out of here!” suggests a woman with a squeaky voice. “We’ll only encourage their bad behavior if we stand here watching them. Why should we make them feel important? I say, ignore them! Ignore them like they always ignored us!’”

“A mini revolution!” I marveled. Or a
coup d’etat
. Whichever one featured the ruling elite taking it on the chin for being such snots all their lives.

“‘The crowd of onlookers scatter like billiard balls in a desert wind.’”

What
?

“‘Bulky, Lotta, Mr. Clean, and Miss Manners are left standing
by themselves, looking shocked and insignificant. They’ve just witnessed a changing of the guard, and they obviously don’t like it. They look lost and abandoned, dazed and confused. They seem unable to cope with the fact that they’ve become nobodies. Rather than pound each other into oblivion, Bulky and Mr. Clean take their wives’ arms and stumble off in opposite directions. They look depressed enough to want to jump into the nearest canal, which
looms a few feet behind me, a seething cesspool of inky blackness.”’

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you think Jackie will appreciate my descriptions? I should probably make my notes really cut and dry, but I thought a published author might enjoy my literary efforts. Maybe it’ll make up for the fact that I lost everyone.”

I smiled stiffly. “I’m sure your prose will stun her. So, were you able to tail anyone after the group broke up?”

She shook her head. “I tried following Mr. Bulky and Lotta for a while, but I got swallowed up by the crowd outside some erotic nightclub and lost them. I don’t know how all those Mainers disappeared so completely in such a short time, but they sure left me in the dust.”

“Maybe they were anxious to get back to the hotel.” I glanced beyond her, eying the red lanterns and floor-to-ceiling windows where women were posing in skimpy satin underwear while texting on hot pink cellphones. “A little of this place goes a long way.”

She flipped her notebook shut. “I might as well call it a night and head back, too. Doesn’t look as if there’s going to be any more action here tonight. You want to walk back with me?”

“I’d love to, but two of my own people are missing, so I need to track them down.”

She whistled softly. “Good luck with that. Anything I can do to help?”

“Thanks anyway, but you don’t know what they look like, so there’s not much you can do.”

“Watch yourself, then,” she cautioned. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” With a sigh of resignation, she squared her shoulders and plunged back into the mayhem, leaving me alone to decide where I should venture next—The Erotic Cellar or the Video Sexshop? Honestly, if the Dicks weren’t so endearing in their own annoying way, I’d want to kill them.

“Je-sus, yes! Porn-o, no!” The demonstrators on the bridge began a rhythmic chant. “Je-sus, yes! Porn-o, no!” Their voices grew louder as they hypered each other into a frenzy, thrusting their signs into the air like peasants brandishing pitchforks and torches. “JE-SUS, YES! PORN-O, NO!” And in the middle of it all stood Mike McManus, eyes slatted and mouth tight, scanning the crowd like a human surveillance camera.

“Mike!” I waved my arm over my head and shouted his name again, but realizing there was no way he was going to hear me, I pushed my way onto the bridge and made a beeline for him before he could pull a disappearing act.

“Gotcha!” I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

Startled, he jerked his head around and stared at me blankly before recognition crept into his eyes. “Emily. Jeez, I thought you were some loony.”

“Sorry!” I cupped my hand around my mouth and spoke close to his ear. “I called out your name as loud as I could, but I got drowned out by the competition. I’m surprised the protesters haven’t fixed you up with a sign yet.”

“I could use a sign! Something that says, ‘Mary Lou, Where are You?’”

“How long since you’ve seen her?”

He checked his watch. “About an hour. I was leading her and Laura through the crowd but got a little too far ahead. When I turned around, they were both gone. It was the damnedest thing. They literally vanished into thin air.”

“There’s a lot of that going around tonight. At least Mary Lou’s not alone. She and Laura are pretty cool customers. They’re probably making their way back to the hotel even as we speak.”

“I dunno.” He passed a glance over the crowd again, his face etched with doubt. “There are some serious nut-jobs walking around out there. Gives me the willies to think Mary Lou might be walking around with them. Coming down here was a bad idea. A
really
bad idea. Wait’ll I get my hands on that damn Dietger. He’s probably laughing all the way to the bank.”

“How much longer are you going to wait here?” I questioned.

“As long as it takes. I’m not leaving without her. She’s my whole life. I mean, what would I do without her?”

“I’ll tell you what, if you’re still here when I wrap up looking for my guys, I’ll stop by and we can walk back together. Deal?”

“You’re missing people as well?”

“My two Dicks. I figured they might have found their way into one of the live sex theaters, but the three classiest places insisted I pay full admission for the privilege of looking for them, so I’m narrowing my search down to less classy establishments, like triple X-rated video shops and tattoo parlors.”

“Are your boys wearing the standard issue nametags?”

“Last I knew, they were.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

“Thanks.” I smiled my appreciation. “And if I run into Mary Lou and Laura, I’ll stick with them like glue and drag them back with me.”

He tried to smile, but there was such anguish in his face, his mouth refused to cooperate. “Sounds good,” he said dismally, looking as if his knees were about to buckle beneath the weight of his predicament.

Poor Mike. I sure hoped Mary Lou showed up soon, because if she didn’t, he looked as if he might suffer a complete breakdown. This was so weird. At first blush, he’d struck me as the kind of guy who bled confidence, but had I read him correctly? Or was the real Mike McManus still an emotionally stunted sixteen-year-old whose mental health could be derailed by the slightest disruption?

I mulled this over as I rejoined the mob in the street.

Funny thing about people. Old friend or new, they always managed to surprise you.

_____

The Dicks weren’t here. I’d looked everywhere I could possibly search—darkened doorways, smoky cafes, hotel lounges, dingy cellar shops, erotic bars, erotic clubs, and several erotic outlets where I picked up a slew of free catalogs for Nana. I gave descriptions to store clerks, waiters, bouncers, and desk clerks, but all I heard was the same old thing: “Haven’t seen them.”