Eggs Benedict Arnold (33 page)

“
What am I, the mule whisperer?
”
asked Toni.
“
Hey, this ain
’
t working.
”

“
If we get him close enough,
”
Suzanne reasoned,
“
maybe he
’
ll just do what comes naturally.
”
She paused, then took a quick step backward.
“
Uh-oh.
”

“
What?
”
asked Toni, peering around the mule.

“
He just did what comes naturally.
”

“
Huh?
”
asked Toni. Then she caught a whiff.
“
Oh man,
did he just do what I think he did?
”

“
Afraid so,
”
said Suzanne.

Which set them to giggling.

“
If I had a plastic bag,
”
said Toni, still trying to wrangle
the mule, “I’d stuff some of his equine output inside and set it on fire.”
“
For what purpose?
”
asked Suzanne.
“
And, may I add,
you are completely off the hook.
”

“
Throw it at that farmhouse,
”
said Toni.
“
Get back at em.
”

“
A twisted idea,
”
said Suzanne,
“
but appealing, nonetheless, for what they
’
re putting us through.
”
She joined Toni at the front of the mule.
“
This isn
’
t working.
”

“
No kidding,
”
muttered Toni.

“
What we need is . . .
”
Suzanne glanced around the barn.

“
A whip?
”
asked Toni.

Suzanne
’
s eyes searched the pegs on the walls, skittering over curry combs, leather leads, and more halters. Fi
nally, she found something that might work.
“
How about a
harness?
”
she asked.

Once it was settled over the mule
’
s shoulders and flanks,
controlling the mule was a little easier. In fact, the mule
seemed to pick right up on the notion of pulling and back
ing up. And it wasn
’
t long before they had his backside rubbing directly up against the barn door.

“
Now kick!
”
Toni implored the mule.
“
C
’
mon, gonzo guy, give it a real whack!
”

“
We gotta back him up even more,
”
said Suzanne.

“
His tail
’
s already flat against the door,
”
sputtered Toni.
“
But he
’
s not
doing
anything.
”

“
Then we have to frustrate him,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Goad him into kicking.
”

“
Gotcha,
”
said Toni. She tugged at one side of the mule
’
s
harness.
“
Give it a try, boy, you can do it. Give that door a
good, swift kick and there
’
s a carrot in it for you.
”

The mule stared stolidly at Toni without blinking.

“
Apple?
”
asked Toni.

Suzanne stepped in front of the mule and threw up both
arms.
“
Hyah!
”
she yelled loudly. She made a loud, clicking
sound.
“
Move it! Move it!
”

The mule tossed his head back, the whites of his eyes suddenly showing, as if to say,
Say what?
And, wonder of wonders, let loose a thunderous kick against the barn door.

“
Awright!
”
cried Toni.
“
Progress! You
’
ve developed an
excellent rapport with this animal, Suzanne. Now do what
ever you did again.
”

Suzanne waved her arms crazily and clicked and clucked
until her tongue ached.

Bam!
Blam!
The barn door shuddered on its antique hinges.

“
He
’
s doing it!
”
yelled Toni.
“
All we need is one more good...
”

Crash!
The barn door suddenly split up the middle!

“
. . . kick!
”
finished Toni.
“
Atta boy!
”
She reached up and patted the mule
’
s broad forehead.

Suzanne grabbed the mule
’
s halter and eased him for
ward, out of their way. Then they both put shoulders to the
door and shoved ... hard!

“
It
’
s giving way!
”
yelled Toni.
“
I can feel it!
”

But it wasn
’
t the door that gave way. Instead, the old latch simply capitulated.

“
All that kicking must have loosened it!
”
Suzanne cried
excitedly;
as they shoved open the door. Fresh air assaulted
them and little bits of moonlight filtered down through the
trees as they made a mad dash for Toni
’
s car.

“
What about the mule?
”
asked Toni, as they
d
ucked
under an old wash line, then skittered around an old pump.
“
I promised him a carrot! Or maybe it was an apple!
”

“
I
’
m sure he
’
ll be fine,
”
Suzanne cried, as they pounded across the blacktopped road, slid down the grassy incline,
and jumped into Toni
’
s car.

Suddenly, a yard light flashed on and they heard faint
yelling from inside me farmhouse!

“
They know!
”
said Toni.

“
Then we gotta get out of here!
”
responded Suzanne.

Toni cranked the ignition, floored it, and then they were
fishtailing crazily up the incline and onto
the
road. Her wheels spun wildly for an instant, laying a thin carpet of
rubber. And then they rocketed down the road, Toni han
dling her car like Danica Patrick at Indy.

“
They
’
ll never catch us now!
”
chortled Toni.

Suzanne put a hand to her chest to still her beating heart.
“
That was awful.
”
She reached over and put a hand on To
ni
’
s shoulder.
“
Take it easy. Don
’
t put us in a ditch.
”

“
What a rush!
”
cried Toni, still reveling in her surge of
adrenaline.

“
It was a disaster,
”
replied Suzanne, enjoying the gush
of warmth from the car
’
s heater.
“
We have to drive directly to the law enforcement center and tell Doogie or whoever
’
s
on duty what just happened!
”

“
Whadya mean?
”
cried Toni. She
’
d gone from crazy happy to flustered and upset.

“
I
’
m talking kidnapping and probably drug dealing.
”

“
No way!
”
screeched Toni.
“
If we tell the cops what happened, we implicate Junior!
”
She slowed the car down.
“
Please,
”
she begged,
“
we can
’
t tell anyone about that
place until I talk to Junior. I gotta try to extricate him from
this mess!
”

“
Then you
’
d better set him straight ASAP!
”
warned
Suzanne.

“
First thing tomorrow,
”
pleaded Toni.
“
Okay?
”

“
But Junior
’
s coming to your house tonight,
”
said
Suzanne.

“
Good point,
”
said Toni.

“
So,
”
said Suzanne, cooling down a little, trying to come
up with a logical plan,
“
you
’
ll stay over with me.
”

“
Then we talk to Junior first thing tomorrow,
”
said Toni.
“
Both of us together.
”
Her eyes darted from the road to Suzanne, then back to the road again.
“
Right?
”

“
And then we
’
ll call Doogie,
”
said Suzanne.
“
And report
those jerks.
”

“
Of course, we will,
”
said Toni.
“
Only . . . can
’
t we do
it anonymously?
”

Chapter nineteen

Thursday
morning at the Cackleberry Club was Foggy
Morning
Soufflé
day, which Toni had taken to calling Soggy
Morning
Soufflé
. In any case, it was a worthy concoction of whipped eggs, milk, and flour, combined with grated
Swiss cheese, butter, and mustard, sizzled in a fry pan, then
thrust into a hot oven to pouf said
soufflé
up to towering proportions.

Petra hummed in the kitchen, prepping her
soufflés
,
while Junior Garrett slumped at the counter of the Cackleberry Club, looking all the world like a beaten-down pris
oner of war. His black T-shirt hung loosely on his skinny frame, even his normally tight jeans seemed to sag.

Toni had called him in early on the pretext of car trouble
and now Suzanne and Toni had been haranguing Junior for
a solid ten minutes. Sometimes they took turns, sometimes
they yelled in tandem. Once in a while, as she was whipping her eggs, Petra yelled out her two cents
’
worth as well. Obvi
ously, they
’
d clued her in regarding last night
’
s fiasco.