Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (27 page)

Harley decided it was a good time to find the bathrooms. Nana declined to join her, saying she was just fine. She probably wore Depends under that striped dress.

A lot of people roamed the wide corridors, going to the concession stands, bathrooms, and buying souvenirs. The line in the ladies’ bathroom wasn’t too long, and when Harley came out of the stall, she was the only one in there. That was highly unusual. Normally, the bathrooms had lines as long as the stadium. Now it was so quiet that sound echoed. The organ music had stopped and the voice of the announcer sounded muffled through all the concrete. She washed her hands and dried them, muttering about the forced air dryers that never really got hands dry like paper towels. It just made a lot of noise and blew out hot air, like some people she knew.

When she glanced around, the Redbirds mascot came around the tiled corner. Up close, it loomed even larger than it looked down on the field. Who knew there was a woman inside that big costume? It had to be lighter than it looked. Most of those costumes were pretty heavy, what with all the wire and heavy fabric. “What’s up, chick?” she couldn’t help asking. The mascot just looked at her. “Okay, guess you get a lot of jokes when you’re wearing that. Sorry.”

The stuffed yellow beak bobbed up and down. A really pale face could be glimpsed behind the mesh eye holes, eyeliner defining brown eyes. It had to be hot in that thing in the summertime. Harley felt uncomfortable. The mascot was probably waiting for her to leave before getting out of the costume to go into one of the stalls. Not even the handicapped stall looked big enough for that redbird. Harley rubbed her hands under the blowing air and ignored the unfriendly fowl.

The situation felt strangely out of kilter somehow. Like she was somewhere she wasn’t meant to be. The dryer cut off and Harley gave her hands a final shake to get rid of any excess water.

As she turned toward the exit, something grabbed her from behind. Huge hands circled her throat and squeezed tightly. Harley clawed at them frantically, but the more she tried to dislodge the grip, the tighter it got. Spots danced in front of her eyes, her ears rang, and the distinct smell of something almost sickly sweet stung her nose. She kicked at the sinks and tiled walls, managing to knock off one of the soap dispensers, then used leverage with her feet to throw her attacker off-balance. They both went down heavily to the tiled floor that smelled of disinfectant, and rolled so that the bird pinned her to the cold tiles. She jammed an elbow backward, aiming for the head, but hit something much softer. Bird legs flailed on each side of her and she heard a heavy grunt of pain. The grip slackened, but she was trapped under the weight of the costume. Felt and feathers blocked her nose and mouth, and a gagging sound came from somewhere. It might be her. It sounded like the bird was choking on its own feathers.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the attack ended. Weight lifted, and Harley caught a glimpse of black shoes where bird feet should be. Still sprawled on cold tiles, she heard a familiar voice shouting words no old darling should even know, much less say. The smell that accompanied those words burned the air. Sulfur? No. Mace. Nana. Thank God.

Coughing, she sat up, almost eye-level with Nana’s striped belt.

“Are you all right?” Nana asked sharply, and Harley nodded. “Good. Get up. The bird’s flown the coop, and we’ve got to catch that bastard!”

Harley’s throat was too bruised to argue, and she stumbled to her feet to follow Nana out the bathroom door, staggering a little. Orange cones at the entrance and exit explained why no one else had come in on them. The redbird ran in a lumbering gait like a drunken hippo, the costume shedding feathers and huge feet slapping concrete floors.

“Stop that chicken!” Nana shouted, but people just turned to stare, either thinking it was some kind of joke or not comprehending. Harley didn’t blame them. The redbird disappeared around a corner with Nana in hot pursuit and Harley lagging behind.

When she caught up with her grandmother, Nana was standing in the middle of an empty corridor. She still had the can of Mace that had replaced Smitty in her hand. It’d been a good choice. There’d be no way to explain shooting the Memphis Redbird.

“We lost her,” Harley managed to say in a croak. “Let’s talk to the security guards.”

“And tell them what? A giant chicken tried to choke my granddaughter?”

“Redbird.”

“Whatever. This just ticks me off.”

“I can tell.”

Nana looked at her. “You sure you’re okay? You’re kinda red-faced.”

“Lack of oxygen. I’m just fine.”

“How’d you let that bird get near enough to choke you?”

“I didn’t expect a woman to be inside the costume or to be a threat. Who knew?”

Nana snorted. “That was no woman.”

“But ... she was in the ladies’ bathroom.”

“And if I stand in a garage does that make me a car? I think lack of oxygen cost you a few brain cells, honey child. Come on. You need to sit down for a while.”

“Probably.” She thought for a moment. “I think I got him in the giblets with my elbow.” That made her feel better, and not quite as stupid.

“How’d you know where I was?” Harley asked on their way to the security office.

“I didn’t. I saw the orange cones and figured there’d be no line in there, and then I saw you and that bird thrashing around. Damn good thing.”

Oh yeah.

After they told the security guards what had happened and filled out a report, a chaperone from Whispering Pines arrived to escort them to the van. Those tracking devices apparently did the job. Just as they were leaving the stadium office, a police officer arrived.

“Hey, we just found the mascot tied up in a broom closet. He said someone knocked him out and stole the Redbird costume. We found the costume in the men’s bathroom on level two.”

Nana and Harley exchanged glances. That explained the assault. And also how vulnerable she was anywhere she went. Damn.

“Come on, Nana. We need to go.”

Outside the stadium, kids shrieked, people laughed, and teenagers with big boom boxes on their shoulders strolled slowly by. A carnival atmosphere. Two blocks over lay Beale Street, with nightclubs that played everything from blues to the heavy metal at the New Daisy Theater. Peabody Place, the fairly new three story mall with upscale shops, a movie theater, and the requisite Starbucks was only a block away, behind The Peabody Hotel, billed as the South’s Grand Hotel. Everyone from Hollywood movie stars to presidents stayed in the hotel that dated back to 1866, even though it had moved its location in the early twentieth century.

The driver had gone to the garage to bring the van and would park in the handicapped spot right in front. Traffic must have delayed him. Some of the seniors sat down on benches, but Harley, Nana and a few other Whispering Pines residents stood on the sidewalk in front of the stadium. It could be just any late summer afternoon in downtown Memphis. Having been almost choked to death, Harley had a new appreciation of the mundane.

Cars inched forward on Union Avenue as the traffic light at Third Street changed. Harley watched a kid of about ten break into a routine in front of the stadium, dancing to the beat of a big boom box, doing gymnastic tricks that looked too impossible for the human body to perform. His friend held out a hat for donations, moving quickly before the cops could show to break it up. He managed to collect quite a few bills and some change before his radar picked up an approaching officer, and he, the dancer, the boom box, and the hat full of money melted into the crowd.

Smiling, Harley leaned forward to speak to Nana when something hard hit her between the shoulder blades. She lurched toward the street. Brakes screeched and a hot wind that stank of diesel fumes blew dust and grit in her face. Someone screamed. Harley grabbed at a thin shadow, barely managing to catch hold of a light pole before she ended up under a MATA bus. For a moment she just hung there, unable to move, blinking grit out of her eyes. If she flicked out her tongue like a frog, she could have licked a bug off the front of the bus.

It took a moment to recover, but she swung back to the sidewalk and pried her hands free of the light pole. The bus driver yelled at her to watch what she was doing. As the diesel engine kicked into gear and the bus moved down Union, Harley took a deep breath of fumes and turned around. Nana stood frozen to the spot, her eyes big and mouth open wide. Only one other person seemed to have noticed her near death experience.

Nana still stood with her mouth open, one hand lifted as if to drag her back from the curb. Right behind Nana, a man made strange motions with his hands. He had a white-painted face, heavily black-lined eyes with two painted teardrops under his left eye, and a dark red mouth.

Harley blinked.

A mime? He wore tight black pants and ballet slippers, a pair of black suspenders over a white shirt, white gloves, and a black bowler hat. The dark red mouth curved into a smile, and he put his palms out like he was trapped in an invisible box. A strong, sickly-sweet scent replaced the lingering bus fumes in her lungs. It held a hint of Mace. She glared at him.

“Did you just push ... wait. It was you!”

The mime gave a quick bow, a tip of his hat, and then he skipped across Third Street in the direction of the river. Damn! Harley grabbed her grandmother’s arm and pointed.

“It’s the redbird, the guy in the costume! I recognize his heavy aftershave and Mace.”

“Let’s get him,” Nana said immediately, and sprinted toward the corner.

“Wait!” Harley looked around for one of the chaperones, but they were busy gathering the seniors from the stadium entrance and herding them toward the van that had finally arrived. Damn it! Nana had already crossed Third in hot pursuit. The light caught Harley and she had to stand on the curb and wait or be flattened like a pancake. She jogged impatiently from one foot to another. Just when she was ready to risk it anyway, the light changed and she bolted across the street, narrowly missing being hit by a car turning left on a red light. Idiot.

By the time she got across Third, Nana and her prey had jaywalked across Union, cutting between the horse-drawn carriages lined up at the curb and disappearing from sight. Afraid for her grandmother, Harley did the same, again narrowly missing being hit. Obviously, she took after Nana’s side of the family. Insanity had probably landed more than a few of her ancestors in straitjackets.

Out of breath by the time she got across Union without being run down, she took a chance and pushed into the door leading to the lobby of The Peabody. The gift shop lay to the left, the stairs leading to restaurants and another main door to the right. Unless the guy who’d tried to choke her had a room here, he’d probably just try for one of the exit doors.

Nana was just going out the door onto Second Street when Harley made it up the short flight of stairs. How the hell could that old woman move so fast? Harley was fifty-odd years younger but had a stitch in her side already.

“Nana! Wait a damn minute,” she got out when she saw her great-grandmother pause at the corner on Union.

“He’s circling around, Harley. Get the lead out and come on!”

“Why don’t we just get a cop?”

“Do you see one?” Nana asked over her shoulder, scurrying down the sidewalk with her white wicker purse held to her chest and her tennis shoes a blur on concrete.

Harley finally caught up with her in front of the line of waiting horse carriages, and grabbed her arm, panting for breath. “Forget it. Let him ... go. I can’t ... keep going.”

Nana gave her a disgusted look. “The younger generation couldn’t hoe a row of beans. Get up in this thing. We’ll catch him.”

Bent over with her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath, Harley didn’t look up quickly enough. She immediately realized her mistake when she heard a horse snort. Alarmed, she was a little too late to stop disaster. There was nothing left to do but hop on when Nana clucked her tongue at the horse and started pulling the carriage out into traffic. Harley took a flying leap and landed on the running board. She clung desperately to the metal handles on each side to avoid the big wheels rapidly going faster.