Merlot (17 page)

He quickly poured her a glass of wine to sip
during the obligatory house tour, innocently dimming the lights in
his bedroom before they moved on to the bathroom where she noted
the toilet seat was down and the tub was clean.

“Here look at this, I finally have a place
for all the clean towels and wash cloths,” he said innocently
making sure she was able to see the half dozen new, unwrapped
toothbrushes he had on hand.

“Expecting a lot of company?” she asked,
leaning against the door-frame.

“No, I’ve just always been a stickler with
the dental deal,” he added, years of giving the same performance
allowing him to sound nonchalant.

“More wine?”

“I don’t know if I should,” she
responded.

Yeah, I’ve heard that before he thought as he
gently took her glass and walked back to the kitchen where Dean
Martin was singing.

“What time do you want to get up? I’ll set
the alarm,” he asked two and a half hours later. He had been giving
her a long back rub, still fascinated by the lacy tattoo scrolled
across the small of her back.

She was naked, half asleep, eyes closed,
enjoying the back rub for the past fifteen minutes. They’d made
love for the better part of the preceding hour.

“Five fifteen,” she murmured, not opening her
eyes, sinking deeper into sleep.

Ugh, he thought, not losing the rhythm of the
back rub.

* * *

Otto had thrown his sweat-encrusted shirt in
the trash, bagged it and hauled it outside. He was in his recliner,
wearing boxers, sipping a cold beer, clicking the remote until it
landed on the weather channel. He set his feet in the
Epsom-salt-bath and felt the stress and strain of the day begin to
leave his body.

A computerized version of a female voice
promised more beastly heat for the remainder of the week.

* * *

Miss Suzie Q fell asleep on the couch
clutching the pillow to her chest. She was dreaming about a show
where she was the star, and there were all these different men
arriving to work on her house. A carpenter was laying a new kitchen
floor, a painter was redoing her dining room, an electrician was
wiring her personal workout room while a plumber installed a new
Jacuzzi, large enough to hold them all.

Somehow they all ended up in the Jacuzzi. The
workmen wore their tool belts. Bubbles were mounded up around Suzie
Q so she could see them but they couldn’t see her. They were taking
turns filling her champagne glass and Creedence Clearwater Revival
was playing in the living room.

Unfortunately she woke up. It was sometime
after 3:00 a.m. when she sat up wondering what in the world? T.J.
never let her sleep on the couch. She turned off the lights, filled
a glass with water, tip toed upstairs and stood looking at the
undisturbed, king-sized bed.

“Dumpling? T.J.?”

* * *

“I’d like to go over this one more time,” the
detective said to T.J. at about the same time.

He was a thin-haired, sallow man with bags
beneath the bags under his eyes and stale coffee breath that T.J.
had found impossible to avoid. They were in a grey, windowless
cinder-block room. They sat opposite one another at a cigarette
burned Formica table.

T.J. removed his glasses. He’d found them
undamaged on the front seat of the GTO amidst a mountain of
shattered windshield. He rubbed his tired, burning eyes and
repeated what he had said a number of times before. Only now, he
was so exhausted he groaned as he spoke. “Look, detective, don’t
you think you should be out there trying to get these guys? I mean
you saw what they did to my GTO. To the OK Corral.”

“Yeah, about the car,” the detective checked
his notes. “Tell me again why you were there? Did they have
something against your car?”

“Something against… they didn’t have anything
against the GTO. It was just there. I parked that way, blocking the
exit, so they couldn’t make their escape. I was there, in the GTO
because that’s what I do every night before I go to bed. I drive
down to the Corral and make sure everything is all right. That’s
why I was there tonight, just checking on things and lo and behold,
there was a robbery in progress.”

“The Corral?”

“My gun shop, the OK Corral.”

“So you didn’t think the police could handle
it, is that it?”

T.J. rubbed his face, a combination of
exasperation and exhaustion. “Apparently not, because no one
arrived on the scene until ten minutes after these guys were long
gone.”

“There was an attempted bank robbery tonight,
sir.”

“Yeah, I heard it on my scanner. So I end up
in a shoot-out, sprayed down with an AK stolen from my shop.
Meanwhile you’re out chasing a mouse running across the bank
floor.”

“Did you realize, sir, that you were
discharging your weapon within city limits?”

T.J. closed his eyes thinking those guys are
already across the state line. He made a mental note to remove the
“
Support Your Local Police”
sign above the cash
register.

Otto woke one minute before his alarm went
off. The sun, just beginning to rise, chased the night sounds away.
The glow from the weather channel illuminated the living room,
forecasting exactly the same as when he drifted off to sleep.
Sub-Saharan temperature, sub-tropical humidity, St. Paul in late
August.

He stretched in his recliner then pushed the
lever forward and landed in the pan of Epsom salts, sending a wave
washing across the carpet.

Today he chose a Twins jersey, Twins hat and
some pin stripe baseball pants he had cut off just below the knee.
He pulled up white cotton knee-high socks, and slathered level 50
sunblock for added protection. He laced up his jungle boots, pulled
on his Twins cap with white handkerchief pinned to the back, looked
in the mirror and knew she would find him irresistible.

* * *

It seemed no more then a couple of minutes
before the alarm jarred them awake.

Cindy snuggled against Merlot as he gently
stroked her back for a couple of minutes. Eventually she opened her
eyes, realized she had to drive home, shower, and change into work
clothes.

By the time she got dressed he was in his
robe, holding a mug of coffee, walking her to the door, asking for
a third time if she wanted a travel mug. She kissed him lightly on
the lips, then waved as she climbed in her car.

That was certainly stupid, he thought to
himself. What the hell was I thinking? I’m going to rob her damn
bank.

He attempted unsuccessfully to go back to
sleep, after forty-five minutes got up, spied Cindy’s black thong
wedged down at the bottom of his sheets.

It had been his experience that women, not
unlike other mammals, marked their territory, leaving earrings,
lipstick, a bracelet, some sort of article behind. Apparently in
Cindy’s case that article was her black thong. He carefully folded
the thong, placed the small garment in a dresser drawer in the hope
she’d return.

* * *

Merlot was ordering his usual latte and
French doughnut from Chrissie. Thinking of Cindy, absently humming
the chorus from Dean Martin’s
Volarie
.

“You’re in a good mood and up early, or are
you just on the way home from last night?” Chrissie half laughed
giving a little bounce which she knew always got Merlot’s
attention.

He smiled, nodded, and made some vague
comment about a meat-order.

“Merlot, hey, you okay? You’re looking kinda
strange.” She snickered, gave another of her special little
bounces.

“Yeah, sorry what were you saying?”

“Never mind.”

He casually paid and left, unaware of
Chrissie’s suddenly cooling attitude.

He was so early this morning that he had to
unlock the Lounge door to let himself in. So early that he didn’t
have to contend with Patti smiling sweetly and telling him she
didn’t want guys like him around her kids. So early that he strode
into his office to find it wonderfully empty, no Osborne or Milton
to contend with. Life at this hour was good as he sat down at his
desk, sipped his Latte and day dreamed about Cindy.

* * *

Cindy was down on her hands and knees,
stretching, groaning, reaching up to grab the last of the night
deposit bags from the small overnight vault. There had been so many
this morning that they were piled a couple of feet up the slot. She
had to pull them out, yanking them down and out of the shaft.

“There, could have been worse,” she gasped,
looking at the stack Carol had piled on a cart. It would take them
the better part of two hours to count and record all the
deposits.

“Could have been worse? When did you get to
be so happy about this shit?” Carol said.

“What can I tell you, I’m just in a good
mood. Guess I got a great night’s sleep.”

She had racked her brain on the drive home
and then on the way to work wondering what she had done with her
thong, finally deciding that Tony must have hid it. It had been her
experience that some guys liked to keep mementos. Cindy had lost
earrings, lipsticks, bracelets, and apparently in Tony’s case, her
thong. Hopefully it would be his excuse to ask her back.

* * *

Otto had already delivered the sacks of
batter mix and slabs of bacon to his stands, and he was almost
finished with the first of the day’s ice deliveries. He had ignored
the crew at the ice company when they elbowed one another
snickering at his Twins jersey.

He hoisted another bag of ice onto his
shoulder and carried it to the stand. Josh was there dipping
skewered bacon slabs into a pan of maple-flavored batter. The
fifty-pound bag of ice was turning Otto’s shoulder numb.

“Twins suck,” screamed a pack of boys from
across the street. They were pointing at Otto, “Hey, Twins suck!”
they called before they took off skateboarding down the street,
“Twins suck! Twins suck!”

“Otto, not having much luck in the fashion
area this week, are you?” Josh laughed.

“There a game today?”

“Noon game. Maybe they can pull out of this
slump. Winning three out of the last thirteen isn’t going to cut
it” Josh said.

A noon game, thought Otto, perfect. Drop the
deposits in the night drop slot until about 3:00 so she doesn’t see
me. Then with the Twins ahead, he could walk up to her window, give
her the famous Otto smile, they would connect and the rest would be
romantic history.

* * *

“Now what’s wrong with you?” Billy Truesdale
asked Trevor as they swung the last of the cash-filled bags into
the rear of the armored car.

Trevor had been making noises all week,
getting progressively louder as the weekend loomed closer. Billy
had seen it before. Tomorrow, Trevor would be all doubled up,
complaining of stomach pains. He would call in sick on Friday, say
he was going to the doctor to get checked out. Coincidently Monday
was Labor Day.

The doc, Trevor’s dickhead brother-in-law and
a gynecologist by the way, would prescribe four days of rest for
Trevor and probably a muscle relaxant administered in a large
Margarita glass.

The truth was Trevor and his malpracticing
brother-in-law would leave Thursday night heading north to the
White Fish lake chain. They’d fish for walleye or croppies at
sunrise and drink beer for breakfast.

“Oh, man, I don’t know what the hell is
wrong. It’s been bugging me since Monday, so it’s not food
poisoning. Just seems to be getting worse. Wonder if I should get
this checked out?”

Billy looked at Gary, then at Trevor, said,
“Maybe it’s just that you’re so full of shit, Trevor. You’re gonna
go fishing this weekend and you’re gonna leave us high and dry,
aren’t you?”

Trevor suddenly did start to look sick.

“No, man, this time it’s for real,” he
gasped.

“Oh yeah, well do what you want man, but
don’t try to con us. It’s the busiest week of the year for this
run, it’s all we do, we’re all busting our ass, and you want to go
fishing, fine. That’s okay, screw your buddies.”

“I don’t know, man.”

Billy ran down a list of replacement helpers
in his mind. They were shorthanded as it was and his worst fear was
they wouldn’t send anyone. What the hell? he thought, Just sit
back, listen to the Twins this afternoon, whatever happens,
happens.

“Ugh, this is bad, man,” Trevor groaned.

* * *

“This is exactly the sort of thing I don’t
need.” Osborne declared slamming down his office window blinds.

Sassie had organized the striking dancers
into a picket line. Clad in thong bikinis, they were marching back
and forth across the entrance to the Beaver Hut carrying signs. All
to the delight of the assembled news crews and a gathering crowd of
well wishers.

“Doesn’t anyone care that a business man in
this community is being strong armed by these, these over endowed
trollops!” He spotted Serpentina in her nurses uniform.

“You traitorous little tramp. Look, Milton,
for God’s sake, I’m up here devoid of medical attention and that
ungrateful wench is down there picketing my establishment. And from
the look of things that ingrate Sassie has encouraged some of the
Fat Farm to join her as well. Dear God!”

For his part Milton had been feeling feverish
and light-headed. The discoloration was beginning to work its way
up his arm. He had difficulty opening and closing his hand. The
hand looked like a purple football with fat purple sausages where
his fingers ought to be.

* * *

Cindy felt flushed. They were swamped, with
the extra bodies and the heat blazing in through the drive-up
windows, the pretend air-conditioning, the temperature in the
teller area hovered just over ninety.

She didn’t care about any of that because it
was already past the noon hour. She’d had a fantastic night and she
hadn’t had to deal once with Otto.