Merlot (23 page)

* * *

Lucerne was at the end of his patience.
Mendel and Elvis took their time getting out of bed, taking turns
rolling over and going back to sleep. Elvis finally crawled out of
bed, pulled on jeans and one boot then crawled back in. The two of
them eventually stirred to life after Lucerne threatened them with
a Colt 45 bottle filled with cold water.

They had trouble making up their minds at
Denny’s. Elvis moved his lips as he read through the menu
offerings. They ultimately settled on the same thing they’d had
every day for the past two weeks, the number three special with
scrambled eggs and bacon.

“God damn it, I could have phoned in that
order. Shit, you two burned twenty minutes of my life ordering the
same damn thing”

“Boy, what crawled up your ass this morning?
Maybe what you need is a giant helping of that Tracey gal,” Mendel
said in a not too subtle tone.

It was at this point that two hefty women in
the booth next to them got up, gave them a disgusted look and
stormed out.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to please
keep your voice down,” the assistant manger said to Lucerne a
moment later. His yellow plastic nametag read ‘Phil’ in black
letters, right under his title, Assistant Morning Manager followed
by a happy face smile.

“Not a problem, Phil, I’ll just cool my ass
outside in the car.” Lucerne walked out and waited in the car while
Mendel and Elvis ate their number three specials, then turned their
attention to Lucerne’s pancakes and sausage.

Back at the motel, they slowly loaded things
into the car. Lucerne cut a length of carpet out of the motel-room
floor and wrapped it around the AKs so they could sneak them into
the bank.

Mendel yelled at Elvis who yelled back,
louder. The situation continued to escalate. Lucerne finally herded
them into the car where they continued to argue while he finished
loading.

It was close to noon by the time the last
pile of dirty clothes was dumped into the trunk and they sped off
owing two week’s rent. The temperature was already in the upper 90s
and climbing, the humidity heavy enough that Lucerne ran the wipers
a couple of times to clear the windshield.

“Close that window, Elvis, I got the damn AC
on.” Lucerne adjusted the rearview mirror so he could give Elvis
the evil eye as he turned onto the freeway ramp. They sped down the
freeway, the wind blew long wisps of Elvis’s hair before howling
out the fist-sized hole in the rear window. Elvis ignored Lucerne’s
second request and continued to stare sullenly out the window.

“Hey, Dickhead, close the damn window. Christ
almighty, I can’t hear myself think up here!” Mendel yelled,
reaching over the seat and swinging a backhand at Elvis.

Elvis swatted Mendel’s paw away, then leapt
forward to grab a large tuft of hair, audibly tearing it out of
Mendel’s scalp. His attack jammed Lucerne forward and he fought to
maintain control of the Fleetwood, swerving back and forth across
the lanes as cars around him honked and brakes screeched.

“Ahh, you little bastard!” Mendel screamed,
swinging blindly, connecting a right cross to Elvis’s nose. The
blow sent Elvis sailing back into his seat with his eyes crossed.
Mendel wound up ready to deliver another blow, but as he cocked a
massive right arm he caught Lucerne in the back of the head just as
he regained control.

“God…” was the only word Lucerne was able to
utter before side-swiping a dark blue Toyota, bouncing it off a
concrete barrier. It swerved back into traffic and set off a chain
reaction of accidents. Lucerne caught brief glimpses of the debris
in the rearview mirror while frantically fighting to keep the
Fleetwood stable as it rocked from side to side.

He pulled the thirty-eight from his waistband
and fired a round through the roof of the car. A small shaft of
sunlight shone through the quarter-sized hole in the vinyl top.

“God damn it! The next one of you bastards
that so much as moves, I’m going to shoot your worthless ass off.
Elvis, put up that Goddamn window, now!”

Elvis had the window halfway up before
Lucerne had finished his request.

“And Mendel, sit down and buckle the fuck up!
Do it, damn it!” he shouted, cocking the hammer back on the
thirty-eight.

“This is just one fine how-do-you-do. We’re
on our way to rob a God damned bank.” Lucerne glared at Elvis in
the backseat, saw the blood running out his nose, splattering onto
his shirt. He’d already wiped beneath his nose once or twice, which
only served to smear blood across the side of his face.

“Oh Jesus, Elvis, lie down on the seat. See
if you can stop that damn bleeding” he said, shooting another
wicked glance at the brooding Mendel before moving into the far
right lane and exiting. He looked for a convenience store where
they could get Elvis cleaned up. He noticed there was no traffic
behind them, not a car, and he guessed, correctly, that the chain
reaction they had set off had shut down the entire freeway.

* * *

Otto cursed his luck, unable to talk to Cindy
all morning. It never seemed to fail she got called away to do some
chore. He stood there sweating, hoping he could let her know he was
none too pleased with her behavior the night before.

He had checked at the other stands, no one
recalled her looking for him last night. To his way of thinking
that could mean only one thing: she had spent the whole evening
running from stand to stand. When she didn’t find him she probably
started all over again.

* * *

Daphne thought she might be feeling the
beginning prickle of sunburn as she waited at the ice cream
truck.

“Yeah, sorry,” Morris grunted, not sounding
sorry at all, “but I’m all out of the Giant Gobblers. I’ve got the
regular size.”

She knew he’d just parked here again so he
could leer at her and the other girls while they walked the picket
line.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to get a
regular size then,
won’t I
.”

“Fine, I don’t care. You mind if I ask, you
work here?” he rummaged in the cooler for a regular sized Gobbler.
Nodded in the direction of the picket line where Misty and two
other girls were climbing on top of a large air conditioning unit
next to the building.

“Yes, I do,” she said, trying to make herself
heard over the crowd’s catcalls.

“Frightening,” mumbled Morris.

“Sorry, what was that?”

He twitched his head, eyes fixed beyond her
to the air-conditioning unit where Misty gyrated in response to
clapping hands.

“Hey, you’re that fat broad in the paper,”
said a T-shirt clad guy in need of a shave, a shower and some
serious dental work.

“Huh?” Daphne managed to squeak out over a
mouth full of ice cream.

“Yeah, you know,
Tons of Fun
. In this
morning’s paper? You didn’t see it?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking
about,” she said.

“It’s in the paper, the local section, your
picture, right here, check it out.” He called after her waving a
newspaper.

It was shortly after that she noticed people
pointing at her, some of them giggling. She’d gone back to the
ice-cream wagon twice more, ravenous. Then, when a group of
twenty-something guys asked to have their photo taken with her, she
was convinced something was up.

“You kidding me, lady? You’re sort of famous.
Hey, show her the paper.”

She snatched the newspaper out of their
hands. Her image took up a third of the page above the fold. There,
under the heading ‘Tons of Fun had by all!’ was a picture of Daphne
aggressively attacking a dripping ice cream bar.

“I’m the laughing stock of the entire city,”
she screamed.

“Hey look,” said some shirtless guy in
cut-offs, sporting a beer belly with red stretch marks, “it’s that
tons-of-fun broad. Hey, how about a picture, lady? Lick that ice
cream and ditch that hat, I can’t get your face,” he crouched down
and took aim with his camera.

She didn’t remember much after seeing red and
screaming. Fortunately the police didn’t cite her and the shirtless
photographer didn’t press assault charges once Sassie and Misty
offered to pose with him. Still, she had to phone someone to give
her a ride or the police promised they would take her downtown. She
didn’t know who she could call, and then it struck her.

* * *

“Shit perfect, an open spot right in front
man. Luck is with us, boys,” Lucerne said, looking across the
street as they drove past the bank. They were the first words
uttered in the car since Elvis had come out of the convenience
store restroom and sulked back into the rearseat.

Elvis had stared out the blood splattered
window brooding with what looked like birthday candles stuffed up
each nostril, clumps of toilet paper he had shoved up his nose to
staunch the bleeding. His face around both eyes had begun to swell,
growing darker by the minute. Lucerne guessed that the combination
of the black eyes, broken nose and toilet paper crammed up his
nostrils might be enough to disguise his appearance.

Other than a raw patch on the left side of
his hair line about the size of a fifty cent piece, Mendel looked
none the worse for wear.

Lucerne swerved into the intersection and
waited for a pickup truck to pass so he could make a U-turn and
park right in front of the bank door.

* * *

Otto had determined that this time he would
just wait to speak with Cindy even if she got called away, again.
He felt bad she had wasted her night running around looking for him
but if she’d only followed his directions none of that would have
happened.

He didn’t notice the two-toned Fleetwood
attempting to make a U-turn as he drove past and pulled into a
parking spot right in front of the bank.

* * *

“God damn it, son-of-a-bitch grabbed our
spot,” Mendel yelled.

Lucerne leaned on the horn. As they drove
past Mendel lowered the window and leaned out, giving Otto the
finger.

* * *

“Otto reached down and touched the forty-five
in his belt, secure the moment he felt the cold steel.

* * *

“Look, that’s okay, relax. We’ll just back into the
lot, make it that much easier to head down that residential street
when the time comes,” Lucerne said.

“Elvis grab that carpet with those AKs and let’s get
ready to rock and roll.”

Lucerne’s cell phone suddenly rang with its
distinctive tone, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “
That Smell!
”

“Yeah?” Lucerne answered with a questioning
inflection, looking at Mendel and Elvis, wondering who would ever
want to call him.

“Lucerne?”

“Tracey?” he asked, recognizing Daphne’s
voice as he hit the brakes, jerking the Fleetwood to a stop just as
he was beginning to back into a parking place. Elvis had laid the
AKs on the back seat and they slid onto the floor.

“Jesus!” Elvis whined, his tone severely
distorted between the broken nose and the wads of toilet paper.

“We’re supposed to rob a God damn bank!”
Mendel roared, pushing himself off the dashboard.

Lucerne turned his back to Mendel, stuck an
index finger into his ear and half whispered, “Tracey, you
okay?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Lucerne?”

“Well, we’re kinda busy with work right
now.”

“I wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency,
you know that. Don’t you?”

“Matter of fact, I think this is the first
time you’ve ever called me.”

“Well, I need help and I didn’t know who else
to call. You said you’d be there for me so I was thinking maybe I
could take you up on your offer.”

“Well, I’d be glad to, Tracey, just as soon
as I’m done here. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Mendel glared and gave him the cut off
sign.

“Well, look, I have to get out of here. Could
you pick me up?” she asked.

“Is it that Osborne fella makin’ ya dance
with him again?”

“Not exactly, it’s sort of tough to explain.
Have you ever heard of the Beaver Hut?”

“The Beaver Hut, you mean that strip
joint?”

“The Beaver Hut!?” Mendel and Elvis chimed in
unison.

“Well yeah, see that’s kinda where I am right
now. I have to leave, pretty soon, in fact right away,” Daphne
said, looking at the young officer standing next to her with his
arms folded and a frown on his face.

“I’ll be there directly, and Tracey, don’t
you worry none,” Lucerne said.

“I knew I could count on you.”

“What?” Lucerne asked defensively folding his
phone shut as he looked over at Mendel.

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking whenever
you’re finished with your little love talk we could get back to the
reason we’re fucking sitting here! Now back up and park this God
damn boat!” Mendel shouted.

Lucerne pressed the accelerator down before
taking his foot off the brake, screeching the tires, then just as
quickly jamming on the brakes an inch before slamming into the
concrete curbing, sending the AKs sliding onto the floor again and
hurling Mendel forward into the dash.

“Fast enough?”

* * *

Billy Truesdale unbuckled his seat belt while
Gary waited for a dented, two-toned Fleetwood Brougham to move.

“That little weasel, Trevor, is probably
sipping a cold beer thinking he played us for suckers,” he
groaned.

“I don’t know, Billy. It’s almost easier just
hauling this by ourselves. In half the time it takes him to
complain, we got her loaded up and heading back to Central. Hell,
the day’s a little more than half over. We got a three day weekend
coming up. Somewhere in my immediate future is a cold beer.”

“Mmm-mmm,” Billy grunted.

* * *

Nothing seemed to be working right for
Merlot. When he negotiated the purchase of the Saab a week ago he
had neglected to ask if the air conditioner and windows worked. Had
he asked, the answer would have been a resounding no.
Unfortunately, in anticipation of the AC working, he had rolled the
windows up, they were now wedged closed. He calculated he had lost
about six pounds during the drive to the bank, sweated them off
while the temperature in the sun-baked car climbed to somewhere in
the neighborhood of 400 degrees.