Project Produce (22 page)

Hey, if it could kill Professor Butthead’s egg salad breath, then it oughta do wonders for Khaki Man’s raunchy feet.

“Ah-haaa!” Khaki Man yelped, but at least his foot stopped tapping.

“You okay, man?” Gadget asked.

“Cold chill. I’m fine now.”

“Sorry, guys. Gotta go. It’s an emergency. But I’ll catch up with you later about your instructions for next week.” I heard Dylan scrape the keys off the table then disappear as quickly as he had arrived.

“He’s gone. You can come up now,” Thermometer Woman said.

I crawled out from under the table and took a deep breath then glared at Khaki Man, but the rascal just laughed. So I focused my attention on the rest of them as I sat back down and said, “So you’re cousins. I get it. And I know why Dylan asked for your help, but there’s a new boss in town, and it’s payback time. Mean Mama has a few plans of her own.”

“Mean Mama?” Khaki Man grinned then shoveled a forkful of... oh, God in heaven, Mac and Cheese. I swallowed hard and tore my eyes away as he finished with, “Thought it was Annie Oakley.”

My molars locked, and I began to grind my teeth. “Yeah, well, last time I saw you, you were flat on your back after someone knocked you on your smart-alec behind. Oh, that’s right, that someone was me.”

“Can I help it that women throw themselves at me?” He smirked.

“Bet it’s not too hard to get rid of them once they smell your feet.” He just chuckled, and I wanted to smack that smug smile right off his face. Dylan was right. There was a definite difference between confident and cocky, which made it pretty obvious where Khaki Man fell on the produce chain.
Poor little guy
. Besides, I’d had a close-up visual of those small size nines. Not something I wanted to do ever again.

“For the record, Detective Hammond was only trying to keep you safe, but you wouldn’t let him help you,” Gadget interrupted, stirring cream into his coffee.

I rolled my eyes. “Spare me, please. I know exactly what he was trying to do. Use me to catch the Midnight Molester. That kind of ‘help’ I can do without.”

“Well, no kidding,” Cat Woman said. “His job includes catching the guy before he strikes again, and he just didn’t want it to be you.”

Doubt started to creep into my brain. Could I have been wrong about him all along? But then I remembered the nudie mags and porn file I’d seen in his room. “It’s pretty low to use a victim for your own personal jollies.”

“Personal jollies?” Khaki Man said as he eyed Gadget. “I didn’t know Dylan did the personal jolly thing, did you?”

“Yeah, right. I saw the personal stuff with my own eyes,” I said.

“What personal stuff?” Gadget asked.

I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with these people. “You know, people who are addicted to porn can be helped.”

“What makes you think Dylan’s addicted to porn?” Cat Woman asked.

“I saw it with my own eyes. Not a pretty picture. He’s got all sorts of files on it at his apartment....” I trailed off as the word ‘files’ registered. Clearly marked files.

“You must mean the files he’s been keeping on the Midnight Molester and other creeps like him,” Thermometer woman said.

“Other creeps?” I blinked, struggling to digest those words.

“Poor son-of-a-bitch.” Khaki Man shook his head. “No way in hell would I want to be the Detective in charge of sex crimes.”

Well, that explained a lot. Hot Britches wasn’t a sex addict after all, so why wasn’t I relieved? He was a normal, decent guy who seemed to be genuinely interested in me. A burning knot began to form in the pit of my stomach over that thought, and my hands started to sweat. I still didn’t have all my answers, and I just wasn’t ready to take a chance.

I took a deep breath and forced my pulse to return to normal. Dylan might not be a sex addict, but he still had an agenda. He was still trying to control my life because he didn’t trust me to take care of myself, and he was only spending time with me in hopes of catching the bad guy. “Why not just have his captain assign someone else to look out for me if he thought I was in that much danger?”

“Because there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant around-the-clock police protection. Dylan just went with his gut, and over the years, we’ve all learned to not ask questions and follow his lead,” Thermometer woman said.

“I think he’s just driven enough that he won’t risk missing an opportunity to catch the creep,” I said.

“Dylan’s been after the Midnight Molester since the beginning, but he doesn’t care who gets the credit. He just doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. If he thinks you’re in danger, then you are,” Thermometer Woman replied.

My stomach started to churn again, so I held up my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You owe me. All of you.” I looked each of them in the eye. “I need Dylan for a project I’m researching. I’ll go along with this charade for now, but I want a little harmless payback. So can I count on your cooperation?”

“What kind of project?” Cat Woman asked.

“Psychology, why?”

They all gave each other funny looks, then Cat Woman said, “Dylan’s not crazy about shrinks, that’s all.”

Our dinner conversation at his place came back to me, and I remembered him commenting that some female shrink had given him the runaround and kept him out of work much longer than he had to be, all because she had some ulterior motive. I wasn’t a shrink, but he was still going to be angry when he found out he was part of a psychology project. “That’s right, I remember now.”

“He told you?” Gadget asked, his eyebrows shooting up under the rim of his hat.

“Some of it. Why?”

“It’s not something he usually talks about,” Gadget answered.

“Oh.” I wanted to ask why they thought he’d opened up to me, but the darn burning had moved up to my throat this time. This conversation had grown increasingly uncomfortable, and I suddenly wanted out.

“You tell us about this project of yours first.” Cat Woman’s words brought my gaze back to hers, and she eyed me suspiciously. “We may pick on Dylan, but he’s still our cousin.”

I dropped my face into my hands for a moment and sighed. Then I lifted my head and started talking. Apparently, I didn’t have a choice if I wanted their help. “Believe me, I’m not a shrink. I’m just trying to figure out what makes men tick by interviewing them to determine how the size of their, er, produce affects their personalities.”

“Produce?” Khaki Man asked. “You mean if I like apples instead of watermelons I have a small brain, or something?”

“More like pickles versus zucchinis and small Mr. Winkies.”

“Mr. Whaties?” Gadget asked.

Cat Woman and Thermometer woman eyed each other and rolled their eyes. Figured, only the men wouldn’t get it.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “My project doesn’t really have anything to do with food, it’s just easier for me to discuss in terms of produce. My topic is to research how the size of a man’s private parts affects his personality. For example, does a certain size make a man cocky or comfortable or confident. Or does size have nothing at all to do with the way a man behaves. Stuff like that.”

“Who the hell gets assigned a topic like that?” Gadget turned three shades of red, and Khaki Man laughed his ass off.

“Unlucky saps like me.”

“You need any more subjects, just let me know,” Khaki Man added.

“Thanks, but I’ve got the pickles covered,” I said, but the devil just grinned wider. “Look guys, I’m not out to make your lives miserable or to hurt Dylan, but after what you all put me through, it wouldn’t hurt you to help me out.” I looked each of them in the eye. “I just want to have a little fun and get him back. What I have in mind is harmless, you’ll see.”

Thermometer Woman stared at me for a full minute, and the table grew quiet. Everyone studied me as though I was under a microscope, and I tried not to squirm. Then Thermometer Woman finally said, “We’ve watched you for weeks now and heard how Dylan talks about you. I think you might be exactly what Dylan needs in his life right now.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t need me. Trust me, we’re just friends.” I cleared my throat. “So what do you say?”

They put their heads together and whispered for a minute, then Khaki Man grinned. “Well, hell, I’m all about having some fun. You got a deal, Annie. Now, what exactly do you want us to do?”

I gave them their instructions, then I said, “My turn. I told you about my project, so it’s only fair you tell me about Dylan’s issues with shrinks.”

Gadget said, “Nothing much to tell. Dylan shot a man once, and had to be evaluated by the department shrink.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. There’s more to Dylan’s story than that, so someone spill it.”

“The shrink was a woman, and they had a thing for a while. Now he doesn’t like shrinks,” Khaki Man added.

“Who could blame him for breaking his engagement after what that bitch did?” Cat Woman scoffed.

“Engagement?” My mouth fell open, and they all glared at Cat Woman.

“Nice going, loose lips,” Khaki Man ground out.

“Well, now that I know, you may as well tell me the rest.”

Gadget sighed. “Dylan called off the engagement because he found out she was trying to get him fired behind his back. Guess she didn’t want to be married to a cop, and he hasn’t really trusted women since.”

Hot Britches had been engaged? My heart flipped. So at least at one point in his life, he hadn’t been afraid of commitment. But things had to be different now that he’d been hurt. My heart went out to him because I knew what it felt like. It was somehow comforting to know we had at least one thing in common, even if it was only heartache.

Maybe we could still be friends after all. But that didn’t mean he’d get off Scot free. He deserved a little harmless payback. “Got it,” I said. “Don’t hurt Dylan, and we’ll get along just fine. No problem, because this is all in fun. A little well-deserved payback, and then we’re even.”

They left, and I headed home to put on some salsa music and make myself a huge plate of macaroni and cheese with a side of one extra-large Bahama Mama. Okay, maybe two. Hey, I deserved a little comfort food after that rollercoaster ride.

Exhausted, I shoved my feelings aside, not yet ready to examine anything, and focused my energy on payback. Only then could we work on being friends again.

My anger diminished as absolute determination took up residence in its place. What had Dylan said that night in the toy store? ‘Don’t mess with the best, because you’re never going to win.’ I’d show him who the best was, all right. And then I’d make him eat those words, because I had no intention of losing. Last time I checked, produce included both vegetables and fruit.

Note to self: Peaches can turn rotten just as quickly as Zucchinis
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two A.M.

Two freaking A.M.!

Who got up at two A.M. to do, well, anything? I had to be out of my mind, but what I had in store for payback included messing with Dylan’s sleep. Who cared that it messed with my own? Payback might be petty, but my competitive streak refused to let him one up me. Besides, he’d made me think I was losing my mind, so turnabout was fair play. Time to make him think he was losing his own mind. He wanted to baby-sit me; well, I’d make him work every minute of his shift.

I shifted the grocery bag onto my hip, locked my apartment door, and then glanced across the street. No lights on, but that didn’t mean Dylan wasn’t watching. Dylan was a good guy. I knew that. But my suspicions of him having something to do with the Brat Pack had been dead on. I’d bet my job that wasn’t all he’d been involved with.

Peeping Tom my big ole behind!

I trudged down to the street. The snow had stopped, and someone had been kind enough to shovel the sidewalk. Good. My trek to the street where the Brat Pack had directed me to would go much easier.

Ten minutes later, I glanced around and shivered, remembering the night Flasher Freak had spied on me from the bushes near the Bates Motel. But this time I knew that I was safe. The Brat Pack had assured me that someone in disguise would follow me at all times. What a fun bunch of cousins Dylan had. I grinned. Once they had warmed up to the idea of pulling some pranks on him, they got on board full force. I’d really come to like them all.

I peeked over my shoulder and didn’t see anything, but I had a feeling the Brat Pack’s phony cronies weren’t the only ones following me.
Hot Britches
. Good, he’d followed me just as I’d planned. No one else made me feel the way he did.

I frowned. Maybe he was following me because he really did care. I wanted to believe that, but there’d been too many secrets for me to trust him completely. Refusing to dwell on my feelings, I took a deep breath and forged ahead.

I had a game to win and planned to do so by starring in a new series called,
The Chronicles of Mean Mama’s Insomnia
. Four crazy episodes that would keep Dylan up all night as payback for my lunatic adventures in the
Twilight Zone
.

Episode One: Mean Mama feeds the homeless at 2 A.M
.

I kept checking the street signs but had no idea where I was. As I rounded a corner, I came upon an abandoned warehouse. It wasn’t the street the Brat Pack had told me about, but it would do. My Snow Flurries slid across a patch of ice, and I blinked at the sight before me.

Various groups of men, women, and children were scattered about, huddled up together as they slept. God, what had I been thinking? The homeless were human. They had to sleep sometime. I hadn’t considered that. I’d only thought about keeping Dylan up. I felt like a heel.