A Good Lunch… and All the Food Groups

Carson did as he did every Sunday. He tipped his cap to the steeple crucifix at Pahrump Valley United Church – because it’s as close to being in a church he would ever come. A man of faith who had concluded Mankind prefers to play with it as if it were a good luck charm. So they preach what they preach, pray what they pray, to try and bring themselves good luck… never mind the prerequisite goodness of deeds… and the church, to bring them as much cash as possible. When in this existential conversation, one Carson rarely found himself in, he would remind the contestant, “Whatever happened to, “Do not take any gold or silver or copper to take with you in your belts… I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves?” Not too many preachers who want to abandon the gold, I don’t think.”

After tipping his hat to Christ, he found a seat at “Egg ‘n’ You” where he would eat the same pile of hashbrowns with three eggs over easy sitting right on top and a slew of bacon strips, “a little drippy.” He saw that as flavoring to sop up with the piece of toast that accompanied every breakfast plate that he ate for lunch. And he always had exactly three cups of Josephine’s coffee… He had taken to calling her Dunkin Donuts “because your coffee is as good as the best of ‘em. Yer donuts too!” The donuts were his take home bag for Babs.

He was into the “sopping” part and his third cup of coffee when Sheriff Coyle came in wearing her Sunday dress. Carson saw her in this exact state many lovely Sundays, and it was nothing to say, “Good afternoon, Darlene!” But today felt different. Of course it did. He coughed and spritzed a bit of coffee over the counter, then busily wiped it up, apologizing to Josephine.

“Good afternoon, Carson! You laughin’ through your nose or something?”

Clearing his voice… and readying himself for this intriguing exchange… perplexing, because it still could be quite normal… “Afternoon, Darlene. Nah, just down the wrong pipe, and coffee to boot. Kinda wants to get out fast by any means, ya know?”

“I do, Mr. Brubaker. I do. How’s the eggs and hash browns today?”

“Well, two fine foods in their own right, but together, delicious. And Josephine gets the credit. It’s her magic elixir, I think.” He was giggling, so was the sheriff.

“Oh, stop, Carson. Maybe you been drinkin’ elixir for breakfast if you know what I mean?” Now the three of them were laughing in fine tune. “You ready for the check, Carson?” Of course Josephine knew he was… third cup all but done, not a smear of egg or bacon grease left. That always meant “check!”

“Uh… maybe another cup of the high octane, please. Makin’ it a little special today.”

“What makes it special, Carson?”

“Oh, not much, Darlene. Just another cup of coffee and the sun is shinin’ I suppose.”

“I’ll have what Carson’s having Josey!” Smiling, the proprietor filled a new cup and set it down, “You want your usual, Sheriff?” Then she refilled Carson.

“Yes, please….” And just then, voices of hello… “Hey, Harry. Ya look Sunday dapper.” Sheriff Darlene Coyle patted the seat next to her for her detective to sit. Harry did, offering a “good mornin’” to all. Carson was looking kind of funny at them… wondering in a loud mind. Then he went there…

“Are you two together?”

“What the heck is that supposed to mean, Carson? Course we’re together. Do you see us sittin’ here besides one another?”

“I mean, together together, like.”

“Jesus Lord, take me now! Carson, Harry and I are workin’ with each other, and we hang out some too. Lunch on Sundays… it ain’t the cotillion, friend.”

“I don’t mean nothin’ Darlene. None of my business if you was… you know, with with each other…” ‘Oh, please, someone stop my mouth from movin’!’ his mind was loudly squawking.

Sheriff Coyle, dressed in sunny yellow, tilted her head, and smiled in a gentle manner, “Well, Carson Brubaker, you’ll be the first to know, and the first to get a wedding invitation.” The lunch counter erupted in laughter…

“Well, I guess yer right, it’s none of my business one way or ta other.”

“You’re right, Carson. But I know you aint asking cuz you’re nosy, you’re asking cuz you care.” She reached over and patted the man’s forearm.

And suddenly, Carson, with so much blurting out in his mind that he had to contain, lost it. “So, makin’ any progress on the Zanzibar business, Sheriff?”

Darlene’s eyes went wide, Harry shrugged almost apologetically. “Well, our suspect is not in custody, but we’re looking good ‘n’ hard. I get the impression he’s still around town though…” this caught Carson cold… part of those loud thoughts was his conscience at work, harboring a fugitive… He was immediately regretting he mentioned it.

“Why ya feel such a thing, Darlene?” Carson’s eyes were brighter than normal… adrenaline was famous for just such a physical response… “I mean, he could be in Colorado by now. Ya never know.”

“Well, I suppose, but I wouldn’t be much of a law enforcement officer if I didn’t get my notions, and I just have a notion, is all.” She turned to Josephine as a short stack of pancakes and hash browns was set before her. “There you go, Sheriff.”

“Thanks, Josey. Smells delicious.”

“So you got that notion, Sheriff?”

“Well, I got a notion. Not sure the one you’re talking about.” It was meant to be funny, but Carson thought it crept close to accusatory. He sipped his hot coffee and burned his lip.

“Oooch! Now that’s a bad idea…” he took a swig of water for a remedy. “Now, I wa’n’t talkin’ about any one notion, per se, Darlene. And, frankly I don’t know any such thing as notions… about law enforcement… horses? I got notions…” He looked at the fluorescent lights above, and wished silently, ‘Please stop your mouth from workin’ Carson. Yer gonna be confessin’ if you keep this dimwitted shit up!’

“Well, I am consulting with our suspect’s friends that were playing in Vegas. They came over for a visit, to… you know, match notes. Help me with some things, and I would let them know how this should work out if they knew where he was.”

“That’s nice of those boys, I s’pose.” Of course it was… “Do you think he did it, Darlene?”

Harry interrupted him, “Now, Carson, it is her Sunday, and she really ain’t consulting with you. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Harry, Thanks.” Turning back to this unusual version of Carson Brubaker, she now with keener eyes and ears. “I work hard at not making decisions without all the proof. But as of right now, the corroborating witnesses, yea, it looks like he did it. Now, I don’t want to speculate any more than that, cuz that’s all I really know… well, that’s all I can say. And I probably said too much already.”

Carson was easing into a comfortable space after all that retching around, scrabbling for sense. But now, he felt back in control of his faculties. “I’m not so sure he did it, Darlene.”

“You don’t, huh? Why do ya say that Carson?”

“A notion I suppose.” She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her, so she let him talk, no laughter, just listening. “Bein’ a marine and all. Semper Fidelis and all. Seems a mite doubtful that man would shoot that little girl. That’s my notion.” He was smiling at the County Sheriff of Nye County, sure that he had now fully recomposed himself and could close out his tab with some dignity. “I’ll have that check, now, Dunkin Donuts… and don’t forget the dozen for Babs, please. She’d kill me.”

Darlene never took her eyes off of Carson… just watching his facial expressions… a little perspiration in his sideburn… “Let me get that for ya, Carson. Josey, put that on my tab, please?”

“No ya don’t Darlene. Nice as you please, but no ma’am, you’re doin’ the work of the people. I won’t.”

“Stop, Carson, it’s done. I got a little more authority here than you, my friend.” Again she was patting the old man’s arm. “Besides, I needed this good conversation. And I’m glad you showed such an interest. I appreciate it.”

Carson was picking up his newspaper, then put it back on the counter, “For you or anyone who wants it, Josephine. And as embarrassed as I am, Darlene, I thank ya, and Babs thanks ya. I get the next one, ya hear?”

Darlene was nodding, continuing to pat the good man’s arm. “You bet Carson. Fine by me.”

“And it ain’t no none of my business if you are with with Harry, if you know what I mean.”

“Go, Carson, before I clonk ya on the head!” Sheriff Darlene Coyle was laughing as Carson hustled out with his hands protecting his head.

Then she wondered how he knew the suspect was a marine.

**********************

Babs loved Carson to bits, but six days and a Sunday morning, and she was apt to brain the man if he didn’t get out of her hair and her house. So, Carson’s routine merged beautifully with Babs’ every Sunday. She had two pies in the oven and another loaf of banana bread all mixed and ready to go, soon as the pies were done. It would be little more work, and certainly she was done with the messiest, so she took off her apron and hung it on the hook at the kitchen door.

She walked over to their modest liquor cabinet and finished her weekly prayer session, with a shot of Glenfiddich single malt scotch whiskey. She lifted it up to the Lord, and offered, “To you and to me and Carson makes three. Thank you, Lord, for your gifts.” She tipped the shot then snapped her tongue in her lip, making a loud popping noise.

The doorbell rang… on a Sunday… Dubious as she was, she edged to a sightline where she could see through the glass to the front stoop… it was a black man, handsome, like the actor in… oh… “The Equalizer”… and “Unstoppable”… she loved them… and the actor. But the name wouldn’t come to her. Then she realized the man had a Nye County Sheriff’s uniform shirt. But she knew that was no deputy from this county.

She moved back to the kitchen and got fitted out and draped the apron over herself once again. Not at all worried about flour or cornmeal anymore. She walked to open the door.

“Good afternoon? Can I help you?”

“You might be able, ma’am. I’m with the Sheriff’s office, and we’re… I don’t know, maybe you seen the news? The sad murder of the girl? Well, we’re still looking for the killer, and I was only wonderin’ if maybe you seen him?” He held out a photocopy from the man’s Ohio driver’s license.

Babs was shaking her head slowly, not insinuating the negative, but referencing her doubt about this whole charade… The Sheriff’s Office wouldn’t have anything better than a photocopy of the man’s driver’s license? And… well, everything about the man…

“No, sir. I haven’t seen this man.” She handed the scrap of a photo back to the man who looked like an actor… and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name… but she would ask this guy for his. “You a patrolman? Cuz, you seem to be drivin’ an unusual car doin’ sheriff’s business… a Jeep Grad Cherokee? What’s it, a 2015 maybe?”

The man’s eyes tightened up, he didn’t like being questioned, clearly, “My off-duty car, ma’am. I’m doing extra work because we got ourselves a killer on the loose.”

Babs wasn’t done, “And your badge. You lose it or is that on your other shirt?” She was smiling, not doing anything but noticing… and the man who looked like that actor… started pushing his way into the home. Babs just reached under her apron, and told the man. “I know you don’t want to do that son! Bad ideas end up worse. You know what I mean?” She showed the hump with her hand under her apron. “It ain’t no suggestion, son, it’s a fuckin’ demand. You best git, cuz I got to get back to my baking, and I’m gonna need my right hand back… but so long as you’re on my property, I’m gonna be holdin’ this Colt.” She withdrew the shiny weapon… and instantly she remembered.

“Denzel Washington! That’s the one! You look just like Denzel Washington! You ever hear that?”

The pretend cop didn’t know what any of this meant, except for this old broad was crazy, and he leaned back into Babs, and she was having none of it. She lifted the weapon to eye level sighting down on the man’s nose.

“And you might be a sad, sorry, dead Denzel Washington, son, you take one more step this way. Now, I’m gonna count to 10, and you best be gone. But I warn ya, bein’ old and crazy, I’m not sure I can get to 10… and I shoot early if that happens.”

The Denzel facsimile backpedaled, saying nothing but, “I’m leavin’ ma’am. Just don’t shoot. I’m leavin’.”

“Just soon enough if you’re gone in five, four, three…”

The man was running, and jumped behind the wheel, immediately firing it up and turning out the drive as he left with speed.

Babs stood at her front door to make sure the man who looked like the actor… oh, shoot, she already forgot… “Oh shit, Babs.”

The alarm was going off. Her pies were done.

************************

“Fuck it!” Cliff railed. “We can’t just wait while the sheriff has to run her searches. Wait while we don’t know where Donnie is… or what happened to Mark and Laz. So fuck it. We’re going anyway. We know it’s them!”

A terrible decision if they weighed it against the Sheriff’s directions, but lawlessness requires more lawlessness to get things done sometimes. They may have to apologize later or do time… maybe end up dead… but you don’t leave your boys in the desert while you wait.

They first went out to the outskirts east of the city limits. Their cluster of Joshua Trees and that big boulder just off of 160, and the totes filled with all sorts of mayhem. They loaded them back into the trunk of the rental car, and decided to go have a high time with the ladies.

That’s how they finally found themselves in the lobby of The Zanzibar Club.

******************

“I’m Cliff,” pointing for clarity, “Johnny and Art” The sergeant was being efficient in the introductions. He wanted to hurry any incidentals along.

“So Stephen couldn’t make it then?” asked the heavy Madam who looked more like a foreman to a construction crew, big heavy hands, thick swollen shoulders, and an obtrusive, and wholly unalluring bust.

Johnny was shaking his head, Cliff put his head down and laughed… never mind pinging a phone.

“No, ol’ chicken liver abandoned the project.”

“That’s too bad. I’m sure you boys will have plenty to share with him about your escapades.”

“Escapades…” Art let drift off his tongue.

The Madam just looked back and forth at the men, a half-smile slipped to a meager attempt. “Did I say something?”

“No, ma’am. No. Art’s just thinking about what Stephen was maybe afraid of… escapades.” And the three veterans chuckled… in ugly wry humor… and gratification that they were here, and they had busted the puzzle box all to hell. “Johnny, you sign us up.” He then looked back to the Madam, “You’re gonna have a selection process? Do the girls come and meet us or… how does it work?”

“Well, after you boys put $1,500 dollars deposit on a credit card to cover your expenditures, food cover, drinks, whatever; we then move into the viewing parlor and the girls on duty all come in and make nice introductions, and you build your relationship that way.”

“Relationship”… Cliff couldn’t stop shaking his head, no matter how obvious.

“Is there something wrong here?”

“No, Ma’am, just that word… I had one of those break up.” He dodged the curve, “Part of the reason why we’re here! And our mates. You know, Mark, Lazlo and Donnie. Are they back yet?”

Big Sal had precisely known the connections, and she was confident she could lure them into their separate cages as guilefully as she had with the first batch of horny vets. She felt no concern. This wouldn’t bag the kind of money they were already cashing in on with the Pollack, but as much as anything, they would be tying these loose ends up. Only Stephen would be an issue.

But she didn’t know what these vets knew.

“I think they’re back tonight. They have rooms booked for the next two nights, I think.”

“Still in California?”

“I think so. But why you so worried about their fun? You can start your own.”

Johnny was filling out their visitor’s form, and putting his credit card down as security, while Cliff was pulling his phone from his pocket. Art backed himself in apparent ease, leaning against the entry door column, with a look out at the parking lot – keeping a perfect separation and alignment with his mates. They were in relative formation. The Madam kept talking, while Cliff was poking at Johnny’s phone. None were hearing her. They were reading their sergeant and nothing else.

Two women, who in the dark and grey of night and liquor were probably gorgeous. Their anatomies were even in the brightness of Nevada that flowed through the glass. “We got the girls up, Sal.”

“Thanks, Silkie. Be there in a minute.”

Just then, there was a whoosh of a text received, Cliff now looking up at Art, completely expressionless. This was all spontaneous shit, there was no textbook how you raid a whorehouse for answers about your missing friends.

“Excuse me. Could be your friends.” She smiled as further bullshit enticement. She pulled the phone from a small pouch in her blouse, a curious storage method easily lost in the woman’s bulk. Big Sal looked at her phone… and she immediately realized it wasn’t her phone. It was the other. She drew it out.

“Hi there, Mark!” A smiling emoji with a waving hand followed. She returned the phone into her abundant secrecy.

“I’ll let Mark know you came by.” Then she raised her voice, “Leonard, Gregory?” The two thugs stepped out from behind a door off the admin vestibule, an office… maybe a suppurating blister that gave birth to all these criminals.

In response, Johnny sidled back to the wall, Cliff up and walking slowly to his right. Art was coming ready off the door column… It was that tribalism of warring men, when working in tandem came as natural as eating and shitting. None of this was orchestrated or prepared. It was them.

“You fucking military types. What did you think you were going to achieve? Look how many witnesses I have, you useless pricks. You think you got a chance?”

The men were in perfect three-point position surrounding the two heavies and Big Sal. No fight or flight, it was fuck ‘em up and mop ‘em up, but Cliff knew being unprepared would kick back on them. It was odds. The bad ones follow fools. The succubus was right. No matter the damage they would do to these urban toughs, there was sure to be a gun handy, and every witness would bury the vets if they all made it out alive.

Then he noticed a pair of eyes looking around the corner, one of the girls. And he was pretty sure she had tears in her eyes… and she had dirty blonde hair… and a butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder, poking out with her eyes. This gave him a better idea than kickin’ up blood and criminal charges in a brawl to the death.

Strategic warfare is sometimes best won in arbitration and reengagement under better circumstances. Like in the dark, in masks and hoodies, when lethal force would be liberally applied.

“Witnesses? Sorry, these muffins of yours ‘r’ gonna have to get another peep show. We’re cancelling our subscription. C’mon, guys. We got all what we came for.”

“You’re fuckin’ cowards! Got no scro, little bitches!”

Johnny and Art both moved like cats, easy steps, eyes on the thugs.

“Please apologize to the whores, but we’re gonna go eat lunch somewhere else.”

“Get the fuck outta my place, you little pricks. Bitches!”

They were making sure they backed out, eyes never leaving the muscle heads, never being in line with one another, making three targets one easy one.

“We’ll be seeing you again, Mark!”

“Fuck you, you piece of shit!”

“Well, I’m guessing that slogan fits your place.” Quickly into their car, they were heading back out to 160 in an instant.

They wanted revenge, surely for what has happened to Mark, Laz and Donnie. But it would have to wait. Only a matter of time.

Susie 2-cents moved to the window, looking out from the viewing parlor, where the other girls huddled, relieved there would be no guns… for now. It was a crème-colored Chevy… Maybe this made sense. Nothing else did in this hell.

*********************