Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Lovable Rogue
by Tux Toledo
Page 8
The
fog broke early the next morning. It was one of those days
where nothing could possibly go wrong.
"James," I said. "This is one of those days where nothing can
possibly go wrong."
"Yes, sir." His voice was a bit hollow but that's how he is
sometimes.
"Bernie told Jill to be at the airport at eleven. So if you
are there by ten we should be fine."
"Are you sure you do not need my assistance at the mortuary?" James
asked.
"Positive. You go along to the airport, I can take care of
things with Bernie."
"As you wish, sir." Sometimes that hollowness of his can be a
bit annoying. But with the fog burning off and a toasty
morning sun baking the City nothing could dim my spirits.
There's nothing quite like the thrill of the hunt to get the old juices
flowing.
I finished packing and helped James load the Rolls.
"To the mortuary, James." Those words had no charm at
all. Despite the absence of charm he did an expert job of
easing the Rolls into the traffic.
Bernie's pet mortuary was located in a typically foggy neighborhood of
small homes and ordinary shops. Even here the fog was burning
off.
James stopped the Rolls a block away from Bernie's.
"Good luck, sir."
"Thank you, James"
He left for the airport and I walked to Bernie's mortuary. It
was a white, church-like structure with a chapel in front and a
workroom in back. Bernie emerged from his workroom with a
cremation urn.
"All set?" I asked.
Bernie nodded. His eyes were moist and his face was long.
"What's wrong?"
"I always get emotional at times like this. It was a fine
little mutt. I knew him personally. It makes me
sad."
"If it's any consolation, that fine little mutt is going to save your
fine little life."
"I know, but it still makes me sad."
"What was its name?"
"Fifi."
"Fifi?"
"Yes."
I followed him to the small chapel. A real minister waited
behind the altar. Fifi's owners sat in the front
pew. The wife wore a flowing, flowery dress totally
inappropriate for a funeral even if it was a pet funeral. The
husband wore a suit that, from its poor fit, had apparently been
purchased at a time of slimmer anatomical proportions. And
near the door were the two polyester suits from the
racetrack. Odd that.
The minister started the ceremony. Latin incantations echoed
off the walls. When the echoes ceased the ceremony was
over. The minister tended to Fifi's owners while Bernie took
the urn back to his work area. I followed and locked the door
behind us. I had a feeling that proved to be right.
The door handle turned and when the door wouldn't open the pounding
started. It was, no doubt, the polyester suits.
"Who's that?" Bernie asked.
"You don't want to know."
"Shouldn't we let them in?"
"Not if you want to remain a free man."
"What?" His voice had more cracks than the Black Rock Desert.
"Get the cocaine," I said.
Bernie took another cremation urn from the top of a high shelf.
"Is that it?"
"Yes."
"You hid it in a cremation urn?"
"Yes."
"Why Bernie, I'm impressed."
"Really?"
"Yes. But is that all there is?"
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"What kind of mob girl is this Jill?" I muttered. I mean,
really. Why take such a big risk for so little cocaine?
Bernie shrugged.
"Come on, let's go," I said. I grabbed Fifi and started for
the back door. Bernie reached for the knob but I had to stop
him.
"Hold it," I said.
"What is it?"
I peeked through a window near the door and saw two human bulldogs,
much too conspicuous in their attempt to be inconspicuous.
"Do you know those canines?" I asked.
"No. Who are they?"
"I don't know but it could be trouble. Jill probably sent
them here to make sure we don't double-cross her."
© 2008 David Biagini