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 9
Bernie
shivered then jumped when the polyester suits increased their effort to
knock down the door. Bulldogs outside, polyester suits
inside. Quite a fix. So much for nothing going
wrong. So what would James do in such a situation?
I had an idea.
"Where's your car?" I asked.
"In the alley, about a half a block away."
"Give me the keys."
"What for?"
I gave him Fifi.
"Hang onto the urns and when you see me drive up run to the car."
A terrified look crossed his face. The poor boy didn't have
the stomach for this kind of stuff. Maybe the next time he'll
choose his women more discreetly.
"What are you driving these days?" I asked.
"A Mercedes." The words barely left his lips.
"What color?"
"Green."
"One of those sick, pea green ones?"
"Yes."
"I thought so." People who do not dress for the occasion
cannot be expected to drive properly colored automobiles.
"All right," I said. "Wait here. I won't be long."
I opened the door quickly. The sound jolted the bulldogs into
action. I ran for the alley and they pursued me.
Fortunately, they ran more like bulldogs than greyhounds and I was able
to get a lead on them. A quick glance behind: the
men were out of breath but giving it the old college try. I
reached the Mercedes, opened the door, jumped in, locked the door and
put the key in the ignition.
"It's a diesel!" I cried out loud. And an old one at
that. That meant I'd have to wait for the glow plug to warm
before I could start the engine! I adjusted the rear view
mirror so I could watch the progress of my pursuers. They
were nearly to the bumper. The Mercedes was finally
ready. I started it, rammed the gearshift into reverse and
backed into one of the men. He screamed and held his
thigh. His partner, showing no compassion for his injured
colleague, kept after me. He gripped the locked passenger
door and tried to pull it open. I hit the gas and left him
struggling for balance.
I drove down the alley then punched the brakes with my left
foot. The Mercedes slid to a halt in front of the
mortuary. I unlocked the passenger door and waited for
Bernie. He didn't come out. I honked the
horn. Jill's men limped toward the car. They were
hobbled by bruised bones but were not yet ready to give up the
chase. Then the polyester suits appeared around the other
corner. I honked the horn again. Finally, Bernie
timidly came through the door.
"Come on!" I yelled.
He ran and nearly dropped the urns. I couldn't
watch. He opened the passenger door and got in. I
mashed the accelerator to the floor and left the polyester suits and
bulldogs behind. James would have been proud of me.
However, I didn't have long to gloat. The car in the rearview
mirror was following us.
"Must be the Feds," I said to myself. The polyester
suits. I kept a steady pace for the airport and was able to
keep them at bay.
Bernie's plane was at a small airport south of San Francisco on the Bay
side of the peninsula. Jill was there tugging on the plane's
door. James was in the pilot's seat and was preventing her
from entering the plane.
"Hey, that's Jill!" Bernie said. "She can't get into the
plane. Say, who's in my plane? Who's not letting
her in?"
"It's James. He'll be flying today."
"What?" Bernie disapproved but he had little room to complain
and he knew it.
Jill saw Bernie and ran up to the car.
"There's a man in your plane and he won't let me in!" she
howled. Then she noticed me. "You!"
"Me," I smiled.
"What's going on here?" she screamed.
"Just relax and do as I say."
"Why should I do anything you say?" Then she noticed the urns.
"Is that the cocaine?" she asked.
"You'll find out later," I said.
"Winnie, don't be so tough," Bernie said. He was beginning to
soften. Jill could turn him into melting ice cream with one
look from her torrid eyes.
© 2008 David Biagini