Chapter 27: Tuesday

Tuesday, as I drove home from the early shift at Price Bargains, I was disappointed not to see Laura’s truck in front of the house. She called me that morning to tell me she would be picking up some things in the afternoon.

Getting out of my car, I saw to my horror, the front door wide open. Swearing, I rushed inside. The wind left my chest. I looked around, filled with panic. The place had been completely tossed. And, someone had done a fabulous job of it.

I tiptoed through the cluttered floors in disbelief, feebly calling for Laura. Anything once residing in a drawer, cabinet or shelf was now strewn on the floor. As I walked down the hall, I peeked into the Bruce and Buddy’s room and cringed at the mess. Across the hall, I looked in Laura’s bedroom. Her nightstand was on its side with shattered lamp shards laying on the floor. A picture of the boys, with the frame still whole was sitting by the closet door. I picked it up, in an act of preservation and set it gently on the bed.

The kitchen looked similar to the rest of the war-torn areas I had seen in the house. It was as if someone had quickly come in and selectively and chose what they wanted to destroy. It looked to me like someone was in a hurry. The furniture was still in tact, there wasn’t graffiti, there weren’t holes in the walls. It was just a mess.

The door from the family room to my apartment was wide open, waiting for me as I rounded the corner. It was the same as the rest of the house, but in this case, I didn’t have as much. My jewelry, the only things I had of any value, was thrown in a pile on my dinette table. My jewelry box precariously resting on top. My clothes were out dumped on the bed, with the drawers tossed haphazardly.

I stared in disbelief, paralyzed. I could feel my heart in my throat, racing. I dialed Laura’s cell. No answer.

“Hey, Tina.” I jumped with a yelp.

It was Jet, standing at the doorway of the apartment. “The door was open. I am here to give Laura some loan papers.” He said as almost an apology, holding up a manila envelope.

Looked around, he asked, “Have you called the police?”

I shook my head, “I just got here,” I replied.

Jet scanned my room. “What’s this about?”

“The other day Laura said she had something Carl wants—he’s the guy she needs the money for.”

He scanned the room behind him, “Well, it looks like they did this for the entire house. So, I doubt they found it.” I nodded dumbly.

It took 20 minutes for the Phoenix Police officers to show up. Officer Williams, a short, no-nonsense woman in her late 30s, took charge. I told her what I knew I knew of Laura’s situation and she took notes. I suggested it was Carl and his gang of merry thugs who had done this.

“We are familiar with the reputation of the Sweet Shop.” She said.

“I am not seeing anything,” interrupted the other officer who poked his head from around the corner. Officer Harding, was late 50-something, with a uniform at least a size too small. He walked in, looking like he was counting the seconds to retirement. I opted to talk to his partner, which suited him just fine.

“What! What do you mean you aren’t seeing anything?” I said, looking around at the rubble.

“Look, I am not finding a lot of prints. That’s all. It just looks like the house was vandalized. I am guessing these guys knew what they are doing.”

I turned back at Officer Williams. “Can you go to the Sweet Shop and at least arrest those bastards?”

She blew out some air and stared at me, “What I see here is someone came in and messed up this house. The owner isn’t home and has not been reached. There is no evidence of foul play. This is vandalism.”

At this point, I heard the back door slam. Jet rounded his head from the kitchen. “Um, hey Tina, you might want to come out here.” He said, beckoning us to join him.

As we picked our way through the landmine of glass and debris, he led us outside to the outside laundry room. Jet looked at Officer Harding, “Why don’t you go on in first.”

Without flourish, he flung open the door, stepping aside to let Officer Harding check out the laundry room. However, once the door opened, I knew what Jet found. The heat and the stench hit me before I saw him. I barely stumbled to Laura’s well-manicured lawn before I lost my lunch.

“Do you know him?” Officer Williams had me sitting on a lawn chair. Somewhere from behind me, a child-sized plastic cup of water appeared.

“That would be Juan.” I gasped, holding back another wave of nausea. I was working hard to erase the memory of seeing the hole where his forehead used to be.

“Nice tattoo.” Jet muttered. “Good color all the way around.”

Juan’s discovery sparked a new round of questions, coupled with several more officers poking around. Officer Harding, who changed his demeanor became suddenly interested in everything I knew about Juan.

I gave them both the details of Juan’s and Roy’s midnight visit and Juan’s solo trip to see me. “Both times they were looking for Laura.” I gulped as the rest of the realization hit me, “Juan told me last week, he wasn’t supposed to go easy on me.” I barely whispered, “He said he was supposed to be messing me up pretty badly, Or, something like that.”

I felt a bizarre twinge of guilt. Did Juan loose his life because he only knocked me out instead of…? As I replayed the bizarre events, the tears came.

After the police and the medical examiner left, I sat on a kitchen barstool oblivious to the clutter. Matt had made his way over when the ambulance showed up to cart Juan away.

“We need to find her.” I mumbled.

“Tell me again what Laura told you the other day.” Matt said, leaning across the counter from me.

I filled Matt and Jet in on Laura’s conversation. “She was confident he wouldn’t hurt her because she has evidence. She said if anything happened to her, the evidence would be sent to the Feds.”

Matt considered, “Who is holding the evidence?”

“I would have thought you were.”

He shook his head. “No. This is news to me.”

“What about her mom?” Jet offered.

“I doubt it, she never told her mother anything she was doing with the hotel. Frieda wasn’t a fan of the hotel,” Matt said. “I think whatever she has is still hidden. And, I doubt it is here.” He replied, looking around. “Laura isn’t very savvy about technology. So, I doubt it is on CD Rom or a flash drive.”

“I know she has a computer at the hotel, but it is pretty outdated. She even admits she didn’t get a cell phone until last year.”

“Has anyone tried calling her cell?” Jet asked, popping his head up from the book case behind me. In an effort to be useful and restore normalcy, he’s been tidying what he could. Currently, he was working on the dining/family room area.

“I tried it earlier. I didn’t call her at her mother’s house.” I lamented.

“What’s her mom’s number?” He said, holding the house phone Laura kept on the bookshelf. He gave the phone cord a quick tug, detangling it from the answering machine.

Just as he pulled a second time, poised to dial, I pointed to the machine. It was blinking wildly. “There’s a message,” I said walking over to him. Taking the phone and answering machine out of Jet’s hands, I pushed play.

Chills went down my spine as I heard Laura’s voice on the answering machine.

“Hello. Don’t hang up. I’m here. I’m here,” said a breathless Laura, obviously picking up the phone after the machine went off.

“Ms. Jamison, I didn’t think you were going to answer.” My skin crawled at the sound of Carl’s voice.

“I was outside, I didn’t get to the phone in time.” Laura’s voice was steadier now.

“What do you have for me?”

“I told you Carl, I won’t have the money for a couple more weeks.”

“What about the insurance?” I could hear the impatience Carl’s voice. “All you need to do is talk to the adjuster and you could have it in a day or so.”

“That money is slated to rebuild the Hacienda. My hotel. My livelihood.” There was no mistaking Laura’s indignanty. “You will get your money and then you will get the hell out of my life.”

“Good for her,” muttered Matt.

Carl snickered, “You don’t seem to understand. I want the money now. And, I want you to hand over what you have.”

“No deal. What I have stays with me. You and I both know it keeps me alive. As soon as you are paid off, we are square. You got that.” I could hear her voice seething.

Carl laughed something akin to Vincent Price. “Oh no. We will never be square. You will give me what is rightfully mine. Or, I will go to the authorities and tell them you are running drugs out of the Hacienda.”

There was a pause on the tape, “No.” Laura’s voice seemed to tremble a bit here. “Nobody will believe you. I have your files. I have your address book. I know you have been working with Pablo Villanova. I know you stole from him. I know how much you owe him. I will not give you your files. You can go about your business and leave me the hell alone and I will leave you the hell alone, but I will not give it to you.”

On the machine, there was a noise. “I will call you when I have the money. Someone’s here.”

“Don’t hang up,” he said. “I can hold. It is probably your pretty roommate. Let her hear you talk to your friend Carl.”

“Leave her out of this,” Laura snarled.

“Just get the door.”

For whatever reason, Laura did not hang up. Instead, on the tape, there were muffled sounds of male voices and Laura screaming. Then, “Hello?”

“That you?” Carl said.

“We got her.”

“Bring her to me. I will be in around 11 tonight. Nobody touches her but me. I need to take care of this once and for all.” He paused, “And, while you are there, I want you to take care of Juan. He’s a liability.”

Silence. Then, “Did I hear you right?” the voice sputtered.

“You heard. Carl growled. “Leave him there.”

And, with that, the call ended. Jet reached up, took the machine from my trembling hands and popped out the tape.

Chapter 26: Laura's Secret

I woke up to a peaceful silence Sunday morning. Dully awake, it took a moment to bring the events of last night to mind. I smiled, thinking about how it was been the first time I had gone anywhere social on a Saturday night since moving to Phoenix. It was a nice feeling, I thought as I lay in bed, to have made friends who thought enough of me to invite me out.

Maybe life in Phoenix would work out ok after all. Eventually I would pay off Carl. Eventually I would move out of Laura’s home, get a place of my own. The thought saddened me. Laura’s home seemed a lot more homey to me than living by myself in an apartment.

Carl, I mused as I sat in bed stretching, did me a favor. I loved the feeling of having people around me. I liked Laura. I liked her kids. Mother had a small fit when I told her I was living with a single mother with two young boys.

Laura was nobody I would have known in Shades Crest, not because she wasn’t good enough for me, in most ways, I think she was much better. She had a strong work ethic. She has made decisions to chose her destiny. She has earned the great things in her life. But our paths wouldn’t have crossed. And, I thought sadly, there were probably plenty of people I had missed out on because I never took the time before to meet the great people who make the salt of the Earth.

The next two days were occupied with Price Bargains and real estate. Lillian Fields was getting lots of showings. I was thankful for this, because it meant I didn’t need to spend Jimmy’s money advertising. Michael’s transaction was going along well. Now, it was a matter of him waiting for the loan to be approved. Dee and Nancy were invaluable, quickly offering advice and guidance. I hadn’t heard from Mr. Daniels in a few days. The last directive I received from him was to sit tight and he would call me when the repairs were ready.

I hadn’t seen Laura since Sunday morning, when she came out of her room with a smile on her face. She assured me the party broke down right after tacos with everyone going to their respective homes.

“Jet’s kind of sweet.” She said noncommittally. Afterwards, she packed some things and said she would be staying at her mother’s house for a day or two until she could talk to the insurance adjuster. I asked her how safe she felt.

Resolved she sighed, “Safe enough.” Then, after a sip of coffee, she looked at me. “I really need to get this loan through. If I can pay off Carl, I will own the hotel free and clear and I can get him out of my life.”

I was missing the big picture. “Um, Laura, “Do you think it will be so easy? I highly doubt Carl will go away so easily. It strikes me that he wouldn’t be opposed to killing you.

Laura considered for a moment. “He won’t.”

“Look, how can you be so sure? If he kills you, can’t he collect the insurance money because he holds the mortgage?” It seemed to me she was way too calm about this.

“He won’t kill me.” She said confidently. “I have something he wants. It is well-hidden, and as long as I have it, I will be alive.”

I didn’t hide my frustration, “How can you be so sure he won’t find it?”

“He won’t.” She repeated then chuckled. “The Feds are after him too. I have some information that might help them out. Carl knows I have it. I told him if anything happens to me this information will go straight to all of those people who want him,” She said.

“He does some low-life drug stuff, but most of that is done through the Sweet Shop and Roy and Ed. Those two aren’t the sinister nasty guys Carl is. They aren’t involved with the same level of …” here she searched for the right word, “associates… Carl hangs out with. Carl is into bad-ass international stuff. I am a source of petty cash for him. He will leave me alone when he gets his money.” Laura quickly turned toward the sink, and over her shoulder added, “I just hope Jet can come through with a loan pretty quickly.”

I hoped so too.

Chapter 25: Saturday

Saturday morning I woke up to the Fed Ex man banging on the door. “Have a great day,” he said, handing me Jimmy’s envelope. Ripping open the envelope, I did a quick dance and thanked God and Jimmy. If Jimmy weren’t already a saint, I would personally see to it the Church canonized him.

It was around lunch when Laura came in, after spending the night at Frieda’s. Matt came over too, greeting Laura with a wide smile, a bear hug and a stern lecture about her safety.

“I talked to the new adjuster this morning. We are meeting on Monday at the Hacienda.” She said as she poured herself a cup of tea.

The doorbell rang and I jumped up, letting Laura fill in Matt about her adventure.

“Hey.” Jet said as a greeting. My eyes widened as I checked him out. Collared shirt, dress slacks, loafers and a tie. I raised an eyebrow questioning.

Reading my thoughts, he said all business, “I am here to see Laura Jamison.”

Jet, right behind me, came in stopping in his tracks when Laura stood. “Ms. Jamison, nice to meet you.” He said after introductions.

I giggled. Matt, Laura and Jet stared at me.

“Sorry.” I said to them, snickering again. Matt and Laura just had no appreciation for Jet’s weirdness.

Matt grabbed my arm, “Let’s get some lunch.

Saturday night, Laura, Jet, Matt and myself sauntered into Hayseed’s, a country nightclub in central Phoenix. Dee glided over and introducing herself to my crew.

“You made it! I am so glad you came,” she said squeezing my arm and leading us to our table, near where Roy, Nancy, Sebastian his date and a few other of Dee’s closest friends sat.

As Matt and I had been walking out for lunch, Dee had called. “What are you and everyone you know doing tonight?” she squealed in one long breath.

Tonight was Michael’s band’s debut at Hayseed’s and they needed a good turnout. Getting Jet to agree and drop his date with Beatrice (“rice” being the nature name, he confided later), had been easy. He practically salivated when I told him his idol was playing. Laura took more coaxing and only agreed once Matt called Frieda, who readily offered to watch the boys if Laura would just go out and do something fun.

Not used to anything social, Laura swore she didn’t have the wardrobe for Hayseeds. It turned out there wasn’t much of a dress code anyway. It was mostly cowboy types and those who just wanted to go somewhere and drink beer to escape the heat. So, short-shorts, bikini tops and mumus would have been appropriate.

In this case, Laura was the most properly dressed of all of us. She had dredged up a denim skirt. It was a little loose on her tall frame. She looked like she had dropped twenty pounds in the past two weeks. It was twenty pounds she couldn’t afford to loose. Her hair, usually in a braid or two, was down past her shoulders and she was wearing a little make make-up. I was in a sun dress. Jet and Matt were dressed in jeans, with Jet in a Hawaiian shirt and Matt smartly dressed button down shirt.

I introduced Dee to everyone. Though, when I came to Jet, he stepped forward extended his hand and before I could say anything, introduced himself. “I’m Jayson.” He said resolutely. After the fog cleared, I did a mental head-slap. Of course! He was Jet incognito.

“Michael’s band is starting in a few minutes,” she chirped. With that, she excused herself and flounced off.

“Interesting place.” Jet said. He was looking around as if he were expecting a mosh pit in front of the stage instead of a hay strewn dance floor. Jet had been eyeing the place skeptically, as if a worn out country and western bar was not good enough for his idol.

But, as it turns out, Jet was pleasantly surprised. Michael’s band, The Muddy Outlaws, were well received, playing a mix of rhythm and blues and country. Michael was exceptionally talented, showing he could play everything from the drums to keyboard and even had a guitar solo at one point. At the end of their set, Dee, on Michael’s arm, led him around introducing him to all of us.

“Hello Miss Tina,” he shyly said as he extended a hand to me. He greeted Laura in a similar manner, flashing his dimples her direction. Michael was equally gracious with Matt and Jet. I could tell Jet was self-conscious and stammered an appropriate greeting, making sure to mention his appreciation for Michael’s years in the Tangerine Electric Monkeys. Matt, apparently once in a garage band, talked to Michael for a moment or two about his music, a conversation Dee and I couldn’t follow.

As the evening wore on, I found myself more and more exhausted. The stress of the week, everything from the tires being slashed to last Wednesday’s attack finally took its toll. The adrenaline I’d been living on was depleted. I was spent. The exhaustion hit about three seconds after Jet asked me to dance, something I had been dreading all evening.

I can waltz with the best of them. In Shades Crest, if there was ever a need for a last-minute date at Castlemoor, I was one of several young women on call to fill in. More than once, Bitsy Wellington or Eveyln Jenkins called mother asking if I would be willing to be escorted by their darling sons, as their dates had suddenly become ill or dead or something. (In the case of Rick Wellington, he wasn’t able to get a date without his mom’s help.) Mother would of course tell whomever I would be delighted. That is how I ended up having sex with Brock Jenkins ninth green one night, smashed out of our minds. Sadly, he was no better at sex than he was on the dance floor.

“Hey, um… Tina?” Jet asked breaking into my thoughts of Shades Crest. He led me around the dance floor with an ease I didn’t expect. I looked up, trying like crazy not to yawn in his face. “I was wondering, do you think Laura would mind if I took her home?”

My second wind caught up with me. “What!” I practically yelped. With a strong defensive stance, I glared at him. “She’s a mother! She is not one of your bimbos!”

A look of understanding washed over Jet’s face, as he came to grips with I understood him to say. He looked like I had rightfully slapped him. Quickly, he backpedaled.

“No, no! That isn’t what I meant. I mean, do you think it would be ok to offer her a ride home? You know, maybe I could drive her instead of her getting a ride back with you and Matt” He smiled timidly. “That’s all. She’s kind of cool, you know?”

I held back my first response to remind Jet Laura wasn’t a nature name. However, the look on his face was serious. “I don’t suppose it would hurt,” I said, hoping Laura would feel the same way. After all she had been through these last two weeks, Jet’s overture didn’t strike me as something Laura would be open to, but then again, Jet was more complex than his reputation. He was a loyal friend and a pretty nice guy. Laura might enjoy the company and the attention.

I was rewarded with a bright smile I had never seen from Jet before. He squeezed my hand. “Thanks.” And, looking over to where Matt and Laura were doing some sort of box step, said, “Let’s go cut in.”

At 2:30 a.m., Matt and I were sitting on Laura’s front porch, drinking a bottle of water, waiting for Laura. “I can’t believe this.” Matt muttered for the umpteenth time.

I gave him a side-long glance, wondering if there was any way I could get him to wait for Laura by himself. My not-subtle yawning wasn’t working. And, neither Laura nor Jet were answering their cell phones. We had left Hayseeds at the same time, but Matt and I arrived 30 minutes ago. Now, in the August night, we were sitting waiting up for them as if they were teenagers who broke their curfew.

“Should we call Frieda?” I asked, yawning. I was resisting the urge to use Matt’s broad shoulder as a pillow.

“There’s no reason to worry her.” He took a drink. “Yet.”

“I am sure they are fine.” I answered, also for the umpteenth time.

Matt grunted, disgusted with the situation. By the streetlight, I could see his jaw set in and I was pretty sure he was about to start part twenty-seven of his tirade about all Laura had gone through and the danger she was in. When thankfully, the headlights of Jet’s Jeep blinded us as it pulled into the driveway.

As they tumbled out, I could hear Laura laughing. “I think they are fine.” I said to Matt.

Matt smiled.

It turns out they had taken a side trip through West Phoenix where Laura showed Jet the Hacienda, ashes and all. “I brought snacks!” Laura said happily, lifting two bags from Taco Loco Express and jumping out of the car with a spry step.

“Thanks,” I said, “But, my bedtime was hours ago. We were just waiting up to make sure you got home safe.”

Matt gave me a scowl and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Come in anyway Matt and eat a Taco.” Laura said, pulling his arm into the house. Apparently the party was moving to Laura’s kitchen. Matt obliged and I said good night to the gang and headed to my room, half-sorry I was missing out.

Chapter 24: Friday

At one o’clock Friday, I arrived at the dive Jet had recommended for lunch. Located in downtown Glendale, La Fonda, he promised me would be the best Mexican cuisine the culinary world had ever tasted.

La Fonda is a shabby 1940s bungalow-turned restaurant, with the majority of the seating located in several rooms, which had been added willy-nilly. Probably at least one room per decade and probably out of necessity. Parking was haphazardly strewn behind, in front and on the side of the building. The front of the joint concreted over for maximum walkway and probably minimal landscape maintenance. Also outside were several benches optimistically waiting for patrons.

Inside, the overpowering aroma of indistinguishable spices and the stench of cooking oil greeted me. No employee was present, but there were a few customers, who were happily chatting over their burritos and tacos. As I walked through the maze of rooms, I noticed the walls were painted a garish orange color and faded lime green cocktail curtains graced the windows.

Each room, decorated in its own individually themed brand of beer, proudly displayed neon signs and posters given, no doubt, by the same beer companies. And, when I finally made my way to where Jet sat, I noticed our seating area was also decorated with a variety of surgically enhanced pin-ups proudly advertising car parts. Nothing says engines and pistons like a size double D falling out of a bikini.

The morning had already been a bit annoying, with Jet’s invitation to lunch the welcomed highlight. I slept in my own bed last night, not wanting to put Matt out—though I tossed and turned listening to every little creak the house made. Several times I thought about scurrying across the street and taking refuge in his extra room. Instead, I made sure the alarm was set, kept a tight grip on my stun gun in my right and my cell phone in my left and blocked the doors with furniture, figuring it might slow down the goons if they came back.

I returned yesterday’s calls after my shower, only to find out my manager at Price Bargains had no appreciation for people who do not call in sick for their shift—two days in a row. Thus, although I still had a job there, I had no hours for the next week. Which of course led to a call to Jimmy. He promised to overnight me a check for more than I needed. Thankfully, he didn’t ask a lot of questions.

I also contacted the agents who had shown Lillian’s place this past week. The comments didn’t amount to much other than what a lovely home it was and they were sure it would sell soon.

Lillian, though happy for the opinions, was much more concerned about my health. It took several bold-faced lies to convince her I was really fine. As I hung up the phone, I idly wondered how much time in Purgatory I could expect for duping such a sweet woman. Perhaps God would look favorably upon me for sparing her any further worry.

Dee was my next call and was agreeable to running errands with me. After dropping off advertising flyers Val graciously made of Lillian’s place, we went back to Mr. Daniel’s home to inspect Chip’s and Rocky’s handiwork. There were definitely windows in the house now. And, thankfully, they weren’t broken.

Rocky’s work was much less impressive. Although the cars, mattress and major debris were gone, it appears he just spread gravel in the front and back yard, hiding the remaining trash, weeds and dirt. With the exception of the overgrown oleanders there wasn’t a plant to be seen.

“I don’t suppose this Mr. Daniels guy intends to hire someone to put a kitchen in?” Dee asked.

I shrugged. But, I certainly hoped so, because when I returned to the office to pick up the paperwork, I saw where he crossed out the selling price I had recommended. Instead, putting his own price—forty thousand higher.

In the office, I put in my requisite call to Mr. Daniels and thankfully got his voice mail. I promised pictures of Chip’s and Rocky’s efforts, letting him know there was now a for sale sign in his yard and a lock box on his door. The last part of my message was to remind him I had not yet heard from anyone he might have hired to remodel the inside—which still was in desperate need of some basics like flooring, appliances and cabinetry. I hung up, mentally debating between gratitude for Amy sending me over a client or if it would be better to threaten bodily injury for the lame Mr. Daniels next time I talked to her.

Afterwards, I put Mr. Daniel’s information into the Multiple Listing Service and called my mother. Mother’s call was strategically timed to her weekly noon tennis league game. I didn’t want to feed her overactive imagination. So, in my voice message, I touched upon Matt being a neighbor and a friend and please don’t get any ideas. As I was leaving, I bid Dee a good weekend.

“I will!” she said with what I swear sounded like a giggle.

It turns out Jet was right about the food. La Fonda’s was as good as he promised. Because he was paying, I didn’t go al a carte. After a warm bear hug from Jet, which just about moved me to tears, I thanked him profusely for coming when Juan called.

He waved me off, “Tsk! Don’t mention it.” I smiled at his sweetness, telling him what I knew about the situation.

Jet considered this for a moment. “If Laura owes this guy money,” he started, why doesn’t she just refinance her house and pull the equity out to pay off Carl?”

It took a moment to process all of his terminology. “So, you mean take out a loan against her house to pay the guy off?” I wanted to make sure I completely understood.

Jet waited a beat and nodded, “That’s what I said. You are a real estate professional right?” I am almost certain Jet wasn’t being sarcastic. Sometimes it is hard to tell. Instead, I told him if Laura ever got back into town, I would discuss it with her.

“Is she cute?” was Jet’s ultra-professional response.

“Laura isn’t a nature name or a French name.” I reminded him.

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Bummer for her,” he finally conceded.

I returned home, pleasantly surprised to see Laura’s familiar white Chevy truck in the driveway. Rushing in, I was practically giddy, momentarily forgetting everything having transpired while she was gone. It was going to be so good to see her and the boys. I raced in the door, bracing myself for Bruce and Buddy’s leg hugs.

After resetting my alarm, I threw my purse and file folders on my dinette. Swinging open the home’s interior door, I rushed in to find Laura at the breakfast bar intently sorting through the mail. As I went toward her ready to welcome her with a hug, she looked up and said crisply, “Why the hell is there is a for sale sign in my front yard?”

I felt my eyes grow wide, my cheeks hot and I responded in a similar bitchy tone with the first completely inappropriate thing coming to mind, “Carl told you to baby-sit me?” Never mind I had been attached—twice—in her home, I thought numbly.

We stared at each other for a moment. Neither of us flinching. She returned to the mail, ignoring me.

Now angry, I said, “Look! The least you can do is explain why these goons are looking for you? It has become a bit personal now—”

“I know,” she said cutting me off in mid sentence. She was still studying at the water bill. “Matt told me what happened.” She paused and it seemed like two weeks before she spoke in barely a whisper, her head down.

She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know what you know…No, let me start over.” She looked up, “Tina, I am sorry. You should never have been dragged into this. I can’t tell you how much—of all the things about this…this…” she squirmed on her stool, struggling to think of an appropriate description, “situation…that I regret. I am so glad you haven’t been hurt. You just don’t deserve any of this. From the day you walked into the Hacienda to this week. I am really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” Her eyes were moist, and the look on her face was pleading for understanding.

“I can’t believe I am in this mess.” Her voice wavering. She looked down again. I reached across the counter and charitably pulled a few tissues out for her. Taking them, she immediately smashed them into her fist as she filled me in on her nightmare.

“Right after I married Charlie—he was a mechanic. And he worked for Ed and Roy—they are brothers—Ed owned the Hacienda and offered to sell it to him. I was 20 and I didn’t understand, so I just went along with it. Owning a hotel sounded like fun. We didn’t think about what we were doing. Or, who we were buying it from. We owned a hotel. You know, but it came with a price.”

I absorbed this. The look of repulsion on her face when she had said Ed’s name spoke volumes louder than her words.

“We didn’t have the money, so Ed set us up with Birsa Financial. Do you know who that is?”

I thought about it. “That name sounds familiar but—”

Laura nodded. “It is a private loan company that finances just about everything. Like when you needed a new engine.”

Laura read my face. “Yea, Carl’s company.”

Charlie and Laura mortgaged the hotel from Carl’s company. And from day one Carl let them know he owned them. At one point, they had gotten behind on their payment. Things went downhill. Carl called in Charlie, telling him he would work off the late payment. That meant Charlie was to start selling drugs at the Sweet Shop for Carl.

Laura shook her head in her hands. “I suppose I should give him credit. Charlie was trying to get caught up. I knew we were behind. But, I didn’t know about Carl forcing Charlie to deal. I found out about him selling, and how Carl put him up to it, the day he was arrested. I guess Carl threatened him if he didn’t pay. I can’t believe how stupid I was not to see it.” She shook her head in disgust.

“Charlie went to jail,” She said. “Arizona has a zero-tolerance policy. With everything else, I had had enough. My dad died when I was a kid and about a year after Charlie went to jail, I turned 25 and got my inheritance. It wasn’t enough to pay off Carl, but that with a small business loan, it was enough to fix up the Hacienda. I was able to get some decent business and turn a profit. In fact, I had enough after the first year on my own to buy this house. It isn’t much, but it is better than having my kids grow up in that neighborhood.”

She frowned. “I am still expected to do stuff for Carl. I refused once and he broke my fingers.” She looked at her left hand. “I can’t get away from him until this loan is paid off.”

I looked at her with horror.

Laura dismissed my concern. “No, not that kind of thing. Thank God! I would kill him. But, I have had to do an odd job or two. Including look after you.”

She looked at me, pleading. “I was planning on asking you if you wanted to come here anyway. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me. But you said you were going to El Paso, so I didn’t.” I did believe her.

“Um. So what does this have to do with you taking off and the assholes looking for you?” I cringed as the words came out. It wasn’t as delicate as I hoped for. Laura didn’t seem to notice.

“I made a payment last month a day late. I should have just kept my mouth shut. But, I had a fight with him. He wanted an unholy amount of interest because it was late. Then he wanted me to pick up a shipment for him. So, I told him take my payment one day late or I would go to the cops tell him about the drugs and prostitution at the Sweet Shop and everything else.” Laura’s face hardened and eyes blazed. “Anyway, Carl got mad and called my loan due immediately—even though I only had a few more months, he wanted it all now. He said if I didn’t pay it he would take one of the boys and sell him in Mexico.” Laura choked up, her eyes down.

My jaw dropped. “Oh my G—”

It took a moment before she spoke again. “Instead, he torched the place and now he wants the insurance money.”

My repulsion of Carl just tripled. “Why are you back?” I practically yelled. “You need to get out of here. Take the boys and go.”

“I need to talk to the adjuster. Julie, she’s the waitress at the Sweet Shop that I hang with sometimes, I told her if she needed me to get in touch with Matt. Anyway, Julie called Matt and told him the adjuster went over to the Sweet Shop looking for me.” Laura said. “I want to talk to the insurance company and get a new adjuster. I can get the place rebuilt and find out if the insurance can just pay the contractor. Carl is out of town for a week. He has a beach house in Cabo. Julie told me.”

“Can you trust Julie?” I asked.

Laura shrugged. “I am not loosing my boys.”

“No, you really need to pay off Carl.” I said, giving her Jet’s idea of refinancing.

Laura considered for a moment. “That might work. I would like to talk to him.”

I slipped away, called Jet who offered to come over on Saturday and meet with Laura.

“So, what’s with the for sale sign?” she asked as I walked back into the kitchen. She was back to studying the bills.

“Yea, about that. Sorry about the sign. I was drumming up business.” She looked up and I took her silence as a sign to continue. I told her about Jet’s idea to find buyers.

“Did it work?” she finally asked after taking a moment to consider my logic.

I laid my head in my hands, not wanting to answer her question. Finally I returned her gaze. “Actually, the only one who came by was a man who, I think it might have been Charlie.” I told her about my conversation and described his eyes. “Which reminds me, where are the boys?”

“My mom’s. And yes, it was Charlie. I talked to him an hour ago.”

For some reason, I found this admission surprising.

Chapter 23: Thursday

It was Thursday afternoon when I finally woke up and dragged myself out of Matt’s extra bedroom. I found my way into his home office, to say hello. Matt turned from his computer as I padded in, greeting me with a smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Sunshine.”

“If you say so.” I was conscious of my Medusa hair and had the urge to rub my eyes. “Any chance you have coffee lying around?” I asked.

“Sorry, I don’t touch the stuff.” He grinned.

“That’s it. We’re through.”

Matt pretended to stab his heart and fall backwards in his chair.

“You, uh, there’s been a few calls.” I saw the small smile as he reached behind him, grabbing my phone and a slip of paper. Handing me both, he said, “A popular woman, I see.”

“You were answering my phone?” It was a question, not an accusation.

Matt had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “I thought if it was a client, they might prefer a live body instead of voice mail. Or, if it was the guy who did this, I could talk to him, find out where he was and go and beat the hell out of him.”

Matt’s admission touched me. Taking the list, a groan escaped my lips as I started reading Matt’s scrawl. “Your mother called, wanted to know who I was, why I was answering your phone, what I did for a living, what my father did for a living and if I was Catholic.” I rolled my eyes. “Matt Hayden, your neighbor, you weren’t feeling well, computer consultant, fire fighter and yes,” were his answers.

I looked over at him. “Sorry about Mom.” I said. He shrugged.

“Jet called.” The one, two, three and four were struck over, and “five times,” was next to that note. “Lillian Fields called. I told her you weren’t feeling well. She said to call tomorrow or the next day. Said it wasn’t important. Also wanted to know who I was. Frieda called, she will be over this evening. Mr. Daniels called, he faxed over the paperwork you need. Please list the house today. I told him you weren’t feeling well and it would be tomorrow or the next day. He said fine. Val called, you there is a fax waiting for you. Dee called, heard from Val you were sick. Wanted to see how you were doing. The home inspection is set for next Thursday. Michael Taylor called. Heard from Dee you weren’t feeling well. Wished you well and said he would see ya’ll next week. Jimmy called. Said he loves you and to call him back. WHO is Jimmy?” The “who” in Matt’s message was capitalized and underlined six times.

I was amused at Matt’s sorry attempt at jealousy. I explained Jimmy was my brother and Mother probably put him up to calling me. I bet all the money I owed Carl, she wanted to know why Matt answered my phone.

I smiled a grateful smile. “Phone messages make up for no coffee?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Good try though.”

Frieda and Evan sat on Matt’s living room couch, Frieda with a murderous look and Evan’s hand perched gently on Frieda’s leg partially out of devotion and partially to hold her down. I was in Matt’s bachelor recliner, with the four television remotes balanced carefully on the arm and Matt standing next to me, against the wall.

“Spill it.” Frieda barked, pretense gone. “Where the hell is my daughter and grandsons?”

Matt looked at her with tremendous discomfort. “She’s in Vegas staying with my former-brother-in law. But, uh—,” He squirmed a bit, looking like he would rather deal with Juan than Frieda.

I felt a twinge of pity for Matt and jumped in, filling them in on everything Juan had shared with me yesterday.

Frieda shot up, Evan’s hand useless against her fury. “Why didn’t she tell me? I can’t believe this.” She put her head in her hands, a strangled wail escaping from her lips. Her voice breaking, “Of all things.”

Matt, relieved the worst was over, cleared his throat and moved next to Frieda. Kneeling down beside her, he said gently. “You know, when Laura moved in across the street. I was very sick. Marlene had just left and Laura—well—she took care of me. I can’t tell you how many nights I hugged the commode in Laura’s apartment after chemo. She took me to doctor’s appointments. She took care of me. Without her, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Frieda nodded, “I know she was grateful you watched the kids when she worked all those hours.” She told me she never would have made it without your friendship.

 “Well, I am grateful for her too,” he said softly. “But, while we were becoming friends, she told me what was going on. She was angry, Frieda. She was angry at Charlie for making a deal with this guy Carl. She was angry for being put in a position to run the Hacienda and raise the boys alone.

“Then Charlie getting caught and going to jail, abandoning her—a new mother with two babies, well, that was her breaking point. I think she figured if she was already doing this alone, why stay married to Charlie.” Frieda looked up, taking this all in.

“I… I wish I had done more to help her,” she said, not yet crying.

“You have done plenty. She is very grateful for all of your help with the boys. She knew how you felt about Charlie. But look, with Charlie out of the way, the Hacienda started to do well. Frieda,” Matt pleaded, “look how far she has come. She’s like any other kid, she wanted to make her mother proud.”

Matt’s eyes were pleading. He took Frieda’s silence as permission to continue. “For whatever reason, about two months ago she paid a day late. And, since then, her life has been a living hell. I talked to her a couple of weeks ago and she said if she needed to get out of town could I help her. Honestly, I had no idea how bad things were until then. I talked to her today, and she wanted to give things time to cool with Carl and then privately talk to the adjuster. But,” he looked over at me, “from what Tina said, the adjuster has become friends with Carl and his buddies. You can imagine what a position this puts her in.”

Frieda studied her hands. “Can I at least call her?”

Before Matt answered, I had gotten off the recliner, reached for the phone and handed it to Matt.

Chapter 22: Wednesday

It was Wednesday morning. I was getting ready for the morning shift at Price Bargains when I got the call. Michael’s offer was accepted. I immediately phoned Michael to tell him the good news. He expressed his gratitude and we talked about the next steps in the process. “I can’t thank y’all for everything,” he drawled causing my knees to go.

My next call was to Dee to give her the good news. She was thrilled to hear it and appropriately reciprocated by giving me the dirt on their lunch. Which, she said, went very well. “Would you like me to handle setting up the home inspection?” she offered.

I graciously accepted, relieved, because I wasn’t quite sure what to do. She promised to contact all the right players. And, as I hung up, I noticed she didn’t ask for Michael’s phone number. And, I know I didn’t give it to her.

Just as I was getting ready to walk out the door, the phone rang again. “Is this Tina?” the gravely voice on the other end asked. I assured my caller he was talking to me. “Yea, this is Rocky from Landscape Experts.”

Rocky? Oh please. “No it isn’t.” I said quickly. “Nobody in their right mind named Rocky would be in the landscape business.

“Yea, lady? You think you are the first person to find my name funny?” Fortunately for me, he didn’t wait for my answer. “This Daniels guy said to call you. He needs some landscaping done and said you had the address.” I rolled my eyes. Where did Mr. Daniels find these people?

“I am pretty surprised,” I said, “Mr. Daniels knows the address to his house. I wonder why he didn’t just give it to you?”

“I don’t know either. You got the address or not?” I sighed, reciting the address for him. Afterwards, I called Val to see if Mr. Daniel’s agreement had been miraculously faxed over. Nope.

Again hoping to slide out to work I was reaching for the doorknob when it rang again. “He called me.” Amy sing-songed.

“That’s great Amy. Listen, I need to go—,”

She cut me off. “Don’t you want to know what happened?” she whined.

“Yes I do.” I lied. “But, I am late for an appointment, so I need to go. I will call you later ok?”

This time, Amy let me off the hook. Figuring there was a higher power involved in getting our call wrapped up so quickly, I said a prayer of thanks. Flinging open the door into the hot August morning, I was ready to start my day.

Two seconds and three feet out the door, I peered over to my car, baking in the desert sun, and shook my head. No, I resolved, I would not sere my thighs today on my car seats. I did a quick one-eighty into the house for a beach towel to place between the seat and my backside. I swear I was preoccupied for no less than thirty seconds. But, it was long enough.

“Hey.” I jumped at the voice out of nowhere, finding it coming from the man standing in the doorway.

I stood there, towel in hand, too afraid to scream. I recognized his face, his ball cap, his tattoo and his voice. He was taller than I thought and much more muscular than I expected. He was defiantly part Latino, with darker skin and eyes. He was wearing bagging shorts and a tank top. I froze as he came near me.

“Hey. Tina is it?” He asked, when he finally was in arm’s length. “I am looking for your friend.”

My fear turned to anger. I did not sign up for these crazies. I did not ask Laura to leave. And, I certainly didn’t ask to be late for work. I snapped. After the week I had, I was tired of everything scary and unpredictable and this, this goon—Juan was it?

At that very second, I didn’t give a damn if he killed me on the spot. The look I gave him conveyed my anger. Juan seemed taken aback I wasn’t shaking in fear. He took a tentative step backwards. Too late, I was pissed.

“You are looking for Laura? You! Well dude, take a friggen number. I am looking for Laura. Other people are coming around here looking for Laura. Hell, Laura’s own mother is looking for Laura. If you called the Vatican, I suspect we would find out the Pope is looking for Laura too. Why don’t you tell me why Laura is so damn popular,” I seethed, watching someone else control my hand and push him in his chest.

Off guard, he took an unbalanced step backwards. I pushed him again, finding it didn’t do anything to him, but it made me angrier.

“Look,” he said with a bit of irritation in his voice, “I just want to talk to her.”

“So do I! Why do you want to talk to her? Why is she running? Is she running from you or one of the other crazies around here?” He said nothing, so I got louder. “Answer me! Why did she leave?”

“I dunno, she was doing fine paying on time. Then, something happened and she stopped. I don’t get it she only had five more payments to go.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She was paying on time—,” realization dawned him and a sick smile spread across his face. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

I threw my hands up. “Do I look like I know what is going on?”

Juan ignored the comment, instead shaking his head. “The big guy wanted to teach her a lesson. She don’t want to pay him, so he decided to go after her insurance money. Now, she won’t talk to the adjuster. You don’t mess with him—look what happened to your tires?”

My face grew hot as the light bulb went on. I could feel the realization spreading across my face. “You mean Carl? She borrowed money from Carl?” I was incredulous. Who—other than me—would do something so stupid?

Juan laughed at my naivety. “Yea, Carl’s company. And, Carl don’t like it when people miss a payment. She was still paying Carl—so he still owns her. That’s why you are living here, you know. Carl told her she had to keep an eye on you and report back if she thought you were going to bolt.”

Juan smiled a toothy menacing grin. My face burned and my stomach dropped a few feet.

“But, Carl don’t like to be bossed around,” he said

“Look, she isn’t coming back. She is selling the house and moving on.” I hoped my lie would be good enough.

Juan shook his head. “She’s coming back. The insurance company is making her fill out a bunch of forms before they can cut the check. She hasn’t done this yet.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because the adjuster—he came over to the Sweet Shop looking for her. Roy—”

I gasped. “Roy the tow truck driver?” I shuttered as realization dawned. Roy grabbed me the other night.

“Who did you think? He and Ed own the Sweet Shop. Roy gave the adjuster dude a few free samples and started listening as the guy told his life story. Now we know. She hasn’t collected the money yet.”

“So, you know Laura isn’t here. Why are you here?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

He let out a sigh. “It’s just business you know. Nothing personal. I just need to ask you, do you know where she is?” he took a step closer.

I shook my head. “You know I don’t.” I was hoping I still sounded tough.

Juan took another step toward me. “Well, you need to get a message to her.”

Holy shit! “Why? What—, what—, what do you mean?” I finally spit it out. “Look, what did I do? What kind of message?”

Juan was coming closer. He inadvertently blocked off the doors to the house and outside. I was talking fast, hoping to think of something—anything persuasive. Please God, please just let me live. I silently bargained everything I could think of.

And, because the automatic shut off valve in my mouth malfunctioned, I added, “I am already late for work. I don’t want to lose my job. Then I won’t be able to pay Carl.”

With this admission, I did the only practical thing I could think of. I snapped Juan with my towel. Somehow, in my fleeting moment of genius, I was under the impression a dry beach towel precisely snapped at Juan’s knees would be enough for him to turn and run screaming, never to be seen from again.

No luck. Juan just grabbed the end of the towel, and in one deft move, had me wrapped in it like a straight jacket. My arms were pinned to my side. I could smell his sweat as he stood close to me. I got one scream in before he slapped his hand over my mouth. “You need to relax and I won’t hurt you.” he seethed and I whimpered.

Juan dragged me to the bed and pushed me face down on to the bed, beach towel still bracing me and his weight keeping me from moving. I screamed and he instinctively grabbed my mouth, giving an audible sigh, like a mother with an ornery toddler.

“Now listen up you dare ever tell Carl I went easy on you and next time it won’t be so pretty for either one of us.” Easy on me? Was he serious.? I was scared out of my wits. “I need to know who you want me to call,” he said, scrolling through my phone book.

Reading the names, he got to Jet. “What kind of name is Jet?” I gave a muffled, and inaudible confirmation from behind his hand. Juan caught on, “You want me to call this one huh?” I will call this one in a couple of hours. And, I always keep my word.”

I tried to give him a few more muffled directives, but its effectiveness was lost. “One more thing,” he said, practically murmuring in my ear, “You tell anyone and next time Big Juan won’t go easy. It will be personal. I am supposed to be messing you up bad right now. Got it?”

And with that, he produced the now-familiar bottle and a small rag. Everything went dark.

There was a wet washcloth on my head and I felt like hell. A voice came from somewhere. No, two—three voices.

“I just got a call. Someone said Tina had food poisoning and needed help. It was from her phone, so I thought someone was with her. But, I found the phone outside the door and she was inside, taped up. I don’t get it.” Jet.

Somewhere, a woman sobbed and another man swore and said, “Do we go to the police?”

My eyes flew open. “No!” I gasped.

Matt, Frieda, Evan and Jet stared at me. “No you don’t.” I sat up, steadying myself with one hand and pointing to Matt with the other. I said, “You tell her to run like hell. You are talking to her. You know where she is. You tell her she has to get in touch with the insurance company. Get the insurance money and get out of Dodge.”

And, yelling at Matt having sucked all the strength out of me, I flopped back on the bed.

Frieda glared at Matt with a murderous look. “You know where she is? You told me you had no idea.” Her eyes were blazing. I almost felt sorry for Matt. Almost.

It was dark outside when I woke up again. Matt was sitting at my dinette playing solitaire. He looked over towards me, “Don’t get up.” He said, making his way over to the bed. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling the hair from my face.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing.

Matt perched himself next to me on the bed, grabbing my hands and planting a kiss on my forehead. “We can talk later—but not here. Are you up to going across the street? Are you hungry?”

I nodded, answering both questions.

“Come on. I will help you.”

At Matt’s house, he helped me on to the couch, promising to return momentarily. Keeping his word, he returned with my duffle bag. “I got some essentials from your house—toothbrush, clean underwear—I thought you might like your red set—I know I do” he smiled, holding them up for a closer inspection, “Something to sleep in, something to wear tomorrow if you decide to get up.”

For whatever reason, maybe Juan used more chloroform this time, or maybe because I struggled so much earlier, I was completely wiped out—emotionally and physically. Matt brought me some soup. I ate a bite and I felt sick to my stomach. Later that night, it took all of my strength just to lay on the couch watching the Diamondbacks game with Matt.

Chapter 21: Tuesday

I woke up Tuesday, excited to start my day. I was finally well rested. Thankfully, nobody I knew had called me before a reasonable hour.

Some time during the early dawn hours, in between dreams, I decided I was going to trust Matt about Laura. Afterwards, I decided I was going to manipulate Matt and find out what he knew about Laura’s situation. Then, I decided, I didn’t know what to do and just went back to sleep.

While prepping for my appointment with Mr. Taylor the phone rang. “OH MY GAWD! YOU DID NOT TELL ME IT WAS THE MICHAEL TAYLOR.” Jet shrieked into the phone. I was pretty sure my right ear was permanently deaf.

“The Michael Taylor?” I mimicked.

“I can’t believe this. After all we’ve been through. It is the least you could have done.” He sounded genuinely hurt. I laughed at his flair for drama. I had known him fourteen days—though it seemed longer to me too.

I opted to go with logic. “Let’s back up. Who is The Michael Taylor and why should I know him?”

Jet answered me with some sort of sputter sound and I wondered if his coffee had just shot through his nose. “You know.” He started, “You need to come over to my office. If you really don’t know who The Michael Taylor is, well… you’ve been living in a box for too long.”

I assured him I would stop by as soon as I could. Because, now I too, was curious who The Michael Taylor was.

Jet’s office looked dustier than the last time I saw it. But, today Jet was dressed in business casual, complete with (of all things) loafers. “Fancy.” I said approvingly as surveyed him.

“Finally, you check me out.” He said throwing up his hands in mock frustration.

“Who’s The Michael Taylor?” I asked cutting to the chase.

Jet shot me a look of pity, as if I somehow had been living in a small Ubange Village in the African jungle for too long. He took an unnecessary breath, trying to contain his amazement and garner as much patience under the circumstances.

“Michael Taylor was the drummer for the Tangerine Electric Monkeys.”

I started at him, nonplussed.

Jet took this as a sign to continue. “He is my idol. I have TEM’s whole anthology. Michael Taylor is, the virtuoso. He can play, like, every instrument. Drums, guitar, piano, and of course my favorite. You should just hear him on the flugelhorn.” Jet gushed. “He is one of the most talented musicians of all time. Wait!” he ran out the room, calling me to follow.

In the back room, which consisted of the same ugly carpet and bare walls, there were several more filing cabinets and in the corner a huge safe. “I took the liberty,” he started, working the combination, “to back up my collection in different formats just in case.” He looked up at me solemnly he opened the safe with a grandiose gesture.

Popping his head into the safe, he pulled out a couple of CDs of what looked like 1980s music. “Look. I even put a CD player in here so if I can’t find a suitable format later in life, I will have a way to play these. Also,” he said with a conspiratorial tone, opening a shoe box, “I have digital versions as well and an MP3 player, flash drive, and more. I just want to make sure it is saved for my children’s enjoyment.”

He opened a CD case, showing me a grainy picture of the band. “That’s him.” He said, pointing to one of the five long-haired guys, all dressed in various shades of black, standing against some wall.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Um, not to rain on your parade or anything, but it seems to me—,” I wanted to be delicate here. This was a man’s prized collection we were talking about. “Well, Michael Taylor would be, um, kind of a common name.”

Jet’s eyes pierced me. “I talked to the guy yesterday.”

“Did he say he was part of the Orange Monkeys?”

He let out some air. “Tangerine Electric Monkeys. And, no. He did not.” He put up a palm, stopping me from the next obvious question. “He told me he was originally from Gadsden Alabama—When I take a loan application, I like to check social security numbers with the place where the person on the phone says they are born. You know, to make sure there isn’t any identity theft.”

I was impressed with Jet’s loan application procedure. The rest of what Jet was telling me sounded, well, shaky at the very least, but I was veering toward insane as a better description. “Well, again, couldn’t there be more than one Michael Taylor there?” I asked, hopefully sounding more innocent than skeptical.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Look! There was this six-woman pro team from Gadsden—the Gad Flies. They were awesome. I mean just like, the best in their league. They were around about ten years ago.” Jet got a wistful look I had seen before when the subject of volleyball came up.

I failed to see where this was going. “Anyway, I started dating one of the Gad Flies while on tour. Her name was…” he looked up, in deep thought trying to pick her name from what I would guess would be the throes of women after Jet. A smile spread across his face and I was pretty sure not only he remembered her name, but her other vital statistics. “Her name was Mandy”

I couldn’t help myself, “Mandy? A nature name?”

“Man-dy, see. What is more natural than hu-mans?” Not waiting for a reaction, he went back to his story. “One time I told her about the Tangerine Electric Monkeys and how talented they were. And, anyway, Mandy” (the wistful smile spread across his face again) “told me her cousin was the drummer for the Tangerine Electric Monkeys—Michael Taylor.”

I uttered something hopefully sounding encouraging.

“She was going to set up a meeting for the two of us, but it never happened. I had my maximum required three dates with her before I had a chance to meet him.”

“Yes but, how does this mean—,”

“Everything fits. I talked to him yesterday to get the preliminary information for his loan. I mean, he is a music teacher—which would be something natural for him to do now that he is retired from his previous career, he is from Gadsden. And, he said he likes to fish.”

“Likes to fish?”

“Oh yea, after the Tangerine Electric Monkeys broke up, Michael Taylor—our Michael Taylor—became a Southern biathlete—and he was really good at it. He was able to take his love of bass fishing and turn it into another career.”

“Southern biathlete?”

“The Southern biathlon is held in Macon Georgia every autumn. It brings out the best of the best.”

I took a stab, “The best bass fishermen, perhaps?”

Jet, apparently pleased I finally caught on, nodded his head wildly. “Yea, and they also have the deer hunting event too. I followed Michael Taylor’s career pretty carefully for a while. Did you know he got an eighteen-point buck his last year competing? He went out with class. That’s for sure.”

It occurred to me, there was many unusual dimensions to Jet probably better left out of sight. This being one of them. At any rate, I was certainly not going to ask Mr. Taylor—who may or may not be of Tangerine Electric Monkey and Southern Biathalete fame—for his autograph.

I walked into the office at five minutes to eleven, checking to make sure my client hadn’t arrived and Wendy was also nowhere to be found. I breezed by Ira’s office with a quick wave.

With a few minutes to spare, I found my way into the powder room. While indisposed, Dee popped in, “Val buzzed back to the bullpen. Your buyer is here. I will go tell him you will be right with him.”

At ten fifty-eight, I arrived in the conference room to meet the possibly illustrious Mr. Michael Taylor. After Jet’s bizarre reaction this morning, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Mr. Taylor was blond, blue-eyed, with dimples that didn’t seem to match his age. I would guess he was at least somewhere twenty plus years my senior. Which was too bad, because he was quite easy on the eyes. His demeanor was quiet, unassuming and I was hard-pressed to imagine some rock and roll star, smashing guitars to smithereens, in front of me.

As I entered, Mr. Taylor (who insisted I call him Michael) stood and held out his hand as a greeting. “Miss Tina, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. Oh boy! A Southern drawl, great manners and dimples, I couldn’t help it. A silly giggle got out before I could stop.

As I was about to get started, already offering him a drink (“Why no thank you ma’am,” and I was mush) when Dee popped her head in.

“Tina, a word please?” She said in a crisp, business-like manner.

Bewildered at the interruption, I excused myself. Right outside the door Dee dragged me by my elbow a good ten feet away. She urgently started, “Tina, what will it take? I want your client.”

I stared, mortified. Where did this come from? “You can’t have him. He’s my buyer.”

“Look, I will give you the commission. Just let me work with him instead of you.”

“Why?”

Dee let out a hushed squeal, sounding like it belonged to a high school junior. “Look at him. He is so cute! Look, I just want to get to know him better.”

Relief spread through me. I was embarrassed to admit maybe Wendy had been right about competing agents. I realized I was more frightened of my friend Dee betraying me than actually loosing a buyer. Dee sensed this too. “You can have the buyer. Honey, I just want the man. Can I just come with you at least?” Her eyes pleading.

Great, I thought. First the It Guy loan officer and now the It Guy client.

As it turns out, Dee was invaluable. She came along under the guise of training me (which she pretty much was) and Michael was quite gracious about it. Telling us, in his smooth Southern drawl, he was from Alabama, a former musician and now a high school music teacher.

He had taken the job to be closer to his children, whose mother had remarried and relocated them to the Valley, a good seventeen hundred miles from home. He followed soon after. Michael regaled us with stories and photos of his kids. Dee hung on to every word. I was quite sure she was taking notes too.

On our sixth home, Michael walked in and I could tell from the expression on his face we had a winner. Walking around, Dee took the saleswoman job, flashing a smile every chance she got (and I noticed the top button on her blouse had been undone) and pointing out all of the extraneous things to him. However, I am pretty sure Michael could have figured out on his own the big appliance in the kitchen was a stove.

Finally, making our way back to the formal living room, he looked up. “I like the high ceiling.” He said.

“Oh, the vaulted ceilings,” Dee cooed. I was nauseous.

“Yes ma’am, that.” He said, looking around, a small smile on his face. No doubt Dee was waiting for the dimples. I knew I was.

“What do you like about it?” I asked, curious why this caught his eye over the others.

Color crept over Michael’s cheeks. “I have some mounted animal heads. I need room to hang them. My son shot his first buck last year on his birthday. I mounted it. I want to make sure is in the center,” He said using his thumbs and forefingers to frame the high wall. Turning to Dee, he said, “You know, I once shot an eighteen point buck?”

Dee was appropriately impressed. And, I decided never to let Jet know I knew this.

One of the areas where Dee was most valued was writing a contract. I had studied the purchase contract in great lengths over the past few weeks. But, it still was a relief for Dee to be there, assisting me. And, Michael seemed to think getting two agents at once was a great deal for him.

After the contract was written, Michael suggested he was hungry and did any of the rest of us wish to join him for lunch? I bowed out like a good friend, using the legitimate excuse about needing to get back to the office to present the contract before my next (pretend) meeting. Dee graciously accepted and off they went, but not before mouthing, “thank you!” to me. I waved and wished them a great meal.