Previously on Pop Culture Mysteries…
And now the Pop Culture Mysteries continue…
Myron and I were buried in a divot of crunched steal. When I hit the roof of a parked tax cab with my back, the whole enchilada just wrapped around us like blanket.
The jump was a risky move, but one that paid off.
My new sidekick was hugging me tighter than a high school senior trying to cop a feel off his prom date on the dance floor.
“Get off me, pervert!”
We jumped out of the wreckage and a number of looky-lous watched us with our tongues hanging out. I’m not sure what attracted their attention more, the fact that I was walking away from a twelve story fall or the fact that I was waltzing down the street, a shotgun in one hand, a captive’s arm in the other, while a pair of gangsters took pot shots at us from the window.
“We’ve gotta move,” I said.
“My car,” Myron said as he pointed to the tiniest piece of crap I’d ever seen. An electronic automobile. Little, beige, and looked like it could fit a thousand clowns.
But that day, it only had two.
“This is a car?” I asked as I forced myself into the passenger seat.
“Excellent gas mileage,” Myron said. “Great for the environment. Barely leaves an eco-footprint.”
Sometimes I wondered why I bothered speaking to anyone. I only understood half of what anyone had to say to me.
“Where’s Henneman?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know?” Myron asked as he sped down the street. “Why’d you lie to Fernando? I never cheated anyone named Frank.”
“Your buddy pumped my buddy full of lead. I want to know why.”
Myron’s face turned grim.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Diego called Craig. Told him he was going to give have us disemboweled and beaten with our own entrails.”
“Serves you right.”
“Craig flipped out but we’d already spent the money, you know? So he comes up with this idea, that he’s going to start knocking over stores until he comes up with the money to pay Diego back.”
“Sounds like a real rocket scientist.”
“I told him there was no way you could rob enough stores to come up with ten grand in time Diego would probably just take the money and kill us anyway.”
A barrage of bullets streaked across the compact car’s backside.
I looked in the rear view mirror. Fernando and Brujo were gaining on us in a pick-up truck.
“Get the lead out junior.”
I tapped on the window in the roof.
“This thing open?”
Myron hit a switch and the glass retracted. I popped out of the roof, pointed Wanda at the truck, and filled it full of buckshot.
The truck swerved and sideswiped a whole line of parked cars.
I reloaded Wanda, popped out of the roof hatch, and gave the gangsters another helping, this time directing it at one of their front tires.
The truck swerved out and flipped over. It was a magnificent wreck.
We drove a little longer then I told Myron to stop the car. He pulled over in front of a donut shop.
“Aw man,” Myron said. “That was awesome, the way you wasted those guys. We’re a good team.”
I pulled out a pair of cuffs, slapping one bracelet around Myron’s wrist and the other around the steering wheel.
Then I grabbed the keys out of the ignition and threw them out the window.
“MAN, WHAT THE EXPLETIVE DELETED?”
BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: Myron invoked a derogatory word used for a sexual act.
“Tell me where Craig is.”
“Expletive deleted you.”
BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: You get the picture.
“I’ll get the keys for you if you tell me.”
“Fine,” Myron said. “Sometimes he holes up with his girl, Karen. She’s a stripper at the Cotton Candy Alligator. That’s all I know.”
“You got a phone?”
I reached into Myron’s pants pocket, grabbed it, and dialed 9-1-1. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?
“Uh, yes, hello doll face? Are you the gal I talked to before?”
“To what call are you referring sir?”
“What are you doing?” Myron asked.
“Never mind,” I said to the operator. “Listen, sweetheart, I need you to report to the coppers that there’s a fella by the name of Myron locked up nice and tight in a real shit box of a car outside Delroy’s Donuts just off of Hollywood Boulevard.”
“I’m sure the officers can find it.”
“Well it’s a donut shop, darling, I’m sure they can, oh and hey listen hon, tell them this twerp’s running some kind of scam out of his apartment. Bagging up baby powder and selling it to criminals and so forth.”
“I’ll make note of that sir. What is your name?”
I thought about it.
“Sinatra,” I said. “Frank Sinatra. If you’ll excuse me ma’am, Dino and I have to talk to a couple of showgirls.”
I hanged up and tossed Myron’s phone out the window.
“Real funny, man,” Myron said. “OK you got me, haha. Let me go.”
“Fernando was right,” I said. “You are a dumb ass. You may not have conned One-eyed Frank but I saw your operation back there. How many scumbags were you going to try to pass off baby powder to?”
“So what?” Myron said. “Who cares if a bunch of gang bangers get robbed?”
“Normally I wouldn’t,” I said. “But since an innocent man was caught in the crossfire, now I do. See you on the flip side, Myron.”
I got out of the car and strolled down the street.
“Hey! HEY! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”
It was time to head on over to the strip club. Oh, the things I do in the name of justice.
Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015
All Rights Reserved.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.