Can You Hula Like Hilo Hattie?

Chapter 3

Chapter 3My cousin returned to the armchair. With a rye buzz, she recounted the rest of the teen’s daring flight.

Spouting cusses like geysers discharged water, the construction guys, Longboard and Vermeer—so nicknamed because of dusty, sun-bleached T-shirt logos—thrust the grappling duo to the linoleum floor. This annoyed mountain-man “Brad Pitt”, who had developed an obvious thing for Linda. Chivalrously, the 200-pound man scudded across the long barroom and pulled Linda to her size six feet, asking if all was well as he passed a container of napkins so she could wipe away globs of grease and condiments.

Meanwhile, Xavier chomped Longboard on a fuzzy forearm and kicked Vermeer in the cajones, and zipped through the rear fire exit like a surfer striving for a much-desired tube ride, setting off a raucous alarm in the process.

With a groan, Mel, the burly bartender, hurdled over the counter like a professional runner and endeavored to turn off the shrill clamor while Longboard scrambled outside. Linda thanked her gallant Sir Galahad and sprinted after Xavier and Longboard. Rey wasn’t far behind, but slipped on a fat sauce-enrobed wing and ended up covering Vermeer like ash from a volcanic eruption.

Once she managed to pick herself off the cursing man, she hastened outside, banging the metallic door into Mel. He sailed into Vermeer, who’d managed to stand and walk a few steps. They hit the floor like toppled ten pins.

Not having expected her to be five feet from the exit, Rey crashed into Linda, who’d been standing in the gray drizzle alongside Longboard scanning the area for Xavier. The stocky construction worker yanked her upright and all three surveyed the terrain.

The only beings in sight, however, were an elderly gent and an equally old dachshund, an extraordinarily tall woman of undetermined years holding a golf umbrella while checking the engine of a 2001 Tercel, and three thirty-year-old guys in a rear grocery store window watching to see if she knew what she was doing.

Longboard swore, rubbed a big hand over his moist, stubbly baby face and ambled back inside. Linda grumbled and followed. Rey remained two minutes longer to see if the teen would pop out of a shrub or shadow.

Sir Galahad jotted his number on a pub take-out menu and passed it to Linda, which she accepted with a gracious smile. Vermeer eyed her, possibly determining if he wanted to pursue the incident, noticed her muscular arms as she rubbed blood from a big scratch, and moved to the bar.

Mel, holding an ice-filled tea towel to his nose as he wiped down the bar, eyeballed the two women suspiciously if not worriedly when they stepped up to pay the tab. A ten-dollar tip triggered a toothy smile and a tenuous patron-bartender relationship was born.

“You never got to Xavier’s mom’s place, did you?” I watched Linda get up to stretch and refill wine glasses while Rey ambled into the second bedroom, which also served as office and guestroom, to shift clothes from the washer to the dryer.

She shook her head. “We couldn’t reach Honey by phone. Makjo was in an afternoon meeting and then had an after-work anniversary function, so he wasn’t answering either.” She emptied the wine bottle and took her seat as Rey re-entered. “He still isn’t. I didn’t know twenty-year work anniversaries were such big celebratory affairs.”

“Then no one actually knows that you caught Xavier and lost him again?”

Rey grimaced and crossed one long leg over the other; a long rectangular bruise was forming on one shin. “Except for you, Longboard and Vermeer, Mel and Keats, no one knows.”

“Keats?”

“Linda’s admirer and hope-to-be boyfriend,” Rey chuckled.

“His mother was a poet and English lit prof,” Linda smiled. “So he explained when I eyed the name on the menu and my expression clearly declared: you don’t look like a Keats.”

“What happens now?” I extended my legs onto the coffee table and regarded the duo curiously.

“We go after him again,” Rey shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of places the kid can hide on this rock.”

“It’s not a huge island, but I’m sure if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

My cousin shook her head. “He’s a druggie. He’ll have to come into the open—”

“Crystal meth’s everywhere, Rey. He can easily stay underground and have someone bring it to him.”

“Anyone who’s on the stuff would sell their brother if they could get a few bucks to buy more. If he hangs with fellow druggies, someone’ll rat him out for the love of the drug. We’ll just have to put out a few dollars when we ask around.”

“Do you know dealers and scumbags?” I asked sardonically.

“We’re budding detectives. What do budding detectives do?” Rey leaned forward, her expression set. “Detect!”

“And get into trouble if they’re not careful,” I pointed out. “We don’t even carry guns.”

“Not yet,” Rey was quick to say. “But we did sign up for karate next month.”

“That’s next month. And it will take weeks to pick up practical moves.”

“We can ask questions, Jill. We can Google and Bing, check out dives and dumps,” Linda stated, “and we could get Tasers. We’ll do fine. Where’s the faith?”

I had to laugh. “Okay, okay. You win.”

“And who says we’ll only be checking dives and dumps?” Rey added. “Down the road, we’ll get highbrow assignments, ones that’ll take us to upscale homes and restaurants, and nice places.”

You had to admire my cousin’s resolve and enthusiasm. The woman had an obstinate doggedness seen in few people. I sipped slowly and eyed both drawn but determined faces. Rey’s had changed since childhood. In the last ten years or so she’d acquired a Hollywood nose and lost twenty pounds from a body that hadn’t been overweight to begin with. Eyes that were once pigeon-gray were now grass-green. Linda’s latte-colored eyes were almond-shaped, slightly Asian, and provided a slightly exotic cast. With those unusual button-shaped lips, her look was unique. Back in Connecticut I’d thought her mousey, but pretty in a majorly understated way. These days, normally cream-colored skin was sun-kissed and lipstick and eye make-up existed where little had before. A couple of strides away from Rey’s overwhelming shadow had changed her and the newfound confidence looked great on her.

“The world of druggies and dealers tends to be seedy and sordid. It unsettles me,” I confessed.

“Doesn’t do much for me, either,” Rey admitted. “From the documentaries and movies I’ve seen, it can get pretty creepy.”

“My knowledge is limited to TV dramas and news reports,” Linda said. “We need to research it more.”

I nodded. “If you don’t find Xavier—”

“We’ll find him,” Rey interrupted. “That includes you, Cousin Jilly.”

“Okay, but if we don’t find him, we’re not going to inspire people to seek our services,” I said with a rueful smile. “This bring-a-wayward-kid-home case can’t end up a dud.”

“It won’t,” Rey determined. “We’ll succeed. He has a friend, Zeus, who lives with two other teenaged boys on the first floor of a two-story house. Apparently, Xavier been known to spend time there. We’ll head out tomorrow and—”

“You’ll head out,” I broke in. “I’m working.”

“Fair enough.” Rey leaned forward excitedly and looked from me to Linda and back again, then grinned. “As Sherlock once said, the game is—officially—afoot. The three of us can head out later, after you finish work.”

I asked, “Remember that old but clever expression: the early bird catches the worm?”

“Remember this one? Wise women with established plans of attack succeed at tasks, careers, and life.” She toasted us and smiled, and slipped into Reynalda Fonne-Werde “contemplation” mode.

Speaking of “foot”, it seemed a good time for another walk.