No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (27 page)

"Anybody who fucks
with us, that's who." Deb grabbed her coat. "C'mon, I'll
show you around."

* * *

The Snakepit was just how Munch pictured it. The only
difference between it and the hundred other dives she'd been in was
the songs on the jukebox. As the three women entered, johnny Paycheck
was singing "Take This Job and Shove It." Merle Haggard
followed with a song about drinking. According to him, the reasons to
quit didn't outweigh all the reasons why.

Roxanne and Deb took seats at the bar. The bartender
automatically set them up with shots of whiskey and beer chasers.
Munch asked the bartender where the pay phone was and for three
dollars in change.

"I've got to call the probation recording,"
she explained to her friends.

"Good thing you remembered," Deb said.

Roxanne downed her drink. "What about that?"
she asked.

"What about what?" Munch said.

"Pigs. You still hate pigs, right?"

Munch lingered the scar on her cheek. "Not
really. I used to think they were the enemy always hassling me,
always busting me. I used to think that if they'd just leave me
alone, I'd be okay Now I realize that they rescued me."

"By locking you up?" Deb asked, scowling.

"I needed to be saved from myself," Munch
said.

"I was my own worst enemy"

Roxanne nodded and took a drink of beer.

"Make your call, already" Deb said. "I
got some other shit to show you."

"Good," Munch said as she walked to the pay
phone. "Because I didn't come all the way up here to see a bar."
If she wanted to watch people get drunk and stupid, she didn't say
out loud, she could have stayed in Los Angeles.

She called Tom Moody's private line. When a man
answered, she said, "Hi, I'm trying to reach——"

"You've got the wrong number," he said and
hung up abruptly She called once more and this time the phone just
rang. Great. Wonderful plan so far.

She returned to her friends, both of whom now had two
empty shot glasses apiece sitting in front of them.

"Everything come out all right?" Deb asked.

Apparently Deb had forgotten what Munch had gotten up
to do, she thought as she slid into the next bar stool. "Yeah,
everything's just peachy" She caught the bartenders attention.
"Can I get a Seven-Up, please?" He nodded and filled a
glass from one of the nozzles above the ice bin. She turned back to
Deb. "So who was Sleaze supposed to have snitched on anyway?"

"You don't want any part of that," Deb
assured her and then ordered another round.

"I don't want to know a lot of things,"
Munch said. "Who even told you that he was a snitch?"

"James, wasn't it?" Roxanne said.

Deb looked skyward for a second, her lips glistening
with whiskey "Yeah, come to think of it. It was James." She
lit a Kool. "When you were in the can, Tux called. They should
be getting in tomorrow night."

"James and Asia still with him?"

"Yeah, he says she's really getting on his
nerves, crying every two seconds. I told him she was probably
teething and to put some Southern Comfort in her bottle. Remember
when we used to do that for Boogie?"

Munch squirmed with a hot flash of guilt. "I
remember. Did you tell him I was here?"

"He didn't give me a
chance. We'll surprise him, huh?"

* * *

Moody hung up the phone and told Blackstone, "That
was your snitch. She's at the Snakepit." He showed him the
digital readout of the phone number on a box attached to the phone. "
couldn't talk to her without tipping our hand. That pay phone has a
tap on it, but I didn't give them enough time."

"Let's get over there," Blackstone said.

Ten minutes later they pulled up across the street in
Blackstone's rental sedan. The bar was built low to the ground, the
exterior wall covered in layers of dark brown woodshake. The entrance
was a saloon-style double door. There were no windows.

"This place got a back door?" Blackstone
asked.

His breath fogged the windshield. He cracked the
window and blew on his hands. He thought about the sheepskin-lined
coat he'd admired earlier and wished he had bought it when he had the
chance.

'You want some coffee?" Moody asked, producing a
thermos.

"Yeah, thanks."

Just then, three women exited the bar, He recognized
the women instantly as the two who had met Munch at the airport. One
of the women was tall and blonde; she moved with her shoulders
rounded and her head bowed as if uncomfortable with her height. The
second woman had waist-long brown hair and wore an abundance of
jewelry: large rings on each finger and silver bracelets from wrist
to elbow Munch exited last, looking none too pleased.

"Thats her," he told Moody without turning
his head.

"The little one?"

A large logging truck barreled down the road,
spraying slush as it passed. Munch's eyes widened, and she froze in
midstep. Blackstone was reminded of a doe caught in crossfire. He
also knew he'd put her there and that if anything happened to her
he'd have a hard time forgiving himself.

Silver Girl pushed out to the street first, followed
next by Blondie, and then a reluctant Munch.

"You recognize the other two?" Blackstone
asked.

"Oh sure," Moody said, unscrewing the
thermos cap. "Biker chicks, they live out on Miller Road by the
nickel mine. The one with the brown hair and bracelets has been in
town for almost a year. Name's Deborah. She's got a little boy.
Tuxford's been dicking her and parking his rig at her house for the
last few months. Blondie's only been here a few weeks."

"Roxanne," Blackstone said. "The
Mancini woman mentioned her."

He watched the trio of women interact. Munch didn't
seem to belong with the other two. To begin with, she didn't stagger.
Her complexion showed signs of life, whereas the other two women were
pallid. Not a huge surprise, knowing as he did that she had come from
sunny California, whereas the other two subjects were more or less
local girls.

No, it was more than that. He watched her pull her
coat tighter and duck her head against a chill wind that had come up.
The other two women just laughed, their coats swinging open. They
were drunk on their ass, he realized.

Roxanne and Deborah jostled each other as they hit
the street, leaning their bodies forward and letting their feet catch
up to them. Their voices carried as they laughed and swore. Deborah
spit and viewed the street suspiciously as if daring unknown
adversaries to come forth. Roxanne followed Deborah's lead, though
her bravado was less convincing. Munch drew her mouth into a tight
line.

They all came to a stop when they reached a rusted
white pickup truck. Munch held out her hand to Deborah, who shook her
head adamantly sending her long hair flying. Munch stood her ground.
Blackstone realized that she was demanding the keys to the truck.

"Good for you," he said. As if hearing him,
she turned and looked directly at him. Her face remained impassive,
but he was sure she had seen him. At least she knew she wasn't alone.

"She sees us," he reported, his hand on the
door handle.

Moody held him back. "She's all right. Besides,
we've got company"

"Where?"

"Blue van coming up the road."

Blackstone snuck a look in the rearview mirror.
"Feds?"

"Ah, yep," Moody said. "Things should
heat up now.
 

24

BOOGIE WAS WAITING on the front porch, staring at his
new watch, when the three women got back to Deb's house.

"Look," he said excitedly "it glows in
the dark."

"Aren't you cold?" Munch asked, opening the
door and ushering him inside.

"No," he said.

Deb and Roxanne stumbled in five minutes later. Deb
howled. Roxanne imitated her. Munch rummaged through the pantry and
the refrigerator. "I'll make dinner," she said, finding
eggs, onions, and potatoes.

"Sounds good to me," Deb said. "You
sure you know how?"

"I'll managed

Boogie and Roxanne took seats at the kitchen table.
Deb wandered off to her bedroom.

"So what did you do today?" Munch asked
Boogie as she washed the potatoes.

"Practiced."

"What?"

"Pitching. I'm on the Little League team."

"Your mom says Tux is coming back tomorrow
night." She chopped onions. "Is that a good thing?"

"I guess," Boogie said.

"Does he play ball with you? That kind of
stuff?"

"He takes me on trips," Boogie volunteered,
"and when we see other people we pretend he's my daddy. He calls
me son."

"Oh," Munch said, "that's nice. Why
don't you go wash up for dinner?"

After Boogie left the room, Munch turned to Roxanne.
"What's the deal with this guy and Boogie?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think it's weird for a Gypsy Joker to
be hanging around with a little half-breed kid?"

"I guess he has his reasons."

"That's what I'm thinking," Munch said,
trying to conceal her unhappiness.

Deb came out of the bedroom carrying a rifle, some
rags, and a can of cleaning fluid. She set everything on the kitchen
table. While Munch watched, Deb deftly broke the weapon down to three
parts: the wooden stock, the steel barrel, and the trigger mechanism.

"Oooh," Roxanne said sarcastically "Tuxy's
coming home, better clean his rifle. She does everything but wipe his
butt."

Munch knew her friend prided herself on being a
"good" ol' lady. Deb would tell you that it meant
respecting your man and standing by him. Maybe she believed that.
Munch always thought the biker version of being a good woman
translated more to like, "Shut up and eat shit." It wasn't
quite as romantic when you looked at it that way

"This is my gun," Deb said defensively "I
thought I'd take Munch out shooting tomorrow."

Munch broke eggs into a frying pan and scrambled them
as they cooked. "That sounds fun."

Deb picked up the trigger assembly "Only
something's wrong with it. The trigger won't pull back."

"You want me to look at it?" Munch asked.
"Roxanne, watch the eggs, will you?"

Roxanne stood unsteadily lurched to the stove, and
took up a one-eye-at-a-time vigil over the frying pan.

Munch picked up the trigger mechanism and studied it
for a moment. "Here's your problem," she finally said. "The
spring has slipped off the stop here."

"Can you fix it?"

"Sure. I just need to pop the spring back in
place."

"I knew there was a reason I liked having you
around," Deb said as she unscrewed the cap on another bottle of
wine.

Munch handed her the working trigger and Deb slid it
back into place.

"Up here," Deb said, as she wiped down the
rifle's barrel-mounted scope, "we believe in being
self-sufficient. We can live off the land if we have to. And between
the meat we hunt and the food we grow, we're totally organic."
She paused to take another sip of wine. Boogie came back in the room
and leaned against his mother.

Munch looked out the window and asked, "Which
one is the Thunderbird tree?"

Boogie thought that was the silliest thing he ever
heard. "Thunderbird tree," he echoed. "Ha-ha."

Munch cast him an adoring
look. You had to love a kid who got your jokes.

* * *

The next morning Munch and Boogie were up first. The
bus for school, he explained, stopped right outside the door. She
made him pancakes and brewed a pot of coffee. Deb awoke around nine
and stumbled into the kitchen smoking a Kool.

"Smells good," she said, clearing her
throat.

"About time you got up," Munch said. "
thought we were getting back to nature today"

"Nature will wait," Deb said. She hugged
her son. "Good morning, baby"

Outside, the bus driver sounded his horn. Boogie
grabbed his book bag and ran out the door. Deb waved from the doorway
flashing some leg out of her open bathrobe. She laughed as she shut
the door. "Gave him a thrill. He don't give door-to-door service
to every kid, I'll tell you that."

Roxanne groaned from under a pile of blankets on the
couch.

"Come on," Deb said, kicking the cushions.
"We're all taking a hike. Munch wants to see some country"

'You go on without me," Roxanne mumbled. "I'll
just hang out here."
 
When breakfast was over, Deb
called Munch outside to help her load two heavy twelve-inch-square
wooden crates into the back of the truck.

"Be careful," Deb said. "This stuff is
fragile."

"What is it?"