Kiss & Tell Page 13

  Allistair spoke up, “We could pick up the unconscious guys and use them as shields. Force our way out the door. Push their bodies toward the guy outside. He’ll think he’s being attacked by his own team and be too surprised to shoot. I’ll throw a mobster at him, he’ll go down and you’ll confiscate his gun and shoot him in knee. It’ll disable him long enough for us to run away.”

  “Well, that sounds like a real solid plan, but it might be a little too elaborate. How about we get the guns off these two mobsters and shoot our way out?”

  “Like Butch and Sundance?” Allistair asked.

  “Yeah, like that,” Willy said.

  “You saw the end of that movie, right? It didn’t work out so good,” Allistair said.

  “Listen, while you two argue can you open the door for me?” Ernest asked.

  “Sure,” Willy said. She opened the door while she kept talking to Allistair. “The difference between us and Butch and Sundance is they were surrounded by a bunch of guys. We only have one guy out there.”

  Unnoticed, Ernest slunk out the door.

  “How do you know?” Allistair asked.

  Before Willy could respond there was a scream. Willy and Allistair’s eyes widened and they rushed out the door. Willy saw the third mobster dancing in a circle, screaming. Ernest was hanging by his claws from the mobster’s crotch.

  “Let’s go!” Willy yelled. She grabbed Allistair’s hand and they raced toward the nearby woods. They were halfway there when a helicopter dropped out of the sky, causing the wind to whip all around them.

  Willy and Allistair stopped in their tracks and watched the helicopter land in front of them. U.S. Marshall Joe Hill leaned out the open door and waved at them. “Need a ride?” he called out.

  Ernest streaked by them and jumped into the helicopter.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, Willy and Allistair were seated in the helicopter across from marshals Hill and Maxey. Maxey shouted over the helicopter’s engine, “Good job holding them off until we could get here. Mother Superior called us and we high-tailed it here.”

  Ernest jumped onto Maxey’s lap and began to knead her breasts and purr. Cats have all the luck, Willy thought.

  Allistair leaned in to Willy and yelled, “Why are you smiling? We almost got killed!”

  “You kissed me,” Willy shouted back.

  “I was on drugs. I didn’t know what I was doing and can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Allistair said, crossing her arms and looking away.

  “Sure, uh huh,” Willy said. And her grin got even wider.

  Dear Allie

  The following is an excerpt from the nationally syndicated column Ask Allie:

  Dear Allie,

  My girlfriend is a hoarder. She hoards cats. She takes in every stray that happens along. Not only is it expensive—litter, food and vet bills—but my entire wardrobe is covered in cat hair. To make matters even worse, she lets the cats into bed with us. It has completely ruined our sex life. What do I do?

  Sincerely,

  Allergic to cats

  Dear Allergic,

  It sounds to me like you have a boundary issue. You need to have a heart-to-heart talk with your girlfriend and tell her how you feel. Offer a compromise: she can still have the cats, but they’re not allowed in bed. Or perhaps one room of the house could be a cat-free zone and this could be your sanctuary. A lot of times people will meet you halfway if only they knew how badly it bothered you. Make your wishes known, but in a loving and caring way.

  Did you know that dryer sheets effectively remove animal hair from clothing and furniture? Lightly rub the affected area with a dryer sheet and Voila! No more troublesome pet hair! (And it will make your clothes smell fresh, too.)

  Sincerely,

  Allie

  On The Road Again

  Willy, Allistair, and Ernest had been helicoptered to a car and unceremoniously shoved into the back seat. Once in the car, Hill got behind the steering wheel and Maxey rode shotgun. Maxey fell asleep with her head thumping against the passenger window and snored to beat all hell. Hill explained that they were being transferred to a different location.

  Allistair spent the first hour of the silent ride thinking about Willy. She was a walking, talking contradiction. She talked harsh, but when that mobster had pulled out his gun she had selflessly stepped in front of Allistair. That was the second time Willy had stood between her and a potential bullet. And then here she was stroking that cat she called Ernest. How could a person who talked so rough be so gentle and loving with a cat?

  Ernest jumped from Willy’s lap into the space between the back seat and the rear window.

  “I thought you didn’t like cats?” Allistair asked.

  “Ernest is no ordinary cat,” Willy said, brushing white fur off her nun habit. “He’s a polydactyl telepathic feline.”

  Allistair turned and at looked at Ernest. “He’s also licking his own butt-hole.”

  Ernest looked up her. “Can I have a bit of privacy, please?”

  Willy said, “He would like some privacy now.”

  Allistair turned back around. “I thought you said you were allergic to cats?”

  “I was. I am. But Ernest is at risk now. He’s seen the mobsters’ faces, too. Wherever I go, he goes. It’s a small price to pay for somebody who literally saved our lives, don’t you think?”

  “I guess it’s better than a spoon friend. At least you’ve graduated to a living thing.”

  Hill snapped his cell phone off and turned in his seat. “Nice job, ladies. The two other mobsters were none other than Antonio Romano and Lou Benedetto. We’ve been trying to get something on those guys for years. And you two took them down with a pair of shoes.”

  Allistair looked at her bare feet and wiggled her toes. “Speaking of which, I sure would like to get some more shoes.”

  “You think we can make a pit stop?” Willy asked. “I’m hungry. And thirsty.”

  “Me, too,” Allistair said.

  “No time for stopping,” Hill said. “They’re waiting on us.”

  “Where you taking us?” Willy asked.

  “Can’t tell you that. It’s a need to know basis and you don’t need to know,” Hill said.

  “I think we have a right to know where we’re being taken,” Allistair said.

  “Oh, do you now?” Hill said. Allistair could see him smirk in the rear view mirror.

  “You’re a fucker, you know that,” Willy said.

  “Just doing my job,” Hill said.

  “I think you have a bad attitude,” Allistair said. She was getting as grumpy as Willy. When she got hungry, her blood sugar plummeted and so did her attitude. Or maybe it was the pot wearing off.

  “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” Hill said.

  “I don’t think you have any feelings,” Allistair said, staring gloomily out the window. “If you did, you’d let us stop and eat something. And we need some new clothes too. We can’t wander around as nuns if the bad guys know we’re nuns.”

  “Yeah, you might as well put a fucking bull’s eye on our backs,” Willy said.

  “Oh, you’ll be getting some new duds, all right,” Hill said in an ominous tone.

  Willy and Allistair exchanged a worried look.

  “Want me to take care of this asshole?” Ernest offered.

  “How?” Willy asked.

  “I believe I feel a hairball coming on,” Ernest said.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Willy asked.

  “Back of the head perhaps?” Ernest said.

  “Yeah, that ought to do it,” Willy said.

  Ernest hacked. He hacked some more. And again. Then it happened. A giant, soppy hairball shot out of Ernest’s mouth like a cannonball. The hairball splattered onto the back of Hill’s square head.

  “What the…?” Hill said, reaching behind him. The wet, gooey hairball slid down his collar and into his shirt. “Fuck,” he yelled and pawed at his neck. The car
weaved and swerved. Maxey woke up when her head smacked against the window.

  “What’s going on?” she said, her eyes bleary from sleep.

  Hill screeched the car to a stop on the shoulder. He jumped out and shucked off his jacket. He stood in front of the car’s headlights, dancing an elaborate jig that was designed to dislodge the hairball. The hairball, sufficiently lubricated with cat saliva, had made its way down his neck and onto his back. Hill tore off his shirt and tie. The hairball was plastered to the middle of his back. He pawed at his back but couldn’t reach it. He danced about, doing a shimmy and a two-step, followed by a Shuffle off to Buffalo.

  Finally, the hairball loosened and splatted onto the pavement.

  Hill stared down at the hairball. He toed it with his shoe. “What the hell is that?”

  Willy and Allistair took this opportunity to get out of the car and stretch. Maxey also got out and approached Hill.

  “I believe it’s a hairball,” Maxey said.

  “That fucking cat! Where is the little bastard? I’m gonna strangle him,” Hill said, looking around.

  Ernest was in the middle of the highway, squatting on Hill’s white shirt. “You little bastard!” Hill pointed at Willy. “Your cat is pissing on my shirt!”

  “He’s not my cat,” Willy said. “He’s his own man.”

  Hill growled and marched toward the cat. Willy jumped in front of Hill. “Hurt that cat and I’ll have PETA on your ass so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

  Ernest gazed at Hill with quintessential cat insouciance and stalked away. He jumped back into the car.

  Hill looked to Maxey for help. She only shrugged.

  “You’re all on the cat’s side?” Hill asked.

  All three women looked the other way. Maxey yawned. Willy did some hamstring stretches. Allistair took deep breaths and cracked her knuckles.

  “All I know it that it’s nice to be out of the car,” Allistair said.

  “I need some coffee,” Maxey said. “Let’s hit the next convenience store. I bet you all would like a pastry or something?”

  “See how nice she is? You could learn a lot from her,” Willy said to Hill.

  “And what am I supposed to do about my shirt?” Hill said, pointing at the offensive item of clothing. “It’s soaked in cat piss.”

  “Leave it. I don’t want that stench in the car,” Maxey said, climbing behind the wheel. “My turn to drive.” Willy and Allistair got back into the car.

  Hill grunted, picked up his coat and tie and put them on. Standing in the path of the car’s bright headlights, with his fat, hairy tummy poking out of his jacket, he was the spitting image of Magilla Gorilla.

  “Sometimes I wish I were a lesbian,” Maxey said, staring at the pathetic form of Hill. “And this is one of those times.”

  Ghost Town, U.S.A

  .

  “Say hello to Sheriff Jeb,” Hill said.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Willy said.

  The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon as all four climbed out of the car. Ernest was happily nestled in Allistair’s arms, purring.

  “Well, howdy there boys and girls and Mr.Cat,” Sheriff Jeb said in a thick Texas-like drawl.

  Willy, Allistair, Ernest, and the marshals stood smack dab in the middle of a real live Wild West town. The street was dirt and the buildings looked just like the ones in every Clint Eastwood western movie ever made. At the moment, they stood in front of the Sheriff’s office. Willy leaned against the hitching post and looked Sheriff Jeb up and down.

  Sheriff Jeb was a tall man with a bushy, hangy-downy mustache and a lower lip filled with chewing tobacco. He spit a blob of tobacco in the dust. That explained why the bottom of his mustache was brown, Willy thought.

  Sheriff Jeb walked a tight circle around Willy and Allistair, giving them the once-over. He was wearing boots, jangly spurs, leather chaps, a six-shooter on his hip, and a ten-gallon cowboy hat on his head. A tin star was pinned to shirt. Sheriff Jeb walked with a sideways lurch like he had something in his pants that caused him a great deal of pain.

  Ernest took an immediate disliking to Sheriff Jeb. He hissed at him as he lurched past.

  “Jeb, we’ve gotta couple of live ones for you,” Maxey said.

  “Nuns that got themselves in trouble, eh?” Sheriff Jeb said as he hiked up his leather chaps and adjusted his gun belt.

  “They’re not really nuns. We had some trouble at the nunnery,” Maxey said.

  Sheriff Jeb splatted another glob of tobacco juice into the street and said, “Well, come on inside. It gets a bit nippy up here in the high country right before the sun comes up. Tourist season is almost on us, so we got to break these heifers in fast.”

  “Heifers?” Allistair whispered to Willy. “Did he just call us heifers?”

  Sheriff Jeb took a step toward Allistair, saying, “Didn’t mean no harm, little lady. That’s just my way. I’m an old country boy and I’ve met some pretty nice heifers in my day.” And with that, he turned and led the way to the wooden door that had “Sherrif’s Office” painted over it.

  Willy debated telling him that the word sheriff was misspelled, but decided against it. After all, she was only a heifer.

  She tripped on a loose board on the boardwalk going into the office. “Fuck!” she blurted.

  Sheriff Jeb caught Willy by the arm, saving her from an embarrassing face plant. “Whoa there, little lady. You okay?”

  Willy jerked her arm out of Sheriff Jeb’s grasp. “I’m not little. And I’m certainly not a fucking lady.”

  Sheriff Jeb lurched his way over to his desk and eased his butt into a chair. He made a big show of adjusting his crotch as he sat down.

  The rest of the crew arranged themselves in a loose semi-circle around the desk. From what Willy could see, the inside of the building looked like a genuine 1840’s old west building with accompanying jail.

  Sheriff Jeb cleared his throat and spit a long stream of brown juice into a nearby spittoon. “First rule, ladies. We cain’t have none of that cussin’ ‘round here. Not with women and children visitin’ us. This here is a G-rated family fun park,” Sheriff Jeb said, adjusting his crotch again.

  Willy stared at his lap. Something didn’t look right. There was a huge, unsightly bulge in his pants. It looked like he had a hamster trapped in there. And his chaps kept getting in the hamster’s way. That’s why he walked so funny. His stuff kept getting trapped under the leather chaps.

  “You hear me?” Sheriff Jeb asked. “I have your full cooperation on the not cussing rule?”

  “Sure, sure, I’ll work on it,” Willy said. “What is this fucking place anyway? Some sort of cheap tourist trap?”

  Sheriff Jeb stood so abruptly, his chair tipped over backward. Before it had even hit the floor, his six-shooter was pointed straight at Willy. “Don’t you never call Ghost Town, U.S.A a tourist trap! We are an honest-to-God western town. And, like it or not, you’re going to be authenticated until you are a living, breathing western gal right down to your bones, you hear me?

  “What are you going to do, brainwash us out of the twenty-first century?” Willy said.

  “Willy!” Allistair said, tugging at her sleeve. “He’s got a gun.”

  “Now, Jeb, we need her. After she testifies you can do whatever you want to her,” Maxey said.

  “What is it with you people? What do you do, research nut farms to hide your witnesses?” Willy said. “First a pot-farm convent full of crazy-ass nuns and telepathic cats and now some fucked-up western funny farm?”

  “Nobody but nobody insults my town and gets away with it,” Sheriff Jeb said. He pulled the trigger.

  Bang!

  The ear-splitting noise filled the room. Ernest squalled, jumped out of Allistair’s arms, and streaked from the office.

  Willy stumbled backwards into Allistair’s arms. She looked down at her chest where a blossoming rose of blood spread across her habit.

  “You shot her!” Al
listair yelled. She held Willy next to her, saying, “Oh my God Willy, hang in there, don’t die!” She looked to Hill and Maxey for help. “Well, aren’t you two going to do anything? He just shot Willy!”

  Maxey stepped forward and shook her head. “Damn it, Jeb, I really wish you wouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I was going to return those habits to the convent. Now I’ll have to have it dry cleaned first.”

  “Who gives a flying fuck about my outfit? I’m dying here,” Willy said while waiting to die. The funny thing was getting shot didn’t really hurt. Wasn’t there supposed to be a lot of pain and grimacing involved in a shooting?

  “Don’t get your nun panties all in a wad,” Hill said. “You just got hit with a plastic bullet full of Karo syrup and red food coloring. It explodes on impact and looks like a real gunshot. Jeb invented the fake bullets and has a patent pending. The pitfalls are that the stain is hard to get out and small children and dogs will follow you around.”

  “So, she’s not dying?” Allistair asked. She almost sounded disappointed.

  “No, but gosh darn it, you gotta learn some respect,” Sheriff Jeb said. “I oughta make you muck out stalls as punishment. We’ll see how much you like that.”

  “Oh, big fuckin’ deal. The nuns had me cleaning up cat shit. I’m a seasoned shit slinger,” Willy said.

  Sheriff Jeb raised his gun and aimed.

  Bang!

  This time the bullet hit her in the middle of the forehead. Fake blood dripped down her face.

  It didn’t taste half bad.

  Bleak House

  The rising sun was slowly lighting up the eastern sky as Sheriff Jeb led Willy and Allistair down the street. “Let’s get you gals over to your new bunkhouse,” Sheriff Jeb said. He put his arm around Willy’s shoulders. “We’ll get you some new duds later. No hard feelin’s?”

  Willy shrugged. “Can I have a buckskin outfit? I’ve always imagined myself a Calamity Jane type.”

  Sheriff Jeb gave Willy a friendly pat on the back that sent her stumbling forward. She barely caught herself before she landed face-first in the dusty street. “I dunno about that, Miss Willy. We’re in need of another saloon girl. Be a shame to waste your good looks and other fine attributes in a buckskin outfit.” His eyes rested on her boobs. Willy covered her fine attributes with her hands.