A Peachy Criminals, page 12
Michelle grabbed Momma Peach and helped her down into the damp cellar. She climbed down the wooden ladder and watched Agent Davison slam the trap door shut. Above their heads they heard him lock it, toss the pink rug over the top and the scraping sound as the table was pulled back into place. “Marshall warned me to guard Old Joe with my life and now look,” Michelle moaned miserably and kicked a damp, dirt wall. “Old Joe is going to be killed and there's nothing I can do about it.”
Momma Peach placed her hands against the dirt wall and bowed her head. “That dirty snake was going to make a run for it,” she said in a disgusted voice. “But why? What was he expecting to accomplish, knowing full well that three killers were still loose and looking for him?”
Michelle didn't answer Momma Peach. She closed her eyes and kicked the dirt wall again and then grew very silent. It wasn’t just the battle that was over. She had lost the war. Those were the facts.
Outside, Agent Davison hurried up the rainy alley, jumped into the back seat of the black sedan, shoved his gun into Old Joe's side and ordered Agent Brown to drive. “Time to die, Old Joe,” Agent Davison hissed. Old Joe closed his eyes. He was a dead man for sure, yes sir and yes ma’am.
Chapter Eight
Able Glates was never the type of man to approach a woman. He was bashful, uncertain of himself, and yes, awkward. He was also very intelligent, a prolific reader and a brainy guy, as evidenced by his graduate degree in computer science. Of course, his outer appearance often forecasted his character to the entire world, but so what? Able was content with the man he had become, regardless of what people thought of him. Many people assumed he was a nerdy loser who never dated in high school and probably lived in his mother's basement. But what did it matter what people thought about him? What did it matter that his boss back in Philadelphia was more than happy to make sure he was the first person let go from the computer department after the department was hit with major cut backs? He knew he was the smartest one there. What did it matter that Stan Banks's job was salvaged; even though Stan Banks didn't have enough sense to pee without hitting the toilet seat.
What mattered was that Michelle Chan, the beautiful detective, had asked Able to have dinner with her; that's what mattered.
“And a thank you to Ms. Johnson is in order,” Able said to himself, walking up the sidewalk toward Momma Peach's bakery holding a bright green umbrella over his head. His mother wanted him to thank her old friend Ms. Johnson for being so kind after the accident.
Able didn't see that his right shoelace was untied as he strolled up to Momma Peach's bakery. He tripped over the shoelace and toppled down onto the wet sidewalk, ripping the right elbow of his rain jacket. “Drat,” Able moaned. Mrs. Hensley peered out the front window of her bookstore and saw a man sitting on his backside in a puddle with a bright green umbrella lying next to him. The man was examining his elbow. Mrs. Hensley shrugged her shoulders and sighed. She hoped Mrs. Glates’s boy would be smart enough to remember to tie his shoelaces next time.
Able climbed to his feet and picked up his umbrella. “Hope nobody saw me,” he said and glanced up and down the main street and the cozy store fronts. “Oh well,” he said and walked into Momma Peach's bakery, setting his umbrella down next to the front door as he looked around. Delicious, inviting pies, breads, cakes and other goodies were arrayed before his eyes, displayed on wooden shelves. The worn but polished hardwood floorboards creaked when he walked across them. Able felt as if he had stepped back in time. “Nice,” he said and walked up to the front counter. “Hello? Ms. Johnson?” he called out.
Michelle was perched at the top of the ladder, pushing up on the trap door and hoping to break the lock. When she heard Able's voice, she froze. “Momma Peach, someone is in the bakery.”
Momma Peach hurried over to the ladder and looked up at Michelle. “Start yelling, baby. HELP!” Momma Peach hollered at the top of her lungs. “HELP!”
“HELP!” Michelle cried out. “Can anybody hear me? We're in the kitchen!”
Able heard the muffled cries for help float into the bakery. The cries appeared to come from the direction of a door that led back into a kitchen. “Ms. Johnson?” he called out again, uncertain.
“It's Able,” Michelle said in shock. “Momma Peach, Able Glates is in the bakery. Oh, if he finds me locked in this cellar...oh, how embarrassing. He'll think I'm a complete idiot.”
“No time to worry about our reputation or feelings, honey,” Momma Peach told Michelle and yelled: “Able, we're in the kitchen, baby. Come into the kitchen.”
Michelle closed her eyes and moaned. “Sure, okay,” she said and began hitting the bottom of the trap door with her fist.
Able heard Momma Peach's voice and then heard what sounded like someone hitting wood. “Ms. Johnson?” he called out again and slowly eased past the front counter and moved into the kitchen. The kitchen smelled of peach pie and mouth-watering spices. “Ms. Johnson, this is Able Glates, we met earlier when...uh, when we had our accident. Ms. Johnson?”
“Down here, honey, underneath the baking table,” Momma Peach cried out. “There's a trap door under the baking table. You have to move the pink rug.”
Michelle moaned again. Surely Able was going to think she was the worst cop in the land. “In here, Able,” she called out and continued to hit the bottom of the trap door.
Able looked at the baking table and then dropped his eyes down to the pink rug. “Uh...okay,” he said. “What do you need me to do?” he asked in a loud voice.
“What kind of lame-brain question is that,” Momma Peach mumbled to herself. “Get a grip, Caroline. The boy is a blessing in disguise.” Momma Peach took a deep breath. “Honey, move the table, pull back the rug and unlock the trap door.”
“Oh...okay. I can do that,” Able said. He walked over to the baking table and began pushing on it. The table was heavier than he expected. Able pushed against the table and then placed his back against it and tried to use his legs for power. “I'm...working...on moving...the table,” he huffed.
Momma Peach folded her arms together. “We're gonna be down here a long time, baby,” she sighed.
Michelle felt like she wanted to dig a hole and jump into it. “How humiliating,” she told Momma Peach. “Able is going to think I'm a failure.”
“No, he's not, baby,” Momma Peach promised. “So what if we got caught off-guard. We both saw that black sedan parked behind the police station when we drove away. But when we arrived back to my bakery the coast was clear.”
Michelle shook her head. “I bet Agent Davison circled back on us while you were in the grocery store, hid in the alley, and had his two goons drive around to make us think he was in the car.”
Momma Peach stared up at Michelle, who was still perched at the top of the ladder. “Who knows, honey? But I’m not going to allow you to beat yourself up. Now put on a brave face because your knight in shining armor is here to rescue his damsel in distress.”
“I'm...working...on...moving the table,” Able yelled. The table wasn't moving. “I'm...making...progress.” Able pushed as hard as he could. His face turned red as a summer tomato. His insides nearly exploded. But finally, the table moved...an inch.
Michelle looked up at the trap door. “Able, please hurry,” she begged.
“I'm...working...on it,” Able called out and gave the table another hard push. Inch by miserable inch he managed to push the table off the rug that hid the trap door. When the table was clear, he dropped to his knees, pulled away the pink rug, and frantically began working to unlock the trap door. The lock was rusted and tough, but he finally pulled the lock free and opened the trap door. Michelle's face appeared in the open hatch of the cellar, bathed in the kitchen light, like a moonflower in the darkness. “Wow, you're beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself.
Michelle blushed. She slowly climbed out of the cellar, embarrassed and not sure what to do with the creeping feeling of humiliation that threatened to overtake her. “Thank you.”
Momma Peach's head appeared. “Well done, honey. Now give me a hand.”
Able took Momma Peach's right hand and, with much effort, helped her out of the cellar. By the time Momma Peach was standing firm in her kitchen he felt his hurt leg begin to throb with pain. He sat down heavily on a stool and rubbed it. “I forgot all about my leg,” he confessed.
“I sure am grateful for you,” Momma Peach told Able and kissed his cheek.
“What were you two doing down in that hole?” Able asked as he continued to rub his hurt leg.
“Long story,” Michelle answered Able. “What are you doing here?”
“My mother wanted me to come over and thank Ms. Johnson for being so kind to me after my accident. She also wanted a loaf of peach bread.”
“Remind me to give your momma a big, fat kiss,” Momma Peach told Able. “You saved us.” She looked around her kitchen. “What a mess, baby.”
“We were locked in that cellar for over forty-five minutes. Agent Davison is long gone by now. And what are the chances of the state patrol tracking down a black sedan?”
“A black sedan?” Able asked.
Michelle looked into Able's sweet but confused face. “Yes, why?”
“I passed a black sedan on my walk here,” Able told Michelle. “Steam was coming from under the hood. I asked the man standing beside the car if he needed help...he wasn't very nice and told me to take a hike.”
“Where?” Michelle exclaimed.
“A few blocks away on...what was that street? ...Maple River Drive.”
Michelle grabbed Able and planted a sweet kiss on him. “My hero,” she smiled and ran to the back door. “Momma Peach, call the police station and tell them I need backup. We’ll need every officer available to get to Maple River Drive, fast.”
Momma Peach snatched her purse off the baking table. “You're not going nowhere without me, honey. Able, you call the police station and tell them to send the Army to Maple River Drive.”
Able didn't hear Momma Peach. All he heard was the birds sweetly singing in his mind. He stood staring at Michelle in complete shock and bliss. “Wow, what a kiss.”
Momma Peach snatched open the back door. “Able, honey, snap out of it.” Momma Peach snapped her fingers. Able didn't respond. “Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach exclaimed. She ran over to Able and smacked him in the leg with her pocketbook. “Snap out of it, baby!”
Able heard Momma Peach hit him with her pocketbook, but he sure didn't feel it. “Sure, call the Army...Maple River Drive...I got it, Ms. Johnson,” he said in a dreamy voice.
“Good,” Momma Peach said and ran back to Michelle. “Now honey, I have short legs so don't get ahead of me.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me?” Michelle asked Momma Peach. Momma Peach looked deep into Michelle's eyes and with that one look let her friend know how foolish her question was. “Thanks, Momma Peach. Let's go.”
Able watched Momma Peach and Michelle disappear into the back alley. He raised his right hand and touched his lips. “What a kiss,” he repeated, and then his mind woke up. “Wait, I just let the woman of my dreams run out into the rain. I better...I got to...I must...” Able stammered, turning from side to side, wondering what to do. “Call the cops first.” Able limped into the bakery, found the phone, and called the cops. After he called the cops, he limped back into the kitchen and out to the rainy alley. “Hold on, Michelle, I'm coming,” he promised, as he walked slowly but surely in the direction of the action.
Michelle didn't hear Able. She was jogging through the rain at a steady pace. Momma Peach was right behind her, desperately trying to keep up. She spotted a bike parked in a bike rack in front of a humble but prosperous hardware store. “Don't arrest me for stealing, baby,” Momma Peach yelled at Michelle. She stopped in front of the bike to examine it doubtfully. The bike was an old, rusted, yellow ten-speed that looked like it was about to fall apart. Momma Peach nodded her head. “It figures,” she said, and planted her backside down onto the banana seat that was covered with gray duct tape. “Don't crash on me,” Momma Peach begged the bike, expecting the tires to explode. Surprisingly, the tires held up. Momma Peach slung her pocketbook up onto her shoulder, steadied her nerves, and started to peddle. The bike took off on wobbly wheels and nearly spilled over. Momma Peach pumped her short legs as fast and hard as she could and managed to keep the bike upright. “Hold on, baby,” Momma Peach yelled at Michelle, gaining speed. “I’m on my way!”
Mrs. Hensley spotted Momma Peach climbing onto the bike from her bookstore, shrugged her shoulders, and went back to dusting a shelf. If Momma Peach wanted to go for a bike ride in the rain, what was that to her? Momma Peach was always doing strange things, bless her heart. But there wasn't a better woman in town, and that was a fact.
“Hold on, baby,” Momma Peach cried out, breathing hard and pumping her legs. “I’m coming.” The yellow bike wobbled up the sidewalk with its precious cargo on board. “Momma...Peach...is coming...Momma Peach...better...lay off...the pizza...too...give me...strength…”
Michelle ducked behind a tall pine tree. When she saw Momma Peach wobbling up on a run-down bike, she waved her hand at her. “Get off,” she whispered fiercely, motioning her friend to be quiet.
Momma Peach stopped peddling, took a second to catch her breath, looked up into a rainy night sky, and nodded her head. “I made it,” she whispered triumphantly as she climbed off the bike and leaned it against a pine tree.
“Up there,” Michelle said. She grabbed Momma Peach and pulled her behind the pine tree. “There's Agent Brown.”
Momma Peach looked down a street filled with humble one-story homes. The houses were neat, well-built, and warmly-lit, filled with good families and decent hearts, even if none of them worked fancy jobs and barely hung onto the lower rungs of the middle class. The black sedan was parked in front of a house with green shingles that was quite lovely. Agent Brown was standing at the hood of the sedan, looking around. “What's your plan, baby?”
“Depends,” Michelle said. “If Agent Brown is alone, I'll try and fight him. But if Agent Green is with him, I think I'll wait until backup arrives.”
“Do you think Old Joe is in the car?”
“Most likely, since Agent Brown is standing guard.”
Momma Peach studied the wet street and sweet homes. The last thing she wanted was for Agent Brown or Agent Green to pull out their deadly guns and start shooting. The lives of innocent people were at stake and Momma Peach knew extreme caution had to be taken. “Honey, if the police come blaring in here with their sirens yelling, those killers will start shooting away. I think it was a bad mistake to have your knight in shining armor call the police. Yes, sir and yes ma’am, it sure was.”
Michelle focused on the homes. “You're right, Momma Peach. Men like Agent Brown and Agent Green will go down shooting.” Michelle bit down on her lower lip. “Okay, I'm going to have to try and take them out before backup arrives.” Michelle looked at Momma Peach. An idea popped into her head. “Hey Momma Peach,” she grinned. “Can you dance?”
“I can do the twist just as well as the next person, baby. Why do you—” Momma Peach stopped talking. Her eyes grew wide. “No, baby...no, please, don't make Momma Peach—”
“You go dance in the street and draw Agent Brown to you. I'll wait here behind this tree. When he gets close enough I'll handle him. Pretty simple, right?”
“No, baby, it's not,” Momma Peach stated in a pained, panicked voice. “But, I trust you, and…well, if you think I should do a dance, then, I will do a dance.”
Michelle nodded her head. “Get his attention and then stand close to the tree,” she said.
Momma Peach made a constipated face and then slowly walked out onto the street. She drew in a deep breath and yelled: “Hey, ugly!”
Agent Brown's head snapped up into the air. His eyes raced down the street. And there, standing at the end of the street, he saw Momma Peach…doing the chicken dance. “How did she get out?” he growled. Agent Green stormed out of the passenger seat, spotted Momma Peach, and yanked out his gun. “Put your gun away,” Agent Brown snapped. “Anybody could be watching us right now. Let me handle this. Stay with the car.”
Agent Brown began walking down the street. His eyes darted from tree to tree searching for Michelle. The woman had to be around somewhere. He knew a decoy when he saw one. “That's right, ugly, come to Momma Peach!” She yelled and shook her butt at Agent Brown.
Agent Brown narrowed his eyes. “You're a dead woman,” he promised Momma Peach, but didn't run at her. Instead, he stopped some distance away, surveying the scene. He didn’t know it, but he was close to the tree Michelle hid behind. “Where is Ms. Chopsticks?” he asked.
“Now, why did you have to go and insult my friend?” Momma Peach asked Agent Brown. She grabbed her pocketbook and slung it through the air as hard as she could. Agent Brown ducked out of the way of the projectile. When he looked up, he was met with a hard fist to the face. “Get him, baby,” Momma Peach yelled and ran to her purse and snatched it up. “I'll keep Mr. Green or Brown...or whoever he is…occupied!”
Michelle dropped down into a fighting position. “You can shoot me if you want, or fight me.”
Agent Brown felt his nose. Blood was oozing down across his upper lip and onto his chin. “No. I'm going to kill you with my bare hands,” he snarled and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a gun that he then threw onto the wet lawn some yards away. “We're fair now,” he told Michelle.
“Stop talking and fight.”
Agent Brown hissed and approached her. He feinted in one direction and then tried to throw a front kick followed by a vicious punch at Michelle. Michelle spun to kicked Agent Brown's leg out of the way before it connected and easily ducked his punch. Using her momentum, she followed through with a back kick that caught him off guard, and Agent Brown toppled down onto the street. Agent Brown yelled in fury, jumped to his feet and spun around. “I'm going to enjoy killing you!” he yelled and positioned himself into a taut fighting position. “Come and get some, cop!”
