A Peachy Criminals, page 2
Michelle jumped down off the front counter and walked over to Momma Peach. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
Momma Peach kept her eyes on the buildings across the street. “Old Joe has slithered into our town because he's in trouble, baby, and he thinks he can ask for my help. Now, I ain't planning on helping no snake. But I also know that there might be bigger snakes chasing the little one, so it might be smart for you to keep a careful eye out.”
Michelle nodded her head. “Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep him out of our town, too,” she told Momma Peach.
“A fox never leaves until the last chicken is eaten,” Momma Peach sighed. “Now,” she said and forced a cheery smile to her face, “I have a lot of baking to do. And you,” she smiled at Michelle, “run along and eat breakfast.”
“How did you know I haven't eaten breakfast yet?” Michelle asked and then shook her head. “Why do I even ask...of course you know,” she said.
Momma Peach walked over to a wooden shelf, retrieved a loaf of delicious peach bread, handed it to Michelle and pointed at the front door. “Go down to the diner and eat a healthy breakfast, baby. I will be in my kitchen, as always.”
“I'll bring you lunch,” Michelle promised and left the bakery.
Down the street, concealed around a corner, Old Joe watched with cautious eyes as Michelle walked up the sidewalk. Then he set his mind to work.
Old Joe eased around to the back door of the bakery like a snake searching for a shadowy hole to hide in before the noonday sun could burn it to a crisp. A heavy drizzle was now falling. The drizzle was sinking into his cheap brown suit and soaking him down to the bone. “This ain't no good for a man my age,” Old Joe grumbled, walking around a metal trash can. He stopped at the back door that led into Momma Peach's kitchen. “I ain't got time to play games. But I don’t want Momma Peach sending me to my grave, either.” Old Joe stared at the back door uncertainly. What choice did he have? “Here goes nothing,” he said and tapped the back door with his wooden cane.
Momma Peach heard the cane hit the back door. She raised her head from a table filled with flour and spices, stared at the back door, and then went back to creating the dough for her scrumptious peach bread. Seconds later, the cane struck the back door again. “I'll kill you deader than a door nail!” Momma Peach yelled without even glancing up from her work. “Now, get!”
“Old Joe just wants to talk, Momma Peach, that's all. We were friends once, remember? I was the man who gave you your first kiss, too. Remember?” Old Joe called through the door, standing in the heavy drizzle on the small back porch. “Now, don't be this way, Momma Peach. We go way back, you and me.”
Momma Peach stopped working on the dough bread, wiped her hands on the white apron wrapped around her waist, walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a large cutting knife. “I'll show you way back,” she said and hurried over to the back door and yanked it open with her left hand. “Get!” she yelled and thrust the knife in Old Joe's face. “I'll slice you into little bitty pieces and feed you to the possums!”
The sight of the knife sent fear through Old Joe. For the second time that day, he stumbled backward and toppled down onto his back side. He sat in a filthy mud puddle. “Are you crazy, woman?” he yelled.
Momma Peach aimed the knife in her hand at Old Joe and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, you filthy skunk? What do you want from me? Is it money? Speak now, before I make you into pudding.”
Old Joe lifted a shaky hand into the rain-filled air and began pleading with Momma Peach. “Put down the knife, Momma Peach...ain't no reason to act that way toward an old friend...”
“I don't call skunks like you old friends,” Momma Peach retorted. “Now tell me why you're polluting my town, before I call the cops to run you outta here.”
Old Joe stared up at Momma Peach's furious face. He looked into her raging eyes and understood the sobering truth: there was no way in the world he was going to be able to con Momma Peach. His shoulders sagged and a haggard look passed over his face. “Momma Peach, I'm in trouble.”
“Your trouble ain't my trouble.”
Old Joe slowly began to climb to his feet. He looked around him, the glitter of the con gone from his face. “We made a promise once,” he said. “Way back before you ever met your husband, remember?”
“Mention my husband again and I’ll kill you,” Momma Peach promised Old Joe in a tone that sent chills through his heart.
Old Joe held out a shaky hand again and eased back a few steps. “Way back in the olden times when we were young and going to school we made a promise to always stand by each other, remember?”
“I was just a baby in those years and you know it,” Momma Peach informed Old Joe and began to step back into the kitchen and close the door, convinced he was still trying to pull a con.
“Wait,” Old Joe begged, “Momma Peach, we made a promise and sealed it with a kiss...your very first kiss.”
Momma Peach hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. Pain struck her heart. “I remember,” she sighed heavily. “I regret letting your lips ever touch mine, too.”
Old Joe carefully reached down and picked up his wooden cane off the wet cobblestones of the alley. “I know I did you wrong, Momma Peach. I know...I did your husband wrong. I'm mighty sorry, too.”
“No, you're not,” Momma Peach told Old Joe in a voice that was slowly losing the will to fight. “Old Joe, you use, hurt, and con people and then throw them in the trash like they're nothing. You care about number one and nobody else. So don't stand there and try to play me with your lies.” Momma Peach looked up at the dark sky. “Maybe this rain will wash the filth out of your heart.”
Old Joe saw something in Momma Peach's face—an expression of absolute pity rather than rage and anger—that deflated his balloon. In Momma Peach's eyes he saw the image of an old man with bad knees who was nothing more than a simple bum and criminal; a bum and a criminal who had no family and no one to care about himself. “I got myself tangled up into some real trouble, Momma Peach. Some dangerous men are set on killing me.”
“Good riddance,” Momma Peach told Old Joe and then shook her head. “Oh, I can't let my heart be that evil, now can I?” she prayed. “We are to forgive as God forgives us.”
Old Joe stared at Momma Peach. Was the woman weakening? He wasn't sure. “I'm getting mighty soaked standing out here in this alley. Can I come inside?”
“No,” Momma Peach shook her head. “I can forgive you for hurting my husband, but I will not be unequally yoked, as the Good Book says. Now get,” Momma Peach said in a tired voice and closed the back door.
Old Joe looked up and down the alley. He had no money and was mighty hungry. So he did the only thing he could: he began hitting the back door with his cane. “Momma Peach, we go way back. Please, hear Old Joe out. Please,” Old Joe begged.
Momma Peach scratched her forehead with her left hand and closed her eyes. “Give me strength...give me strength to deal with this old fox,” she begged and turned back toward the back door. “I must be out of my living, loving mind,” she said and opened the back door. “You got five minutes to talk and you better wipe your feet before you step into my kitchen.”
Old Joe smiled. “I knew it, I knew it,” he said in an excited voice and hurried into the kitchen. He wiped his feet and closed the back door. “I knew you wouldn't let Old Joe down.”
Momma Peach shook the knife in her hand at Old Joe. “Watch yourself or I'll slice you up and bake you in my oven.”
Old Joe held up his left hand. “I'm cool,” he promised.
“You better be,” Momma Peach warned. She walked back to the baking table, set the knife down, and went back to work on the dough. “Who is trying to kill you and why?” she asked.
Old Joe surveyed the kitchen as the rain dripped off his suit onto the floor. The smells of flour and spices made his tummy rumble. Momma Peach sure had a nice set-up from the look of things. “You're doing mighty fine for yourself, woman,” he complimented Momma Peach. “Mighty fine indeed.”
Momma Peach raised a pair of strict eyes up at Old Joe. “My business ain't your business, you rat,” she said. “Now, tell me who is trying to kill you and why, or get out.”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Old Joe replied. He leaned on the wooden cane and glanced around the kitchen again. “Maybe I can have a taste of that peach bread before I talk, huh, Momma Peach?”
Momma Peach looked up. She saw hunger in Old Joe's eyes. “Oh, good grief,” she complained, “I wouldn't let an alley dog go hungry. Don’t move.” Momma Peach hurried into the bakery, grabbed a loaf of peach bread, and dashed back into the kitchen. She tossed the loaf to Old Joe. “Eat.”
Old Joe caught the bread. He tore open the plastic the bread was wrapped in and took a hungry bite without wasting a second. “Man alive,” he said, gobbling down the bread, “ain't never tasted bread this good in my life. Yes sir and yes ma’am.” Old Joe took a second bite. “You wouldn't happen to have any milk to go with this fine bread, would you, Momma Peach?”
“Don't push it,” Momma Peach warned Old Joe. But, her heart got the best of her. She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of cold milk. She went to the kitchen sink and poured some milk into a blue glass and handed it to Old Joe. “Drink it,” she said.
Old Joe smiled. “You always did have a heart of gold.”
“The Lord has a heart of gold. I just pity you,” Momma Peach told Old Joe and went back to work on the dough, kneading it with her practiced hands. “Talk, boy.”
Old Joe took a drink of the cold milk and nearly fainted with joy. “Man alive, I'm on cloud nine right now.”
“Talk!” Momma Peach demanded and tapped the knife sitting next to her with her left hand.
“Okay, okay,” Old Joe said and eased toward the back door as he regarded the knife. “It's like this,” he said and took another bite of bread, “I was hustling some college boys down at the pool hall I always hang at. Nothing major, just some young roosters who thought their fancy college made them smarter than me.” Old Joe chewed on the bread, swallowed with a look of bliss on his face, and then took another bite. “At least, I thought I was just dealing with some young roosters that needed to be chased out of the chicken coop.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Turns out one of them was the son of some politician up there in the capital,” Old Joe explained and fiddled with the bread in his hands. “I took that boy for over five grand and left him steaming. Anyway, the next day, that boy shows back up at the pool hall. But this time he's alone.” Old Joe paused.
“Keep talking or take a long walk,” Momma Peach told Old Joe.
“It's not that easy,” Old Joe confessed. “I'm still trying to make sense of things myself, Momma Peach.” Old Joe looked down at the bread in his hand. “I ain't as young as I used to be, and my mind is slowing down on me.”
“Fine,” Momma Peach caved in, “take your time. Just make sure you tell the truth.”
Old Joe nodded his head. “That young rooster showed up with ten thousand dollars in his hands. He said he would wager it on our pool games and prove to me he was a better player. Man, I still took every cent from him. And then…and then...”
“And then what?” Momma Peach pressed.
Old Joe looked up at Momma Peach with scared eyes. “And then the kid was murdered. I saw it...I saw the murder take place with my own eyes. And I was seen witnessing the murder, too. Now the same people who killed that young rooster are after this old rooster, Momma Peach.”
Momma Peach stared at Old Joe—she stared deep into his eyes, and to her shock, saw that the con man standing in her kitchen was telling the truth for once in his miserable life. “How do you expect me to help you?” she asked, confused.
“I don't know,” Old Joe confessed. “Momma Peach, in this big old world, you were the only person I could think of to turn to. You're...I reckon you're the only family I got.”
Momma Peach listened to thunder erupt outside and shake her kitchen. “Oh, give me strength,” she begged, “give me strength.”
Chapter Two
Michelle peeked into the kitchen and saw Old Joe sitting on a foot stool with his back toward the back door. Old Joe was hunched over on his hands snoring away. “That's the con man?” she whispered.
“That's him,” Momma Peach said in a disgusted tone. “He may not look like much, and maybe his body is wearing down, but his mind is still sharp as a piece of broken glass.” Momma Peach pulled Michelle back into the bakery. “Baby, Old Joe said he witnessed a young man get shot to death back in St. Louis.”
Michelle reached into the right pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a note pad and pen. “What's the name of this young man?” she asked.
Momma Peach started gnawing on her lower lip. “I don't know, baby. Old Joe didn't confess a whole lot to me and what he did confess came out in knots. For instance,” Momma Peach said and folded her arms together, “he seems to know that the murdered young man was the son of a politician, but he claims not to know the young man's name. I know better than that. I know Old Joe is playing hide-and-seek with me, too. He wants help, but he doesn’t want to give anything in return. Or maybe he wants me to fish information out of him because if I fall into that trap he'll be able to insist that I was practically an accomplice to his escape and whatever else he may have done along the way.”
Michelle tapped the note pad and pen against the front counter. She looked toward the front display window and watched a heavy rain fall. “I had enough rain back in Nevada,” she confessed. “The weatherman I watch is claiming it's going to rain for the next five days.”
“I know, honey,” Momma Peach said, watching it fall. She felt tired and frustrated. “I want you to run a check and see if you can find any reports about a young man who was shot to death.”
“I can try,” Michelle promised. She turned her attention to Momma Peach. “Whoever is after that man might come here, Momma Peach.”
“Don't I know it,” Momma Peach replied. “Oh, I could strangle that old fox with my bare hands.” Momma Peach closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Now I am grateful Mandy and Rosa are away on vacation.”
“Me, too,” Michelle agreed. She put the note pad and pen back into her jacket pocket. “I can run that man in, Momma Peach, and throw him in a jail cell.”
“Won't do any good, baby. Old Joe will just claim he was only jiving about witnessing a murder. He's slippery...real slippery.”
“What do you have in mind?” Michelle asked Momma Peach, hoping for an answer that would bring peace to her worried mind.
“I am going to put Old Joe up in one of those fancy hotels out there by the interstate,” Momma Peach explained. “I want him out of town and away from my bakery.”
“Those chain hotels aren't cheap.”
“I know, honey,” Momma Peach said. “But I did some quick thinking and decided that the skunks searching for Old Joe might not look for him at a fancy hotel. Old Joe is a street bum who spends his nights in pool halls and rents crummy, run-down rooms that rats wouldn't stay in. I want to...what do you call it...in the Army, when those soldiers put makeup on their faces?”
“Camouflage?”
“That's it,” Momma Peach said and patted Michelle on her shoulder. “I want to camouflage him. You know what I’m talking about.”
Michelle glanced back toward the kitchen. “I guess your plan makes sense, but still,” Michelle worried, “we're talking about a man who has killers chasing after him...killers that might eliminate anybody remotely connected to Mr. Ingles.”
Momma Peach rolled her eyes. “Oh please, honey, don't call that man Mr. Ingles. You make him sound human.” Momma Peach looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “This rain is keeping folks indoors. I don't expect much business today. So,” Momma Peach looked at Michelle with pleading eyes, “will you give me a ride out to one of them fancy hotels?”
“Of course,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “And from this point forward, I'm your shadow, too. As long as Mr…uh…Old Joe is in town, you and me, Momma Peach, are going to be glued together. If anything ever happened to you...” Michelle stopped talking and looked down at her soft hands. “You mean so much to me.”
“And you mean even more to me,” Momma Peach promised Michelle and gave her a loving hug. “Now, let me go wake up that fox.” Momma Peach walked into the kitchen and yelled at the top of her lungs: “Rise and shine!”
Old Joe nearly jumped out of his skin. His body jerked violently off the stool and crashed down onto the kitchen floor. Old Joe blinked open his eyes and began crawling in a confused direction. “Who...what? I ain't did nothing...”
“Wake up, you old fox,” Momma Peach yelled at Old Joe, “I'm taking you to get a room and a meal.”
Old Joe stopped crawling. He looked up at Momma Peach with blurry, sleepy eyes. “Oh...yeah...sure, I knew you were laying down an act on me,” he said in a bleary tone. “I knew Momma Peach wouldn’t forget her old friend. You can't pull one over on me.”
“Old Joe is a dingbat,” Momma Peach said and rolled her eyes. “Get up off my kitchen floor and come on.”
Old Joe struggled to his feet, grabbed his wooden cane, and followed Momma Peach out into the bakery. When he spotted Michelle, he froze. “Hey, what's the fuzz doing here?” he asked, alarmed. He pointed at Michelle. “I can spot a cop a mile away.”
Michelle folded her arms together. “Mr. Ingles, I prefer to be called Detective Chan if you don't mind.”
“Detective Chan is my family...real family,” Momma Peach told Old Joe. “She's going to be helping us.”
Old Joe began shaking his head. “No sir and no ma’am, I ain't putting up with no cop,” he said and slapped his wooden cane against the wooden floor. “I don't trust no cop, and—”
Momma Peach snatched her pocketbook up off the front counter and smacked Old Joe across the top of his head. Old Joe stumbled backward into the doorway. “You will speak to her with respect,” Momma Peach hissed at Old Joe.
