A Peachy Criminals, page 3
Old Joe rubbed his head and slowly stepped back into the bakery. He looked at Michelle with distrust but decided to do as Momma Peach demanded. “Well, I guess a girl cop ain't half as bad as those rabid boyscout cops that are always giving me a hard time.”
“Probably for a good reason,” Michelle told Old Joe. “I've seen your arrest record. You've been arrested for picking pockets, shoplifting, trying to pawn stolen goods, running scams, the works. So, don't play innocent with me, okay?”
“Man has to survive, don't he?” Old Joe asked Michelle in a defensive voice.
“Yeah,” Michelle replied, “with honesty and integrity.”
Michelle's words slapped Old Joe across the face. But he wasn't about to say so. Instead, he began to argue. “It's easy to judge a man when you don't know his past. A nice, soft-faced lady cop like you, what do you even know about hard times?”
Momma Peach looked into Michelle's face and took a step back. Michelle exploded. “My family was murdered in China, you pathetic bum,” she snapped in a tone that sent Old Joe hurrying behind Momma Peach for protection. “You're just a petty criminal who likes to con innocent people.” Momma Peach pulled Old Joe out from behind her and placed him squarely in front of Michelle. Michelle grabbed the scratchy lapel of his brown suit and shoved him back a step, so that he was almost against the front counter. She leaned her face into his. “Don't throw your lies at me, is that clear? And don’t you ever, ever presume you know a thing about what I’ve been through.”
Old Joe looked into a pair of eyes that were brilliant and fierce. “Yeah...sure...I get it,” he promised Michelle nervously. “Now cool down, okay?” he begged. “Ain't no sense in letting your feathers get ruffled.”
“Your kind makes me sick,” Michelle said and backed away from Old Joe. And to Old Joe's surprise, Michelle reached into the left pocket of her jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of red and blue playing cards.
“What you got them cards for?” Old Joe asked.
“Michelle?” Momma Peach asked.
Michelle began shuffling the cards in her hands. “I met a con man in Los Angeles once who taught me a thing or two about cards,” Michelle explained. She locked eyes with Old Joe. “Care to play Pennies?”
Old Joe cocked his head to one side. “What you know about Pennies?”
“Enough,” Michelle grinned. “I've got one hundred dollars in cash in my pocket. We can play Pennies.”
“I don't have a single dollar,” Old Joe lied with a nervous smile.
“I'll sponsor you,” Michelle said.
Momma Peach studied Michelle's eyes. She was up to something, but what? “Honey, Old Joe is mighty slippery.”
“Okay, then,” Michelle said and began putting away the playing cards.
“Now, wait a minute,” Old Joe protested, “Momma Peach, it ain't right for you to decide what a man can and can't do. If this cop...this woman...wants to play Pennies with Old Joe, then so be it. You just stand back and watch a pro at work.”
Michelle winked at Momma Peach. That's when Momma Peach understood that Michelle was about to put Old Joe in his place. She smiled. “Sure, go ahead and play your silly old game,” she told Old Joe and leaned against the front counter to watch.
Old Joe grinned. He was a pro at Pennies. “Rules of the game are,” he said and placed his wooden cane down onto the front counter, “high card wins after the second card is drawn. We work our way down until every card is face up. Each low card is worth a penny and each high card is worth a dollar.”
“This could take a while,” Momma Peach said.
“Not really,” Michelle explained. “Momma Peach, a penny represents a dollar and a dollar represents ten dollars.”
“Oh,” Momma Peach said and didn't even try to understand why the game was called Pennies if no pennies were involved.
“Split the deck,” Old Joe told Michelle.
Michelle walked up to the front counter. “You can shuffle the cards and count them out. I'll watch you.”
Old Joe nodded his head. He took the playing cards and performed a skilled shuffle that would impress any card shark alive. “Let's play,” he said and began counting out the cards. The game, Momma Peach realized, was based on sheer chance—whichever player was dealt the highest cards would win. But she also knew a con man didn't work with chance. No. A con man worked nine to five by cheating.
Michelle nodded her head. She watched Old Joe deal the cards with slick hands. “Let's play,” she said and picked up her cards and settled them in her hands. She watched Old Joe pick up his, look down at his cards, and frown. “Ready?” she asked.
“Huh?” Old Joe asked. He looked up at Michelle with confused eyes. “Oh, I...uh…” he said and focused on his hand. “I know I shuffled them the right way,” he whispered to himself.
Michelle grinned at Momma Peach and slid a hidden playing card out of her right sleeve without Old Joe seeing. Momma Peach nodded her head and suppressed a chuckle. “Let's play already,” Michelle demanded. She slapped down two cards. Old Joe—reluctantly—placed down two cards. “Third card up,” Michelle said and slapped down a queen of diamonds. Old Joe's face went pale. “Third card up,” Michelle snapped. “Get with it or get out of the game,” she taunted him good-naturedly, as if unaware of his distress.
Old Joe placed down a nine of diamonds, the highest card in his hand. “You owe me eleven dollars,” Michelle said in a pleased voice. Old Joe focused on his hand. His eyes danced with confusion. “Okay, let's play again.” Momma Peach watched Michelle slide a second hidden card out of her sleeve and ease it into her hand. Old Joe didn't notice. He was too busy wondering how he had messed up his shuffle. “Are you going to play or what?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure,” Old Joe said and tossed two cards, face down, down onto the counter. “Uh...third card up.” Old Joe produced a nine of hearts. Michelle slapped down a king of hearts. She smiled. Old Joe frowned. “I guess I owe you twenty-two dollars,” he said.
Michelle nodded her head. “Yep,” she said happily. “Want to keep playing?”
Old Joe didn't like being taken by a cop. His temper flared. “Hush up and play,” he fussed and threw down two cards. “Third card up.”
“Third card up,” Michelle grinned and put down an ace of diamonds.
Old Joe nearly went berserk. He threw his cards down and snatched Michelle's cards out of her hand. “You've got all low cards, too...you rigged the deck!” he steamed and tossed her cards down onto the counter.
“How does it feel to be played?” Michelle asked. “It doesn't feel good, does it?”
“Slam a pie into that man's face and mush it around real good,” Momma Peach laughed and slapped the front counter with her right hand. “Oh boy, were you ever taken for a ride!”
Michelle shook the sleeve of her jacket. High cards of different kinds fell out of her sleeve and floated down onto the counter. “You may have learned how to rig a shuffle, but I learned how to play a con man,” she told Old Joe. “Now, are you going to pay up? I want my money.”
“You cheated!” Old Joe growled. His eyes were stubborn and confused.
“A woman has to do what a woman has to do to survive in this world. And hey,” Michelle added, “don't judge me before you know my past.”
Old Joe felt as if someone punched him in the stomach. He had just been played by a cop and put in his place. And even worse—he was played by a female cop. “You think you're smart, don't you? Well, Old Joe knew you were playing him all along.”
Michelle winked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach winked back. “Let this be a lesson to you,” Momma Peach told Old Joe. “My Michelle can't be conned or played by the likes of you.”
“We'll see,” Old Joe whispered under his breath and grabbed his wooden cane and walked off toward the front door. “We'll see, cop.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall and thunder continued to rattle through the rain storm.
Old Joe liked the fancy hotel room Momma Peach put him up in. “Now this is more like it,” he said, sitting down in a plush leather chair in front of a glossy walnut desk next to the large television set. The room was fit for royalty. For what the room cost, only royalty should have been allowed in the room, Momma Peach thought as she watched Old Joe enjoy his temporary luxury. “Oh yes, a man could get used to living in a pad like this.”
Michelle closed the door to the hotel room and stepped inside. Her eyes soaked in a dark hardwood floor under burgundy walls hung with expensive-looking paintings; the paintings were obviously imitations but were still very beautiful. A set of glass doors covered with a dark brown curtain stood at the far corner of the room. The glass doors opened onto a private balcony. A large king-sized bed covered in a luxurious gray and blue comforter sat in the middle of the room facing a television set resting on an elegant television stand. “Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” Old Joe gloated. “I guess I won the game after all, huh, Detective Chan?”
“Watch it,” Momma Peach warned Old Joe. “I can go right back down the elevators and get my money back.”
“Okay, okay, cool it,” Old Joe said, trying to sound suave and easy. “I appreciate what you're doing for me Momma Peach.”
Momma Peach steadied her mind and focused on the task at hand. “Old Joe, give us the description of the young man you saw shot to death.”
Old Joe stopped smiling. “Ain't important what that rooster looked like.”
“It is to me,” Michelle stepped up.
“No, it ain't,” Old Joe argued. “That rooster is dead. This rooster is alive. Let's focus on that.”
“It doesn't work like that and you know it,” Michelle told Old Joe. “I want answers and I'm going to get my answers. I’m sure there’s an open warrant with your name on it somewhere. If you refuse to cooperate, I'll find one of those warrants and extradite you back to St. Louis and let the homicide department there start questioning you about the murder you witnessed.” Michelle yanked a pair of handcuffs from her right jacket pocket. “Your choice.”
Old Joe stared at the handcuffs. “Is she for real?” he asked Momma Peach.
“Very real,” Momma Peach informed Old Joe.
Old Joe swallowed. He was in a bind. The last thing he expected was to find Momma Peach chumming around with an annoying cop. “Listen,” he said, “the kid I saw shot to death was a young, arrogant sap who didn't have enough sense to quit. He's dead and gone and I'm alive. We need to focus on keeping me alive and—”
“You're going back to St. Louis,” Michelle interrupted Old Joe. She began walking toward him with the handcuffs at the ready.
“Wait...wait a minute,” Old Joe cried out in panic. “I...okay. The rooster had…black hair and blue eyes, okay? He was about 5’10” or 5’11” and weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds.” Old Joe wanted to kick himself for caving in, but what choice did he have?
“Okay,” Michelle said and put the handcuffs back into her jacket pocket. “Keep talking.”
Old Joe sighed. He tossed a hard thumb at Michelle. “You really hang with her?” he asked Momma Peach in an upset voice. “Momma Peach, there are better, way cooler sisters to hang with.”
Momma Peach walked over to Michelle and patted her shoulder. “Michelle is the coolest sister in the world,” she told Old Joe in a proud voice. “Now you listen to me and you listen closely. We want answers and you're going to cooperate. Is that clear, you smelly old alley cat?”
“Why insult me?” Old Joe asked in a fake hurt voice. “Momma Peach, we go way back. There was a time when you talked real nice to me. Remember?”
“I was mighty stupid when I was young,” Momma Peach replied and then chuckled to herself. “I was mighty stupid indeed if I let an old rat like you sweet-talk me. Oh, give me strength, give me strength.”
“Bah,” Old Joe said, upset, and threw his hand in Momma Peach’s direction dismissively. “You ain't cool no more, Momma Peach. You turned into one of...them.” Old Joe tossed his thumb at Michelle again. “People like her take all the fun out of life.”
“Fun? Do you want me to show you fun?” Momma Peach said. She took a threatening step toward him and wound her arm back with her pocketbook to remind him of what he was in for. Old Joe threw his hands over his head defensively and cowered. Momma Peach relaxed her arm and left him untouched, satisfied that he understood. Michelle suppressed a grin. She wished Momma Peach wasn’t so quick to swing her purse, but it’s true that it was a useful technique on occasion.
“Hey...Momma Peach, please...” Old Joe begged, waiting to see if she would keep her distance.
Momma Peach ignored him and backed up to Michelle. “I don't tolerate no one disrespecting Michelle. You better learn that here and now, yes sir and yes ma’am, or I will not spare the rod next time. Oh, give me strength!”
Old Joe adjusted his rumpled suit jacket with two shaky hands. “You ain't one of us no more,” he said in a scared undertone. “You've...lost your soul, Momma Peach.”
“No sir,” Momma Peach corrected Old Joe. “My soul belongs to the Lord and He runs my heart. You're the one whose soul has gone astray, Joe. You go around conning innocent people and then when life slaps you back, you start playing the victim. Your kind, you worm, needs to get right with the Lord. Now stand up like a man instead of cowering down on that floor before I get at you again.”
Old Joe struggled to his feet. He blinked at Momma Peach, his mouth working in an expression of stubborn distrust. “Ain't no woman ever threatened me,” he stated. But he still stood well out of her arm’s reach. “Ain't right for a woman to beat a helpless old man. No sir and no ma’am.”
Momma Peach cast her eyes at the hotel room door. “You can walk anytime you want.”
Old Joe licked his lips. He glanced at the door and then looked down at the soft, welcoming bed that was calling his name. So what if Momma Peach threatened him or smacked him around a little? He would leave when he was good and ready. Besides, he needed Momma Peach—at least for the time being. “Ain't right, Momma Peach,” he repeated in an injured voice as he sat down on the bed and began rubbing his hands on the fabric. “But I will stay where I am, for now.”
“Let’s get back to it. What was the name of the young man who was shot to death?” Michelle asked Old Joe in a stern tone. “I want answers.”
“No ma’am,” Old Joe stated, “I gave you the description of that dead rooster. You're a cop, do your leg work and run down the name yourself. In the meantime,” Old Joe lay back on the bed and threw his arms behind his head, “I am going to sleep and fill this room with some good old snoring.”
Michelle didn't argue. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and tossed it down on the bed. “There's a restaurant down in the lobby. Get yourself a meal.”
Old Joe leaned up and looked at the twenty-dollar bill and then he looked into Michelle's eyes; he saw compassion and mercy, two elements he had never shown anyone before. “Sure,” he said and snatched up the money with greedy hands.
“I will come back and see you tomorrow sometime. In the meantime,” Momma Peach narrowed her eyes, “you stay put in this room and don't go running off. If you do—”
“Do so at your own risk,” Michelle finished for Momma Peach.
“That's right,” Momma Peach told Michelle.
“I will sit tight,” Old Joe said as he slipped the money in his pocket.
Momma Peach studied Old Joe's eyes. “You're lying through your teeth,” she said in a disgusted tone. “Why, I ought to beat you bow-legged just for being so easy to read. How did you run all those cons when I can read your no-good face like a book? Oh, give me strength!”
“Come on, Momma Peach.” Michelle walked Momma Peach out of the room and drove her back to the bakery through a flooding rain. “How are you going to help that man?” she asked Momma Peach, leaning forward in the driver's seat and wiping the windshield with the arm of her leather jacket.
“First, I am going to sit tight and wait and see what you uncover,” Momma Peach explained. She reached into her pocketbook and fished out a piece of peppermint candy. “Old Joe is up to something. I can feel it in my bones,” she said and popped the peppermint into her mouth. “That skunk came to me for a reason...an ugly reason to boot. I ain't stupid.”
“Why do you think he came to you?” Michelle asked, stopping at a red light.
To their left was an old grocery store that people still loyally patronized despite its aging construction. The grocery store was a long green building with a bright red barn painted on the front. Momma Peach loved the old grocery store, even though Old Man Cranston never cut her a deal on any of his delicious tomatoes and would never confess where he ordered his produce from; Momma Peach figured the delicious produce came from Amish country. Momma Peach looked at the grocery store with longing eyes. “Honey, let's make a quick stop. I want to do some grocery shopping.”
“Now?”
“Yes, baby,” Momma Peach smiled. “I ain't getting any younger and I want to enjoy what I love while I can. I haven't been in Old Man Cranston’s grocery store in over two weeks. I have been so busy baking up a storm and helping Mr. Sam.”
“Sure, okay,” Michelle said and turned on her blinker. She looked into Momma Peach's eyes. She saw nostalgia rather than necessity. “Momma Peach, are you okay?”
Momma Peach sighed. “Honey, there are times when I can't wait to get to Heaven. This old world surely wears me down sometimes, as it does all good folk. And when I feel tired, I like to visit places that make me feel warm inside. Old Man Cranston may be a grouch, but I am fond of him and his store. Can you understand that, baby?”
Michelle eased her car forward and made a careful turn when the light turned green. “I admit I shop at the chain store closer to town. This place is kind of on the outskirts and it's easier for me to...” Michelle stopped talking. “Sorry.”
