A Peachy Criminals, page 5
Agent Davison's mouth dropped open. Was Momma Peach actually flirting with him? It sure appeared that way. “Ma’am,” he pleaded, “I just need to ask you some questions about—”
“Old Joe,” Momma Peach chuckled. “I know. That old fox done went and got himself in a world of trouble again, hasn't he?”
“I'm afraid so.”
Momma Peach batted her eyelashes at Agent Davison again. “Honey, why don't you pull a chair over here and sit down next to me.” Momma Peach patted her side of the table with soft hands. “I don't bite.”
“I'll...stand,” Davison replied. “Ma’am—”
“Momma Peach.”
“Momma Peach,” Davison said, forcing patience to his voice, “you had contact with this man you call Old Joe, correct?”
“Sure, baby,” Momma Peach smiled, “I talked to Old Joe. That skunk came to me because he wanted to bum some money off me. But let me tell you something,” Momma Peach's face went from flirty to furious in a split second, “I ain't no fool!” Momma Peach hit the metal table with her right hand. “I work hard for my money and I save my pennies. I ain't about to give no bum money to go off and gamble. Oh yes, I know the whole story. Old Joe done went and ran up a high tab with some low-down bookie out there in St. Louis. Oh, yes sir and yes ma’am, and the time has come to pay up and he can't. Don't think I am that stupid.”
“No, ma’am—”
“Those two G.I. Joe men with you, they're the bookies after Old Joe. Oh, yes sir and yes ma’am, I have eyes and I ain't stupid,” Momma Peach continued to rant.
Agent Davison clasped his hands together. It was clear to him that Joseph Ingles had contacted Caroline Johnson in order to acquire traveling money. Caroline Johnson, in his opinion, was a dim-witted hick who was better left alone to bake bread. For one thing, she was wrong about the men being bookies, but he wasn’t about to reveal that. “Ms. Johnson...Momma Peach, has Joseph Ingles made any personal contact with you?”
“He sure has, baby,” Momma Peach griped. “That low-down barn rat showed up at my bakery this morning begging for money. Oh, yes sir and yes ma’am, he sure did. But don't you worry, ‘cause I sent him packing without a single penny. I told that skunk that I wasn't his personal bank and slapped him over the head with my pocketbook.” Momma Peach chuckled. “You should have seen that wobbly-legged mule high-tail it out of my bakery. Oh, it was a hoot.” Momma Peach slapped the metal table with her left hand and laughed. She sighed and in an instant, went back to being flirty. “I bet you don't run like no mule, do you, baby?” she asked Agent Davison and winked at him.
Agent Davison stared at Momma Peach. The interview was over. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Johnson...Momma Peach. The FBI will be in touch if we have any further questions.” And with those words, Davison opened the door and scooted out as fast as his legs could take him. Michelle smiled from ear to ear.
Agent Davison thanked Michelle for her time and exited the police station. He walked outside to the back parking lot and climbed into the back seat of the waiting black sedan. “Well?” Agent Brown asked, sitting in the driver's seat.
Agent Davison shook rain off his fedora and trench coat. “Caroline Johnson is a dead end. It seems that our missing puppet contacted her in order to get running money. But she didn’t have a penny to give him, as it turns out.”
Agent Brown looked in the rear-view mirror and watched Davison place his fedora in his lap. “Senator Rarey isn't aware of Ingles. That stray dog isn't our problem, he's your problem. You're the one in quicksand.”
“Ingles saw you two gun down Senator Rarey's son. Senator Rarey would be very upset if he found out the truth,” Davison snapped at Agent Brown. “Let me make this perfectly clear to the both of you: you are under my authority. Make no mistake about that.” Agent Davison lowered his voice. “You will do what I say, when I say, is that clear? If you refuse, I and the entire department of the FBI will ensure that you two become the most hunted men on the planet.”
Agent Davison's threat threw cold water on Agent Brown's fire. Agent Green shook his head. “Cool it, man. We're in this for the money. Don't make it personal.”
Agent Brown touched his bruised nose with a sneer. “It's already personal.”
“Leave Detective Chan alone,” Agent Davison warned Agent Brown. “In case you two didn't notice, an entire store full of people have seen your faces and witnessed your little mishap with Detective Chan. Senator Rarey would be very upset to hear that you two idiots messed up a simple recon mission. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that you two are silenced if you dare go after Detective Chan.” Agent Davison forced calmness to his voice. “This town is a dead end. Drive me back to Atlanta. We're flying back to the capital.”
Agent Brown looked through the front windshield into the rain. He glanced back at the rear door of the police station and gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to storm into the police station and tangle with Michelle again, he knew that if he disobeyed a direct order he would end up dead. “Yes, sir,” he growled. He threw the sedan into drive and drove away into the rain.
From the window of Michelle's office, Momma Peach watched the black sedan pull away. “There they go,” she told Michelle in a relieved voice. “Three deadly snakes slithering away into the rain.”
Michelle sat down behind her desk and rubbed her neck. “You were fantastic, Momma Peach. You even fooled me.”
Momma Peach grinned. “I was kinda convincing, now wasn't I?”
“You sure were.”
“Let's just hope those snakes leave our town for good.” Momma Peach glanced up into the dark gray sky and watched the rain fall. The rain seemed bothered and upset. Each rain droplet fell from the dark sky with cries of worry. “Let's hope,” Momma Peach whispered.
“I heard Agent Davison call the Atlanta airport,” Michelle confirmed to Momma Peach. “He ordered a private jet to be hauled out to a private runway and be waiting for his arrival. It seems Moe and Larry will be flying out with him.”
Momma Peach turned away from the window. “Baby, those two monsters seemed awful dangerous to me. All I saw was you hit one of them in the nose and kick the other one in the face.” Momma Peach shook her head. “That Kung Fu of yours is something else, yes sir and yes ma’am. But still...I was awful worried about you. I know the two monsters you fought with know Kung Fu, too.”
“They were both tough guys,” Michelle admitted, “but far too arrogant in their fighting abilities. They saw me as weak and that's what brought them down.” Michelle continued to rub her neck. “Now word is going to get around town that Detective Chan got into another fight...I'm never going to get a decent date.”
“Oh, honey,” Momma Peach said. She walked over to the desk and patted Michelle's shoulder. “The right man is waiting for you. I ain't saying that just to make you feel better, either. I know that love takes time and that when the right man comes along, that means the right time has arrived.”
“My clock is ticking, Momma Peach,” Michelle sighed. She patted her soft stomach. “I would like to be a mother before I'm too old to remember my name.” Michelle stopped rubbing her neck. “I went out to Nevada to honor a friend. And by doing so, I put our lives in danger and we almost died.” Michelle looked up at Momma Peach. “I love being a cop, but I keep wondering when the day is going to come...when will becoming a mother be my full-time job? I keep wondering...if I'm even going to become a mother? We came so close to dying in Nevada, Momma Peach...”
Momma Peach understood Michelle's heart. She sat down on the edge of the desk and pushed Michelle's bangs out of her pretty eyes. “Honey, this old world has dangers lurking in every corner. You fought an ugly darkness out there in the desert because you cared about honoring a friend. Sure, we almost got sucked down into a watery grave when that crazy woman...oh, that crazy woman...set that dynamite off and blew up Mr. Sam's town, but look at us now. We're still alive and breathing.” Momma Peach smiled. “The right man will come along and you two will start a beautiful family. Until then, baby, all we can do is keep on fighting with our hearts.”
“I get tired of fighting,” Michelle confessed. She looked at Momma Peach in desperation. “Being a cop is in my blood, Momma Peach, but there are times when all I want to do is throw my badge down and walk away from it all. I see women pushing their babies around in strollers and I want to be them...I want to be a mother...a wife...” Tears began falling from Michelle's hurt eyes. “I want...”
Momma Peach pulled Michelle into her arms. “I know, honey...I know.”
Michelle wrapped her arms around Momma Peach and began to cry. “People see me as Detective Chan. Men are intimidated by me...women ignore me because they don't see me as someone who...I'm not ladylike...”
Momma Peach stroked the back of Michelle's hair. “Baby, you're very ladylike.”
Michelle buried her face into Momma Peach's shoulder and cried. “I hear people talk in this town...I heard what they say about me. Detective Chan, she's the Kung Fu lady...and earlier, at the grocery store...oh, Momma Peach, can you imagine what people are going to think now? But what choice did I have?”
“You fought to protect me, Michelle...” Momma Peach couldn't finish her sentence. What could she say? Her dear friend was heartbroken and sometimes it was wise to just let a heartbroken person cry out their tears without insulting them with weak words.
Michelle cried until she felt as if her heart was going to break open and crash down onto the floor in a million little pieces. When she felt her tears stop falling, she looked into Momma Peach's eyes. “It’s okay, I think I’m resigned to the fact that I'm never going to find love.”
“No. Someday, honey,” Momma Peach promised and wiped at the last of Michelle's tears. “Someday love is going to find you.”
“Someday isn’t today,” Michelle said in a sad voice.
Momma Peach began searching her mind for a helpful answer, but the telephone on Michelle's desk rang before she could latch onto any useful thought. “You better answer that call, baby.”
Michelle wiped at her tears and snatched up her phone. “Detective Chan,” she said in a tough voice, hiding her pain. “What? Oh, good grief...when?…I see...thank you,” she said and slammed the phone down. “That was the desk clerk at the hotel. I asked her to call me if she saw Old Joe leave the hotel. He left the hotel ten minutes ago.”
“Why, that old rat,” Momma Peach said and squeezed her hands into two fists. “I'm gonna strangle him!”
Michelle folded her arms together and forced her mind back into cop mode. “What would that man's destination be?” she asked. “Does Old Joe know anyone else in town, Momma Peach?”
“Who knows, baby,” Momma Peach answered honestly, but then a light bulb went off in her head. “Michelle?”
“Yes?”
“Are there any gambling bookies in our town?” Momma Peach asked.
Michelle unfolded her arms, placed her right hand to her forehead, and shook her head. “Of course,” she said, “I should have known. Richard Bent, the man who runs that pool hall out on Early Road, he runs poker games in the basement of the pool hall. I gave up trying to bust him because every time I arrived at the pool hall all the evidence was ran out of the back door and into the woods.” Michelle stopped rubbing her forehead. “I decided I had bigger fish to catch and stopped worrying over a small fry swimming around with a few poker chips.”
Momma Peach searched her memory. “Richard Bent,” she whispered, thinking. “Wait, isn't he the fella who used to own those used car lots?”
“That's him,” Michelle nodded her head. “He was shut down because he got caught reversing the mileage on his vehicles. He's a shady character but not really what we would call a dangerous criminal.”
“Well, one rat draws another rat,” Momma Peach said and grabbed her pocketbook up off Michelle's desk. “Let's go play some pool. I doubt our rat is interested in playing poker.”
“Momma Peach, maybe I should run Old Joe out of town. The man is obviously trouble. Why the concern with him?”
Momma Peach lowered her eyes and began fiddling with her purse. “My husband, rest his soul, made me make a promise to him years ago.” Momma Peach walked back to the office window and looked out at the pouring rain. “My husband had a heart of gold…a heart that was always full of forgiveness and love. My husband helped every stranger he could and never said a bad word about anyone who did him wrong...even Old Joe.” Momma Peach closed her eyes and saw her husband appear in her heart. “My husband made me promise to love as Jesus loved and to always help folks, no matter the cost. If I send Old Joe packing...and trust me, honey, I want to send that old fox packing...I would be breaking a promise to my husband.”
“I understand.”
Momma Peach opened her eyes. “When I first saw Old Joe, I did send him packing...but when he came back...and I saw how pitiful he was...like an old dog being hunted by wolves that only has enough sense to chase his tail...” Momma Peach shook her head. “I will try to help that mangy dog learn some sense.”
Michelle smiled. She loved Momma Peach's tender heart. “Well,” she said, “we better get down to Richard Bent's pool hall and see what our stray dog is up to.”
“Oh, give me strength, give me strength,” Momma Peach begged and followed Michelle out of her office.
A half an hour later, Momma Peach walked into a smoky pool hall crammed with six run-down pool tables bathed in old country music blaring down from the overhead speakers. The pool hall was filled with men standing around the tables drinking cheap beer and smoking cigarettes. Most of the men were wearing hunting hats and dressed like backwoods hicks; most of them also had large bellies flopping over their belts. “Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach told Michelle and began swatting cigarette smoke from her face. She spotted Old Joe at a pool table in the back, looking suave and cool despite his rumpled suit. She watched Old Joe sink a shot and grin. A tall, rough-looking man shook his head and slapped money down into Old Joe's hand and walked away. Old Joe grinned. “Next,” he called out in a pleased voice.
Momma Peach narrowed her eyes. “Give me a cue stick because I’m about to beat some sense into that man,” she told Michelle. Michelle grabbed Momma Peach's shoulder and held her back. The last thing she wanted to do was have to arrest Momma Peach for murder.
Chapter Four
Old Joe didn't notice Momma Peach walking toward him. He was too busy conning a beefy, unemployed, truck driver into laying a few rounds of pool. “Now Old Joe ain't that good,” Old Joe said. “I think my last run was pure luck, to tell the truth. But I can’t turn down a good game and a good bet. Maybe you’ll get lucky, son! We'll play for ten dollars first, okay?”
“Sure,” the truck driver grinned wolfishly. “I'll break.”
Old Joe leaned on his pool stick and grinned from ear to ear. He stopped grinning when he saw the face of an angry momma pit bull walking toward him. “Uh oh,” he said as panic gripped his mind. He turned and decided to try and hightail it toward the bathroom at the far end of the room, but Michelle blocked his path. Michelle shook her head at him. Old Joe spun around and saw a pocketbook fly through the air and whack him upside the head. He stumbled back against the truck driver. “Hey, man, watch it. I'm trying to break here,” the truck driver roared and shoved Old Joe away. Old Joe went stumbling toward Momma Peach, and was met with her hand that gripped his upper arm with surprising strength as she steered him away from the pool table. “Momma Peach...wait just a min—” Momma Peach reached under his arm with her other hand and pinched his arm hard, so that he winced and went silent. Old Joe writhed but could not break free from her grip and she sat him down firmly in a chair, not letting go.
A group of men standing close by broke out laughing. Momma Peach shot them a hard look. “Oh, are you gonna hit us with your mean old purse, lady?” one of the men laughed and made a fake scary face. “Oh, hide me, hide me!” he cried.
Momma Peach grinned. “Look behind you, dummy.”
The man turned to look over his shoulder. Michelle had her badge out and a no-nonsense look on her face. “Do you want to explain to your wife why you got picked up in the middle of the week for gambling? Or would you rather I call your parole officer directly?” His face fell and he stumbled back, dropping his pool cue in his haste to run to the door and his truck in the parking lot. “So much for Mr. Tough Guy,” Michelle said and rolled her eyes. She turned to look at the man's friends. “Anyone else want to tango?” she asked.
“I'll tango with you, doll,” a hard voice said. Michelle watched a large, heavyset man push his way through the group of men. “I heard about you. What are you, Bruce Lee’s girly cousin or something?”
Momma Peach looked at the large man and shook her head. “And you must be kin to the giant who lives up the beanstalk. Tell me, does your blubber shake the ground when you walk, too?”
Michelle examined her opponent and watched his face darken with crude rage. The man was wearing a sweat-stained, gray t-shirt over a pair of grease-stained jeans. His head was nearly bald and his eyes were dull with drink. “The lady asked you a question,” Michelle told the man and tipped him a wink.
“Hey, Grease, maybe you shouldn't mess with this dame,” a skinny short man said in a nervous voice, coming up to the man.
“Shut up, Eric,” the big man growled and shoved his little friend over to a pool table. “Okay, ladies, this is our pool hall. It's time Grease teaches y’all some manners,” he said and pointed at Momma Peach. “But first, I'm going to make me some Chinese chopsticks out of the mouthy cop here.”
Old Joe scrambled to his feet and tried to run. Momma Peach grabbed his arm before he could stand and forced him back into the chair. “Stand still, boy, and watch the show.”
