Beat 64: The Interplay of Mediation and Murder
Lloyd took a seat and
sighed -- and against all reason, put a smile on his face. “Okay.
Well now…do either of you feel like talking about what happened?”
“There’s not really
much to talk about,” said Jane. She
looked to Sheila, who blew her nose and nodded.
“These things just sort of happen, you know? It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with
-- especially since you’re a guest here.”
Lloyd’s eyes roved
around. Somehow, he couldn’t quite share
the O’Leary family’s indifference. For
starters, only a quarter of the kitchen table remained; the rest of the wooden
shards either lay on the floor, on in the hair of Sheila, Jane, and even
Lloyd. Drawers leaned against carved-up
cabinets, and knives spread across the tile floor (thankfully, none of them had
been dyed red). The refrigerator doors
hung on by a few measly screws, with no shortage of goods smashed
wafer-thin. The oven had exploded. And even then, the chaos extended further --
the living room had overturned furniture, a shattered TV, bent lamps, and
paintings that had likely seen use as clubs and hammers.
“Pardon my
obtrusiveness,” said Lloyd, “but I think that when my life is put in danger,
one could argue that it becomes my problem.”
In spite of being a third party, he’d taken the most hits; while the
ladies had long since bandaged and patched up his wounds, he still looked more
than a little tender. The fact that his
shirt and pants had “accidentally” gotten shredded and exposed fresh bandages
didn’t help.
Neither did Sheila’s
heated panting. But then again, he could
excuse that; she had every right to stare, considering that Lloyd (if not for
his nearly-broken neck) would have done the same.
“He’s fine, Mom,” said
Sheila. “He looks like he’s ready to go
swimming. It’s a good look for him.” Her
eyes drifted downward. “Uh-huh. Really good.”
“I’m none too concerned
about my dress right now,” Lloyd said with a wave of the hand (and choosing not
to think too hard about the drool pooling in Sheila’s mouth). “But…again, pardon my obtrusiveness, but I
somehow suspect that the destruction wrought here is hardly healthy.”
“Is it because of the
bombs?” Sheila asked.
Jane scowled at
her. “Why wouldn’t it be? And how many times have I told you, young
lady? Grenades do not go between your
breasts!”
“Well, I can’t think of
a safer place to keep them!”
“Why do you even need
them in the first --?”
“Ladies, ladies! Please!
We can sort this out!” Lloyd
waved his hands at them, hoping that it would calm them down; both of them
dropped back into their chairs, but neither of them looked eager for a little
chat. “Outsider that I may be, surely we
can all agree that such brutality’s of no use to anyone! And hardly befitting family members. Am I wrong, or am I right?”
The ladies turned away
from each other, but they both shot an eye at Lloyd.
“There may be quite a
bit of aggression here in the O’Leary home, but I would think -- or hope, at
least -- that if we all cooperate, we can overcome such violence! To become kin, one and all! To embrace one another in our clutched and
heaving and bouncing and just-barely-restrained by a skintight shamrock-hued
brassiere…”
Lloyd dropped his hands
and laughed. “Sorry, I got a little distracted
there. BUT! The point is that I feel as if the O’Leary
family as it is needs restoration. And
as such, as a service to the both of you, I will make it my mission to
undertake said restoration! For the sake
of a revived family consciousness…for the sake of mother-daughter shopping
sprees yet to emerge upon this fair earth…!”
He raised a fist at them (straining his bruised bicep in the
process). “I, Lloyd Beatrice
Hoigleheimer, swear upon Aphrodite’s nighties that I will --!”
Sheila gasped and
clapped her hands to her mouth. “We’re gonna
do it?”
“Of cou- wait,
what? No! What I meant was that --”
Jane glared at her
daughter. “Still on that, aren’t you?”
“Well, I wanna. And we’re gonna.”
“You’re joking,
right? Lloyd doesn’t want you.”
“Well he sure as hell
doesn’t want you. He’s not a chubby chaser.”
“Wh-what did you just
say? I’ve landed men three times hotter
than this kid -- I’ll have you know I’m very
desirable.”
“So you’re easy?”
“You’re easy!”
This can’t possibly be a normal relationship between a mother and
daughter, Lloyd thought, his shoulders sagging (and aching). It…it
just can’t. But if it is, then I suppose
I should count myself fortunate that I was born a man. Many awkward conversations have likely been
avoided.
“So that’s it, huh?”
“Yup. It’s settled.”
Lloyd snapped back to
the conversation at hand. “Er,
what? What’s settled? Are you two going to be friendly to one
another?”
“Nuh-uh,” said
Sheila. “But we’re gonna be friendly to
you. As friendly as you wanna be…really,
really, really friendly.”
“Not THAT friendly,”
Jane cracked. Nevertheless, she turned
to Lloyd and smiled. “If it’s all right
with you and your parents, Lloyd, you can stay here for as long as you want. Days, nights, weeks…you just do what you have
to do.”
“Oh, um…well, thank you
for the hospitality. I should already
have the approval of my father, but…” He
pointed at Sheila, then Jane, and then back and forth. “What exactly has been settled?”
The ladies gave each
other a look -- and then stormed off in a huff.
“Ladies? What exactly has been settled?” Still no answer; the two of them just headed
for opposite ends of the house. “Ladies? Ladies?!
What exactly has been settled?!”
Sheila came back to the
kitchen, arms folded and face eerily still -- except for the usual
snot-streams, but at least she tried.
She advanced on Lloyd and stood before him; for a moment, it almost
looked as if she’d started sizing him up.
Taking note of his measurements…or again, his shirtless, bandaged body.
Lloyd cracked a nervous
smile. “Oh, Miss O’Leary. It’s good to see you again -- even though
it’s only been about twenty seconds since last we met, but I still feel no
shortage of relief in seeing you face to face…well, relatively speaking.” Sheila’s silent staring made his head jerk
erratically, and his laughing turned terse and rigid. “So, um…about this ‘settlement’ I’ve heard so
much about. I’d very much like to hear
an explanation of what exactly it’s supposed to entail.”
Sheila didn’t
answer. She just stepped behind Lloyd.
“Miss O’Leary? M-Miss O’Leary?”
“Lloyd? Do you know what a blackjack is?”
“Oh, you mean like the
card game? Well, I’m no gambler, but --”
And the next thing he
knew, everything went black.
*
Mrs. Overdose set the
phone back on its hook, and slumped back inside her car. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she grumbled as she
slammed the door behind her. “It’s the
new millennium. You should get a real
phone. Stop with the pay phone crap and
get with it. Blah, blah, blah. Those things are a hunk of junk,
anyway.” She swished her reed around and
snorted. “Portable phones…damn things’ll
never catch on.”
She shot an eye at
Trixie. But Trixie didn’t look back; she
just stared out the windshield, eyes glassy and mouth half-open. “What’s with you, Reba McIntyre?”
Trixie’s head wobbled
left and right, and she managed to shakily draw a circular shape in the
air. “Those things…those things were huge…”
“You mean you’re still
thinkin’ about those? Jeez. You only saw ‘em for five seconds -- that’s
no reason to get all flustered.” She
raised an eyebrow. “Say…you’re sure
you’re not…you know…into that sort of
thing? Not like I got a problem with
it. Just askin’.”
“No, I’m not into
that. I just…” She drew another circle in the air, this one
slightly larger than the last. “How’s a
girl supposed to get ‘em that big?”
“About twenty grand and
a wasted surgeon?”
Trixie shook her
head. “Porbeagle’s sure got some wild
folks in it.” She turned to Mrs.
Overdose. “Ya think we did the right
thing, leavin’ her like that? I mean,
what if some o’ them snake-guys start tryin’ to hassle her? A girl built like that’s gonna be attractin’
a whole lotta attention, I reckon.”
“Probably. But I just got a hold of the kid’s dad. Says he and JP found their own batch of
thugs. They’re knocked out -- no
surprises there -- but from the way the big guy was talkin’, it sounded like
we’re not the only ones to have a little run-in.”
“Yer serious?”
“I’d be askin’ the big
guy that, not me.” In spite of that,
Mrs. Overdose nodded. “The two of them
are at the police station now. Along with
about nine of these snake-faced goons.”
She counted off on her fingers.
“That’s three we found, three they found, and another three the police
rounded up over town. And you know what
that means, right?”
Trixie rubbed the back
of her neck. “So what, this town’s got
some kinda crazy gang stompin’ around?
It sounds crazy, but…well, the two o’ us’ve seen some wild stuff
already. A buncha snake-men might be the
only kinda gang that’d do Porbeagle
justice.” She choked out a laugh. “Give or take.”
“Yeah. Question here is, what’s the kid gonna do
about it?” She started the car and, with
a splutter of exhaust, she pulled it out of the lot. “Can’t handle himself too well in a fight.”
“Well, that’s what
we’re for, huh? JP, and Patton,
and…” She pointed to herself, and then
to Mrs. Overdose. “The two o’ us. Right?”
She didn’t get an
answer. Mrs. Overdose just kept scooting
down the road, her reed swaying and bobbing about. A few blocks went past in silence, forcing
Trixie to crash back against the seat.
“Guess that’s a no, then. Guess I
can’t say I’m too surprised -- I ain’t done all that much to impress ya. And I’m guessin’ ya might hate me.”
Still no answer.
“Looks like I’m pretty
good at guessin’.” She peered out the
window. “No helpin’ it. It’s not like I --”
“You know why I’m here,
right?”
Trixie looked back at
her. “Say what now?”
“I’m here for a
bounty. My job is -- or was supposed to
be -- haulin’ your southern-fried ass back to Rockwood so I could make some
serious cash.” Her eye shifted to Trixie
for a moment, but snapped back to the road.
“Somewhere along the line, though, Gaston got mixed up in things. So bringin’ you back turned into bringin’ you
and the others to him, and he’d pay me as thanks.”
“So what, is Gaston
some kinda bounty hunter, too?”
“Who knows? Whether he’s a hunter or a client, I was just
in it for the money. But lookin’ back on
the details, I’m startin’ to wonder if I had it right. I’m thinkin’…maybe you and Rockwood should
keep some distance.”
For some reason, Trixie
couldn’t help but give a bitter laugh.
“Fer someone who’s been messin with me since day one, ya sure are
showin’ some real concern about me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? We’re both freeloaders.”
“That’s true, but --”
“Listen. There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to ask
you. Somethin’ that’s been on my mind
for a while now.” Mrs. Overdose stopped
behind a red light, and turned toward Trixie.
“When’s the last time you talked with your dad?”
“My dad? Uh…well, it’s been a while.” She folded her arms and looked up at the
car’s ceiling, and shifted her lips to and fro.
“Not since I left Rockwood, at least.
Definitely not since I got here in Porbeagle.”
“I’d give him a call. He’s the one that put a bounty on your head
-- dead or alive.”
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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