Wheels and Grease, Episode 5

 

On automatic pilot, Helga worked through her morning routine to open Wheels and Grease.  Turn on lights, turn on grill, put gravy on to heat, check breakfast food stocks, get what was needed from the freezer, check the bathrooms, start coffee, check the dining room, unlock the doors, step out, listen to the birds and enjoy the colors of the sunrise, check the wide deck for litter and sleeping women--  she gasped and recoiled from the young woman slumped over in a deck chair, sound asleep with what looked like a folded apron on top of her purse in her lap.

 

“Hey . . . hey, wake up.”  Reluctant to shake the woman, Helga chose to try verbal stimulation.  She wasn’t a toucher, as a rule.  The youngish, glasses wearing, naturally blonde woman’s breathing quickened and she opened her wide, friendly eyes.

 

“Oh!  I must have dozed off.   I came early to make sure I wasn’t late.  Are you Helga?  Tiffany sent me to work for her today.  She has a nail appointment.”  The woman smiled and tried to look nonthreatening.  “I talked to Bob on the phone, he said it was okay.  My name is Lucretia.  Call me Lucky or Lucy.  I don’t care which.  Can we go inside?  I’m cold.”  Lucky Lucy stood up in sensible shoes and shivered in a sensible jacket over conservative, sensible clothing.

 

Helga worked hard to push aside a quickly evolving plan to murder Tiffany so this woman could be her morning waitress.  “Sure, come in.  Look around, make yourself at home.  I’ll show you where to put your things and get a time card started.  Have you done this kind of work before?”

 

“Sure, tons of it.  I applied for this job, but I guess I’ll have to murder Tiffany to get it.”  Lucky Lucy laughed and took off her jacket on the way to the office.  Helga laughed with her.

 

It was a busy morning, but Helga took a moment now and then to peek into the dining room and see how Lucky Lucy was getting along with the regulars.  She appeared to be able to answer their direct, snoopy questions satisfactorily while keeping their coffee cups full and also get her orders in (legibly and correctly) and picked up quickly.  With a clear conscience, Helga went back to her little daydream of putting Tiffany in front of a truck on the highway.  A beer truck.  An overloaded beer truck with a driver who’s just dozed off and rested the full weight of his steel toed work boot on the accelerator and is hurtling toward little Tif on the fog line with her little hood up waiting for someone to stop and change her little flat tire for her.  The wreckage will be strewn for half a mile.  No actual body will ever be found, just a few pieces.  Months later, passing motorists will see a flicker of something on the side of the road and it will be one of Tiffany’s shiny lacquered nails caught on a twig, fluttering in the breeze.

 

Just after the main breakfast activity died down and Lucky Lucy was showing some real enterprise and stocking her tables and fridge without any help or nagging, Scooter popped out from behind the ice machine and darted to the grill unnoticed.  Helga jumped about a foot when he brushed against her elbow.

 

“Agh!  Scooter, how many times have I told you not to do that?”  Helga used a corner of her apron to wipe the grease smear off her elbow without having to see that it was there.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Her,” he whispered with wide, feral squid eyes and a jerk of his head toward the dining room.  “Why is she packing?”

 

“Packing?”

 

“Heat.  There’s a Colt .38 on her ankle.  I saw it when she leaned down to wipe the cupboard doors.”

 

“Wow, that’s a little spooky.  She cleaned the cupboards?  No one does that.”  Helga stepped far enough from the grill to see the waitress station.  Sure enough, the cupboards and fridge were shiny.  Just then, Lucky Lucy glided in from the dining room and grabbed a coffee pot before disappearing again.  Helga turned back to where Scooter had been and jumped back.  “Don’t get behind me like that!  What is up with you today?”

 

“Who needs a concealed weapon to work in a family restaurant?”  Scooter was clearly bothered.  His weasel face was pointier than normal and twitching in several places.  “I looked in her purse and she isn’t carrying any ID.  I’m scared.”  No matter where Helga moved to put a little space between her and the grimy little dishwasher, he managed to keep her between himself and wherever he figured the scary new waitress was.

 

“You went through her purse?”  Helga tried to sound scolding, but went on.  “What does she have in there?”

 

“Ammo and a sandwich bag full of berries.”

 

Helga thought a moment.  “What kind of berries?”

 

“I don’t know.”  Scooter shrugged and adjusted his position out of any possible line of fire when Lucky Lucy returned the coffee pot and left with a tray of napkins and silverware.  “Some bright red ones.”

 

“Translucent like currents or opaque like lowbush cranberries?”

 

“Um, opaque.”

 

“A little bigger than the cranberries and more of a cherry red?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.  What are they?”

 

“Her weapon of choice.” 

 

“But what about the .38?”

 

“That would be her back up.”  Helga hurried quietly to the office and grabbed Lucky Lucy’s purse.  She found the berries and confirmed her suspicion.  Baneberries.  It’s said that six berries can kill a person and here was a bag of at least 50.  No one picks and carries them around unless they are clueless, which she strongly doubted in this case, or are up to something very inappropriate in a family restaurant.  Helga’s guts turned to goo.  This was a new challenge for her nerves and experience bank.  And it would have to be UJ’s day off.  Without his special insight, she felt as helpless as a mosquito with a death grip on an open umbrella in a wind tunnel.  Desperately searching around in her head for any positive action she could take, a white light in the toaster in the corner caught her eye.  She whipped around and before the phantom chef could disappear, reached out and grabbed a fistful of shimmery white apron in her steel trap, temperamental right hand.  “YOU!”  She felt him tugging from her grip, but it held.  “You need to help me with this.  What is she up to?”

 

“Who?  You’re wrinkling my jacket!”

 

“Cut it out, just tell me.”  She pulled the slightly out of focus hologram of portly chef closer and glared into his warm, cow eyes.

 

“Okay, okay, she’s up to no good.  But it’s not about you.  Or Scooter.”

 

“Then who?”

 

“I don’t know, someone else.  I only deal with things in the kitchen.  And look at the thanks I get, I’ll have to have my jacket and apron pressed.”

 

“You mean she’s going to do something to a customer?”

 

“That would be my guess.”  The Chef managed to pull away and began exaggerated brushing of his chest, trying to smooth his apron out.  “And if I were you, I wouldn’t let her serve any pie.”  There was a crackling sound and a soft pop and the Chef was gone.

 

Taking a deep breath, Helga went over the facts.  Polite woman, doing a great job, not breaking any laws.  That was a better list than most people within a hundred mile radius could claim.  Still, enabling even the most appealing co-worker to use what appear to be deadly weapons would be wrong.  She picked up the phone and used the regular business number to call Buzz.  After listening to the authoritative yet confidence inspiring and very soothing recorded voice advise her to call 911 if it was a police emergency, she had no idea what to say in the way of a message, so just hung up.   Her hair was getting antsy, but she ignored it.  Turning to ask Scooter to help her keep an eye on the potentially poisoning and or shooting waitress, she was just in time to see him scoot out the back door with a bag of trash and hear him holler that he was going to the dump.  Helga could count on one finger all the times he went voluntarily to the dump.  Thanks a lot, Scooter. 

 

Helga headed for the kitchen, but stopped and went back to the office.  She took the bag of deadly berries from Lucky Lucy’s purse using an old pair of tongs in the junk box under the desk.   She deposited the bag carefully out of sight behind the dead toaster in the corner.  Then, not able to go through with such a presumptive intrusive action, she put them back in the purse.  Knowing she needed to very definitely intrude on the bigger problem, she hurried back to the pass through window to scan the dining room and see who was there and might be able to help.

 

“Don’t get up, I’ll get you another cup.”  Lucky Lucy smiled at Ty at his usual table.  “Are you ready for that piece of pie?”

 

“Thank you,” Ty said with a warm, core tingling smile Helga suddenly felt jealousy wrestling with righteous fear over.  “You sold me on the berry medly.”

 

“Be right back with that,” she said after pouring about an ounce of half and half into his cup and expertly filling it to the rim with coffee.  Helga’s hair writhed and her heart raced.  She watched in horror while the best waitress she’d seen in ages stowed the coffee pot in its hangar and headed for the back office.  For her stash of poison, no doubt.  Helga hustled out to the dining room and stopped in front of Ty’s table, her now highly agitated hair percolating in her crocheted cap.  He greeted her with, she noted, his warmest smile as he stood and waved a hand to invite her to join him.  Her protective fear had jealousy squirming in a half Nelson.

 

Helga sat dumbly, her mind racing, rejecting options for action as soon as they appeared in her head.  How do you tell someone ‘ix-nay on the ie-pay’ without taking time to explain?  She needed the restaurant to burst into flames or a swarm of killer bees to rush in.  Before she could think of anything else, the next best thing happened.  Buzz came in with the Tinys.  He nodded to Helga and Ty and the only other diners, an elderly tourist couple.  Big Tiny pulled out a chair for Little Tiny and sat with his back to Helga and Ty, leaving the chair facing them for Buzz.  Hope and its reliable running buddy, confidence, flooded Helga’s heart.  She stood and hurried to the new group who, she realized as she got closer, were debriefing each other from what must have been a particularly grisly EMS call.

 

“ . . . we’ll have to wait for the lab to tell us who she is.  Such a sorry mess above the little cowboy boots . . .”  Little Tiny stopped and turned to acknowledge Helga.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, but there is a situation here, Buzz, that I think you need . . . um . . .”  Helga stopped as the cowboy boot part sunk in.  Tiffany wore little cowboy boots.  What if Lucky Lucy hadn’t been asked to fill in for Tif, but arranged it with horrible violence?  “Tiny, could it be Tiffany you found this morning?”  There, it was out.

 

“Oh!  Gosh, is she missing?”  Little Tiny’s face turned the color of dry cement.

 

“Maybe.  She’s not here today.”

 

“What’s the situation you wanted to talk about?”  Buzz used his normal, calm, tell me everything voice.  Helga leaned down and whispered the facts and her bizarre concern to the officer.  He asked who else was in the building, she said there was no one in back.  Neither of them heard the milkshake machine happily whirring in the kitchen.  “Okay, you secure the pie without touching anything, I’ll secure her.”  Just then, Lucky Lucy came out with a piece of berry pie and two milkshakes.  She set the pie in front of Ty with a smile and headed for the tourist couple with the shakes.  “Go,” said Buzz as he stood and followed Lucky Lucy.

 

Trying to act casual, Helga got to Ty just as he was reaching for the pie plate.  She wrapped one hand around his solid, warm, campfire smelling, wonderful memory evoking forearm to hold it and picked up a napkin with the other.  Using the napkin, she pinched the edge of the plate and carried it at arm’s length into the kitchen, setting it carefully in the middle of the work table.  Hurrying back out, she followed Ty’s steely gaze to the door nearest the tourist couple, happily slurping their shakes.  Looking out the door she saw Lucky Lucy standing facing Buzz who was unloading her .38.  Helga slipped into a chair across from Ty, leaned close and told him about the berries.  He sighed, slumped a little and slowly shook his head.

 

“I thought I was clear.”  He looked wistfully at Helga.  “I’m sorry.  Gotta run.”  He quickly stood, fished in his pocket for a buck for the coffee, dropped it on the table, then picked up his fishing hat and put it on.  He reached out slowly and brushed Helga’s cheek with his thumb before turning and walking out the door beside where Little Tiny was watching the action with wide eyes.  Big Tiny twisted around to look at Helga.  No one knew what to say.

 

Holding the door for Lucky Lucy, Buzz followed her back inside while tucking her empty pistol in his belt and her cartridges in his shirt pocket.  His eyes asked Helga where the pie went, she nodded toward the kitchen and followed them in.  In a casual voice, Buzz asked Helga to peel back the piecrust.  She took a small utility knife from the table drawer and carefully lifted the top off the pie.  Frowning as she leaned closer, she used the point to poke into the filling.

 

“Raspberry, blueberry, blackberry . . .”  Helga was starting to feel like an idiot.  She probed a little deeper.  “There’re not here, Buzz.”

 

“Would you please go get the purse you told me about?  We’ll wait right here.”  Buzz might have been ordering a pizza by the no big deal expression on his cherubic face and every day tone of voice.  Lucky Lucy had no expression at all but her eyes followed every movement.  Helga set down the knife and went directly to the office.  The purse was where she’d seen it before.  She didn’t want to touch it now so found an old napkin on the desk to insulate her fingers from it.  When she got back to the kitchen, she dropped it along with her jaw.

 

“Stop right there, Cookie, and no one gets hurt.  We’re leaving.”  Lucky Lucy’s right hand held the narrow knife pressed into the soft underside of Buzz’ jaw and her left slipped his gun out of his holster.  Without pause, she turned him and guided him out through the dining room.  In horror, Helga followed.  The tourist couple were gone, a small pile of cash on their table, and the Tinys were also gone.  As soon as the door swung shut behind Buzz and Lucky Lucy, he appeared to trip and fall forward, she leaped over him and was caught midair by a huge hand on the back of her neck.  Little Tiny sprang from her crouched position across the doorway from Big Tiny and recovered the knife while he guided the most likely no longer employed waitress to a face-down sprawl on the deck.

 

We could go on with this story indefinitely, but let’s not.  Here’s what happened:  LL was ‘on a job’ but Ty was not her target.  It was the old tourist couple.  They were outliving their retirement account and hired her online to take care of the problem.  Between smudgy glasses and economizing on lighting in the 5^th wheel, they thought Final Solutions was Financial Solutions.  They enjoyed the milkshakes and had a nice afternoon together before the stomachaches began.  A professional, LL did not divulge this until she was sure enough time had passed for the job to be completed.  Little Tiny lost control at that and punched her in the stomach. Ty was long gone when Helga went to his cabin.  No trace, no note.  She sat on his step, her hair hanging despondently around her shoulders, and felt very blue.  Scooter ate the pie and his mouth turned very blue.  Tiffany came to work the next day with a dazzling new nail treatment.  The corpse in the tiny cowboy boots was actually a bear with hide, head and paws removed, the leg stumps slipped into tiny boots quite like Tif’s that Matt One found in a Dumpster.  He thought it was very funny at the time.  Big Tiny didn’t punch him, but gave him a very stern look.  It hurt.  Lucky Lucy somehow left custody in Anchorage and disappeared.

 

Before the snow flew, Bob got an invitation to be an instructor at a trendy new cooking school in Seattle.  He took it.  They loved his tattoos.  UJ became the new manager of Wheels and Grease and delighted the owners with operating hours, labor, menu and ordering adjustments that always worked out perfectly.  Like Mary Poppins when she was no longer needed, the phantom chef left the toaster and went on to other assignments.  Our heartbroken breakfast cook resigned with no explanation beyond personal reasons after receiving a large envelope in the mail with no return address.  It contained a passport with her face and someone else’s information in it, a list of flights with confirmation codes, an amount of cash beyond respectable yet short of obscene, and a note.

 

“My dear fishing buddy—  Reports suggest I didn’t need to jump, but better safe than sorry.  Perhaps you’d consider coming to visit?  I took the liberty of renewing your passport since you said you burned yours.  We clearly both have issues.  I miss you.” 

 

Helga read the note several times.  It was her day off.  She had no plans.  She stood in her fuzzy slippers and stared out the window of her cabin at the gray, moody inlet below and the volcanoes beyond and tried to figure out how she felt.  The Roy Rogers clock in her small kitchen ticked away, sounding like the lazy clip-clop of Trigger’s hooves.  Her hair couldn’t stand it and burst free of it’s tidy braid, wrestled her to the floor and tickled her until she wet her pants with laughter. “Okay, okay!  We’ll go!”