
The wrecking ball smashed into the side of the building, bringing down what was left of The Granola Bar, a gin joint that had been around for ages. The original barkeep/owner had gone crazy and shot his wife and then himself in the head. Bad blood was said to have been squirted all thru the place, and it was good riddance the bar was being demolished. There were plans to replace it with a Starbucks.
Debbie stood in the phone booth across the street from the ill fated establishment, watching the last of the bricks cascade down, the dust rising as she thought back to all the discussions she and the man had shared. Although they were more argument than discussions, they were mostly about religion and politics, finance and commerce. He was an intelligent man; too bad he was nuts.
The phone rang. Finally.
"Yeah?"
"Do you see her?" hissed a voice on the other end. "Has she walked by yet?"
"No. Not yet" she answered looking tentatively over her shoulder.
"Well, you know what to do when she shows."
"Right." She smiled as she pictured what she would do to that blonde witch the minute she got her in her sights. Shoot her.
Debbie checked the .45 that sat snugly in the holster right under her left arm. Loaded and ready to party. All she had to do was wait.
"Gotta go" she said to the voice on the end of the phone line and hung the phone back in the cradle. She wished she could just use her cell phone, but these calls had to be on a secure line. Couldn't take the chance of getting caught, you never knew who was listening. Or watching.
***********************************************************
Maynard sat in the back of his police cruiser dressed in undercover garb. His nose was itchy, as the white tape holding it together was getting old and raggedy looking.
It had been a month since that jerk running out of The Granola Bar had ran into him and broken his nose. Man, hurt like a son of a gun. Even hurt to chew his potato chips. But it didn't stop him. He sat back and stuffed another few fingers full in his mouth and laughed.
Sgt. Canola and the Rookie Sar were sitting in the front, arguing about who was going to be the bad cop.
"I always have to be the good cop!" whined Sar. "Can't I be bad for once?"
"You'll never pull it off" said Canola. "What, with all that blonde hair, you just can't shake the sweet out of you!"
What I wouldn't give to knock the sweet out of both them, thought Maynard, and not in the way they would have imagined. His throat was thirsty for a drink, a real man's drink like a scotch & soda, not a MacDuff like the two in the front would sample after work. For as much arguing as they did, Canola and Sar were great buddies.
"First we have to catch her in the act, and this sting has been a long time in the making, we can't blow it" Canola lectured.
"I know." Resignation ran through Sar, her body language not hiding the fact she was also bored. "I just want to do something different."
"Head's up" Maynard whispered suddenly, as he jerked to attention, knocking the bag of chips on the floor of the police car. "Here he comes!"
Don the Private Dick had just turned the corner and was heading towards the phone booth were Danger Broad had been surveying the scene a week earlier. He dug into his pants pocket and searched for change - funny he didn't use a cell phone either, thought Maynard.
"He's using a phone booth" said Sar out loud, echoing his thoughts. "What's up with that?"
Even though he motioned to put the change into the slot, the phone had rang before he dialed any numbers.
He picked up the receiver and waited. His hands were shaking and he put the earpiece to his ear, awaiting his orders.
Debbie was going to contacting him. This might be her.
It wasn't.
To be continued.........
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