Ultraviolet. Nancy Bush
and illuminate passersby, so Julie and Jenny had seen me coming. They waved at me and I realized Jeff Foster, owner of Foster’s, was flirting outrageously with them. I pulled up a chair and asked for a Screaming Orgasm. Foster smiled at me and left.
“What’s in a Screaming Orgasm?” Julie asked.
“Vodka, Bailey’s and Kahlua. You need high-quality vodka or the Bailey’s may curdle. We’ll see what Foster brings.” My days as a bartender serve me well from time to time.
Jenny said, “Oh my God, bring me two.”
Jeff Foster served me up a Screaming Orgasm himself. No curdling. Unfortunately, he expected me to pay for the drink, which I grudgingly did. I let Jenny have a taste and she upped her order to three. I looked around for Manny, my favorite bartender, the one who sometimes comps me drinks when Foster isn’t looking, but the bar was being tended by a young woman deep into eyeliner and red lipstick and a metro sexual guy whose shirt and hair were military perfect. A gas fire, faced with that layered narrow rock that is so popular it’s everywhere, was heating the place up like an oven. It was cheery, though, and I felt myself relax in that bone-melting, apres-ski way that seems to only come from a combination of warmth and alcohol.
They wanted to know about my evening with Chuck and I gave them the pertinent details. Jenny finds Chuck funny in that I-can-enjoy-an-ass way, but I think he just gives Julie a headache though she’s too polite to say so about a paying customer.
A group of men and women suddenly exited together. I overheard something about the civil war game between the two Lake Chinook high schools and I remembered my promise to Dwayne. “I’m going to have to go,” I said regretfully, swigging down the end of my drink and standing.
“What? You just got here.” Jenny pointed at my vacated chair. “Sit down.”
“I’ve got a job to do.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I really do.”
“Then you have to give us the details Monday.”
“I’ll make a report with pie charts.”
Jenny picked up one of her drinks. “How about I make a bar chart?”
“Jenny,” Julie said with a laugh.
“I’m counting on it.” I sketched them both a good-bye and took off. If Dwayne wanted me to infiltrate the high school group at Do Not Enter, I was going to have to figure out who they were. All Dwayne had been able to give me was a description of one car—a tomato-red Taurus—which he thought one of the Wilson girls drove. The guys all showed in black macho SUVs or BMWs or something of that ilk. Dwayne had been able to catch part of one of the SUVs’ vanity license plates through the mask of bushes and trees that hid the drive access to the construction. DOIN had been visible.
Tonight’s game was at Lake Chinook High’s football field and I saw the stadium lights long before I encountered the tons of cars parked for a good half mile all around. There’s a small war going on between the nearby residents and the school about those lights. The residents scream light pollution and general blinding annoyance; the school is relatively mum but I’ve heard grumblings from athletically minded kids’ parents, the gist of which is: what part of living next to a football field didn’t you get when you moved in?
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to a high school football game. Had I ever, since high school? Even then I’d steered clear of the jocks as a rule. Their obsessive dedication to sports worried me, like there was nothing else on the planet that mattered. Not that I’d been any kind of role model. I’d spent most of my time wondering how my twin brother, Booth, could ace tests when I worked harder than he did and only managed to cough up a B. I learned much later that he had phenomenal retention, which only goes to show you how unfair nature is. I mean, why should Booth get that attribute? He also got the great hair.
But I got the snarky attitude, sense of irony and excruciating self-awareness, so we’re probably even.
I cruised around the cars in the stadium lot and found four possibles on the tomato-colored cars, but only one of them was a Taurus. I memorized the license plate. My retention might not be as stellar as Booth’s, but I’m not a complete slouch, either. There were simply too many black cars to check them out one by one, so I left that for later.
I headed into the game, which was nearly over, and so therefore no one was at the gate, asking for my ticket. Lake Chinook was ahead of Lakeshore High and there was much discussion about some highly disputed call that had the Lakeshore fans growling and booing. I ordered a hot dog and was pleased that it was cheap and hot. I really could have used a beer, but it wasn’t on the menu and there were a whole lot of Don’t Drink and Drive ads plastered about. There were also some warnings about the evils of underage drinking.
In the end Lake Chinook High beat Lakeshore by a field goal with seconds left. The Lake Chinook fans ran out onto the field and the Lakeshore fans left quietly or with suppressed rage. The referees were escorted off the field by a burly-looking group of men in black rain gear. Some kid named Keegan had played “flawlessly, just flawlessly!” and there was speculation about a girl on the dance team who seemed to have either (a) an anorexia problem; (b) an obsessive/compulsive disorder; or (c) was top student in the Talented and Gifted program—TAG. She might have been all three. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.
I moved back toward the tomato-red Taurus and pretended to be talking on my cell phone as I watched the crowd surge into the parking lot. My own car was a couple of rows over, close to the road, so I stood on the balls of my feet, ready to sprint to it as soon as I got a visual on whoever claimed the car.
It was a high school girl who’d done up her long hair in pigtails on either side of her head, one tied with a blue ribbon, one tied with a white ribbon, Lake Chinook High’s colors. She was with two friends, a boy and a girl. The girlfriend was hanging on the boy and giggling. I suspected alcohol might be the culprit, regardless of the warning signage. The boy was grinning like a goofball, one hand around girlfriend’s waist, though it was sitting a little low on her hip. They all wore blue jeans and hooded light blue sweatshirts monogrammed with a big white L. The driver of the Taurus wasn’t near as giddy as her two friends. In fact, her eyes looked big and solemn and though she tried to smile in response to the friends’ antics, there was no joy anywhere. Her mouth wanted to be an upside down U. I figured she was one of the Wilson sisters, but I wasn’t sure which one. I was going to have to learn their names.
I was sprinting for my car when I nearly ran down a group from Lakeshore who were hauling a large box of sweatshirts and caps to a waiting black Hummer. “Hey,” I said, slowing to a stop. “Can I buy one of those?”
“I guess so,” one of the guys slamming the box into the back of the car said. He looked unsure.
“How much?” I pressed.
“Umm…I dunno. The sweatshirts are fifteen, I think.”
“Thirty,” a prim, female voice corrected him, shooting him a glare. “Jesus, Carl, why don’t you give ’em away for free?”
“Thirty?” I rued the fact that I’d had to purchase my drink at Foster’s on the Lake. Damn. I didn’t think I had the cash. “Any chance on a discount?”
The girl made a face. “They’d be worth more if we’d won. They’re going on sale next week anyway. I guess I could sell one to you for twenty,” she said reluctantly.
I quickly pulled out the cash and forked it over. As soon as I had my prize I dragged it over my head, running the rest of the way to my car. This sweatshirt was navy blue with a red and white sailboat over the left breast, Lakeshore’s colors.
I was barely behind the wheel when the Taurus whizzed by, traveling fast toward Lake Chinook proper. I had to jockey the wagon as I’d been boxed in pretty tightly, but my turning radius is about the best thing on my car and I was after the Taurus in less than a minute. I had to push the speed limit, which is dangerous in the heavily patrolled area around