1 Who, What, Where, When, Die Page 4

  "I don't suppose you'd get one of those for me?"

  I turned to find a young kid, probably 18 years old, dressed in Lando Calrissian garb. He was one of the palest teenagers I've ever seen, and he sported bleached-blond hair and pimped out mirrored sunglasses. Great, I sure attract winners.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "A beer," he said sheepishly. "I forgot my ID at home and these guys don't believe I'm 21. Can you believe that?"

  Actually, I could.

  "I'm Lando Skywalker by the way."

  Of course he was.

  "Lando Skywalker? Seriously?"

  "Yeah," he said defensively. "I changed my name legally when I turned 18 a few months . . . a few years ago." Nice save Gretzky.

  "Well, Lando, I'm sorry, but I'm really not up for contributing to the delinquency of a minor tonight."

  I felt someone move in behind me. Great, with my luck it would be a wookie.

  "Yeah, Avery Shaw here only follows the rules."

  Oh, crap, it was worse than a wookie. I turned around to come face to face with my hot pawnshop owner. You've got to be kidding me! It was definitely asshole day.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Lando, in his infinite wisdom, took one look at Eliot's expansive and tattooed muscles and wisely walked away, mumbling something about me not knowing Sith.

  Eliot smiled at his retreating back. "He knows he's not black right?"

  "I think so. You didn't answer my question, what are you doing here?"

  "Well, you made it sound like such a fun time, how could I resist? I mean, a whole night of Star Wars music, is there anything better?"

  No, there's not. I sipped my beer for lack of anything better to do. During the lull, Eliot signaled to the girl at the concession stand to get him a beer, too. Her flirty smile and flirty attitude with him was annoying. Then, something hit me.

  "Hey, how did you get in? This concert has been sold out for weeks?"

  Eliot merely smiled. "I have my ways."

  If I had to guess, his ways included sweet-talking the teenage girl collecting the tickets by flexing for her. For a second I felt jealous of the girl.

  "So, where are we sitting?"

  We? "I'm not sitting anywhere. My ticket is for the lawn. I'm standing." I silently hoped he would take that as a hint. Okay, part of me hoped that. The other part desperately wanted to see his light saber.

  "So, where are we standing? We don't have much of a view from here."

  I didn't want to admit there was nothing to see. Instead, I turned and started making my way up the hill with Eliot following lackadaisically behind. I had the distinct sense he was laughing at me. Nothing could make this moment more humiliating.

  "Avery."

  Whoops, I was wrong.

  Jake, dressed in his uniform per usual, made his way from the entrance to the concert and over to me. He openly smiled, flashing those damn dimples. "I figured you'd be here."

  "Only because the Star Trek symphony is out of town," Eliot quipped from behind me as I cringed. This was about to get uncomfortable.

  Jake turned his attention from me to Eliot -- and he didn't look happy. Perversely, that gave me an extended thrill.

  "Kane," Jake said stiffly.

  "Sheriff Farrell."

  "You guys know each other?"

  Neither man responded immediately. They also, I noticed, didn't shake hands in greeting. Interesting.

  Finally, Jake, ever the politician, broke the tension.

  "Mr. Kane and I were in special forces in the Army together for a brief period. It was a long time ago."

  "It was seven years ago," Eliot corrected.

  "That's a lifetime ago."

  Hmm.

  "Well, we should find where we're standing," Eliot smirked condescendingly at Jake.

  Jake looked abashed. "You're here together."

  "Yes."

  "No!" I practically yelled. "We just met tonight and happened to run in to each other here, too." It wasn't exactly a lie. It wasn't exactly the truth either.

  Jake wasn't buying it. "Well, I'll leave you two alone then." Was he mad? He sounded mad.

  Luckily, things didn't get a chance to get any more awkward as the beating sound of the Star Wars theme managed to overtake the entire amphitheater, eliciting a huge cheer from fan boys everywhere.

  I turned to see what was going on and noticed that a small crowd in front of the orchestra seemed to be fighting. From the looks of it, the Rebel Alliance was having none of the Imperial Guard. Go figure.

  Jake look annoyed.

  "Fucking idiots. It never ends." He quickly moved off to gather some men to break up the fight. Problem was, it didn't look like he had enough men. Crap, I had a feeling my Star Wars night was about to be ruined.

  "I think we should move away from here." Eliot didn't look overtly worried, more like placidly concerned.

  Too late. A large guy dressed as a Gamorean Guard (one of those green pig guards from Jabba's Palace, for the uninformed) tumbled into him. Some how, Eliot managed to keep on his feet, but the guard wasn't so lucky. He bounced off Eliot and crashed to the ground. Unfortunately for him, apparently latex wasn't easy to stand up in. He was on the ground flopping like an upended turtle.

  "Are you all right?" I figured the latex probably cushioned his fall. I bent over with the intention of helping him up.

  "No bitch, I'm not alright. I'm going to sue your boyfriend." So much for helping him up.

  "He is not my boyfriend. I barely know him." Nothing wrong with clarification. "Besides that, you ran into him. How is that his fault?"

  I didn't get a chance to hear his response. With one smooth move Eliot had grabbed me by my waist and whisked me to the side as group of exuberant Jedis moved past us. All I could focus on in that minute pressed up against him was how rock hard his body was. Man, I am sick.

  Things were quickly degenerating -- which meant I was no longer a mere watcher, I was working. It gave me an excuse to try and forget about Eliot's body, which I reluctantly pulled away from. It wasn't easy.

  "I'm going to have to cover this," I said ruefully. "It's not everyday you get an alien war in Macomb County."

  "Fuckin' Aye," Eliot laughed.

  An hour later, I'd gotten quotes from everyone that I needed to, including an enraged Sheriff Farrell who said they'd confiscated more than a hundred light sabers -- and he didn't think they'd bring much at auction.

  "This is just bullshit. You Star Wars freaks are just nuts."

  The paper had heard about the melee and dispatched a photographer -- Jared Jackson, a fun guy in his late forties who was clearly gay but covered up for it by talking gratuitously about female genitalia to anyone who would listen.

  "Any Princess Leias in the gold bikini?" he asked, before moving in to do his shooting. Fricking Princess Leia. I noticed that Jared had already managed to find one, with a pretty impressive rack. He was using his telephoto lens -- even though he didn't need it given the celestial globes hanging in his face.

  Eliot was still hanging around, but he hadn't talked to me while I conducted interviews. Instead he lounged against the entryway, smiling at any girl who was escorted out in front of him. He smiled even wider at the ones wearing cuffs. I walked over to him to say my goodbyes, while mentally bitch slapping him for being a dog.

  "Listen, I have to file this story," I said. He merely nodded. "Sorry you didn't get to hear the show."

  This drew a smile from him. "Something tells me I'll get another chance if I spend much more time with you." He waved goodbye and left for the parking lot.

  I had a feeling, too, that I was getting in way over my head.

  Six

  I slept in the next day. Surprisingly, light saber battles take it out of you. I leisurely got out of bed, slipped on my comfy Yoda slippers and padded into the kitchen.

  You would think, coming from a restaurant family and having worked in the family business throughout my teen years, I would be a good cook. You w
ould be wrong. I can barely boil water and brown toast.

  I opted for my usual -- a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a large glass of tomato juice. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. I shoved my copy of The Goonies into the DVD player to entertain myself during breakfast and distract myself from the events of the night before.

  Since I had the day off, I figured it was a perfect time to catch up with my best friend Carly, so I jumped in the shower and gave her a call, seeing if she wanted to meet up. Since she was knee deep in wedding preparations -- for a wedding that was still months away, mind you -- she told me I could come over to her parents' house and help her with a seating chart.

  Fun for her. Torture for me.

  Since I had a distinct lack of anything else to do, though, I opted for an afternoon of torture with Carly and her crazy family. And when I say crazy, I mean certifiable -- and not in a fun way like my family.

  Carly and I were roommates my sophomore year in college. It was kind of a forced cohabitation on both our parts. Neither one of us liked one another, but space was an issue in the dorm we both wanted to live in. We compromised and all the animosity turned into an enduring friendship one drunken night over a shared can of beets (long story).

  We were pretty much inseparable -- and incorrigible -- from that moment on.

  We spent three hazy years nursing hangovers, bullying additional roommates and mocking the multitude of men that moved throughout our lives (and beds). She ultimately found one that she liked enough to commit to -- and they moved in together right after college.

  Her betrothed, Kyle, was a likable guy with a fun personality and an easygoing nature. In fact, he was so engaging I was sure he was gay for the first year of their relationship. I don't think it helped his cause that he held a cigarette between his middle and ring finger and once wore a "God made Adam and Steve" shirt. We found out, after the fact, that he did it as part of a dare from one of his roommates.

  Kyle's easygoing personality was a must if he was going to marry Carly, though. I love her to death but the girl is high maintenance. She's one of those people that always has a "to do" list -- and actually gets it done every day. I'm one of those people who has a "to do" list and hopes to get it done someday. Heck, I'd be happy if I got one or two things done on it before I die.

  Carly's parents live in Chesterfield Township, a northern suburb of Macomb County and a good twenty-minute drive from my house. She was currently back living with them as a concession to her mother for living in sin with Kyle for the past few years. Carly said it was easier to acquiesce to her mother's demands for purity than argue with her. Of course, her mother must have been a moron to think Carly was spending all those nights "planning her wedding" at my house. Three nights a week. Three nights a week that I never actually saw her, but on which she always called me to remind me to lie to her mother should she call.

  For my part, I had no problem lying to Carly's mom. My mother is a different story. First of all, she would never have believed a lie like that. Of course, I never would have lied about something so mundane anyway. Watching my mother's head spin around like that kid in The Exorcist when I told her I was going to fornicate with someone held more appeal for me than lying anyway.

  When I got to the house, I realized right away something was off. Carly's mom was sitting on the front steps crying. I noticed her lips seemed to be moving, but there was no cell phone to her ear.

  Odd, but not unexpected. I figured whatever was going on here had been propelled by a few drinks. Oh, and when I say a few drinks, I actually mean at least fifteen.

  "Hey Mrs. Starling," I greeted her amiably as I swung out of the car. She didn't appear to notice me. Instead she continued her running commentary while resting her head against a ceramic goose dressed in a Detroit Red Wings jersey that sat on the front stoop.

  "I told her, I told her that if she gave away the milk for free, then no one would buy the cow."

  I looked around the yard in case I just wasn't seeing whomever she was talking to. There was no one there.

  "Now what's she going to do? She gave away her virtue and you can only pop that cherry once."

  Yikes. Too much information.

  I slid past Mrs. Starling and let myself into the house. I'd been there enough times to be considered auxiliary family. In my family, I'd be considered one of the Munsters. Someone who fit right in to an admittedly already weird clan. In the case of Carly's family, I was like Marilyn Munster -- but family all the same.

  I walked into the kitchen and found Carly calmly sitting down at the kitchen table and shredding paper.

  "What's going on?"

  She didn't answer immediately. I saw that her shoulder length brown hair looked like it hadn't been washed yet today -- something that was very unlike Carly. I also noticed her eyes were red-rimmed -- and not from doing something fun.

  "What's wrong?"

  Carly turned and regarded me stonily (again, not in a fun way). "The wedding is off." She was matter-of-fact. Hmm, I must have missed the theatrics and histrionics. Or they were still coming. That was a sobering thought.

  "The wedding is off? Again?" I couldn't get too concerned. Carly had called off the wedding five times in the last year. I doubted it would last. "It was on when I called you an hour ago."

  Carly gave me a withering look. If I was anyone else I'd be scared. Since I was me, though, I was merely perplexed.

  "Kyle's mother is in town." Carly's affect was pretty flat. If this was Invasion of the Body Snatchers I'd be worried.

  "You called off the wedding because his mom came to visit?" I was really only half listening. I figured Carly would vent and then get over it like she always did. I reached into the donut box on the table and pulled out my favorite, a cake donut with chocolate icing and sprinkles. Yum.

  Carly glared at me. "You have met his mother right?"

  I had actually met his mother and found her to be just about the biggest bitch in the world. She lived in Chicago, though. I figured, at most, Carly would have to see her twice a year and once they were married Carly could be as bitchy as she wanted right back, so I didn't see the hassle. In the end, Carly was going to outlive the old biddy anyway, so she had a built in victory already.

  "Yeah, I met her. She's a hag. So what?"

  Carly sighed. She already had that patented disappointed mother sigh down -- and she wasn't even my mother. "So, she came to town for three reasons. First, she asked Kyle if he really wanted to marry me because she thought he could do better."

  "Stupid bitch," I nodded sympathetically. I may not get the urge to marry, but I'm loyal to a fault. If Carly wanted to go beat the shit out of her future stepmother right now, I'd carry the bat for her.

  "He told her he loved me and wanted to marry me."

  I nodded approvingly. Kyle was loyal, too. That's one of the things I loved about him.

  "Then she informed him she picked out a dress for the wedding," Carly rattled on, clearly battling to hold her emotions in check.

  "What's wrong with it? Is it tacky? Is it sequined?"

  Carly shook her head angrily. "It's off-white."

  Now I was confused. "Well, is it like see-through or something?"

  Carly clenched her jaw, clearly fighting the urge to beat me with a bat. "No, it's just that no one is supposed to wear white at a wedding except for the bride. She's trying to steal my thunder."

  Personally, I'd be more upset if someone was trying to steal my car or something, but I let her continue.

  "She doesn't even want me to have my day. She wants to make everything about her." Now Carly's bottom lip was quivering. Uh-oh. Carly was quick to throw a tantrum. I understood that. Heck, I was the same way. Tears were another story, though. Neither of us did tears.

  I was at a crossroads here, not sure what to do. Is this a hugging moment or a swearing an oath to kill moment? I decided to wait and see if there was more. Unfortunately, there was.

  "That's not even the worst part,
though," Carly wailed, suddenly losing her battle to hold off the tears. Now I was frozen in abject terror. The sight of Carly crying was just too much for me. "You know how they have the daddy-daughter dance at the wedding?"

  I nodded while awkwardly reaching over to pat her on the hand reassuringly.

  "Well she wants a mother-son dance, too," Carly spat out. "And she's already picked a song. Do you want to know what it is?"

  Probably not.

  "It's that song from Titanic. The one about love going on after death. She's picked a song that suggests he's going down with the ship -- and I'm that ship!"

  To me, this wasn't a life or death situation, but I knew it was important to Carly so I did the only thing I knew to do. The only thing a true friend would do. "You want me to beat her up for you? Start her on fire?"

  Carly grimaced.

  "I could sabotage the speakers right before their dance," I offered.

  Whoops, this induced eye rolling.

  "Oh, wait, I've got it, you want to go egg her car tonight?"

  At this, Carly stopped and lifted her eyes. She clearly liked the idea of ruining the paint job on Kyle's mom's Bentley.

  While I had her intrigued I kept going. "Let's go all out. Let's vandalize the hell out of Kyle's apartment while we're at it." He clearly deserved it for not staking his mother in her sleep.

  Carly smiled for the first time that day and slowly got to her feet.

  "Let's go shopping."

  Carly smiled and reached for her purse. When she did I got a whiff of her. She smelled as dirty as her hair looked.

  "Right after you take a shower," I prodded.

  Seven

  If she were a lesser person, Carly would have belted me one -- or at least pulled my hair and called me a dirty skank. Because she was who she was, though, instead she thanked me for not letting her go out to vandalize private property looking anything less than her best. After all, if we did it wrong mug shots could be involved.

  Before she went up to shower, I asked her about her mom -- who was still outside talking to thin air.

  Carly waved off the question with a laugh. "She's talking to the goose."