Part 23 (1/2)
”You gotta admit, those guys aren't auditioning for the cover of GQ GQ.”
Harry was right. The men were in total-body denim, boots, and black tees. Personal hygiene didn't appear to be a priority. Though the day was overcast, both wore shades.
”Pretty buff, though.”
”Let me handle this.” I didn't need Harry riling or seducing the indigenous folk.
”Bonjour.” I smiled and waggled the car keys. I smiled and waggled the car keys.
Cheech and Chong remained b.u.t.t-leaning on the Escalade.
”Sorry, but we need to motor.” Light, friendly.
”Nice wheels.”
”Thanks.” As I moved toward the driver's side, Chong extended an arm, catching me at chest level.
”No fly zone, buddy.” Harry's tone was a million light-years from friendly.
Stepping back, I frowned at Chong, then repeated what I'd said, this time in French. Still, the men didn't budge.
”What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you boys?” Harry was glaring from Cheech to Chong, hands on her hips.
Chong smiled from behind his dark lenses. ”Eh, mon chouchou. Big truck for little girls.” Chiac Chiac-accented English.
Neither Harry or I answered.
”You pals with Obeline Landry?”
”I don't believe that's any of your business.” Harry was in war mode.
”We were childhood friends,” I said, trying to defuse the situation.
”Shame what happened to her.” Chong's shades were now pointing at me.
I didn't reply.
”You two are going to hoist your bony a.r.s.es from that vehicle right now so my sister and I can be on our way.”
I crimped my eyes in a ”cool it” warning. Shooting a hip, Harry pursed her lips and folded her arms.
”Mrs. Landry in good health?”
”Yes.” Chilly.
”She claiming Bastarache is one sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d?”
I didn't reply.
Cheech pushed from the hood. Chong followed.
”You ladies have a good trip back to Montreal.” Unlike his partner, Cheech was Anglophone.
Harry opened her mouth. I hushed her with a hand.
Stepping onto the curb, Cheech made a gun of his thumb and forefinger and aimed it in our direction. ”And be careful with those fine wheels.”
Driving off, I glanced into the rearview mirror. The men were still standing on the sidewalk, watching our departure.
On the plane, Harry and I again discussed Obeline, and speculated about our encounter with Cheech and Chong.
”Testosterone weenies trying to impress.”
”I'm not so sure,” I said.
”Probably amuse themselves making fart noises under their armpits.”
I wasn't convinced that it was that casual.
The men knew we'd visited Obeline. Knew we'd come from Montreal. How? Had they been following us? Was Cheech's parting comment a threat or merely a macho adieu? Not wis.h.i.+ng to alarm, I kept these concerns to myself.
Back at the condo, Birdie remained hidden, cheesed off at having been left alone. I was dumping my overnighter on my bed when Harry called out.
”Your bird's a Korn fan?”
”What did he say?”
”You don't want to know.”
Though Charlie's quips weren't always approved for all audiences, I couldn't help but admire the breadth of his material. I was transporting him to the dining room when my cell phone chirped.
Depositing the cage, I checked the screen. No caller ID.
I clicked on.
”How's it going?” Ryan sounded tired.
”Good.” Neutral.
”Got a minute?”
”Hang on.”
”Do you have everything you need?” I asked Harry.
She mouthed ”Ryan?”
I nodded.