A Honeybun and Coffee(8)

By: Sam Cheever

He gunned the engine again and they were off, shooting across the street at an impossible speed. He jerked the bike to a stop in front of the garage and reached into a pocket of the dog sack. One of the garage doors started opening.

Alastair pulled into the garage, parked the bike, and immediately hit the garage door button to close the door. Angie sat there, feeling like her mind was mired in cement. Her entire body was vibrating. Alastair pried her arms from around his waist and climbed off. Angie followed slowly, and when she stood up, her knees buckled. Alastair caught her before her butt hit the clean cement of the tidy garage.

“Never again. Never again. Never again. Never, never, never, never...” Angie muttered as she forced her knees to lock under her.

Alastair watched her carefully, like you’d watch a crazy person in a room full of knives. “Are you gonna be okay or do you need a moment?”

Angie glared at him and took a tentative step to see if her legs would hold her. “Do you think it was a good idea to come back here?”

He shook his head. “No. We can’t stay. I just wanted to grab a few things for me and Jaws before we hit the road again.”

Angie held up a hand. “Don’t...use that expression in my presence ever again. And if there isn’t a car involved in the next leg of the journey you can count me out. I’d rather be killed by the thugs, at least it would be a fast, and comparatively terror free.”

He grinned at her.

“And did you say, Jaws? You’re kidding me right? You did not name that sweet little thing Jaws.”

He turned away from her, grabbed the dachshund out of its little sack, and headed for the house. “I didn’t?”

Angie hobbled after him. “Smartass. I’m gonna use the Ladies before we go. I need to get the bugs out of my teeth and puke. Things like that.”


When Angie came back out of the bathroom Alastair was standing by the door to the garage with a large duffle bag in his hand. It appeared to be pretty full. Jaws stood next to him on stubby legs, his deep little chest about two inches above the floor, making goo eyes at her.

“You ready?”

Angie nodded. “Let me grab my keys.”

Alastair shook his head and grabbed her arm. “You have to leave your car here. I’m sure they rummaged through the glove compartment and probably know where you live by now. I’m driving.”

Angie’s eyes popped again. “Oh heck no. I’m not riding in anything that goes over five miles an hour with you behind the wheel ever again. Maybe a go cart...someday...when I’m too old and feeble to remember that motorcycle ride.”

Alastair dragged her toward the garage. “Technically I was not behind a wheel on the bike. But we don’t have time to argue anyway. They’ll probably be coming back when they realize you’re not at your house or at work.”

“At work?” Angie’s voice squawked unbecomingly as she realized just how deeply she’d embedded herself in Alastair Honeybun’s mess.

No good deed ever goes unpunished.

“Where are we going? Angie climbed into the passenger side door of a shiny, black crossover vehicle.

“No clue.” He responded helpfully.

“How about my sister’s house? She’ll be at work and I have a key. We’ll have time to regroup.”

He nodded, “Let’s go.”

CINNAMON PARKER HAD divorced a very rich, very powerful man. Which explained why she lived in a huge, old, refurbished mansion in the wealthy section of town. Angie had never felt right about going into that house when her sister was married. But now that she was divorced she was making peace with the place. It was just so elegant and opulent feeling, and Angie prided herself on being more of a practical sort. Somewhere down deep in the folds of her brain she realized this vision of herself was based on a realistic idea that she wasn’t going to get rich anytime soon. It saved her a lot of disappointment for the future.

The first thing she did when they entered her sister’s house through the back door was to call work. Celeste Springer, her second young assistant, answered the phone after about the tenth ring. “Celeste, it’s Angie. How are things there?”

Since the girl was young and prone to dramatics, Angie expected her to respond in exclamation points. Celeste didn’t disappoint.

“OMG, Ang, we’ve just been swamped all day! Where are you?! Petey thought you might have crashed or something! Are you coming back?! Did those two men find you?!”

Angie gulped and her eyes shot to Alastair, who was adding water to a cereal bowl for Jaws. “What two men?” Alastair’s head jerked in her direction and his eyes widened.

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