So Many Times

While We’re Waiting to Die Chapter 2

The sheriff marches a hand-cuffed man into the next cell and locks the door. The man’s head is shaved, and he wears a Harley-Davidson leather vest.

“What are you in for, handsome?” Clara smiles that black widow smile.

I elbow Clara in the ribs. Clara glares at me.

“Cussing out the sheriff,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“For catching me,” he says.

“Isn’t getting caught the worst?” Clara says. “Happened to us, too.”

Jenny push Clara aside. “What did he catch you doing?”

“Riding my motorcycle over the speed limit through downtown. About 60 miles over the speed limit.” He grins at us.

Jenny whistles. “Why were you in such a hurry?”

“I had a fight with my girlfriend -- my ex-girlfriend now. I just needed to blow off some steam.” He leans back against the concrete wall and sighs. “What are you in for?”

Clara pulls Jenny away and wiggles her hips. “Stealing a vehicle and escaping,” she says. “We’re dangerous criminals.”

“Watch out for Clara!” I say. “She leaves a trail of men behind her.”

The man laughs. “I’m Jerry, a dangerous plastic surgeon.”

“Really?” Clara asks.

“Really.” He hands Clara his business card through the bars.

“Want some lemonade?” Jenny thrusts her half-empty paper cup between the bars. “The air conditioner isn’t working.”

“Thanks.” Jerry takes the cup. “Where did you escape from?”

“Sweet End Home,” I say.

“We call it the Bitter End when we get pissed off,” Jenny says. “Which is fairly often.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Jerry says. “My aunt Sadie used to live there.”

“We knew her.” I nod. “May she rest in peace.”

“I hope not,” he says. “She was a b***h. Made everybody in the family miserable. You wouldn’t believe the party we had when she finally died.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Clara says.

“So how did you escape?” he asks.

“In a golf cart,” I say.

Jerry chuckles.

“We only borrowed it to go to the mall,” Jenny says. “We wouldn’t be here if Clara didn’t make a wrong turn onto the interstate.” She glares at Clara.

“Now we’re doing time for driving too slow in a stolen vehicle across a state line,” I say.

Jenny shakes her head. “That’s a federal crime. Grand theft auto.”

“Never travel with a retired lawyer,” I say. “She’s a party pooper.”

Jenny sticks her tongue out at me.