Chapter Twenty
Tizzy
I snap my pink elbow-length rubber gloved over my hands, then pull the matching pink goggles over my eyes. Picking up the pink bucket with all the cleaning supplies I could need, I nod before heading toward the exit door.
“Uh, Mama Tiz. Where ya headed will all that girly shit?” Caesar asks, eyeing the bucket and my getup as he nibbles on some banana bread.
“To put in some elbow grease! It's time someone finally took care of business.” I nod decisively, not sticking around even when I hear him behind me.
“Uh… I don't think that's the best idea. Prez wants to keep it…”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Devon wants the upstairs to look like a dump, but I just can't live like this. I get it; it goes with the whole theme if the place seems out of business and downright dingy. But how flipping fabulous would it be to someday have this place restored to its former glory?
As I come out of the hidden door and make my way to the front, standing behind the counter, I take in the place. It has so much potential. From the eight okay-looking lanes that just need some oiling and a good buffing, to the vinyl chairs that may be cracked, but I'm sure I can get them scrubbed clean and looking at least better. They may not match, but they sit a rump just as well as all the rest.
I keep moving over to the lanes and wince at the state of the pins, all scattered about and duct taped. The register at least looks like it works, and it's not from the dino age. Then there are the shoes that run all along the back wall, the ones that I would bet money stink so bad they could get up and walk out of here themselves. I’ll need to figure out if they are a complete lost cause or not. Maybe I can talk Devon into that job. I don't want to lose my nails to some foot fungus that might be hiding in one or more pairs of those ugly things.
I wonder if I should start with the small arcade space? The area back there may only have a few machines, and only one of them is actually working, but the space has potential. It's currently filled with trash and junk you would find at an estate sale, but if we clear all that up, we might have something to work with. I might have to get some of the guys to help me with that one, too. I saw a shed out back that I can put all that stuff in, and I have a feeling there will be a few things buried deep in here that I won't be able to get all by my lonesome.
One of the high-top tables is turned over, but other than straightening them up and wiping them off, those will work fine. Further down the wall, I notice the small bar. No real taps or true bar are set up, only a tapped-out keg and a secret beer stash in the fridge behind some empty boxes. That brings me to the biggest hurdle with this project. I might be able to scrub this place clean, clear out all the trash, and straighten up the whole place enough to get it running. That will be a bit of a challenge, one I’m definitely up to. But the real conundrum is how I will convince the two old grumpy men who live at that sticky beat-up bar top to go along with my plan.
Getting myself into gear, I throw myself into cleaning. I find a small radio behind the messy main counter and put on some old-school hits. Dancing, wiggling, and scrubbing, I'm in my element. I’ve never felt so determined or happy in my life at the potential of this place. I’m singing loud and probably off-key when the song is suddenly interrupted, and I’m left screeching all alone.
“RUDE!” I yell, whipping my head to turn and look at who dared mess with my tunes. Rolling my eyes at Devon's crossed arms, I pull the goggles off my eyes and set them right below my hairline.
“Bunny, what the hell do you think you're doing?” he asks, trying to sound stern, but I see the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“What's it look like? This place is absolutely disgusting, so I decided to start cleaning. I'm getting this place back to its old glory!” I throw my hands in the air and spin in a circle.
“Baby girl, you do know this place is a cover… it's supposed to be dirty and disgusting. It keeps the would-be customers away,” he says it like I'm not supposed to know this already.
“You have this place locked down tighter than my gran’s good china! No way anyone would know there's a whole daggum city down below, even if this was a headliner in Vegas! But let's play this your way. This place is run by some shady club, right? So, in the eyes of the town, this would be the place for the lowest of lows to hang out, right? Wouldn't that just put the club in danger of being discovered? If I was the po-po, somewhere like this would be the first place I would look. Clean it up, make it a family joint, and there's no way some rough and rowdy bad busters gonna think this place is a secret hideout for the deadliest men this world has ever seen.” I smirk, and he narrows his eyes on me.
I can see him thinking, can nearly watch as the wheels turn over and over in his brain, trying to find a flaw in my fruit snacks, but he ain't gonna. I let the smile slowly take over my face as his eyes narrow further and I know I’ve got him.
“Grr.. fine! Just… be careful! You get yourself hurt, and I’ll spank your ass!” he yells.
I perk up at that promise, “accidentally” twisting my ankles and falling… gracefully… to the floor I just cleaned. Then, placing the back of my hand across my forehead, I muster, “Oh, heavens! Someone help me, help me; I’ve fallen in these devil heels.”
“I’ve seen you hike in higher ones, Bunny. You ain't fooling me,” he says, walking back to me, picking me up like a doll, smacking my ass before turning to stomp back downstairs.
“Damn! Got his panties all in a twist, didn't you, girly?” one of the old guys chuckles.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” the other snorts before taking a chug from his beer.
“Well, I’d be a liar if I said he didn't have me all hog-tied up, either.” I smile, grabbing my rag and wiping down the counter. I grab a new trash bag and head for the overturned trash can behind the bar.
“Don't even think of it, sugar. You ain't got no business touching that nasty ass trash can. I’ll pick it up, but that's all I’m agreeing to,” the grumpy one says, getting off the stool with an oomph.
“Yeah, we don't want this place looking all spick and span. Don't need no new crowds coming in here and overtaking our nice little setup we got going on here. With their loud music and skinny jeans. What the fuck is with skinny jeans?” the other one grumps, and I can't help but smile. These two are a hoot.
“Aww, come on now, wouldn't you enjoy coming in here and trying your hand at a Friday night bowling league? I bet you'd be the first to get a three hundred. I’d have your picture hanging right behind the desk,” I tell him, gesturing wide. Once again, I get a snort from both grumpy old men.
“I’d break a hip throwing that fuckin’ ball, then shoot the fucking pins down with my trusty old Glock. I’ll stick to my bullets, bike, and my beer.”
I spend the next few hours getting to know Hag and Fossil as we laugh, well, I do most of the laughing, but these guys and their quibbling have me nearly on the freshly polished floor.
“You should have seen him on his first mission. Hag and me, we didn't take it easy on the boy,” Fossil chuckles softly. “You remember that time we woke him up with those old firecrackers? Shit, I ain't never seen someone move so quick.”
“Or the time with the icy hot.”
“Fuck, I forgot about that one!” Fossil hollers.
“If you two old hens are up here spreading misinformation to my woman, I’ll have to kick both your old asses out of here,” Devon says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “The place looks good, baby girl,” he whispers into my hair before kissing the side of my head, then turning back to Hag and Fossil.
“The firecrackers were me. The Icy hot was all Lambert,” Devon tells them.
“Lambert!! I remember him.” Fossil snaps in recognition.
“He was a good kid. Whatever happened to him?” Hag takes another swig of his beer as I place a new one in front of him.
“His whole unit was ambushed, and he was the only one to make it out alive. He retired and has been trying to drink the memories away ever since,” Devon responds, his tone flat.
“What the fuck, Ghost? And you didn't bring him back here?” Hag bangs his hand on the old bar top. Lordy, mercy, if he does that again, the whole things liable to fall like the London Bridge.
“Don't you think I tried? Hell, I did everything but hogtie his ass to the back of my bike,” Devon growls.
“Hmph… well, looks like we ain't completely retired, brother. Still got to deal with these pissy ass boys and their tantrums. Come on, Fossil,” Hag says, grunting and climbing from the seat.
“Where are you two going?” Devon asks, confused.
“Someone's gotta take care of this family, and I guess since you're too busy running around here with your finger up your ass, it's going to have to be us.”
And with those parting words, they hobble… yes, hobble, out of the door. It's not two minutes before I hear two loud engines fire up.
“Wait a minute. Those two drive hogs, too?” I ask in disbelief.
“Mhmm,” Devon mumbles, moving the hair off my shoulder and kissing the side of my neck.
“Isn't that sort of dangerous? Doesn't one of them use an oxygen tank?” I ask, concerned.
“You try telling them fuckers they're too old to ride. Plus, what do you think saddle bags are for?”
Well, my first guess would never have been an oxygen tank, but what the heck do I know?