Part 5

“Hey, is that you, Maryanne?” Heap always laughed at his name but Marion didn’t care.

“Yeah, I found the boyfriend. At his own place,” shouted Marion as he pulled around a city bus. “Damn phone. Can you hear me now?”

“So what happened?”

“We had a little problem.”

“Chance got the worst of it.” The Heap laughed.

“No, he didn’t. Couple of bad boys showed up. With sawed-offs.”

“So did Chance get it?”

“No, I told you aw-ready, fat boy. Can you f**king hear me now?” Marion pulled over to park across the driveway of an insurance building. “Stupid damn cell phones.”

“I heard you. So nothing happened. Get it across to him I don’t want him to fool with Zoë. Do something that matters, you know.”

“No, Heap, I damn don’t know. I’m not going to smack a kid around for that. Face it -- she’s grown-up.” The swearing on the other end made Marion blush like the Pope at a bachelor party.

“These two guys tried to take him out. But Chance had his own big bad gun.”

“No shit! We’ll take him in for breaking parole. I’ll send a car to pick him up. You’ll have to write a . . .”

“I’m not writing nothing. You fathead, your girl got grazed by one of the shells from the walk-ups. She was in the car, that red Viper, the one Chance had a canvas on.’

“Zoë’s hurt? How bad? Where is she?”

“Took her to St. Joseph’s. I’m on my way there. I’m going to get Chance to file charges. Maybe he knows what the shooters were up to.”

“Hell, don’t do that. Forget. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

He rang off and Marion shook his big head. This is sure a weird thing, he thought. Heap is smarter than he sounds, he told himself.

Going past Burrito Barney’s, he ducked into the drive through and got a double bean and cheese super size and a quart of cola. Juggling the food and drink, he slowly drove toward the hospital, still thinking of sawed-off shotguns, body armor and young lovers. Finally, he pushed the rest of the burrito into his mouth as he watched over the rim of the paper cup as he followed Heap’s SUV into the parking lot of St. Joe’s Hospital. When Heap parked, Marion pulled his old blue Ford in beside him.

“Hey, Maryanne, where’s your skirt?” The man was ugly, with little piggy eyes and sweaty armpits. He smelled like a whole football team waiting for the showers.

“Corellas is meeting us here, “ Marion told him in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Why the hell is that? He can’t be bothered; he’s a fool paper-pusher since he got his valve job.”

“He’ll be back on the streets.“ Marion growled, “I want him here to help interview Chance. I am sure that Chance Beebe knows who the shooters are and WHY.”

At that moment, Chance came out of the hospital. Marion grinned big and wide, and burped directly at Heap.


Sorry it's longer than I thought it would be.