Page 62 of Shenanigans

“Yes, sir.” Dutch picked Tinkerbell up and slid into the truck’s back seat.

Jana and I climbed in behind him.

“Scoot over Dutch, you’re hogging all the space,” Jana complained.

Tinkerbell bared her teeth at my BFF.

Jana threw her hands up. “What?”

“Tinkerbell says you’re touching Dutch,” I translated.

“Kinda hard not to. He takes up too much room.”

Dad started the truck and threatened, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Just kill me now,” I moaned. The back of my neck began to prickle. I drew on my psychic abilities and searched for the source of danger. There. I turned, and my gaze locked on a tall form standing in the shadows. Sonovabitch. Samson. If he thought I was going to Pakistan to control those endangered white tigers for him, he was nuts. I gave him the one-fingered salute as we drove by.

Samson returned the gesture.

Juan Hilberto is living the American dream. He bought an old donut shop, painted it a glow-in-the-dark orange and turned it into a Mexican food restaurant without an ounce of ambiance. The walls are covered with awful velvet paintings of matadors, tigers and Elvis. The Mariachi music was a tad too loud, but the food was to die for.

Dad and Dutch filled their plates with fajitas, while us girls settled for tamales and guacamole.

No one paid any attention to a badly drooling Tinkerbell. I added some shredded beef to my plate for her.

The music drove us out onto the narrow patio full of battered picnic tables. For that little dash of romance, a homeless person snored loudly on the last table.

As soon as Dutch’s butt hit the bench, my mom turned into a Gestapo interrogator. “How often do you visit your mother?”

Dutch stared at her for a long moment. “My mother died when I was ten, I visit her grave once a year.”

You would think that would shut mom down, but nope, she was just getting started.

“Is your father still alive?”

“Enough Mom. It’s none of your business,” I interjected.

“Everything that happens to you is my business.”

Jana put her two cents in, “The detective’s father got mixed up with Natasha Leggero.”

“Who?” Mom piled guacamole on her tamales.

“You know, that drama queen with the ginormous boobs who was on the nightly news for months?”

“Oh! Her.” Mom cocked her head. “Does your father have a breast fetish Dutch?”

Dutch choked on his food.

My father kept eating.

I dropped my head into my hands. “Now you know why I don’t date.”

Mom changed her tactics. “Did you ever catch that Ninja Nun?”

A feral smile touched Dutch’s mouth. “I did.”

I gave him the stink eye. “Did not.”

---