A Very Bad Man

“HE’S a VERY bad man, Honey. He’ll find you. Hurt You.”

Onetta Marnett’s words filter through Mandal’s head as she watches Ranger Keats hover over Mava, looking none to friendly at her. No budge in Mava, grey eyes welded on Keats shaded mirrors.

Mandal, watching, Keats mumbles something, Mava, turns, Styrofoam cup, coffee from the machine, plants it on the counter. Keats smiles, turns his head, looks off at her, leaving the coffee right where it is.

“Great, what now?” Mandal murmurs.

Keats moseys up to her, hovers like a black crow, he’s a gentlemen, takes his Stetson off, fingers through his red hair, a little concern in his voice, asks. “Mamm, do ya mind if I ask, what yer doin’ here?”

Sunshine girl back again from the mud world of her mind, smiles.

“Hello Officer Keats. I’m staying a day or two until the mechanic, Arvan I guess his name is, repairs my car. Then I’m off to California.” Now she can’t even remember Arvans fucking name, the winner is.

He rubs his jaw, peeks back at Mava and, then down at her smiling face.

“That’s good Mamm, real good. Ya knowed this place ain’t fit fer a young lady as yerself. Best, iffin’ ya get outta here as quick as ya can. Iffin’ ya knowed what I mean?”

She nods, conspiracy time, align Keats, she’s in the know.

“Officer Keats, believe me. There’s nothing in the world I would like better.” She smiles.

“If you know WHAT I mean.” Accentuating the word. “WHAT”.

Nodding, pleased, he seems happy with her reply, as she looks past him, sees Mava looking at her with a lot of intensity. From a pearl buttoned pocket, he digs out a business card, hands it to her.

“Ya probably will be okay, iffin’ ya have any problems, ya call me, ya understand?”

Card in the hand, grift accomplished, she’s got another warrior on board. She nods, telling the Ranger in doing so that she really, really understands.

“Thank you Ranger Keats, again. I get it.”

Nods from Keats, cowboy hat on his enormous head, sun glasses tight, smiles, turns, walks to the counter, looks at Mava, Styrofoam cup of coffee, ignores it, chuckles, says. “Mava.”

He turns, walks right out the door.

“PLOP.”

Mandals breakfast, on the slot, under the infra red, no ashes. Mava, snort of hatred for Keats, takes the dishes, stylizes across the dump and lays them down before the doll. Looking out the window, she watches as Keats cruise out of the compound, hits asphalt, tires smoke and he’s gone.

“Fucking Keats.” She seethes, as a toast plate joins the eggs, and she says.

“There ya go, darlin. What the Ranger want?”

No movie director needed, no prompts, Mandal pretends annoyance, someone else, her specialty.

“That big cop rousted me along the road, after my car broke. Pushed me to Berks, real asshole.”

It hurts her to say the words.

Rolls of the actresses’ eyes, Mava likes her attitude, whispers. “Fuckin’ pigs.”

“Yeah all the same. He was just checkin’ on me again.”

Not lying, eyes tilt at the food, she says. “Boy that looks great. I’m starving.”

Disarmed by her Betty’s dislike for Keats, cops, Mava lightens, clips the pretty skinny gal on her sharp chin.

“Eat darlin’. Yer skinny as an eel.”

She is wonderin’ about her and Arvan matin’, maybe invitin’ the sweet girl into their lives.

Grinning, knife, fork, butter, grape jam, Tabasco, like a heathen, she digs in.

Back in the Kitchen, back in Arts powerhouse arms, some smoochin’, dick grabbing, protection, solidarity, cheatin’ looks at the blond who eats like she’s a starving jackal, with both hands.

In between bites, Mandal whispers to herself. “Gotta call Onetta. See what’s what.”

And, GEEZE there it is again, her mind.

If only she simply kept eating, stopped thinking, her chances of making it to Vegas would have had much better Odd’s.

Nobody ever said it was easy being an eclectic genius, and in fact, it was darn right lethal at times.