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IDA BELLE KICKED THE speed up a notch, wanting to put as much distance between their boat and any of the other boats driven by fleeing Swamp Bar patrons. Combined with the alcohol and the adrenalin rush many were now experiencing, they wouldn’t be the safest bunch to be around on the water.
Gertie and Marge grabbed the duffel bags they’d packed with their change of clothing, struggling against the wind to remove their bar clothes and change into street clothes. Their plan had been to stop the boat in a private spot along the bayou and change. No chance of that now, not with a horde of Swamp Bar patrons behind them.
“Hang on!” Ida Belle called to Marge and Gertie as she took a wide, fast turn onto the tributary of Sinful Bayou that ran behind Marge’s parents’ house.
“Watch out!” Marge responded, pointing to a boat heading their way.
Ida Belle had spotted it and was already swerving to the right to avoid it as the words left Marge’s mouth. Smooth as butter, Ida Belle thought as the opposing boat sailed on past them.
Marge frantically changed from her tight skirt into jeans, then shoved the pink skirt back into the duffle bag and pulled out a T-shirt, slipping it on over her tight tube top. Gertie, on the other hand, was still working on getting out of her cutoffs.
“The zipper’s stuck!” After several tugs, she was finally able to free herself from them.
“Give me the duffle bag,” Gertie said to Marge, who handed it to her.
Ida Belle noticed a floating tree branch in the water ahead. “Hang on,” she called out before making a hard left to avoid it.
The duffle bag slipped from Gertie’s hand. She tried to stop it from flying out of the boat, releasing the cutoffs she’d been holding onto. “Damn!” she yelled as she unsuccessfully tried to keep her shorts from flying. This caused her to loosen her grip on the duffle bag. Soon several articles of clothing and their make-up removal kit were sucked from the duffle bag and became airborne, joining the cutoffs in flight and disappearing into the night.
“My clothes!” Gertie screamed.
Marge grabbed the duffle bag before it too became a casualty of the wind. “Your jeans are still here,” she called out to Gertie. She looked behind them and cursed. “It’s a sheriff’s boat. He turned and is on our tail.”
“Aww hell,” Ida Belle screamed. She looked down at Gertie. “You’d better hurry and put those pants on.”
Ida Belle thought of all the options, which basically numbered just two. She could try to lose the sheriff’s boat, knowing of a spot to skip from one tributary to another a few miles past the city limits. It was a tricky maneuver and had the potential of scuffing the boat up a bit. Had it been her boat, she probably would have taken that option. But the Boudreaux family had been good to her over the years, and this was their family fishing boat. She’d have to try the second option - talking their way out of getting arrested for being a menace on the waterways. That option would be easier had Gertie not lost her decent blouse and was stuck in a crop top that most likely broke all sorts of Sinful Laws on proper outerwear. Marge looked better in her jeans and T-shirt, but she was having trouble wiping all the hooker makeup off her face, having to use the pink skirt as a rag. They’d have to take their chances. Ida Belle slowed the boat and pulled toward the bank of the bayou.
Gertie was lying flat on the bottom of the boat, frantically pulling up her jeans. Marge dipped the pink skirt into the dirty water of the bayou and scrubbed at her face.
“How do I look?” Marge asked Ida Belle, before handing the skirt to Gertie, who quickly wiped at the remains of her makeup.
Ida Belle glanced from Marge, whose wet, smeared makeup had a Bride of Frankenstein quality to it, to Gertie, who looked like Bozo the Clown’s hooker sister after a rough night. “Neither one of you want to know.”
The sheriff’s boat came up next to them and stopped. Sheriff Lee was in the front and held up a large flashlight. Newly minted Deputy Walter sat in back. This night had just gone from bad to hurricane force disaster.
Sheriff Lee held up Gertie’s cut-off shorts. “Look what came flying our way.”
Gertie reached over to take them, but Sheriff Lee held them back. He then shone the light on Marge’s makeup-smeared face, then Gertie’s, then brought the beam down to Gertie’s crop top which still had a multitude of bills sticking out.
He cringed. “I got a call on my two-way that there was a disturbance down at the Swamp Bar. Two Feds dressed like ladies of the evening.”
“Ladies of the evening?” Gertie asked.
“We wouldn’t know anything about that, Sheriff,” Ida Belle said innocently as a couple of boats sped past them, no doubt filled with bar patrons rushing home. “But the guys in those boats probably do. You might want to go ask them.”
Sheriff Lee looked back at Marge and Gertie and shook his head. “You two are practically begging me to arrest you.”
“Oh, come on, Sheriff,” Ida Belle said smiling. “It’s not what I chose to wear to go fishing, but to each her own.”
“Hmmm,” Sheriff Lee said, rubbing his chin. “Fishing. That’s what you were out doing tonight?”
Ida Belle nodded.
He gestured toward Gertie. “You using dollar bills for bait now? Or were the fish tipping you?”
Gertie folded her arms. “I lost my wallet. I had to put my money somewhere.”
“You decided to stick your money in that skimpy cloth around your... privates? Like I said, you are begging me to arrest you.”
“Aww, Sheriff,” Ida Belle said, “you can’t arrest someone for how they choose to dress or put on their makeup.”
“Heck I can’t, excuse my language. Moral decay might be rampant in other parts of this country and may be something you’ve gotten used to in the jungles of Vietnam, but here in Sinful we aim to protect decency. And that includes the appearance of decency. In fact, Big Eddie’s not even allowed to sell those little chocolate things.” The sheriff snapped his fingers. “What are they called again?”
“Ho-Hos,” Walter said.
“That’s right. Ho-Hos. He can’t sell ‘em because of Sinful City Ordinance Five Zero Two, Section Three, Part One that outlaws anything that even remotely hints at solicitation. Which I don’t really mind because I’m a Twinkies man myself. Big Eddie can’t stock enough of them as far as I’m concerned. You pass that along to your daddy, would you, Walter?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sheriff Lee smiled, as if remembering the last time he’d eaten a Twinkie. “What I like about them is that cream filling in the middle. Now, as a baker yourself,” he said to Gertie, “can you tell me how they get that cream in the middle?”
“No I can’t,” Gertie said. She stood tall and pointed her finger at him. “But what I can tell you is that you’re violating our rights to free expression. That would be covered under the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America. Last time I checked, Sinful is part of America. The America that we three helped fight for.”
“What the heck?” the sheriff asked. He looked at Ida Belle. “What is she talking about?”
Ida Belle started to answer but was interrupted by Gertie. “Just getting something off my chest, that’s all.”
Ida Belle inwardly groaned. The Sheriff raised his brows. “Oh,” he said, “I can clearly see what’s on your chest. I’d say whoever stuck them bills in there could also see that.”
“The man in the moon can see that,” Walter said, snickering.
Gertie stood proudly and looked him in the eye. “It’s a fashion statement.”
Sheriff Lee blew out a breath. “Well, you can make your fashion statement back at the jail. Maybe a night in the clink will make you rethink what kinds of fashion you should wrap yourself in.”
“Jail?” Ida Belle said.
He nodded. “You for driving recklessly on the waterways, Gertie for showing more skin than a baby’s allowed to show, and Marge for being an accessory and violating the no-impersonating-a-clown-except-for-birthday-parties ordinance.”
“You can’t do that,” Marge said.
Gertie and Ida Belle echoed her thoughts in loud protests.
Sheriff Lee quieted them with a shot from his pistol into the water, inches from their boat. “You want to make it two nights?” He pointed to the bills sticking out of Gertie’s crop top. “And I’d get a new wallet if I was you. You’re making our presidents blush.”
* * * * *
WALTER OPENED THE DOOR leading to the jail block and stepped aside so the three women could enter. Gertie shook her head. Marge and Ida Belle stood still and glared at him.
“I refuse to go inside until Sheriff Lee listens to our information relating to the murder of Mr. Guillory,” Gertie said.
“Maybe he would have listened had you not called him a... poop head,” Walter said
Ida Belle laughed. “She didn’t call him a poop head.”
Walter sighed. “You’re right. But I didn’t want to use the word she used in front of ladies.”
“Even though it was a lady who used the word?” Marge asked.
“Just go inside the cell block,” Walter said.
Gertie gave him the finger and stepped through the door.
“What she just said,” Marge added as she followed Gertie.
Ida Belle started to enter, but Walter stopped her. “You’ll still go out with me even though I had to arrest you, won’t you?”
She decided to make him suffer. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, come on, Ida Belle. You know I don’t have a say in this. He’s the sheriff. I’m a lowly temporary deputy.”
“If it were me, I’d make Walter beg,” Gertie said.
“Well, it’s not you, so stay out of it.” Walter said. He turned back to Ida Belle and smiled. “If it’ll make you feel any better, the deluxe cell has a new collection of paperbacks.”
The deluxe cell was located around the corner of the cell block and down another hallway. Reserved for women prisoners, it boasted thick mattresses on two bunkbeds, a lamp, two end tables and a small bookcase filled with romance novels. The prevailing thought among Sinful law enforcement was that the female constitution couldn’t take the harsh conditions of a typical cell. Ida Belle, Marge and Gertie had all three been guests in the deluxe cell at one time or another.
“Do we have the cell to ourselves tonight?” Marge asked.
Walter looked down at the ground. “Um, actually, no. You’ll have a roommate.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “Some gal take a frying pan to her husband? I hate sharing the cell with an angry housewife. All they want to talk about is what a snake she married.”
Walter shook his head. “Nope. No domestic dispute.”
“Who is she? Who’d you arrest?” Marge asked.
Walter sighed and looked into her eyes. “Your Aunt Louanne.”