“Just say something, Ariel,” Betty pleaded after a quarter-hour of silence between them.
When Ariel didn’t respond, Betty folded her arms and counted sixty seconds before trying again.
“I know you’re mad.”
Ariel snorted without looking up from his phone.
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” Betty pouted.
Ariel raised his eyes in a regal, exhausted manner. “We’re waiting for a van.”
“I don’t do so good in vans,” Betty moaned. “Last time a van pulled up, a buncha goons threw a bag over my head and tossed me in the back.”
Ariel ignored her.
“Those cartel people made me dig my own grave, Ariel. Out in the woods where nobody could find me. You can’t imagine how terrifying it was. People are just awful, as it turns out.”
“Count yourself lucky. I woulda tossed you in the hole and dusted you with six feet of sod.”
“You’re so funny. But I’m being emotional.” She rubbed the bandage over her surgically reattached earlobe. “I need to Google it, but I’m pretty sure I show every symptom of PTSD.”
Ariel snorted again, his eyes scanning St. Monica Street.
“Look,” Betty offered, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t more, y’know, welcoming to…” She hesitated. “…to your…”
“Your grandson?”
Betty shuddered, then checked herself. “I wasn’t prepared. Nobody’s at their best when they’re in danger. But at the end of the day he seems very, y’know, normal. In a healthy, average way.”
“You don’t remember his name, do you?”
“When I look in the mirror I don’t see a grandmother,” Betty sighed, eyes darting evasively. “But I look forward to becoming close with him. With my grandson.”
“No. Nein. Nyet. Listen to me. I want you keep far, far away from my kid,” Ariel warned. “‘Cause you know what you do? You dig in to people.”
“Oh is that what I do?”
“Yes, you dig into every stranger you meet like an excavator to figure out what you can grift. Don’t you be getting any designs… on Percy.”
“But what if Percy wants a relationship with me?” Betty asked plaintively.
Ariel shook his head in wonder. A long moment passed.
“So, who’s driving this van that’s supposed to be coming?” Betty ventured.
“A lawyer.”
“Are we in trouble?”
“Not me. ‘You.’ Your question should be ‘Are you in trouble.’”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Meaning you you!” Ariel clarified between gritted teeth.
“Am I in trouble?”
“You are trouble.”
Betty pondered a moment, mind racing. “Is this lawyer person driving us to his office?”
Before Ariel could reply, a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van lurched around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of the Cozy Rooms. An advertising decal wrapped the exterior in vivid purples, greens and golds:
PO-PO? HELL NO!
BROCK BARRETT-BEAUREGARDE
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW
“This is his office,” Ariel explained.
The driver’s door flew open and BeBe emerged, his portly frame contained by a fuschia sweatsuit of crushed velvet. He extended his bejeweled hands to Betty in a gracious, sisterly manner.
“Miss Hooks, I presume?” BeBe cooed, embracing Betty in a florid hug. “My name is Brock Barrett-Beauregarde. Consider me your Sitchyational Extricator.”
Ariel rolled his eyes at Medulla as she rolled down her window from the passenger seat. BeBe looked back-and-forth from Ariel to Betty. “Why, I could simply swear that you’re Miss Ariel’s sister, Miss Betty” he trilled. “I see such the resemblance.”
“Cut the shit, Beebs,” Ariel glowered.
“Lemme fetch the door for y’all.” With his key fob BeBe triggered the van’s side door, which slid open to reveal a miniaturized, tidy business office where Valencia waited in a folding chair.
“Well ain’t this fancy?” Betty mumbled, climbing in and taking a seat beside Valencia. BeBe rotated the driver’s seat to face backwards, then helped Medulla to rotate hers as Ariel introduced them.
“Betty, this is Medulla. She saved your life the other night.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness, Ma’am,” Betty said. “I don’t go looking for trouble, but it always seems to find me.”
Ariel feigned barfing into his shirt.
“You have a fine son in Ariel,” Medulla intoned graciously.
“I did a pretty good job, all in all,” Betty bragged, rubbing Ariel’s knee.
“I was raised like Mowgli.” Ariel removed his mother’s hand as the door slid closed. “Betty, this is Valencia, Medulla’s consigliere. Now shall we do business?”
BeBe pulled down a folding desk, withdrew a file from his briefcase and spread a series of stapled papers across it.
“What’s this?” Betty asked, suddenly on alert.
“A Transfer of Title,” BeBe explained.
“What’s that mean?”
“We have to give up the Cozy Rooms,” Ariel spat angrily, “thanks to your madcap vicissitudes with that drug cartel.”
“Sell it?” Betty gasped. “Sell the Cozy Rooms?”
“Oh yes,” Ariel replied. “It’s the only collateral we got.”
“But who’s going to buy it?”
“Medulla paid off your debt to your buddies in the cartel. In exchange, she’s the owner of a three-story falling-down whorehouse.”
“But the Cozy Rooms is my Tara!”
“Bullshit, Betty. You’n Gramma Hope left Tara to rot for damn near thirty years. I’m the one who busted in and rescued the place.”
“So I’m just supposed to just sign some papers and that’s it? I don’t get anything?”
“Miss Betty,” Medulla murmured in her legendary basso voice, so gravely focused that it could silence a rowdy crowd at the Astrodome, “the transfer of funds to pay off the cartel is in escrow and the money will only be released upon your signature today. If you choose to decline, you must handle the situation yourself.” She gestured to BeBe, who snapped to attention and handed Betty a pen.
“Sign here, Miss Betty…”
Betty scowled, then followed BeBe’s instructions, scribbling her signature in a sullen, browbeaten manner on the closing documents. Once signed, BeBe passed the contracts to Valencia, who sealed the deal with a notary stamp.
“There,” Betty snarled when the rigamarole was over. “I hope everybody’s pleased with themself.”
“Forgive my mother’s ungracious behavior,” Ariel apologized, winking at Medulla.
“I understand,” Medulla replied. “And now if you’ll excuse us, Miss Betty, I need a word with Ariel.”
“By all means.” Betty leaned back in her chair with a sulky wave of her hand.
“She means alone, Betty,” Ariel explained. “Like, with you gone.”
BeBe pressed his key fob and the side door slid open.
“Oh fine, then,” Betty pouted. Her eyes lit up maliciously. “Maybe I’ll go spend some quality, getting-to-know-you time with… with my grandson.”
“His name is Damien, Betty.”
“I know that.”
“And Brian’s taking him to watch the Saints. He got seats in the Corner Loge. They’ll be out all day.”
“You just think of everything, don’t you?” Betty sneered, stepping ungracefully out of the van. “Buncha con artists!” She turned on her heel and marched away from the van down St. Monica Street, waving a middle finger over her shoulder.
With the door closed again, Ariel burst into gales of laughter, clapping his hands in delight. “Ding dong, the bitch is evicted!”
“Actually,” Medulla murmured, stopping Ariel cold. “Let me take this moment to make clear that I take my ownership of the Cozy Rooms quite seriously.”
Ariel eyed her warily. “Serious how?”
“The building is under my control as of now. Whoever lives there does so with my permission. Any future renovations are my decision, and any use that it may be put to henceforth is by my decree. Your mother will be allowed to continue her residence for the time being.”
“WHAT?” Ariel shouted. Valencia put a cautionary hand on his arm.
“…as will you and Tyler, Brian and Gage, but I can rescind y’all’s occupancy on a dime if I so choose.”
“Stop. Stop. Stop,” Ariel pleaded. “You’re giving me whiplash.”
“Your panic is from losing control. I’m in charge now. Within seven days’ time you will finish construction on the dungeon space and have it ready for visitors. I have a client lined up who demands the utmost discretion.” She turned to BeBe. “Are we finished?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” BeBe smiled, clicking the key fob again.
“Thank you for your time,” Medulla smiled beside BeBe as the door slid open.
Speechless, Ariel stepped from the van onto the curb. He looked back with a pained expression as Medulla and BeBe rotated their seats forward, ignoring him. The van gunned to life and charged down St. Monica Street, leaving Ariel alone on the sidewalk beside a frazzled, middle-aged man who pressed the buzzer at the Cozy Rooms entry.
“Can I help you?” Ariel asked.
“I don’t know how to put this,” the stranger replied. “But I’m looking for my son. His name is Gage. And a friend informed me that he’s staying here.”
###
Thanks For Reading. Ho Ho, Hoes!
☮️ & ❤️,
