Them Hustlers Page 9

  Now what the hell did that mean?

  In silence he pulled the car back up onto the road. Tanya thankfully didn’t ask about the stop sign. Another white lie. This one unspoken. Is that a lie? A hundred feet later was the final left that took them to the last house along the creek. The two story bungalow on the right side of the dead end looked inviting. It was shaded a fashionably weather-worn dark brown, with a large American flag. Three large trees provided shade and a feeling of a retreat. The view from two sides was of the creek. And parked in front was a blue Maryland police motorcycle.

  “If you cost me this house I will rip your balls off.” With that Tanya stormed up to the front door and banged hard.

  The door opened. It was a middle-aged man stripped down to his boxer shorts and white t-shirt. This was a repulsive fella. He looked at Tanya. His eyes roamed over to the Lexus. Tanya was about to say something when the loudest belch Phil had ever heard burst out. It was a multi-part eruption, an oddity of nature. The belch began low, like a volcano eruption. It rumbled onwards for at least two or three seconds and rose before fading off. Neighbors no doubt heard the roar, so quiet the street and so loud the belch.

  The cop kept frozen his deadpanned expression, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. “Wanna beer?” He held out a can of Bud.

  Tanya didn’t back down. Not Tanya Lyn Owens. “Dixie Thompson told us you or maybe your wife is selling the place. Looks like a nice house and we would be interested in learning more.” Her voice was more strained than usual but the cop wouldn’t know. “We’d like to take a look.”

  The cop silently pointed with the can of Bud to a sign neither had noticed, stuck in the lawn just past the motorcycle. It was a for-rent sign.

  “Dixie Thompson?” He thought for a long moment. “Dixie Thompson is a friend of the woman that used to be my wife.”

  The cop provided more detail than Phil would have predicted. “I’m renting the place out, not selling. The courts gave me the house two weeks ago. Actually got me a judge who wasn’t one of those knee-jerk liberal fellas. He listened to my story and decided that all being fair and what have you, this house belongs to me. Been in the family for forty years. My family.” He defensively thought to add. Then a final bit of information. “It’s $1500 a month.”

  Tanya and the cop looked each other over.

  “You had a smart woman there.” Tanya turned and marched back to the car. She dropped inside.

  “You should have killed him when you had the chance.” Was all Tanya said.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter 13

  Herb McDermott noticed the black Lexus across the street, in the angled meter parking right by the Market Square shops. Even from his poor vantage point from inside the store Herb could tell this was a couple in name only. The woman emerged from the car tense, looking to the right, towards his shop. Not to her companion. The guy was unsure of how to stand, whether towards her or away. A couple in trouble.

  The woman pointed to his shop and said something. Surprisingly, the man responded agreeably. That was unusual. Usually a woman had to force a guy to go with her to a reading. But the guy's demeanor changed with each step towards the Tarot Tales, he growing more confident, while the woman was, Herb realized, being accommodating. A reversal of the usual roles. Still, two unexpected customers on a Saturday.

  Herb studied the woman, as usually it was the woman who wanted her fortune read. The way she walked; the carelessness with her Louis Vuitton bag. The woman was on the cusp of no longer being young. 37 tops, maybe a year or two younger. Herb realized he knew her. He had given her a reading maybe a year ago. He studied her more closely. Lean, but not from the gym but some sort of physical regimen judging how fluid her entire body moved and how toned the muscles. You don’t develop that from a stretch class. Maybe she grew up on a farm or more likely a jock in high school and college. This woman wore confidence like it was the latest perfume. She had earned that designer bag and the leather jacket and could buy more if she had the time. In fact, she may have even bought the guy, Herb reckoned. At least that’s the way she looked over at him. Now he remembered. This was one of those power junkies from the city. The cards had been clear; this was a woman looking not for a husband but hungry for control. Name...name....

  The couple peered into the window, both cupping their hands to see into the dark interior. Herb waved them in. Both had the confidence to laugh and came through the door. Again Herb felt the twinge in his right side. This time stronger than ever. He stared more intently at first the woman and then the guy --one of these might soon be important in his life. But at the moment the guy looked really disappointed.

  * * *

  *

  Phil could not hide his disappointment at seeing that Herb was the fortune teller of the Tarot Tales. He was surprised by Tanya’s suggestion. She knew how important fortune tellers were to Phil and maybe it was in response to his offer to spend time on the wedding invitations.

  Walking across the traffic circle he had dared to hope the Annapolis shop was run by a good looking reader. He could sure use some time to stare at a pretty girl. And you never knew. He had scored once with a fortune teller. That was three years ago. Oh God oh God oh God. On a whim he had gone to an exhibition for spiritual products in a hotel off I-95, the highway in Springfield, about thirty minutes south of Alexandria, Virginia. Walking up and down the aisles he was subjected to all sorts of sales pitches and come-ons.

  Then he noticed the girl sitting in the end booth, about as far from the door as possible. “Let Sarah Read Your Soul” her handwritten sign had plaintively requested. Phil sized up the woman and decided this was the reader for him. She clearly believed in her capabilities enough to have taken her own money and bought a booth at the show. Most of the other booths were for massage oils, crystals, tarot decks, and the like. So right there, in the last aisle, he sat for a reading.

  Phil was not disappointed. She did a quick three card spread to look at the querent's past, present and future. Phil had asked whether his business would be good that year. Sarah had spoken of this and that before asking “does the name Phil mean anything important to you?” It was one of those moments when he reconnected with the genuineness of the tarot. The rest of the reading was uneventful, but he sensed that Sarah seemed interested in more than a reading. They idly talked of nothing long after he had paid.

  A week later Phil called the phone number she had given, and after some more small talk Sarah invited him to Richmond.

  “I do the readings right from my house,” she warned after he had agreed to make the trek.

  That was fine, better than fine. He never got the reading. He found the yellow two story house with the small-town porch without too much trouble. Just a few minutes off the highway; as she had instructed. Sarah had ready on the porch some fresh ice tea and the two talked more about their lives. She understood perfectly when Phil spoke of trying to connect the dots of his life and understanding more about the hidden world just beyond our reach. When she offered Phil a beer he knew the long drive would be memorable. He sure was right about that. Everything went off without a hitch. Sarah suggested a tour of the house while complaining of how lonely it was living in a small town and being of “spiritual inclination.”

  The bedroom was on the second floor. Sarah opened the door and led him inside, fully closing the door behind them. This was no place for a reading. It was an invitation, no question.

  What happened next was sure memorable. “I have to tell you something,” Sarah’s voice quivered nervously. “My husbands’ next door.”

  Phil bounced up off of the bed he had expectantly perched onto. “What do you mean by next door?”

  Sarah pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “In the next bedroom. He’s got terminal cancer. You can look if you want.”

  Phil looked. Together they opened the door revealing a dark room. A man, about the same age as Sarah, lay peacefully on his back, sleeping. The small television at
the foot of the bed was on low, serving as a white noise generator judging by the infomercial for closet storage bags that droned on. The husband’s perfectly bald head was the first indicator of the cancer. The huge jumble of medicine bottles on the small table nearest the door was the second indicator of the terminal disease. And Sarah’s need for sex, in her own house, with her husband twenty feet away, was the third.

  They made love; hell, he hadn’t driven two hours to pass up the opportunity. But their voices stayed low, and so the dying husband was ever present in the bedroom. A threesome he could have done without.

  * * *

  Ever since he had hoped to find another fortune teller as willing, as understanding and as good looking. He thought that surely a tarot shop in the heart of Annapolis would have a hot looking chick as an enticement. One look at Herb told Phil something else. This guy had to be way good because he was so ugly. He was dressed all in black, a wrinkled black shirt and wrinkled black jeans and an equally weather-beaten pair of deck shoes. His face was burnt from years of the sun, probably a weekend sailor like so many in this town. But his eyes shone just about as brightly as could be. This guy was sharp. That was probably even more important right now, Phil maturely decided.

  The shop had the usual accoutrements of the modern day fortune teller. The oils and the tarot card decks and books and the like. On the far wall was a large gold colored sun. On his desk, instead of a picture of kids or his wife, was an old black and white photo of---Phil knew that historic photo---it was Carl Jung, the Austrian guy who had this idea of archetypes--this fortune teller was way serious.

  Another surprise. Tanya kissed Phil on the forehead. "You go ahead--knock yourself out."

  * * *

  McDermott remembered the last reading with this woman. He had seen customers like her before, especially with the politicians from the Maryland state legislature who would come into his shop, usually a month or so before an election. Or the kid rapper who came for a reading two months ago and the next day stabbed to death his manager. Herb had told the detective who wandered into his shop a week later how intense had been the kid's drive for control, no matter the situation.

  With a tone laced with disbelief the detective nonetheless mustered that Herb should have alerted the police. “And what about the politicians? Should I alert the cops about them as well?”

  “Might be a good idea” the detective huffed, and with that he folded his writing pad and beat a hasty retreat.

  * * *

  The woman declared she would be over at McGarvey’s drinking a Bloody Mary. Exiting the shop she slipped a hundred into the boyfriends’ hand.

  Phil took his place at the small table covered with a worn piece of thick white sheet. Canvas. From a ship Phil realized.

  "You know, I've read for your girlfriend." McDermott volunteered.

  Phil briefly registered his surprise and then quickly wondered what the cards had revealed about Tanya. “Since I’m paying today I’m curious what you learned.”

  Herb inwardly chuckled at the guys’ confidence. He decided to answer. “I’ll tell you just one trait of your friend. She’s in love with power.”

  The guy upped the ante. “No surprise. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Herb didn’t answer.

  Phil picked up the thick deck and shuffled. Five card spread. Two readings in a few days, that was unusual--if both matched up his life was in big trouble.

  “Can you see my eyes are closed?”

  Phil looked up from the cards. The fortune teller eyes were closed. Or so they seemed. “I’m going to do the reading with my eyes closed.” McDermott explained. “When the cards are strong they speak in many hidden ways.”

  Phil was shocked. When something unusual happened with a reading it threw the comfort of the ritual out the window. What the hell was the ugly old man doing? On automatic Phil finished shuffling the deck and handed it back.

  The fortune teller held his right hand, palm down, over the first upturned card. Phil could barely take a breath.

  It was the six of swords. Reversed. Signs of trouble.

  “What a difficult time. You are alone just when you need help.”

  Phil was completely caught up in the moment.

  “Your life has been taken away from you on every level. Your business, your emotions, your love life.”

  Slowly the fortune teller turned over the next card to reveal the Ten of Swords. Phil wasn't sure but he thought it meant the bottom of an emotional cycle. That would be accurate. The fortune teller hovered his right palm about six inches over the upturned card. Phil stared at his eyelids; they still seemed closed.

  “Someone has rescued you just when you are drowning. So it seems. But beware those who use you to rescue themselves.”

  Tanya. He was speaking about Tanya! Did he know? Could he understand their relationship? “Who has rescued me?” He shouted out.

  “No one.”

  He turned over the third card, the one suggesting influences on your life. It was the High Priestess. A perfect card--showing there was a spiritual and unconscious world important to Phil right now. So too the next card, showing Phil’s link to the unseen dots.

  Phil shot his fist through the air right at the fortune teller’s face. The man didn’t flinch. His eyes were tightly closed.

  The fortune teller’s right palm again hovered motionless over the final and fifth upturned card. But his hand recoiled as if he had touched a red-hot stove. “Woo, this is strong.” Herb, eyes still shut, gingerly moved his hand back to the card lying flat on the white canvas.

  “The mystery of the lunar cycle, is it not? He confidently asked.

  The man was dead right. Face up on the white canvas was the Moon card.

  “Deception is stalking you...the unknown is everywhere.....that which has been hidden will rise to the surface. Now is the time to listen to your dreams, your hunches and initiations. Trust your hunches now like never before.”

  Herb opened his eyes. He looked down at the five cards for confirmation. Satisfied he turned his attention to a very surprised Phil.

  “What’s your name?”

  It took Phil a full moment to answer; trying as he was to digest what had just taken place in this little shop in Annapolis.

  "And your girlfriend?"

  “Tanya. Tanya Lyn....Tanya Lyn Owens.”

  “How long you know her?”

  “Six months. We’re thinking of getting married.”

  Herb held up his hand, stopping Phil. “Yeah, I know.” Here he leaned his body over the table, until his weather beaten face was inches away from Phil. “If you promise to think about what I’m about to tell you, I won’t charge you for the readings.”

  Phil was aghast.

  “Do you promise me, Phil?”

  This was uncharted territory. No fortune teller had ever made such an offer. This guy was willing to forget being paid if Phil would promise to take his advice. Phil stared intently at the man sitting opposite him. In his late sixties, with a pot belly, two faded tattoo's, a scraggly salt and pepper beard and a good stock of white hair, he seemed, thought Phil more like a hard-drinking Santa than the image of a spiritual reader. This wasn’t a reading; it was a poker game with his life in the pot.

  Herb patiently waited. He too wasn’t sure what was happening. The fortune teller didn’t understand exactly why he had pulled out all the stops for this reading. The theatrics weren't new. He had last used the closed eyes trick on a weekend fishing trip more than a year ago with his drinking buddies. No different than fixing a poker deck. Easy as can be.

  But why bother with this unknown customer? Some sort of understanding might come later. Tonight, while watching television with his wife. Or while sleeping, an answer would materialize in a dream. Or while taking a crap in the morning. Those were the three times that he frequently had a jolt with spirituality.

  The shop door opened to disturb the intense thoughts of both men. A young woman, dressed in jeans and knee
high boots, with a bright red leather jacket, burst in.

  “Hey Herb,” she cried out cheerily, “you got some time?”

  “Sure do, Kathy," Herb shouted back. But doing a reading...can you give us five minutes alone here, we’re just finishing. Get some chocolate for me and come on back.”

  The voice laughed. “You’re the devil. Okay, you got five minutes to help…” the curtains that provided privacy were pulled back and Kathy poked her head in.

  Herb had no choice but to do the introductions.

  "Phil, this is Kathy. Good customer...."

  "This here's a new customer Kathy--names Phil. He probably won't come back after you intruded...we need some time alone hon, just a few minutes more."

  Phil wanted in on this conversation. “I think I need more than five minutes with Herb to solve my problems.”

  “No, no you don’t.” Kathy eagerly flirted. “The Annapolis psychic helps all of us in a flash and spends the rest of the time just schmoozing.” Kathy threw Herb a kiss. “Five minutes for a chocolate run.” Then she turned her large brown eyes Phil's way. “Bye bye mysterious new customer named Phil.”

  The door closed. “That girl has more energy than you and me combined," said Herb. "You should get to know her; she’s got a solid job and a three year old girl. Her ex-lover calls every few months telling of his devotion. So she's unable to fully break it off.” Herb stopped. “What’s it gonna be Phil? Clock is ticking.”

  “I agree.”

  Herb adjusted his seat forward a half a foot. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? A free reading, meeting a good woman, that’s what Herb does for you.” Herb reached over and grabbed Phil’s right arm.

  “Listen Phil, the woman you're with is a man eater. She has no thoughts for you, only herself." The disheveled looking Santa had taken on the look of one possessed. The words came out between the tightly clenched coffee-stained teeth. "She seeks to do you harm. There will be no Phil as you know if you stay with this woman.” Then he let go of the arm.