Through the large bay window, the viny yard is thick and overgrown; a wall of trees hung over it. Marilyn from across the street bent over to set up a lawn chair. I grabbed the binoculars from under the couch. The bikinis get smaller as the tan gets darker. Her bottom winked at me as she reached and stretched. Then, something blocked my view. It was Adrian from next door getting into his car. He turned to watch Marilyn, shook his head, squatted down into his car and drove off.
I picked up the phone on the first ring, bounded down the walk and swung open the picketed gate.
“Yo Bob?” I said.
“You just about ready? Bob said. “We have a twelve o’clock tee time.”
“I’m good. Just gotta mess with a damn spot.”
“That bobo still parking in front of your house?”
“Yeah. See you in fifteen.”
I was grinding kitty litter in as Howard and Bob pulled up. Howard drove his wife’s gray Yukon XL with the tinted windows, the gray back seat and the broken speaker which made my ears hurt. Bob wore a bright yellow hat and had rolled up his sleeve showing his tattoo of a tanker. We were all the best in our fields, quick with a pen and able to crunch out a balance sheet while punching out a memo to the CFO and bowing to Stern.
“With the price of gas, you should be sucking that up with a turkey baster,” Howard said. “Get in.”
I dumped my clubs in the trunk and sank into the back seat.
“He really should dock that thing in front of his own house,” I said. “I’ve tried degreasers and rented a power washer. The spot seems to be oozing towards the walk. It’s like The Blob. Pretty soon I’ll need hip waders to get the morning paper.”
“You must see him a hundred times a week,” Bob said. “Just ask him to move it.”
“Get off my back,” I said.
“I’m curious,” Howard said. “Why don’t you just take his car?”
“I can’t send back a warm banana split and I’m going to hot wire a Buick?” I said.
“Doesn’t this guy still have your leaf blower? It’s been twenty years since college and you’re still getting pushed around. At this rate, he’ll be sleeping with your wife by Memorial Day.”
Bob threw up his arms. “You shouldn’t talk when someone is putting.”
“But I’m the one putting you idiot,” Howard said. “I can distract myself!”
He missed the putt and threw a backhand in Bob’s direction.
“Come on George, this is your chance,” Howard said. “It’s your Death Blow, your time in the shade. You need your fifteen seconds.”
“Isn’t Gracie going to her mom’s on Saturday?” Bob said.
“Yeah but it’s just across town,” I said.
“What is it going to take for you to hit your Popeye point?” Howard said.
“My what?”
“When Popeye is pushed too far by Bluebeard, he says that’s all I can stands and I can’t stands no more.”
“It was Bluto but I see your point.”
We played our round and Howard brought up the car and how I needed this to happen, how my ‘manhood is hanging on by a thread’. As his argument got stronger, so did my slice. By the end of the round, I couldn’t keep the ball out of the rough.
We got together later that week at my house. Bob burnt popcorn which sat in a bowl in the center of the basement table. The smoke rose up around the brassy light, making the room hazy. Howard played air drums and bobbed his head like he was Micky Dolenz.
He began by taking off his sunglasses and stuffing a pretzel rod in the corner of his mouth. “Each one of us is here because we’re the best at what we do. George, we have to help you get your balls back.”
“You’re back on that shit again?” I said.
“Now Bob, you’re a Budgeting Analyst, right?”
Bob grabbed a pretzel rod from the bag on the table. “I thought we were going to play Battleship.”
I grabbed the bag. “No more pretzels. Gracie is going to grill me. She knows how many were left.”
“Come on Bob, we can’t do this without out you. Now, like we rehearsed.”
“Oh geez.”
Howard reasoned that since Bob was a Budgeting Analyst and did calculations, he was a key player. I was a computer programmer and could figure out what result I wanted, then plan steps to get there. And he was an accountant, and we needed to account for everything.
“So, we need a calculated plan where everything is accounted for,” Howard said biting the end off of his pretzel. “It’ll be as much fun as a barrel of fish. We’ll call the operation ‘Out, Damn’d Spot’.”
“You mean shooting fish in a barrel,” I said.
“Whatever. Hands in.”
Howard put his hand over the table waiting for us.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bob said.
I placed my hand on Bob’s. We looked like the guys from Armageddon.
“Can I get a whoa Lady Macbeth?”
We all shouted, “Whoa Lady Macbeth”, in unison.
We met at my house at midnight the following night. Howard and I waited on the back deck dressed like ninjas. The moon was briefly hidden by the clouds, the air heavy and moist. Bob came around the house wearing all black, but with white socks.
“Where did you park?” Howard asked.
“In the driveway.”
“We told you to be stealth. And what’s with the white socks.”
“Are we gonna do this or what?” I asked.
Bob had determined that an everyday slim jim would help us get in and a ‘79 Buick was one of the easiest cars to break into. He told us Adrian would be in the bathroom for five minutes before bedtime. The bathroom is on the back corner of the house and his bedroom is on the front, closest to the car. So, Bob would watch the window, and Howard and I would hot wire the car.
“Now,” Howard began, “let’s go over this one more time. Bob, you get the bathroom window. I don’t care how you know he’ll be in the bathroom at twelve-fifteen, but it does give us five minutes. And George, I got us a slim jim and you know how to hot wire a car. So, let’s get this circus moving.”
Bob went to guard the bathroom as Howard and I crept around the house. My sneakers slid across the dewy grass. I put my left leg down and lifted my right leg to prevent getting the tops from getting wet. We spilled through the bushes, jumped off the Windsor block wall and onto the driveway. Howard tripped on one the vines that hung from the trees on the front lawn.
“You idiot,” Howard said hoisting himself up off the ground. “Your lawn is like a page from The Jungle Book.”
“Just put your left leg down, your right leg up. Do that until you make a walking motion.”
Just then, we heard a phone ring.
“Is that yours?” I asked.
“Nah man. Mine’s No Sleep Till Brooklyn. It sounds like Bananarama.”
“Damn, it’s Gracie; I have to answer it. Hey honey, how is your mother? Oh, her power is out, and you’ll be here in ten minutes? Okay, see you then. Damn, damn. She’s on her way home.”
“We’re getting this done; don’t make me take you out.”
I don’t look good in stripes. I’m thin enough as it is. And the top bunk, I’d get sick up there. I wonder if they have a vegetarian menu. How the hell did I get myself into this? I looked back at Bob hoping he’d give us the thumbs down, but he was waving and smiling.
“Okay,” Howard said. “Give me the slim jim.”
“I thought you had it?”
“I gave it to you in the house.”
“Man this is great. Gracie is on her way home, the slim jim is on the kitchen table and Bob likes to watch grown men in the bathroom. I can see the headline. LOCAL PROGRAMMER GETS THREE YEARS FOR GRAND THEFT AUTO. WIFE DIVORCES TO MARRY GREASY NEIGHBOR.”
“There has to be a way around this.”
“What would MacGyver do?”
“He would ask for a salad dressing and a can opener.”
“Hey wait, the door is open.”
I opened the driver’s door and slid in. Howard forced his way into the car, knocking me over, and slammed the door behind us.
“Move your ass,” I said. The car smelled of potatoes, the seat covers looked like burlap.
“All right; how do you hot wire this damn thing?”
I handed Howard the paper in my pocket.
“Hey, this is a grocery list. More pretzel rods? You’re pathetic. Empty your damn pockets.”
I turned my pockets inside out. A crumpled piece of paper spilled out.
“Gimme that. Wait, this is for an ‘89 Buick.”
“Bob is waving his arms. The light is off. Damn. Oh look; the keys are in the ignition.”
Bob thrust his head through the open window.
“Damn, what the hell is the matter with you?” Howard said.
“What is taking you so long?” Bob said.
“Just get in.”
Bob climbed through the open passenger window onto Howard, smashing his head into the steering column and pushing me face first onto the floor.
“Get off my arm.”
“Oww, that’s my leg…. Who has their hand in my pocket? Get your hand out of, I don’t even let my doctor do that!”
Howard turned his head and his ear caught on the keys, starting the car. Bob lunged forward to turn off the Buick and banged his eyebrow on the gear shift lever, popping it into drive. The car jumped forward as I tried to upright myself with my hand on the gas. Bob grabbed the steering wheel trying to get off of Howard and we swerved back and forth. I poked my head up long enough to see a car coming towards us, yanked the wheel to the right, and closed my eyes. The two cars scraped together with mirrors disintegrating. The Buick barreled down Mandrill Street out of control. I reached for the brake and fell forward hitting my mouth on the pedal, bringing the car to a screeching halt. I took the helm as we drove side by side by side.
We pushed the car into the local lake watching it bob a few times, then slowly sink.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” Howard said.
I sat at the table dunking pretzel rods in my coffee while reading the morning paper.
“The police think it was the guy who stole Adrian’s car that hit me,” Gracie said. “We’ll have to pay the thousand-dollar deductible.”
I folded the paper and walked to the front window. Marilyn was setting up her chair again. Her bikini had turned into a thong and the florescent pink made her butt glow. She struggled and strained, the muscles in her legs expanding and contracting. An Expedition drove by and stopped in front of my house, blocking my view.
I bounded down the walk, slightly bent over. Adrian hopped out of the SUV.
“Hey,” I said. “Is that a new truck?”
“Yeah, someone stole my car last week,” he said. “It’s a good thing too. It had a leak I could never fix.”
I turned toward the house, scratching my head.
