Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

Humming the Bad Boys theme song, I peeled my disgusting boots off, rolled my jeans up past the muck and the cut in my shin, and headed toward the kitchen. Using the cleanest rag I could find I ran the water until it was scalding hot, then cleaned out the cut. I’d sat through multiple piercings and tattoos; hot water was nothing. Climbing back upstairs, I ransacked the bathroom medicine cabinets, looking for anything I could use to disinfect my leg. The last thing I needed was to get an infection.

Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when your horse poops poo . . . I sang to myself and the legless knight as I poked around in Aunt Maude’s bathroom.

Finding nothing but a bottle of iodine—did they even sell iodine anymore?—I saturated a cotton ball with the brown liquid and dotted it on and around. Gross. But effective for now. First-aid needs temporarily met, I evaluated and assessed.

Drugstore for real disinfectant.

Grocery store for food.

Liquor store for the love of all that is holy.

I changed into a clean pair of jeans and boots, grabbed my bag, and headed back out to the car. On my way, I realized I hadn’t looked in the garage. Mr. Montgomery had said there was a car, a real looker. Did I even want to go there?

My leg was stinging. I passed on the garage, I’d take my chances later on. Soon I was heading back into town, looking right and left. I knew I’d passed a—aha! A drugstore. Right next to the grocery store and everything else I needed. Parking my car, I noticed the girl from the coffee shop heading toward me. Jamie? Jennifer?

“Jessica. It’s Jessica,” she called out in greeting.

“Did I say that out loud?” I asked, mortified. Lack of sleep and jet lag must be starting to hit.

“No, but you had that look. How’s the house?” she asked, falling into step as I walked along the sidewalk toward the drugstore.

“The house? Hmm, well.”

“I gotta tell you, I’m dying to see the inside of it. Maude’s kept to herself so much the last few years, ordering her groceries in, not really coming into town anymore. The whole town’s been buzzing about someone new moving in,” she said, nodding to an older couple passing by. “Evening, Owen, Polly.”

“Lovely evening, isn’t it, Jessica?” the older gentleman responded, smiling at me.

“Certainly is,” Jessica replied.

Mayberry. Literally Mayberry.

“So where you headed?” she asked. Nosy. But nice.

“Had a run-in with a splintered porch step, so I’m grabbing some disinfectant. Then some beer.”

“Good call. Well, if you need a recommendation for a quick bite, the pizza across the street is the best in town. The fact that my boyfriend owns the restaurant is only part of the reason it’s the best.” She laughed, her eyes twinkling. I looked where she was pointing and saw a bustling, comfortable-looking place. As I’d been cleaning up, the sun had sunk low across the ocean. The lights of the town were turning on. Streetlamps dotted the sidewalks, shops were closing up but still spilled a soft light out onto the pavement. And that fiery ball lit up the western sky like a painting.

Weird day, yes. But oddly great.

“Pizza’s good, huh?” I asked, my stomach now rumbling. When was the last time I’d eaten?

“Pizza is freaking great; tell John I sent you. Get him to make you the Butcher Block special, it’s unreal.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving. I could eat an actual butcher.”

“Nah, we have a great butcher. Stan. And the town would tar and feather you if you took him out of service. Fantastic ribs.”

The town had a butcher. An honest-to-god butcher. I f**king loved this place.

“Okay, Butcher Block pizza it is. Thanks for the advice.”

“Sure thing. I put the coffee out at six a.m.; stop by anytime,” she replied, pulling off her ball cap and shaking out her hair. With a wave, she headed off down the sidewalk.

I did indeed take her advice and headed across the street. I found John behind the bar, a great big ex–football player type, and told him I heard he was the man to see about a Butcher Block special.

“My girl sent you, didn’t she?” He grimaced, but in a good-natured way.

“She sure did. And I have to tell you, I’m from the East Coast, so I’m a little funny about pizza,” I replied with a raised eyebrow. He laughed out loud, smacking his hands together.

“A challenge has been thrown down. Butcher Block special it is, coming right up. You eating here or taking it home?”

“Home, I think, but I need to run a few errands in the meantime. Thirty minutes good?”

“It’ll be ready in twenty-five.”

I told him that was perfect, and set off to grab what I needed to make it through the night in Clutter Central.

I hurried into the drugstore, grabbed some Bactine and Band-Aids, and hit the grocery store next door. I nabbed some cereal and a small container of milk; I’d wait and do my real shopping once I purged the house of all things Beanee Weenee. I also picked up a few flashlights, because the way this day was going I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Checking my watch, I had just enough time to head into the liquor store, grab a six-pack, then back into John’s to pick up the most heavenly smelling pizza ever created.

“You stop by tomorrow and tell me that wasn’t the best pizza you’ve ever had.” He winked, handing me the box and a big stack of napkins.

“Wow. Lots of napkins. Always a good sign.” I laughed, and paid.