Don't Poke the Bear!

Chapter 27

GEORGE MURPHY-NO relation to Clair-says the town kids keep breakin' his window and wants permission to shoot 'em in the ass with rock salt. I tell him no, since everyone knows old George is half blind.

Clair Murphy's complaint involves the half-dressed women on the balcony of Patty's Pie Palace, who make-she pauses to see if Constance is nearby before saying-"lewd noises."

"Lewd noises?"

"Yes. Every Wednesday evening, when we're walking to church."

"What sorts of lewd noises?"

"You know. Outhouse noises."

"Outhouse noises? Like what?"

Clair fixes me with a stare. "Do I really need to elaborate?"

I sigh. "Well ma'am, maybe them noises are actual bodily noises that ain't bein' directed at you."

"That's ridiculous. Something needs to be done. And I'll tell you something else."

I wait for her to tell me somethin' else, but she don't. So I ask, "What's that?"

"The place is called Patty's Pie Palace."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I've never seen so much as an apple pie in the front window. And if those women are baking pies for Patty, well, you'll never catch me serving one in polite company. While we're on the subject, you should inform Miss Patty about the ill mannered women she's hired. There are plenty of able-bodied girls in town who-why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well ma'am, there is no Miss Patty, and it ain't that kind of pie."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, well, the name ain't got nothin' to do with bakery goods."

"Well what kind of pie are they-?" She stops in mid-sentence and makes a face like she'd swallowed some liniment after thinkin' it were candy. "That...is...the single most disgusting thing I have ever heard! You'll march over there immediately and make them take that sign down!"

"But ma'am,"

"Don't 'but ma'am' me! You're being paid to do a job and I expect you to do it! I want that sign torn down today, and those women flogged!"

"Flogged?"

"Publicly."

"I can't just go around floggin' women in the street."

Clair Murphy aims her evil eye at me again and says, "There's going to be hell to pay! Hell to pay! Do you understand?"

Before I can answer, she stomps off even angrier than Mrs. Plenty had stomped.

When she opens the front door to leave, a stick of dynamite comes flyin' in the room, hits the floor, bounces twice, and comes to a stop about six feet from the table where I'm sittin'. The fuse is short, and burnin' fast.