March 23, 2001

Dial “M” for Mustard

by Joshua Carden

Part I

It’s me again, Cash J. Endor, Detective.  My friends call me C.J.  My enemies call me crazy, at least, the enemies that call me at home.  I do get questions about my unusual name occasionally.  Most people give up after the third or fourth try at spelling “anagram” so they can look it up in the dictionary.  I should add that vocabulary is important to me.  Mainly, because of my crossword addiction.  I joined a twelve-step program for it once, but it disbanded when they realized that the New York Times wallpaper was too distracting.  So I continue on – in fact, as I am currently between cases, that’s what I’m doing now.

The phone rang.  A ringing phone is at once good and bad.  Good, because it usually means business; bad, because I had the answer to 27 Down on the tip of my cerebellum and now it’s gone.  Regretfully, I put down the paper and answered on the second ring, “C.J. Endor, Detective.”  “BUDDY!” The phone nearly jumped out of my hand.  I shifted it to the other ear, so the first eardrum could quit playing the solo in “Wipeout.”  Nobody could greet you like my friend Drew.  Drew was my fun-loving, loquacious, and always entertaining friend from down around crawfish country.  “Hey, Drew, whazzup?”  I had often thought about having my lawyer friends sue that beer company since “whazzup?” had been OUR standard greeting for many years now. 

“Have I got a deal for you…” he began.  I cut him off: “Drew, the last time you said that, I had to show my P.I. license to convince the policeman not to book us.  He said if he ever caught us in the giraffe pen again, we’d be sorry.”  “Relax, C.J.,” he said soothingly, “it’s nothing remotely dangerous or illegal.  I’ve got a gift certificate for Uncle Mike’s.”   My stomach growled.  Loudly.  Uncle Mike’s is Drew’s and my favorite restaurant.  Admittedly, they don’t serve coffee or chocolate, but they’ve got great pizza, especially on Sundays after church.  Although it was Monday, Uncle Mike’s was always a good plan.  “Last one there has to pay for coffee afterward.”  With that parting challenge, Drew was gone, and I was talking to a dial tone.  Drew was pretty quick on his feet.  I jumped from my chair, tripped over my intricate music-filing system (stacks of music on the floor with the most recent pieces I’ve played on top), and headed for Ol’ Betsy, my trusty blazer.  I locked my frosted glass office door, which read “Cash J. Endor, Detective” in solid black letters.  I had finally gotten around to painting the letters on the outside of the door. 

I gunned Ol’ Betsy and headed for Uncle Mike’s.  I kept more or less within the speed limit, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that Drew’s car was already there.  I debated crawling through the window, emerging from the bathroom, and pretending that I had been there all along; but then I figured that wounded pride and the price of coffee weren’t worth that much skin off my nose.  As I pushed the door open, I saw Drew grinning at me from our usual booth: “Grande, house blend, cream and sugar please.”  Something tugged at the back of my mind as I walked up.  “Let me see your belt,” I ordered.  His grin became a bit forced, “Why?”  “You know why!” I glared at him in mock anger.  He pulled back his trench coat to reveal his cell phone clipped to his belt.  “Aha!” I exclaimed, “You were on your way here already weren’t you.”  The guilty look on his face told the story.  “Okay,” he said sheepishly, “I forget that you make a living figuring out stuff like this.”  We shook hands, and I sat down across from him. 

As we waited for our food, several families entered the restaurant for Uncle Mike’s “Monday Special.”  Over in the corner, Earl from Earl’s Auto Dealership was there with his family in one of the special “homeschooling size” booths for families with more than six kids.  Sharp kids, too.  Two of them had done papers on detective work and had come to interview me.  I tried not to glorify the work too much, but I’m pretty sure that “detective” went into the hopper of possible careers, along with “astronaut”, “lawyer”, and “fighter pilot.”   It probably didn’t help that I played “Great Balls of Fire” for them before they left.  What can I say? I’m a sucker for cute kids who ask me to do stuff.

When our food arrived, we both dug in enthusiastically.  As we ate, our conversation ranged from crosswords to computers, with the occasional obligatory Star Wars reference.  Me being the expert on the first, and Drew the expert on the second, and both of us chiming in for the Star Wars parts.  Drew is a techno-whiz.  He knows how to work cell phones, computers, palm pilots, etc., and get them to do what he wants.  I know enough about computers to not get white-out on the screen, but that’s about it.  I also keep a hammer on my desk whenever my printer needs what I call “farm maintenance.” Anyway, Drew was telling me about one of his latest projects: “So then I get real serious with him and say, ‘look, Jeeves, you pull a stunt like that again, and your computer will have a virus that turns your OS into a giant Barry Manilow jukebox before you can say “We are the world”!’”  I laughed, a little vacantly, since he had lost me somewhere around the twenty-third acronym; but I could appreciate the Barry Manilow humor.

During a lull in the conversation, the rest of the restaurant suddenly got quiet as well.  As always happens when there’s a pause in the conversation, I thought of Abraham Lincoln.  I don’t know why, it just happens.  I was about to ask Drew if he had too, when I heard “Nobody move.”  I paused with my fork half-way to my mouth.  In polite conversation, those two words usually mean that somebody’s got a bee crawling up his back.  The voice that said them this time was anything polite.  I usually make it a habit to sit where I can see the whole room.  This time, since Drew had beaten me there, all I could see was Drew and the wall.  His face went the color of cottage cheese, which immediately removed my appetite for two reasons.  I risked putting my fork down and did a super-slow turn of my head.  Two men with guns stood in the doorway. 

To be continued….

Part II

Cash J. Endor and his friend Drew are seated in Uncle Mike’s restaurant where two men have just entered with guns. C.J. and Drew wait with the rest of the patrons to find out what the villains have in mind. 

These two guys looked like they’d stepped off the runaway at Bill’s Fashion College for the Color Blind.  Maybe it was the pink sport coats.  The taller one appeared to be in charge.  “We’re looking for Elizabeth,” he proclaimed loudly, “Tell us where she is and nobody gets hurt.”  Given the “family friendly” atmosphere of Uncle Mike’s, someone dining alone can usually be spotted faster than a French poodle in a wolf pack.  Drew and I knew all the regulars.  After a quick scan, I zeroed in on an empty table near the restrooms.  Empty, except for one plate and one glass.  That had to be it.  Sure enough, as the men began walking around the restaurant, the door to the restrooms opened and a single girl walked out.  My mind began racing as I tried to come up with a plan.  Just then, the girl and the two men saw each other.  Both stopped short.  I felt sick to my stomach, knowing that she had to be Elizabeth, fearing what would happen.  Then, all of a sudden, Drew called out across the restaurant: “Honey, just be very calm and come on back to the table.”  Startled, I swung back around and looked at him.  I could tell he was still nervous, but he sounded cooler than the other side of the pillow.  There was an eternal moment while the girl looked our way, and the gunmen looked at her.  Then the shorter gunman gestured, and she started walking towards our table.  She sat down next to Drew and looked at him and then at me.  I mouthed the words: “play along.”  She slowly nodded. 

The two evildoers kept roaming the restaurant and scanning the tables.  The shorter man stopped long enough to rip the cord out of the restaurant’s only phone on the counter. When they were far enough away, I hissed “Are you Elizabeth?”  She nodded.  “Not anymore,” I whispered, “at least until they leave.  I’m C.J., and this is Drew.”  She smiled and looked at Drew gratefully.  “Why are those two looking for you?” Drew asked sotto voce.  “I think they’ve been following me to kidnap me.  I’ve never seen them before, but my father’s gotten threats to that effect for the last couple of weeks. They must have recognized my car; I’ve never seen them before,”  She answered.  That made sense to me, or they would have never let her come back to our table. 

The men didn’t spot anybody alone, so they came back to the front of the establishment.  At this point, Uncle Mike had come out of his office (he had an “Ebay” habit that rivaled my crossword addiction) and stood glaring at the two sorry-dressed gun-toters.  “Gentlemen,” he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “Table for two?”  The fellow who seemed to be in charge walked up to Mike and stuck the gun in his chest, “We’re looking for Elizabeth.  If we find her, we take her with us, and nobody gets hurt. In case she’s sitting with someone, we want all of your customers to pull out their ID’s.”  Mike stood where he was and stared, until the man blinked and turned away to begin the search of the customers.

Well, we’re not the brightest lights on the Christmas tree, but Drew and I looked at each other and instinctively knew that it was only a matter of time before the bad guys remembered the girl sitting with us.  Elizabeth looked nervous, and tugged on Drew’s sleeve: “My purse is on the floor by my old table.”  There was no time to contemplate this problem, because the two men had started with our row of booths.  I winked at Drew and Elizabeth, “sit tight.”  I had a plan.  Well, sort of a plan.  I had never tried this particular plan.  But it had worked for King David. 

As they got to the booth behind us, I slid from our booth and slowly stood up, instantly drawing the attention of the two men and everyone else in the restaurant.  “Excuse me, can I have your attention!  Thank you, I love attention,” I started.  “Shut up!” the tall man ordered.  In the background, I heard a small child whisper, “Mommy, he said ‘shut up.’” I grinned, “Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this nation…” I launched into my best rendition of the Gettysburg Address, singing it Broadway style, and began moving, waltz-like, toward the front of the restaurant, away from the table with Drew and Elizabeth.  I guess I still had Lincoln on my brain.  Mr. Lincoln meets Mr. Gershwin.  My history and music professors would have been proud.  The two men followed me.  As I got to the last line of my speech/song, I began mimicking a stuck record.  “by the people, for the peop…by the people, for the peop…by the..” SMACK!  The short man slapped me on the face.  I switched to Patrick Henry’s “The War Inevitable” speech, assumed a deep Southern accent, and climbed up on the counter. Since I was now out of slapping range, he pointed the gun at me.  “Come down from there!” he ordered.  I assumed First Position, pirouetted, and then I did a swan dive to the nearest table.  It hurt like anything, but I immediately sat up and blithely switched to Spanish.  As I did so, I grabbed a large bottle of Tabasco sauce from the table and took a swig.  By this time, both men were standing near me, nonplused, convinced that I had snapped.  By the time that Tabasco hit my throat, I was almost convinced myself.  “Who’s responsible for this man?” the large man yelled.  Drew slowly raised his hand.  “Well, come and get him away from me!” Drew stood up and came over.  “Uh, C.J., come back to the table now.”  I rolled off the table, hit the floor and began to crawl around on all fours, barking like a dog.  As Drew came closer, I bit him on the leg, and managed to wrestle him to the floor.  “OW! C.J.!” Drew grated through clenched teeth.  I could tell he wasn’t happy, so in the midst of my jabbering, I managed to say, “Get her to help.”  He straightened up and looked back, “Honey, could you come help me with him?”  From his expression, Elizabeth figured something was going on, so she came over where I was still crawling on the floor.  As soon as she got there, I crawled as fast as I could for Uncle Mike’s office.   They followed me, and as I got there, I lunged inside.  Quick as a flash, Drew thrust Elizabeth inside as well, said “Watch him, Honey!” and slammed the door.  He wiped his brow, as he turned back.  “Sorry, sirs, he gets like this when he’s excited and his medication’s got some funny side effects.”  The two gunmen looked at each other.  The tall man turned to Uncle Mike, “You got a phone in there?”  “No,” Mike replied, “you destroyed the only one here.” The man turned back to Drew.  “You keep him in there until we’re done,” he ordered.  “Yessir,” Drew agreed hastily, “I’m sorry, he’s been like this ever since his mom dropped him on his head as a child…”  I coughed loudly to let Drew know he was overdoing it a little.  The men turned away, apparently forgetting about Elizabeth, “Okay, people, let’s see those IDs.”  

Inside the office, Elizabeth stared at me.  “What in the world were you doing?  That was the craziest thing I’ve ever…” She broke off, as I triumphantly held up Drew’s cell phone, which I had managed to wrest from his belt when I tackled him.  I think she looked relieved although I could barely see her through my Tabasco-induced tears.  I casually dialed 911 and hit “send.”  Nothing happened.  Realization hit me and I groaned.  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked.  “I forgot about Uncle Mike’s curse”  I said sadly, “no cell phone works if he’s within 100 feet of it. It makes no sense, but that’s how it is.”  I peeped through the keyhole, wincing as I bent over.  “Note to self,” I muttered, “next time pick a table without silverware.”  Sure enough, Mike was still standing at the counter, about 15 feet away.  Too close.  “Drat,” I said, “We’ll have to come up with something else.”  

To be continued…

Part III

Cash J. Endor successfully feigned insanity long enough to get himself and Elizabeth shut up in Uncle Mike’s office, with Drew standing guard outside.  With Plan A (Drew’s cell phone) out of commission, C.J. and Elizabeth start looking for Plan B. 

“Okay,” I shrugged, “time for Plan B.”  Elizabeth looked around the room.  “Hey, do  you know if this computer is hooked up to the Internet?”  She asked.  I didn’t see the relevance, but I nodded affirmatively.  “Yeah, Uncle Mike spends a good part of his time buying and selling stuff on Ebay.  I think he may have gotten a few kids that way!” I joked.  Elizabeth wasn’t listening; she was already seated in front of the machine, talking to herself.  “What are you doing?”  I asked.  “Just a sec,” she answered, “I’m going to hack the city system and…”  the rest of her explanation might as well have been in tongues as far as I was concerned.  The screen began to flash as she typed furiously.  I saw the words “fire department” appear amidst a string of unintelligible code.  I decided I would leave her to her devices, while I tended to mine: feigning insanity.  I threw myself against the wall, and made some more animal noises.  Having once been a small boy, I was pretty good at both activities. 

Elizabeth stopped, “Okay, I’ve hacked the fire department.  When I hit enter, we’ll have fifteen seconds and then the fire alarms in this building will go off!”   “Great!” I responded, “Let me see if the coast is clear.”  I knew that if I could get to Drew and the two men in time, the fire alarm might distract the gunmen long enough for us to disarm them.  I peeped through the door.  Drew was about five feet away, eyeing the door.  His eyes widened as I cracked the door open and put a finger to my lips.  I whispered, “Get ready.”  He nodded.  I looked for the two men, and saw them reading through ID cards.  Somehow, they didn’t strike me as rocket scientists.  Quietly, I retreated back into the office.  “Elizabeth, as soon as the fire alarms go off, grab Drew’s cell phone and get outside to call the police.”  She nodded, and asked, “What are you going to do?”  “I’m not sure, but wait for my signal to hit ‘enter’.”  “Okay,” she said, “but be careful.” 

As I began to emerge from the office, one of Earl’s quick-eyed kids spotted me.  “Hey mister!” he hollered out.  The two men turned.  “Yeah, kid, what is it?” the tall man asked in surly tones.  “That’s a .38 isn’t?”  the boy asked.  Interested in spite of themselves, the men moved toward him.  “Yeah, how did you know?”  “I did a paper on guns one time and I learned by reading books at the library, articles in the newspaper. . .” he glanced my way, and I realized he was stalling for us.  Good boy!  As the men got over to his booth, the other kids joined the chatter.   I decided it was time to make my entrance.  I signaled Elizabeth and started counting.  When I got to “three,”  I began singing the “Star Spangled Banner” in the key of “really bad.”  The men looked up and started in my direction.  7…8….9… On a particularly bad note, I pretended to faint, and collapsed on Drew.  He caught me, almost automatically, and rolled me onto the table nearby.  Thankfully, I had chosen one without silverware this time.  10…11…12…  As the men came near, I slipped my previously-snagged bottle of Tabasco sauce into Drew’s hand.  13…14… By touch, I felt about the table and grabbed the only other bottle I could find.  15!  R-I-I-N-N-N-N-G-G-G!  The alarm sounded, and the water began to spray.  I sat up and squeezed my bottle at the taller of the two.  He was staring at the ceiling, and I managed to get in a good shot.  A yellow smear covered his face, and he staggered back with a startled cry.  I looked at my bottle.  Hmm, spicy mustard.  I’ll have to try that some time.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Drew’s man, yelling and grabbing his eyes.  That Tabasco is powerful stuff.  Just then, Mike ran up with a skillet and whacked both men on top of the head.  They decided to sit down.  Mike looked pleased, in spite of the steady spray of water.  “100 years old and 10 dollars, I got it off Ebay last week!” he announced proudly.  Drew and I collected the guns and waited for Elizabeth.  She came to the door and yelled, “They’re on their way.”  I turned to tell the rest of the customers that everything was safe, but to my surprise the restaurant was empty!  Trust homeschoolers to perform a fire drill in record time.  Elizabeth went back to the office and shut off the alarm and water.  As she re-joined us in the main dining area, she handed me the cell phone.  Mike and Drew finished tying up the two men, and we waited for the police.  I started to ask Mike if he’d gotten the rope off Ebay too, but just then we heard the sirens. 

As the police finished putting the men in the car, and getting everybody’s statements, I thanked Earl’s kids for their help.  “You’re welcome, Mr. C.J.!” they chorused.  I started to move away and then I stopped.  I tossed the empty mustard bottle to the boy who had asked about the gun: “Kids, don’t try this at home!”  He caught the souvenir and the rest of the kids gathered around him in awe.   The look on his face was worth a mint.  Perhaps even a chocolate mint. 

Drew, Elizabeth, and I moved toward the parking lot.  “Elizabeth, great job on using the computer to set off the alarm!” I said.  Drew looked startled. “That was YOU?!” he asked incredulously.  She nodded, a bit shyly.  Drew smiled and asked, “Do you like coffee?”  She smiled back at him, “I LOVE coffee.”  “Well, C.J. here is buying, so let’s go.”  I started to protest, but they were already deep in discussion about the programming code that the fire department used.  I shook my head and followed them to Drew’s car.  I’d get him back later.  As we headed for Coffee Americana, I was struck with the happy realization that I had stuffed my crossword puzzle in my coat pocket before I left the office.  As I reached for it, I discovered the crossword was nestled next to Drew’s cell phone.  Heh, heh.  I’ll get the price of coffee back pretty quick when Drew hires me to find his cell phone.

Case closed…