Getting Old Is a Disaster (7 page)

  Enya, almost delirious with exhaustion, cries out, "They're coming for us. Hide! Hide! Something bad is coming, something very bad!"

  We rush back to her side. Ida covers Enya with

the blanket, then turns to us. "I'm going to stay with her."

  I look down on this tortured woman thrashing in her bed and I am in tears.

* * *

When Evvie and I walk outside, it is raining again. Pouring. The wind now raging. I walk her to her apartment, two doors down. Hug her and kiss her good night. She offers to give me an umbrella, but I tell her not to bother, it will only blow away. Besides, my feet are already wet.

  I run across the courtyard, head down against the wind, getting soaked, of course. Was it only this morning Jack and I got up at dawn and met at the bus stop to rendezvous? What a day filled with dramas! The girls showing up with breakfast and interrupting us. The gang at the pool interrogating me. Morrie telling us to mind our own business about the Grandpa Bandit. The crazy dinner at the deli, and let's not forget the bridge players showing up at Jack's apartment. With Enya's nightmares to end this stressful day, I want only to throw myself into bed and pull the covers over my head and sleep.

  In my apartment I attempt to towel dry my hair. And try to think about this emotional seesaw I'm on. But I am beyond tired.

  Suddenly I remember that the bandit's note had more to say—we forgot about it when we ran out of the deli to chase him.

  Once again I call upon Scarlett O'Hara to guide me in times of tension. I dig the envelope out of my purse, and without reading the rest of his note, I toss it on the kitchen table and head for my bedroom.

I'll think about it tomorrow.

R
ain poured relentlessly all night, amid dra

     matic displays of thunder and lightning. The winds raged, making eerie sounds in the darkness—creaking and groaning as if the buildings could bear no more.

  In the morning, Jack glances around as many of the residents of Phase Six group themselves in front of Z building in the early light. They seem a sorry collection, most still in pajamas and robes, shaking their heads, surrounded by the mess all over the grounds, and studying the building that is clearly in trouble. Z for Zinnia, Jack reminds himself. The rain has finally stopped, but the wind still howls and his neighbors all stand hunched over—even the palm trees are bending over. Windows have been blown out. The elevator has been seriously damaged. Carmel Graves reports the roof leaking in her third-floor apartment.

  Stanley Heyer is also here. Right now, he is pacing back and forth in front of his crumbling creation.

  Dora Dooley and Louise Bannister stand on either side of Jack, clinging to him. Carmel Graves huddles into herself, staring up at her damaged apartment worriedly. A Canadian couple, Larry and Sylvia Ulan, look on with concern as well. Residents from building Y across the way lend sympathetic mutterings.

  "Seems like the roof took a beating last night," Stanley comments. He'd already sent his roofer up there this morning to investigate.

  "I was so scared," Carmel says. "I thought the whole building would cave in on me. I hardly slept a wink."

  "Me, neither, all that thunder and lightning right on top of us," adds Louise, leaning closer to Jack as if needing his support—far too close for comfort.

  Stanley makes notes in a pad he holds. "Fortunately, it looks like you people got the worst of it. The other buildings report very little damage."

  "Lucky us," comments Louise.

  "And notice the cracks along the sides," Sylvia Ulan adds, pointing. "This place is falling apart at the seams." Her husband nods in agreement.

  "Well, I'll get on it right way," Stanley says, "but I got to warn you, with all these storms lately, there's hardly a worker available. My roofer told me he's already backed up into late October. I'll see who I can round up."

  "Please hurry," Sylvia says, nervously clutching her husband. "Do what you can."

  Stanley shakes his head. "Fifty years these buildings are standing. Never a big problem. Now this. Let's hope the storms don't get any worse."

  The group slowly disbands, but Louise doesn't seem willing to let go of Jack. "Wanna come up for a cup of coffee?"

  "I would love to, Louise, but I've got to get going. I—"

  "I'll take you up on your offer," says Dora.

  Jack tries not to grin. That's not what Louise had in mind. She never stops trying.

  "Forget it," Louise says sharply. "I've got too much to do." With that she flounces off.

  Dora shrugs. "What a ding-a-ling. Well, I got my soaps waiting for me. Who needs her swamp mud coffee?" And she's off.

  Jack looks up again at his damaged building and shakes his head. Not a good sign. He wonders how Gladdy's building held up.

  The way things are going around here, when will they ever find time alone? He's got to think of something.

* * *

  First order of business is to check on Enya. Ida says she slept fitfully, but she is up and about this morning and seems in better spirits. So hopefully her nightmares will stop.

  I know I have to call Morrie and give him a heads-up about the bandit. But based on his unfriendly attitude about this case, first we must make our own plans. Grandpa's going to hit the SunTrust on Oakland Park Boulevard, according to his note. Fortunately, we are familiar with that corner—we shop there often. Naturally Morrie will tell us to stay away, but we intend to find a hiding place nearby so we can watch Grandpa in the act. How can we resist?

  Sophie reminds me that one of our favorite delis, the Bagel Bistro, is right across the street, so we agree to use that as our observation point. I advise the girls to dress in subtle colors so we won't be noticed. Sophie beams at that; she can hardly wait to coordinate her outfit.

  "Grandpa's got to know we'll tell the police. How's he going to make his getaway with them there?" Ida wonders. "He must have a reason for wanting us to know his plans. This is going to be trouble for us, I know it." Always the cynic.

  "Maybe this time they'll catch him," Bella says.

  "And we get the credit for leading them to him." Sophie looks up from polishing her nails. Her newest color is Burnt Orange to match her latest hair dye.

  Evvie smiles. "Wanna bet he eludes them again? He has to have an escape plan. I'm dying of curiosity to know how he does it."

  The girls listen as I talk to Morrie on the phone. "No article this time. He wrote a real letter. Yes, I'll read it to you. He says, 'Today I'm hitting another clueless bank, this time SunTrust, between two p.m. and four p.m. Oakland Park branch. He also says, 'Getting old ain't for sissies,' and once again he writes, 'Catch me if you can, girls.' That's it."

  I listen, and shake my head. I say, "Yes, Morrie, even though it's clear now this is our case, we'll stay away," with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Then I add, "And don't forget to send us the list of banks he's already robbed. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's in the mail. Sure."

  When I hang up Bella does a little dance in anticipation. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

  After the girls leave, I call Jack. He tells me about his damaged building and I catch him up on our bandit.

  "Did you call Morrie?" he asks.

  "Of course I did."

  "And did he tell you to stay away?"

  "Naturally."

"And you aren't going to listen to him, are you?"

I think a moment—do I lie or tell the truth?

  Jack answers before I weigh this decision about honesty in relationships. "You're going. I know you are."

  "Don't tell Morrie," I beg.

  "I would never mix in with your business tactics, but you can guess what I'm thinking."

  "I know . . . I know," I say, feeling guilty.

  We both change the subject at the same time and, saying the same thing: "I missed you last night."

* * *

The girls and I meet at my old Chevy wagon at one o'clock. We're hoping to get there a little before Morrie and his cops arrive. As agreed upon, we are all in pastel shades or light grays and tans. Except Sophie. Her idea of subtle is a bright yellow slacks outfit with a bright yellow ribbon in her hair. She's carrying a huge yellow flowery purse.

  Ida shakes her head in disgust. "You look like a lollipop!"

  Evvie says, "More like a deranged canary who escaped from her cage. Where's a cat when you need one?"

  Sophie sniffs, annoyed by our attack on her judgment. "The walls in Bagel Bistro happen to be painted in sunshine yellow and I'll blend into the woodwork perfectly. So there!"

  Huh. No arguing with Sophie's logic. We're on our way.

  When we arrive at Oakland Park Boulevard, first we oh-so-casually check out the front of the bank and then take a brief stroll inside, searching for anyone who might look suspicious. Every grayhaired man is to be examined. There are senior citizens, but only four male gray heads. I snap my fingers and the girls get it. Each follows one of the men only to return moments later, saying that all four got into their cars and drove away.

  "One of them almost hit a telephone pole backing up," reports Ida, "but let's not get into a discussion of how some seniors drive."

  So, we hightail it out of the bank and over to our hiding place.

  The deli is packed with the lunchtime crowd, but we're lucky—there's a table for four in a corner at the window with a perfect view of SunTrust Bank directly opposite. We drag over another chair so the five of us can all squeeze in. It's then I realize Bella isn't with us.

  Evvie nudges me to look out the window, and there's Bella, still across the street, bent over, dropping money in a small cup. An elderly legless man, wearing a large torn straw hat, holding pencils, is propped up on a wooden block with skate wheels. It is a small drama. After Bella puts her money in his cup, he hands her a pencil. She shakes her head and steps back. The legless man says something to her and waggles the pencil at her. Finally she gives in. She takes her pencil and crosses the street.

  Dear kind Bella, I think. There's no way she'd take the pencil and prevent him from another sale.

  We are in a deli, so naturally everyone wants to eat. But I warn them not to take their eyes off the bank. Happy chomping commences as we watch the busy parade of passersby go back and forth and in and out of the bank.

  Sophie points animatedly. "Look, there's Morrie."

  Morrie walks past the bank with his good friend and fellow detective Oz Washington and several other men in plain clothes. The legless man tries to sell them a pencil, but they ignore his efforts.

  The men spread out. Morrie and three others enter the bank. Oz and the two men with him cross the street and move to the left of the deli.

  "Oh, oh. They're searching all the stores!" Evvie grabs me by the sleeve. We all watch as the three men disappear from sight. Bella guesses Oz is going to the lamp-shade place next door.

  "They're having a ten-percent-off sale," she informs me. We wait nervously. Moments later they appear again, and suddenly I have a sinking feeling.

  I bark, "It looks like he's coming in here. Everybody hide your face." We use napkins, menus, halfeaten sandwiches, squirming to look invisible—but sure enough, as Oz walks up and down the restaurant searching for gray heads, he reaches our table and naturally recognizes us. He is his usual gorgeous self—café-au-lait skin, wavy black hair, and a smile to break your heart.

  Caught! This was a dumb idea, picking a place so close to the bank. Oz and I exchange glances. For a moment, I hold my breath. Oz winks and walks past us.

  We wait motionless until he and his men are safely past our table.

  Ida whispers, "Why didn't he say something? Such as 'Get out of here'?"

  I exhale in relief. "I think he likes us. And I bet he doesn't tell Morrie that he saw us."

  Two o'clock comes and goes. So does three. Luckily the restaurant has cleared out and nobody needs our table. My eyes are smarting from watching so intently. People enter the bank and exit the bank. But nothing. No robbery. Finally my watch reads four. I can see Morrie, Oz, and their guys take off. Oz glances in our direction and shrugs. Morrie looks annoyed.

  Sophie is disappointed. "Grandpa lied to us and sent us on a wild-duck chase."

  "Goose," Ida says.

  "Who are you calling names?" Sophie huffs.

  I calm everyone down. We gather our things, throw our trash into the proper receptacles, and leave. But when we turn the corner to where I parked my car, lo and behold, there's a familiar white envelope stuck in the windshield wiper.

  "He
was
here," Ida says, grabbing for it. Sure enough, inside, there's his trademark green feather. We all peer over Ida's shoulder as she reads.

  " 'Hi, girls, this was only a test. Just wanted to see if you were on your toes. Next time, weather permitting, will be the real thing. Speaking of getting old, did you know if you were age fifty on the planet Neptune, you'd only be three months old? By the way, loved the yellow outfit. And enjoy your other friend's new pencil.' "