Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“Okay,” said Pearl. “But my Baptist God’s going to see right through your blasphemous, heathen Methodist hearts.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Polly replied. “So, ladies, this is our chance to help our dear friend Pearl, and I’m hoping our efforts at rehabilitation might even find favor with the judge and help keep our poor little darling out of the slammer.”

“I don’t know,” said Pearl. “I kind of liked that one jail gang.”

“Nonsense, Pearl,” replied Polly. “Ladies, are we in agreement with this intervention?” The girls nodded in agreement, with the exception of Miss Pearl, who just looked down and grumbled while she kicked the table leg with her big white shoe. “Pinkie-swear!” cried out Polly as she extended her pudgy little finger to the middle of the table. All four ladies, including a reluctant Miss Pearl, interlocked pinkies.

“Pinkie-swear!” they chimed in unison.

“Fantastic,” said Polly. “We’ll get started pronto.”

After paying their bill, the girls all piled into Polly’s pink Cadillac parked in front of the coffee shop. Polly put the long car in reverse and floored the pedal. The car full of women screamed out backward across the parking lot and into the oncoming traffic of the street. Slamming the brakes and throwing the transmission into drive, Polly hammered down on the gas and sped down the busy street. Big and Little Esther sat in the back seat with Jolene. The three girls in back buckled their seat belts, checking several times to make sure they were securely fastened. Big and Little Esther closed their eyes shut and held hands, knowing from years of experience this was the best way to travel with Polly at the wheel. Miss Pearl sat in the front passenger seat, her legs crossed and propped on the dashboard with her hands clasped behind her neck.

“Pearl,” said Jolene. “For God’s sake, put on your safety belt.

“No way,” replied Pearl. “If I’m going to die, I’m going out comfy.”

“Oh, hush,” scolded Polly. “I haven’t had an accident, at least not a big one, in over two years.”

“How many moving violations?” inquired Little Ester as she tightly hung onto Big Esther’s enormous paw with one hand and her sock and darning needles with the other.

“Just a couple,” replied Polly as she jerked the wheel to the left and sped past a school bus full of children returning from a field trip. “Passive driving led to all my wrecks in the past. From now on, I’m going to be the windshield and not the bug.”

“You’re in a school zone,” Pearl said nonchalantly.

“Not anymore,” replied Polly as she poured on the gas and raced past the “End School Zone” sign.

“Now, ladies,” Polly began, “we need to track down a good collection of Buddhist readings for our Wednesday intervention activities. Since this is a group project, I think we should all have input on which books we select. Avery swears by a store a few blocks from here. We’ll just pop in and see what they’ve got.” Polly jerked the steering wheel over as she took a hard right at a four-way stop without slowing for the sign. She waved in her rearview mirror to the car behind her that she had just cut off midway through the intersection. “Sorry, sugar,” she said as the man leaned on his horn in anger.

“And you think I got issues,” Pearl said in disgust as she shook her head. “You drive like a coked-up New York cabbie.”

Eight blocks and two ignored traffic signs later, Polly pulled the pink car up to the curb in front of the maroon-colored gothic house. Her passenger-side tires rolled up over the curb and back off again. The car came to a bouncing stop on its soft suspension. The sign out front announced the house as The Magic Man’s Curio Shop and Bookstore.

“Am I too close to the curb?” Polly asked, not waiting for an answer. “Okay, everybody out.”

The girls clambered out of Polly’s huge car, Big Esther banging her small bird-like head on the way out. As the girls gathered up and turned toward the gate in the rusty wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property, a thunderous roar came from down the street. Amidst a deep, loud, thumping rumble, an intimidating woman on a bright red Harley-Davidson with orange flames painted on the fuel tank pulled over to the side of the road next to the girls. The heavily muscled woman wearing a black leather bikini, black sleeveless leather vest full of patches, white leather riding chaps, and heavy black construction boots shut down the thundering Harley’s engine. Clicking down the kickstand, the woman with multiple tattoos on her bulging, deeply tanned arms and rippled back removed the black helmet with Viking horns she was wearing, shaking her long blonde braids behind her.

“’Sup, home girl,” the intimidating biker with a deep raspy voice said to Miss Pearl as she tapped her heart twice with her closed fist.

“Sup,” Pearl replied, tapping her chest twice in return.

“Dear lord,” Jolene whispered to Miss Pearl. “Don’t tell me you know this Valkyrie?”

“Is she a man?” asked Little Esther.

“She’s a bodybuilder, stupid,” replied Pearl. “Nitro, ladies. Ladies, Nitro,” Pearl said, introducing her acquaintance. “I see you posted.”

“Yeah,” replied Nitro as she spat over her shoulder. “Got my old man to put his bike up as collateral for the bail money.”

“His bike?” asked Pearl. “I thought the reason you were in the joint in the first place was because you broke his cheekbone with a socket wrench.”

“Nah, he’s my bitch,” replied Nitro. “He said he deserved it. By the way, offer’s still open. We can always use some muscle in the gang.”

“I’ll think on it,” replied Pearl. “I know where to find you.”

“Good,” replied Nitro as she replaced her horned helmet and fired the noisy bike back to life. “Have a nice day, ladies,” she smiled to the group as she roared down the street on her Harley.

“Don’t you even think about it, Pearl,” Polly scolded. “We aren’t going through all the trouble of this intervention just to see you hook up with a bunch of outlaws.”

“What would the Junior League think?” said Big Esther.

“Ladies, come on,” said Polly. “We’re wasting time.” The girls entered the gate to the property and approached the front door. Miraculously, the sign on the door read OPEN. Polly led the group of women into the shop, where she spotted a little skinny man in a tie-dye shirt behind the counter with his back turned as he fiddled with some jars of incense on the shelf behind the counter. “Sir,” said Polly as she walked across the main level of the shop. “We’re wondering if you happen to carry any books about…”

“Ahhhhhh!” Ziggy shrieked as he turned and saw the woman with flaming red hair and the gun-toting little black woman from last night who tried to kill him. “Like, Jesus, man! I knew you’d like come to finish the job!”

“Why, you little peckerwood!” screamed Miss Pearl. “You got my gun confiscated!”

“Pearl, stop!” commanded Polly. “Calm down,” said Polly to the seething woman in front of her who stood with her bony fists clenched. “I want you to breathe deeply and think of things that make you happy.”

“Wringing that little lizard’s neck would make me happy,” snarled Pearl.

“Right now!” demanded Polly. “Things that make you happy.”

“All right,” Pearl conceded as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Bluebonnet fields…chicken spaghetti…Denzel…free shit…”

“Now, sir,” Polly said politely as she bent over the counter to look at Ziggy, who was hiding under the cash register. “I want you to know how dreadfully sorry we are about last night. I just feel awful about how things got so out of control. Is your face okay?”