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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Comedy · #909604
Mabel ends up with the mob's money
Mabel and the Mob





“There must be at least fifty thousand dollars in here,” Anton said aloud, peering into the thick canvas bag. “Now I can get that sex-change operation I've always wanted.”

“Sex-change?” asked his wife, Mabel. “I never knew you wanted a sex-change. What brought that on?”

“Thirty years of marriage, Mabel, that’s what. I have lived one-half of my entire life with you. I’ve watched the kids grow-up and leave. I’ve watched you bloat-out and sag. I deserve something better, dammit. Something just for me!”

“Half that money is mine, you little urchin!”

“No, Mabel. I found it. It’s all mine.”

“I'll call the police! It must have fallen out of an armored-car or something. If I don’t get my half, you don’t get any!”

Anton pulled the rope loose that bound the top of the money-bag. He twisted it around his left hand, then his right. He looked her in the eye, no longer afraid of her nagging threats. As he approached her, he knew he could do it.

“Anton! Just what do you think you're gonna do? Kill me? You pathetic worm! You don’t have the guts to kill me!”

He crept toward her.

“Anton, stop playing around. Listen, mister, I’ll kick your ass if you try to kill me. Anton? Anton!”

There was a short scuffle on the floor in between the two twin-sized beds; finally Mabel stood up and straightened out her dress. She took-out her suitcase from under the bed and dumped all the money inside. Then she slipped the heavy canvas sack over Anton’s head and used the rope to cinch it up tight.

“I warned you not to mess with me, Anton. Now, you get nothing! I’ll call the cops and you can explain to them what happened to the money after they let you out of the bag. Good luck, sucker. I’m off to Hawaii.”

***


Murray the Mouth was tied to a hard-back kitchen chair. There were three thugs that stood around him taking turns smashing their fists into his face.

“Tell us, Murray! Where’s the damn money?”

“I...I don’t know, fellas! Honest!”

“Mr. Big wants all his money, Murray. All of it!”

“I told you everything I know. When I got back to the hideout, the trunk of my car was open. One of the bags must have fallen out.”

“That’s a lie, Murray. We followed your exact route, and there was no money bag.”

“Well, then someone must have picked it up. I wouldn’t cheat you boys! You guys outta know that.”

“Kill him.”

“Stop! Wait, wait, wait a minute, will ya? Give me twenty-four hours to come up with the dough. If I can’t find it . . . then you can kill me.”

Mr. Big walked out of the shadows. In a voice that sounded like gravel, he said, “Twenty-four hours, Murray. Then you're one dead thief, and that mouth of yours will never bother you again.” He motioned to the thugs to get out, then he followed them.

“Hey! Wait! Ain’t you guys even gonna untie me? Hey? Come on, you guys, come back!”

***


Mabel bent over slightly and the brown-skinned girl put a gorgeous lei around her neck.

“Aloha,” said the beauitful Hawaiian girl.

“Aloha, to you too, sweetie.”

She headed to the front of the airport and hailed a taxi.

“Take me to the best hotel in town and I’ll give you a hundred dollar bill.”

“No problem, lady. Want me to get your bag?”

“No, no, I’ll carry it myself.”

The cab driver shrugged, then drove across the street to the Hawaiian Hilton. “Here you go, lady. Now where’s my money?”

“You shouldn’t take advantage of little old ladies, you know,” she said, gritting her teeth. She handed him the bill, but let the money go just as the driver reached for it. “You want your money, honey? Go catch it!”

A strong breeze whipped it over the windshield of the cab and out into the street. She quickly turned smiling, then entered the front door of the hotel with her bag in tow. She spotted the front desk, pushed her way to the head of the line, then banged on the bell. “Service! I want service, dammit!”

A snooty looking clerk casually approached her. “May I help you, ma'am?”

“Yeah! I want the best room you got!”

“Do you have a reservation?”

She reached across the desk and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, pulled him close to her face, and then stuffed several one-hundred dollar bills in his mouth. “I want the best room you got, comprende, amigo?”

The man shook his head in agreement, then handed her the key to the suite on the top floor.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now, send a good-looking fella from room service to my room with your finest bottle of champagne. I’ll be eating in this evening, Jeevs.”

“Yes, of course, ma'am. Anything you desire.”

“Well, then, don’t stand there gawking, mister. Get busy! Chop, chop!”

The bellboy rushed over to escort her to her room.

“Hands off the bag, sonny. This stays with me.”

***


Murray, drove down Pine Street and noticed several police cars parked in front of one of the houses. He wasn’t paying attention to the road and hit a speed dip at about thirty-miles-an-hour. The car bounced hurdy-gurdy down the street and his trunk popped opened. He pulled over to the side of the road, smiling. He remembered doing the exact same thing last night in his big-hurry to get the money to Mr. Big. The speed bump, the police cars, it all added up; he had found the missing bag of money. All he had to do now was figure out how to get it back.

He opened his glove box and pulled out a small notepad and pencil, turned his hat around, and got out of the car. He approached the house just like he lived there. There was a cop at the front door, and Murray tried to walk right by him.

“Hold it, bub, where do you think you're going?”

“Reporter for the L.A. Times. What’s going on around here--a murder?”

“Naw, just a domestic dispute. The guy says his wife kicked his ass, then ran off with about fifty-thousand dollars of money he says he found right on his front yard. The bag’s here, and he’s got a black-eye, sure enough. Hey, what happened to you, anyway? You look pretty beat-up yourself.”

“You know that actor, Alec Baldwin? I tried to get an interview with him, and you know, snap some photos from over his backyard fence. Next thing I know, the jerk smashes my camera into my face!”

“I like Alec Baldwin. He’s a good actor.”

“Yeah, whatever. I do know that his wife swims in the nude.”

The cop smiled.

“So what’s this guy’s name?” Murray asked, pointing toward the house with his thumb.

“Kratchet. Anton Krachet. His wife’s name is Mabel. She took all the so-called-money and ran off to Hawaii with it. Isn’t that the damndest story ya ever heard? The sarge is checking it out now.”

“Oh, well, sounds kinda routine. I need a really big story to get the editor off my back. I guess I’ll keep looking. Hey, thanks for your help.”

Murray walked quickly back to his car and headed for the airport. He left his car in a no-parking zone, ran in and booked the next flight to paradise. In fifteen minutes he was on his way to Hawaii.

***


Mabel sucked on the long straw that led to a fresh pineapple filled with rum. She basked in the golden sun at pool-side, while a young cabana boy rubbed her back with baby oil.

“A bit lower, honey. Ahh... that’s it. You have such strong hands, deary. How’s about you bringing up old Mabel her dinner tonight, hmm?”

“We’re not suppose to fraternize with the guests, mam.”

“Here’s a hundred bucks. You come see me tonight and they’ll be a coupla more of those waiting for ya. What the manager don’t know, won’t hurt him, dear. Now run along like a good boy and I’ll see you tonight.” Mabel watched him as he walked off. “Hmm, hmm, good,” she said.

***


“You got a Mrs. Kratchet staying there? You do? Thank God, I finally found her. Yes, this is her husband. Are we millionaires? No, why do you ask? She’s throwing a lot of money around, huh? What room did you say she was in? Okay, I got it. Thanks a lot. Bye.”

Murray the Mouth headed for the hotel. He got the name “The Mouth” because he could do voices. There was no dialect Murray couldn’t imitate. He slipped into his Jack Nicholson. “I’m coming for ya, Mabel.”

Murray didn’t see the guy watching him from around the corner.

***


Mabel had all the lights turned off. She was wearing a black, skimpy-looking lingerie outfit she had just bought that afternoon. In fact, she had purchased an entire new wardrobe, and gotten a complete make-over. She felt sexy and alive. She hadn’t felt this good in years. She was a sawed-off spark-plug with an Irish temper. She wasn’t unattractive, but she had a nasty Oklahoma mean-streak that always made her say just exactly what was on her mind, usually at the wrong time and place.

“Thank you, Anton, you old son-of-a-bitch,” she said, toasting her glass of champagne. “You finally paid me for thirty years of hard labor.”

She heard a key scratching at the door. Mabel quickly got up and hid behind a large liquor cabinet, smiling with anticipation.

Murray picked the lock to the suite and quietly slipped into the room. He couldn’t see a damn thing and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He pulled a length of rope from his pocket and slowly crept toward the bedroom. He figured to kill the old broad first, then find the money and hurry back to L.A.

“Yhoo-hooo . . . who’s there?”

Murray was startled, then did his best Desi Arnes impersonation. “Lucy, I’m home . . . .”

“I’m over here . . . . Come and catch me.”

Murray smiled, exposing his broken tooth. This was too good to be true. He slipped toward the sound of the voice. “I’m coming . . . .”

Mabel lightly moved to the far side of the bed. “Over here . . . .”

Murray headed in the new direction. He didn’t see the sunken bed, tripped, and tumbled headfirst onto it.

Mabel jumped him.

“Oh, honey,” she said, “you do have such strong hands.”

“Where’s the money?”

“I’ll give it to you later. Is that a rope, cowboy? You kinky, little devil you.”

There was some rough scuffling, and then Murray found himself hog-tied to the bed. Mabel began pulling Murray’s pants off as she sat on his chest.

“Let me go, you crazy old bitch!”

“Old? I’ll show you old!” She scooted back some to shut him up, then ripped off her nightie and stuffed it into his mouth. She finished removing his pants and began to show Murray the real expertise of an older woman.

Suddenly, the lights came on.

Mr. Big and his associates were standing in the room.

“Good, God, Murray, what are you doing?” asked one of the thugs.

“Get your things and get out of here, lady,” said Mr. Big. “We have some unfinished business with your perverted Romeo.”

Mabel saw the guns pointing in her direction and scrambled to get some clothes on.

“You’re one sick bastard, Murray,” Mr. Big sneered. “Don’t you have any morals at all? Geez . . . I can’t believe it. An old lady, Murray? An old lady?”

Murray tried to talk, but he couldn’t get the lingerie out of his mouth. He kept frantically nodding his head toward Mabel and incoherently mumbling something.

Mabel assessed the situation and quickly grabbed her suitcase full of money. In a blink of an eye she was out the door and into the hotel elevator. She pushed the button to the lobby. The elevator sped downward. “Nice boy, but he hangs around such a rough crowd. I wonder if that fella was the hotel manager? Oh, I hope I didn’t get the poor boy fired.”

She scurried out of the lobby door and caught a cab to the airport.

“Where ya headed, lady?”

“I dunno. I hear Paris is wonderful this time of year?”



(words:2060)
© Copyright 2004 W.D.Wilcox (billywilcox at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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