Killer Calories

“Unless it’s that other one down there by the—”
    “Oh, no. I knew it.”
    “Hey, shhhh . We’ve got company.”
    Tammy pointed to the opposite side of the lot, where Josef Orlet had just appeared, casually strolling around the perimeter as though he were simply taking the evening breeze.
    He walked over beneath the streetlamp, looked at his watch, then glanced around. For a while, he stood there, tapping his foot, exuding impatience. Then he continued his border patrol.
    He had made the circuit twice, when a second figure appeared, coming from the direction of the main complex.
    Tammy tapped Savannah ’s shoulder and pointed. Savannah nodded that she, too, had seen the newcomer.
    The two men met beside some parked cars, too far away for Savannah to hear what they were saying. But, by the light of the streetlamp, Savannah could clearly see the patrician features of the Royal Palms’s resident physician.
    “Dr. Ross?” Tammy whispered.
    “Seems so. I was sorta hoping it would be somebody else,” Savannah replied, recalling the doctor’s gentle touch and kind bedside manner.
    “Can you hear them?”
    “Not a word. But he’s handing Josef the envelope. He must have been the one we overheard him talking to on the phone.”
    As quickly as the doctor had appeared, he left. Soon, Josef followed, both men heading back toward the main complex.
    “Well, that didn’t take long,” Tammy remarked as they left their screen of bushes.
    “Doesn’t take long to pay off a blackmailer,” Savannah said. “At least not the first time.”
    “Do you think he’ll come after him again and ask for more?”
    “They often do.”
    “Poor Dr. Ross.”
    Savannah brushed the dirt off her knees, picked some leaves out of Tammy’s hair, and decided it was time to go back to the room and have that nice, hot shower.
    “Eh... don’t feel too sorry for Dr. Ross,” she told Tammy as they carefully chose their footing along the dark pathway of uneven stones that led back to their dormitory.
    “Most people don’t do business with extortionists unless they’ve got something to hide... usually a crime of their own.”
    “I wonder what crime Dr. Ross committed.”
    “That makes two of us.”

    Savannah waited until she was absolutely certain that Tammy was asleep before she slipped the cell phone out from under her pillow and punched in Dirk’s number.
    He sounded groggy when he answered and, therefore, even more grumpy than usual.
    “Hi, it’s me,” she whispered, keeping an eye on Sleeping Beauty in the next bed.
    “Whoopee,” he replied without an ounce of enthusiasm.
    “I’m gonna break out of this joint tonight. I’ve got a serious craving for a piece of cherry pie with a big scoop of ice cream.”
    She heard him yawn. “Go ahead. You have my blessing. I can’t believe you’ve been there... what has it been… forty-eight hours now?”
    “Don’t get smart with me, buddy. Just meet me at the coffee shop on Agoura Road near the highway in half an hour.
    “Only if I can put my finger in your pie.”
    She punched the off button.
    Years ago, she had learned, it was the best way to handle Dirk when he was feeling feisty.

    “Cute outfit,” Dirk said as Savannah and her gray sweatsuit slid into the booth across from him.
    “Up yours.” She took a swig of the coffee he had thoughtfully already ordered for her. “It’s the Royal Palms uniform. I think the idea is that we’re supposed to be ready and eager to sweat out impurities at a moment’s notice. They’re very big on purification there.”
    “It would take them a lot longer than a week or two to get all the chocolate, pralines, and cream out of your arteries.” She toasted him with her coffee. “Here, here.”
    A sleepy, bored-looking waitress in a pink-and-white-striped uniform with ketchup stains strolled over to their table and took their orders: Savannah —cherry pie with a double scoop of vanilla, Dirk—a couple of donuts.
    “Aren’t you afraid of perpetuating a stereotype with the donut routine,” Savannah asked.
    “Nope. I’m not in uniform. The stereotype thing only counts if you’re wearin ’ the blues.”
    Glancing around, Savannah decided they weren’t likely to be pegged as cops by either of the other two customers, a biker dude in leather and chains, sitting at the snack bar, or the bag lady in the corner, who was sipping her token cup of coffee and having an animated conversation with her invisible companions.
    The