Sour Grapes

ladies nice,” Savannah mused as she watched them hustle out the door. “Busting him would be almost as much fun as slapping cuffs on you, Babycakes.”
    “Speaking of cuffs,” Dirk said when the last one had stepped outside, “these are loose enough for me to slip ‘em off if I need to, right?”
    “Of course. You don’t think I’d bind those mighty fists of fury, do you? I might have needed you to duke it out with the big guy.”
    “Yeah, right. How much of a head start are we gonna give ‘em?”
    “Not much. We’ve gotta see which entrance they take when they get to the freeway, north or south. Let’s get going.”
    Keeping her gun in hand and highly visible, she led her “prisoner” across the restaurant and out the door. The gangsters were piling into two late-model luxury cars. Apparently robbery paid better than private detecting, Savannah decided as she directed Dirk to her 1965 Mustang on the opposite side of the parking lot. Its China red paint glowed a sickly coral in the light of the yellow parking-lot lamps. The feeble illumination also made it difficult for her to read the license plate on one of the cars that was revving up and getting ready to leave.
    “I’ve got the Lexus,” she told Dirk, who was shuffling along in captured-cannibal-serial-killer style.
    “Yeah, and I’ve got the Acura. You carryin’ your cell phone?”
    “It’s in my car pocket.”
    “Your what? Oh, yeah, I forgot... that’s Southern for glove box.”
    When they reached her Mustang, Savannah opened the passenger door and shoved Dirk inside, then slammed it closed. A quick glance at the car nearest them told her the gang was watching. Sitting in the backseat, the girl had her nose pressed against the window and was practically drooling on the glass. Savannah was amazed; females who were hopelessly smitten with Dirk were a rare commodity.
    She hurried to her side of the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and got the motor humming. Her Mustang might be ancient, but thanks to her skilled mechanic, Ray, it could burn the wind when she applied a heavy foot to the pedal.
    Dirk had already slipped off the cuffs, had her cell phone out, and was dialing. He ducked, hiding his face beneath the dash, as the first gangster’s car peeled past them.
    “Hey, Jake,” he shouted into the phone. Dirk had never grasped the concept that you don’t have to scream into a cell phone to be heard. “Where are ya? Yeah, right now.” He listened for a second. “Good, I got a hot one for you. How would you like to help bust the ‘Burger Bandits.’ I kid you not, my man. Get as much backup as you can muster... a chopper if possible... and head for the 101. I’ll be tellin’ you north or south in a minute or so.”
    Savannah waited until both cars full of suspects had left the parking lot before following at a discreet distance. As she had anticipated, they were heading toward the freeway entrance ramps.
    “Northbound,” she said, a bit surprised at their choice. “I figured they’d be heading home to L.A. I guess we didn’t put the fear of God in ‘em after all.” Dirk conveyed the newest bulletin to Jake McMurtry. “They’re probably on their way to Santa Barbara,” he added. “There’s plenty of burger joints to hit between here and there.”
    Savannah nudged him with her elbow. ‘Tell Jake we gotta take them before they leave the freeway. The next ten exits go into residential areas. And if they get to another restaurant, we’ll be in the same situation we were before.”
    “Did you hear that, Jake?” Dirk barked into the phone. “Don’t screw this up, man. We need lots of units, and everybody’s gotta know they’re armed... at least one Uzi. Don’t want nobody dead, unless it’s them.”
    Savannah winced. Dirk wasn’t known for keeping his negative, even hostile, opinions to himself. Even after years of seeing the worst of humanity, Savannah chose to look for the good in people, although it wasn’t always immediately obvious. Dirk didn’t bother. Dirk’s theory: Life stinks, the world stinks, and everybody in it stinks. And with an attitude like that, he daily collected enough evidence to prove his hypothesis.
    “Damn it, Van,” he said, “I wish we were in my car. Not having a radio stinks.”
    “Don’t gripe. Your heap isn’t even running right now. Is Jake calling it in?”
    Dirk growled and nodded as he listened on the phone. “Yeah. I hear him. He’s outta breath... must be