I turned around and ran smack dab into a smelly sailor, and the stench of whiskey blasted me in the face. The bass drum in my chest turned into a whole percussion section as I raised my fists and danced on the balls of my feet. My insecurity bounced right along with me as I jabbed left, left, right at the air. “Back off, buster. I know ka-ra-tay.”
He stared at me with heavy-lidded eyes and slurred, “But you’re boxing.”
“Uh, right.” My mind raced for a plausible explanation. “It’s kinda like kick boxing, only it’s called karate boxing.” I sliced the air furiously, looking more like I was making the sign of the cross, then I threw a right hook. “Ye-haw!”
The drunk swayed at just the right moment, and I missed. “Don’t you mean hi-yah?” A goofy grin spread over his face.
Stupid, stupid, Callie. “Where I come from we say ye-haw. It’s the country version of karate boxing.”
“Got it.” He opened his half-closed eyes, for just a moment, and winked then slurred in a loud voice, “Whatcha doin’, pretty lady?”
Another phony crony, thank God. He had me worried. I relaxed and dropped my fists, then I raised my voice to match his. “Just trying to do my part in serving the community. Not sure it’s working, though.” I stared around the docks. Maybe he’d seen Dylan.
He nodded. “Oh, it’s working.” He tipped his head slightly in the direction behind him. So that’s where Hot Britches was hiding. “Well, I’m part of the community, honey. Why don’t you come serve me?” He reached out three times before he snagged my arm and pretended to try to pull me over to a dinghy by a big dumpster.
I freed my arm and took a step back. “Laying it on a little thick, there, aren’t you pal?” I whispered.
“Just trying to get a rise out of Detective Cabrizzi. He moved over by the dumpster,” he whispered back. “The dumpster full of fishguts.”
I gasped, seriously considering pushing Hot Britches to dive right in, but then I decided even I wasn’t that bad. Keeping Dylan up all hours of the night was enough. “Sorry, mister,” I said nice and loud. “I finished what I set out to do.” I snagged my trash bag and poker then turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I answered, but kept walking.
“Because it wouldn’t take much to--”
Smack!
I came to an abrupt stop and whirled around but could only see shadows scuffling. It sounded like fists smacking skin, and then something went thud.
Dylan! Oh, God. I’d just wanted to get even with him, but I didn’t want him getting hurt because of me. I dragged my loaded trash bag and poker as I jogged back to the dinghy. As I drew close, more rustling came from the dinghy, and then a shadow darted by and a whoosh came from the dumpster. The fishgut dumpster. Uh-oh.
“Hello? Anybody there?” I held up my poker. What if it wasn’t Dylan? “It’s Miss Community Serrrr-viiice,” I called out in a singsong voice, my stomach in my throat.
No answer.
Swallowing hard, I peeked inside the dinghy only to see the phony crony lying flat on his back, out cold. “Oh, yeah. That’s gonna leave a mark.” And I was gonna be in big trouble when he came to.
A muffled grunt came from somewhere inside the dumpster, and I jerked my head up. Gripping my poker tighter, I peered over the edge and blinked. Nothing there. I squinted and looked closer then pressed my lips together. A patch of black hair lay barely visible beneath a mound of garbage. I waited until I saw him move a fraction, then I pulled away.
Snort. Big, big trouble. Payback had gone a bit far tonight, but since the damage had already been done, might as well roll with it.
Note to self: Fishguts at three A.M. make a perfect late-night snack for rotten produce.
I felt myself soften. Rotten or not, he’d come to my rescue. Probably because he still hadn’t caught Flasher Freak, I reminded myself, but a part of me didn’t really believe it. Still, I had to admit that community service felt darn good. I plugged my nose, trying not to inhale, and tossed my trash bag into the dumpster, my work for the evening complete.
I couldn’t resist. I sliced the air for good measure, threw a punch, then yelled, “Ye-haw!”
Ding. Ding. Round two went to Callie MacDonald, the country karate boxing champ of the evening.
***
At the end of the week, I stood grinning in my bathroom mirror as I got ready for my date. Dylan had called a few times after the first two episodes, asking if I wanted to get together, but I’d made one excuse after another, until he’d finally stopped calling. Well, he couldn’t blame me for being leery of our sham of a friendship after that kiss, and he deserved the silent treatment after siccing the Brat Pack on me, even if I was getting over it.