Say Nuts!!

Gil stepped toward the fairgrounds midway filled with people and concessions that had his nose twitching.  Somewhere a booth roasted nuts.  Not just any kind of nuts.  His favorite kinds of nuts, mixed with chili pepper seasoning and a touch of lime.

 Gil swallowed hard willing his squirrel half to stay under wraps.  It wasn’t going to be easy.  The full moon was due to rise within twenty minutes.  Way his lunch ran the last two days, some idiot would stop him and want to ask questions about what the Mayor of Talbot’s Peak was doing at a human event.   That was why he traveled two states and four hours away to see what all this chatter was about.  

Some human named Eric wrote the paper and Nick decided to keep the peace with Ziva to talk about pulling the whole thing off.  How was he supposed to explain to shape shifters that humans would pay good money to gawk at animals for hours on end it seemed?  Hell, all they had to do was wait for the full moon and watch Main Street with binoculars.  They’d get an eye full.  Of course, there was no guarantee the view would be G rated.  More like x to triple x knowing the way most of Talbot’s Peak rutted every moon rise. 

Dante laughed as Nick tried to explain the lure and reasons why they needed to offer more human trappings and events.  Somewhere between safety and reasonable, Dante had offered to finance a small run if Nick and Gil could get the plan off the ground. 

“How the hell did I get sent to scout things out?”  Gil fished his camera out of his waist packet and began shooting the booths he passed as he meandered down the midway.  Somewhere in the crowd ahead of him, Hadley and Ranger were scoping out the kid rides and attractions.  The petting zoo was off limits to the two hungry wolves.  Gil rattled off three shots of the tattooed woman.  She filled out a bikini real nice.  There was the new waitress that Louie hired.  Her tattoos covered more than this woman’s did. Wonder if they could convince her to strip down and show them off for a fee or two.

Gil shook his head as his libido cooled as two young squirrels dashed across the hot asphalt pavement and stopped near him.  They chirped at him and dove under the next booth.  He wasn’t look for a new relationship and females were not on his radar for tonight.  No some of them mixed nuts and a shot of Johnny Walker was what he needed.  And a locked hotel room door so he didn’t go scampering out chasing what he knew wasn’t a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

I couldn't resist following up on yesterday's post.  So Gil is out on a scouting trip.  I wonder if his pictures will be worth while.  We'll have to wait and see.  

Heat and storms have come to the Spice homestead.  Please pray and help out those in OKLAHOMA as you can.  More storms and bad tornadoes are predicted there this weekend.

In between things, remember books can help people and children escape the travesties around them.  Stuffed animals too as well as blankets, clothing, and other items are needed.

Be good to each other!  Until next week share a good book or two with your spice and loves!  I am!

Smiles,

SOLARA

And the Winner Is ...

“What the hell’s taking so long?” Mayor Lance Link paced in a tight circle away from, then back to, the table in the Bighorn Diner currently occupied by Vernon MacMahon, his wife Miss Elly, Louie Delavecchio and Gil. The question mark behind his long-held title hung in everyone’s mind, Lance’s in particular. “It’s never taken this long before.”

“We’ve never had such a turnout before. Not that I can remember,” Elly said. She patted the empty chair Lance had abandoned. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing any minute now. Sit down. And no more coffee.”

Gil clamped his hands protectively around his half-empty mug. “How am I supposed to stay awake without coffee? We were up half the night. Nobody wanted to go home.”

Vern yawned and scratched his beard. He’d flamed out around two in the morning, even though he had a stake in the race. He wasn’t so tired that he failed to hold Miss Elly’s hand. Or failed to snipe good-naturedly at his political rival. “Did Dolly remember to vote?”

“Of course she voted,” Lance snapped.

“Did she remember to vote for you?”

“That’s enough, boys,” Elly said. “The election’s over, and so is the scat-slinging. Play nice.” She sat up, peering through the diner’s large front window. “Here comes Paul. We may have a winner.”

“At last.” Lance yanked open the door and hustled his assistant inside. “You’d better have good news.”

“That depends,” Paul hedged. He eyed the pot behind the counter longingly. “Coffee?”

Vern got up and fetched the boy a brimming mug. Paul sipped appreciatively. When he looked up again, he found himself flanked by two agitated males, both of a species known for mayhem. “I guess you’d like to know the results,” he said.

“That would be nice,” Vern said dryly.

“Um, okay.” Paul fished a folded, stained sheet of paper out of his pocket. “You’ll be pleased to know almost every registered voter in Talbot’s Peak came out yesterday. It’s the best turnout we’ve seen since who knows when.”

“The winner?” Lance prompted.

“The winner. Yeah. That was the problem. We’ve been checking the machines and recounting the votes all night. Most of them were write-ins.”

Vern lifted his grizzled brows. “Write-ins?”

Lance groaned. “Just tell me Todd Lang didn’t win.”

“Todd Lang didn’t win,” Paul said. “Neither did you.” He turned to Vern. “Or you.”

“Lemme guess,” Louie said. “Mickey Mouse is the new mayor.”

“Sort of. Having a wolf on the ballet brought out the herbies in droves. A lot of people in town were tired of Mr. Link, but no way did they want a predator in charge. Then the bunnies organized their own campaign and started the Grass Roots Party. You know how many bunnies we have in Talbot’s Peak?”

“So Bugs Bunny won?” Louie said.

“No, they wrote in an actual person. I told you, organized. The new mayor of Talbot’s Peak is … ” Paul consulted his paper. “Gilbert Peskosky.”

“Who?” Vern and Lance asked in concert.

Gil spit coffee all over the table.

“Say that again?” Vern said.

“The winner,” Paul said, carefully pointing to the choking Gil, “is him.”

“No!” both Lance and Gil blurted. “He wasn’t even on the ticket!” Lance complained.

“Neither was ‘that wolf dude from Twilight’, and he got a hundred votes. Sorry, boss—I mean, Mr. Link. It’s official, and it’s legal. We just spent the whole night verifying that.”

“But—but—but—” Gil sputtered. “I didn’t run for anything! I didn’t even campaign!”

“The patrons of Rattigan’s beg to differ. You had a huge surge in popularity after the dinner rush.”

“What, that fake poll we ran? That was a joke! I was losing to Justin Bieber, for God’s sake!”

Lance had swung around to glare at Louie. “Hey, don’t look at me,” the rat said. “I didn’t serve no liquor till nine.”

“It wasn’t that,” Paul said. “Exit polls said it was the gun incident. The herbie population in Talbot’s Peak still outnumbers the carnies three to one. Anybody small and furry who points a gun at a carnie is okay folks in their eyes.”

“But—but—” Gil choked out.

Vern grabbed his hand and pumped it heartily. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Mayor. So what if I didn’t win? Neither did Lance. That’s the only result I was hoping for.”

Gil stared at his hand, still tingling from Vern’s hard grip. “I don’t know the first thing about how to be mayor.”

“Exactly,” Lance snarled. “It’s a delicate balancing act—humans and shifters, carnies and herbies. It’s not a game for amateurs. You need a leader with experience.”

“Which he got,” Louie said. “Gil here works the bar. I seen him handle drunk bison at one inna morning. You think that don’t take diplomacy? And human? He was born human. He knows ‘em better’n you, Mr. Ape. He seen the human side from experience. Same for the shifter side. You’s gonna make a great mayor. I’ll help you through the political crap. Rats always know where the bodies are buried. Or,” he added with a significant, sidelong look at Lance, “where the banana peels are stashed. First thing you wanna do, you wanna audit the tax returns of some of our public servants. Funny how much people’ll blab when they’re full-fed and drunk.”

“I should go,” Lance said hurriedly. He grabbed Gil’s hand, shook it once, and bolted out of the diner.

“Guess I won’t be cooking him breakfast,” Vernon said.

“Nah. Ain’t nobody cooking but me today, if Miss Elly’ll lend me her kitchen. You want something?” Louie added to Paul.

“Just wondering if I still have a job. Do I still have a job?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gil muttered. “Whatever.”

“Kewl. I’ll go get your office ready. I’d better hurry, too, before Mr. Link gets hold of the records. See you this afternoon, Mr. Mayor.”

“I get an office?” Gil looked dazed.

“You betcha.” Louie delivered a hearty slap to the new mayor’s back. “About time we got the monkeys out of the way and let the squirrels take over. And ya know what’s best about it? Squirrels work for—”

Gil brandished his coffee mug. “If you say it,” he said, “I’ll have to kill you.”

# # #

Sitting at his kitchen table, Bernard “Bugs” Bunny muttered into his morning carrot juice. “A write-in," he grumbled. "I should’a won a write-in. What’s up with that?”

Grist for the Rumor Mill

“Hey!” Louie yelled. “Whatcha doon with my paper?”

Gil crushed Louie’s copy of the Guts and Butts Gazette in his hands and slammed it into the kitchen’s trash barrel. “I’ll get you another one later, if you’re gonna cry about it. But right now, I’ve had enough copies stuck in my face and heard enough crap to last me forever.”

“I ain’t crying. I’m laughing.”

“Yeah, you and everybody else in Talbot’s Peak. How many times do I have to say it? It wasn’t me!”

“Try telling that to the population. We got bunnies and otters and rats”—Louie buffed his nails on his apron modestly—“and whatnot, but only one known squirrel. A’course they’re gonna think it was you.”

Gil grumbled words Louie had first heard on the playground back in Jersey. Ignoring them, Louie fished the innocent, abused newspaper out of the trash and shook off the carrot shavings. Finding the offensive page was a snap; he’d had the paper folded to it when Gil went on his rampage.

“Squirrel Causes Havoc at Church Service,” he read.

“It wasn’t me!” Gil blasted. “Some wolf kid brought a snack to the service. He thought it was dead. Turns out it was just unconscious. It revived during the sermon. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You sure?”

Gil ground his teeth. “One: it’s over a week till the next full moon. Two: it happened during daylight. Three: I know better than to run up some broad’s hairy leg. You think I’m a pervert or something?”

“Pastor Tim’s already forgiven you.”

“It wasn’t me!”

“A’course, that ain’t the best part,” Louie went on as if Gil hadn’t screamed. “You seen the gossip column? The stuff Bertha blurted out when the squirrel went up her leg?”

Gil’s face turned the color of pastry dough. “There’s more?”

“Oh yeah, there’s tons more. Sounds like our Bertha’s been a dirty girl. She did a public confession and everything. Pastor Tim damn near fainted. Says here a couple’a the ladies really did.”

“C’mon. Almost the whole congregation’s shifters. They eat raw meat in the woods. Some brontosaurus in a dress goes humping somebody, they’re not gonna pass out.”

“Okay, maybe the story’s exaggerating a bit. But she did name names. Including the mayor’s. Says here Dolly Link came this close to flinging scat at her, right in the pews.”

“Damn,” Gil said. “I almost wish I had been there. That would’ve been something to see.”

“Anyway,” Louie continued, “things got hairy after that, and I mean really hairy. The ladies started shifting. That Bertha don’t just wear mink, y’know what I’m saying?”

“That explains her humping everything in sight. I’ve heard scary stories about minks.”

“Not half as scary as a chimp on the warpath. Mrs. Mayor was gonna wear her for a stole.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch. Says here Pastor Tim had to call in his brother. You know, the cop? The two of ‘em got the congregation rounded up, finally, but I bet the church was a mess.” Louie flipped the page. “Says here the squirrel made a break for it during all the fuss, and all the males went chasing after it. Or maybe they was just trying to get away from the ladies.” He grinned behind the paper. “So how’d you get away?”

“For the last friggin’ time: I. Was. Not. There. It. Wasn’t. Me. You got that?”

“Sure, Gil. Anything you say.”

“And wipe that smirk off your face, you damn stinking rat. You got table 6’s order ready yet or not?”

“Sure, here y’go. Try not to run up any customer’s legs tonight, okay?”

“I’m warning you—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louie chuckled. Still grumbling, Gil stalked out of the kitchen with the tray.

He came back fifteen minutes later, with his hand clenched around something. Louie noted his dazed expression and asked, “Wazzup?”

“Table 3 gave me a standing ovation,” Gil said. He opened his hand. The bill in it slowly unfurled. “And a fifty-dollar tip.”

“There, y’see? You should go to services more often. Good for the soul. Don’t hurt business, neither. Now get out there and let ‘em get a look atcha. We ain’t been this busy on a Monday night since Sue divebombed that wolf. Scat on a cracker. Maybe I ought’a start going to church.”

Read 'em and Weep

“Okay, gennulmen—and lady,” Louie said with a nod and a smile for Miss Elly—“prepare to lose your shirts. Except you, Gil. You’re too scrawny for my tastes.”

“Just deal.” Gil, in human form for once with the full moon five days past, wrinkled up a nose still decidedly squirrellish. “And not from the bottom of the deck this time.”

“Are you implying I cheat? I’m shocked, I tell youse.”

Vern MacMahon leaned across the table, one forearm resting on Miss Elly’s pretty checkered tablecloth. “Do you cheat? No offense, but you being a rat from New Jersey, questions do arise.”

“Well, yeah, of course I cheat. It’s second nature. Just not tonight.” Again he nodded toward Miss Elly. “This here woman, she scares me.”

“Are we gonna play cards or what?” Gil said.

“Not everybody’s here,” Miss Elly said. “We’re waiting for—”

The diner’s door swung open. An enormous form in a slouch hat and black trench coat ducked to clear the jamb. Sergei regarded the astonished, wary shifters staring at him. “I am late?” he said.

“You’re right on time,” Miss Elly said. “Pull out your wallet and pull up a chair. You boys all know Sergei, right?"

“I know tigers don’t come into herbie places,” Vern said. He edged his chair closer to Elly’s and angled his body protectively toward her. “Unless they’re hunting.”

“No hunt,” Sergei said. He tossed his hat onto another table and took the empty chair beside Gil. “I would not harm Mrs. Ewing. She makes excellent latkes.”

Vern frowned. “Latkes?”

“Potato pancakes,” Louie said, and snorted. “Mine are better.”

“It’s flapjacks,” Miss Elly said firmly. “We don’t use the P-word in my place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gil said. “We gonna play cards or what?”

Sergei peered down at him. His nose worked briefly. “You are squirrel.”

“Sometimes.” Gil scrunched down on his chair in an attempt to get rodent-sized. “That a problem?”

“There is squirrel at my employer’s compound. It doesn’t act like squirrel. It sits and tree and watches, all night long.”

Gil looked uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s sick.”

“Yap yap yap,” Vernon said. “I didn’t take the night off to talk.”

Eager to shift attention elsewhere, Gil said, “Business slow at your place too?”

“Yeah. It’s Dante’s new supperclub. It’s digging into the customer base.”

“Yours, maybe.” Louie shuffled the deck and started to deal. “We ain’t seen much of a drop at Rattigan’s. Tuesdays was always slow anyway. Look, Gil. I’m dealing off the top.”

“Rah rah.” Gil reached for one of the sandwiches Vern had brought over from his own diner. Elly, the only strict herbivore at the table, had provided a veggie tray and cookies. Louie had brought a case of beer from Lex’s microbrewery, and fresh coffee perked behind the counter.

Gil studied his hand, then tossed a matchstick onto the center of the table. “I’m in.”

Three hands passed without incident, though the men watched Sergei warily. The pile of matches in front of the white tiger started to grow, second only to Miss Elly’s. “And I thought I had a poker face,” Vern grumbled.

Sergei flicked a glance at him, then laid his cards on the table. He had another straight, this one king high. Gil threw down his own rotten hand in disgust. “You’re all against me,” he complained. “It’s because I’m a squirrel, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s because you suck at poker.” Louie gathered the cards together. “Beer break,” he announced.

Gil hopped up and snagged a beer. Sergei accepted a cup of herbal tea. Vern and Elly went behind the counter for coffee. Vern leaned in close and slid his arm around her waist. “Careful there, wolfie,” Elly murmured. “We’re in public, sort of.”

Vern growled into her ear, “Why’s the tiger here? Do you know who he works for?”

Elly glanced at Sergei, who had commandeered the plate of cookies. “C’mon, Vern. I’m not stupid. You and Lance talk all the time, and I’m right over here. Well, I’ve got my own connections. Mary set this up. She’s friends with Gypsy from Dante’s club, and Gypsy’s been dating the tiger. She says Sergei’s balanced on the edge of something, and whichever way he tips could depend on the people around him. So this is us, tipping.” Elly poured them coffee. “Wouldn’t you rather know where he is and what he’s up to, Mr. Could Be the Mayor Someday?”

“You sly ewe.” Vern nuzzled her neck. “You sure there’s no fox in your family tree?”

“Those rumors about Uncle Freddy have never been proved.”

The game resumed. One hand had to be scrapped because five aces turned up. Elly shot Louie a tsk-tsk and got a fresh deck out of a drawer behind the counter. “Sorry,” Louie said. “Force of habit.”

“Yeah, right,” Vern said. “I’m going to sic the health inspector on your ass. Your place has rats in the kitchen.”

“Yours has wolf hairs in the turkey club.”

“Gentlemen.” Sergei displayed his cards. “This wins pot, correct?”

“Nope.” Elly spread her inside straight on the table. “This does.”

“That’s it.” Gil got up. “The Russian ringer I can live with, but a woman who wins at poker? That goes against nature.”

“Careful there, squirrelly,” Miss Elly said. “You could wind up losing your nuts.”

Sergei also stood. “I should be going. People question my whereabouts.” He picked up his hat and tipped it to Miss Elly. “I had good time tonight. You are good people.” He stepped out into the night.

“Good time?” Louie scoffed. “I don’t think that albino bozo cracked a smile all night. I’d hate to see his idea of a bad time.”

“I hope we don’t.” Miss Elly gathered up matches and started to count them. “I’m not Gypsy, and I don’t have her ESP, but I’ve got a positive feeling about tonight. I think our tipping may have worked.”

“Even though you won?” Vern said.

“Especially since I won. Tigers like a challenge, and they don’t like unfinished business. He’ll be back, and we’ll be here, and I’ll keep on beating his ass for as long as it takes to win him over. Feeding him my flapjacks shouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Nice,” Louie said. “Where’d you learn so much about tigers?”

“Hey. Herbivore. Studying predators comes under self-preservation.”

“Is that why you’re dating the wolf?”

“No, I just think Vern’s a cutie. Well, lookie here. Gil, you came up shortest tonight. You owe me a mocha at the coffee shop. Gentlemen, shall we adjorn?”

“Until next Tuesday,” Vern agreed. “And that’s mochas all around, squirrel boy.”

“Nuts,” said Gil.