The Feet of God

64 - HATE TO EAT AND RUN

I watched Madame and Yeller Tom grow smaller and smaller until they vanished through the swing door back of the pastry counter.  My head rolled backwards and my eyes saw above me countless holes in ceiling tiles moving, breathing, expanding, shrinking...damn, this was some kinda special cream cheese.

I then heard a voice, “Jeebus, how much didja eat?”  It was the bear of an airplane mechanic, Chuck.  He’d entered the bakery shop and sauntered over to the coffee stand and poured a cup.  “Here, drink this, it’ll help pull you together.”

I fought to stay focused as I held the hot mug.  “You’re no barrel of laughs,” I cracked myself up.  “Mr. Grease Monkey.”  I doubled over laughing.

“Just drink,” the huge man ignored my convulsions of idiotic laughter.  He grabbed a folding chair and sat down beside me.  “You’re gonna be stuck in that plane with Tom for hours, y’know, and you don’t wanna be flying high on the cheese.”  He shoved a bagel at me.  “Here, eat some of this.”

I took a bite and sipped the piping hot coffee.  “Have any idea where we’re headed next?” I asked him.

“I figure Tom’s next stop is Bible Hill.”

“What’s in Bible Hill?”  I munched more bagel.

“Colonel Stilton.”

“Who’s that?”

“The Colonel runs a major cheese operation.  He’s been trying to buy out Madame or drive her out of business for years.  While Tom was away making calls on this last trip, some of The Colonel’s men paid a little backroom visit one night.  Madame was upstairs asleep.  They tied up all the working women and raided the kitchen of powdered cream cheese product.  They even made off with some glazed doughnuts and several maple bars.”

“Wow, some dudes just tried to hijack cheese from Yeller Tom and me.”

Chuck put a little cheese on a small piece of sesame seed bagel for himself.  “I’m not surprised.  It’s total war out there.  But I don’t advise anyone to try and strong-arm Madame.  Nope.  She’s a force to be reckoned with in the cheese world, that’s for sure.  You don’t wanna cross her.”  He licked his fingers.

“You seem to know a lot,” I attested with a mouthful of bagel and coffee.

“Oh, I’ve provided many favors for Madame over the years,” his eyes searched mine, “and she’s provided certain favors for me in return.  We work well together.”

I just nodded as I chewed and drank, and every time I put the cup down the big man pushed more coffee on me.  My head started to shrink back to normal size and the room stopped whirling around so much.  I was working on a fresh cup of coffee when Yeller Tom and Madame reentered the front part of the tiny pastry store.

“So, it is settled,” Madame said to her son.

“Oui, there is no question.”  Yeller Tom turned and regarded me.  He asked his mechanic friend, “How is my passenger doing?”

“Oh, he’ll be all right.  I got some coffee down him and something non-dairy to eat.  He’ll be good to go whenever you are.  Oh, by the way, I replaced your pigeon with a live one.”

“A live one?  Gertrude est morte?”

“If you mean did the bird croak, yeah.  I put a fresh one in the cage.”

“Ah, that explains the foul odeur.  I suspected my passenger.”  Yeller Tom then asked Chuck direct, “Is my plane ready?”

“All reloaded, and A-OK for liftoff.”

While they talked business, Madame glided over toward the refrigerator.  Dull silver rays of light flooded out when she opened the door, reflecting the pasty whiteness of her thickly applied makeup.  Her arm disappeared into the light then she withdrew a plate with half a sandwich on it.  She grabbed a bag of Doritos and placed it next to the sandwich, and set the plate in front of her son.  She returned to the fridge and pulled out a small carton of milk to add to the mix.

“Thomas, have something to eat yourself before you return to your flying machine and leave your poor maman alone.”

“Merci,” Yeller Tom smiled appreciatively as he proceeded to chow down on his lunch.

Clouds in my head lifted.  “What happened?” I asked, massaging my eyeballs.

Madame poured more coffee and patted my hand in a maternal way.  “You seem to have an allergic reaction to the cream cheese,” she purred.  “Oui?  Non?”

“Oh.”

Yeller Tom finished and pushed his empty plate aside.  “Come, mon ami, we are off to Bible Hill.  We shall have a little tête-à-tête with The Colonel when we get there.”  He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.

Yeller Tom’s mother blew him a kiss.  “And maybe return with a little of the royal jelly?”

He blew her a kiss in return.

“Thanks for everything,” I yelled as Yeller Tom yanked me out the door.

Madame and Chuck followed behind us and across the road to the nearby airplane hangar.  I spotted shadowy figures of three or four scantily clad girls scurrying about inside the hangar as we prepared to leave, and wondered what they was up to.

Yeller Tom waved at them and blew more air kisses.  “Stay busy!  Work hard!”

We hauled ourselves into the little blue biplane and strapped in for takeoff.  As the engine coughed smoke and sputtered to life, I heard Madame shout over the noise, “Thomas, remember what you must do for your maman.”  She handed up the black leather briefcase.  “And no skimming off the top for unaccounted business expenses, oui?”  She wagged a finger at him, “Thief!”

He shrugged and gave her a sly wink, reminding me of his black cat logo on the side of the plane.  Then he yelled, “Maman, I vow l’honneur shall be restored, and The Colonel will pay a great price,” he exposed the lethal-looking long black barrel of his gun.

Slowly we begun to taxi out onto the dirt runway.  In short order Yeller Tom and me was launched again into the blue yonder, fly’n circles over the bakery and tipping wings to signal au revoir to Madame, Chuck, and the assorted females gathered about.  We was off to confront a certain business competitor about stolen cheese products, as well as to salvage some professional honneur.