Dutch Me Deadly

I eyed them accusingly. “You’re all high as kites, aren’t you?”

“Congratulations for just figuring that out,” quipped Jackie.

Tilly swayed against George, circling her arm around his neck for support. “I haven’t felt this good since I chewed root bark with the Pygmies forty years ago.”

“I haven’t felt this good … ever,” slurred Margi.

Nana looked up at me imploringly. “You s’pose we could stop by that coffeeshop again on the way home, dear? I know where it is.”

“No! Has anyone tried phoning the Dicks?”

They gaped at me. They gaped at each other. Helen whipped out her cellphone and stared at it in confusion. “Hey, who replaced my phone with a remote control?”

“I have one, too,” marveled Osmond as he studied his screen. “I wonder how many channels I get?”

No doubt about it. A career change was looking more appealing all the time.

Nana punched a key on her cell and waited. “I’m gettin’ nuthin’ but dead air on Dick Teig’s line, Emily.”

“What about Dick Stolee?”

She repeated the process. “Nuthin’ there neither.”

Unh-oh. This wasn’t good. “Are you a hundred percent positive you didn’t leave them back at the coffeeshop?” I mean, with everyone acting so batty, anything was possible. The Dicks could be sitting in the coffeeshop, wondering where everyone went.

“They was the ones what suggested we come down here, dear. They was the first ones into the taxis.”

“And then what?”

“The taxis left us off on some side street and we followed the noise ’til we found where the action was. We all kinda huddled together, wonderin’ what to see first, but the Dicks took off before Osmond could even ask for a show of hands.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and lowered her voice. “Last I seen of ’em, they was headed for someplace called the Moulin Rouge.”

I brightened a little. “Like the famous cabaret in Paris?”

“What’s that one look like?”

“It has a big red windmill and a marquee touting its musical revue and can-can girls.”

She shook her head. “Don’t think it’s the same franchise. This one’s got a sign toutin’ itself as an Erotic Nightclub and Live Sex Theater.”

Oh, God. I inhaled a fortifying breath. I was Catholic. This was outside my comfort zone. “Okay, which way do I go?”

“Hang a left at the end of the alley and keep walkin’.”

“Does anyone have a spare leg I can use?” George called out. “Alice won’t give mine back to me.”

“Not until I have my turn!” she protested. “Everyone had a turn except me. It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Jackie sympathized. Then with more enthusiasm, “Which is exactly why each and every one of you would benefit from the services of your own personal life coach! I have business cards. Anyone want one?”

Before Jackie could turn what remained of the evening into a private infomercial, I caught Nana’s eye. “Would you be a peach and dial up Alice’s cellphone for me?”

She punched her speed dial and handed me her phone.

Alice cocked her head as a muffled ring tone chimed nearby. “Shhhh, everyone. Listen. That’s my phone!” Unable to answer it with her arms full, she heaved George’s leg at him. With her hands free, she riffled through her pocketbook for her phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Thank you for returning George’s leg,” I said before disconnecting. “Okay, everyone, listen up. I’m calling a couple of taxis to get you out of here. You will join hands and not let go of each other until you are safely inside the cabs. Jackie has volunteered to escort you back to the hotel—”

“I have?”

“—where she will entertain you with a short presentation about her new business venture until you’re feeling more normal.”

Groans. Razzberries. “Borrr-ing,” crabbed Bernice.

“Ew.” Jackie perked up. “Good idea.”

“Keep them in the lobby and do not let them return to their rooms until I get back,” I instructed her. “I don’t want any of them mistaking their arms for wings and thinking they can paraglide off their window ledges.”

Jackie gave her hands a little clap. “This is so exciting. I’m getting butterflies already. My first formal presentation! All right, everyone, let’s form a nice, straight line.”

“Shortest first?” asked Osmond.

“I’m sick of doing shortest first,” complained Bernice. “Marion’s always in the lead. Give someone else a chance.”

“How about tallest first?” Jackie suggested.

“Then the short people in the back won’t be able to see what’s up ahead,” protested Alice.

“Oldest first?” Jackie said, a little less patiently.

“Age discrimination!” yelled Osmond.

Her voice exploded from her mouth like grapeshot. “WHATEVER! Just get in a damn line!”

I sighed with relief. Their highs were obviously wearing off because they were sounding more like themselves again. I phoned the cab company I’d used earlier, and by the time I finished my call, they were queued up like schoolchildren filing in from recess. Wow. Jackie was a natural at this. It gave me confidence that she’d get the job done.

I hoped.

“You’re not comin’ with us, dear?” asked Nana.

“Gotta find the boys. If they ate the cake and your muffin, they’re probably still flying high, so I’m thinking they might be in dire need of rescuing about now.”

She flashed me a look somewhere between guilt and regret.

“Don’t worry,” I soothed. “I’ll find them. And please don’t feel guilty. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m not frettin’ about that, dear. It’s just that—if you happen to look for ’em in a little shop called the Erotic Outlet, would you mind pickin’ me up a catalog? It’ll save me a bundle on postage.”

Eight

“How old are they?” asked the bouncer at the Moulin Rouge. He was tall and muscle-bound, with gold hoops in both ears, wrap-around sunglasses, and a Technicolor serpent tattooed across his shaved skull.

“Early seventies!” I shouted above the music. “One is six-footish, smartly dressed, and wears a very nice toupee. The other one’s about a foot shorter and has a head the size of a medicine ball—with hair plugs in the front. Kinda makes him look like a Chia Pet.”

“A what?”

The Dutch were obviously spared TV advertising that made salad shooters and leaf-sprouting pottery indispensable holiday gift items. “It’s not important. Can I go inside and look for them?”

“Not without paying an admission charge, you can’t.”

“But I have to find them,” I said anxiously. “They’re high.”

“So’s everyone else in this crowd.”

“But they don’t realize it!”

He peered at me over his sunglasses and rubbed his fingers together. “Thirty-five Euros or they stay there, and you stay here.”

I dug my heels in. “Casa Rosso was only going to charge me thirty.”

“Casa Rosso doesn’t include two free drinks with the price of admission. Make up your mind. There’s paying customers lined up behind you.”

“Are you sure I—”