Free We're One by Mimi Barbour Page A

you’d done a disappearing act on me. I looked everywhere, but you were gone.” Arnie’s head lolled to the side, and his face took on a craftiness that dispelled the notion the man was a total idiot. His lids lowered, and he peered at Joey, who kept his jaunty, foolish grin in place.
    “Hey, man, I wouldn’t leave you stuck. You know that. We’re buddies. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. We have time before the next flight. I’m starving and thirsty, and I just spied some gorgeous broads at a table in the bar over there. Let’s check it out.”
    Even Joey’s good looks couldn’t make up for Arnie’s lack thereof, and so the girls split soon after the two men had strolled over with an offer to buy the drinks. To pass the time waiting for the food, Joey incautious, questioned Arnie, the two quick whiskeys working their magic on his cowardice.
    “Arnie! How the hell did you find out they were in Bury?”
    “I have my ways.”
    “Did they include any bloodletting or probable jail sentences, by any chance?”
    “Nope. Just the threat of there being blood, and a lot of pain can make a person spill his guts, or so I’ve found out over my career. The airline clerk I choked wrote the name of the place on his blotter before you hauled me off him, and before the coppers showed up.”
    “How did you get the Scotland Yard bozos to release you this quickly?”
    “The clerk decided not to press charges after I told ‘em I’d be leaving on the next flight to Manchester.” Arnie lifted his stubby index finger, and drew an imaginary line across his throat. “This little mind-picture helped do the trick for the bum, also. He almost peed his pants trying to talk the cops into letting me go. Hey, you ever seen such weird cop hats?”
    Three hours later, arriving in the Manchester terminal half drunk, Joey followed Arnie to the nearest phone book. The big goon proceeded to flip through pages, looking for a phone number and address for Carrie’s grandparents. How the hell Arnie knew their last name continued to be a mystery to him.
    “Tell me again how you know Carrie Parks’ maiden name?”
    “I told you. The Vegas papers wrote her maiden name, Temple, as part of her wedding announcement. I just remembered it. I have this name thing. Tell me a name once and I can usually remember it; let me read it and for some reason it sticks like toilet paper.”
    Toilet paper? The guy was a complete moron. Unfortunately, he had enough small brain cells to make him dangerous.
    “So what are you gonna to do now? Beat up on some old geezer related to Rhett Parks’ wife just to find out where Ashley and the dumb broad are? You wanna make an enemy of his big brother? He’s not Ashley. And he’s not someone you wanna fool around with, at least I don’t. Give it up, Arnie. Anyway, why would granny or grandpa know anything? Chances are they won’t remember Ashley or have a clue where he’d be hanging.”
    “Shut up, Joey. You’re beginning to bug me. Back off and keep your yap shut for five minutes.” Arnie’s hard finger prodding Joey’s chest convinced him to follow instructions.
    Checking for change, Arnie took out a handful of the English coins he’d traded his American dollars for and shut himself inside the red telephone booth.
    Joey’s crossed fingers and quick prayer didn’t work. The happy smirk plastered over the nasty puss of the big man destroyed his hopes for a dead end.
    “The old lady couldn’t have been more helpful. Funny thing. Seems they have a close friend called Dr. Andrews. The old crow gabbed on and on, even passed on the address. Easy as pie.”
    “Are they near here?” The visible lack of encouragement showed up in his voice. Joey, perturbed and frustrated, wore a long face and a worried expression.
    “You don’t want to come along, fine. I never asked you, anyway. Get out of here. Go back to Vegas. In fact, you can go straight to hell.” Arnie headed in the direction of the taxi stand, but Joey