Flyers (9781481414449) by Daniel Hayes Read Free Book Online

able to find files that even his secretary hadn’t been able to locate. Nothing against Pop’s secretary; it’s just that when it comes to misplacing things, Pop is right up there in my league.
    â€œLet’s check out Rosa’s first,” I said as we pulled away from in front of Pop’s office. Rosa’s was, among other things, the tavern on the outskirts of town that was run by Rosasharn’s family. They also made the best pizza around—take-out mostly, but they did have a small dining room right off the kitchen. Rosasharn’s parents were real entrepreneur types and were alwayslooking for ways to expand their operation. A few years ago they added a little laundromat, and last year they opened a ten-unit motel. This year they were planning on putting up a row of those self-storage sheds that people could rent. The place had already grown into a hodgepodge of buildings that some of the locals referred to facetiously as “the mall.”
    Another thing—Rosa’s just happened to be where Ray McPherson and his crew generally landed on Saturday afternoons, and I was eager to hear what kind of stories, if any, Ray was telling about his aborted trip down our road the other night.
    Rosasharn and Sudie were in the kitchen making pizzas when we walked in. Jeremy was there too. They had him grating cheese, and he was busy scowling down at the little pile he’d just made.
    â€œSo how’s our charred buddy doing?” Bo said, meaning Rosasharn.
    â€œExcellentay, o maestro of film,” Rosasharn said, bowing. “Most excellentay.”
    â€œMost stupiday,” Jeremy said, and then held up the cheese grater in a blocking action because whenever he said anything that sounded even remotely French, Rosasharn would pretend to be Gomez Addams and try to kiss his way up Jeremy’s arm.
    â€œI love it when you speak French, Morticia,” Rosasharn said to the cheese grater.
    â€œI leave this guy alone for one night,” Sudie said, “and he almost burns himself up.” She drew her arm back as if she were about to give Rosasharn a good backhand.
    â€œDid he tell you what else he did?” I asked her.
    She nodded and tried to aim a look of scorn his way. She couldn’t keep a smile from breaking through,though, so she drew her arm back and actually swatted him this time. “Ya goof,” she said.
    â€œI must protect zee swamp,” Rosasharn said.
    â€œHas Ray been in yet?” I asked.
    Rosasharn turned and pointed like a bird dog to the door behind him, which led to the bar.
    Sudie rolled her eyes. “He got here an hour ago and he’s already been through the story at least three times. The last time he told it, the thing practically tried to yank him out of his car.”
    â€œYou didn’t tell him it was Rosasharn, did you?” I said, remembering Ray’s crazy side.
    Sudie shook her head. “Why spoil his fun? Speaking of which, Clutzy Lutzy just pulled in before you guys, so Ray’s probably going through the whole nine yards again.”
    This we had to hear. We filed into the bar and headed for the pool table, which Mr. Rosa let us use afternoons. I started racking the balls, but quietly so I wouldn’t miss any of the story.
    Ray was at the bar, front and center, already zeroed in on Harold Lutz, also known as Clutzy Lutzy—a name he’d picked up because league night for him doubled as drinking night, and he had a tendency to fall on his face at least once while bowling his last frames. Ray was punctuating his point with a Budweiser bottle aimed at Clutzy’s chest.
    â€œYou can laugh if you want,” he said, “but I’m telling you it happened.”
    Clutzy squinted at him. “I ain’t laughing,” he said. “You’re forgettin’. I seen a ghost for myself that time. I seen it with my own eyes.”
    We all knew that story. Years ago Clutz had been fixing up the