Doughnut Dottie's Doughy Rampage

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Amaya Takehashi, a catburglar with Catburglars, INC, picked the wrong doughnut shop to rob......

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have targets in Manchester, Lakeside, NYC, and Boston. Any takers?" Allen Trombone announced. He sat at the head of the long conference table, sipping his chocolate espresso. Dressed in a white vest, black shirt and black pants, Allen's premature long grey hair was swept back, and he looked at his employees with a steely gaze. It was in a different warehouse then last time, but the members of CI, an acronym for Catburglars, Inc, had unanimously agreed to relocate after Allen's morally questionable brother found their base of operations. All the members sat around the table dressed in leather burglary suits, munching on their traditional breakfast bar snacks.

 

Amaya Takahashi yawned, then looked down at her bowl of fruit loops mixed with frosted flakes. Dressed in a black leather catsuit, her black domino mask rested atop her straight black hair. Curious brown eyes surveyed the crowd, and the mischievous half smirk on her face tended to annoy people. Amaya was Japanese, and quite the looker, or so she was told. She raised her spoon, "Who's the target in Manchester?" so she was a homebody. Big whoop.

 

Allen hesitated, "Doughnut Dottie."

 

"Son of a bitch," Jerry, a thirty something burglar, cursed, "I'll take Boston."

 

"Shut up Jerry, she's not that bad," Allen grimaced, "Whoever takes it just needs to get in and out without her seeing. Rumor is she has a new stash of drugs on hand, we could resell them at a high profit."

 

Amaya chewed on her cereal, trying to look thoughtful, "I'll take it," she said impulsively, with her mouth full.

 

"Amaya have you ever run into her? She's certifiable. I think an older, more experienced one of us should go. Or take someone with you," Allen frowned at her, and Amaya stared right back at him, not flinching. What are you looking at?

 

Mrs Calder leaned over the table, keeping her hands in her lap, "I want to go to Lakeside. You need me on the field again, Allen. Time's are tough."

 

Allen seemed to consider Mrs. Calder's offer. He sipped his latte. Amaya swallowed her cereal, then gulped her own coffee laced with Tennessee whiskey, "The hell with that, Calder is too old," she smirked at the grey haired woman. Mrs. Calder glared back.

 

"It's Mrs. to you," she spat.

 

"Any other volunteers for Lakeside? It's a simple one," Allen asked. 

 

"I'm taking Doughnut Dottie. She'll never know I was there. Besides, Allen, I bring in the most money each month, though heaven knows I don't need it," Amaya said in a cocky tone. Maybe she put too much alcohol in her coffee. Who cares?

 

Allen merely raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Mrs. Calder, "Not this time, though I appreciate you scoping it out. They have a lot going on down there for their size."

 

Mrs. Calder scowled, "They have a girl journalist there too, college kid, so what a surprise. I'm going next time Allen. I am sick to death of bookwork." 

 

"We'll see," Allen said evenly.

 

Amaya smiled sweetly at Mrs. Calder, then showed her a mouthful of cereal.

 

"All right everyone!" Allen clapped his hands,  "You are dismissed. You have exactly ten days to complete your assignment. No later. We may be low on personnel lately but we still run a tight, successful business of making the wealthy destitute, and ourselves ever more rich." Everyone began getting up, getting their things together. Allen motioned to Amaya, "In my office. Now."

 

Amaya shrugged then got up and followed him. She entered Allen's office, a soundproof cubicle off to the side of the large, well lit warehouse. The office was lavishly decorated, with potted plants and leather furniture. An ornate desk sat in the center, and Allen plopped heavily down in a high backed chair. He ran a hand through his hair, then waved for Amaya to sit down.

 

She remained standing.

 

"Fine," Allen chuckled, "How have you been, Amaya?"

 

"Good. Ready to take on Doughnut Dottie," Amaya folded her arms, smirking, "You gonna try to stop me?"

 

"No. The reason I called you in here is I heard something that caught my attention," Allen looked her square in the eyes.

 

"And? Please don't keep me in suspense, I couldn't handle it."

 

"Have you been hanging around Owen?"

 

The question caught her by surprise, but she kept her face stoic, she shook her head.

 

"No?" Allen raised an eyebrow, "I heard a small girl in a catsuit was seen with a guy dressed entirely in black." Allen's gaze was cold, "What were you doing with him? He owes us money, and he's a renegade, not with any faction, trying to do, well, whatever he's trying to do."

 

"I. Wasn't. With. Him," Amaya growled through clenched teeth.

 

Allen didn't look convinced, "I feel like you're lying to me, Amaya. It won't end well if that's the case. Owen and Violet need to pay for the shit they stole, and if they won't, well, I'll find a way," he folded his hands together, "If I get solid evidence you've been hanging around either of them, I'll have you bound and gagged, and our standard punishment will be enforced. By Mrs. Calder," Allen steepled his fingers under his chin.

 

Amaya frowned, "Why is this so important to you? Let it go. Those two were the best, I doubt you'll ever catch them. And I'm your favorite, you won't have me tied up."

 

Allen sighed, "Something needs to change, and I have to start enforcing our rules more stringently. We cannot afford to continually lose money. Stay away from them," Allen handed her a file, "Here's Doughnut Dottie's info. You may go now."

 

Amaya tossed her head, then walked out, cooly kicking the door shut behind her. Pompous bastard. Nobody is going to stop me from hanging out with Owen, he's the only one I really like anyway. Amaya shrugged, then decided to sit at the conference table and give the file a look over. She may be arrogant, but does like to know the layout of the building and its occupants. Full disclosure was part of a successful robbery.

 

***********************************

 

Doughnut Dottie sadly swept her broom across the floor, sweeping up the fragments of glass that had fallen across the spotless, polished surface of her very own doughnut shop, called Doughnut Dottie's of course. A matronly woman, she is slightly overweight with a large, barrel shaped chest. Thick ankles and meaty legs ensured she was never the most graceful, but Dottie was solid, and knocked over any girl who had made fun of her in high school. An attractive enough face, framed in short curly black hair, red lips, and striking green eyes. Dottie was in a knee length, short sleeve pink waitress dress, with black accents at the collar, sleeves, and a black apron stained with flour dust. She glanced at the closed sign of her store, then paused sweeping, remembering what happened only earlier today…….

 

"Welcome to Doughnut Dottie's, can I take your order?" Dottie asked in her heavy Boston accent.

 

The man, dressed in a cheap pinstripe business suit that practically screamed gangster, glanced down at the display case full of doughnut wonders, and pointed his middle finger at one that said, 'Banana Creamster, Straight From Jamaica!', "I thought that fucking one had LSD in it?" he snapped.

 

Doughnut Dottie looked around, worried her more upstanding patrons had heard him, then she frowned mightily at him, "Mister," she hissed quietly, "That's not how you get my stuff. You're supposed to ask for what you want, then say you want it extremified. After that I tell you what's your poison, and you are supposed to memorize and have ready the code for each 'specialty'," Dottie pantomimed quotation marks with her fingers on the last word. She kept her voice low and pleasant.

 

"I can't understand that goddamn Boston accent," he snapped, "Give me my shit. Last time I didn't get what I wanted." 

 

"I already told you sir. Tell you what, just come back right when I close tonight, or when I open tomorrow, and I'll be more than happy to help," Dottie did her best to smile.

 

"Listen toots," the man slammed his fist down on the glass surface, and Dottie flinched, "I want my fucking LSD. Now."

 

Dottie's face started getting red, and she took a deep breath, "I'm afraid I can't help you sir. Please don't call me 'toots'."

 

"Why not," the man sneered, his ratty face scrunching up, "I could think of a lot worse."

 

Dottie looked at him, "Don't you dare. I am perfectly proportioned," and it was true, otherwise she wouldn't say it.

 

"They should call you fatty McDottie, and you should work at McDonalds, not this shithole."

 

Dottie counted to three, and as she did several thoughts flashed through her mind.

 

One. That bastard is calling me fat, and I am far from fat.

 

Two. The idiot is comparing my body to food from McDonald's.

 

Three. He called my wonderful, independent store a shithole.

 

Doughnut Dottie grabbed the man's hair with a strong grip, then slammed him face first into the counter.

 

"Uuggh god," the man groaned, and she noticed his nose was bleeding. Dottie looked him square in the eye, "Get the fuck out of my shop. We don't serve punks."

 

The man nodded, and Dottie released him. He ran out the store, and Dottie noted he scurried like a rat. She glanced around, seeing that, aside from two lawyers in the corner, everyone else were criminals. Or at least engaged in questionable activities. She sighed in relief…….

 

Dottie came out of her reverie, as a massive figure stepped out of the store's bathroom. Slatery walked up to her, and gave her a massive bear hug, his six-six frame dwarfing her. Dottie pecked him on the cheek, "How's my favorite muscle man today? Hm?" Slatery was her on again off again boyfriend, and she adored him. Yes he wasn't always an angel, but he did the best he knew how, considering how the poor man was raised. She was certainly glad he came when he did…….

 

The day had passed quickly after the rat faced man made his exit that morning. She sold a lot of doughnuts and coffee, some spiked, some not. Then around three o'clock, trouble found her again. Rat Face waltzed back into her shop when it was empty, this time with two of his pals. One of them had a baseball bat, one a crowbar, and Rat Face himself? Brass knuckles. Dottie chuckled when they entered, "What can I get you gentlemen?"

 

"I want my fuckin' doped up doughnut I'm owed," Rat Face snarled.

 

"No one is owed anything sir. If you ask nicely, I can get you something. You'll have to pay of course," Dottie felt under the table for her hickory rolling pin. Hickory was solid wood, Dottie knew from experience.

 

"Show her we're not messin' around," Rat Face snarled, and one of his boys took a swing at her glass candy dish that she kept for kids whenever they entered. It shattered on impact, and Dottie felt her heartbeat increase in rhythm. Her brows furrowed.

 

"Now give it to me, or next my boy here will aim for your head."

 

Dottie closed her eyes, did a quick count to ten, feeling for a bag under the counter, placing the rolling pin on top the glass display, next to the cash register, "I have just the thing for you boys," she smiled, her teeth are straight but slightly stained from too much coffee.

 

"Empty your register while you're at it, or your doughy skull is next," Rat Face leered.

 

Dottie felt a slow burn work its way from her gut, then showed her teeth in a grimace, "Sure." Doughnut Dottie pulled out the bag of specialty mixed flour. In one smooth motion, she swung the bag out, which was wasteful to use on such degenerates, mind you, right into the leering faces of Rat Face and his boys. Or were they his bitches? Doughnut Dottie smiled, they wouldn't be for long.

 

The three men began hacking and rubbing at their faces, attempting to get the dough out of their eyes. Dottie made her move, rushing out from behind the counter with her hickory pin, and began beating the tar out of the little rats. 

 

Crack! The first blow hit one of the goons upside the head, knocking him senseless. Baseball dropping to the floor, his eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed. Dottie swung between the legs of the next crook, who screamed in a high pitched fashion. He went down moaning, in a fetal position. Last of all was Rat Face, who had just managed to work the dough out of his eyes. He eyed his fallen comrades, then glanced up at her angry self. Rat Face went into a boxing position, brass knuckles gleaming. He jabbed a hard right hook at her, to which Dottie casually smacked aside with her rolling pin, crushing his wrist in the process. Rat Face screamed, clutching it, falling to his knees. But Doughnut Dottie was far from done. With her sensible black shoes, she kicked him in the gut. Hard. Repeatedly. Three times in the gut, twice in the unmentionables. Then Dottie cradled his lolling head in her somewhat doughy hands, "Is that all you got, mister? Don't ever come here again, or I'll sick my boyfriend Slatery after you." Dottie reached into her apron, grabbing a handful of dough she'd stuck in there. Prying open Rat Face's mouth, she stuffed the dough in, patting his cheek as she said, "A souvenir dear sir," then smacked him, and Rat Face fell among his cronies.

 

Evidently somewhere in his rattled brain, Rat Face recognized the name of her boyfriend, who had a hell of a rep in Manchester. He somehow started crawling for the door. Speaking of which, "Slatery, honey! Can you give me a hand?" Dottie called out, her lusty lungs resonated through her shop. The door to the back of her shop swung open, and Slatery exited, holding a raspberry and cream long John. He wore dirty jeans and a bright blue flannel shirt, his long black curly hair tumbling around his shoulders. He was so handsome.

 

"What is it, Dottie? I'm kinda busy?" Slatery loved her pastries.

 

"Just empty the trash, dear. Please?" Dottie looked at him pleadingly with her green eyes.

 

Slatery eyed the groaning white faced men, "Ha," he casually bit into his doughnut, taking half of the pastry with one bite. Dottie smiled brightly, her man was such an excellent eater, she always appreciated good appetites.

 

It was all he said, but it was enough. Rat Face, who was crawling for the door, glanced back and saw him. A muffled scream and he pushed the door open, tumbling out onto the sidewalk. The other two followed. Dottie went to the door, opening it and called out cheerfully, "If you gentlemen ever decide to come back, know the codes and be respectful!" The men scampered off at her words. Dottie went back inside, sadly eying the mess. Now just to clean this up…….

 

"Now that I have this cleaned up," Dottie came out of her reminiscing to glance up at Slatery again, who simply hugged her back then let go. He wasn't much of a kisser.
 

"Gotta get going, Dottie. Have work to do."
 

"Of course dearie, but be careful. I'm staying up late tonight, tomorrow's Thursday. With that being my busiest day I want to do some prep work. If you see Gordon and Sid, tell them I have all kinds of goodies ready for my favorite errand boys" Dottie squeezed his hand.

 

"Of course," Slatery said simply. With that answer he left.

 

Dottie got down to work. Laced doughnuts took some time to prepare, and she liked to spike the dough some hours beforehand. Plus the products had to be unwrapped, a fresh shipment had just come in, delivered by Gordon and Sid, who took odd jobs and were a bit odd themselves. Dottie whistled a cheerful tune, happy with how the day went.

 

***********************************

 

Amaya crept along the rooftop of the two story brick building. She was at Doughnut Dottie's, looking for the roof access. Amaya could have picked the lock on a ground level window, but where was the fun in that? So she'd climbed the fire escape ladder on the side of the building, deciding to enter in that way. She spotted the roof access door, and knelt down, slinging off her backpack. Pulling out her lock pick set, she set to work on the lock. She was dressed in her tight yet not too constricting black catsuit, black domino mask, and black leather gloves. Soft soled boots with short wedge heels ensured she was quiet when walking. In her pack she had black duct tape, a tranquilizer pistol, and a lock pick set. Her lips formed a thin line as she worked, softly humming. With a satisfying click the lock popped, and Amaya pulled out a pen light, briefly playing the powerful beam down the dusty steps. 

 

Coast was clear. 

 

She crept down the stairs, noting that at the bottom yellowish light peeked under the door. Amaya carefully opened it, revealing she was upstairs in Doughnut Dottie's living quarters. She was in the kitchen, which had an old retro 50s look to it, and was immaculately clean. A stack of papers sat next to the old fashioned microwave that Amaya guessed had to be as old as her. The papers looked old, and on top of them a flyer sat, edges crinkled and slightly yellow. It had the name 'Ringel Diamonds' printed on it, and showed an elegant woman in a fancy blue ball gown, wearing a diamond necklace, and a diamond ring on her finger. The ad said, 'Why buy anywhere else when you can own a Ringel? The finest, purest diamonds in the industry. Guaranteed to impress at the most elegant party by Mr. Ringel himself.' Amaya had never seen those kind before, but she wanted one. She let the ad fall down to the ground, moving on. 

 

Where would one like Dottie hide drugs? The woman was a baker at heart, so she'd start there. Moving quickly, fluidly, Amaya worked her way to the stairs, checking each room to make sure Dottie wasn't up here. She held her tranq gun at the ready. It was dosed to approximate Dottie's size. Piece of cake. 

 

Amaya entered the bottom floor, and heard a cheerful whistling. She grinned, looking forward to the next part. Coming up to the double doors that no doubt led into an industrial style kitchen, pistol pointed straight out, level with her slender hips. With a light kick the doors swung open and Amaya darted through, "Hands where I can see them!" she shouted, smirking.

 

Doughnut Dottie had her hands in a bowl full of dough, and her happy whistle faded upon sight of Amaya, "Is this a hold-up? I've already had a trying, but otherwise happy day. Don't ruin it for me."

 

"I want a happy night. Now hands behind your back. How would you like some dough stuffed into your mouth? You're a little big, but I think I can handle you," Amaya's smirk grew into a full blown grin, and she held the tranq gun with both hands.

 

"You know what I hate about skinny girls?" Dottie asked, dusting her hands free of dough, "Is that they think they own the world by their fingertips. Again and again I have to show them, and you'll be no different," she took a step towards Amaya.

 

"Uh-uh, not another step. This tranq gun has enough to take your doughy rear, and I'm dying to use it." 

 

Dottie let out a roar at the insult, just like Amaya knew she would, and charged. Aiming carefully, Amaya fired a dart right into Dottie's stomach. The effect was instantaneous, Dottie slammed to a halt, wobbling on her feet. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she fell backwards, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Amaya smirked, she had as much time as she needed now. She looked forward to trussing the big lady up. Even so, Amaya frowned a bit, something was a bit off with the way she'd fallen. Leaning over the prone woman, Amaya carefully pried an eyelid open. Unconscious as far as she could tell. She shrugged, then stood up to the counter, looking over all the goodies, wondering what a marijuana doughnut would taste like. Posted on the wall where the unconscious baker could see them, were awards for various achievements. Best doughnuts in Manchester, most hospitable independent bakery, best cook, and, Amaya frowned. There was an achievement for best actress award in drama at one of the local theaters. And boom Amaya knew what she'd been missing all along. Every time she's ever hit someone with the dart, they always fall face forward or simply crumple to the side. They've never fallen backwards.

 

Shit.

 

She whirled around just as a strong hand clamped on her ankle, pulling her feet out from under her. Amaya hit the ground right next to Dottie's leering face. The baker grabbed Amaya's hair, then her throat, squeezing, "Thought you could trick me, did you?" this woman was certifiable.

 

"Gaahh. Ugghhh," Amaya wheezed, but it was no use. Black spots swarmed in her vision, she could barely concentrate. Suddenly the pressure was off her throat and she was gasping for air as Dottie flipped her on her stomach. Amaya's arms were yanked behind her and she heard a tearing noise. She thrashed about but Dottie simply planted a knee on the small of her back, pinning her to the floor.

 

"I'll teach you what happens to skinny little twits who think they're so smart," Dottie had a strong Boston accent, "You have a large dose of smart aleckiness that I have just the cure for."

 

Amaya's wrists were crossed and wrapped tightly in soft plastic. Shrink wrap? She tried to employ several different martial arts techniques, but pinned as she was, there was no leverage.

 

"Tell me, why do the upstanding catburglars at CI continually think they can best me?"

 

"What?" Amaya didn't like the sound of this.

 

Dottie merely chuckled as she forced Amaya's hands into balled fists, sealing it in the plastic. The baker moved on to Amaya's ankles, then wrapped up her legs in it. 

 

"What do you know about CI?" Amaya demanded.

 

"I thought you were the one who thought she was so smart," Doughnut Dottie flipped Amaya over, and she held Amaya by her chin, "Who's the smartypants now?"

 

"Why the hell didn't my dart work?" Amaya asked.

 

"Oh that," Doughnut Dottie waved a hand, "Honey I've been wearing corsets for years."

 

Amaya stared at her captor, wiggling in her bonds. The restraints were far too tight, "Corset?"

 

Doughnut Dottie got to her feet and surveyed her handiwork, "I think a hogtie might do some justice."

 

Amaya rolled her eyes, using the opportunity to glance around the room, hoping to spot something she might use to facilitate her escape. A trickle of doubt crept into her, "Answer my questions, Dottie."

 

Doughnut Dottie whistled cheerfully as she grabbed a bowl and clear packing tape, then knelt down next to Amaya, "Here's where you open wide." 

 

"You want to stuff dough in my mouth?" Amaya asked incredulously.

 

The baker woman nodded, "You are a little too skinny for my liking, I think we should fix that."

 

"Listen can't we talk this out? I mean, I was just doing my jo-mmmrrrggh!" Amaya's voice was cut off as Dottie jammed a fistfull of sticky dough in her mouth. It stuck to her teeth, making it almost impossible to move around. 

 

Dottie shoved a little more in, grinning, "So why don't you tell me all about your organization? Except I don't care. I am very disgusted at your intrusion into my little slice of heaven, baking is all the world to me."

 

"Mmmrrrgggg," Amaya rolled her eyes, annoyed at her incapacitated state and already getting bored. This dough in her mouth was annoying too.

 

Dottie began wrapping the clear tape around Amaya's head, sealing her bulging mouth. To her credit Dottie kept it out of her hair, but Amaya felt less than grateful, "Dddmmnnn."

 

"Oh hush, what would you say if I put you on a rotisserie? Well cooked catburglar?"

 

"Rrffggmm sssmmmrr?" she couldn't be serious, could she?

 

"Oh the look in your eyes. You thought I was a simple baker? What if I'm a cannibal? Maybe Hannibal Lecter was my nephew?" Dottie chortled, slapping her knee.

 

Amaya squirmed uncomfortably, there was something about Doughnut Dottie that made her extremely uneasy, aside from the obvious.

 

"Now for that hogtie," Dottie knelt down, bending Amaya's ankles back to her wrists. She deftly fashioned a stringent hogtie with the plastic wrap. Finished, Dottie stood, hands on her hips, surveying the thoroughly trussed Amaya, "I need some coffee, just think about doughnuts, and how you won't be getting any."

 

"Mmmrrrggfff!" Amaya protested. She didn't really like doughnuts, and this sticky dough in her mouth tasted horrible.

 

Dottie left the room, leaving Amaya on her own. Immediately she began squirming, deciding to rub her bonds against a corner of the stainless steel counters. Maybe that would cut through them? With a soft, annoyed grunt, Amaya began rocking back and forth, inching her way along the floor. Too bad I don't have a camera, she thought wryly, I could show the other upstanding CI members how to get out of a mad baker's clutches. She prides herself on her tip top shape, and indeed it was paying off. 

 

Until a foot landed on her back.

 

"Nnmmmmffff," Amaya moaned, glancing up to see Doughnut Dottie standing over her, her stupid sensible black shoe resting lightly against Amaya's side. 

 

"Going somewhere? I don't think so," Dottie took a long, apparently satisfying drink from her steaming mug of joe. She smacked her lips in an exaggerated fashion, "I bet you'll taste delicious. I have an excellent recipe for Asian noodles."

 

"Nssmmnndddlll?" Amaya began to sweat in her catsuit, pools of water gathering at the small of her back. This woman really was crazy, although her eyes didn't look the part.

 

"Yeah, skinny girl, you don't mess with Doughnut Dottie, a lesson you will learn well by the time I'm finished with you," Dottie sipped her coffee again, barely hiding her smile.

 

"Iiffffmmnlllssssss!" Amaya hissed, well, it would have been a hiss. A mouthful of dough does wonders in handicapping one's speech.

 

"Noodles it is. Last week it was American cheeseburgers. They get so greasy," again the exaggerated smacking of lips.

 

Amaya panicked for a minute, thrashing wildly around, dozens of thoughts running through her mind; I can't believe this woman, is she really this crazy? Am I going to meet my demise cooked over an oven? I should have brought someone, or set up a contingency plan. Why the hell has she gotten away with this? If only I could alert Owen. Amaya paused in her struggling, breathing wildly through her flaring nostrils. The thought of becoming this woman's meal terrified her.

 

"Amaya?"

 

Amaya looked up, her damp hair in her face, to see standing in the doorway of all people, Owen. He was in all black, leather jacket, tee shirt, cargo pants, combat boots, ball cap, and a black bandana over his mouth and nose.

 

"Nnwwwwnn!" Amaya screamed, hoping he wouldn't underestimate Doughnut Dottie.

 

Like I did unfortunately.

 

Dottie stood frozen, staring at Owen, who was also stock still. 

 

Is he going to do something? Pick up that frying pan and hit her, Owen! Why isn't she moving? The suspense was killing Amaya. She grunted quietly into her gag, waiting for a response.

 

"Owen?" Dottie asked, sounding like she didn't believe it, "OWEN?" this time much louder.

 

"Dottie?" Owen's eyes were wide.

 

Now I'm really confused.

 

"Owen!" Dottie shouted, throwing her coffee mug twenty feet away, shattering it against the wall. She darted forward, meeting Owen halfway and lifting him up in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side.

 

"Huuuuhh, can you put me down so I can breathe?" Owen wheezed, his normal baritone sounding high pitched. This time they hugged properly, and Amaya wondered what the hell was going on.

 

"Pull that mask down silly," Dottie jerked it down, "Where the hell have you been? I heard you and Violet were separated?" 

 

His face revealed now, cheeks in rough stubble, Owen grinned, "Here and there. Yeah Violet and I parted ways over some differences. I suppose though," he looked over to Amaya, "We should untie my friend there?" 

 

"That's your friend? She's a real piece of work, with the very snooty CI. Trying to rob me again, kind of like when you and Violet did years ago, and I had to give you two the same treatment."

 

Owen laughed, "I'm glad I worked my gag loose and was able to sweet talk you, Violet was constantly swearing into her gag; I don't think she would have done the job." 

 

"Certainly not," Dottie giggled, "Violet always did act a little too good for me. Now you know who she's working for?"

 

"Yeah," Owen's face fell.

 

Amaya wiggled and moaned loudly, wanting their attention now that the danger might be over? She still wasn't entirely convinced.

 

"It's alright, Owen. Slatery told me he saw you, said you all exchanged a few friendly words."

 

"Oh really?" Owen winced, "Yeah, just a few friendly punches. It was all over a girl."

 

Dottie frowned, "You mean to tell me he's sweet on another girl? I'll have a word with her."

 

"Oh hell no, nothing like that, trust me," Owen subconsciously ran a hand along his ribs, "He was giving me some advice, and I disagreed. You know Slatery, he can be quite adamant."

 

Amaya stared, hardly believing that Dottie was Slatery's girlfriend. This night can't get much stranger. 

 

"He can but he's such an angel to me," Dottie beamed.

 

Owen merely raised an eyebrow.

 

"Mmmmfffppp!" Amaya demanded.

 

Owen and Dottie turned to her, "So can you let my friend go? She's like a little sister, right Kid?"

 

Amaya rolled her eyes.

 

Dottie frowned, hands on her hips, "I guess, Owen, but she better not come back and bother me. It's only because we go way back, mind you. Otherwise I would have kept her here overnight."

 

"Thanks Dottie, you're a jewel."

 

Dottie beamed at that, and Owen knelt down to begin untying Amaya.

 

Finally

 

***********************************

 

"So you want to tell me exactly what went down in there? And why were you there?" Amaya and Owen sat in her Aston Martin, parked in an abandoned factory parking lot. Owen was slurping noisily on a milkshake, while Amaya chewed some bubble gum, an attempt to get the taste of dough out of her mouth.

 

Owen smirked, "It was a long time ago, Kid. I doubt you want to hear what us 'old fogeys' used to get up to," he sobered a bit, "I had come to see if she had contacted Violet, and was that a hell of a surprise to find you."

 

"Cut the crap, old man, and tell me how. She's a psychopath," Amaya popped a bubble, relaxing in her seat. She was certainly relieved he'd shown up, because that was scarier then she wanted to admit. 

 

"I'd see her that way too if I was trussed up like a turkey. What'd you insult her about her weight?"

 

"Maybe"

 

"You never, ever ask a lady how much she weighs, Kid. It doesn't matter anyway, inside is what counts, and Doughnut Dottie is, or mostly, ok."

 

"Really? Selling drugs in doughnuts and spiked coffee?"

 

"Eehhh, ok. But she didn't always," Owen raised a finger, then sighed, "She's changed, just like a lot of things since I left. I can guarantee you one thing, she's not a cannibal. That was a bluff. I think."

 

"Gee thanks for the reassurance," Amaya said sarcastically, then added, "How come she was so receptive to you?"

 

"It was years ago, Violet and I were given the job of robbing her. This was before she dealt in the drugs, but she was still known as someone not to mess with. And us, being kids, were quite cocky, like someone else I know," he paused, sipping on his milkshake.

 

"Right, right. I've had shining examples."

 

"So we broke in, but like you, underestimated her. She tied us up and did the whole 'I'll cook you spiel,' till I managed to get my gag off and start a conversation." 

 

"You sweetheart, I'm sure she fell for your bleeding words," Amaya popped another bubble.

 

"You've no idea, Kid. While Violet fumed and struggled, I asked her about her life. Turns out she had a rough one, basically raising her siblings single handedly. She eventually broke down telling me the story, ended up letting us go. She agreed not to call the police," Owen fell silent for a moment.

 

"So is that it? Or did you sleep with her too?" Amaya smirked. 

 

"You're nosey, you know that? You should hang out with Miss Carter," was she imagining it, or was Owen blushing?

 

"Well?" 

 

"Maybe. So what if I did? It was after Violet and I broke up. Dottie wasn't dating that slab of a bastard Slatery," Owen looked out the window.

 

"Speaking of which, why'd you downplay it? Doesn't she know what Slatery does?"

 

"She knows a little, but prefers to stay ignorant. Always been that way," Owen said, he hesitated for a moment, "I think she may be psychotic."

 

"Are you serious? Now you're agreeing with me?" Amaya felt irritated.

 

"That's why I stayed so calm, I think she should have a chance, but yeah, stuff I've been hearing."

 

"Give me a break. She tied me up, for hell's sake! Get over it! Life moves on and people change," Amaya was getting a little angry with this sentimental side to Owen.

 

Owen sighed, "Two women I respected greatly, they've changed so much. Or maybe it's me? Maybe I did something wrong?"

 

"I'm sorry Owen, I shouldn't have said that," she patted his arm, feeling halfway awkward, "We just need to stick closer, with it being the two of us."

 

"Yeah," Owen looked out the window, "We need to. Although I think you should reach out to Miss Carter, it wouldn't surprise me if she already knew who you were. No point in hiding it. I might try again, maybe she'll be willing to work with us since we saved her with the Slatery incident," he smiled thinly, "Well helped. She did the final blow with the chair."

 

"Ehhhh I don't know, I've never gotten along with many people," Amaya fiddled with her two hundred dollar steering wheel cover.

 

Owen shrugged, "What are you gonna tell Allen?" 

 

"I'm going to tell him I was caught because those idiots failed to mention that Doughnut Dottie wears a corset, and is very capable," Amaya shifted into drive, "And I'll tell him I got out on my own." She grinned widely, then floored the gas.

 

Owen leaned back, smirking, "Cool, just don't crash so I can take a nap in peace, will ya?"

 

She slowed down a bit, so Owen could rest. She began thinking about the upcoming conversation with Allen, knowing it might be a tough sell, she'd go on the offensive though.

 

***********************************

 

"We did what?" Allen roared.

 

"You all didn't debrief me fully, Allen. There was nothing on there about her doing theater, or that she wears a damn corset thick enough to keep darts out."

 

"It's right here," Allen said calmly, handing the folder over.

 

Amaya glanced through it, then looked up at Allen, disbelief all over her face, "That was not in here when I looke- Mrs Calder that bitch," Amaya stormed out of Allen's cubicle, looking for her. She wasn't at her secretary desk, though, or anywhere else around. She stormed back in, "It was Mrs Calder!"

 

Allen ran a hand through his hair after Amaya explained, "Look, I don't know who to believe. It's your word against hers," he stared at his desk.

 

"Allen why the hell would I lie?"

 

"You have been acting secretive ever since we heard Owen was back. And if Dottie caught you, how did you escape?" 

 

Amaya kept her face calm, "I managed to wiggle over to the counter and rub the plastic wrap off. Dottie had to step out for something, then I made a break for it."

 

"Hmm," Allen's expression was unreadable, and she tensed, beginning to calculate if she could take him depending on what angle he'd come from.

 

"I'm telling you the truth," Amaya pulled off her mask to reveal her eyes, for a dramatic effect. 

 

Allen held her gaze, then started talking, "Tell you what, find another target in Manchester, and we'll let it go. You and Mrs. Calder better quit this shit, I've been lenient far too long with you ladies' stupid rivalry."

 

Amaya shrugged, "Whatever." She felt a little moody, what with all this humble pie she'd had to eat today. 

 

"Good. Now go on and get out."

 

***********************************

 

It was another beautiful morning, six a.m., and after such an exhilarating day yesterday, Doughnut Dottie had high hopes for this one. She was dressed in a white waitress dress, with black accents at the collar, sleeves, and apron. Her short curly black hair danced in ringlets around her face, and her green eyes scanned her small bakery/dining shop with a quick, experienced glance. Her thick legs padded softly, to the surprise and dismay of many who underestimated her, across the tiled floor. She went behind her cash register as those motley looking boys entered her little slice of heaven. 

 

"Hey Dottie!"

 

"How's the baking?"

 

Dottie smiled widely at Gordon and Sid Trombone, they weren't the smartest, but bless their sweet nature they were learning. Fast. "How are my favorite errand boys? You two are the best for contract labor." They also came from lots of money, none of it theirs. Yet.

 

Gordon's slightly fleshy yet handsome face grinned, "Sid and I had a question."

 

Sid's tall frame looked a little more skinny than usual, "Gordy and I have been planning." 

 

Gordon frowned, "Sid let me do the talking, you're too lovesick to sound coherent."

 

"Been a rough couple of days," Sid stage whispered. Indeed, they looked a bit more unkempt. 

 

Dottie waited, an amused expression on her face.

 

"How do you feel about catering?" Gordon asked hopefully.

 

Dottie beamed, "I love it! I may do mainly baking but I could handle a full course meal with some help. What's the occasion?"

 

"A wedding of sorts," Gordon smiled wide, "Eh, more of a forced one."

 

"A forced wedding? Between who?" Dottie frowned, love should be allowed to grow, not imposed on someone.

 

"Well, Sid and I would each be marrying a girl," Gordon pulled up a picture on his phone, showing a social media pic to Dottie. Two pretty girls, one with long blonde hair, professional attire, and the other in a more casual look with an auburn ponytail, were doing a peace out pose in front of a bookstore. Dottie frowned, they were cute but too skinny.

 

"What you don't like them?" Gordon asked.

 

"She don't have to like them, Gordy," Sid moved around, probably wishing for one of her doughnuts.

 

"Oh I like them, a little skinny, but are they aware of this?" Dottie wasn't sure about this. She could use the money though.

 

"Nope. They will be soon enough, we already had them once, but they got away."

 

Dottie frowned again, "My gut tells me you should leave these nice girls alone, but I'll hear what you have to say, then decide. I try to be fair."

 

And so they did.

 


Submitted: May 22, 2020

© Copyright 2021 ScottGrisham. All rights reserved.

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