Chapter 3

“I’ll be damned,” Monty muttered as he pulled into the empty parking lot. “Is anyone in there?”

Eying him like the stinky kid in the classroom who just asked her to dance, Ezmeralda said, “Didn’t I say ‘nobody’s around’?” She rolled her eyes and jumped out as he hit the brake.

Aside from the faint applause of rustling leaves, things were so quiet that Monty felt like he just stepped into a photograph. Ezmeralda skipped to the restaurant entrance when Monty called out, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

People had a knack of hiding anywhere, they were like cockroaches. Back in Toronto, he was deceived one-too-many times by someone playing the sweet-and-helpless before trying to mug him, or worse. Most people were manic time-bombs ready to blow. Some babbled gibberish, walking around with their arms flailing and spittle flying. Lunatics were a big reason that he left home.

As Ezmeralda reached the entrance, she stopped and turned to stand in Monty’s way. Holding out her hand in a ‘stop’ position, she said, “You’re not allowed in.”

Monty stepped back, not in any mood to play games, and smirked, “You’re kidding, right?” She didn’t move so he went on, “You know it’s not a good idea to mess with me right now. I haven’t eaten anything, you see. And when that happens, I get kinda…grumpy. And, trust me, you won’t like me when I’m grumpy.”

Her arm dropped an inch as she paused before saying, “You mean you can get grumpier?” Then regaining her composure, she said, “No entering until you tell me your name! My house, my rules!”

“You’re house, eh?   Monty smirked and said, “Is your last name McDonald? ‘Cause that’s what it says on the door.”

She furled her brow and gave Monty the evil eye, looking like a constipated squirrel. Giving in to her ‘serious’ look, he said, “My name’s Monty. Now may I come in?”

Stepping out of his way, she asked, “Monty?!  What kind of name is that?”

He looked around and, aside from toys lying everywhere, clean. “Believe me, I’ve been asking that question all my life, but it’s what’s on my birth certificate.”

She scurried past him like a tour guide who had lost her spot. She led him to the back of the lobby to a Plexiglass door. “So? Do you think mine says Ezmeralda? NO! But I hated Gertrude.” She opened the door just enough for her are to reach in and flick on some switches that lit up Playland. She turned around and asked, “Why do parents have to name their kids after grammas? Do they know how mean it is?”

“Do you think Montgomery is a common name?  Do you know how many times I heard ‘ex-cellent’ growing up?” Trying to follow her scattered footsteps, he muttered, “Damn Simpsons. People called my best friend ‘Smithers’ all the way throughout high school. The girls thought he was gay!”

Ezmeralda stopped as she held the door and said, “LANGUAGE!”

It wasn’t the Playland that Uncle Ronald left behind. It was like the entire little girls’ section of Toys’R’Us had conquered McDonaldland. Posters plastered the walls, and toys, dolls, games and jewellery were scattered around every corner of the room. Dresses and teddy bears dog-piled the remaining space. The playground was furnished into a bedroom, a sitting room, a dining area and a play area.

“This is nice, Ez,” Monty said as he scanned the bouncy ball chamber. “You’ve got a pretty sweet set-up for a shrimp.”

“It’s Ezmeralda, Mont,” she replied as she gave him a distrustful look. When he looked away, she quickly grabbed for a key hidden behind some books. “C’mere,” she said as she walked towards the kitchen, “food’s this way…and I’m no shrimp! I’m tall for an eight-year-old!”

She unlocked the manager’s office, glancing back as if to assess Monty’s trust one last time, and allowed him to follow her in. He asked, “Why lock up? You said nobody was left.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” she said as she reached up to flip on some switches. The kitchen machines hummed in harmony. “I want to keep it away from the weirdoes. They come through town too, sometimes.” They walked across to the kitchen as she said, “I’ve lived in more places than this one, y’know. Mom said this was one of the last places left in town.”

Having lived in the dark for months, basking in artificial light was a luxury that Monty had long given up on. Crossing Canada, he was too preoccupied with raiding houses for food; checking out the restaurants didn’t cross his mind.

The sustainability shift resulted in most franchise restaurants going off the grid and becoming self-sufficient. Ezmeralda’s restaurant was ready for business. Monty admired how the place could function so long after humanity bit the dust; like a cockroach.

Wandering around the grill and deep fryers, he inspected the results of the ‘Sustainability is Cool’ campaign. It had the worst slogan ever, but caught on like wildfire. When support went global, corporations lost their economic stronghold; they could no longer reign the world. Instead, they had no choice but to conceded to the public’s demands: “Quit using up all the energy and resources or we’ll stop using you!” The consumer had turned on its creator and this scared Wall Street enough for stocks to fall with each mounting protest. Within a year, renewable resources and energy industry stocks blew through the roof; oil industry bled like a geyser. The people had changed the world, and then had it taken away.

Monty smelled French fries.

“The fryers need ten minutes to warm up,” Ezmeralda said. “I gotta go pee. Then I’ll show you my garden!” Before Monty replied, she was off. The smell of grease brought back childhood memories of burgers and shakes. He had to admire its relative cleanliness, being under the care of an eight-year-old.

Turning around, Monty faced the hulk of a bartender standing at the entrance; his double-barrelled shotgun aimed at Monty’s knees. With a Clint Eastwood-like growl, the man slowly mumbled, “What the hell are you doing with the little girl?”

Raising his hands in front of him, Monty said, “She highjacked me.” It didn’t sound as good as he hoped and  slowly backed away.

Without a flinch, the man said, “Don’t screw with me, bub. What are you doing with ‘er? You looked like trouble the moment you walked into my bar.”

Taking the stance of an innocent bystander, Monty said, “Hey! Whoa! Sir! She found me! I was parked downtown, got out, got in, drove away, and there she was!”

“A likely story,” the bartender said as he cocked the gun, “You’re not the first bastard I’ve had to bury. I promised her mother I’d protect her, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

He felt his knees buckle but wasn’t ready to collapse. Feeling unearned guilt close off his windpipe, Monty froze and squeaked out, “Mama Bear!”

“ENRIQUE!”  Both the captor and captive jumped as Ezmeralda’s voice squeaked through the tension. Seeing the man with the gun flinch, Monty saw a flash of his life.

They both turned to see the little girl at the bathroom entrance, ponytails flopping in every direction with arms crossed. She said, “Why do you always come here and scare my friends away?”

A sheep would envy the crease in the bartender’s brow eased. Lowering his gun, he turned to Ezmeralda as she said, “Put down the gun, Enrique. This is Monty. He’s a friend!”

Watching the spectacle, Monty stood silent with his hands still raised. The bartender slowly lowered his weapon to his side and he said, “Just trying to help, Ezmeralda. You know the type of kooks that we get around here.”

“Well, Monty’s not one of them. And I kinda brung him here,” she said as she approached them.

Looking like a petrified mime stuck in his invisible box, Monty asked, “May I go have a smoke?  Please?”

The bartender slung his weapon over his shoulder and said, “I’ll join you.”

Eyeing the two men back and forth, in a pose ready to nag, Ezmeralda said, “You guys better play nice. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Monty followed Enrique outside to a picnic table, patting his pockets to find that he was out. Looking to the bartender, his pack was already on offer.

Offering a lighter, Enrique said, “These things’ll kill you.”

Lighting his smoke, Monty said, “Not if you do it first. So far I’m doing pretty good.”

“I was just trying to help, bub,” the bartender said, “The name’s Willis. Call me that, and we’ll find out if my gun’s loaded.” Monty looked to see a smile, not menacing but not entirely readable. “I’m not so hot on the whole ‘Enrique’ thing, either. Crazy girl. I go by Feldspar now.”

“Feldspar, it is,” Monty said before introducing himself.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Feldspar said, “But like I said, I promised her mother I would protect her.”

“Have you ever had to use your gun?”

Feldspar leaned away to indicate his mass before adding, “Does It look like I really need it? I can handle myself, but I prefer entering situations with the upper hand.” Cracking the gun open, he showed Monty and said, “I don’t keep any rounds for it, either. I ain’t gonna to be responsible for any more death around here.”

“Good to know,” Monty said, “But that won’t get back any of the crap you scared out of me.”

“Good to know it was effective,” Feldspar said with a smirk. Taking a deep drag of his smoke, he added, “Let me cut right to the chase here. What are your intentions?”

Monty paused and then asked, “Since you’re the one with the gun, I’ll be getting the hell outta Dodge.”

“Listen, pal.  Let me tell you what we’re dealing with here. We have an orphan in that restaurant who’s too stubborn to move in with either me or Chinadoll. The girl will have neither.” With a pause, he added, “I don’t think she likes me.”

Feeling less like a prisoner to the guard, Monty relaxed before saying, “What happened to her mother? How long ago did she flint?”

“Couldn’t have been a month. Saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Feldspar said before lighting another smoke. “I came by to check on them… Found the little girl looking like she’d been crying for years. Her mother’s ashes were gathered on a bench in the corner.” After a pause just short of being awkward, he went on, “I entered the restaurant and the little girl ran to me, hugging and sobbing. Now, I’ve dealt with a lot of loss like everyone else but I wasn’t ready for that. It stuck with me like a bad habit, that crying girl. I felt helpless for the first time in eons and I cried for days.” Monty sat silent, staring at the table when Feldspar continued, “If you tell a soul, I will find a round for this gun and hunt you down. It probably goes without saying.”

Comfortable to let the subject drop, Monty asked, “So you’ve just let her stay here alone?”

“Buddy, I told you she was stubborn. The girl loves Chinadoll, but won’t move to their commune, either. But I think she wants to get out of town.”

Monty froze, in the distance a record scratched off the disc. He slowly said, “You’re not suggesting that I take her with me. I don’t even have a destination.”

Pointing his finger at Monty, the bartender said, “Listen, bub. You’re not the only one in an awkward position here. I’ve been stuck here, too. I couldn’t let anything happen to the little girl and her mother. But I can’t stick around here forever.”

“Why don’t you take her wherever you’re heading?” The idea of toting a little girl across the country sat in Monty’s gut like a rototiller. “Take her up to the hippies. What can the little girl do once she’s up there?”

“You haven’t had much experience with the little folk, have you?”

“That’s nothing I care to talk about,” Monty said, feeling dread grind up his throat. “I don’t think I can handle it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That makes two of us, but it seems that the girl likes you,” Feldspar said, butting his smoke out on the table.

“I have to think this through,” Monty said as he ran out of an argument. “Where am I going to go?”

“I take it you haven’t run into Mercury yet, eh?”

“Mercury?”

“Yeah, he’s on some quest or something,” Feldspar said as he stood up, “He left the bar looking for you. I probably should have mentioned this place, but you don’t point out little girls to passing strangers, y’know?”

“Where is he?”

“Hell if I know, he’s been ripping around town in that pickup playing bumper cars down the streets,” the bartender said before turning around and walking away. Over his shoulder he said, “You can’t miss him.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to check the bar, see if he’s returned. I’ll catch up with you after,” Feldspar said, waving a hand and slinging his shotgun over his shoulder before walking around the corner.

Monty sat on the table, wondering if he could reverse time and drive around this town.

“Ready?”  Ezmeralda poked her head out the door and said, “Where’s Enrique?”

“It’s Feldspar, chicklet,” Monty said as he looked to the corner, hoping the bartender would pop back, say ‘Just kidding!’ and take the kid with him. “Apparently, he had a meeting to attend to.”

“Feldspar? Is that his real name?”

“I’d tell ya, but he’d have to kill me.”

Ezmeralda shrugged her shoulders and turned to return to the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready, by the way,” she said as the door wheezed shut, “And we’re out of ketchup and dips. And burgers and fries.”

Monty followed her in, smelling the sweet scent of grease. On the counter sat a tray with what looked like dark misshapen starfish arms garnished with a few radishes. Ezmeralda stood at the opposite side of the counter, looking for approval.

After all the preservatives and canned food, the texture of deep-fried crispiness was like biting into a heavenly cheesecake. Too busy chewing, he looked to Ezmeralda and gave her a wide grin and a thumbs up.

Satisfied, she put out her palm and said, “That’ll three-fifty, sir.”

Stopping in mid-chew, he looked at her to read if she was serious.  She let out a giggle that quickly burst out laughing. Monty continued with his meal when she said, “That one got the last guy too!” While Monty continued, she pulled out a tray of her own and ploughed her way through.

After dinner, Ezmeralda said, “Okay. Now you’ve gotta see my garden.” She grabbed his little finger and pulled him from his seat, “It’s out back. C’mon, it’s cool!”

He didn’t notice them coming in, but the planters lining the parking lot were gutted and bedded with vegetables. It was too early for most of the crop but the greenery looked well tended. Admiring the garden with a smile, Monty said, “Nice work, kiddo. Who taught you to garden?”

With her hands on her hips, Ezmeralda said, “Thanks!”  With a matter-of-fact sincerity, she continued, “It was pretty complicated, really. First, I got the seeds. Then I found dirt. Water helps.”

“You’re a smart-ass, y’know that?”

“Watch your language!  You’ve got it wrong, anyway,” Ezmeralda said.  Her stance said I-told-you-so when she said, “Mom always said I’ve got a smart mouth. At the other end, smarty-pants.”

Monty said, “One and the same, m’dear.  Either way, you’re dealing with sh-…”  In the distance, an engine roared and it was heading their way. Monty looked at her and whispered, “You hear that? He’s coming back!”

Monty scrambled for his keys and ran for the car. Ezmeralda chased him and called, “Wait! I’ll be right back.” Like a little comet, she ran into the restaurant yelling, “One minute!”

He raced towards the car, hearing tiny footsteps chased behind him yelling, “WA-it! I’m coming!” She jumped into the passenger seat and threw a Strawberry Shortcake backpack on the back seat. Swivelling around, she buckled up and yelled, “WELL!  Hurry up! He’s going to get awayyyy!”