River Rules by Stevie Fischer

Author:Stevie Fischer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Green Writers Press
Published: 2019-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 37

WHEN IAN FINALLY RETURNED FROM THE CATSKILLS that Sunday night after Tomassi set things in motion about Eautopia, he stopped by Andre’s. Finding Andre sitting with Peter at the dining room table, typing on his laptop and printing documents, Ian did a double-take and then lay down on the floor to do his favorite lateral rotation stretches.

“Sorry, I was going to call you back, Peter.”

“Yeah, well, Andre’s on it. Although, I still feel like this is more up your alley.”

“Why?”

“It’s kind of an unusual client—Mother Nature.”

Andre chuckled at Peter’s phrasing. “Be good to mama and mama’ll be good to you.”

“Right. How’s her net worth looking these days?” Ian asked.

“Ha ha. Listen, I heard some water-bottling company called Eautopia is expanding into our area, and the Consortium is cozy with them. Basically, I want to find out if they’ve got a secret deal.” Peter pointed at Ian. “It’s probably on the flash drive, you know—the one you were allegedly working on.”

“And I’ve been telling Peter no way in hell is there a deal to sell water from here. We’re in the middle of a bigass drought. I can’t find anything. Your source is wrong or at least he better be.”

“I don’t think so. This is a pretty solid lead.”

Ian leaned his legs against the wall and sighed contentedly. “Great hamstring stretch. Nothing like it.”

Andre and Peter looked at each other and then looked at Ian.

“Who the hell are you, man?” Andre asked.

“Yeah.” Peter threw up his hands. “The world’s going to shit and you’re happily stretching?”

“Maybe he’s finally right,” Andre said to Peter. “It’s the apocalypse.”

Lori left a message for Peter on his cellphone. Then she texted him twice and sent an email. They all said the same thing: Call me—it’s important.

Peter and Marco worked like dogs in the hellish heat. They grilled non-stop to give the long line of customers what they wanted. The steamy late-June weather created misery, with temperatures in the nineties and high humidity.

“Glad I hit up Twitter last night to let everyone know we at the park today. Did Spanish and English shout-outs, so I’m like head of the United Nations and all.”

“Mad skills, Marco.”

“’bout time you knew that.” Marco took a rag and wiped down the countertop, trying to get rid of all the condensation.

When they ran out of almost everything except for the ice-cold bottles of water and iced tea that the kids from the playground lined up for, Marco made another pitch for adding a Latin frozen treat called paletas.

“What’s a paleta again?” Peter’s sweat ran in rivers down his face and arms. He couldn’t mop it up fast enough.

“Like ice pops but a million times better. Not so sweet and got like real fruit not some high fructose corn syrup shit. Bridgeville’s got fruit everywhere. It fits nice with the whole local angle. You gotta give it a shot. Big fan favorite.”

Marco still had some bounce in his step, but Peter leaned wearily against a tree. He couldn’t take it any more in the truck, so they parked in the shade at Abigail Adams Park.

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