Me and My Manny

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Authors: M.A. MacAfee
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flashed before my eyes. Through a haze of dust, I saw myself, the crook, and the manny on a crosscountry road trip, drinking at cheap wayside honky-tonks, holding up gas stations, and shacking up in seedy motels. To avoid being taken hostage, I was about to claim I came to the minimart on foot. Instead I blurted, “A cop. There’s a cop out front.”
    “Shit, man…shit.” The edgy crook shuffled from side to side and waved the gun back and forth.
    All three of us glanced out the window at Wolf. His official-looking uniform was visible, but luckily his upper body was tilted forward so that his skipper’s cap shadowed his face. For whatever reason, Wolf at that moment looked like a high-ranking police officer catching up on paperwork.
    “Go! Get going, before he looks up,” I urged. As the anxious crook wavered, I stepped toward the exit, readying to dart lest he start shooting.
    With the gun still in his hand, the robber shoved out the door and took off in a clumsy run, dropping a couple of the heisted candy bars before he vanished into the night.
    The clerk lurched forward with his eyes on my manny.
    “No, wait.” I pushed my hand into his chest to stop him. “You can’t talk to him. He’s in the witness protection program. You’d better call the police in case that holdup jerk comes back.”
    After all that, I left my dinner on the counter, rushed to my car and screeched out of the parking lot.
    For the rest of the evening, I kept imagining my fate had Wolf not been there. He’d again proven to be a worthwhile expenditure.

A Hero
     
    Early the next morning, racket on the street fronting our apartment building drew me from my bed. Out the window, I saw an anchorwoman from a local TV station before a camera crew with a microphone in her hand.
    I slipped on my robe and as I entered the living room, Harry came rushing through the front door, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and slippers.
    “I was just down at the office, talking to Ernie. He says the media’s here because the clerk at the minimart gave them the license plate number of some guy who stopped a holdup last night. Ernie told them they made a mistake. He’s got no tenants in the witness protection program.”
    “Good,” I said, though I doubted Ernie would know if anyone at Whitehall were in the secretive program. “Then we don’t have to worry.”
    “Worry about what?” Suspicion filled Harry’s face.
    “About Wolf scaring off the stickup man.”
    “Care to run that by me again?”
    “It’s simple,” I said casually, fearing Harry’s explosive temper. “Last night, around ten, I went out to get a bite to eat down at the minimart.”
    “And?” he prompted, eyeing Wolf on the recliner still wearing the military medals.
    “And I brought Wolf so I’d feel safer. You know how jumpy I get driving alone at night. Sure enough, I was right. I’m in the store, making my purchase, and some whacko with a sawed-off shotgun tries to holdup the place. Then Wolf steps in—”
    Harry leaned forward, his eyes widening as he sucked in a breath.
    “I mean, Wolf didn’t really step in. The crook just assumed he might, so he ran off without the booty. I’ll tell you, Harry,” I hastened to add, “a criminal will think twice before committing an offense against a woman traveling with an armed guard.”
    “The manny was armed?”
    “Not really, the uniform, the medals, and your skipper’s cap just made him look that way.”
    Harry scrutinized the colorful ribbons and bars on Wolf’s chest. “I guess that explains why he’s been promoted to—” He stepped closer to the dazzling array. “It looks like he’s become a high-ranking general in the Prussian army?”
    “Oh, is that what those medals are.” I glanced at the lounging manny. “That would make him Wolfgang der Fuhrer von Kin. Veeerrry impressive,” I said with a thick German accent.
    Harry emitted a whimper. “Just one thing. How did he get in the witness protection

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