With his yellow tux jacket and dented Lincoln Town Car to match, a more persnickety savior could never be found, “I need a twosome to help me wid dice at Atlantic City. Ever played Caesar’s?”
“Nope,” grunted a much-bruised Loomis and Lyndsey.
“Good,” chortled Enderth. “Let’s get on the road.” He grasped the wheel, shaft emblazoned with an 1879 Morgan silver dollar and all.
So down the alley the ice wagon flew, to paraphrase Bo Diddley, as Egerth’s limo, with Eg at the wheel, lightning-bolted the Garden State, past Toms River, East Egg Harbor Verona, Ventnor ‘til they reached the outskirts of Margate city, which was the happy home of a most curious architectural monstrosity that had survived umpteen hurricanes, and would undoubtedly weather thru many yet to come.
We’re now referring to old Lucy The Elephant, a creaky board structure patched with plaster and
tin, and forming roughly the profile of a sickly Indian pachyderm.
They had ground to a scrunching halt, since Eberth had sprung a flat- luckily he was good at gettin’ out the trusty jack and spare; he was hard at work, while Lyndsey and Loomis, now arm in arm,
strolled over to Lucy and peered up into her right hind leg.
Lyndsey gazed into her Akashic hand tattoo, which now glowed a peculiar henna-lavender shade.
“Uh-oh, Loomie, I’m picking up on a real strong vibe. Up in the right eye of this critter–er-
BUILDING they call “Lucy of Margate,” is an Akashic seer and practitioner, and you need the tattoo,
TOO!”
Lyndsey pulled him into the elephant’s leg and up a rusty winding stair. They entered an amber-lit enclosure, with muted flute sounds and a heavy aroma of patchouli oil. Inver, a cloaked and masked mystic, salaamed his way to their feet.
“Let me get the tattooing kit,” he murmured, as if expecting their visit.
Inver worked like a whirling dervish, which is jake, because he actually was a devotee of said belief system. As he “Akk’th'”-ed, and “Quallith”-ed, Lyndsey soothed her man and muttered rhythmically, softly, until the arabesque tattoo had been inked successfully into reader’s palm. Then they heard a rattling, and a shouting below.
Egerth had fixed his ride, and they bowed and bid adieu to their Akashic enabler.
Now came the winking skyline of A.C., and in no time the intrepid trio scampered the
choogling, honking, tootling fairways of the Claridge gaming floor, going clean out from
one end of $88,000-” That’s right, screamed Loomis, “EIGHTY-EIGHT GRAND!!!”–
until their whirlwind ride ended (without any adult entertainment at all, if one could
believe it)– at the Delaware Memorial Bridge Toll Plaza.
“I’m so sorry, kids,” blubbered Egerth. “It’s a curse, somebody I cannot say has worked a mojo on me that if I cross the Delaware, then I should die!”
That said, the old man chugged off, the Cinderella Lincoln coach now openly betraying
her broken and sputtering muffler.
Normally at this juncture, Loomis, and maybe even Lyndsey as well, would be whimpering “Whuddo we do THIS TIME?”, but now the Akashics were in full swing, and help impended
im-MEDIATELY!
Lyndsey and Loomis calmly made their way to the first cable of the Delaware Bridge’s mighty tower and they began to climb. “Is this a dream or are we really doing this,” crowed loom,
as the winds buffeted them from on high. Loomis began singing crazily, “I Be-Lieve We Can Fly…”
“We must continue on,” shouted Lyndsey. “We will prevail!!”
Tottering past a flashing sign proclaiming, “WIND CONDITIONS, USE EXTREME CARE!!”, Lyndsey and Loomis made their way to the truck plaza on the right apron
of the bridge campus.
Lyndsey and Loomis found a burlap drop, laid in a king-sized tub, and promptly zoned out, not letting the door hit them as they pulled it shut behind them. (To Be Continued)
