Note ... this is the first of probably two more outtakes ... years ago, the boards were full of writing prompts which brought out the fun and the wicked in many of us. Alf just couldn't leave it alone, we mean she couldn't let Lester alone. Just know that Kevan started it with the wooden spoons and Alf just had to bring handcuffs into it.

Happy Holidays to all and may 2021 be calm, safe, and sane for us all. Well, except for Lester because he is so much fun to play with.

Usual disclaimers apply.

If Handcuffs Could Talk

Second Outtake

a Kevan and Alfonsina.d Collaboration

Summons (Morelli)

Lester was the picture of dejection, shoulders dropped, expression mournful. His whole body seemed to droop. Even his hair managed to look dull and lifeless. He was staring at a piece of white paper in his right hand. A man looking at confirmation of his death sentence might look the same.

"Trouble?" I asked.

It took a minute before he replied. "Trouble? No. A freaking disaster. Tsunamis and earthquakes are nothing, but this," he shook the paper in his hand, "this is a shitstorm of epic proportions."

"Well?" I prompted when he didn't say anymore, just continued to stare at the paper. "What's so bad?"

He handed me the paper, crossed the room, and flopped sideways into a chair.

Hmmm. Heavy white paper. Smallish, about 4x6. An embossed crest. Expensive. Unfolding it revealed flowing black script. It was in Spanish but I picked out enough words to get that it was an invitation.

"So, you've been invited to what, some kind of formal thing? The prospect of wearing a suit for a couple of hours that bad?"

He snorted. "That," he managed to invest that one simple word with untold disgust, "is not an invitation. I don't care what it looks like or sounds like, when it comes from Abuela Rosa it is not an invitation. It is a command, one you better obey if you have even one brain cell left. Not showing up is not an option."

Abuela Rosa. I searched my memory. Oh yeah, Lester's grandmother—and Ranger's. "She's still alive?" I was surprised. I hadn't really thought about it but I suppose subconsciously I had assumed she was long dead.

Lester snorted again. "Abuela Rosa is indestructible. Nothing and no one is brave enough—or stupid enough—to suggest otherwise. She has never been sick a day in her life. She has more energy than a nuclear power plant and the Energizer Bunny put together. She can't die; heaven and hell are both afraid she'd show up and take over. Diseases fear her. Weeds do not dare grow in her lawn. Politicians, power brokers, and CEOs dive for cover when they see her coming. She orders wooden spoons by the gross." That final observation was uttered mournfully.

Sure I must have misheard, I asked, "Wooden spoons?" What the heck could wooden spoons have to do with what sounded like a formidable family matriarch?

"Yeah, it's her favorite weapon. She tends to break them when she smacks the crap out of you."

"Well, when you're a kid—".

"No," Lester shook his head. "Everybody. Abuela Rosa wields her spoons equally, unreservedly, and without regard to age. No one is immune. No one."

"Surely, you and Ranger—".

"No one is immune," he insisted.

I burst out laughing at a mental vision of Les and Ranger cowed by an old lady wielding a wooden spoon.

"Yeah, you laugh." Lester shot the invitation a venomous look. "You don't have to go face Abuela Rosa and her spoons."

X0X0X0X

Lester's POV

I shook my head at Morelli. "One of my cousins, Octavia, has gone all sustainable. She talked Abuela into bamboo instead of wood."

Morelli shook his head. "Is that better?"

"Depends on which side of the spoon you're on. It breaks more easily, doesn't seem to splinter quite as much. It's a more even break," I sighed, rubbed my ass in memory, and said, "and evidently bamboo grows quickly, easily, and harvests in next to no time. Therefore, the abundance of bamboo opposed to wooden spoons is probably going to be endless." The fact that three cousins who lived far from the east coast had started to send her bamboo spoons for every major holiday wasn't going to improve my life any time soon. When I came up with some way to get revenge, I would. It might take me the rest of Abuela's life, but I would indeed get my own back.

"So, tell me about the invitation. I'm pretty sure it's in Spanish. Italian and Spanish are related, but not all that closely. My Italian is limited. I swear in Italian, say lots of raunchy things to women in bed, and I can order at a pizza place, but it doesn't mean I know enough to attempt to decipher this invitation. Who's getting married? Someone is getting married, right?"

"I'm gonna get a beer. Do you want one?" While Morelli shook his head, I took the three steps and opened the fridge. The only beer left was one single fucking can of root beer. Who the hell got into the beers? Better yet, why hadn't they replaced them? I grabbed the root beer and pulled the tab open. Have you ever noticed this shit tastes better cold? It was okay, but it definitely wasn't beer.

I returned to the sofa and sat next to Morelli. "There's a card game tonight. I'm only telling this story once. Want to come?"

"I've got nothing else on. Why not? Are handcuffs required?"

"Nah. It's just the Tuesday night of bullshit, some kind of sandwiches, cards, and me losing money at cards. The usual."

X0X0X0X

Lester POV

The toughest day of any week is Tuesday. Not Monday. Monday is always the start of something new. Monday is also greeted with an infusion of caffeine. If there's bad news it's either early in the day on Monday or it's saved until Friday afternoons. Tuesday is when serious cleanup and practiced endurance from Monday comes in handy. For whatever reason, the coffee on Tuesday isn't quite so powerful. Wednesday implies it is all downhill from there. Besides, Wednesday I usually got coffee from a drive through because there was a cute barista I'd flirted with for a while. You know, just to stay in practice. Thursday is definitely the downhill slide, Friday Eve, Baby! Friday is preparation for date nights on either Friday, Saturday, or most of Sunday.

Maybe my life would have been cheaper if I didn't live for date nights. Or if I got serious with someone and could start using coupons when I went out to dinner. Somehow it never felt right to pull out a coupon on a date, even if I did it all the time with my friends. I did use coupons when available to restock my supply of handcuff keys.

Morelli and I exited the elevator on the sixth floor and went to the breakroom. Ella always provided a great spread, decent beer, and had a special cleaning crew come in on Wednesday mornings. No one ever got out of hand, but somehow crumbs became embedded in everything.

I nodded at the group of usual suspects. "Hey, Bobby. What's going on, Breeze? Hey, Az." Hal and Brett were sitting near the big screen watching Somewhere in Time. They watched it about once a month, I think one of them had a crush on Christopher Reeve. I never really did like that movie.

"Did you see any good openings?" Bobby asked. He pulled out a chair for me. All the guys knew I had been planning to move to my own digs and sooner than later. I'd been spending a lot of time with real estate agents, hoping to find something before real estate prices jumped again. "You gonna play Morelli?"

"Nah, I'll just watch a couple of hands, if that's okay." He found a plate of brownies and took three for himself. I'd never thought he was selfish, maybe he was when it came to chocolate.

"Suit yourself," Bobby said. "What's the game tonight, boys? Texas Hold 'Em? Five Cards Stud?"

Lester shook his head. "I need to show you all something first. Hal and Brett, can you join us?"

"Is it that bad," asked Mal. "We're here for you." He squeezed my shoulder and I knew the gesture really was heartfelt. Whenever any of us needed anything, we all stood together.

The answer was sort of. I mean, sort of that bad. It was unexpected, but I should expect the unexpected. I'm a Santos. Nothing ever seems to go according to anyone's plan.

I extracted the buff, linen envelope from my jacket. I removed the card from the envelope and put it on the table.

"I can't read it," Brett said. "No glasses."

"It wouldn't matter," Hal said. "It looks like it is in Spanish."

"Not all of us are bilingual," Brett said. He stuck his tongue out at Hal.

"Mal speaks six languages, and I speak three," Az said. "Just none of them are Spanish."

"I meant no offense," Brett said. He cleared his throat before he tried again. "Not all of us are familiar with Spanish."

Az nodded his approval at Brett.

Hal said, "Get to it. The best part of the movie is about to start."

Brett ribbed him and said, "It's not like you've seen it before. And it isn't like we haven't paused the movie."

I took in a deep breath. The minor squabbles among us felt like home without the threat of any well-aimed wooden spoons. "Do any of you remember Pauline?"

A couple of the guys nodded; most of them had no idea who she was.

"Second wife," I said.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "She was a bitch on wheels."

True. Definitely true. But what wheels. I sighed.

"You guys were married for what, twenty minutes?" Tank asked. For such a big guy, he tended to disappear into the scenery when he wanted to. I had no idea he was here. He didn't tend to come to the card games.

"Three years," I said. "Cooper's mom."

"How old is he now? We haven't seen the little guy around here in an age," Tank said.

"Sixteen and doing great. He'd already be working the Santos smile, but braces slowed him down a little with the saucy senoritas." They'd never slowed me down, but I've always had exceptional talent. I opened the can in front of me and took a large gulp. Then spluttered. Root beer? Again? What the fuck?

"Do we need to start training him so we can hire him when he's eighteen?" Tank asked.

"Actually, I think we need to call Ranger and make him a part of this conversation," I said. Usually, the table had an oversized console that we could use to do big conference calls and record them. It wasn't always there on game night, but it was probably a good thing it was there tonight.

"How many ex-wives are there?" Morelli asked.

"I don't know if it is three or four," Az said. "They're kind of like copies of each other."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I counted on my fingers and recited them in the order of appearance. "Yeah, there was Polly, and Pauline, Paula, and Paulette."

Morelli said, "Are you shitting me? They all have the same name?"

"It's not the same name." Okay, I was getting a little defensive. The names were very similar, but not exactly identical. "Besides, they are all unique in their own ways."

"Yeah," Mal snorted. "They are all between 5'6" and 5'9", olive skin, slender, and I think they all had their boobs done by the same doctor."

Now that I thought about it, they did seem a little bit too much the same. I'd spent plenty of time with women of every description and nationality but seemed to marry just one type. This wasn't a great reflection on me. "Hey, there's a family discount. My uncle Mel has an awesome clinic and an amazing reputation."

"Ranger's on the line," Bobby said.

"Did you find a new place, Les? I've got a new hire that needs your apartment," Ranger said.

It was and wasn't an apartment. It was kind of a glorified dorm room. A little bigger than a studio apartment, paper-thin walls, and furniture that was this side of industrial. It had been home sweet home for more years than I wanted to admit.

"Lizzie showed me several great places, but they are going to be out of reach for the unforeseeable future," I said.

Morelli looked at me. "Don't you guys earn decent money? I mean with the hazardous duty stuff. I thought you'd be doing really, really well. Better than I do with a city government salary."

"We do," Bobby said. "Someone," he looked directly at Lester, "has had some expensive hobbies."

"Lester, explain," Ranger said. Growled more like. "What precisely have you done?"

"They aren't hobbies," I said. No one else was going to defend me, so I needed to defend myself. "They are children."

Hal nodded his head. "Kids are expensive. How many are there?"

Before I had a chance to answer, Bobby cleared his throat and was ready to answer for me.

"Six," Brett said. Who knew Brett was aware of anything? "I think that you did two with two of the ex-wives and one each with the other two."

Close. Very close.

I cleared my throat. "Seven."

"Shut the front door," Hal said. "No way. I didn't think you'd gotten married again."

"Lester," Ranger said. This time it was most definitely a growl.

"No, not married again." I pointed at the paper at the center of the table. The deep breath I took didn't really fill me with any courage. "It's an invitation to a baptism."

"Whose? I'll go. What kind of wine goes well with a baptism?" Brett asked. Brett would have gone if he'd been invited. Brett would go to the opening of a grocery store if someone sent him an invitation or implied there would be free food.

"John Moses Santos," I said.

"Baby in a basket?" Hal asked. "Well, when they are little, they aren't too hard to transport."

Morelli looked a little confused. He's not been in the inner circle for very long. "I think there's more to this story." He sat back, steepled his fingers on his chest, and grinned.

I looked around the room and decided to concentrate on the paper in front of us all. If I quit looking at it is might turn into a snake and bite me. It had already bitten my wallet and wouldn't let go for another eighteen years.

"Has any of you ever had an off-again-on-again relationship?" I asked.

Morelli snorted. He'd been the most public with the off-again-on-again thing. He and Stephanie couldn't really figure things out and probably never would. And I knew she wasn't the only one he had wavered about. "I know that story. It never ends well for anyone. And it tends to be based on false expectations."

Bobby said, "Tell me about it." Bobby'd been so off—again-on-again with his ex-wife that they actually almost gotten remarried. Thank God he'd talked to his accountant and reviewed his finances beforehand. She'd gotten over half of his retirement the first time, and he hadn't rebuilt all of his savings. He and the accountant, Binky, constructed a prenup that she'd refused to sign. She'd offered him one that basically gave her 100% of his savings and investments, his home, and any money he made from when he got extra work pretending to be Cupid on Valentine's Day. He dropped her like the bad habit she was. He had a ring on layaway, got his money back, and planned to buy a bass boat instead. It was going to be cheaper and give him a lot more happiness.

"Me, too," Breeze said. He'd been a serial dater and never been married, but he'd dated the same personality type over and over. Not quite the same as on-again-off-again, but close enough for government work.

"This isn't the forum for true confessions," Tank said, "unless you want to lead off, Les."

Perfect. Well, it was going to come out sooner than later.

"Does anyone remember when I went to Puerto Rico about a year ago?" I asked. "My brother JJ was getting married."

Several heads nodded.

"Yeah, it was one of the few times you didn't say anything after you got home. No discussion of a conquest," Brett said. "That's not like you."

My head nodded of its own accord. Truth be told, my love life tended to be overshared. Especially after a good time.

So, discretion has never been one of my better-known traits. Maybe it should be. Maybe not.

"The point is, Nancy's cousins were all in the wedding," I said. It was one of the few times when the bride hadn't chosen dresses to make the bridesmaids look ugly. She'd had a heart. All five of the women looked nice, and no one looked like they were going to go to a Halloween party afterward.

I took a slug of root beer and shuddered. "Who the hell likes root beer?" I asked.

"Ranger's daughter was going to be coming on a visit, and he didn't want any beer in the fridge," Hal said. Obviously, when you are the social butterfly, you get the best insight into things. This explained the lack of beer here, but no explanation for the lack of beer in my apartment. No matter how much I sighed tonight, nothing was going to make real beer show up in my fridge in the next hour or so. Probably time for a beer run.

"Continue," the unembodied voice said. "And get to the point. I'm supposed to be on surveillance, and this was supposed to be important."

"Yeah, all right. Turns out that Pauline's one of Nancy's cousins." I said the words quickly and easily. I hadn't known I was going to run into her; there'd been no indication. If I had known, I probably would have made sure to work that weekend. Or I'd have taken myself on a long vacation far, far away.

"And?" Mal said. "She was there? So what? Surely you're capable of spending noncombative time with her."

"Over the years we have learned to do most of our talking through our lawyers." It was easier and it streamlined things. I took a deep breath, let it out, and squared my shoulders. I started to talk, lost my words, and started over. This time my eyes were closed. The only way to say a thing sometimes is to say it. You know, just spit it out and be done with it, so I did. "So, she looks terrific in royal blue. It brings out the color of her eyes."

Brett started to move his hands, indicating that this wasn't enough and to just keep going. His gestures were in no way small or subtle. In his next lifetime, he should probably work at the airport landing planes or maybe on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. All he really needed to do the job was the flags and the headphones. He had the body language down pat.

"Fine. She looked good, and we had fun. It was almost like when we met for the first time." The kids had evidently stayed with her mother for the long and extended weekend. "She was happy and wasn't complaining about anything. It seemed like we might rekindle things. It seemed like we'd mended a bunch of bridges." It hadn't hurt that the boys were both in high school, and Jeff, the older one, was going to go into the Navy in six months after he graduated from high school.

"So you got along for the first time in months?" Az asked. He'd been witness to some of my gym time working out my frustrations on the heavy bag. When I split it open, and sand went everywhere, it was right after Paula had gotten another big bump in child support. Then she told the others about it. Everyone had an adjustment that year. I'd been relegated to taking public transport for several months to rebuild my own reserves. Never again will I encourage anyone to support an ex-wives support group, it is damn expensive for the ex-husband in common on oh so many levels.

"Years," I said. "She'd gotten herself back into amazing shape. She was being nice. And she actually flirted with me."

"And?" Brett again. Brett was very much like an old woman always looking for a little more gossip. At one time he thought he'd supplement his income writing romance. He'd read some of his mom's old ones from the 1980s where they were improbable and everyone seemed to be a pirate. Brett bought a bunch of poet shirts, tried to write with a fountain pen, and proceeded to make Hal crazy. Hal couldn't read his writing and the misspellings made him nuts. What really ended his aspirations was when he allowed a girl he wanted to date read one. She laughed so hard she had problems breathing. There was humor in it, but this was during the seduction scene. She was laughing at a technique he'd actually used successfully for about fifteen years. Some women have no heart. Brett was still a romantic and still scribbled his romances, but only shared them with Hal.

"And we had some drinks. We drank and flirted. We danced. We drank. We held hands. We drank some more." I said. "You do get the idea, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Az said. "So pretty much you went down memory lane."

"Pretty much we had a rerun of all of the good parts of memory lane in about three hours," I said. The sigh just kind of slipped out. When Pauline was good, she was very, very good. When she wasn't good, she turned into the Wicked Witch of Jersey, well, the W turned into a B in pretty short order. That night the chemistry had been better than when we first met. I'd even gotten her to agree to things she'd hated in the past, and all without handcuffs. It'd been awesome. About five hours in, she tried to suffocate me due to my snoring. We were back to the Wicked Witch relationship and the house hadn't fallen on anyone yet. At least the sex had been good. Amazing. Off the charts.

Brett started making frantic motions again. The movements to me were completely unidentifiable. They could have been American Sign Language, but probably not. I shot a look at Hal who played translator for Brett when no one else knew what he was trying to say.

"Really? You knew we'd be out most of the night," Hal sighed. It was a deep sigh, the kind of sigh that comes out of great suffering, and "He's about to get to the good stuff."

Brett shook his head furiously. "I've got to go to the potty. Stop talking for the next three minutes."

Potty? A grown man? Really?

I just closed my eyes and nodded. Three minutes weren't going to change anything.

I walked over to Ella's refreshment table and found a plate. I loaded it with chocolate cake and ice cream, a brownie and fudge sauce, some M&Ms, and a fist full of jellybeans. Then I added some more cake and looked for Ella's never-ending bowl of freshly made whipped cream with a dash of fresh mint. Ella either knew in advance or was a mind reader. Probably both.

"You might want some protein," Morelli said. He was next to me for moral support. I'd never thought of Morelli as the kind of guy who could be supportive in any way shape or form. Looked like I'd been wrong about him. "Sounds like memory lane was full of potholes, construction cones, and lots of cracks. I've been on that road. Usually, I'm wrecked when I'm done."

I nodded as I watched him take my plate of goodies and replace it with a plate of fried chicken, a bunch of coleslaw, and pickles. "Will you bring it back?" The words came out in a whisper. I'd set my heart on the chocolate. In times of stress, it could always be depended on. Unlike my ex-wives.

Joe nodded. "I'll even take you for a real beer after you get through this."

We returned to the table and sat. I had just taken a big bite out of a piece of chicken when Brett all but danced back to the table. "I'm ready, get on with it. Details, man. Details." He slapped me on the back and made my bite of chicken fly from my mouth. Thanks, man.

Fine. Details. Perfect. Just perfect.

"There was drinking, there was memory lane, and then there was more," he said. Brett never did know when he shouldn't continue to chime in.

"Yeah," I said. It was all true as far as it went. "More." I slugged back some more of the damned root beer. Morelli had better honor his promise of taking me to a bar for some real beer when this was over.

"So what's the problem," Hal asked.

"Who else has used Dr. Porter's practice?" I asked. Dr. Porter was a local urologist who had recently moved from Utah. He'd actually done a special on practically painless vasectomies, it was all but a buy one get one free. I went with Az and we did it on the same day. Az nodded at me. He'd remembered.

Three of the other guys looked at each other and nodded. It had been a very powerful sales pitch, I mean advertisement. None of us wanted to deal with condoms anymore unless we had to and none of us really wanted any more kids. Between the lot of us, there were probably about twenty kids. Rangeman, the next generation. Shit. What have we all done?

I took another look around the table. "The point is, I thought I'd taken sufficient precautions to protect myself and my partner or partners. I mean, my last physical was fine. I didn't want any surprises and sure the hell didn't want to use any more condoms. I thought I had everything covered. So to speak."

Again, everyone nodded at each other.

I lowered my head again and pointed at the paper on the table.

"This," I said. "This is proof it didn't work."

"What exactly is it again?"

"Evidently, I've been invited to my newest son's baptism. I had no idea she was even pregnant."

There was a chorus of swearing, none of it was in unison. It was all muttering and not overly eloquent, but no one was happy. I just couldn't tell who was unhappy about what or if they were feeling my personal pain.

"Fuck," Ranger said. "Dr. William Porter?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked.

"Let's just say, I've got some phone calls and some visits of my own to do now. Thanks a fuck of a lot, Les."

"Don't blame me, do your own research," I said.

Brett looked a little too happy, "So, can we all go?"

I looked over at Morelli and said, "I thought I was going to have enough money to move out on my own with the eldest due to graduate from high school and going into the military. Looks like another two years of mac and cheese."

"What happens in two years?" he asked.

"The next one will be eighteen," I said. I started going through my mental Rolodex and tried to figure out what other phone calls I'd need to make. Shit, this was going to be expensive.

x0x0x0x

Hoping you enjoyed the outtake ... save, sane, and healthy holidays to you all and all of your families. Hugs and love from Kevan and Alf.