Twas the night before Christmas and all through the store
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
Monday, December 24, 2012
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the store
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Twelve Days of Christmas - Tommy Tool Town Style
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave me to
A dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five thousand dollars........... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve magic brownies,
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
Happy Holidays, Tool Towners!
Love,
Kitty
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave me to
A dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five thousand dollars........... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve magic brownies,
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
Happy Holidays, Tool Towners!
Love,
Kitty
Friday, December 7, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 38 - When it Rains, it Pours.
Kitty Richardson took a deep breath and stared at the phone in her hand.
"What's wrong?" Bernice asked.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth also stared, their eyes far less glazed than five minutes prior. It seemed Kitty's anxiety had pierced through their ongoing haze.
"What is it, Kitty?" Stockwell said, sounding almost like Stockwell.
"There are zombies in the store," Kitty whispered, and Penelope stood so quickly, she knocked almost everything off Stockwell's desk, including a corner of a dried-up fritter that looked like an antiquity.
"Have we confirmed this?" Miles Longworth said, sounding almost sober.
"I've gotten two calls already," Kitty said softly.
"Credible?" Stockwell asked, standing from his chair, and finding himself in a puddle of Dorito crumbs, which also stuck to his slacks like pesky cat hair. His gaze found the corner of the fritter on the floor, and he kicked it. It slid like a hockey puck and whacked the door. Everyone turned.
"Are they outside the door?" Bernice asked, looking pale.
"It was this," Kitty replied, holding up the hunk of dried pastry. "Get rid of it," she said, handing the fritter to Stockwell, who dropped it in the trash. It fell with a thunk.
"Getting back to the zombies," Stockwell said. "Are these claims credible."
"Yes. And, it gets worse," Kitty whispered.
"How much worse could it get?" Miles Longworth asked, clutching his stomach like a man who'd just consumed twenty pounds of junk food.
"Mick Daniels is also here," Kitty said in a groan.
"Maybe the zombies will get him," Bernice said, her tone light, considering the circumstances.
"That's mean," Penelope said.
"It would solve the immediate problem," Bernice whined in her own defense.
"It's still mean," Penelope retorted.
"Girls, please," Stockwell said. The effects of the brownies seemed to have worn off considerably. Kitty's phone rang again.
She answered on the first ring.
"It's Alejandro," Kitty whispered. Kitty listened for only a minute and hung up. "Alejandro and Magic have isolated Daniels in the break room. They're keeping him busy with coffee and donuts. He's got some guy with him that Alejandro called a 'fixer'-"
"Larry Dale," Miles Longworth piped in.
"He tends to show up in problem stores," Stockwell said.
"Now that's mean," Bernice said through a sigh.
"Well, we are a problem store," Stockwell said. "I've been in retail since I could walk, and even I've never seen such a plethora of knuckleheads assembled under one roof."
"That's mean," Bernice grumbled.
"In case we've forgotten," Kitty interrupted, "we are in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
"Let's look," Stockwell said.
"I'm not going out there," Penelope said, squeezing into the corner and hiding behind Bernice.
"Neither am I," Kitty said.
"We don't have to," Stockwell said. "We can have Sonny watch the cameras."
"He went home. Something about something being haunted, or so the rumor mill suggests," Kitty explained.
"We can access his computer from here," Miles Longworth said.
"We can?" Stockwell said in amazement.
"Don't you read your emails?" Miles Longworth asked.
"Of course, although the last one you sent me was some honey badger thing," Stockwell said, looking at Miles Longworth with disgust.
"Was that before or after the EHarmony email with that weird woman who loves cats?" Penelope asked.
"Kitty has an EHarmony video?" Stockwell said through a chuckle.
"Nice," Kitty whispered, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't me."
"The honey badger, he don't give a shit," Bernice mumbled, and Longworth burst out laughing.
"People, stop," Stockwell nearly shouted. "The only email I care about right now is the one that tells us how to access cameras remotely."
"It was from Slick. Evidently, he thinks something hokey is going on in the store, so he set all the managers up with the option to see cameras," Miles Longworth said, staring at Stockwell.
"Seriously?" Kitty asked, looking pale. "How does Slick know?"
"Know what?" Bernice asked.
"Nothing," Kitty mumbled.
"Know what?" Penelope repeated.
"Girls, put a cork in it!" Stockwell said, shouting this time. "Shit," Stockwell whispered. "Okay, when did this email come?"
"This morning," Miles Longworth explained. "Don't know what you were doing that you didn't see it."
"I was having some of Ada's brownies............" Stockwell said, pausing for a long moment. "In fact, that is about the last thing I remember, and could these brownies have anything to do with the hundreds of pieces of junk food scattered around my office? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?" Stockwell roared, as if he'd just realized the condition of his surroundings.
"I'll explain later," Kitty whispered.
"Now works for me, Stella Catherine Richardson," Stockwell said, glaring at Kitty. Everyone stared at Kitty. No one had ever used her full name. This was serious.
"I will explain later. It was a loving gesture gone terribly wrong," Kitty said defensively.
"I'll say," Stockwell said. "I feel like I've been on a three-day bender.
"It was really only like three hours," Bernice said, and something crashed outside. "THAT WAS NOT A FRITTER. THE ZOMBIES ARE HERE!" Bernice screamed.
"Let me at the computer," Miles demanded, as everyone crowded into the corner farthest from the door. Stockwell shielded the women, keeping his eyes directed at his monitor. "Mother of God," Miles Longworth said through a moan. "There are zombies. They're everywhere."
Everyone looked at the computer screen, and paled in unison.
"Holy shit," Stockwell said.
"What are they doing?" Kitty asked, grabbing Stockwell's arm.
"They're looking at electrical parts," Stockwell replied, squinting at the screen.
"That's not how it's supposed to go," Bernice said. "They're supposed to eat brains."
"Seems to be one leading the pack," Stockwell said. "He's holding something in his hand."
"Is it a body part?" Penelope asked, covering her eyes.
"Honestly...," Miles Longworth commented, "it looks like a Catalytic Converter.
"Seriously?" Kitty quipped.
"Yeah," Longworth replied. "Holy crap, Chewie's approaching them. He's got a screwdriver, and he looks scared to death.
"Oh, jeez. I like him," Kitty whined. "The Lord is my Shepherd......," she prayed, as everyone remained riveted to the monitor.
"He's talking to them," Bernice said. "Chewie is talking to the zombies."
"Well, he closed last night and opened this morning. He looks like the walking dead. Maybe they don't know he's still alive," Stockwell remarked.
"We all look like that," Kitty said.
"Chewie's laughing. He's calling someone," Penelope said. The group watched as Chewie raised his phone to his ear. Kitty's phone rang.
"Chewie?" Kitty nearly shouted into the handset. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. No one spoke. "It's not the zombie apocalypse. They're going to some convention, and the Zombiemobile broke down half a mile up the road."
Everyone burst out laughing.
"Let's get out of here," Stockwell said, opening the door. "Penelope, could you sweep up this mess and empty the trash? Now that the zombie threat is over, we need to deal with Daniels. If you're praying folks, you might want to pray we still have a store when the day's over."
"Vacation!" Bernice quipped, clapping her hands.
"That was not supposed to be met with enthusiasm, Bernice," Stockwell chastised.
"Sorry," Bernice mumbled.
Everyone filed out of the office.
"Kitty, call Alejandro back. Our best plan of attack is to separate Daniels and this 'fixer'. We'll head back to deal with Daniels. You take the 'fixer' and walk the store. Wilton Scott is a big zombie fan. Send him over to Electrical and see if he can help round them up and get them out of here."
"Will do, boss," Kitty said, looking at Stockwell. "Um......"
"Is there something else, Kitty?" Stockwell asked, throwing her a glance that clearly said the brownie issue was NOT resolved.
"Yes."
"And it would be what?" Stockwell asked.
"You guys need to go wash your hands and your faces. You're covered with Doritos."
"I may kill you today," Stockwell whispered, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
"I am aware of that, sir," Kitty mumbled.
"Get your affairs in order," Stockwell quipped before walking away.
Kitty called Alejandro. The 'fixer' was on his way to Customer Service. The store was relatively calm, given the presence of numerous zombies. A crowd had gathered near Electrical, but no one was armed with zombie-killing paraphernalia. This was a good sign. Evidently, the only people who thought the zombies were actually real were Chewie, Wilton Scott, and the idiots who'd just emerged from Stockwell's office.
Kitty watched as Larry Dale walked up the aisle toward her. He walked with the air of a confident man in a Kmart suit.
"Good day," Larry Dale said, as he approached Kitty.
"Hello," Kitty said, feeling herself blush.
"How are we today?" Larry Dale asked.
"We're okay. The zombies freaked everyone out," Kitty said.
"I saw that. I think they're delightful," Larry Dale remarked. "Certainly shakes things up a bit. I'll bet this is one of the most interesting days you've had in a while."
"You don't know us," Kitty mumbled.
"I'd like to," Larry Dale said with a smile.
"I'd like to know you, too," Kitty said without thinking.
"The best business relationships begin that way," Larry Dale replied.
That wasn't exactly what Kitty had in mind, but she played along. "How well do you know Mr. Daniels?" she asked.
"We slept together last night," Larry Dale said, and Kitty felt the air leave her balloon.
Bummer.
Larry Dale blushed. "That isn't exactly what I meant. We ended up in this seedy motel in the middle of nowhere, in a place straight out of a Wes Craven movie. Bad room, smelly carpet, dead rodents in the bathroom and one bed."
"Yuck," Kitty commented, and Larry Dale laughed.
"We got through it," Dale replied.
"I'm glad," Kitty said.
Suddenly there was a commotion in aisle 1. Kitty and Larry Dale headed off in the direction of the yelling, splatting, and chaos.
Pumpkins were falling from the sky.
In reality, pumpkins were falling from top stock.
Rotten pumpkins.
The gourds continued to fall.
Tool Towners had gathered, mouths agape, saying nothing.
Mick Daniels' face was beet red.
Stockwell stood stiller than a cadaver.
Longworth was trying not to laugh.
Miles Longworth, Reeve Stockwell, and Mick Daniels stood in a pile of muck. Their clothes were covered in pumpkin.
At least it covered the Dorito stains, Kitty thought, seeking the silver lining as only Kitty could.
"Gentlemen, we need to talk," Mick Daniels said, looking like he'd just participated in a pumpkin pie bake-off.
"Yes, sir," Stockwell said.
"Is there anything anyone would like to add to this situation?" Mick Daniels asked.
"I have something," a voice said from the back of the crowd.
Mags Davidson weaved her way through the Tool Towners, and emerged from the pack.
"Yes, Ms. Davidson?" Mick Daniels said softly.
"JJ Patricks has been murdered, and I think she's buried out back," Mags said through a sob.
Daniels went pale.
Larry Dale took a notepad from his pocket, and stepped forward like a detective.
The Tool Towners fell silent with three exceptions.
"Shit," Kitty, Longworth, and Stockwell muttered in unison.
"What's wrong?" Bernice asked.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth also stared, their eyes far less glazed than five minutes prior. It seemed Kitty's anxiety had pierced through their ongoing haze.
"What is it, Kitty?" Stockwell said, sounding almost like Stockwell.
"There are zombies in the store," Kitty whispered, and Penelope stood so quickly, she knocked almost everything off Stockwell's desk, including a corner of a dried-up fritter that looked like an antiquity.
"Have we confirmed this?" Miles Longworth said, sounding almost sober.
"I've gotten two calls already," Kitty said softly.
"Credible?" Stockwell asked, standing from his chair, and finding himself in a puddle of Dorito crumbs, which also stuck to his slacks like pesky cat hair. His gaze found the corner of the fritter on the floor, and he kicked it. It slid like a hockey puck and whacked the door. Everyone turned.
"Are they outside the door?" Bernice asked, looking pale.
"It was this," Kitty replied, holding up the hunk of dried pastry. "Get rid of it," she said, handing the fritter to Stockwell, who dropped it in the trash. It fell with a thunk.
"Getting back to the zombies," Stockwell said. "Are these claims credible."
"Yes. And, it gets worse," Kitty whispered.
"How much worse could it get?" Miles Longworth asked, clutching his stomach like a man who'd just consumed twenty pounds of junk food.
"Mick Daniels is also here," Kitty said in a groan.
"Maybe the zombies will get him," Bernice said, her tone light, considering the circumstances.
"That's mean," Penelope said.
"It would solve the immediate problem," Bernice whined in her own defense.
"It's still mean," Penelope retorted.
"Girls, please," Stockwell said. The effects of the brownies seemed to have worn off considerably. Kitty's phone rang again.
She answered on the first ring.
"It's Alejandro," Kitty whispered. Kitty listened for only a minute and hung up. "Alejandro and Magic have isolated Daniels in the break room. They're keeping him busy with coffee and donuts. He's got some guy with him that Alejandro called a 'fixer'-"
"Larry Dale," Miles Longworth piped in.
"He tends to show up in problem stores," Stockwell said.
"Now that's mean," Bernice said through a sigh.
"Well, we are a problem store," Stockwell said. "I've been in retail since I could walk, and even I've never seen such a plethora of knuckleheads assembled under one roof."
"That's mean," Bernice grumbled.
"In case we've forgotten," Kitty interrupted, "we are in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
"Let's look," Stockwell said.
"I'm not going out there," Penelope said, squeezing into the corner and hiding behind Bernice.
"Neither am I," Kitty said.
"We don't have to," Stockwell said. "We can have Sonny watch the cameras."
"He went home. Something about something being haunted, or so the rumor mill suggests," Kitty explained.
"We can access his computer from here," Miles Longworth said.
"We can?" Stockwell said in amazement.
"Don't you read your emails?" Miles Longworth asked.
"Of course, although the last one you sent me was some honey badger thing," Stockwell said, looking at Miles Longworth with disgust.
"Was that before or after the EHarmony email with that weird woman who loves cats?" Penelope asked.
"Kitty has an EHarmony video?" Stockwell said through a chuckle.
"Nice," Kitty whispered, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't me."
"The honey badger, he don't give a shit," Bernice mumbled, and Longworth burst out laughing.
"People, stop," Stockwell nearly shouted. "The only email I care about right now is the one that tells us how to access cameras remotely."
"It was from Slick. Evidently, he thinks something hokey is going on in the store, so he set all the managers up with the option to see cameras," Miles Longworth said, staring at Stockwell.
"Seriously?" Kitty asked, looking pale. "How does Slick know?"
"Know what?" Bernice asked.
"Nothing," Kitty mumbled.
"Know what?" Penelope repeated.
"Girls, put a cork in it!" Stockwell said, shouting this time. "Shit," Stockwell whispered. "Okay, when did this email come?"
"This morning," Miles Longworth explained. "Don't know what you were doing that you didn't see it."
"I was having some of Ada's brownies............" Stockwell said, pausing for a long moment. "In fact, that is about the last thing I remember, and could these brownies have anything to do with the hundreds of pieces of junk food scattered around my office? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?" Stockwell roared, as if he'd just realized the condition of his surroundings.
"I'll explain later," Kitty whispered.
"Now works for me, Stella Catherine Richardson," Stockwell said, glaring at Kitty. Everyone stared at Kitty. No one had ever used her full name. This was serious.
"I will explain later. It was a loving gesture gone terribly wrong," Kitty said defensively.
"I'll say," Stockwell said. "I feel like I've been on a three-day bender.
"It was really only like three hours," Bernice said, and something crashed outside. "THAT WAS NOT A FRITTER. THE ZOMBIES ARE HERE!" Bernice screamed.
"Let me at the computer," Miles demanded, as everyone crowded into the corner farthest from the door. Stockwell shielded the women, keeping his eyes directed at his monitor. "Mother of God," Miles Longworth said through a moan. "There are zombies. They're everywhere."
Everyone looked at the computer screen, and paled in unison.
"Holy shit," Stockwell said.
"What are they doing?" Kitty asked, grabbing Stockwell's arm.
"They're looking at electrical parts," Stockwell replied, squinting at the screen.
"That's not how it's supposed to go," Bernice said. "They're supposed to eat brains."
"Seems to be one leading the pack," Stockwell said. "He's holding something in his hand."
"Is it a body part?" Penelope asked, covering her eyes.
"Honestly...," Miles Longworth commented, "it looks like a Catalytic Converter.
"Seriously?" Kitty quipped.
"Yeah," Longworth replied. "Holy crap, Chewie's approaching them. He's got a screwdriver, and he looks scared to death.
"Oh, jeez. I like him," Kitty whined. "The Lord is my Shepherd......," she prayed, as everyone remained riveted to the monitor.
"He's talking to them," Bernice said. "Chewie is talking to the zombies."
"Well, he closed last night and opened this morning. He looks like the walking dead. Maybe they don't know he's still alive," Stockwell remarked.
"We all look like that," Kitty said.
"Chewie's laughing. He's calling someone," Penelope said. The group watched as Chewie raised his phone to his ear. Kitty's phone rang.
"Chewie?" Kitty nearly shouted into the handset. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. No one spoke. "It's not the zombie apocalypse. They're going to some convention, and the Zombiemobile broke down half a mile up the road."
Everyone burst out laughing.
"Let's get out of here," Stockwell said, opening the door. "Penelope, could you sweep up this mess and empty the trash? Now that the zombie threat is over, we need to deal with Daniels. If you're praying folks, you might want to pray we still have a store when the day's over."
"Vacation!" Bernice quipped, clapping her hands.
"That was not supposed to be met with enthusiasm, Bernice," Stockwell chastised.
"Sorry," Bernice mumbled.
Everyone filed out of the office.
"Kitty, call Alejandro back. Our best plan of attack is to separate Daniels and this 'fixer'. We'll head back to deal with Daniels. You take the 'fixer' and walk the store. Wilton Scott is a big zombie fan. Send him over to Electrical and see if he can help round them up and get them out of here."
"Will do, boss," Kitty said, looking at Stockwell. "Um......"
"Is there something else, Kitty?" Stockwell asked, throwing her a glance that clearly said the brownie issue was NOT resolved.
"Yes."
"And it would be what?" Stockwell asked.
"You guys need to go wash your hands and your faces. You're covered with Doritos."
"I may kill you today," Stockwell whispered, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
"I am aware of that, sir," Kitty mumbled.
"Get your affairs in order," Stockwell quipped before walking away.
Kitty called Alejandro. The 'fixer' was on his way to Customer Service. The store was relatively calm, given the presence of numerous zombies. A crowd had gathered near Electrical, but no one was armed with zombie-killing paraphernalia. This was a good sign. Evidently, the only people who thought the zombies were actually real were Chewie, Wilton Scott, and the idiots who'd just emerged from Stockwell's office.
Kitty watched as Larry Dale walked up the aisle toward her. He walked with the air of a confident man in a Kmart suit.
"Good day," Larry Dale said, as he approached Kitty.
"Hello," Kitty said, feeling herself blush.
"How are we today?" Larry Dale asked.
"We're okay. The zombies freaked everyone out," Kitty said.
"I saw that. I think they're delightful," Larry Dale remarked. "Certainly shakes things up a bit. I'll bet this is one of the most interesting days you've had in a while."
"You don't know us," Kitty mumbled.
"I'd like to," Larry Dale said with a smile.
"I'd like to know you, too," Kitty said without thinking.
"The best business relationships begin that way," Larry Dale replied.
That wasn't exactly what Kitty had in mind, but she played along. "How well do you know Mr. Daniels?" she asked.
"We slept together last night," Larry Dale said, and Kitty felt the air leave her balloon.
Bummer.
Larry Dale blushed. "That isn't exactly what I meant. We ended up in this seedy motel in the middle of nowhere, in a place straight out of a Wes Craven movie. Bad room, smelly carpet, dead rodents in the bathroom and one bed."
"Yuck," Kitty commented, and Larry Dale laughed.
"We got through it," Dale replied.
"I'm glad," Kitty said.
Suddenly there was a commotion in aisle 1. Kitty and Larry Dale headed off in the direction of the yelling, splatting, and chaos.
Pumpkins were falling from the sky.
In reality, pumpkins were falling from top stock.
Rotten pumpkins.
The gourds continued to fall.
Tool Towners had gathered, mouths agape, saying nothing.
Mick Daniels' face was beet red.
Stockwell stood stiller than a cadaver.
Longworth was trying not to laugh.
Miles Longworth, Reeve Stockwell, and Mick Daniels stood in a pile of muck. Their clothes were covered in pumpkin.
At least it covered the Dorito stains, Kitty thought, seeking the silver lining as only Kitty could.
"Gentlemen, we need to talk," Mick Daniels said, looking like he'd just participated in a pumpkin pie bake-off.
"Yes, sir," Stockwell said.
"Is there anything anyone would like to add to this situation?" Mick Daniels asked.
"I have something," a voice said from the back of the crowd.
Mags Davidson weaved her way through the Tool Towners, and emerged from the pack.
"Yes, Ms. Davidson?" Mick Daniels said softly.
"JJ Patricks has been murdered, and I think she's buried out back," Mags said through a sob.
Daniels went pale.
Larry Dale took a notepad from his pocket, and stepped forward like a detective.
The Tool Towners fell silent with three exceptions.
"Shit," Kitty, Longworth, and Stockwell muttered in unison.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Kitty's Black Friday Prayer
Kitty's prayer for Black Friday.
Now I head me off to work.
I pray that God won't send a jerk,
Who wants to buy a sold-out deal.
And gripes because his cart might squeal.
Oh Lord I pray that no one yells.
And tells me I should go to hell,
Because the Shop Vac sold out fast.
Black Friday deals don't always last.
I'll hide in the latrine at dinner,
And confess to times I've been a sinner.
By taking breaks I didn't need,
To get away from Front End deeds.
We'll focus on a workday done.
When we might finally have some fun.
A drink or two from the appliance guy,
And brownies that might make us......
Never mind that one.
So, shoppers I would ask you this....
Forgive us if we have to piss.
We've stood to serve you all day long,
And listened to the Tommy song.
And later when the blitz is over,
We'll get into our old Range Rover.
And head back home to loved ones dear.
And think about a new career.
Amen.
Now I head me off to work.
I pray that God won't send a jerk,
Who wants to buy a sold-out deal.
And gripes because his cart might squeal.
Oh Lord I pray that no one yells.
And tells me I should go to hell,
Because the Shop Vac sold out fast.
Black Friday deals don't always last.
I'll hide in the latrine at dinner,
And confess to times I've been a sinner.
By taking breaks I didn't need,
To get away from Front End deeds.
We'll focus on a workday done.
When we might finally have some fun.
A drink or two from the appliance guy,
And brownies that might make us......
Never mind that one.
So, shoppers I would ask you this....
Forgive us if we have to piss.
We've stood to serve you all day long,
And listened to the Tommy song.
And later when the blitz is over,
We'll get into our old Range Rover.
And head back home to loved ones dear.
And think about a new career.
Amen.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - A Thank You from Kitty
On this day of reflection and gratitude, your very own Kitty, creator of Tommy's Tool Town, and believer in miracles, is thankful for the real-life cast and crew of Tommy's Tool Town.
Thank you for the laughter, the stories, and the support. I am at home in your presence. You have raised me up to believe I am more than I ever thought I could be.
And for this......
I adore you.
Happy Thanksgiving from Kitty.
Now........... unbutton your pants, and surrender to the gluttony.
Thank you for the laughter, the stories, and the support. I am at home in your presence. You have raised me up to believe I am more than I ever thought I could be.
And for this......
I adore you.
Happy Thanksgiving from Kitty.
Now........... unbutton your pants, and surrender to the gluttony.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 37 - Creating a Diversion, One Zombie at a Time
Kitty Richardson was dazzled by the appearance of Larry Dale, but only for a moment. Reality hit her full force.
"Holy crap, we're screwed," she whispered.
Mick Daniels was paying a surprise visit.
Stockwell was stoned.
Longworth was stoned.
Slick Mitchell was God knows where.
Sonny Brooks had gone home sick, shortly after Ada left. Someone said they'd heard he might be having a nervous breakdown, and he thought his house was haunted. That was ridiculous.
As was the rumor mill.
Mags Davidson was in the Ladies Room with a plunger deluxe.
Barbie Baxter was on lunch.
Bernice and Penelope were babysitting Tommy's own Cheech and Chong.
It was all up to Kitty.
Magic Palmieri, who'd recently been promoted to a position in Tommy's day crew, peeked his head around the corner near the manager's offices.
"Miss Kitty, may I speak to you?" Magic asked. No one really knew why the fella's nickname was Magic, but he seemed to disappear suddenly. That was enough for Kitty.
"Now might not be the time, Magic."
"Is everything all right?" Magic asked.
"Not even close," Kitty moaned. Against her better judgment, she cautioned a glance at the front doors. Mick and company were halfway across the parking lot. She was running out of time.
"Anything we can do?" Magic asked.
"Who's we?" Kitty replied.
"Stockwell sent Alejandro, Wilton, and me to try to find the pumpkins that are missing. He's worried they might have been accidentally put into top stock."
"Frankly, I could use Wilton at Customer Service," Kitty said. "I had to pull Bernice and Penelope off to take care of a special project."
"I am at your service, my lady," Wilton declared, before turning on his heel and heading to his post.
"Anything we can help you with, love?" Alejandro said, flashing his adorable smile.
"I need a diversion. Mick Daniels is here. Stockwell and Longworth are......... indisposed," Kitty explained, failing to brave a more accurate description of their condition. "I don't know where Slick is. He's supposed to be here later today. I think he's meeting with a vendor. Sonny is having some kind of nervous breakdown, and I have to figure all this out and get Daniels someplace where we can hide the truth of what's happening here from him." Kitty sounded freaked. Both Magic and Alejandro looked sympathetic.
"A diversion?" Alejandro said, arching a brow.
"Preferably one where no one gets hurt, and nothing blows up," Kitty suggested.
"I believe I might have what you are looking for," Alejandro said, with another grin.
"And this would be what?" Magic asked.
"Prior to my special mission pumpkin hunting, I was redesigning a display in our windows and doors department. I would be delighted if Mr. Daniels would be the first to lay eyes upon it," Alejandro offered.
"That would be terrific," Kitty said.
"When God closes a door he opens a window," Magic declared.
"Indeed," Alejandro commented. "Magic, why don't you join me. We'll welcome Mr. Daniels into the store and guide him right past what I suspect is mayhem in the making, and steer him around back to my display. You can, during our little journey, tell him how pleased you are to have been promoted, and perhaps even share your store-related goals with him."
"I don't have any store-related goals," Magic explained. "I'd like to be an opera singer."
"I had no idea," Alejandro exclaimed. "Sing a little something for us."
"Guys, do you think we can have Career Day another time?" Kitty quipped, trying not to be rude. "They're coming in."
"Who's they?" Alejandro asked.
"There's some cute guy with Daniels," Kitty said.
"Golly jeepers, what is he wearing?" Alejandro asked, gazing at the approaching Larry Dale, who was talking animatedly with Mick Daniels.
"I think he looks nice," Kitty said, blushing slightly.
"Maybe if he was in Saturday Night Fever," Magic replied, arching a brow.
"Stop. Both of you. Prepare to do battle," Kitty stated.
"Battle?" Magic said, his face exploding into anticipation.
"It's just an expression," Kitty said. "Okay, you create the diversion. Have Daniels' companion meet me at Customer Service in say five minutes. I have to check on something first," Kitty said. "Good luck. Make me proud."
The front doors whooshed open and Alejandro and Magic took off as if they'd just heard the Good Humor ice cream truck.
"Please, God. Please don't let them screw this up," Kitty whispered. Her eyes met Larry Dale's, and she was almost positive he winked at her.
He probably has something in his eye.
As anxious as Kitty was to watch the scene out front, she knew she was needed elsewhere. She knocked on the door.
Bernice answered.
Stockwell and Longworth were both eating. Stockwell's fingers were red from the umpteen bags of Doritos he had consumed. Longworth was licking chocolate from his fingers, all the while examining them with the unfocused wonder of a newborn.
Stockwell was moaning.
"They don't look any better," Kitty ascertained.
"I think they are," Penelope said.
"What did we find out?" Kitty asked.
"Well, I Googled the crap out of it," Bernice explained. "Here's the deal. There's a lot of information, but I think a lot of it was written by stoners."
"Super," Kitty growled.
"Carbs should help, and they're eating like pigs, so we should be on the right track," Penelope remarked.
"Exercise helps, too. Like running," Bernice said. "I'm just not sure we want to let them out of the office. Unless......"
"Unless what?" Kitty asked.
"We could tie them together, and tie them to Penelope. She could run them until they fall over," Bernice declared, obviously pleased with her idea.
"Oh, now that sounds good," Kitty said sarcastically. "Mick Daniels is here. I'm sure having our store managers tied together and running like a couple of Iditerod dogs wouldn't attract any attention at all."
"I'm just trying to help," Bernice whined.
"I know. I'm sorry," Kitty said.
Suddenly both men stopped chewing and stared at her.
"What?" Kitty said.
"We're out of food," Stockwell slurred.
"Order three pizzas," Kitty said.
"Three?" Bernice asked.
"Yes. Three," Kitty replied. "One for each of them, and one to lure Mick Daniels into the break room. We have got to keep them busy until I can find Slick Mitchell. If Daniels finds out this store is unsupervised, we're all gonna be fired," Kitty said.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Bernice quipped.
"Just order the pizzas please," Kitty begged.
"Who's gonna pay for them?" Penelope asked.
"And pick them up?" Bernice said.
"Have them delivered. We'll pay for them out of our petty cash," Kitty said.
"That's for emergencies," Penelope reminded her.
"And what, pray tell, do you think this is?" Kitty asked, pointing to the two men at the top of the local Tommy food chain.
Both were drooling.
"This is definitely an emergency," Bernice declared.
"Exactly," Kitty said. She turned toward the door, but before she could reach for the knob, her phone rang. It was Wilton. He sounded hysterical.
"What is going on?" Kitty asked.
"There are zombies in the store,- " Wilton shrieked.
"What?" Kitty asked
"Zombies. The place is crawling with them," Wilton whispered.
"Not funny," Kitty griped. And she hung up.
The phone rang again. Immediately.
It was Chewie.
"What, Chewie? I'm a little busy," Kitty said bluntly.
"There are zombies in the Electrical department," Chewie said in a hushed tone.
"Seriously?" Kitty said, feeling faint.
"Seriously," Chewie said. "I'd tell you to come see for yourself, but in the interest of your survival, it would be wrong of me to ask that of you. Oh my, God. They're coming. They see me. Kitty, I have never told you how much I enjoy working with you, hearing your stories, and I think I might be in love with your grandmother. If I wasn't about to die, I would never have said that, and Kitty........"
The phone went dead.
The zombie apocalypse.
The diversion of a lifetime.
"Holy crap, we're screwed," she whispered.
Mick Daniels was paying a surprise visit.
Stockwell was stoned.
Longworth was stoned.
Slick Mitchell was God knows where.
Sonny Brooks had gone home sick, shortly after Ada left. Someone said they'd heard he might be having a nervous breakdown, and he thought his house was haunted. That was ridiculous.
As was the rumor mill.
Mags Davidson was in the Ladies Room with a plunger deluxe.
Barbie Baxter was on lunch.
Bernice and Penelope were babysitting Tommy's own Cheech and Chong.
It was all up to Kitty.
Magic Palmieri, who'd recently been promoted to a position in Tommy's day crew, peeked his head around the corner near the manager's offices.
"Miss Kitty, may I speak to you?" Magic asked. No one really knew why the fella's nickname was Magic, but he seemed to disappear suddenly. That was enough for Kitty.
"Now might not be the time, Magic."
"Is everything all right?" Magic asked.
"Not even close," Kitty moaned. Against her better judgment, she cautioned a glance at the front doors. Mick and company were halfway across the parking lot. She was running out of time.
"Anything we can do?" Magic asked.
"Who's we?" Kitty replied.
"Stockwell sent Alejandro, Wilton, and me to try to find the pumpkins that are missing. He's worried they might have been accidentally put into top stock."
"Frankly, I could use Wilton at Customer Service," Kitty said. "I had to pull Bernice and Penelope off to take care of a special project."
"I am at your service, my lady," Wilton declared, before turning on his heel and heading to his post.
"Anything we can help you with, love?" Alejandro said, flashing his adorable smile.
"I need a diversion. Mick Daniels is here. Stockwell and Longworth are......... indisposed," Kitty explained, failing to brave a more accurate description of their condition. "I don't know where Slick is. He's supposed to be here later today. I think he's meeting with a vendor. Sonny is having some kind of nervous breakdown, and I have to figure all this out and get Daniels someplace where we can hide the truth of what's happening here from him." Kitty sounded freaked. Both Magic and Alejandro looked sympathetic.
"A diversion?" Alejandro said, arching a brow.
"Preferably one where no one gets hurt, and nothing blows up," Kitty suggested.
"I believe I might have what you are looking for," Alejandro said, with another grin.
"And this would be what?" Magic asked.
"Prior to my special mission pumpkin hunting, I was redesigning a display in our windows and doors department. I would be delighted if Mr. Daniels would be the first to lay eyes upon it," Alejandro offered.
"That would be terrific," Kitty said.
"When God closes a door he opens a window," Magic declared.
"Indeed," Alejandro commented. "Magic, why don't you join me. We'll welcome Mr. Daniels into the store and guide him right past what I suspect is mayhem in the making, and steer him around back to my display. You can, during our little journey, tell him how pleased you are to have been promoted, and perhaps even share your store-related goals with him."
"I don't have any store-related goals," Magic explained. "I'd like to be an opera singer."
"I had no idea," Alejandro exclaimed. "Sing a little something for us."
"Guys, do you think we can have Career Day another time?" Kitty quipped, trying not to be rude. "They're coming in."
"Who's they?" Alejandro asked.
"There's some cute guy with Daniels," Kitty said.
"Golly jeepers, what is he wearing?" Alejandro asked, gazing at the approaching Larry Dale, who was talking animatedly with Mick Daniels.
"I think he looks nice," Kitty said, blushing slightly.
"Maybe if he was in Saturday Night Fever," Magic replied, arching a brow.
"Stop. Both of you. Prepare to do battle," Kitty stated.
"Battle?" Magic said, his face exploding into anticipation.
"It's just an expression," Kitty said. "Okay, you create the diversion. Have Daniels' companion meet me at Customer Service in say five minutes. I have to check on something first," Kitty said. "Good luck. Make me proud."
The front doors whooshed open and Alejandro and Magic took off as if they'd just heard the Good Humor ice cream truck.
"Please, God. Please don't let them screw this up," Kitty whispered. Her eyes met Larry Dale's, and she was almost positive he winked at her.
He probably has something in his eye.
As anxious as Kitty was to watch the scene out front, she knew she was needed elsewhere. She knocked on the door.
Bernice answered.
Stockwell and Longworth were both eating. Stockwell's fingers were red from the umpteen bags of Doritos he had consumed. Longworth was licking chocolate from his fingers, all the while examining them with the unfocused wonder of a newborn.
Stockwell was moaning.
"They don't look any better," Kitty ascertained.
"I think they are," Penelope said.
"What did we find out?" Kitty asked.
"Well, I Googled the crap out of it," Bernice explained. "Here's the deal. There's a lot of information, but I think a lot of it was written by stoners."
"Super," Kitty growled.
"Carbs should help, and they're eating like pigs, so we should be on the right track," Penelope remarked.
"Exercise helps, too. Like running," Bernice said. "I'm just not sure we want to let them out of the office. Unless......"
"Unless what?" Kitty asked.
"We could tie them together, and tie them to Penelope. She could run them until they fall over," Bernice declared, obviously pleased with her idea.
"Oh, now that sounds good," Kitty said sarcastically. "Mick Daniels is here. I'm sure having our store managers tied together and running like a couple of Iditerod dogs wouldn't attract any attention at all."
"I'm just trying to help," Bernice whined.
"I know. I'm sorry," Kitty said.
Suddenly both men stopped chewing and stared at her.
"What?" Kitty said.
"We're out of food," Stockwell slurred.
"Order three pizzas," Kitty said.
"Three?" Bernice asked.
"Yes. Three," Kitty replied. "One for each of them, and one to lure Mick Daniels into the break room. We have got to keep them busy until I can find Slick Mitchell. If Daniels finds out this store is unsupervised, we're all gonna be fired," Kitty said.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Bernice quipped.
"Just order the pizzas please," Kitty begged.
"Who's gonna pay for them?" Penelope asked.
"And pick them up?" Bernice said.
"Have them delivered. We'll pay for them out of our petty cash," Kitty said.
"That's for emergencies," Penelope reminded her.
"And what, pray tell, do you think this is?" Kitty asked, pointing to the two men at the top of the local Tommy food chain.
Both were drooling.
"This is definitely an emergency," Bernice declared.
"Exactly," Kitty said. She turned toward the door, but before she could reach for the knob, her phone rang. It was Wilton. He sounded hysterical.
"What is going on?" Kitty asked.
"There are zombies in the store,- " Wilton shrieked.
"What?" Kitty asked
"Zombies. The place is crawling with them," Wilton whispered.
"Not funny," Kitty griped. And she hung up.
The phone rang again. Immediately.
It was Chewie.
"What, Chewie? I'm a little busy," Kitty said bluntly.
"There are zombies in the Electrical department," Chewie said in a hushed tone.
"Seriously?" Kitty said, feeling faint.
"Seriously," Chewie said. "I'd tell you to come see for yourself, but in the interest of your survival, it would be wrong of me to ask that of you. Oh my, God. They're coming. They see me. Kitty, I have never told you how much I enjoy working with you, hearing your stories, and I think I might be in love with your grandmother. If I wasn't about to die, I would never have said that, and Kitty........"
The phone went dead.
The zombie apocalypse.
The diversion of a lifetime.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 36 - Just a Spoonful of Butter Helps the Managers Go Down
"This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius."
Stockwell's voice filled the store, and if Kitty hadn't been so genuinely freaked out, it may have occured to her that Reeve Stockwell was a really good singer. Another voice joined in and Kitty froze.
"LET THE SUN SHINE. LET THE SUN SHINE IN."
Miles Longworth?
What the heck was wrong with Longworth?
Was someone passing around Kool Aid?
Kitty finally made her way to Customer Service where an astonished crowd had gathered. Reeve Stockwell had put down the phone, but was still singing, although no longer over the paging system. He'd obviously needed both hands free to wave his arms enthusiastically over his head.
Bernice Lord sidled up to her. "Told ya," Bernice whispered.
"What happened?" Kitty asked, turning to focus on Bernice, and avoid the Haight Asbury sideshow that was going on behind her.
"No idea," Bernice said. "He was in his office for a long time, and when he came out he was acting all drunk and wild. Does he drink?"
"Stockwell? Don't we all?" Kitty asked. "I don't think he drinks to extreme, but he did hit the Captain a little hard at the Christmas party last year."
"Kitty, sing!" Stockwell screamed, and Kitty jumped so that her feet left the floor. "Sing with me, Kitty!"
Kitty was horrified as she watched Stockwell try to dismount the Customer Service desk. He did so with no grace and thumped to the floor. He rose like a toddler who was just learning to walk, awkward with no sign that he'd been at all injured.
"If I might offer some insight," Wilton Scott said, appearing as if from nowhere, holding Ada MacKenzie's million-year-old brownie pan.
"I'll take anything right about now," Kitty wined.
"I trust the majority of this has been consumed by our Mr. Stockwell. I also believe our Mr. Longworth might have helped himself to a sliver or two," Wilton explained.
"The brownies did this?" Kitty asked. "How?"
"Take a whiff," Wilton suggested and Kitty did. The pan smelled like a Grateful Dead concert.
"Holy Mary Mother of God," Kitty whispered.
"I trust she's detected the presense of some Mary Jane in this confection," Wilton Scott said triumphantly.
"Some? It smells like Woodstock!" Kitty said softly, trying not to attract any more attention. "Wilton, would you take my keys and go retrieve my grandmother? I think she has some explaining to do."
"Ms. Ada? I'd be delighted," Wilton said thoughtfully.
"I am going to kill her," Kitty practically screamed, as Stockwell and Longworth played air guitar some six feet away.
"With all due respect, Ms. Kitty, your grandmother is ninety-nine years old. In the interest of your freedom, you may want to rely on the calendar to do your dirty deeds," Wilton Scott said, obviously delighted by his considerable insight.
"Yes. Thank you, Wilton. Now, if you are willing to go collect my lovely grandmother, I'd ask you to do so now. You'll find my keys in the Front End office in the top drawer of our desk. Mine have Hello Kitty on the key chain. If my truck does anything weird, which it will likely do, tap the brakes, turn off the radio, hit the left blinker, and that should get you on your way."
"Very well, Kitty. Good luck with this...... situation," Wilton offered, and Kitty smiled weakly.
"Bernice. I need your assistance shepherding Stockwell and Longworth into their offices. You watch Stockwell and we'll have Penelope babysit Longworth."
"Certainly." Bernice turned on her heel and appeared three minutes later with Penelope Ross.
"He's good," Penelope said, pointing at Stockwell, who was obviously very well versed on the art of air guitar. He was down on his knees like Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future. Longworth had tied a Tommy Tool Town shirt around his head like a bandanna, and was doing some crazy dance likely to make it rain for years.
"If I wasn't right here, I'd never believe I was seeing this," Kitty nearly groaned.
"He is really good," Bernice said, as she and Penelope joined the band. Penelope flipped over a Tommy bucket and took air drums, while Bernice launched into a wicked air violin.
"I hate to break up the band," Kitty said, "but let's get them out of sight before someone calls the police, the CDC, or Ozzy Osborne shows up to recruit you all," Kitty said, dragging Bernice and Penelope away from the mayhem, which was progressing nicely.
"I don't really want to be alone with them. What if they turn violent?" Penelope whined.
"I don't think they will, but I agree," Kitty said, as her voice started to quake.
They wouldn't, would they?
"All right. Change of plans. Let's get both of them into Stockwell's office. I don't want either of them alone with either of you. Bernice, you are the YouTube, Google, Facebook, and anything computer oriented, kind of girl. Find me something, anything that explains how to get this out of their systems fast," Kitty begged.
"Aye, aye, captain," Bernice said with a salute.
"Here kitty kitty," Stockwell slurred, and Kitty rolled her eyes. Stockwell toddled to where the three girls stood, with Longworth behind him. Longworth was playing air saxophone and singing loudly.
"Who can it be now?" Longworth sang, as customers applauded.
"Men at Work," an older customer commented appreciatively.
"We're men at work," Stockwell said, and Miles Longworth burst out in a fit of the giggles. "Kitty, would you like to join me for some Doritos? I have some in my office. They are quite delicious."
Kitty jumped at the opportunity to get Stockell and Longworth away from customers. "Of course, sir."
"Excellent," Reeve Stockwell said. "Now, one more flavor, flavor......" Stockwell struggled for the right word. "One more thing."
"What's that?" Kitty asked, as she began half dragging Stockwell along. Miles Longworth strolled along behind, gazing up at the flourescent lights as if he'd never seen them before.
"Where exactly is my office?" Stockwell asked. He was becoming somewhat more coherent.
"We're going there now."
When both men were secured in Stockwell's office, under the watchful eye of the Bernice and Penelope team, Kitty bravely ventured onto the floor toward Customer Serice. She had a feeling, "damage control," was about to become her middle name. The crowd had dispered. Mags Davidson was controlling traffic, and the remaining cashiers, minus Bernice and Penelope, were stationed at their registers.
"What happened?" Kitty asked Mags.
"I told the customers we were celebrating our individuality, and that Stockwell and Longworth were community theater actors rehearsing an upcoming show about the sixties," Mags explained.
"That is brilliant," Kitty shrieked, raising her hand for a high five, which Mags obliged.
"One problem solved. Now I just have to figure out what to do about stall four in the Ladies Room," Mags said, looking forlorn.
"What happened to that?" Kitty asked.
"All plugged up with the brownies," Mags said.
"Oh. Gotcha," Kitty said. A mere moment later, Wilton Scott walked in with Ada MacKenzie in tow. She was dressed as Kermit the Frog, and Kitty almost fainted.
"I'd say your grandmother's here," Mags said.
"The Lord is my shepherd.....," Kitty mumbled.
"Hello, dear," Ada said, her huge frog feet flopping along on the floor. Ada teetered, and Mags reached out to steady her.
"What in the Sam hell?" Kitty said. "Gran, why are you dressed in a frog costume?" Kitty asked.
"Going to a Halloween party at the Senior Center," Ada replied.
"When?" Kitty asked.
"In an hour," Ada said.
"But Halloween isn't for another two weeks," Kitty reminded her.
"We're all over eighty-five. We may not live that long," Ada quipped, and Kitty sighed.
"She has a point," Mags said.
"She always does," Kitty replied.
Kitty had called Sonny Brooks to officiate Ada's questioning, and Sonny rounded the corner and burst into great gasps of laughter.
"It's a gas, ain't it?" Ada said, as Sonny attempted to collect himself.
"It is indeed," Sonny agreed. "So, what brings you to our store today, Ms. MacKenzie?"
"My Kitty has sent for me. I trust it has something to do with the brownies. I was rethinking them," Ada admitted.
"Gran, what's in the brownies?" Kitty asked, once all three were seated behind customer service.
"Magic butter," Ada said, hanging her head.
"Magic butter?" Sonny repeated, and although he knew this was a serious situation, he couldn't help but laugh again.
"Do you realize what you've done? Mr. Stockwell and Mr. Longworth are in Stockwell's office right now, and they're both so high they can't function. Grandma, you're going to get me fired. Actually, if anyone finds out about this, I'll probably end up in jail. I brought a narcotic into the store, into my place of employment. Grandma, what the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking it would be helpful if that nice Mr. Stockwell wasn't so uptight. Seth told me the brownies had a pleasant mellowing effect," Ada said, sniffling and fighting back tears.
"Gran, don't cry. Please tell me who Seth is."
"The paper boy," Ada replied.
"He told you about these brownies?" Kitty asked.
"He sold me the magic butter."
"You bought butter from the paper boy?" Sonny Brooks asked, and Kitty could tell he was barely containing his hysteria.
"He's a nice boy. He is putting himself through college," Ada said.
"By selling butter made from marijuana," Kitty said through a sigh.
"Holy jeepers, is that what that is?" Ada asked, as her eyes twinkled. "I thought I recognized that smell. I only smelled that once before, at that famous Woodstock gathering some years back. My God the air was full of it."
"You went to Woodstock?" Kitty asked, and Ada smiled a toothless smile.
"I did. It was amazing. So much music, so many people, all those naked folks playing in the mud. I didn't take my clothes off, mind you. I was already getting up there in years, and these things here~" Ada said, pointing to her chest, "they don't stand the test of time. Couldn't have these ladies swinging about. I was afraid I'd end up on the cover of National Geographic," Ada explained thoughtfully, and this time Sonny Brooks failed to contain his laughter.
"Grandma, is there more of this butter?" Kitty asked.
"I would imagine, but I don't have any. I put all of mine into the brownies," Ada said. "Are you gonna have me arrested?"
"No," Sonny Brooks said.
"Good. I gotta get home so as me and Helen can pick up Maude in twenty minutes. She's going as Wonder Woman and I cannot wait to see this. Wouldn't miss it for all the tea in China. Maude's got the vericose veins something awful, and she could stand to lay off the rocky road. I imagine we'll all be thinking, 'I wonder if Maude owns a mirror," Ada commented, earning herself another outburst from Sonny Brooks.
"Ms. MacKenzie, you are an absolute hoot, but I gotta ask you not to send any more baked goods to the store. We're gonna try to keep this under wraps, get these guys feeling back to normal, and get them home."
"You have to promise, Gran," Kitty begged.
"I promise. No more magic brownies," Ada rather whined.
"Good. Wilton Scott will drive you back home," Kitty said, walking Ada to the door.
"My gracious, it's like riding with an encyclopedia," Ada said, and Kitty finally smiled.
"I know. One more thing, Gran. Where are your teeth?"
"Well, the tops are at home. Can't find the bottoms anywhere," Ada said, and Kitty rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't be an issue. Most of what we're having at the party will be pureed. None of us can digest anything anymore. You get a bunch of centenarians in the room and the farts alone could kill you."
"Okay, Gran. Go. We'll talk more later."
Wilton Scott appeared to collect Ada, and Kitty watched them leave. Ada was a sight in the enormous costume, and from several feet away, it was obvious that Wilton was talking a blue streak.
Before Kitty could turn away from the doors, she saw Tommy's regional manager, Mick Daniels walking casually across the parking lot, talking to a dashing man in a lovely suit.
All hell was about to break loose.
Stockwell's voice filled the store, and if Kitty hadn't been so genuinely freaked out, it may have occured to her that Reeve Stockwell was a really good singer. Another voice joined in and Kitty froze.
"LET THE SUN SHINE. LET THE SUN SHINE IN."
Miles Longworth?
What the heck was wrong with Longworth?
Was someone passing around Kool Aid?
Kitty finally made her way to Customer Service where an astonished crowd had gathered. Reeve Stockwell had put down the phone, but was still singing, although no longer over the paging system. He'd obviously needed both hands free to wave his arms enthusiastically over his head.
Bernice Lord sidled up to her. "Told ya," Bernice whispered.
"What happened?" Kitty asked, turning to focus on Bernice, and avoid the Haight Asbury sideshow that was going on behind her.
"No idea," Bernice said. "He was in his office for a long time, and when he came out he was acting all drunk and wild. Does he drink?"
"Stockwell? Don't we all?" Kitty asked. "I don't think he drinks to extreme, but he did hit the Captain a little hard at the Christmas party last year."
"Kitty, sing!" Stockwell screamed, and Kitty jumped so that her feet left the floor. "Sing with me, Kitty!"
Kitty was horrified as she watched Stockwell try to dismount the Customer Service desk. He did so with no grace and thumped to the floor. He rose like a toddler who was just learning to walk, awkward with no sign that he'd been at all injured.
"If I might offer some insight," Wilton Scott said, appearing as if from nowhere, holding Ada MacKenzie's million-year-old brownie pan.
"I'll take anything right about now," Kitty wined.
"I trust the majority of this has been consumed by our Mr. Stockwell. I also believe our Mr. Longworth might have helped himself to a sliver or two," Wilton explained.
"The brownies did this?" Kitty asked. "How?"
"Take a whiff," Wilton suggested and Kitty did. The pan smelled like a Grateful Dead concert.
"Holy Mary Mother of God," Kitty whispered.
"I trust she's detected the presense of some Mary Jane in this confection," Wilton Scott said triumphantly.
"Some? It smells like Woodstock!" Kitty said softly, trying not to attract any more attention. "Wilton, would you take my keys and go retrieve my grandmother? I think she has some explaining to do."
"Ms. Ada? I'd be delighted," Wilton said thoughtfully.
"I am going to kill her," Kitty practically screamed, as Stockwell and Longworth played air guitar some six feet away.
"With all due respect, Ms. Kitty, your grandmother is ninety-nine years old. In the interest of your freedom, you may want to rely on the calendar to do your dirty deeds," Wilton Scott said, obviously delighted by his considerable insight.
"Yes. Thank you, Wilton. Now, if you are willing to go collect my lovely grandmother, I'd ask you to do so now. You'll find my keys in the Front End office in the top drawer of our desk. Mine have Hello Kitty on the key chain. If my truck does anything weird, which it will likely do, tap the brakes, turn off the radio, hit the left blinker, and that should get you on your way."
"Very well, Kitty. Good luck with this...... situation," Wilton offered, and Kitty smiled weakly.
"Bernice. I need your assistance shepherding Stockwell and Longworth into their offices. You watch Stockwell and we'll have Penelope babysit Longworth."
"Certainly." Bernice turned on her heel and appeared three minutes later with Penelope Ross.
"He's good," Penelope said, pointing at Stockwell, who was obviously very well versed on the art of air guitar. He was down on his knees like Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future. Longworth had tied a Tommy Tool Town shirt around his head like a bandanna, and was doing some crazy dance likely to make it rain for years.
"If I wasn't right here, I'd never believe I was seeing this," Kitty nearly groaned.
"He is really good," Bernice said, as she and Penelope joined the band. Penelope flipped over a Tommy bucket and took air drums, while Bernice launched into a wicked air violin.
"I hate to break up the band," Kitty said, "but let's get them out of sight before someone calls the police, the CDC, or Ozzy Osborne shows up to recruit you all," Kitty said, dragging Bernice and Penelope away from the mayhem, which was progressing nicely.
"I don't really want to be alone with them. What if they turn violent?" Penelope whined.
"I don't think they will, but I agree," Kitty said, as her voice started to quake.
They wouldn't, would they?
"All right. Change of plans. Let's get both of them into Stockwell's office. I don't want either of them alone with either of you. Bernice, you are the YouTube, Google, Facebook, and anything computer oriented, kind of girl. Find me something, anything that explains how to get this out of their systems fast," Kitty begged.
"Aye, aye, captain," Bernice said with a salute.
"Here kitty kitty," Stockwell slurred, and Kitty rolled her eyes. Stockwell toddled to where the three girls stood, with Longworth behind him. Longworth was playing air saxophone and singing loudly.
"Who can it be now?" Longworth sang, as customers applauded.
"Men at Work," an older customer commented appreciatively.
"We're men at work," Stockwell said, and Miles Longworth burst out in a fit of the giggles. "Kitty, would you like to join me for some Doritos? I have some in my office. They are quite delicious."
Kitty jumped at the opportunity to get Stockell and Longworth away from customers. "Of course, sir."
"Excellent," Reeve Stockwell said. "Now, one more flavor, flavor......" Stockwell struggled for the right word. "One more thing."
"What's that?" Kitty asked, as she began half dragging Stockwell along. Miles Longworth strolled along behind, gazing up at the flourescent lights as if he'd never seen them before.
"Where exactly is my office?" Stockwell asked. He was becoming somewhat more coherent.
"We're going there now."
When both men were secured in Stockwell's office, under the watchful eye of the Bernice and Penelope team, Kitty bravely ventured onto the floor toward Customer Serice. She had a feeling, "damage control," was about to become her middle name. The crowd had dispered. Mags Davidson was controlling traffic, and the remaining cashiers, minus Bernice and Penelope, were stationed at their registers.
"What happened?" Kitty asked Mags.
"I told the customers we were celebrating our individuality, and that Stockwell and Longworth were community theater actors rehearsing an upcoming show about the sixties," Mags explained.
"That is brilliant," Kitty shrieked, raising her hand for a high five, which Mags obliged.
"One problem solved. Now I just have to figure out what to do about stall four in the Ladies Room," Mags said, looking forlorn.
"What happened to that?" Kitty asked.
"All plugged up with the brownies," Mags said.
"Oh. Gotcha," Kitty said. A mere moment later, Wilton Scott walked in with Ada MacKenzie in tow. She was dressed as Kermit the Frog, and Kitty almost fainted.
"I'd say your grandmother's here," Mags said.
"The Lord is my shepherd.....," Kitty mumbled.
"Hello, dear," Ada said, her huge frog feet flopping along on the floor. Ada teetered, and Mags reached out to steady her.
"What in the Sam hell?" Kitty said. "Gran, why are you dressed in a frog costume?" Kitty asked.
"Going to a Halloween party at the Senior Center," Ada replied.
"When?" Kitty asked.
"In an hour," Ada said.
"But Halloween isn't for another two weeks," Kitty reminded her.
"We're all over eighty-five. We may not live that long," Ada quipped, and Kitty sighed.
"She has a point," Mags said.
"She always does," Kitty replied.
Kitty had called Sonny Brooks to officiate Ada's questioning, and Sonny rounded the corner and burst into great gasps of laughter.
"It's a gas, ain't it?" Ada said, as Sonny attempted to collect himself.
"It is indeed," Sonny agreed. "So, what brings you to our store today, Ms. MacKenzie?"
"My Kitty has sent for me. I trust it has something to do with the brownies. I was rethinking them," Ada admitted.
"Gran, what's in the brownies?" Kitty asked, once all three were seated behind customer service.
"Magic butter," Ada said, hanging her head.
"Magic butter?" Sonny repeated, and although he knew this was a serious situation, he couldn't help but laugh again.
"Do you realize what you've done? Mr. Stockwell and Mr. Longworth are in Stockwell's office right now, and they're both so high they can't function. Grandma, you're going to get me fired. Actually, if anyone finds out about this, I'll probably end up in jail. I brought a narcotic into the store, into my place of employment. Grandma, what the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking it would be helpful if that nice Mr. Stockwell wasn't so uptight. Seth told me the brownies had a pleasant mellowing effect," Ada said, sniffling and fighting back tears.
"Gran, don't cry. Please tell me who Seth is."
"The paper boy," Ada replied.
"He told you about these brownies?" Kitty asked.
"He sold me the magic butter."
"You bought butter from the paper boy?" Sonny Brooks asked, and Kitty could tell he was barely containing his hysteria.
"He's a nice boy. He is putting himself through college," Ada said.
"By selling butter made from marijuana," Kitty said through a sigh.
"Holy jeepers, is that what that is?" Ada asked, as her eyes twinkled. "I thought I recognized that smell. I only smelled that once before, at that famous Woodstock gathering some years back. My God the air was full of it."
"You went to Woodstock?" Kitty asked, and Ada smiled a toothless smile.
"I did. It was amazing. So much music, so many people, all those naked folks playing in the mud. I didn't take my clothes off, mind you. I was already getting up there in years, and these things here~" Ada said, pointing to her chest, "they don't stand the test of time. Couldn't have these ladies swinging about. I was afraid I'd end up on the cover of National Geographic," Ada explained thoughtfully, and this time Sonny Brooks failed to contain his laughter.
"Grandma, is there more of this butter?" Kitty asked.
"I would imagine, but I don't have any. I put all of mine into the brownies," Ada said. "Are you gonna have me arrested?"
"No," Sonny Brooks said.
"Good. I gotta get home so as me and Helen can pick up Maude in twenty minutes. She's going as Wonder Woman and I cannot wait to see this. Wouldn't miss it for all the tea in China. Maude's got the vericose veins something awful, and she could stand to lay off the rocky road. I imagine we'll all be thinking, 'I wonder if Maude owns a mirror," Ada commented, earning herself another outburst from Sonny Brooks.
"Ms. MacKenzie, you are an absolute hoot, but I gotta ask you not to send any more baked goods to the store. We're gonna try to keep this under wraps, get these guys feeling back to normal, and get them home."
"You have to promise, Gran," Kitty begged.
"I promise. No more magic brownies," Ada rather whined.
"Good. Wilton Scott will drive you back home," Kitty said, walking Ada to the door.
"My gracious, it's like riding with an encyclopedia," Ada said, and Kitty finally smiled.
"I know. One more thing, Gran. Where are your teeth?"
"Well, the tops are at home. Can't find the bottoms anywhere," Ada said, and Kitty rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't be an issue. Most of what we're having at the party will be pureed. None of us can digest anything anymore. You get a bunch of centenarians in the room and the farts alone could kill you."
"Okay, Gran. Go. We'll talk more later."
Wilton Scott appeared to collect Ada, and Kitty watched them leave. Ada was a sight in the enormous costume, and from several feet away, it was obvious that Wilton was talking a blue streak.
Before Kitty could turn away from the doors, she saw Tommy's regional manager, Mick Daniels walking casually across the parking lot, talking to a dashing man in a lovely suit.
All hell was about to break loose.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 35 - Reeve Stockwell - A Man Gone Completely Bananas
Mick Daniels opened his eyes, and for a moment he had no idea where he was. Shards of sunlight crept through ugly draperies, and a moldy smell assaulted his senses.
"Mornin', sunshine," Larry Dale said with a chuckle. "Bad news, boss. We overslept."
"Seriously?" Daniels said, sitting up and stretching. "How could that happen? Do you think we were drugged?"
"By whom and with what?" Larry Dale asked.
"Good point," Daniels replied. "So, start my day with a bang, Dale. What time is it?"
"Almost noon," Larry Dale said, sounding as surprised as Daniels.
"We were gonna be on the road by eight. This is not good," Daniels said.
"I beg to differ, sunshine," Larry Dale replied.
"Stop calling me that," Daniels retorted, as he stood and tried to brush the wrinkles from his suit. "So, how is this good, Pollyanna?" Daniels said, firing back at Dale.
"We blitz 'em. You say they don't know we're coming, but maybe they do. Somehow they always know we're coming. By rising late, and therefore arriving late, we catch them off guard. If they somehow found out we were coming, by now they figure the information was wrong. Let's get cleaned up, get some chow, get on the road, and pounce on them in the middle of the day, when they've really got the rhythm of how things work in that cluster.....," Dale said, not finishing the word, and therefore avoiding the need to use profanity.
"I like how you think, Dale."
"Thanks, boss. It's been working out well for me."
"All right. I need a fresh suit and I need to brush my teeth, and I am NOT going into that bathroom. So, let's find someplace to stop with a bathroom that looks like it's been cleaned at least once since Y2K," McDaniels exclaimed.
"And let's get some donuts," Larry Dale said. "Nothing like donuts and coffee on the road. And, I wish we could get our hands one some Twizzlers. There isn't anything like Twizzlers for road snacks. I always said so."
"Dale, you are an odd fellow."
"Thanks, boss."
"That's a compliment?" Daniels asked.
"It is to me. The only thing more frightening than a night at the Three Fellows Inn is the idea of being typical, normal...... Boring."
Larry Dale was about to have a banner day. Some day, in the future, when he was old and gray, he would remember the day he spent at the original Tommy's, original tool store. He'd remember the day as being anything but "normal",
****************
Mags Davidson stood at Tommy's entry doors. She took a timid step and the doors opened with a familiar "whoosh."
Could she?
Could she go inside?
She did. She kept her eyes forward and barely spoke to the people who greeted her. How could she talk to any of them? Somebody killed JJ and at least three people were in on it, and at least one was a woman. Maybe it was Daisy Cates. She always seemed one angry customer away from totally losing it, and didn't menopausal women sometimes crack? Daisy always said, "the older I get, the more I want to kill people," so maybe Daisy finally lost it, killed someone, killed JJ.
"Oh, JJ," Mags whispered, as a tear slid from beneath her Target sunglasses.
Why would anyone kill JJ? Why JJ? JJ wasn't a threat to anyone, was she? How much did Mags really know about JJ?
"Only what she told me," Mags whispered, as she passed Alejandro, who was helping a customer with a pink walker, pick out just the right pumpkin.
"Can't find the rest of the pumpkins," Alejandro said to Mags. "Nobody can. Hope they turn up soon. These things are just flyin' out of here," he added, and Mags ignored him.
Did you kill JJ? Did you, Alejandro? Did you hide behind your sweet, quirky, ginger nature, and give JJ forty whacks with an axe you got out of aisle 66? Should it be 666, you evil ginger, you killer, you snot ass, you!
Mags thoughts were wild, and she momentarily steadied herself against a freezer. Maybe JJ was stuffed into one of the freezers or refrigerators. She opened the one she leaned against. No JJ.
But JJ wasn't in any of the freezers. JJ was in the ground behind Tommy's, wrapped in an ugly blanket or rug. JJ was dead, and Mags needed to find out why. If not, Mags would be the next one pushing up daisies.
****************
Kitty Richardson arrived at Tommy's Tool Town two hours later, laden with an enormous pan of brownies, and the weirdest card ever. It was addressed to Reeve Stockwell from one Ada MacKenzie, and it said:
Thanks for last night.
Ada had been baking like a mad woman when Kitty ventured into the insanity wing of the Richardson residence, just past 10:00 AM.
"I'm making something for that lovely Mr. Stockwell," Ada had said, and Kitty, with deep black circles beneath her eyes, and the gait of someone who'd been on a three-day bender, couldn't help but smile.
Ada was a gem. A gem dressed in Winnie the Pooh pajamas, a Hawaiian inspired mumu, and yellow Chuck Taylors, but a gem nonetheless.
It was impossible not to love her.
Now, several hours later, Kitty balanced the brownies, the bizarre card, her purse, the largest Red Bull ever made, and her lunch pail, all the while clutching Melvin in her left hand like a security blanket.
Stockwell passed her in the lightbulb aisle.
"You look beat, Kitty," Reeve Stockwell said. Stockwell was rumpled and looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and Kitty, whose filtration system was seriously tweaked from the "week from hell," fired back.
"Ain't that the pot calling the kettle black," Kitty retorted.
Stockwell paled. "Truce?" he said softly. "Look. We're in this together. We may as well try to get back to being buddies."
Kitty smiled a weak and tired smile. "Truce," she said. "Here. To celebrate the truce, a gift from the weirdest, most lovable grandmother ever born."
"From Ada?" Stockwell asked, taking the huge pan.
"Yes. For last night, and don't let that sink in too deeply, and don't let it go to a visual," Kitty said, and Stockwell chuckled.
"Right," he said, pulling back the foil and gazing upon the brownies with a grateful expression. "I'll be in my office," Stockwell said.
"Do not eat them all," Kitty chastised.
"You know me so well," Stockwell said, turning on his heel, and heading in the direction of the front end. "I'll share them with Longworth. He isn't looking so hot today either."
"Good idea," Kitty said. "I'm gonna relieve Mags, who is in the back fighting with next week's schedule. We're short with JJ missing," Kitty said, as Stockwell walked away. "Thanks for your concern," she whispered.
Kitty found Mags Davidson in the back office, head down, pencil twitching wildly. "How bad it is?" Kitty asked.
"Bad," Mags said. "We don't have anyone to work Tuesday. No one. How can we run a front end with no one to run register on Tuesday?"
"We'll figure it out," Kitty said, and Mags turned her tear-stained face toward Kitty. "Don't cry, Mags. It's just a schedule. We'll figure it out. Let's take the folks with open availability and switch some of them to Tuesday, and we'll put the others in their spots. It's not that hard," Kitty said.
"I miss JJ," Mags whined. "I can't believe she's dead," Mags said without thinking.
"She's not dead," Kitty said, looking shocked.
"She is, too. I just know it," Mags said, not meeting Kitty's eyes.
"Do you know something I don't know?" Kitty asked, and Mags winced.
"No," Mags replied.
"You're lying," Kitty said.
"I just need to figure some things out, and then I'll tell you everything I know. For now, can you help me with this? Barbie is up front, and Penelope and Bernice are here, and Amber is on Customer Service. Today is looking good, but next week is gonna just about kill us," Mags said.
Truer words had never been spoken.
****************
Forty-five minutes later, Reeve Stockwell sat at his desk, inside a room that had begun to spin wildly. He'd finally done it. He'd finally sent himself straight into a diabetic coma. "Sweet Jeepers," he slurred, trying to right himself against the arm of his chair. He slid to the floor. He'd eaten a good third of the brownies, minus the two he'd given selflessly to Miles Longworth, yet he had an appetite like a horse. He had to get something to satisfy his cravings.
He crawled to the door, used the doorknob to get himself to his feet, extracted his debit card from his back pocket, and made his way slowly to Bernice's register. He grabbed random snacks from the impulse shopping rack and threw them on the counter.
Bernice looked at him strangely.
"What?" he said, as four Bernices wavered before him.
Yup! He was dying.
Talk about bum luck. There's two thirds of a pan of brownies left, Stockwell thought.
"You all right, sir?" Bernice asked.
"I'm fine," Stockwell said, feeling as though he were losing control of his lips. He laughed. Stockwell wasn't sure what all the fuss was over. Dying was fun, and he giggled as he surrendered himself to death's outstretched arms. "Call Kitty, and my wife, and tell them I'm going to die. They should know. And tell Miles he's been a good friend, and tell Slick Mitchell he looks like a fairy in all those designer clothes, and tell him I scratched his Mercedes one day with a bottle cap. It was me. I was pissed that he had a Mercedes and I had a Chevette."
"Sir?" Bernice said, looking frightened.
"Just tell him, and call my Kitty and wife. Oh, and tell my wife not to bury me in that asinine Garanimals shirt, and if she does, I'll come back as a ghost and blow her scrapbooking shit all over the place. You got that, Bernice?" Stockwell rambled.
"Sure thing, sir," Bernice replied.
Stockwell staggered away and Bernice grabbed her phone. Kitty answered on the first ring.
"Yes, Bernice?"
"Something's wrong with Stockwell," Bernice practically shrieked.
"What?" Kitty asked.
"Well, he is rambling like a crazy man, he's staggering like a drunk, and he just bought twenty-six dollars worth of junk food."
"Good Lord," Kitty said, as a strange sound was heard overhead. "What in the world is that?"
"That's him," Bernice said, sounding panicked. "Now he's standing on the counter at Customer Service, singing into the paging system. And he's dancing."
"Sit tight, Bernice. I'm pretty sure this might be one of the first signs of the apocalypse."
"I thought you having a date was the first sign."
"You're right. Maybe they don't go in order," Kitty said.
"What do I do?" Bernice said.
"Don't do anything. I'm on my way," Kitty replied. And she hung up.
"Mornin', sunshine," Larry Dale said with a chuckle. "Bad news, boss. We overslept."
"Seriously?" Daniels said, sitting up and stretching. "How could that happen? Do you think we were drugged?"
"By whom and with what?" Larry Dale asked.
"Good point," Daniels replied. "So, start my day with a bang, Dale. What time is it?"
"Almost noon," Larry Dale said, sounding as surprised as Daniels.
"We were gonna be on the road by eight. This is not good," Daniels said.
"I beg to differ, sunshine," Larry Dale replied.
"Stop calling me that," Daniels retorted, as he stood and tried to brush the wrinkles from his suit. "So, how is this good, Pollyanna?" Daniels said, firing back at Dale.
"We blitz 'em. You say they don't know we're coming, but maybe they do. Somehow they always know we're coming. By rising late, and therefore arriving late, we catch them off guard. If they somehow found out we were coming, by now they figure the information was wrong. Let's get cleaned up, get some chow, get on the road, and pounce on them in the middle of the day, when they've really got the rhythm of how things work in that cluster.....," Dale said, not finishing the word, and therefore avoiding the need to use profanity.
"I like how you think, Dale."
"Thanks, boss. It's been working out well for me."
"All right. I need a fresh suit and I need to brush my teeth, and I am NOT going into that bathroom. So, let's find someplace to stop with a bathroom that looks like it's been cleaned at least once since Y2K," McDaniels exclaimed.
"And let's get some donuts," Larry Dale said. "Nothing like donuts and coffee on the road. And, I wish we could get our hands one some Twizzlers. There isn't anything like Twizzlers for road snacks. I always said so."
"Dale, you are an odd fellow."
"Thanks, boss."
"That's a compliment?" Daniels asked.
"It is to me. The only thing more frightening than a night at the Three Fellows Inn is the idea of being typical, normal...... Boring."
Larry Dale was about to have a banner day. Some day, in the future, when he was old and gray, he would remember the day he spent at the original Tommy's, original tool store. He'd remember the day as being anything but "normal",
****************
Mags Davidson stood at Tommy's entry doors. She took a timid step and the doors opened with a familiar "whoosh."
Could she?
Could she go inside?
She did. She kept her eyes forward and barely spoke to the people who greeted her. How could she talk to any of them? Somebody killed JJ and at least three people were in on it, and at least one was a woman. Maybe it was Daisy Cates. She always seemed one angry customer away from totally losing it, and didn't menopausal women sometimes crack? Daisy always said, "the older I get, the more I want to kill people," so maybe Daisy finally lost it, killed someone, killed JJ.
"Oh, JJ," Mags whispered, as a tear slid from beneath her Target sunglasses.
Why would anyone kill JJ? Why JJ? JJ wasn't a threat to anyone, was she? How much did Mags really know about JJ?
"Only what she told me," Mags whispered, as she passed Alejandro, who was helping a customer with a pink walker, pick out just the right pumpkin.
"Can't find the rest of the pumpkins," Alejandro said to Mags. "Nobody can. Hope they turn up soon. These things are just flyin' out of here," he added, and Mags ignored him.
Did you kill JJ? Did you, Alejandro? Did you hide behind your sweet, quirky, ginger nature, and give JJ forty whacks with an axe you got out of aisle 66? Should it be 666, you evil ginger, you killer, you snot ass, you!
Mags thoughts were wild, and she momentarily steadied herself against a freezer. Maybe JJ was stuffed into one of the freezers or refrigerators. She opened the one she leaned against. No JJ.
But JJ wasn't in any of the freezers. JJ was in the ground behind Tommy's, wrapped in an ugly blanket or rug. JJ was dead, and Mags needed to find out why. If not, Mags would be the next one pushing up daisies.
****************
Kitty Richardson arrived at Tommy's Tool Town two hours later, laden with an enormous pan of brownies, and the weirdest card ever. It was addressed to Reeve Stockwell from one Ada MacKenzie, and it said:
Thanks for last night.
Ada had been baking like a mad woman when Kitty ventured into the insanity wing of the Richardson residence, just past 10:00 AM.
"I'm making something for that lovely Mr. Stockwell," Ada had said, and Kitty, with deep black circles beneath her eyes, and the gait of someone who'd been on a three-day bender, couldn't help but smile.
Ada was a gem. A gem dressed in Winnie the Pooh pajamas, a Hawaiian inspired mumu, and yellow Chuck Taylors, but a gem nonetheless.
It was impossible not to love her.
Now, several hours later, Kitty balanced the brownies, the bizarre card, her purse, the largest Red Bull ever made, and her lunch pail, all the while clutching Melvin in her left hand like a security blanket.
Stockwell passed her in the lightbulb aisle.
"You look beat, Kitty," Reeve Stockwell said. Stockwell was rumpled and looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and Kitty, whose filtration system was seriously tweaked from the "week from hell," fired back.
"Ain't that the pot calling the kettle black," Kitty retorted.
Stockwell paled. "Truce?" he said softly. "Look. We're in this together. We may as well try to get back to being buddies."
Kitty smiled a weak and tired smile. "Truce," she said. "Here. To celebrate the truce, a gift from the weirdest, most lovable grandmother ever born."
"From Ada?" Stockwell asked, taking the huge pan.
"Yes. For last night, and don't let that sink in too deeply, and don't let it go to a visual," Kitty said, and Stockwell chuckled.
"Right," he said, pulling back the foil and gazing upon the brownies with a grateful expression. "I'll be in my office," Stockwell said.
"Do not eat them all," Kitty chastised.
"You know me so well," Stockwell said, turning on his heel, and heading in the direction of the front end. "I'll share them with Longworth. He isn't looking so hot today either."
"Good idea," Kitty said. "I'm gonna relieve Mags, who is in the back fighting with next week's schedule. We're short with JJ missing," Kitty said, as Stockwell walked away. "Thanks for your concern," she whispered.
Kitty found Mags Davidson in the back office, head down, pencil twitching wildly. "How bad it is?" Kitty asked.
"Bad," Mags said. "We don't have anyone to work Tuesday. No one. How can we run a front end with no one to run register on Tuesday?"
"We'll figure it out," Kitty said, and Mags turned her tear-stained face toward Kitty. "Don't cry, Mags. It's just a schedule. We'll figure it out. Let's take the folks with open availability and switch some of them to Tuesday, and we'll put the others in their spots. It's not that hard," Kitty said.
"I miss JJ," Mags whined. "I can't believe she's dead," Mags said without thinking.
"She's not dead," Kitty said, looking shocked.
"She is, too. I just know it," Mags said, not meeting Kitty's eyes.
"Do you know something I don't know?" Kitty asked, and Mags winced.
"No," Mags replied.
"You're lying," Kitty said.
"I just need to figure some things out, and then I'll tell you everything I know. For now, can you help me with this? Barbie is up front, and Penelope and Bernice are here, and Amber is on Customer Service. Today is looking good, but next week is gonna just about kill us," Mags said.
Truer words had never been spoken.
****************
Forty-five minutes later, Reeve Stockwell sat at his desk, inside a room that had begun to spin wildly. He'd finally done it. He'd finally sent himself straight into a diabetic coma. "Sweet Jeepers," he slurred, trying to right himself against the arm of his chair. He slid to the floor. He'd eaten a good third of the brownies, minus the two he'd given selflessly to Miles Longworth, yet he had an appetite like a horse. He had to get something to satisfy his cravings.
He crawled to the door, used the doorknob to get himself to his feet, extracted his debit card from his back pocket, and made his way slowly to Bernice's register. He grabbed random snacks from the impulse shopping rack and threw them on the counter.
Bernice looked at him strangely.
"What?" he said, as four Bernices wavered before him.
Yup! He was dying.
Talk about bum luck. There's two thirds of a pan of brownies left, Stockwell thought.
"You all right, sir?" Bernice asked.
"I'm fine," Stockwell said, feeling as though he were losing control of his lips. He laughed. Stockwell wasn't sure what all the fuss was over. Dying was fun, and he giggled as he surrendered himself to death's outstretched arms. "Call Kitty, and my wife, and tell them I'm going to die. They should know. And tell Miles he's been a good friend, and tell Slick Mitchell he looks like a fairy in all those designer clothes, and tell him I scratched his Mercedes one day with a bottle cap. It was me. I was pissed that he had a Mercedes and I had a Chevette."
"Sir?" Bernice said, looking frightened.
"Just tell him, and call my Kitty and wife. Oh, and tell my wife not to bury me in that asinine Garanimals shirt, and if she does, I'll come back as a ghost and blow her scrapbooking shit all over the place. You got that, Bernice?" Stockwell rambled.
"Sure thing, sir," Bernice replied.
Stockwell staggered away and Bernice grabbed her phone. Kitty answered on the first ring.
"Yes, Bernice?"
"Something's wrong with Stockwell," Bernice practically shrieked.
"What?" Kitty asked.
"Well, he is rambling like a crazy man, he's staggering like a drunk, and he just bought twenty-six dollars worth of junk food."
"Good Lord," Kitty said, as a strange sound was heard overhead. "What in the world is that?"
"That's him," Bernice said, sounding panicked. "Now he's standing on the counter at Customer Service, singing into the paging system. And he's dancing."
"Sit tight, Bernice. I'm pretty sure this might be one of the first signs of the apocalypse."
"I thought you having a date was the first sign."
"You're right. Maybe they don't go in order," Kitty said.
"What do I do?" Bernice said.
"Don't do anything. I'm on my way," Kitty replied. And she hung up.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 34 - Somebody's Number's Gonna Be Up
Back at Tommy's Tool Town, Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth were forced into an agonizing decision. When their work was finally done, they dragged themselves back to the receiving bay door and stood panting like two out-of-shape eight year olds who'd just finished the President's Physical Fitness Test.
"I have got to lay off the junk," Stockwell moaned, in between labored breaths.
"You ain't kidding," Miles Longworth said, with a slight wheeze. "If I don't give up cigars, I won't have to worry about retirement. I won't live that long."
Something crashed inside the Tommy compound and both men froze. Longworth flipped his flashlight back on and swept it across the parking lot. Agent's SUV was barely visible.
"That looks like a thug-mobile," Longworth whispered.
"Sure does," Stockwell said.
"They're inside. What should we do?" Longworth asked.
"I vote we pretend it was thunder," Stockwell suggested.
"Chicken," Miles Longworth chastised, although his voice quaked a bit.
"Let's go in. We're here. We might as well see what's going on," Stockwell said, hating his words the moment he'd spoken them.
"All right, James Bond," Miles Longworth said with a wink Stockwell didn't see.
Stockwell eased the door open, and it moved without a sound. He crept through the opening, and Longworth followed. Agent Gonzales and Sonny Brooks, both in black hoodies, crept around the receiving bay. They were merely shadows, only somewhat darker than the thick, black darkness.
"Shit," Stockwell whispered.
"Here we go," Longworth said, his voice barely audible.
Reeve Stockwell shivered in the dark and the shovel he'd been holding hit the ground with a thunk.
Sonny Brooks stopped dead in his tracks. "I told you!" he exclaimed to Agent, who was pale as a sheet. She held her video camera in her trembling hands. She'd been shooting video, but had thus far come up empty.
"Over by the door," Sonny said, grabbing Agent's hands and pointing the video camera toward the source of the noise. "Shoot them!" Sonny Brooks yelled, and Reeve Stockwell screamed and scrambled to the door. Miles Longworth was so close behind, both men emerged from the pitch black bay area and fell to the ground in a heap.
"Get off me!" Stockwell exclaimed, sounding terrified. Longworth got to his feet, and both men hauled serious ass to safety.
"Did you hear it?" Sonny Brooks yelled. "Did you hear them damn ghosts screaming? Are they normally scared?"
The door had already slammed behind Stockwell and Longworth, or they might have recognized the voice of Tommy's Loss Prevention Specialist. They didn't. They were halfway across the parking lot before Agent could respond.
"I don't know what ghosts normally do!!" Agent shrieked. "This is my first ghost!" Agent Gonzales set her video camera on Sonny's desk, and proceeded to toss her cookies into his garbage can.
Her ghost hunting days had come to an end.
****************
Unbeknownst to Longworth and Stockwell, and Sonny and Agent, a quiet figure in a hood stood in the shadows as still as a cadaver. He wasn't a ghost, but he may as well have been. Where his heart should have been was an empty hole, and he was a soulless as a man can be. He was a man without character, without dignity or integrity, a man without a conscience.
He was a man with a mission, a really bad mission.
The idiots at Tommy's were getting in his way. Every last one of them would have to be dealt with, and soon, and in a way that assured they'd never cause him another problem.
Next time he'd crack open a box, give those guns a whirl, and see if his aim was as good as it used to be.
****************
Seventy miles away, Mick Daniels and Larry Dale stood in the doorway of room six at Three Fellows Inn.
"Good grief," Larry Dale exclaimed. Even in the dark it was obvious the room was a disappointment.
To say the least.
The carpet seemed to crunch beneath his feet, and he was satisfied with not knowing why.
"I say we sleep in the car," Mick Daniels said from his post in the doorway. "Or we can just drive until we find something else, or I fall asleep behind the wheel and kill both of us."
"You know what, let's soldier it out. I'm sure there are worse things. Imagine if we were soldiers in combat, sleeping in muddy trenches. That would be worse than this," Larry said, reaching for the lamp. He turned the switch and the lamp flickered and lit. The shade was broken, and sat atop a ceramic glob of a thing depicting two bulls doing God knew what. "Now that's swell," Larry said, admiring the pathetic masterpiece.
"Bed isn't bad," Larry Dale said, sitting on the single full-size mattress and the flowered comforter that adorned it.
"Bed?" Daniels said from the doorway. He'd turned toward his car, and attempted to get cell service. "Bed singular?"
"That's right, boss. One bed. You want to side near the door?" Larry Dale asked with a wink, which nearly sent Daniels over the edge.
"Are you freaking kidding me? I am not sleeping in the same bed with you. I'll sleep in the car." Daniels turned back toward the door and a coyote shrieked in the night. Daniels stopped dead in his tracks. "Okay. I will sleep on top of the comforter, and I am wearing my suit. If you snore, I will kill you. If you fart and fluff the covers, I will kill you. If you touch me, I will kill you," Daniels said, and Larry Dale laughed good-heartledly.
"This is gonna be fun, boss," Larry Dale said, and Daniels threw his brief case at him. "Jeez. Watch it. You almost hit the lamp."
"That would be tragic," Daniels said, although he finally chuckled. "This is God awful. Let's get some camera shots of the room. I may need them if I fire the person who booked it, and he or she goes to the Labor Board."
Larry Dale headed toward the bathroom while Daniels snapped numerous photos of the disaster. Dale was back in less than a minute. "I'm gonna tinkle outside," Larry Dale said.
"There's a bathroom, isn't there?" Mick Daniels asked.
"There is. If you wanna take a gander at it, I'll save you a spot by the tree over yonder," Larry Dale said from the doorway.
"I am gonna take a gander at it, and then a few pictures," Mick said. Daniels headed toward the bathroom, opened the door and slammed it.
"Told ya!" Larry Dale yelled from about twenty feet away.
"What the hell is in the tub?" Daniels hollered.
"I think it used to be a rat. Probably about a month or so ago," Larry Dale said, appearing in the doorway while zipping his fly.
"I think we might really be murdered in our sleep," Daniels said. "I say we set the alarm for every hour on the hour just to make sure we're both still alive."
"I think that sounds like a plan, boss," Larry Dale said.
Larry Dale kicked off his shoes and took the side of the bed near the lamp, leaving Daniels with the side closest to the door. "They'll get me first," Daniels whined.
"You wanna switch?" Dale asked, and Daniels shook his head.
"Let's just shut the light off and if you're a praying man, Leisure Suit Larry, now might not be a bad time to check in with the man," Daniels said.
Dale shut the light off and both men lay in the dark, silently, for several minutes. Finally, Larry Dale spoke.
"Marco."
"Shut up."
Larry Dale chuckled breathlessly. "Marco."
"Shut the hell up!"
Several minutes passed.
"Marco."
"One more time, Dale, and there's only gonna be one guy alive when that alarm goes off."
Dale held out as long as he could. "Marco."
Thankfully, Mick Daniels had nodded off. Larry Dale lay chuckling for several minutes, until he, too, succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.
Both men survived the night.
"I have got to lay off the junk," Stockwell moaned, in between labored breaths.
"You ain't kidding," Miles Longworth said, with a slight wheeze. "If I don't give up cigars, I won't have to worry about retirement. I won't live that long."
Something crashed inside the Tommy compound and both men froze. Longworth flipped his flashlight back on and swept it across the parking lot. Agent's SUV was barely visible.
"That looks like a thug-mobile," Longworth whispered.
"Sure does," Stockwell said.
"They're inside. What should we do?" Longworth asked.
"I vote we pretend it was thunder," Stockwell suggested.
"Chicken," Miles Longworth chastised, although his voice quaked a bit.
"Let's go in. We're here. We might as well see what's going on," Stockwell said, hating his words the moment he'd spoken them.
"All right, James Bond," Miles Longworth said with a wink Stockwell didn't see.
Stockwell eased the door open, and it moved without a sound. He crept through the opening, and Longworth followed. Agent Gonzales and Sonny Brooks, both in black hoodies, crept around the receiving bay. They were merely shadows, only somewhat darker than the thick, black darkness.
"Shit," Stockwell whispered.
"Here we go," Longworth said, his voice barely audible.
Reeve Stockwell shivered in the dark and the shovel he'd been holding hit the ground with a thunk.
Sonny Brooks stopped dead in his tracks. "I told you!" he exclaimed to Agent, who was pale as a sheet. She held her video camera in her trembling hands. She'd been shooting video, but had thus far come up empty.
"Over by the door," Sonny said, grabbing Agent's hands and pointing the video camera toward the source of the noise. "Shoot them!" Sonny Brooks yelled, and Reeve Stockwell screamed and scrambled to the door. Miles Longworth was so close behind, both men emerged from the pitch black bay area and fell to the ground in a heap.
"Get off me!" Stockwell exclaimed, sounding terrified. Longworth got to his feet, and both men hauled serious ass to safety.
"Did you hear it?" Sonny Brooks yelled. "Did you hear them damn ghosts screaming? Are they normally scared?"
The door had already slammed behind Stockwell and Longworth, or they might have recognized the voice of Tommy's Loss Prevention Specialist. They didn't. They were halfway across the parking lot before Agent could respond.
"I don't know what ghosts normally do!!" Agent shrieked. "This is my first ghost!" Agent Gonzales set her video camera on Sonny's desk, and proceeded to toss her cookies into his garbage can.
Her ghost hunting days had come to an end.
****************
Unbeknownst to Longworth and Stockwell, and Sonny and Agent, a quiet figure in a hood stood in the shadows as still as a cadaver. He wasn't a ghost, but he may as well have been. Where his heart should have been was an empty hole, and he was a soulless as a man can be. He was a man without character, without dignity or integrity, a man without a conscience.
He was a man with a mission, a really bad mission.
The idiots at Tommy's were getting in his way. Every last one of them would have to be dealt with, and soon, and in a way that assured they'd never cause him another problem.
Next time he'd crack open a box, give those guns a whirl, and see if his aim was as good as it used to be.
****************
Seventy miles away, Mick Daniels and Larry Dale stood in the doorway of room six at Three Fellows Inn.
"Good grief," Larry Dale exclaimed. Even in the dark it was obvious the room was a disappointment.
To say the least.
The carpet seemed to crunch beneath his feet, and he was satisfied with not knowing why.
"I say we sleep in the car," Mick Daniels said from his post in the doorway. "Or we can just drive until we find something else, or I fall asleep behind the wheel and kill both of us."
"You know what, let's soldier it out. I'm sure there are worse things. Imagine if we were soldiers in combat, sleeping in muddy trenches. That would be worse than this," Larry said, reaching for the lamp. He turned the switch and the lamp flickered and lit. The shade was broken, and sat atop a ceramic glob of a thing depicting two bulls doing God knew what. "Now that's swell," Larry said, admiring the pathetic masterpiece.
"Bed isn't bad," Larry Dale said, sitting on the single full-size mattress and the flowered comforter that adorned it.
"Bed?" Daniels said from the doorway. He'd turned toward his car, and attempted to get cell service. "Bed singular?"
"That's right, boss. One bed. You want to side near the door?" Larry Dale asked with a wink, which nearly sent Daniels over the edge.
"Are you freaking kidding me? I am not sleeping in the same bed with you. I'll sleep in the car." Daniels turned back toward the door and a coyote shrieked in the night. Daniels stopped dead in his tracks. "Okay. I will sleep on top of the comforter, and I am wearing my suit. If you snore, I will kill you. If you fart and fluff the covers, I will kill you. If you touch me, I will kill you," Daniels said, and Larry Dale laughed good-heartledly.
"This is gonna be fun, boss," Larry Dale said, and Daniels threw his brief case at him. "Jeez. Watch it. You almost hit the lamp."
"That would be tragic," Daniels said, although he finally chuckled. "This is God awful. Let's get some camera shots of the room. I may need them if I fire the person who booked it, and he or she goes to the Labor Board."
Larry Dale headed toward the bathroom while Daniels snapped numerous photos of the disaster. Dale was back in less than a minute. "I'm gonna tinkle outside," Larry Dale said.
"There's a bathroom, isn't there?" Mick Daniels asked.
"There is. If you wanna take a gander at it, I'll save you a spot by the tree over yonder," Larry Dale said from the doorway.
"I am gonna take a gander at it, and then a few pictures," Mick said. Daniels headed toward the bathroom, opened the door and slammed it.
"Told ya!" Larry Dale yelled from about twenty feet away.
"What the hell is in the tub?" Daniels hollered.
"I think it used to be a rat. Probably about a month or so ago," Larry Dale said, appearing in the doorway while zipping his fly.
"I think we might really be murdered in our sleep," Daniels said. "I say we set the alarm for every hour on the hour just to make sure we're both still alive."
"I think that sounds like a plan, boss," Larry Dale said.
Larry Dale kicked off his shoes and took the side of the bed near the lamp, leaving Daniels with the side closest to the door. "They'll get me first," Daniels whined.
"You wanna switch?" Dale asked, and Daniels shook his head.
"Let's just shut the light off and if you're a praying man, Leisure Suit Larry, now might not be a bad time to check in with the man," Daniels said.
Dale shut the light off and both men lay in the dark, silently, for several minutes. Finally, Larry Dale spoke.
"Marco."
"Shut up."
Larry Dale chuckled breathlessly. "Marco."
"Shut the hell up!"
Several minutes passed.
"Marco."
"One more time, Dale, and there's only gonna be one guy alive when that alarm goes off."
Dale held out as long as he could. "Marco."
Thankfully, Mick Daniels had nodded off. Larry Dale lay chuckling for several minutes, until he, too, succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.
Both men survived the night.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 33 - What Happens at Three Fellows Inn Stays in Three Fellows Inn.
Ada MacKenzie stared up at the sky. She traced the outline of Cassiopeia with her bony finger, and waited for the angels to carry her home.
Surely she was dead. No one ninety-nine years old, and barely one-hundred pounds soaking wet, could survive plunging into a freshly-dug hole, and wasn't the plunge alone a message from God?
"Get in the hole, I'm coming," Ada imagined God saying.
Ada chuckled, and suddenly the glow of Cassiopeia was interrupted by the head of one, Reeve Stockwell.
"Are you dead, too?" Ada asked.
"No," Stockwell replied.
"Am I dead?" Ada asked.
"Nope," Stockwell said.
"Son of a gun. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," Ada whined. "This must just be a dress rehearsal. I'm older than this dirt here. Gotta die some time," Ada said.
"Not tonight," Reeve Stockwell said charismatically. "Give me your hand, sweetheart. Let's get you out of the hole."
"Let's. I'd imagine my Miley Cyrus jogging suit is just about ruined here," Ada said.
"Tragic," Kitty mumbled from beside Stockwell. "Grandma, what the heck are you doing? You know it's almost one o'clock in the morning. What is mom gonna think? You scared the crap out of me." Kitty rambled, as Stockwell hauled her geriatric grandmother out of the hole.
"I could ask you the same thing," Ada said, brushing dirt from her sweatsuit, which sadly, seemed to have survived the debacle.
Kitty blew off the question. Ada's memory was declining daily, and Kitty hoped beyond reason that her grandmother would forget everything about the last hour. And fast.
"Are you all right?" Kitty asked, taking her grandmother's hands.
"I'll be darned. I rolled right into that hole, and I've still got my teeth. It's like a miracle!" Ada said, sounding a bit garbled. The teeth obviously didn't fit right, but by some act of God, they were still in the woman's mouth. "One more thing. I'm missing Criminal Minds, but I suppose I'll get over it," Ada said, checking her watch, and frowning.
"Let's get this thing done and get home before somebody else gets hurt," Miles Longworth suggested.
"Jeez. I almost forgot you were here," Stockwell said.
"How could you? I dug three quarters of the hole," Longworth complained.
"Did not," Stockwell whined. "I did at least half if not more."
"Guys, could you bang your Tonka trucks together some other time? My grandma is cold and tired, and I should get her home," Kitty said.
"Kitty, go home. You've done more than enough. Ada, always nice to see you," Stockwell said, and Kitty frowned.
"Don't encourage her," Kitty chastised.
Kitty half dragged her exhausted grandmother to the old Chevy, and Ada was asleep in the passenger seat almost immediately.
A gentle smile pulled at the corners of Kitty's mouth. It was impossible to be angry with Ada. She had always lived life to the fullest, and she wasn't planning to stop until somebody threw the dirt over her for real.
****************
Ada MacKenzie emerging injury-free from the deep hole wasn't the only miracle to happen that night. Two blocks from Tommy's, a sixty-three year old widow was walking her miserable ankle biter. Suddenly, a women flew by on a bicycle, sobbing and wailing to the high heaven. The dog walker, a bit tipsy from post-dinner libations, had heard of a banshee but had never seen one, and had no idea the spirits rode bicycles. A banshee on a Schwin? Now that was something you didn't see every day.
The woman grabbed her dog, tucked it under her arm, and swore to God and all the saints that she'd never touch the scotch again.
She never did.
****************
Seventy miles away, Tommy's Tool Town's Regional Manager, Mick Daniels sat in front of Morty McBride's Blue Ribbon Prize Pig Farm in his nearly new BMW.
Company "fixer," Lauren Dale - known to his fellow comrades as Leisure Suit Larry and heralded for his incredible taste in mid-quality suits - sat in the passenger seat.
"You sure you put the hotel's address into the Tom Tom correctly?" Lauren Dale asked, and Mick Daniels threw him a seething look.
"This isn't my first rodeo," Daniels growled. "I'm gonna call the hotel." Mick waved his phone around like a newly crowned Miss USA, and swore under his breath.
"Now what's wrong, boss?" Dale asked.
"No friggin' service," Mick Daniels whined.
"And this surprises you?" Dale asked, seemingly surveying his rural surroundings.
"I'm getting out," Daniels announced.
"Don't step in pig crap," Lauren Dale said thoughtfully.
"Shut up," Mick Daniels said before slamming the door.
Lauren Dale sat quietly and fiddled with the radio, while Mick Daniels paced along the dirt road. Suddenly the phone flashed, and Daniels screamed.
"Now what?" Dale asked, exiting the vehicle without a thought.
"It's pitch black out here, and I still can't figure out this damn phone. The camera flashed while I was trying to get a signal, and there's something out there." Mick Daniels pointed in one direction, then another, then another.
"Where?" Dale asked.
"I don't know. There!" Daniels said, flashing the camera again.
Both men howled and jumped several feet into the air. Cows, hundreds of them, lined the fence three feet away from where the men stood.
"Great God almighty. That's a lot of cheeseburgers," Lauren Dale exclaimed.
"Those aren't pigs," Mick Daniels said, brushing the wrinkles from his suit.
"Must have cows, too," Dale suggested.
"Let's get out of here," Daniels said, wasting no time getting back into the BMW. Dale followed.
"Where to?" Lauren Dale asked.
"Let's go back the way we came. We'll just drive until we get service, and then we'll call the hotel," Daniels suggested.
"And what's the name of that hotel again?" Dale asked.
"Three Fellows Inn," Daniels said, wearing a scowl.
"You don't say. That sounds like a super nice place. Think they'll let us in?"
"Why wouldn't they?" Daniels asked, sounding irritated.
"We're only two fellows," Dale said, laughing at his own wit.
"God give me strength," Daniels muttered under his breath.
Three hours and fifteen attempted calls later, Daniels and Dale pulled in front of Three Fellows Inn. Neither knew who the three fellows were, but they obviously weren't terribly handy. The "hotel," looked one strong wind away from being condemned.
"You have got to be kidding me," Daniels said, wearing a stupefied look.
"Wow. I'm about speechless here, and for me that's some kind of miracle," Lauren Dale said.
"Let's just go," Daniels suggested.
Lauren Dale sat for a moment and considered his surroundings. "I'm gonna have to disagree. Our options are fairly limited here. We're been driving around for hours and this is about the first place we've seen, except for the pig farm, that is."
"Dear Lord. All right. Let's check in, take a look, see if there is anyplace to get something to eat, maybe grab a shower and a couple hours sleep and get back on the road," Daniels declared. "Note to self," he mumbled. "Fire whomever booked this hotel."
Both men exited the vehicle. The office consisted of a ten-by-ten room with two chairs, a broken magazine rack and a black and white television with rabbit ears. Daniels rang the bell. "Revised note to self. Kill whomever booked this place."
Two sleepy men, with faces worn by time and hard work, stepped through a door in the rear of the room.
"You the Tommy's fellows?" the taller of the two asked.
"Yeah. I'm Mick Daniels, Regional Manager of Tommy's Tool Town."
"I could do without your resume, but I will need $39.95 for the room, unless you just want to rent it by the hour," the shorter gentleman said with a smirk.
"I don't find that amusing," Mick Daniel's said, pulling his wallet from the rear pocket of his tailored suit pants.
"Is that for both rooms?" Larry Dale asked.
"You only booked one room," the taller man commented.
"And the hits just keep on coming," Daniels mumbled.
Larry Dale, in full "fixer," mode, attempted to smooth things over. "So, you two of the fellows who own this place?"
"We are," the shorter man remarked. "I'm Buster, and this here's Ollie."
"Pleasure to meet you both. Boy, she must've been something in her day," Larry Dale said, taking in his surroundings and appearing impressed by what he saw.
"Sure was," Ollie commented.
"So, who's the third fellow?" Larry said in a friendly tone, while Mick Daniels looked on appearing dumb struck.
"Morty McBride," Buster said.
"I'll be darned," Dale said. "You don't say."
"You know Morty?" Ollie asked.
"We were just out by his place a few hours back. He used to live around here, did he?" Larry Dale asked.
"Used to?" Buster replied. "He still does. His place is only about six miles from here."
"Seriously?" Mick Daniels said, suddenly joining the conversation.
"Sure as the crow flies," Ollie said.
"We drove around for three hours and only went six miles?" Daniels directed his question at Larry Dale who merely shrugged. "We're going to be murdered in our beds tonight," Daniels muttered.
"Nonsense. That kind of shit only happens in the movies," Ollie said, and Buster clapped him on the back enthusiastically.
Daniels scowled and slapped two twenties on the counter. Ollie handed him a key on a plastic key chain. "Room six. Enjoy your stay."
Daniels spun on his heel and stepped outside. The door slammed behind him and he muttered an obscenity, that if played out in charades would go a bit like - two words, first word rhymes with truck.
Surely she was dead. No one ninety-nine years old, and barely one-hundred pounds soaking wet, could survive plunging into a freshly-dug hole, and wasn't the plunge alone a message from God?
"Get in the hole, I'm coming," Ada imagined God saying.
Ada chuckled, and suddenly the glow of Cassiopeia was interrupted by the head of one, Reeve Stockwell.
"Are you dead, too?" Ada asked.
"No," Stockwell replied.
"Am I dead?" Ada asked.
"Nope," Stockwell said.
"Son of a gun. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," Ada whined. "This must just be a dress rehearsal. I'm older than this dirt here. Gotta die some time," Ada said.
"Not tonight," Reeve Stockwell said charismatically. "Give me your hand, sweetheart. Let's get you out of the hole."
"Let's. I'd imagine my Miley Cyrus jogging suit is just about ruined here," Ada said.
"Tragic," Kitty mumbled from beside Stockwell. "Grandma, what the heck are you doing? You know it's almost one o'clock in the morning. What is mom gonna think? You scared the crap out of me." Kitty rambled, as Stockwell hauled her geriatric grandmother out of the hole.
"I could ask you the same thing," Ada said, brushing dirt from her sweatsuit, which sadly, seemed to have survived the debacle.
Kitty blew off the question. Ada's memory was declining daily, and Kitty hoped beyond reason that her grandmother would forget everything about the last hour. And fast.
"Are you all right?" Kitty asked, taking her grandmother's hands.
"I'll be darned. I rolled right into that hole, and I've still got my teeth. It's like a miracle!" Ada said, sounding a bit garbled. The teeth obviously didn't fit right, but by some act of God, they were still in the woman's mouth. "One more thing. I'm missing Criminal Minds, but I suppose I'll get over it," Ada said, checking her watch, and frowning.
"Let's get this thing done and get home before somebody else gets hurt," Miles Longworth suggested.
"Jeez. I almost forgot you were here," Stockwell said.
"How could you? I dug three quarters of the hole," Longworth complained.
"Did not," Stockwell whined. "I did at least half if not more."
"Guys, could you bang your Tonka trucks together some other time? My grandma is cold and tired, and I should get her home," Kitty said.
"Kitty, go home. You've done more than enough. Ada, always nice to see you," Stockwell said, and Kitty frowned.
"Don't encourage her," Kitty chastised.
Kitty half dragged her exhausted grandmother to the old Chevy, and Ada was asleep in the passenger seat almost immediately.
A gentle smile pulled at the corners of Kitty's mouth. It was impossible to be angry with Ada. She had always lived life to the fullest, and she wasn't planning to stop until somebody threw the dirt over her for real.
****************
Ada MacKenzie emerging injury-free from the deep hole wasn't the only miracle to happen that night. Two blocks from Tommy's, a sixty-three year old widow was walking her miserable ankle biter. Suddenly, a women flew by on a bicycle, sobbing and wailing to the high heaven. The dog walker, a bit tipsy from post-dinner libations, had heard of a banshee but had never seen one, and had no idea the spirits rode bicycles. A banshee on a Schwin? Now that was something you didn't see every day.
The woman grabbed her dog, tucked it under her arm, and swore to God and all the saints that she'd never touch the scotch again.
She never did.
****************
Seventy miles away, Tommy's Tool Town's Regional Manager, Mick Daniels sat in front of Morty McBride's Blue Ribbon Prize Pig Farm in his nearly new BMW.
Company "fixer," Lauren Dale - known to his fellow comrades as Leisure Suit Larry and heralded for his incredible taste in mid-quality suits - sat in the passenger seat.
"You sure you put the hotel's address into the Tom Tom correctly?" Lauren Dale asked, and Mick Daniels threw him a seething look.
"This isn't my first rodeo," Daniels growled. "I'm gonna call the hotel." Mick waved his phone around like a newly crowned Miss USA, and swore under his breath.
"Now what's wrong, boss?" Dale asked.
"No friggin' service," Mick Daniels whined.
"And this surprises you?" Dale asked, seemingly surveying his rural surroundings.
"I'm getting out," Daniels announced.
"Don't step in pig crap," Lauren Dale said thoughtfully.
"Shut up," Mick Daniels said before slamming the door.
Lauren Dale sat quietly and fiddled with the radio, while Mick Daniels paced along the dirt road. Suddenly the phone flashed, and Daniels screamed.
"Now what?" Dale asked, exiting the vehicle without a thought.
"It's pitch black out here, and I still can't figure out this damn phone. The camera flashed while I was trying to get a signal, and there's something out there." Mick Daniels pointed in one direction, then another, then another.
"Where?" Dale asked.
"I don't know. There!" Daniels said, flashing the camera again.
Both men howled and jumped several feet into the air. Cows, hundreds of them, lined the fence three feet away from where the men stood.
"Great God almighty. That's a lot of cheeseburgers," Lauren Dale exclaimed.
"Those aren't pigs," Mick Daniels said, brushing the wrinkles from his suit.
"Must have cows, too," Dale suggested.
"Let's get out of here," Daniels said, wasting no time getting back into the BMW. Dale followed.
"Where to?" Lauren Dale asked.
"Let's go back the way we came. We'll just drive until we get service, and then we'll call the hotel," Daniels suggested.
"And what's the name of that hotel again?" Dale asked.
"Three Fellows Inn," Daniels said, wearing a scowl.
"You don't say. That sounds like a super nice place. Think they'll let us in?"
"Why wouldn't they?" Daniels asked, sounding irritated.
"We're only two fellows," Dale said, laughing at his own wit.
"God give me strength," Daniels muttered under his breath.
Three hours and fifteen attempted calls later, Daniels and Dale pulled in front of Three Fellows Inn. Neither knew who the three fellows were, but they obviously weren't terribly handy. The "hotel," looked one strong wind away from being condemned.
"You have got to be kidding me," Daniels said, wearing a stupefied look.
"Wow. I'm about speechless here, and for me that's some kind of miracle," Lauren Dale said.
"Let's just go," Daniels suggested.
Lauren Dale sat for a moment and considered his surroundings. "I'm gonna have to disagree. Our options are fairly limited here. We're been driving around for hours and this is about the first place we've seen, except for the pig farm, that is."
"Dear Lord. All right. Let's check in, take a look, see if there is anyplace to get something to eat, maybe grab a shower and a couple hours sleep and get back on the road," Daniels declared. "Note to self," he mumbled. "Fire whomever booked this hotel."
Both men exited the vehicle. The office consisted of a ten-by-ten room with two chairs, a broken magazine rack and a black and white television with rabbit ears. Daniels rang the bell. "Revised note to self. Kill whomever booked this place."
Two sleepy men, with faces worn by time and hard work, stepped through a door in the rear of the room.
"You the Tommy's fellows?" the taller of the two asked.
"Yeah. I'm Mick Daniels, Regional Manager of Tommy's Tool Town."
"I could do without your resume, but I will need $39.95 for the room, unless you just want to rent it by the hour," the shorter gentleman said with a smirk.
"I don't find that amusing," Mick Daniel's said, pulling his wallet from the rear pocket of his tailored suit pants.
"Is that for both rooms?" Larry Dale asked.
"You only booked one room," the taller man commented.
"And the hits just keep on coming," Daniels mumbled.
Larry Dale, in full "fixer," mode, attempted to smooth things over. "So, you two of the fellows who own this place?"
"We are," the shorter man remarked. "I'm Buster, and this here's Ollie."
"Pleasure to meet you both. Boy, she must've been something in her day," Larry Dale said, taking in his surroundings and appearing impressed by what he saw.
"Sure was," Ollie commented.
"So, who's the third fellow?" Larry said in a friendly tone, while Mick Daniels looked on appearing dumb struck.
"Morty McBride," Buster said.
"I'll be darned," Dale said. "You don't say."
"You know Morty?" Ollie asked.
"We were just out by his place a few hours back. He used to live around here, did he?" Larry Dale asked.
"Used to?" Buster replied. "He still does. His place is only about six miles from here."
"Seriously?" Mick Daniels said, suddenly joining the conversation.
"Sure as the crow flies," Ollie said.
"We drove around for three hours and only went six miles?" Daniels directed his question at Larry Dale who merely shrugged. "We're going to be murdered in our beds tonight," Daniels muttered.
"Nonsense. That kind of shit only happens in the movies," Ollie said, and Buster clapped him on the back enthusiastically.
Daniels scowled and slapped two twenties on the counter. Ollie handed him a key on a plastic key chain. "Room six. Enjoy your stay."
Daniels spun on his heel and stepped outside. The door slammed behind him and he muttered an obscenity, that if played out in charades would go a bit like - two words, first word rhymes with truck.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town -Chapter 32 - Intersection: A Place Where Many Idiots Meet
Kitty Richardson checked the time on the clock in her old Chevy. The green numbers faded, grew lighter, and faded again, as the battery fought against Father Time. The truck was dying. 10:44, the display read, set to the "all functions stopped working in the last phase of Daylight Savings Time," time zone.
It was 11:44.
P.M.
Show time!
Kitty pulled around behind Tommy's Receiving Bay, put the vehicle in park, and exited the old truck. She pulled her black "Home is Where the Cat Shits," sweatshirt tighter around her, put the hood up, and chuckled.
Ada MacKenzie had a mad sense of humor. The sweatshirt had been a gag gift for Kitty's eleventh, twenty-ninth birthday, and was only appropriate for wear beneath a winter coat, around the house, and burying strange things in the pitch darkness, behind the place where, miraculously - by some act of God - you still worked.
The darkness was interrupted only by the dim lighting of a street light about fifty yards away. Kitty could barely make out the shape of Melvin in her hand. The clear blue body of the pen glistened in the misty light.
"What am I doing, Melvin? What crazy woman goes out in the middle of the night to meet her bosses, who may or may not be involved in the mob?"
The pen remained silent.
"You're no help," Kitty mumbled.
She slipped Melvin into her pocket. It was hard to imagine either Stockwell or Longworth as part of any organized crime. Stockwell longed to be on the right side of the law, and Longworth was too busy watching weird videos of absurd things like honey badgers. Neither had the time nor inclination for the mafia.
Kitty popped open her hatch, grabbed the guns, and walked away.
Two minutes later, an elderly woman in a neon sweatsuit, covered with a white blanket, slipped from the safety of the old Chevy.
****************
Sonny Brooks parked the behemoth Lincoln a block from Tommy's Tool Town. He was a nervous wreck. He knew Tommy's was haunted, he'd seen the video, what additional proof did he need? He didn't need Agent Gonzales to show up with a bunch of equipment and take pictures, notes and videos. He needed to be home in bed, with his night light on, and his closet door closed. Evil things lurked in the darkness. He didn't need to see them.
He chomped his gum with all the subtlety of a teenager in a Bubble Yum contest, and suddenly he bit his cheek. He winced, and grabbed a piece of paper from the passenger seat. He tore it in half, and shoved the gum in the larger half.
"Shit," Sonny whispered. The paper was a note from his son. Before Sonny had half masticated it, it held an endearment that read, "I made Mommy breakfast in bed today. You're next." Now all it said was "You're next."
Great!
Another year he wouldn't be getting the "Greatest Dad," award.
Sonny snuck around the back of Tommy's. He knew every inch of the place, inside and out, yet he still longed for a flashlight. Armed with nothing more than half a love note from his kid, and a bad case of the heebie jeebies, Sonny unlocked the rear entrance to Tommy's and slipped inside. Before he could close it, the wind grabbed the door, and the note from Sonny's hand.
"Son of a ....," Sonny mumbled. Now he had no note, no flashlight, and no Tums, and his wife's chili was spinning in his gut like a merry-go-round.
He crept through the darkness with all the stealth of a jaguar and all the courage of a five year old on the first day of Kindergarten.
"I should have my head examined," Sonny whispered, as he let himself into his office to wait. An ethereal glow filled the small space, compliments of the numerous machines that ran around the clock. It wasn't daylight, not by a long shot, but at least it wasn't pitch black. It was against store policy to leave the door to his office open for any length of time, but Sonny didn't care.
Sonny left the door ajar.
Because Sonny Brooks was terrified.
****************
Mags Davidson parked her bicycle in the shadows in front of the store. Who rode a bicycle around at midnight? A desperate woman whose baby had been squished by a pickynick table.
Mags had gotten the text at eight o'clock.
Midnight at Tommy's. Don't be late.
Immediately she recognized the number, or at least she thought she did. It was from JJ. JJ would have never left her hanging. JJ loved her, and wouldn't want Mags to worry.
At 11:30, Mags had grabbed her car keys, headed to the garage, flipped on the light, and then swore like a sailor.
She didn't have a car! How the hell was she going to get to Tommy's?
The bike was hanging on the wall, so long it was almost rusted there. Mags hoisted it down, sprayed the thing down with cooking spray, grabbed a helmet and hopped on.
Twenty-five minutes later, she arrived at Tommy's, smelling like an omelet, but at least she'd made it alive. Anxious, Mags pulled the Sour Patch Kids from her pocket, flopped down in the shadows, and waited for JJ to appear.
****************
Agent Gonzales left her massive black SUV outside the door, as instructed by Sonny Brooks. It was 11:51. She was right on time. She surveyed the contents of her duffel bag: an EVP recorder, a K2 meter, a night vision video camera, and assorted cords belonging to each.
Agent didn't believe in ghosts, but 80% of America did, and hers wasn't a bad gig. She was a night owl anyhow, and she provided a good service. Sonny Brooks had sounded petrified when she'd spoken to him on the phone, as did a lot of her clients. Agent would do her thing. Maybe she'd dangle a carrot, tell Sonny she felt something, get him to sign her on for a session or two. She wouldn't find anything, she'd make a few bucks, and Sonny Brooks would be appeased and no longer in fear. It was a "win, win." Everybody would come out on the right side of things.
Something rustled some distance away, and Agent froze. It was just her mind playing tricks on her. You couldn't chase spooks for a living without thinking you saw or heard one from time to time. Something rustled again. Agent paused, stood still, took a deep breath.
Then she saw it.
A figure, hunched forward, moving awkwardly, shrouded in white, moved toward the back door.
"No friggin' way," Agent whispered, her voice quaking.
So the damn things were real. Ghosts were real. Agent took a calming breath and steadied herself against the side of the SUV. She mentally cleared her schedule. She was about to get a hell of a lot busier.
****************
Miles Longworth was lurking around the Receiving Bay in search of Stockwell and the shovels. He'd seen Stockwell's ancient Chevette parked half a block away. The rascal had to be around somewhere.
He'd only poked around for a few minutes when he saw Stockwell's stash in an open cooler in the corner.
"Gotcha," Miles said softly. Stockwell was like Hansel. Where there were cookie crumbs, there was undoubtedly, one Reeve Stockwell.
Longworth was just reaching into the cooler for an Oreo when he heard a voice behind him.
"Get out!" Stockwell hissed, and Longworth jumped.
One hundred yards away, Sonny Brooks screamed like a teenage girl.
"Oh, no! Kitty!" Stockwell whispered, as he and Longworth took off toward the back door.
Kitty was outside, as promised. She held the box of guns.
"What's wrong? Why are you screaming?" Stockwell asked, his voice sounding hysterical.
"I didn't scream. I've just been standing here in the dark waiting on the two of you. Where are the shovels? Where's the money?" Kitty asked.
"Money's in my back pocket," Miles Longworth said.
"Shovel's are tucked away in the corner of Receiving," Stockwell whispered.
"Wanna get them?" Kitty asked. "I'm missing a terrific Cold Case rerun."
"Yeah. No problem," Stockwell replied, before he walked away.
"Nice shirt," Longworth said, and Kitty laughed.
Stockwell was back in less than two minutes. Even in the dim lighting he looked pale.
"What?" Kitty said.
"I saw something," Stockwell whispered.
"Like what?" Longworth asked.
"I think I saw a ghost, and I'm pretty sure I saw someone else, too. A short person, all in black, and a bigger person, maybe a guy. He was in black, too."
"Shit," Longworth said. "Think they're looking for this?" Miles Longworth held the envelope of money.
"Or these?" Kitty asked, nodding her head toward the box in her arms.
"I'd say it's a relatively good guess on both accounts," Stockwell mumbled, visibly shaken. "Let's get this done and get the heck out of here. I'm not liking this idea much at all now that it's happening."
"Me either," Kitty whispered.
Longworth and Stockwell made short work of the digging while Kitty kept watch. The ground was soft and wet, from the earlier storm, and it moved easily. Kitty had just picked up the guns again when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
The box dropped and Kitty muffled a scream into her hands.
Kitty turned.
Ada MacKenzie, cloaked by a light colored blanket, stood before her.
"What the hell?" Longworth asked.
"What is it?" Stockwell said.
"It's my grandmother," Kitty said through a moan.
"Found my teeth!" Ada announced happily.
"Gran, what the hell are you doing? You are gonna put me in my grave!" Kitty declared.
"Good news!" Longworth said. "Got one dug!"
"You're not helping, Miles," Kitty chastised.
"Let's get the show on the road," Stockwell said. "Nice to see you again, Ms. MacKenzie."
"If I'd have known you were here, I'd have baked something, " Ada said, and Kitty rolled her eyes.
"Hey. This isn't a dinner party. Can we do this? I'd like to get my grandmother home," Kitty whined.
"Hand me the box," Miles said, and Kitty did.
"What's in the box?" Ada asked, and everyone groaned. They all should have figured that might come up.
"A dead cat," Kitty said, thinking quickly.
"Oh, my sweet Jesus," Ada said, sounding as if she might cry.
Miles Longworth lowered the box into the hole, and slipped the money inside without Ada seeing. The four stood around for a moment, as Ada began to pray.
"Pray with me," Ada said, dabbing her eyes.
"Lord, please keep this kitty in your care," Ada said.
Kitty couldn't argue with that, and whispered, "Amen."
Longworth and Stockwell grabbed the shovels, as Ada stood watching. Suddenly she stumbled, fell onto her side, and rolled into the hole.
"Shit," Kitty whispered, kneeling beside the hole.
****************
Twenty feet away, Mags Davidson crouched beside the old dumpster. She watched as three shadowed figures rolled the blanket clad body into a freshly dug grave.
She clutched a piece of paper in her left hand.
The note read: "You're next."
"Oh, JJ," Mags whispered, as tears slid down her face.
It was 11:44.
P.M.
Show time!
Kitty pulled around behind Tommy's Receiving Bay, put the vehicle in park, and exited the old truck. She pulled her black "Home is Where the Cat Shits," sweatshirt tighter around her, put the hood up, and chuckled.
Ada MacKenzie had a mad sense of humor. The sweatshirt had been a gag gift for Kitty's eleventh, twenty-ninth birthday, and was only appropriate for wear beneath a winter coat, around the house, and burying strange things in the pitch darkness, behind the place where, miraculously - by some act of God - you still worked.
The darkness was interrupted only by the dim lighting of a street light about fifty yards away. Kitty could barely make out the shape of Melvin in her hand. The clear blue body of the pen glistened in the misty light.
"What am I doing, Melvin? What crazy woman goes out in the middle of the night to meet her bosses, who may or may not be involved in the mob?"
The pen remained silent.
"You're no help," Kitty mumbled.
She slipped Melvin into her pocket. It was hard to imagine either Stockwell or Longworth as part of any organized crime. Stockwell longed to be on the right side of the law, and Longworth was too busy watching weird videos of absurd things like honey badgers. Neither had the time nor inclination for the mafia.
Kitty popped open her hatch, grabbed the guns, and walked away.
Two minutes later, an elderly woman in a neon sweatsuit, covered with a white blanket, slipped from the safety of the old Chevy.
****************
Sonny Brooks parked the behemoth Lincoln a block from Tommy's Tool Town. He was a nervous wreck. He knew Tommy's was haunted, he'd seen the video, what additional proof did he need? He didn't need Agent Gonzales to show up with a bunch of equipment and take pictures, notes and videos. He needed to be home in bed, with his night light on, and his closet door closed. Evil things lurked in the darkness. He didn't need to see them.
He chomped his gum with all the subtlety of a teenager in a Bubble Yum contest, and suddenly he bit his cheek. He winced, and grabbed a piece of paper from the passenger seat. He tore it in half, and shoved the gum in the larger half.
"Shit," Sonny whispered. The paper was a note from his son. Before Sonny had half masticated it, it held an endearment that read, "I made Mommy breakfast in bed today. You're next." Now all it said was "You're next."
Great!
Another year he wouldn't be getting the "Greatest Dad," award.
Sonny snuck around the back of Tommy's. He knew every inch of the place, inside and out, yet he still longed for a flashlight. Armed with nothing more than half a love note from his kid, and a bad case of the heebie jeebies, Sonny unlocked the rear entrance to Tommy's and slipped inside. Before he could close it, the wind grabbed the door, and the note from Sonny's hand.
"Son of a ....," Sonny mumbled. Now he had no note, no flashlight, and no Tums, and his wife's chili was spinning in his gut like a merry-go-round.
He crept through the darkness with all the stealth of a jaguar and all the courage of a five year old on the first day of Kindergarten.
"I should have my head examined," Sonny whispered, as he let himself into his office to wait. An ethereal glow filled the small space, compliments of the numerous machines that ran around the clock. It wasn't daylight, not by a long shot, but at least it wasn't pitch black. It was against store policy to leave the door to his office open for any length of time, but Sonny didn't care.
Sonny left the door ajar.
Because Sonny Brooks was terrified.
****************
Mags Davidson parked her bicycle in the shadows in front of the store. Who rode a bicycle around at midnight? A desperate woman whose baby had been squished by a pickynick table.
Mags had gotten the text at eight o'clock.
Midnight at Tommy's. Don't be late.
Immediately she recognized the number, or at least she thought she did. It was from JJ. JJ would have never left her hanging. JJ loved her, and wouldn't want Mags to worry.
At 11:30, Mags had grabbed her car keys, headed to the garage, flipped on the light, and then swore like a sailor.
She didn't have a car! How the hell was she going to get to Tommy's?
The bike was hanging on the wall, so long it was almost rusted there. Mags hoisted it down, sprayed the thing down with cooking spray, grabbed a helmet and hopped on.
Twenty-five minutes later, she arrived at Tommy's, smelling like an omelet, but at least she'd made it alive. Anxious, Mags pulled the Sour Patch Kids from her pocket, flopped down in the shadows, and waited for JJ to appear.
****************
Agent Gonzales left her massive black SUV outside the door, as instructed by Sonny Brooks. It was 11:51. She was right on time. She surveyed the contents of her duffel bag: an EVP recorder, a K2 meter, a night vision video camera, and assorted cords belonging to each.
Agent didn't believe in ghosts, but 80% of America did, and hers wasn't a bad gig. She was a night owl anyhow, and she provided a good service. Sonny Brooks had sounded petrified when she'd spoken to him on the phone, as did a lot of her clients. Agent would do her thing. Maybe she'd dangle a carrot, tell Sonny she felt something, get him to sign her on for a session or two. She wouldn't find anything, she'd make a few bucks, and Sonny Brooks would be appeased and no longer in fear. It was a "win, win." Everybody would come out on the right side of things.
Something rustled some distance away, and Agent froze. It was just her mind playing tricks on her. You couldn't chase spooks for a living without thinking you saw or heard one from time to time. Something rustled again. Agent paused, stood still, took a deep breath.
Then she saw it.
A figure, hunched forward, moving awkwardly, shrouded in white, moved toward the back door.
"No friggin' way," Agent whispered, her voice quaking.
So the damn things were real. Ghosts were real. Agent took a calming breath and steadied herself against the side of the SUV. She mentally cleared her schedule. She was about to get a hell of a lot busier.
****************
Miles Longworth was lurking around the Receiving Bay in search of Stockwell and the shovels. He'd seen Stockwell's ancient Chevette parked half a block away. The rascal had to be around somewhere.
He'd only poked around for a few minutes when he saw Stockwell's stash in an open cooler in the corner.
"Gotcha," Miles said softly. Stockwell was like Hansel. Where there were cookie crumbs, there was undoubtedly, one Reeve Stockwell.
Longworth was just reaching into the cooler for an Oreo when he heard a voice behind him.
"Get out!" Stockwell hissed, and Longworth jumped.
One hundred yards away, Sonny Brooks screamed like a teenage girl.
"Oh, no! Kitty!" Stockwell whispered, as he and Longworth took off toward the back door.
Kitty was outside, as promised. She held the box of guns.
"What's wrong? Why are you screaming?" Stockwell asked, his voice sounding hysterical.
"I didn't scream. I've just been standing here in the dark waiting on the two of you. Where are the shovels? Where's the money?" Kitty asked.
"Money's in my back pocket," Miles Longworth said.
"Shovel's are tucked away in the corner of Receiving," Stockwell whispered.
"Wanna get them?" Kitty asked. "I'm missing a terrific Cold Case rerun."
"Yeah. No problem," Stockwell replied, before he walked away.
"Nice shirt," Longworth said, and Kitty laughed.
Stockwell was back in less than two minutes. Even in the dim lighting he looked pale.
"What?" Kitty said.
"I saw something," Stockwell whispered.
"Like what?" Longworth asked.
"I think I saw a ghost, and I'm pretty sure I saw someone else, too. A short person, all in black, and a bigger person, maybe a guy. He was in black, too."
"Shit," Longworth said. "Think they're looking for this?" Miles Longworth held the envelope of money.
"Or these?" Kitty asked, nodding her head toward the box in her arms.
"I'd say it's a relatively good guess on both accounts," Stockwell mumbled, visibly shaken. "Let's get this done and get the heck out of here. I'm not liking this idea much at all now that it's happening."
"Me either," Kitty whispered.
Longworth and Stockwell made short work of the digging while Kitty kept watch. The ground was soft and wet, from the earlier storm, and it moved easily. Kitty had just picked up the guns again when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
The box dropped and Kitty muffled a scream into her hands.
Kitty turned.
Ada MacKenzie, cloaked by a light colored blanket, stood before her.
"What the hell?" Longworth asked.
"What is it?" Stockwell said.
"It's my grandmother," Kitty said through a moan.
"Found my teeth!" Ada announced happily.
"Gran, what the hell are you doing? You are gonna put me in my grave!" Kitty declared.
"Good news!" Longworth said. "Got one dug!"
"You're not helping, Miles," Kitty chastised.
"Let's get the show on the road," Stockwell said. "Nice to see you again, Ms. MacKenzie."
"If I'd have known you were here, I'd have baked something, " Ada said, and Kitty rolled her eyes.
"Hey. This isn't a dinner party. Can we do this? I'd like to get my grandmother home," Kitty whined.
"Hand me the box," Miles said, and Kitty did.
"What's in the box?" Ada asked, and everyone groaned. They all should have figured that might come up.
"A dead cat," Kitty said, thinking quickly.
"Oh, my sweet Jesus," Ada said, sounding as if she might cry.
Miles Longworth lowered the box into the hole, and slipped the money inside without Ada seeing. The four stood around for a moment, as Ada began to pray.
"Pray with me," Ada said, dabbing her eyes.
"Lord, please keep this kitty in your care," Ada said.
Kitty couldn't argue with that, and whispered, "Amen."
Longworth and Stockwell grabbed the shovels, as Ada stood watching. Suddenly she stumbled, fell onto her side, and rolled into the hole.
"Shit," Kitty whispered, kneeling beside the hole.
****************
Twenty feet away, Mags Davidson crouched beside the old dumpster. She watched as three shadowed figures rolled the blanket clad body into a freshly dug grave.
She clutched a piece of paper in her left hand.
The note read: "You're next."
"Oh, JJ," Mags whispered, as tears slid down her face.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 31 - The Witching Hour Approaches
Sure enough, a crowd had gathered around the ages-old freezer in the receiving bay. It was avocado green and looked like it had been through the kitchen appliance demolition derby. It was a wreck of a thing, with a peculiar and disturbing odor.
Sonny Brooks was directing traffic. “Okay, folks, everybody back up a little bit. Give Stockwell some room."
Stockwell's guts were churning. It had been the longest day in Tommy existence. He'd started it by slamming a package of Oreos like a junkie, and they, along with the wad of caulk bar, were tearing up his innards. If he made it through the rest of the day without crapping himself, he was gonna consider himself a lucky man.
He needed a Pepto tablet and a cheeseburger. He imagined his sugar level was off the chart, and if he didn't get some protein into his already slight body, JJ Patricks wasn't going to be the only cadaver on Tommy property.
Mags Davidson was sobbing into a tissue. "What's your problem?" Stockwell asked thoughtlessly, but it was all he could muster.
"I loved JJ. She was my friend," Mags whined.
"She might not be in there," Reeve Stockwell said in an attempt to offer comfort.
"Then where is she? We've looked everywhere," Mags said though a sob.
"That's asinine," Sonny Brooks declared, and Mags glared at him. "JJ's only been missing a few hours. You couldn't possibly have been everywhere in such a short time. Have you looked in Siberia, the Australian Outback, the Bronx?"
"Shut up, Sonny," Mags said. Her nose was so stuffed from all the crying, her words were barely intelligible.
Stockwell was beginning to shake again. He seriously needed to eat. "Mags, settle down. Sonny, put a freakin' cork in it. You're not helping. Now, everyone get the hell out of the way! I am going to open this door and prove to all of you that JJ is not in this freezer."
Sweet Mary, mother of our Lord, please don't let JJ be in this freezer, Stockwell thought as he reached for the door handle. The handle came off in his hand, and he had pulled with such force, it flew through the air and hit Sonny Brooks square in the head.
"What in the name of hell????" Sonny yelled.
"I didn't do it," Mags said.
"Okay, I need another set of hands here. Chewie? Can a guy get a hand here?" Stockwell asked.
Chewie strolled up to the freezer with all the enthusiasm of a man headed to the gallows. "I am pretty sure this is NOT in my job description," Chewie whined.
"Chewie, you've been moved through this store, from department to department, faster than a whirling dervish. You have no job description at the moment. On the count of three, pull!" Stockwell demanded.
"What's a whirling dervish?" Chewie asked.
"I have no idea. I heard Kitty say it one day," Stockwell explained.
"She's a freak," Chewie declared.
"Stop that. She's just different," Stockwell said defensively.
"Charles Manson was different," Chewie mumbled.
"What is your point, son?" Stockwell asked.
"I guess I really don't have one. Just trying to put off seeing that scrawny little JJ, deader than a freakin' doornail, come tumbling out of this freezer," Chewie replied.
"Well, we can't very well leave her in there," Reeve Stockwell said.
"You said she might not be in there!" Mags wailed. "You said, you said, everyone heard you!!!" Mags bordered on hysteria, and Reeve Stockwell reached the pinacle moment when he'd just had enough.
"Shut the fuck up!" Stockwell yelled, and everyone did. No one said anything for several minutes. Chewie finally broke the silence.
"Sir?" Chewie said.
"Chewie?" Stockwell said.
"Shouldn't we get on with this?" Chewie asked.
"Let's," Stockwell replied.
Both men tugged on the freezer door and finally it came loose. Stockwell pulled it open slowly, inch by inch, until something rolled out and landed on the floor in front of him.
"What the hell is it?" Chewie asked.
"No idea," Stockwell said, poking it with his toe. It wasn't JJ, but he had no idea what it was.
"There's something written on it," Chewie said.
There was. There was a tiny card taped to the top of the plastic-wrapped mass. Chewie took two rubber gloves from his pocket, slid his hands inside, and pulled the card free. He read it aloud.
"Merry Christmas, love Aunt Ethel, 1987," Chewie read.
"Good Lord, I'll bet it's a fruitcake," Sonny Brooks announced excitedly. "It makes sense. No one ever eats them. My wife's aunt's neighbor makes them by the ton, gives us one every year. We piled them out back. Killed every plant in a one-hundred yard diameter. Those things are toxic," Sonny offered.
"Let's get it out of here before it completely thaws," Stockwell said.
The crowd dispersed. Evidently finding a fruitcake in a freezer wasn't big news inside the Tommy compound. Tommy's pretty much had a fruitcake around every corner.
Stockwell got a thirteen-gallon garbage bag, wrapped it around the fruitcake, tied the end, and flung it out the Receiving Bay door. It landed with a thud.
Reeve Stockwell turned on his heel and walked away without another thought. He was beyond caring what happened to the damn thing.
He took one-hundred-sixty-three steps to his office, grabbed his coat, and left the store.
He'd had enough.
****************
Kitty had also had enough. She watched from the back, interested but not overly concerned. She was pretty sure it wasn't JJ in the freezer, and Kitty had been right. Instead of weaving back through the Tommy store, she left through the Receiving door after Stockwell left, hung a right, and headed toward her old Chevy. The guns rattled around as she drove, and she hoped they weren't loaded.
The Buick was in the driveway when Kitty arrived home with a sigh. Her life was a series of crazy, with a ten-minute drive in between.
Kitty entered through the main house. Ada sat at the table, scooping Jello out of an enormous bowl.
"Find my teeth?" Ada asked.
Kitty had forgotten about the teeth. "No, Gran. Sorry."
"That sucks. Jello sucks. Living in this crazy house with that mad woman sucks," Ada whined.
"Spoken by the bitch who whacked me with her purse," Helen yelled from behind an ice pack.
"Stop, guys. I've had a hell of a day, and I've got to be back at midnight to help with some overnight stocking," Kitty lied.
"That is ridiculous," Helen whined. "Why in the world would you have to go back? Don't they know you have a family? We have to eat. You gonna cook dinner?"
"No, Mother. I'm not. Tonight you're going to fend for yourselves."
Helen moaned, groaned, and complained, her grumblings muffled by the ice pack.
"If I'd eaten her after I gave birth to her, I'd have never had you," Ada said, and Kitty blew her a kiss.
"I love you, too, Gran," Kitty said.
****************
Sonny Brooks sat out back of Tommy's in his wife's behemoth Town Car. She had blocked him in again, and left with no alternative, Sonny had to take the massive vehicle. It was like trying to sneak out of NASA in the Millenium Falcon.
Sonny was twenty minutes early. He'd hit Wendy's late night drive-thru for a Frosty. His allergies were driving him nuts, but his medication knocked him out. He had to stay alert for the big ghost hunt. He had a mouthful of Frosty when the last allergy attack hit. He sneezed with such force he almost wet himself, and then spent ten minutes cleaning Frosty off the inside of his wife's windshield. He was just finishing up when an enormous Hummer pulled in. A petite figure dressed in back from head to toe hopped out of the vehicle. Agent Gonzales was small but still imposing.
"Brooks?" she asked, as she sidled up to the car.
"Agent?" Sonny replied.
"You ready?" Gonzales asked.
Sonny wasn't, but he climbed out of his car anyhow. "I'm good," he lied.
***************
Reeve Stockwell crept through the darkened store. He "borrowed" three shovels from the lawn and garden department, one for himself, one for Kitty, and one for Miles Longworth.
Stockwell had decided over a one-pound steak that his days at Tommy's were numbered. He wanted a normal life. He wanted a wife who recognized him when he got home, kids who had his picture in their frames, instead of the photos of the happy family that came with them. Maybe he would go to the Police Academy. He was still young enough, and although wiry, he figured he could hold his own in the physical part of it. He had no doubt he'd pass a psychological exam, unless he went all bat shit like Kitty, and started talking to a pen.
Stockwell had made a life-changing decision. He was committed to figuring out what was going on in Tommy's receiving bay, but once that was over, he was out. That was it. The end.
He'd finally had all he could take of a life in retail.
Reeve Stockwell pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head, and stashed the shovels by the back door. He stood in the shadows.
Waiting.
****************
Ada MacKenzie had eaten enough potatoes to feed every pilgrim on the Mayflower. The Jello had been made more palatable by the vodka she'd poured into it, but she missed her teeth. She needed her teeth.
Kitty wouldn't mind if she tagged along. Surely her granddaughter would understand. An old woman needed roughage. An old woman needed Cheese Jax, especially during Jeopardy. An old woman needed teeth.
Ada climbed into her blue Miley Cyrus jogging suit and clambered into the old Chevy. She covered herself with an old blanket from Kitty's back seat, and waited for midnight to arrive.
Ada had to get into Tommy's Tool Town.
She had to get the teeth back.
Surely Kitty would understand.
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