Winnie Robins was grateful the damage to the plumbing department was minimal. She'd spent half an hour cleaning up a massive box of tiny PVC parts that Penelope Ross had knocked over diving into the bathtub. All in all, Winnie wasn't having a bad day at Tommy's. Just after the lights came back on, Winnie had popped a turbo espresso into the company Keurig, and the surge in her enthusiasm was coming in handy. She'd juggled five PVC parts to her normal four, and not one had hit the floor. Until she'd seen him. When Winnie saw her latest customer, five parts flew in every direction.
Winnie grabbed her phone and pounded in Stockwell's digits.
"Stockwell," Reeve Stockwell whispered, sounding muffled.
"Mr. Stockwell?" Winnie asked.
"Yes, Winnie."
"Doesn't sound like you, " Winnie commented.
"It's me. I just ate a chunk of the most disgusting health food bar ever made. It's coated my mouth, and I think I'm going into anaphylactic shock."
"Oh. Well, as sympathetic as I am to your impending death, I need you in Plumbing," Winnie begged.
"Can you pump my stomach?" Stockwell asked.
"Perhaps later. Right now I have a customer who seems to have forgotten his pants."
"Dear Lord," Stockwell said, his words sounding like dare loud, compliments of the caulk. "I'm on my way."
Stockwell looked at Kitty and Miles Longworth, who were still holed up in his office. Longworth was still licking his lips like a German Shepherd who'd just snacked A La Carte from the cat box, and Kitty looked deep in thought.
"There's a naked guy in Plumbing," Stockwell said, and Kitty seemed to snap out of it.
"Is he cute?" Kitty asked.
"Well, my dear Kitty, it seems I've forgotten to ask. Let me just call Winnie back and ask her what the guy looks like, because I'd be really happy to delegate this one to you," Stockwell barked.
"I'm punched out," Kitty reminded him.
"How convenient," Stockwell complained. "Longworth?"
"I took the stain lady and the Deliverance guy with the pickynick table. I'm full up on crazy lately," Miles Longworth commented.
"Terrific. You boneheads stay here and let me handle it," Stockwell said, leaving the office and slamming the door behind him.
"Call me if he's cute," Kitty yelled.
Stockwell stomped off to plumbing. He heard Kitty yell, and stifled the urge to flip the bird to his closed door. He needed a vacation, a big one. Maybe he'd fake losing it and go off to some nice rehab facility somewhere. They always looked so nice on Intervention. Maybe he'd get a bunch of his friends together, have them stage an Intervention, and then he'd fly off to some beach-side get-well center, and eat complimentary peanuts, and watch The Smurfs movie in coach while on his way. He could fake crazy for ninety days, of that he was certain. He worked with Kitty every day. He saw crazy first hand. Maybe he could stay at Kitty's for the weekend, hang out with Helen and Ada. Then he wouldn't have to fake bat shit. He'd be certifiable.
He rounded the corner of the Plumbing aisle, as a surge of admiration for Kitty coursed through him. No wonder she talked to pens. He had no idea how she handled it all.
Maybe he'd find Kitty a husband, a nice fella to take Kitty away from it all. That's what Kitty needed, and he'd probably get a Humanitarian award if he made it happen.
The customer in aisle thirteen wasn't going to fit the bill. Not by a long shot.
The customer wasn't completely naked. He was wearing a shirt, socks, and dress shoes. He wasn't wearing pants, and either went commando, or had lost his shorts somewhere along the way.
"Sir, may I help you?" Stockwell asked as he approached, and Winnie Robins exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath long enough to swim the English Channel.
"I'd like to talk to someone about my hose," the customer said very loudly.
"Seriously?" Stockwell whispered, looking at Winnie.
Nut Job! Winnie mouthed back.
"Sir, you're not wearing any pants," Stockwell said, and Winnie covered her mouth to conceal her laughter.
"Great Scott, you're right," the customer said, looking down at his nether region. "Last time I was in, you folks wouldn't serve me because I wasn't wearing a shirt. Pointed out a sign that said 'No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.'"
"We have no such sign, sir. That said, we do require that customers wear pants. You can't come in here waving that thing around. It's offensive to the ladies," Stockwell explained, and Winnie Robins had tears rolling down her face.
"I was so focused on the shirt and shoes, I guess I forgot about the rest. You see, I drink. A lot. I get so shnockered I can't see straight. Truth be told, I'm about seven-eighths of the way into the bag right about now."
"I'd have never guessed," Stockwell said, and Winnie playfully punched him in the arm.
The customer ignored them both and rattled on endlessly. "Angeline, that's my wife, she worries about me. I used to be a fine gentlemen, real fine. Had me a terrific job, good benefits, and a nice Cadillac. Then this recession thing hits, hits us mortgage folks hard. Nowadays, you can't get a mortgage if you donate a kidney to the dying wife of the bank manager. No way, no how, so we mortgage folks, we're in dire straights. Most of us lost our shirts."
"And your pants, too," Stockwell commented, and Winnie leered at him.
STOP, the stare said.
"Anyhow, Angeline gets her brother Milton, who's a little whacked in the head already, to siphon out my gas so I can't go anywhere when I'm one-hundred sheets to the wind. Milton done gagged on the hose last night while I was pounding the Rolling Rocks. Hose slid about halfway down his throat. Angeline pulled it out, and Milton's not much the worse for wear, but she flung the hose so hard, none of us can find it anywhere. So, I stopped by to talk to someone about my hose."
"Winnie, would you have Daisy store use out some Carharts, get the guy something to put on, and help him with a section of hose?" Stockwell said.
"Certainly, sir," Winnie said.
"Thank you. And, sir?" Stockwell said.
"Yes?"
"Might I suggest an Intervention? I've seen them done on television. Of course, you're not supposed to know ahead of time, but I'd put a Hamilton on you not remembering anything that happened today anyhow. Get yourself some help, man. You can't be walking around in public with your privates exposed. You'll get arrested, and who'll take care of Angeline?" Stockwell asked, feeling like a true public servant.
"That shithead Milton, I suppose," the customer replied.
"You can't be letting that happen, can you?" Stockwell asked.
"No."
Winnie returned with Daisy and the Carharts. Daisy was fifty shades of red. Winnie handed the Carhart pants to the customer, who took them with a nod.
"Get your act together, man, " Stockwell whispered, before walking away. He hadn't taken ten steps before his phone rang again. "Now what?" Stockwell said, not realizing he'd already hit the button to answer.
"Fine way of answering the phone," Sonny Brooks said.
"Look it, Sonny. I cannot tell you how much I hate this place right about now. Unless there's a fire, I'm not interested, and I'm not sure I'd care if this place were about to be burned right off the map."
"How about a dead body?" Sonny asked. "Would that interest you?"
"Who died?" Stockwell said, stopping and steadying himself against a rack of - WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT - hoses.
"No one is sure. The delivery guys brought back an old freezer. It's been out here about three hours. The guys who pick up this junk got held up in the storm. There's an odor, and there's definitely something clunking around inside," Sonny explained.
"So open the damn door!" Stockwell barked.
"Well, a crowd's gathered back here, and a bunch of people think it might be JJ Patricks inside," Sonny said softly.
Stockwell went pale. "JJ. Shit! I'd almost forgotten about her."
"Maybe I should call 911," Sonny said.
"Hold off. I'll get Longworth and Kitty. We'll be right there," Stockwell nearly yelled.
Reeve Stockwell hung up his phone. He'd dreamed of being an FBI Agent, of being MacGyver, or Magnum P.I. or Jason Bourne, someone who did more than sell nuts and bolts, herd associates like cats, count widgets, and sell plumbing parts to madmen, some of whom had the audacity to come to Tommy's with their ding-a-lings hanging out.
Stockwell had had a dream, like all dreamers before him.
Martin Luther King.
JFK.
Nelson Mandella.
Kermit the Frog.
Stockwell longed to bust bad guys and solve crimes.
He had a wad of cash from an unknown source.
A box of guns.
A body in a freezer.
Reeve Stockwell's dreams were becoming reality.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 29 - The Best Laid Plans
Sonny Brooks was in his office when the twister hit. So secure was the Loss Prevention office, that the weather event was over long before Sonny even knew it had begun.
The only tip that something was wrong, was when Sonny had been disconnected from the call he'd been absorbed in when the twister hit. Immediately after being disconnected, Sonny redialed. His call was answered on the first ring.
"Mr. Brooks?" the woman's voice said.
"My apologies," Brooks said. "No idea what happened."
"Could be paranormal," the woman said.
"Indeed," Sonny responded agreeably. "So, explain to me again, Agent Gonzales, exactly how you got into this."
"No problem. My career in law enforcement ended when I punched a suspect in the balls," Gonzales explained.
"Ouch," Sonny replied, cringing.
"He deserved it. I'd chased him around the Chuck-E-Cheese for damn near an hour. Thought he could blend into his kid's birthday party, and he did, until another parent, a colleague of mine, recognized him and called the precinct. I responded. He gave chase, around those groundhog things, around and around the Chuck-E band, finally diving into the balls for cover. He kept throwing balls at me, and I got pissed, so I clocked him. I clocked him good."
"Oh, those balls. Now I gotcha," Sonny said, trying not to laugh. "So, what got you involved with ghosts?"
"I have one," Agent Gonzales replied.
"Like a pet?" Sonny Brooks asked.
"No, not like a pet, you bonehead," the agent replied, and Sonny sensed the edginess of the investigator he'd been warned about. "I have a ghost in my house. My apologies for calling you a bonehead. You may not be a bonehead at all, and that was presumptuous on my part."
I'm a bonehead, all right, Sonny thought. He was about to spend his own money to hire a paranormal investigator, and sneak into his place of employment in the middle of the night. He was a bonehead, all right.
"How much is this gonna set me back?" Sonny Brooks asked.
"How about if we do this. You got a night crew?" Agent Gonzales asked.
"Usually, but the truck got held up today because of the the threat of bad weather, which is crazy, being that it was clear as crystal out there last time I looked. Night crew is off tonight due to no freight," Sonny explained.
"I'll come by around midnight or so. I'll do a walk-through. We'll see how that goes, and it will give me an idea of the size of the space I'll be investigating, and amount of crew I'll need, and equipment. Tonight I'll just bring a night vision camera and an EVP recorder."
Sonny had no idea what an EVP stood for, and imagined it was "Everything's Very Pricey." He knew it was gonna cost him a kidney or his left --- to pay for it all. But, he had to know. He had to. He knew what he'd seen, and he couldn't unsee it.
"I guess I'll see you at midnight, then," Sonny said.
"Sounds good," Agent Gonzales replied.
"What do I call you? Agent Gonzales seems like a mouthful. What's your first name?" Sonny asked.
"Agent."
"Well, all right then, Agent. I'll meet you at Tommy's receiving door at midnight. I'll be here a few minutes before if you're early," Sonny said, as something shifted in his abdomen. He'd have never admitted it openly, but he was scared shitless. He hoped to God that Agent didn't find anything, because if she did, Sonny Brooks was leaving on a gurney.
****************
By evening, JJ Patricks was still unaccounted for.
"I don't get it," Longworth said, in the privacy of Stockwell's office. Kitty, who'd punched out an hour before, sat nibbling the caulking bar. Stockwell eyed her peculiarly.
"We've done all we can," Stockwell commented. "If she's here, I sure as hell can't find her."
"Me either," Kitty said. "Should we call the police?"
"Again?" Longworth replied. "They were already here once today."
The police had responded to a call from Ada McKenzie, who'd phoned in to report her missing teeth, and to see to it that the barely-post-adolescent thug who'd held her granddaughter at gunpoint was dealt with accordingly. He was.
The cops had hauled him off in cuffs, after Daisy had secured him properly with a zip tie, and strapped him to a chair with her tool belt.
Chewie was the last associate to be found. He'd hidden in a garbage can, secured to a display. Chewie, unlike a cat, who can usually get out of any predicament it gets into, could not release himself from the can. It took three associates, and a tool Daisy produced from her arsenal. Chewie was shaken, but not so much he was unable to finish his shift. He was covering Electrical and Plumbing. The plumbing associate couldn't make it in for his evening shift. Seemed a tree had fallen and cut the guy's SUV, 'bout in half.
Bubba Brenda towed Mags' car to his body shop, or her body shop, no one was sure. JJ Patrick's mostly-totaled vehicle was out back behind the dumpster, shrouded with a tarp taken from Tommy's shelves. Bubba had towed it out of the ruined shed, an hour after the twister, during the great clean-up.
The shed was the only casualty resulting from the unexpected twister, and was at the core of the meeting between Kitty, Miles Longworth, and the still-buzzing Reeve Stockwell.
"I can't stop thinking about JJ," Kitty whined. "We have to do something."
"We did. We searched all over, and Mags is sure she'll hear from her later this evening. JJ is a grown woman. If she found a way to duck out during a natural disaster, we have to give her credit for getting out while she could. Frankly, I'm a little surprised that more associates didn't disappear when the lights were out. Seems to be about the only way to get free from this place," Stockwell said longingly.
"Okay, so we're pretty sure JJ will turn up," Longworth said, not unsympathetic to the woman's disappearance. "We have our own issues to work out here. There is the little matter of the box of guns in Kitty's trunk, and the wad of money hidden in my desk. The shed idea is kaput. Now what?"
"We bury it," Stockwell said. "It's the only way."
"When?" Kitty asked.
"Tonight. Let's put it behind us. There is absolutely something odd going on here, but we need to distance ourselves from it. I'm not suggesting we forget, we'll still look for clues, but we don't want to be holding a wad of money, or a box of guns, if someone else figures it out before we do," Stockwell said.
"Let's make a pact," Kitty suggested.
"With what?" Longworth said. "I'm not doing the blood thing, because people get sick from that kind of thing, with all the diseases and such, and if I'm this guy's blood brother, I could end up with Diabetes, or ADHD," Longworth whined.
"That's swell, Miles. You're a real pal," Stockwell said.
"Well, look at you, trembling like a heroin addict. Get yourself a cheeseburger or something. You're twitching so much, just looking at you makes me feel like I'm having a stroke," Longworth chastised.
"Stop!" Kitty said, breaking the remaining caulking bar into three pieces. Both men groaned. "We'll each eat a piece and this will be our pact."
"I'm not eating that shit," Longworth complained.
"Then it's blood," Kitty said.
Both men took a piece of the caulking bar and popped it into their mouths. Kitty did the same. Three faces contorted into displeasure, as the silence was broken only by the sound of Longworth gagging.
"Okay, that's over," Stockwell said, with a frog in his throat, compliments of the caulk.
"What time tonight?" Kitty asked.
Miles Longworth checked his watched, and looked at Stockwell, and then Kitty, before responding.
"Midnight."
The only tip that something was wrong, was when Sonny had been disconnected from the call he'd been absorbed in when the twister hit. Immediately after being disconnected, Sonny redialed. His call was answered on the first ring.
"Mr. Brooks?" the woman's voice said.
"My apologies," Brooks said. "No idea what happened."
"Could be paranormal," the woman said.
"Indeed," Sonny responded agreeably. "So, explain to me again, Agent Gonzales, exactly how you got into this."
"No problem. My career in law enforcement ended when I punched a suspect in the balls," Gonzales explained.
"Ouch," Sonny replied, cringing.
"He deserved it. I'd chased him around the Chuck-E-Cheese for damn near an hour. Thought he could blend into his kid's birthday party, and he did, until another parent, a colleague of mine, recognized him and called the precinct. I responded. He gave chase, around those groundhog things, around and around the Chuck-E band, finally diving into the balls for cover. He kept throwing balls at me, and I got pissed, so I clocked him. I clocked him good."
"Oh, those balls. Now I gotcha," Sonny said, trying not to laugh. "So, what got you involved with ghosts?"
"I have one," Agent Gonzales replied.
"Like a pet?" Sonny Brooks asked.
"No, not like a pet, you bonehead," the agent replied, and Sonny sensed the edginess of the investigator he'd been warned about. "I have a ghost in my house. My apologies for calling you a bonehead. You may not be a bonehead at all, and that was presumptuous on my part."
I'm a bonehead, all right, Sonny thought. He was about to spend his own money to hire a paranormal investigator, and sneak into his place of employment in the middle of the night. He was a bonehead, all right.
"How much is this gonna set me back?" Sonny Brooks asked.
"How about if we do this. You got a night crew?" Agent Gonzales asked.
"Usually, but the truck got held up today because of the the threat of bad weather, which is crazy, being that it was clear as crystal out there last time I looked. Night crew is off tonight due to no freight," Sonny explained.
"I'll come by around midnight or so. I'll do a walk-through. We'll see how that goes, and it will give me an idea of the size of the space I'll be investigating, and amount of crew I'll need, and equipment. Tonight I'll just bring a night vision camera and an EVP recorder."
Sonny had no idea what an EVP stood for, and imagined it was "Everything's Very Pricey." He knew it was gonna cost him a kidney or his left --- to pay for it all. But, he had to know. He had to. He knew what he'd seen, and he couldn't unsee it.
"I guess I'll see you at midnight, then," Sonny said.
"Sounds good," Agent Gonzales replied.
"What do I call you? Agent Gonzales seems like a mouthful. What's your first name?" Sonny asked.
"Agent."
"Well, all right then, Agent. I'll meet you at Tommy's receiving door at midnight. I'll be here a few minutes before if you're early," Sonny said, as something shifted in his abdomen. He'd have never admitted it openly, but he was scared shitless. He hoped to God that Agent didn't find anything, because if she did, Sonny Brooks was leaving on a gurney.
****************
By evening, JJ Patricks was still unaccounted for.
"I don't get it," Longworth said, in the privacy of Stockwell's office. Kitty, who'd punched out an hour before, sat nibbling the caulking bar. Stockwell eyed her peculiarly.
"We've done all we can," Stockwell commented. "If she's here, I sure as hell can't find her."
"Me either," Kitty said. "Should we call the police?"
"Again?" Longworth replied. "They were already here once today."
The police had responded to a call from Ada McKenzie, who'd phoned in to report her missing teeth, and to see to it that the barely-post-adolescent thug who'd held her granddaughter at gunpoint was dealt with accordingly. He was.
The cops had hauled him off in cuffs, after Daisy had secured him properly with a zip tie, and strapped him to a chair with her tool belt.
Chewie was the last associate to be found. He'd hidden in a garbage can, secured to a display. Chewie, unlike a cat, who can usually get out of any predicament it gets into, could not release himself from the can. It took three associates, and a tool Daisy produced from her arsenal. Chewie was shaken, but not so much he was unable to finish his shift. He was covering Electrical and Plumbing. The plumbing associate couldn't make it in for his evening shift. Seemed a tree had fallen and cut the guy's SUV, 'bout in half.
Bubba Brenda towed Mags' car to his body shop, or her body shop, no one was sure. JJ Patrick's mostly-totaled vehicle was out back behind the dumpster, shrouded with a tarp taken from Tommy's shelves. Bubba had towed it out of the ruined shed, an hour after the twister, during the great clean-up.
The shed was the only casualty resulting from the unexpected twister, and was at the core of the meeting between Kitty, Miles Longworth, and the still-buzzing Reeve Stockwell.
"I can't stop thinking about JJ," Kitty whined. "We have to do something."
"We did. We searched all over, and Mags is sure she'll hear from her later this evening. JJ is a grown woman. If she found a way to duck out during a natural disaster, we have to give her credit for getting out while she could. Frankly, I'm a little surprised that more associates didn't disappear when the lights were out. Seems to be about the only way to get free from this place," Stockwell said longingly.
"Okay, so we're pretty sure JJ will turn up," Longworth said, not unsympathetic to the woman's disappearance. "We have our own issues to work out here. There is the little matter of the box of guns in Kitty's trunk, and the wad of money hidden in my desk. The shed idea is kaput. Now what?"
"We bury it," Stockwell said. "It's the only way."
"When?" Kitty asked.
"Tonight. Let's put it behind us. There is absolutely something odd going on here, but we need to distance ourselves from it. I'm not suggesting we forget, we'll still look for clues, but we don't want to be holding a wad of money, or a box of guns, if someone else figures it out before we do," Stockwell said.
"Let's make a pact," Kitty suggested.
"With what?" Longworth said. "I'm not doing the blood thing, because people get sick from that kind of thing, with all the diseases and such, and if I'm this guy's blood brother, I could end up with Diabetes, or ADHD," Longworth whined.
"That's swell, Miles. You're a real pal," Stockwell said.
"Well, look at you, trembling like a heroin addict. Get yourself a cheeseburger or something. You're twitching so much, just looking at you makes me feel like I'm having a stroke," Longworth chastised.
"Stop!" Kitty said, breaking the remaining caulking bar into three pieces. Both men groaned. "We'll each eat a piece and this will be our pact."
"I'm not eating that shit," Longworth complained.
"Then it's blood," Kitty said.
Both men took a piece of the caulking bar and popped it into their mouths. Kitty did the same. Three faces contorted into displeasure, as the silence was broken only by the sound of Longworth gagging.
"Okay, that's over," Stockwell said, with a frog in his throat, compliments of the caulk.
"What time tonight?" Kitty asked.
Miles Longworth checked his watched, and looked at Stockwell, and then Kitty, before responding.
"Midnight."
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 28 - Oh Where, Oh Where, Has Our Little Cashier Gone? Oh, Where, Oh Where, Could She Be?
An audible gasp filled the break room when the lights went out. Miles Longworth was the first to speak.
"Nobody panic. I have plenty of flashlights," Longworth said. A general scurrying was heard, followed by the rustling of large heavy objects, followed by more scurrying, followed by....
"SHIT!" Longworth hissed.
"What's the matter?" Stockwell replied, doing a bit of scurrying of his own. He shuffled through the dark and - BAM - Stockwell made contact with the corner of the table. "Son of a -"
"Young man, there are ladies present!" Ada McKenzie yelled, cutting off Stockwell mid sentence.
"My apologies, Ma'am," Stockwell muttered. "Can I get some light before I kill someone?"
"There he goes, mumbling about killing folks again," Ada said, and PLUNK, something else hit the floor. "Damn ill-fitting teeth," Ada slurred.
"None of the flashlights work," Longworth said, and the crowd groaned.
"Don't nobody step on my teeth," Ada said, or everybody thought she said. Her toothlessness made her sound like she was talking in a fish tank.
"No one move," Alejandro said, sounding like someone from the old west. "The fair lady has lost her choppers."
"Mother of God," Kitty mumbled.
"Are we praying?" Ada asked. "Dear Lord, please don't let anyone step on my teeth. I just got them from that nice dental clinic downtown, and even though they don't fit these withered gums right, they surely cost me almost as much as four cartons of the Lucky Strikes."
"Gran, they don't even make Lucky Strikes anymore," Kitty chastised.
"Do too. I just bought them last month from that nice Harold at the pharmacy," Ada remarked.
"Harold died in 1988, Gran. From lung cancer," Kitty reminded.
"For criminy sake. I'm getting dumber than shit, pardon my French," Ada whined. "I thought that was just a few weeks back. Dear Lord, please help me find my marbles," Ada added.
"Amen," Helen growled.
"Shut up," Ada mumbled.
"Mary, mother of God, please give me strength, Kitty whispered.
"You got your wife's gloves, Longworth? Maybe you could lead the group in some prayer," Slick Mitchell suggested.
"Like that's helping?" Longworth growled.
"EVERYONE STOP!" Stockwell yelled.
"Is he always this angry?" Ada whispered, very loudly.
"Gran, please," Kitty begged.
"I got something," Ada chimed in. "It's in my purse."
A flicker of light was followed by a tall flame from a fireplace lighter.
"What the hell?" Kitty whispered.
"Carry it all the time, I do," Ada announced. Toothless and backlit by the flickering flame, Ada McKenzie looked like something better intended for Halloween.
"Boo!" Ada said, turning toward Reeve Stockwell.
Stockwell screamed and banged his knee again.
"Gran, why do you have that?" Kitty begged.
"Never can tell when you'll come across a bunch of Boy Scouts rubbing sticks together, and besides, ever since I saw that movie Castaway, I always carry it. That movie could have been half that long if Tom Cruise had a Bic. Old folks were darn near peeing themselves that movie was so long. I made it three quarters through and I had a Big Gulp. Bladder was stronger back then."
"It was Tom Hanks, Mother," Helen complained.
"Hanks, Cruise, who cares. Sure was odd that fellow carrying on with that tennis ball." Ada rattled on relentlessly. Longworth stood shaking flashlights, while Stockwell massaged his injured legs. Everyone else prayed for death. Anything to get free of Kitty and the representatives of her seriously mucked-up family tree.
"Volleyball, Gran," Kitty said, sounding pained.
"Right," Ada replied.
"I got the generator working!" a female voice said, as the room filled with half light. Daisy Cates, Tommy's own Tool Goddess, appeared in blue coveralls, with a substantial amount of grease smeared on her face.
"Thank God for Daisy," Kitty said. "We might have all perished back here."
"Don't be dramatic, Stella," Helen chastised.
"STELLA!" Alejandro yelled, and Helen jumped.
"What's wrong with that one?" Helen asked. "Is he special?"
"He is, indeed," Kitty said, "and that's a rotten thing to say, Mother."
"What was the problem with our generator, Daisy?" Slick Mitchell asked, trying to look official. He sidled up to Daisy, but not so much as to get grease on his million-dollar jeans.
"Years of neglect," Daisy said. "That can do something to a machine. Can do something to a woman, too," Daisy said philosophically.
Kitty smiled and mumbled. "Amen to that."
"You were outside, Daisy?" Stockwell asked. "Don't you think that was reckless?"
"I wasn't worried. I'm a sturdy old gal. Take more'n wind to move me any farther than I want to go," Daisy said.
"Okay, folks. Carefully, let's get everyone out of the break room and assess the damage. As soon as it's safe, we'll let customers go, and associates, we'll start putting things back together. What's the place look like, Daisy?" Stockwell asked.
"Couldn't say, sir. I made short work of getting back here and checking on all of you. I did see some flying debris out back, and I'm pretty sure that twister may have even hurled a car at the height of its fury," Daisy explained.
"It wasn't a Buick, was it?" Helen whined.
"I couldn't say, Ma'am," Daisy said politely. "It was moving mighty fast."
"Is everyone accounted for?" Slick Mitchell asked.
"I don't see Penelope!" Bernice Lord shrieked, sounding panic striken. "Penelope? You in here anywhere?" Bernice yelled. "Kitty, give me your phone. Please," Bernice begged.
"Of course," Kitty replied, handing Bernice the Tommy phone.
"Penelope, please call Kitty. Right now. I am worried," Bernice paged, staring at the phone. "Oh. And this is Bernice," Bernice added, and Kitty smiled.
The phone rang. Bernice put it on speaker.
"Penelope?"
"Yeah?" Penelope replied.
"Where are you?" Kitty asked.
"In plumbing," Penelope explained.
"Why?" Bernice asked.
"The news guy said to get into the bathtub. I'm in the fashion bath display," Penelope said.
"Um, I think that only works if you're actually in the bathroom," Bernice stated. "Maybe not so much in Tommy's plumbing department with thousands of parts that could fly around and tear your ears off."
"That's gross," Ada whined. "Where would you put your earrings?"
"Stop, Gran," Kitty chided.
"Seems to have worked out all right. I'm okay," Penelope said.
"Stay there. I'm coming," Bernice demanded before hanging up the phone.
"Take a flashlight," Miles suggested.
"You said they didn't work," Kitty replied.
"They don't. I could use some help lugging them all back up there," Miles Longworth quipped.
Bernice took a flashlight and disappeared through the break room doorway into the store.
"Dear Gods of Worker's Comp, please tell me Mags is okay. I'm twenty-four hours away from the clear," Slick Mitchell muttered.
"Your compassion is mind blowing," Kitty remarked.
"Hey, somebody's gotta take care of the bottom line," Slick said.
"Mags!" Kitty yelled.
Mags was unscathed. She'd been hiding in the Ladies Room with Bubba, who turned out to have been born Brenda, and still had a lot of Brenda parts.
Everyone was accounted for with one exception.
No one could find JJ Patricks.
An hour later, everyone was still looking.
"I don't get it," Kitty said. "Where could she have gone?"
"I have no idea. I've checked every nook and cranny of this store, and unless she's gotten herself small enough to fit into a drawer, or a pencil can, she is not here," Slick Mitchell said.
"She wasn't in her car, was she?" Stockwell said, sounding shaken.
"Hope not," Mags said. "Bubba Brenda just pulled it out of the old shed out back. If she was in it, she's not in it now."
"She was in the line of people who filed out back," Kitty said, sounding equally worried. "I am positive she was there when the lights went out, but she was gone when they came back on."
The power had already been restored, Daisy had washed her face, and the store was lit up like Christmas.
"Maybe she went back to where she came from," Alejandro offered. "She always seemed rather other-worldly," he added.
"She did, at that," Wilton Scott offered. "Perhaps she wasn't JJ Patricks at all. Perhaps she was a shape shifter, or a time traveler."
"Who would time travel to go to work at Tommy's?" Stockwell said.
"Come on. This isn't helping. I think someone took her," Kitty said. "I think JJ was kidnapped."
Miles Longworth was standing three feet away. He made eye contact with Kitty, and then Stockwell. They all had the same thing on their minds.
Money.
Guns.
JJ.
What the hell was going on?
"Nobody panic. I have plenty of flashlights," Longworth said. A general scurrying was heard, followed by the rustling of large heavy objects, followed by more scurrying, followed by....
"SHIT!" Longworth hissed.
"What's the matter?" Stockwell replied, doing a bit of scurrying of his own. He shuffled through the dark and - BAM - Stockwell made contact with the corner of the table. "Son of a -"
"Young man, there are ladies present!" Ada McKenzie yelled, cutting off Stockwell mid sentence.
"My apologies, Ma'am," Stockwell muttered. "Can I get some light before I kill someone?"
"There he goes, mumbling about killing folks again," Ada said, and PLUNK, something else hit the floor. "Damn ill-fitting teeth," Ada slurred.
"None of the flashlights work," Longworth said, and the crowd groaned.
"Don't nobody step on my teeth," Ada said, or everybody thought she said. Her toothlessness made her sound like she was talking in a fish tank.
"No one move," Alejandro said, sounding like someone from the old west. "The fair lady has lost her choppers."
"Mother of God," Kitty mumbled.
"Are we praying?" Ada asked. "Dear Lord, please don't let anyone step on my teeth. I just got them from that nice dental clinic downtown, and even though they don't fit these withered gums right, they surely cost me almost as much as four cartons of the Lucky Strikes."
"Gran, they don't even make Lucky Strikes anymore," Kitty chastised.
"Do too. I just bought them last month from that nice Harold at the pharmacy," Ada remarked.
"Harold died in 1988, Gran. From lung cancer," Kitty reminded.
"For criminy sake. I'm getting dumber than shit, pardon my French," Ada whined. "I thought that was just a few weeks back. Dear Lord, please help me find my marbles," Ada added.
"Amen," Helen growled.
"Shut up," Ada mumbled.
"Mary, mother of God, please give me strength, Kitty whispered.
"You got your wife's gloves, Longworth? Maybe you could lead the group in some prayer," Slick Mitchell suggested.
"Like that's helping?" Longworth growled.
"EVERYONE STOP!" Stockwell yelled.
"Is he always this angry?" Ada whispered, very loudly.
"Gran, please," Kitty begged.
"I got something," Ada chimed in. "It's in my purse."
A flicker of light was followed by a tall flame from a fireplace lighter.
"What the hell?" Kitty whispered.
"Carry it all the time, I do," Ada announced. Toothless and backlit by the flickering flame, Ada McKenzie looked like something better intended for Halloween.
"Boo!" Ada said, turning toward Reeve Stockwell.
Stockwell screamed and banged his knee again.
"Gran, why do you have that?" Kitty begged.
"Never can tell when you'll come across a bunch of Boy Scouts rubbing sticks together, and besides, ever since I saw that movie Castaway, I always carry it. That movie could have been half that long if Tom Cruise had a Bic. Old folks were darn near peeing themselves that movie was so long. I made it three quarters through and I had a Big Gulp. Bladder was stronger back then."
"It was Tom Hanks, Mother," Helen complained.
"Hanks, Cruise, who cares. Sure was odd that fellow carrying on with that tennis ball." Ada rattled on relentlessly. Longworth stood shaking flashlights, while Stockwell massaged his injured legs. Everyone else prayed for death. Anything to get free of Kitty and the representatives of her seriously mucked-up family tree.
"Volleyball, Gran," Kitty said, sounding pained.
"Right," Ada replied.
"I got the generator working!" a female voice said, as the room filled with half light. Daisy Cates, Tommy's own Tool Goddess, appeared in blue coveralls, with a substantial amount of grease smeared on her face.
"Thank God for Daisy," Kitty said. "We might have all perished back here."
"Don't be dramatic, Stella," Helen chastised.
"STELLA!" Alejandro yelled, and Helen jumped.
"What's wrong with that one?" Helen asked. "Is he special?"
"He is, indeed," Kitty said, "and that's a rotten thing to say, Mother."
"What was the problem with our generator, Daisy?" Slick Mitchell asked, trying to look official. He sidled up to Daisy, but not so much as to get grease on his million-dollar jeans.
"Years of neglect," Daisy said. "That can do something to a machine. Can do something to a woman, too," Daisy said philosophically.
Kitty smiled and mumbled. "Amen to that."
"You were outside, Daisy?" Stockwell asked. "Don't you think that was reckless?"
"I wasn't worried. I'm a sturdy old gal. Take more'n wind to move me any farther than I want to go," Daisy said.
"Okay, folks. Carefully, let's get everyone out of the break room and assess the damage. As soon as it's safe, we'll let customers go, and associates, we'll start putting things back together. What's the place look like, Daisy?" Stockwell asked.
"Couldn't say, sir. I made short work of getting back here and checking on all of you. I did see some flying debris out back, and I'm pretty sure that twister may have even hurled a car at the height of its fury," Daisy explained.
"It wasn't a Buick, was it?" Helen whined.
"I couldn't say, Ma'am," Daisy said politely. "It was moving mighty fast."
"Is everyone accounted for?" Slick Mitchell asked.
"I don't see Penelope!" Bernice Lord shrieked, sounding panic striken. "Penelope? You in here anywhere?" Bernice yelled. "Kitty, give me your phone. Please," Bernice begged.
"Of course," Kitty replied, handing Bernice the Tommy phone.
"Penelope, please call Kitty. Right now. I am worried," Bernice paged, staring at the phone. "Oh. And this is Bernice," Bernice added, and Kitty smiled.
The phone rang. Bernice put it on speaker.
"Penelope?"
"Yeah?" Penelope replied.
"Where are you?" Kitty asked.
"In plumbing," Penelope explained.
"Why?" Bernice asked.
"The news guy said to get into the bathtub. I'm in the fashion bath display," Penelope said.
"Um, I think that only works if you're actually in the bathroom," Bernice stated. "Maybe not so much in Tommy's plumbing department with thousands of parts that could fly around and tear your ears off."
"That's gross," Ada whined. "Where would you put your earrings?"
"Stop, Gran," Kitty chided.
"Seems to have worked out all right. I'm okay," Penelope said.
"Stay there. I'm coming," Bernice demanded before hanging up the phone.
"Take a flashlight," Miles suggested.
"You said they didn't work," Kitty replied.
"They don't. I could use some help lugging them all back up there," Miles Longworth quipped.
Bernice took a flashlight and disappeared through the break room doorway into the store.
"Dear Gods of Worker's Comp, please tell me Mags is okay. I'm twenty-four hours away from the clear," Slick Mitchell muttered.
"Your compassion is mind blowing," Kitty remarked.
"Hey, somebody's gotta take care of the bottom line," Slick said.
"Mags!" Kitty yelled.
Mags was unscathed. She'd been hiding in the Ladies Room with Bubba, who turned out to have been born Brenda, and still had a lot of Brenda parts.
Everyone was accounted for with one exception.
No one could find JJ Patricks.
An hour later, everyone was still looking.
"I don't get it," Kitty said. "Where could she have gone?"
"I have no idea. I've checked every nook and cranny of this store, and unless she's gotten herself small enough to fit into a drawer, or a pencil can, she is not here," Slick Mitchell said.
"She wasn't in her car, was she?" Stockwell said, sounding shaken.
"Hope not," Mags said. "Bubba Brenda just pulled it out of the old shed out back. If she was in it, she's not in it now."
"She was in the line of people who filed out back," Kitty said, sounding equally worried. "I am positive she was there when the lights went out, but she was gone when they came back on."
The power had already been restored, Daisy had washed her face, and the store was lit up like Christmas.
"Maybe she went back to where she came from," Alejandro offered. "She always seemed rather other-worldly," he added.
"She did, at that," Wilton Scott offered. "Perhaps she wasn't JJ Patricks at all. Perhaps she was a shape shifter, or a time traveler."
"Who would time travel to go to work at Tommy's?" Stockwell said.
"Come on. This isn't helping. I think someone took her," Kitty said. "I think JJ was kidnapped."
Miles Longworth was standing three feet away. He made eye contact with Kitty, and then Stockwell. They all had the same thing on their minds.
Money.
Guns.
JJ.
What the hell was going on?
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 27 - We're Not in Kansas Anymore
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth crept from their hiding places in the electrical aisle. JJ Patricks stood over them. Stockwell screamed when he saw her, hood up, cadaver still.
“Aargh!” Stockwell screamed.
“Sissy,” Longworth whispered.
“Mr. Stockwell. I believe the situation is under control .” JJ murmured so softly a dog couldn't have heard her.
“Could you speak in a tone meant for human ears?” Longworth suggested, and JJ stared at him. She turned on her heel and shuffled away. “She is weird as shit,” Miles Longworth mumbled and Stockwell turned toward him.
“We generally grade on a curve here. Kitty. Case and point,” Stockwell commented.
“Speaking of Kitty,” Miles Longworth said, and both he and Stockwell stood. “She's just had a meltdown. Should we call someone?”
Stockwell ignored him, and strolled with purpose to where Kitty sat at a discount patio set. Before he could say a word, Ada and Helen burst through the exit doors. “Sweet Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the saints, please let them be a result of some brain aneurysm,” Kitty prayed, with her hands folded. “Please don't let them be real.”
“Stella! Why didn't you answer your phone?” Ada screamed. It was obvious she'd misplaced her hearing aid again.
“Grandma, I was too busy being held at gunpoint,” Kitty groaned, and Ada covered her hands with her mouth.
“Seriously?” Ada said, when she'd recovered. Helen shook her head but remained quiet.
“Yes,” Kitty whispered.
“Where's the gunman?” Ada asked.
“Gone,” Stockwell said, joining the conversation.
“Are you sure it wasn't this high-strung fella holding the gun?” Ada asked, pointing at Stockwell.
“That's rude,” Stockwell griped.
“Not so much. You're always saying you want to kill people,” Kitty said softly.
“I suppose you've got me there,” Stockwell commented.
“Ooohhhh, is this the gun here?” Ada asked, strolling to the checkout where the gun lay.
“Do NOT touch that,” Stockwell yelled.
“I'll just put it in my evidence bag,” Ada said, and suddenly everyone was watching Ada, JJ Patricks included.
“You have an evidence bag?” Miles Longworth asked.
“Never go anywhere without it,” Ada said. “She popped the gun in the clear evidence bag, walked it over to Customer Service, and laid it on the phone operator's desk. Quincy Warner had resigned from her position the week before to pursue a career in the circus, and the desk was presently vacant. “No one touch that,” Ada suggested, and everyone nodded in unison, so much so it was like the Hallelujah Chorus of head movement. “Now I'll dust for prints,” Ada said, and Helen was on the move.
“Oh no you don't, you old bat. You collected evidence, I will dust for prints,” Helen yelled.
“I have the face powder, and the brush,” Ada said.
Helen reached for Ada's purse, and Ada swung it wide. It connected with the side of Helen's head. Hard.
“Jesus, Grandma,” Kitty shrieked, rising so quickly she knocked two chairs and one Alejandro to the ground.
“I want to live with them,” Alejandro said. “Looks like a riot.”
Helen grabbed the purse, and Ada fell to her knees. Her teeth came loose, skittered across the floor, and came to rest in front of Alejandro's knees. The young man regarded them for only a moment, scooped them up, and rose to his feet. He offered a hand to Ada, who took it appreciatively.
“You're a sweet boy for coming to an old lady's rescue,” Ada said, with a significant toothless lisp. She brushed off the bottom of her flowered overalls and leered at Helen.
“I should have eaten you after you were born,” Ada growled and Helen sneered at her.
“And people wonder why I want to shoot myself,” Kitty whispered.
“I believe these are yours, Ma'am,” Alejandro said in a deep southern drawl. He tipped a hat he wasn't wearing. Ada took the teeth and popped them into her mouth. “I'd very much like to dust for prints, if you'd let me be of assistance.”
“I suppose we could,” Helen said, rubbing her cheek. It was beet red, and had a slight impression of a designer knock-off emblem in it, that in twenty-four hours would become a blue bruise surrounding the letters PRADO.
“I guess someone needs to dust and someone needs to lift the prints. Could we use packing tape?” Alejandro asked, and Helen's eyes lit up.
“Kitty can get us tape,” Helen said. “I'll be in charge of lifting.”
“And I'll do the dusting,” Ada said.
“And I'll just stand here and be the Ada and Helen whisperer,” Alejandro said very softly, and Kitty smiled weakly at him .
Suddenly there was a squawking from a radio on Quincy's desk. It was a storm radio that Sonny Brooks was required to leave at Customer Service.
“This is the Emergency Broadcasting System. The apocalypse is upon us. Grab your Rolling Rocks and head for high ground,” Alejandro mused, and Stockwell glared at him.
“Pipe down. This could be serious,” Stockwell reprimanded.
“The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning for the following areas....”
Everyone fell silent as several counties were listed, including the county in which Tommy's Tool Town was located.
“I'll be,” Ada said, as all fingerprint lifting activities were forgotten. "And I was planning to do some shopping. Need a replacement bunny for that nice Stella.”
Kitty went pale.
“Gran, I'm Stella. What did you do to my bunny?” Kitty said, looking shaken.
“Oh, shit,” Ada whispered.
“What happened, Gran?” Kitty demanded.
“Well, I was putting those dogs out, and one of them had your bunny. I figured the poor raggedy thing needed a bath so I plopped it in the washer with Helen's unmentionables.”
“And?” Kitty whispered.
“It disintegrated,” Ada mumbled.
“Oh, my God! You killed Ella Bunny?” Kitty shrieked.
“I wouldn't say it was murder. It was more bunny laundering,” Ada said defensively.
Slick Mitchell entered the store with the gunman in tow. Mags followed closely behind, with a Johnny Depp lookalike by her side.
“Mother of God,” Kitty said, crossing herself. He was THAT good looking.
The gunman was all but forgotten until he spoke. “So, you decided not to shoot yourself, eh? You crazy fruitcake.”
“Is this the guy who held you at gunpoint?” Ada asked in a stern voice.
“Yes, Gran,” Kitty mumbled.
Ada hauled off and kicked the gunman's shin with all her might. The gunman howled, and grabbed his leg. “Asshole,” Ada mumbled, and even Helen cracked a smile.
“All right, people,” Slick Mitchell said. “This is serious. We are in the path of the tornado. We need everyone to assemble in the break room. It is the safest place in the store. Stockwell, please lead the way. Longworth, gather all the emergency flashlights. If anyone, customer's included, needs to use a restroom, we'll be passing them on our way to the break room. Please be brief. Don't take a magazine or a newspaper. We don't have that kind of time.”
No one laughed. The mood was somber.
Even Johnny Depp was forgotten.
Two minutes later everyone was assembled in the break room. Ada and Helen stood one on each side of Kitty. “I hope my babies will be all right,” Kitty whispered, and Ada slipped her hand in her granddaughter's.
“God will take care of them. There is a special God for children, drunks, and rescue pets. I think he looks after the rescuers, too.” Ada winked, and Kitty smiled weakly, then wrinkled her nose.
“I was afraid of that,” Ada said, as someone coughed.
“Gran, did you do that?” Kitty whispered.
“My sincere apologies. The catholic church had holupki today, and I've got the bowels of a very old woman. I'm rethinking the second helping.”
“Dear Lord, mother,” Helen groaned.
“Can't even blame it on the dogs,” Ada said, and Alejandro laughed.
Thunder interrupted with a massive voice, and its power shook Tommy's on its foundation. The endless rumble was followed by the sound of a freight train. Ada whispered, “the Lord is my Shepherd....” as everything went black.
Friday, July 13, 2012
We Now Pause For a Moment
Please join us in congratulating the real-life Kitty Richardson on the recent release of her full-length comedy novel, Becoming Mona Lisa.
We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 26 - The Wicked Kitty of the East
"Stockwell?" Miles Longworth said.
"Longworth?" Stockwell whispered.
"Busted," Kitty mumbled.
"What the hell are you doing?" Stockwell asked, hugging the box of guns to his chest.
"I might ask you the same," Longworth said, as a breeze lifted a wrinkled hundred-dollar bill from his hand, and the money took flight. "Drop the gun, Kitty," Miles suggested, and Kitty arched a brow at him and looked at Reeve Stockwell.
"You're still maintaining the position," Stockwell whispered.
"Oh," Kitty said, looking down at her hands. Sure enough, they were still folded to appear as if she were armed. She relaxed her fingers and shrugged. "I suppose this is what we call an impasse," Kitty added, looking at Stockwell, at Longworth, and then back at Stockwell. "Who's gonna speak first?"
"You," Stockwell said, holding Longworth's gaze.
"What the hell. I never could keep a darn secret, and this one's giving me more grey hair. All right, I'll spill it. I was out here one day, hiding from Mitchell and sneaking a cigar. I was bored, my mind miles away, and I was kicking at this here debris pile. Underneath the mess was an envelope of money. This money," Longworth said, and this time a fifty took off in the wind.
"And you kept it?" Kitty asked softly.
"Initially, I honestly thought I would, but this kind of thing picks at you, wakes you up in the middle of the night, and stops you dead in your tracks as you're lifting a piece of Mike's Mama's Pizza with extra cheese to your gaping mouth. This kind of a thing nags at you until your gut's in a knot, and you're carrying around Pepto like it was a lifeline. I've been trying to put this money back for days." Longworth hung his head and cleared his throat.
Stockwell just stared.
"Where did the money come from?" Kitty asked.
"I have absolutely no idea," Longworth replied. "Been wondering the same thing. I was out here poking around about a week back, after the store had closed, and this big black car shows up. I figured my number was up, I was about to buy the farm, kick the bucket, take a one-way ride to the pearly gates-"
"We get it," Kitty interrupted.
"Anyhow, the car did a one-eighty and sped away. I just about fainted," Miles Longworth said, being not quite truthful.
"Maybe it has something to do with this," Stockwell said, setting his box at Longworth's feet.
"What is it?" Longworth asked.
"Guns," Stockwell replied. Longworth went pale and shot Kitty a perplexed look. Kitty nodded.
"It's guns," Kitty whispered.
"Well hell's bells, where the heck did they come from?" Longworth asked.
"Receiving," Stockwell replied.
"We sell guns now?" Miles Longworth asked, regretting his words almost instantly.
Stockwell laughed. Kitty smiled.
"No," Kitty said. "We don't sell guns."
"I'd say something stinks around here, big time," Miles Longworth said.
"I'd say you're right," Stockwell said, feeling a surge of James Bond-ness surge through his veins.
"What do we do?" Kitty asked.
"I say we hide this stuff, and the three of us band together to see if we can figure this out. Maybe Mitchell's up to something hokey," Miles Longworth said.
Stockwell opened the box of guns, and Longworth looked inside. He whistled loudly. "Some good looking pieces," he said.
"You know guns?" Stockwell asked.
"No. I know remotes, and I channel surf. A lot. I get a little bit educated on just about everything, guns included," Longworth said, placing the money on top of the guns, and closing the box.
"Now what?" Kitty asked.
"We hide it," Stockwell said.
"Where?" Longworth asked.
"We could bury it," Kitty said.
"With what?" Longworth said.
"Well, if we went to the Garden Center, we'd have our choice of about one-hundred different shovels," Stockwell said, and Kitty giggled.
"And until we do this burying?" Stockwell asked.
"We can put the stuff in the back of my truck," Kitty said.
"What if someone sees it?" Stockwell asked.
"Who would see it? I go to work, I go home. I walk dogs, and shovel up perfectly round balls of kitty litter, and watch television. The last person in my Chevy was a mechanic. Who's gonna see the stuff?"
"She has a point," Longworth said.
"Well?" Kitty said, looking at Stockwell.
"Here," Stockwell said, handing Kitty the box. "Do not take your eyes off it."
"Do you expect me to sleep in my truck with it?" Kitty asked, and Longworth laughed.
"No. I expect we'll meet back here after the store closes, and bury it," Stockwell said.
Kitty sulked. There was a good Lifetime movie on at nine. She'd miss it playing James Bond with her boss. "Oh. Okay, boss."
Kitty disappeared around the side of the building, box in hand. Stockwell and Longworth stared at one another. Suddenly, Stockwell's phone rang, and both men jumped.
"Stockwell," Stockwell practically roared into the phone.
"Mr. Stockwell?" a small voice said, elongating each word until it sounded like "Meeesterrr Staaaackwelllll."
"Who is this?" Stockwell asked.
"JJ," the voice said.
"Holy crap," Stockwell whispered. Until that moment, JJ Patricks had never spoken to him. "You sound really far away, what's wrong?" Stockwell asked, feeling ridiculous. He didn't know how JJ normally sounded, so how did he know she sounded far away?
"I'm hiding," JJ said.
"Where and why?" Stockwell asked.
"I'm in the cabinet under my register," JJ mumbled.
"How the heck did you get in there?" Stockwell asked.
"I'm really small," JJ said.
She has a point.
"Why are you in there? Are you stuck?" Stockwell asked, and Miles Longworth arched a brow at him.
"We're being robbed," JJ whispered, and Stockwell stood suddenly straighter.
"Jeez, JJ. Why didn't you say so?" Stockwell nearly roared.
"I just did," JJ said defensively.
"What is going on?" Longworth asked, sounding anxious.
"We're being robbed," Stockwell said. "JJ, stay on the line. We're coming."
"We should get those guns," Miles said.
"Shit. Kitty's got 'em," Stockwell said.
"Life is all about timing, isn't it?" Miles asked, reaching for his phone. "I'll call 911."
Both men moved at a brisk jog, through Receiving, and into the bowels of Tommy's. When they got within ear shot of the front-end registers, both men stopped.
"Now what?" Stockwell asked.
"What?" a small voice whispered, and Stockwell jumped. He forgot JJ was still on the phone. "JJ, what can you see?" Stockwell asked, as years of watching FBI shows began to pay off.
"Darkness," JJ whispered.
"Terrific," Stockwell said. "What can you hear?"
"A man's heavy breathing," JJ said.
"Um, that's probably me," Stockwell said, rolling his eyes.
"Wait. Someone's yelling," JJ whispered.
"What did she say?" Longworth asked, getting fidgety.
"She said someone's yelling," Stockwell said.
"I hear it, too," Longworth replied.
Both men could hear a woman yelling. It sounded like Kitty.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth slunk down the Electrical aisle. They could see the hold-up in process. A young man stood at register thirteen, holding a gun. Penelope was the unlucky cashier, and she was obviously not enjoying herself. Kitty was standing beside her, yelling up a storm.
Stockwell and Longworth both crept toward the registers, on hands and knees. Finally, they could make out what Kitty was saying.
"Put that gun down, you are scaring my Penelope," Kitty raged.
The gunman did as asked, and then pointed the gun at Kitty.
"Shoot me," Kitty yelled, and Stockwell and Longworth both gasped. "Do it, you effing coward. Don't ask me what will happen if you do, because Helen and Ada will starve to death, arguing over who should get the last package of Ramen Noodles. Yup, just shoot me. I say it all the time, but today I absolutely mean it. I live with my mother and my grandmother, so you don't scare me. You know what scares me? When the smoke alarm goes off at four o'clock in the morning, and there's my ninety-nine year old grandmother in a sheer nightgown, no teeth, hair like she's been through a hurricane, asleep in the Barcalounger with a Malboro Red in her fingers. That's the shit that scares me, not a hair-brained scheming dumb ass like you with a friggin' squirt gun."
The gunman laughed, but Kitty was not to be thwarted.
"Now you're laughing at me, you little shit? Are ya? Is this how things are gonna go, you're gonna be a punk who won't shoot me, and then starts laughing at me? I like to laugh," Kitty said, shrieking like the Wicked Witch of the East. "How's about a little fire, scarecrow," Kitty shrieked, and the gunman looked like he might be losing composure. "Oh yeah, I love a good laugh, which is good, because in ten years every time I laugh I am gonna piss myself. I'll be getting new knees, and need new hips, and my boobs will start swinging like a couple of wrecking balls, so why not save me the Helen, and the Ada, the busted bones, and the sagging, and JUST FRIGGIN' SHOOT ME!"
Stockwell and Longworth were frozen to the floor. Neither was sure if he was more afraid of a gunman or of Kitty. Kitty was THAT frightening.
The gunman jerked, but Kitty never blinked.
"Here," the punk said, handing Kitty his gun. "Shoot yourself," he said, storming through the front doors.
Kitty picked up the gun and held it, as JJ emerged from the cabinet beneath her register, and customers began getting to their feet, or emerging from their hiding places.
Everyone applauded and Kitty bowed, still holding the gun.
"Drop the gun, Kitty," Reeve Stockwell said, as he approached the woman of the hour.
"Now, where have I heard that before?" Longworth whispered.
"Longworth?" Stockwell whispered.
"Busted," Kitty mumbled.
"What the hell are you doing?" Stockwell asked, hugging the box of guns to his chest.
"I might ask you the same," Longworth said, as a breeze lifted a wrinkled hundred-dollar bill from his hand, and the money took flight. "Drop the gun, Kitty," Miles suggested, and Kitty arched a brow at him and looked at Reeve Stockwell.
"You're still maintaining the position," Stockwell whispered.
"Oh," Kitty said, looking down at her hands. Sure enough, they were still folded to appear as if she were armed. She relaxed her fingers and shrugged. "I suppose this is what we call an impasse," Kitty added, looking at Stockwell, at Longworth, and then back at Stockwell. "Who's gonna speak first?"
"You," Stockwell said, holding Longworth's gaze.
"What the hell. I never could keep a darn secret, and this one's giving me more grey hair. All right, I'll spill it. I was out here one day, hiding from Mitchell and sneaking a cigar. I was bored, my mind miles away, and I was kicking at this here debris pile. Underneath the mess was an envelope of money. This money," Longworth said, and this time a fifty took off in the wind.
"And you kept it?" Kitty asked softly.
"Initially, I honestly thought I would, but this kind of thing picks at you, wakes you up in the middle of the night, and stops you dead in your tracks as you're lifting a piece of Mike's Mama's Pizza with extra cheese to your gaping mouth. This kind of a thing nags at you until your gut's in a knot, and you're carrying around Pepto like it was a lifeline. I've been trying to put this money back for days." Longworth hung his head and cleared his throat.
Stockwell just stared.
"Where did the money come from?" Kitty asked.
"I have absolutely no idea," Longworth replied. "Been wondering the same thing. I was out here poking around about a week back, after the store had closed, and this big black car shows up. I figured my number was up, I was about to buy the farm, kick the bucket, take a one-way ride to the pearly gates-"
"We get it," Kitty interrupted.
"Anyhow, the car did a one-eighty and sped away. I just about fainted," Miles Longworth said, being not quite truthful.
"Maybe it has something to do with this," Stockwell said, setting his box at Longworth's feet.
"What is it?" Longworth asked.
"Guns," Stockwell replied. Longworth went pale and shot Kitty a perplexed look. Kitty nodded.
"It's guns," Kitty whispered.
"Well hell's bells, where the heck did they come from?" Longworth asked.
"Receiving," Stockwell replied.
"We sell guns now?" Miles Longworth asked, regretting his words almost instantly.
Stockwell laughed. Kitty smiled.
"No," Kitty said. "We don't sell guns."
"I'd say something stinks around here, big time," Miles Longworth said.
"I'd say you're right," Stockwell said, feeling a surge of James Bond-ness surge through his veins.
"What do we do?" Kitty asked.
"I say we hide this stuff, and the three of us band together to see if we can figure this out. Maybe Mitchell's up to something hokey," Miles Longworth said.
Stockwell opened the box of guns, and Longworth looked inside. He whistled loudly. "Some good looking pieces," he said.
"You know guns?" Stockwell asked.
"No. I know remotes, and I channel surf. A lot. I get a little bit educated on just about everything, guns included," Longworth said, placing the money on top of the guns, and closing the box.
"Now what?" Kitty asked.
"We hide it," Stockwell said.
"Where?" Longworth asked.
"We could bury it," Kitty said.
"With what?" Longworth said.
"Well, if we went to the Garden Center, we'd have our choice of about one-hundred different shovels," Stockwell said, and Kitty giggled.
"And until we do this burying?" Stockwell asked.
"We can put the stuff in the back of my truck," Kitty said.
"What if someone sees it?" Stockwell asked.
"Who would see it? I go to work, I go home. I walk dogs, and shovel up perfectly round balls of kitty litter, and watch television. The last person in my Chevy was a mechanic. Who's gonna see the stuff?"
"She has a point," Longworth said.
"Well?" Kitty said, looking at Stockwell.
"Here," Stockwell said, handing Kitty the box. "Do not take your eyes off it."
"Do you expect me to sleep in my truck with it?" Kitty asked, and Longworth laughed.
"No. I expect we'll meet back here after the store closes, and bury it," Stockwell said.
Kitty sulked. There was a good Lifetime movie on at nine. She'd miss it playing James Bond with her boss. "Oh. Okay, boss."
Kitty disappeared around the side of the building, box in hand. Stockwell and Longworth stared at one another. Suddenly, Stockwell's phone rang, and both men jumped.
"Stockwell," Stockwell practically roared into the phone.
"Mr. Stockwell?" a small voice said, elongating each word until it sounded like "Meeesterrr Staaaackwelllll."
"Who is this?" Stockwell asked.
"JJ," the voice said.
"Holy crap," Stockwell whispered. Until that moment, JJ Patricks had never spoken to him. "You sound really far away, what's wrong?" Stockwell asked, feeling ridiculous. He didn't know how JJ normally sounded, so how did he know she sounded far away?
"I'm hiding," JJ said.
"Where and why?" Stockwell asked.
"I'm in the cabinet under my register," JJ mumbled.
"How the heck did you get in there?" Stockwell asked.
"I'm really small," JJ said.
She has a point.
"Why are you in there? Are you stuck?" Stockwell asked, and Miles Longworth arched a brow at him.
"We're being robbed," JJ whispered, and Stockwell stood suddenly straighter.
"Jeez, JJ. Why didn't you say so?" Stockwell nearly roared.
"I just did," JJ said defensively.
"What is going on?" Longworth asked, sounding anxious.
"We're being robbed," Stockwell said. "JJ, stay on the line. We're coming."
"We should get those guns," Miles said.
"Shit. Kitty's got 'em," Stockwell said.
"Life is all about timing, isn't it?" Miles asked, reaching for his phone. "I'll call 911."
Both men moved at a brisk jog, through Receiving, and into the bowels of Tommy's. When they got within ear shot of the front-end registers, both men stopped.
"Now what?" Stockwell asked.
"What?" a small voice whispered, and Stockwell jumped. He forgot JJ was still on the phone. "JJ, what can you see?" Stockwell asked, as years of watching FBI shows began to pay off.
"Darkness," JJ whispered.
"Terrific," Stockwell said. "What can you hear?"
"A man's heavy breathing," JJ said.
"Um, that's probably me," Stockwell said, rolling his eyes.
"Wait. Someone's yelling," JJ whispered.
"What did she say?" Longworth asked, getting fidgety.
"She said someone's yelling," Stockwell said.
"I hear it, too," Longworth replied.
Both men could hear a woman yelling. It sounded like Kitty.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth slunk down the Electrical aisle. They could see the hold-up in process. A young man stood at register thirteen, holding a gun. Penelope was the unlucky cashier, and she was obviously not enjoying herself. Kitty was standing beside her, yelling up a storm.
Stockwell and Longworth both crept toward the registers, on hands and knees. Finally, they could make out what Kitty was saying.
"Put that gun down, you are scaring my Penelope," Kitty raged.
The gunman did as asked, and then pointed the gun at Kitty.
"Shoot me," Kitty yelled, and Stockwell and Longworth both gasped. "Do it, you effing coward. Don't ask me what will happen if you do, because Helen and Ada will starve to death, arguing over who should get the last package of Ramen Noodles. Yup, just shoot me. I say it all the time, but today I absolutely mean it. I live with my mother and my grandmother, so you don't scare me. You know what scares me? When the smoke alarm goes off at four o'clock in the morning, and there's my ninety-nine year old grandmother in a sheer nightgown, no teeth, hair like she's been through a hurricane, asleep in the Barcalounger with a Malboro Red in her fingers. That's the shit that scares me, not a hair-brained scheming dumb ass like you with a friggin' squirt gun."
The gunman laughed, but Kitty was not to be thwarted.
"Now you're laughing at me, you little shit? Are ya? Is this how things are gonna go, you're gonna be a punk who won't shoot me, and then starts laughing at me? I like to laugh," Kitty said, shrieking like the Wicked Witch of the East. "How's about a little fire, scarecrow," Kitty shrieked, and the gunman looked like he might be losing composure. "Oh yeah, I love a good laugh, which is good, because in ten years every time I laugh I am gonna piss myself. I'll be getting new knees, and need new hips, and my boobs will start swinging like a couple of wrecking balls, so why not save me the Helen, and the Ada, the busted bones, and the sagging, and JUST FRIGGIN' SHOOT ME!"
Stockwell and Longworth were frozen to the floor. Neither was sure if he was more afraid of a gunman or of Kitty. Kitty was THAT frightening.
The gunman jerked, but Kitty never blinked.
"Here," the punk said, handing Kitty his gun. "Shoot yourself," he said, storming through the front doors.
Kitty picked up the gun and held it, as JJ emerged from the cabinet beneath her register, and customers began getting to their feet, or emerging from their hiding places.
Everyone applauded and Kitty bowed, still holding the gun.
"Drop the gun, Kitty," Reeve Stockwell said, as he approached the woman of the hour.
"Now, where have I heard that before?" Longworth whispered.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 25 - Kitty Get Your Gun
Kitty Richardson paced nervously, as Reeve Stockwell sat twitching from his Oreo-inspired sugar coma.
"I still think I should call someone," Kitty said.
"I'm all right," Stockwell moaned.
"What else have you eaten today?" Kitty asked.
"Two fritters," Stockwell said sheepishly. "And a Mountain Dew," he added in a whisper.
"I'm calling 911," Kitty shrieked.
"If you do, I will fire you," Stockwell said, his voice sounding stronger.
"And this is supposed to be a deterrant?" Kitty asked.
"Touche," Stockwell mumbled.
"Wait. I have something," Kitty said, digging in her pocket, and producing a bar in a red wrapper. "Eat this," she demanded, handing the bar to her boss.
"It says it's a protein bar for women. I'm not eating this. I'll end up bitchy with hot flashes," Stockwell complained, mopping at his sweat-covered brow.
"You're already bitchy, and sweating like a pig, and you're probably dying of a sugar coma. Eat it!" Kitty demanded, and Stockwell laughed.
"Way to take initiative, Kitty," Stockwell said, slurring a bit. He popped a large piece of the bar into his mouth, chewed a half-dozen times and grimaced. "What the hell is in this?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"Granola, berries, and something I can't pronounce," Kitty explained.
"It tastes like caulking," Stockwell said, spitting the bar into his hand. "I'd rather die than eat this," Stockwell complained.
"Your choice," Kitty said. She resumed her pacing, while Stockwell stared at the floor.
Finally, Kitty spoke again. "Why?" she whispered, and Reeve looked at her.
"Why what?" he asked.
"Why did you eat them all? No one in their right mind would eat all those cookies in one sitting. What happened?" Kitty asked, sitting beside Stockwell, on the floor.
"Did you ever think you'd have a different life, Kitty?" Stockwell asked.
"You've met Helen and Ada, right?"
"Right. In my mind, I am not living this life. Does that sound nuts?" Stockwell asked.
"It might be the sugar."
"It's not the sugar, Kitty. It happens when I'm not eating the sugar," Stockwell clarified.
"Oh. Maybe it's a wormhole. Maybe you're like Henry," Kitty mumbled wistfully.
"Who is Henry?"
"The husband in the Time Traveler's Wife."
"What's that?" Stockwell asked.
"A book, and a movie. Maybe you really are living a different life. I think I have a different life. Somewhere, I am living a great life, writing books, with reckless freedom and abandonment. There is no Helen, no Ada, and forgive me for saying this, but no Reeve Stockwell," Kitty said softly.
"You're not in my alternate reality either," Stockwell said.
"That's okay. I'm sure I'm off somewhere, accepting a Pulitzer."
"I'm apprehending bad guys," Stockwell explained. "I carry a gun," Stockwell whispered.
Kitty shot to her feet. "You do? Don't let Ada see it! She'll steal it and shoot our neighbor. His cats piss on the Buick's tires. Oh, my hell. That bakes in the sun for a few hours, and let me tell ya, Reeve, it is like driving Miss Daisy around in a badly neglected litter box with wheels."
Stockwell laughed.
"Kitty, can you keep a secret?" Stockwell asked.
"How long have you known about Ada?" Kitty asked.
"About a week."
"Well, she's older than dirt, so how's that for keeping a secret?"
"That's impressive, Kitty." Stockwell got to his feet, with a significant amount of effort. His legs wobbled, and his hands shook. Kitty held her tongue. "I found something. Something weird. Something bad. Something that could get us killed."
Kitty gasped. "Is it Anthrax?"
"What?"
"Is it Anthrax?" Kitty repeated.
"Why would you ask that?" Stockwell asked.
"Ada effed up the cable box, and I can't control my own channels. My TV is stuck on Criminal Minds for all eternity. Last night they aired an episode on bio terrorism. Follow me, Reeve. Tommy's is an empire. Empires have corporate offices. I have to figure that this store is the biggest thorn in their ass right about now. They could get rid of all of us with Anthrax."
"A lot of innocent people would die," Stockwell said, sounding shaken. The sugar was starting to wear off and he felt like he'd been hit by a train.
"I didn't say it was a good idea."
Stockwell sat on his toolbox and put his head in his hands. Kitty dragged a dusty box to his side, and prepared to plop down on it. Stockwell looked up.
"DO NOT SIT ON THAT!" Stockwell roared, and Kitty jumped so hard, she kicked the box, it tipped to its side, and five guns slid out.
Stockwell flew to his feet, wavered, and fell to the ground. He scrambled to where the guns lay. "You should take cover," he said to Kitty.
Kitty hid behind the refrigerator, the only witness to the receiving bay shenanigans. "Why?" Kitty whispered. "Are you going to shoot me?" she asked.
"Of course not," Stockwell said, carefully replacing the guns in the box. He crawled across the floor, and pulled the sixth gun from where he had hidden it earlier. He placed it on top of the others, closed the box, and sealed it with a tape gun he found on a work table. "We have to get rid of this."
"Where did it come from?" Kitty asked, stepping timidly from behind the behemoth stainless steel appliance.
"I don't know. It was really dusty, and I'm pretty sure somebody forgot it was even there," Stockwell explained.
"That doesn't tell us how it got there," Kitty surmised.
"I know."
"So, this is your secret?" Kitty asked.
"Part of it," Stockwell replied in a whisper.
"What's the rest?"
"I am going to solve the mystery of how these got here. I am not the shithead people think I am, Kitty. In another life, I am James Bond."
"I am Janet Evanovich," Kitty whispered.
"Who?" Stockwell asked.
"Never mind."
"We need to hide these," Stockwell said, carefully picking up the box. He seemed steadier, and Kitty wondered if it was due to the James Bond revelation.
"Where?"
"Out behind the dumpster there is an old shed. Behind that is an old dumpster that nobody bothers. Let's put it in there."
"When?" Kitty asked.
"The sooner the better," Stockwell declared.
"I'll stay here," Kitty said.
"No. You're my lookout."
"Oh." Kitty looked around, and smiled.
"What?" Stockwell asked.
"This is kind of exciting," Kitty whispered.
"I know. It's cool as hell," Reeve Stockwell admitted.
They both giggled.
"Follow me," Stockwell said. Kitty did. She followed him to the enormous bay doors. "You look."
"Okay. I feel like I should have a gun," Kitty said, peeking timidly outside the doors.
"We have six, Kitty."
"Oh. Right. Pretend guns are safer. See?" Kitty said, clasping her hands, and forming an imaginary gun.
"That's swell, Kit. How're we looking?" Stockwell asked.
Kitty poked her head outside the door again. "The coast is clear."
Kitty stepped out of the door with her hands held in "I have a gun," position, and Stockwell followed. The two walked soundlessly toward the old shed.
Miles Longworth stepped out from behind the in-use dumpster. He held a huge wad of cash. Kitty gasped.
"Longworth?" Stockwell said.
"Stockwell?" Miles replied.
"Busted," Kitty whispered.
"I still think I should call someone," Kitty said.
"I'm all right," Stockwell moaned.
"What else have you eaten today?" Kitty asked.
"Two fritters," Stockwell said sheepishly. "And a Mountain Dew," he added in a whisper.
"I'm calling 911," Kitty shrieked.
"If you do, I will fire you," Stockwell said, his voice sounding stronger.
"And this is supposed to be a deterrant?" Kitty asked.
"Touche," Stockwell mumbled.
"Wait. I have something," Kitty said, digging in her pocket, and producing a bar in a red wrapper. "Eat this," she demanded, handing the bar to her boss.
"It says it's a protein bar for women. I'm not eating this. I'll end up bitchy with hot flashes," Stockwell complained, mopping at his sweat-covered brow.
"You're already bitchy, and sweating like a pig, and you're probably dying of a sugar coma. Eat it!" Kitty demanded, and Stockwell laughed.
"Way to take initiative, Kitty," Stockwell said, slurring a bit. He popped a large piece of the bar into his mouth, chewed a half-dozen times and grimaced. "What the hell is in this?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"Granola, berries, and something I can't pronounce," Kitty explained.
"It tastes like caulking," Stockwell said, spitting the bar into his hand. "I'd rather die than eat this," Stockwell complained.
"Your choice," Kitty said. She resumed her pacing, while Stockwell stared at the floor.
Finally, Kitty spoke again. "Why?" she whispered, and Reeve looked at her.
"Why what?" he asked.
"Why did you eat them all? No one in their right mind would eat all those cookies in one sitting. What happened?" Kitty asked, sitting beside Stockwell, on the floor.
"Did you ever think you'd have a different life, Kitty?" Stockwell asked.
"You've met Helen and Ada, right?"
"Right. In my mind, I am not living this life. Does that sound nuts?" Stockwell asked.
"It might be the sugar."
"It's not the sugar, Kitty. It happens when I'm not eating the sugar," Stockwell clarified.
"Oh. Maybe it's a wormhole. Maybe you're like Henry," Kitty mumbled wistfully.
"Who is Henry?"
"The husband in the Time Traveler's Wife."
"What's that?" Stockwell asked.
"A book, and a movie. Maybe you really are living a different life. I think I have a different life. Somewhere, I am living a great life, writing books, with reckless freedom and abandonment. There is no Helen, no Ada, and forgive me for saying this, but no Reeve Stockwell," Kitty said softly.
"You're not in my alternate reality either," Stockwell said.
"That's okay. I'm sure I'm off somewhere, accepting a Pulitzer."
"I'm apprehending bad guys," Stockwell explained. "I carry a gun," Stockwell whispered.
Kitty shot to her feet. "You do? Don't let Ada see it! She'll steal it and shoot our neighbor. His cats piss on the Buick's tires. Oh, my hell. That bakes in the sun for a few hours, and let me tell ya, Reeve, it is like driving Miss Daisy around in a badly neglected litter box with wheels."
Stockwell laughed.
"Kitty, can you keep a secret?" Stockwell asked.
"How long have you known about Ada?" Kitty asked.
"About a week."
"Well, she's older than dirt, so how's that for keeping a secret?"
"That's impressive, Kitty." Stockwell got to his feet, with a significant amount of effort. His legs wobbled, and his hands shook. Kitty held her tongue. "I found something. Something weird. Something bad. Something that could get us killed."
Kitty gasped. "Is it Anthrax?"
"What?"
"Is it Anthrax?" Kitty repeated.
"Why would you ask that?" Stockwell asked.
"Ada effed up the cable box, and I can't control my own channels. My TV is stuck on Criminal Minds for all eternity. Last night they aired an episode on bio terrorism. Follow me, Reeve. Tommy's is an empire. Empires have corporate offices. I have to figure that this store is the biggest thorn in their ass right about now. They could get rid of all of us with Anthrax."
"A lot of innocent people would die," Stockwell said, sounding shaken. The sugar was starting to wear off and he felt like he'd been hit by a train.
"I didn't say it was a good idea."
Stockwell sat on his toolbox and put his head in his hands. Kitty dragged a dusty box to his side, and prepared to plop down on it. Stockwell looked up.
"DO NOT SIT ON THAT!" Stockwell roared, and Kitty jumped so hard, she kicked the box, it tipped to its side, and five guns slid out.
Stockwell flew to his feet, wavered, and fell to the ground. He scrambled to where the guns lay. "You should take cover," he said to Kitty.
Kitty hid behind the refrigerator, the only witness to the receiving bay shenanigans. "Why?" Kitty whispered. "Are you going to shoot me?" she asked.
"Of course not," Stockwell said, carefully replacing the guns in the box. He crawled across the floor, and pulled the sixth gun from where he had hidden it earlier. He placed it on top of the others, closed the box, and sealed it with a tape gun he found on a work table. "We have to get rid of this."
"Where did it come from?" Kitty asked, stepping timidly from behind the behemoth stainless steel appliance.
"I don't know. It was really dusty, and I'm pretty sure somebody forgot it was even there," Stockwell explained.
"That doesn't tell us how it got there," Kitty surmised.
"I know."
"So, this is your secret?" Kitty asked.
"Part of it," Stockwell replied in a whisper.
"What's the rest?"
"I am going to solve the mystery of how these got here. I am not the shithead people think I am, Kitty. In another life, I am James Bond."
"I am Janet Evanovich," Kitty whispered.
"Who?" Stockwell asked.
"Never mind."
"We need to hide these," Stockwell said, carefully picking up the box. He seemed steadier, and Kitty wondered if it was due to the James Bond revelation.
"Where?"
"Out behind the dumpster there is an old shed. Behind that is an old dumpster that nobody bothers. Let's put it in there."
"When?" Kitty asked.
"The sooner the better," Stockwell declared.
"I'll stay here," Kitty said.
"No. You're my lookout."
"Oh." Kitty looked around, and smiled.
"What?" Stockwell asked.
"This is kind of exciting," Kitty whispered.
"I know. It's cool as hell," Reeve Stockwell admitted.
They both giggled.
"Follow me," Stockwell said. Kitty did. She followed him to the enormous bay doors. "You look."
"Okay. I feel like I should have a gun," Kitty said, peeking timidly outside the doors.
"We have six, Kitty."
"Oh. Right. Pretend guns are safer. See?" Kitty said, clasping her hands, and forming an imaginary gun.
"That's swell, Kit. How're we looking?" Stockwell asked.
Kitty poked her head outside the door again. "The coast is clear."
Kitty stepped out of the door with her hands held in "I have a gun," position, and Stockwell followed. The two walked soundlessly toward the old shed.
Miles Longworth stepped out from behind the in-use dumpster. He held a huge wad of cash. Kitty gasped.
"Longworth?" Stockwell said.
"Stockwell?" Miles replied.
"Busted," Kitty whispered.
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