Nibbles and Twig
June 2, 2009
“You’ve got to be kidding?”
“Detective Nibbles, we take arson seriously and you’re our guy on this one.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me,” Nibbles patted the extra 75-pounds on his belly, “whose last name is Nibbles, to stake out the Krispy Kreme on Madison?”
“Yes Detective, all the fires have started between the hours of two and four am. We got a tip that the Madison Krispy Kreme was next on the list.”
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation as a beautiful blonde stuck her head in the door. “You wanted to see me Sarge?”
“Come on in Detective Twig.”
The blonde waltzed through doors. Nibble looked her over; he’d eaten burritos bigger than her. He rolled his eyes to the Sergeant. “Seriously?”
“Detective Twig is the best arson detective we’ve got, you’re lucky to be able to work with her.”
Nibble shrugged. “Meet me in the motor pool at midnight, Slim Jim.” His stomach growled as he walked out.
“The name’s Sarah,” Detective Twig yelled after him.
He cringed, his ex-wife was named Sarah and she was a skinny broad, too; had him eating kelp and sprouts. Like a person could live off weeds.
Walking down the isles of the Piggly Wiggly he chuckled at the contents of his cart; Twinkies, an assortment of candy bars, and two bags of chips; all stake out must haves. Miss Slim Jim would love it, he was sure she’d show up with carrots and celery, with a little fat free ranch on the side. They were all alike, skinny broads.
A quarter after midnight they sat in the vacant lot across from the Krispy Kreme.
“Can you believe this; two cops staking out a donut shop?” He laughed.
She looked him up and down as he stuffed a Twinkie in his mouth. “Looks like you’re familiar with the fried dough family.”
“This Slim Jim,” he held up the other Twinkie, “is an American staple. Besides Twinkies are baked not fried.”
He watched her take out her bag of baby carrots and laughed.
“What?” She grabbed a carrot.
“Just waiting for you take out your little cup of fat free ranch.”
She glared at him and pulled the little Tupperware bowl of ranch dressing out of her bag. “Happy? Looks like you could stand to eat a few carrots instead of Twinkies every once and while.”
“Not on your life Slim Jim.” He picked up the binoculars and scanned the store. “Heads up, looks like we got a live one.”
Twig sat up and yanked the binoculars from Nibble’s fat fingers. “It’s too early, this guy isn’t supposed to show for a couple of hours.”
“Guess he didn’t get the memo.” He rolled his eyes at Twig.
She choked on her carrot. “Is that a flame thrower? You’d better call for back-up.”
Nibbles called it in. “How ya want to handle this, Slim Jim?”
She thought for a minute. “I’ll pretend to be out for a midnight jog and distract him, then you disarm him.”
“That puts the flame thrower facing you, sweetheart.”
“Do you really think he’s going to believe you’re out for a late night jog?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Good point.” He grabbed his gun. “Let’s do this.”
Nibbles stalked around back as Twig jogged by the Krispy Kreme. “Excuse me sir, did you see a dog run past?”
The man shot up and pointed the flame thrower at Twig, Nibbles jumped on his back knocking the man to the ground.
“You’re under arrest.” Nibbles wheezed as he dragged the flame thrower off the guy’s back and cuffed him. Sitting on the curb he tried to catch his breath as Twig patted the dirt bag down. Two marked units blocked the drive thru lane.
“What’s your problem with Krispy Kreme?” she asked turning him over.
“I like the way it smells when it burns, all sweet.” He gazed at her, eyes red and beady.
“All right smart guy, ya got a name?”
The man didn’t answer, but smiled when he saw the news crews arrive.
“My name is Richard Blaze,” he shouted loud enough to reach the reporters.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nibbles shook his head, got up and walked towards the car. He needed his other Twinkie.
Slim Pickings
May 26, 2009
“Looks like beans or SPAM, Ralph.”
Jim rifled through his knapsack in search of hidden treasures.
“Pretty slim pickings, but it’ll do.” He threw the meat back in the bag. “Guess we’ll go with the beans; save the SPAM for a special occasion.”
Patting Ralph on the head he fished out his little silver can opener. The dog licked his lips as Jim spooned half the can on a used paper plate.
“I may be a bum, but I ain’t eating after no mangy mutt.” He leaned against a large log.
Gazing at the sun setting on the ocean, he smiled at Ralph. “We might be eating beans from the can, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Shadows and Dust
May 19, 2009
The shadows hung long behind the headstones as the dust whipped through the air and stung her wet face. She pulled the plaid blanket closer and brushed the hair away from her face. Laying her moist cheek against the marble she began to run her finger over the letters: A-P-R-I-L. Her darling daughter now lay cold in the ground. Alone.
She was named after the very month that had taken her life. They had all slept peacefully until their night was interrupted by the flying debris of nature’s fury. They had no warning, no time to prepare for their entire world to be torn apart in shadows and dust.
The Letter
May 5, 2009
Sarah stared at the letter: “Thank you for applying, but we are currently not hiring.” She crumpled the letter and threw it. It was the same as all the others, they’d hold her resume for six months and let her know if anything opened up. In six months they’d lose the house and be living out of the car. Her baby howled through the monitor; she turned it off.
She shoved the past due bills off her desk in disgust. He had talked her into putting their entire savings in the market, now they had nothing. This was his fault. She grabbed the life insurance policy and read it again, half a million dollars would make this all go away.
Drumming her fingers on the desk; she dialed the number. “That thing we talked about, do it. And make sure it happens on the job, we get more that way.”
Consider it Destroyed
April 28, 2009
Andy pressed ‘send’ and rubbed his hands together. Best work he had done all week. It wouldn’t take long for them to reply; the pictures spoke for themselves. The whore had two options, pay up or fess up. He didn’t think the snooty, little Oscar winner was willing to lose her reputation over a little bondage romp.
He turned on the TV and stared at TMZ. “You’re just giving it away,” he yelled.
The computer dinged to announce a new e-mail. He laughed and opened a beer. The note was short, they usually were: “The money has been transferred as requested. We trust that the material has been destroyed per our agreement.”
He checked his off-shore account and pulled the thumb drive out of his pocket. He walked to the safe in the closet and plopped it in with the rest.
“Consider it destroyed,” he said and laughed again.
Fragments
April 22, 2009
Surrounded by the kaleidoscope of colors she laughed. A swirl of green grass, blue skies and playground equipment created a blur that brought back fragmented memories of her mother. Closing her eyes, she prayed the merry-go-round would transfer her to a happier time; when she could once again crawl in her mother’s arms and know everything would be alright.
Get in the Van
March 5, 2009
“I’m not going to tell you again. Now get in the van.”
“No.”
“Christopher Michael Garver, you get in this van right now.”
“No.”
“Do you want me to call your father?”
“No.”
“Then get in the van, now.”
“No.”
“That’s it, I’m calling your dad.”
“No.”
“I’ll spank you right here, young man, in front of everyone. Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“You’re making a scene. Just get in the van.”
“No.”
“Why are you acting like this? Just get in and we’ll go home and talk about it.”
“No.”
“Please get in van, Christopher.”
“No.”
“Come on, Chrissy, help Mommy out here.”
“No.”
“Fine, if we go back in and get you the game system, will you get in the van?”
“Yes.”
Drawing a Blank
February 24, 2009
Car keys… Where are those stupid things?
I fling my purse over my shoulder and begin to hunt.
Jacket pockets? Nope.
Think damn it; you’re going to be late.
Bedroom, on the dresser?
Crap, not there either.
Where the hell did I put them?
I went to the post office, maybe in the kitchen?
Shit, shit, shit… I’m going to be so late.
“Honey, what are you looking for?”
“My keys.”
“You mean the ones attached to the strap of your purse?”
I grab the missing keys.
Crap, I’m going to be so freakin’ late.
