15

Chapter 15

1:06 p.m.

Approaching the Stop N Shop, I was hoping that a rational explanation was only a few steps away. I approached the front door, the chief's bestowed objects tucked neatly away in the belt of my robe. The sun ricocheted off the pane glass, and I grabbed the metal handle, pulling it open. Bufford had strategically placed a magazine rack in front of the door to keep people out. I stepped easily around the cliche and located him behind the counter. I raised my hand in greeting.
"Hey, Bufford. What in the world are you doing, man!? This is very un-dude of you and I'm not really sure what you're trying to prove. Please enlighten me, so that I can do the same for all the nice folks baking to a crisp in the sun just outside this reputable business establishment." I then turned to face the hostage, of sorts--Mrs. Desdemona Franklin. A middle-aged woman, she was wearing a white evening dress, high heels and pearls and was really quite pretty for her age. "Hello, ma'am. For what it's worth, I'm very sorry about this. I expect a resolution as soon as Bufford and I have a chance to talk it all out. Give us a few seconds, and you'll be on your way, I assure you. Can I get you something from the cookie aisle?"
"Don't you wag your filthy low-life tongue in my direction with another syllable, Mister Man!  I never wanted so much as to take my foot off the pedal on this side of town but-oh sure!-my impotent butler failed to get gas in the Lexus before going home last night, which left me with no choice!  Who are you, and what is it you hope to bring to this inexcusable fiasco?"
So that's who we were dealing with. The truth? After that outburst, I wanted nothing more than to turn right around, walk out the door, and let this thing play itself out (or just to leave her there to rot) but, of course, I couldn't. Not because I gave a rat about Mrs. Prissy Bottom there, but because I gave a very big rat about the visibly shaken men I called my friends, who had successfully restrained Mrs. Bottom to the Fritos display with 17 1/2 rolls of Scotch invisible tape, the carrying-out of which was quite improbable and, therefore, impressive. So I stayed.
I do believe the gravity of the situation had just begun to make itself apparent to Bufford because he started to sniffle. Edgar was a ways ahead of him. He had rolled himself into the fetal position under the Dolly Madison snack display. Bufford started to shake. He started to speak in the way moths must at that last millisecond before impact against the large, golden orb we know as a lightbulb.
"Brody," Bufford's voice trembled. "Uh, this is Mrs. Franklin. She was here when I was here and I was thinking just before I saw her being here that I was extremely upset with her husband and the way he treated me and the rest of the Cosmo tech staff and the next thing I knew, I'd thrown a Twinkie at her, tackled her and tied her up to this Fritos display." He gained a bit of composure. "I told Edgar to get down, which he did, and Ahmad to leave the building, which he did, and now I just seem to be making it all up as I go. Apparently, I've asked for a helicopter with a large sum of money in it, and the duct taped person of Russel Little who is supposed to offer me a heart-felt apology?"
"That is correct, my friend. To be honest with you, Bufford...you should have just stayed home and watched the traffic today. This is no small jam into which you've landed yourself, and Edgar." (who had managed to roll over and was staring with glassy eyes at the ice cream freezer).