42

Chapter 42

--SATURDAY--
The local truck rental place opened at 7:00. The transaction was absolutely straight-forward, since it was cash-based. (Oh, for simpler times when our money was real, and you could lean against a light post at midnight, smoke a cigarette, and flip a coin in your hand like Carey Grant did in The Maltese Falcon. Doing that with a debit card just isn't the same thing, especially when it's windy. Smoking is bad for you).

I found that driving a truck takes more concentration than riding in a transit bus, so I was a little bit on edge, but I finally arrived at the Colonel's house with minor incident and angled up over the curb and into the front yard. Even at 7:45 in the morning the grass resembled a brush fire both in look and feel. I would need shoes for this work. I headed toward my house for my flip flops and the last V8. Stepping onto the porch, I thought I was hearing things. Specifically, I thought I was hearing a small tinkling bell. And I was hearing things, but it wasn't the imaginary things one hears that could lead to hearing Other Bigger Imaginary Things, it was a real "hearing things". The tinkling turned out to be attached to a shiny new silver ice cream wagon with a green umbrella shivering with the motion. It had four giant rubber wheels decorated with spinning red and yellow crepe paper on every spoke, and the wagon gleamed in the sun like a space ship.

"Brody! Look, Brody! Look what was in my back yard this morning. Wha'd'ya know, huh?"

Edgar was beaming with joy. I gave him a long-distant high-five and a smile and continued inside. Ethyl strikes again. I hope this new cart is upgraded with a parking brake...and a cup holder. Why not. Looked like Edgar was back in business. It didn't seem right to solicit his help in loading the paintings, so I left him to his own work.

Slipping on my flip flops, I walked over to the Colonel's back door. More crime scene tape. I used my teeth to break the tape and my knee to pop open the screen. I felt pretty ingenious for a few seconds. All that work was wasted, however, since I couldn't twist the door knob with anything less than my hand. Truly, all man's glory fades. The kitchen floor was still wet and I passed through it in the same way one would pass through earthquake rubble, and continued past the living room. The Colonel's chair was empty and the TV had been turned off.

It took about an hour and a half to load up all the paintings into the truck. I wrapped each in newspaper then bound them in groups of 5 using sheets and blankets and towels from the Colonel's closet and 2 rolls of duct tape and slipped in pillows to stabilize the whole load. I pulled down the rolling door, swing locking it all in place with a thick metal thud. I jumped into the driver's seat, situated myself and turned the key. The gas spurted into the carborator and ignited, starting the pulse of the pistuns and moving the oil through the manyfold and into the wires of the transmistion reservoir-thingie. I know a lot about cars.

I had two stops to make on my way out of town. First, I dropped by the Stop N Shop for some road trip snacks. Akhmad was behind the counter. A keen observer, he had noticed the gargantuan truck blocking out the entire store front. I had pulled through, taking up all seven parking spots. The Fritos were lined up on a tall cardboard box next to the counter, and there was a swath of Scotch tape permanently stuck on the tile below, gathering the boot scuffs of every customer, like a memorial to recent events.

"What are you doing, my friend?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, I'm delivering some things for the Colonel. I just need a Coke and some Twizzlers for the road."

"Allah give him rest. Very good, Mr. Brody. I am having some trouble insuranc-ing my damages from your friend making the trouble. Can you help me make forms and fill out application to the secret agents?"

"You mean the insurance agent?"

"Yes, I suppose. Insurgent agent."

" No, In-SUR-... uh, OK. I'll be glad to help you out. It'll be a week at least before I'm back in town, though. I'll drop by next Sunday afternoon."

"Yes. That will be fine. And many thanks."

I paid for the snacks, exited by the front door, climbed back into the truck and released the parking brake. My final stop was the bank just on the edge of town, not because I had an account there, but because Edgar found out a while back that they give away free Dum Dum suckers at the self-service kiosk. I pulled into the parking lot and coasted to the edge of it, again taking up seven parking spots. (You wouldn't relish trying to park one of those things in a legitimate spot, either. don't judge). I left the truck running, and walked across the lot and through the large tinted double doors, blinding myself when I stepped into the sun's reflection as it swung across the glass.

Strolling up to the self-service kiosk, I began picking through the vast array of colors, finally settling on one of those wrapped in the red 'surprise flavor!' wrapper. This one would be for later. For immediate consumption, I wanted something a little more sure. I feathered the options and was reaching for grape when I heard a voice from across the room yelling, "OK! This is a stick-up! Everybody get your hands up and lie down on the ground!" I was too startled to realize immediately that specific directive didn't make much sense, and I just froze, two fingers grasping a grape sucker still halfway in the bowl.

"I said 'down' and no one will get hurt!" the voice repeated. It seemed muffled and quite agitated. I scanned the room to find the source. When I found it, I was shocked with a sense of surreal recognition. The bank robber was seven feet tall, brandishing a shot gun, and dressed from head to toe in a matted purple dog suit. The head rotated slowly in my direction. Matching my eyes, it dropped the weapon and froze.