by Inman Majors
Penelope assumed the next stop for the captive was a voyage to Skunky Heaven, and she didn’t want to be around for that. It was time to roll.
“Good-bye, Mr. King,” she said. “I guess we better get going.”
“Good-bye to you, Miss Penelope. And thank you for driving me home. I did enjoy the ride. And so did our friend here, I assure you that. Halfway home, she was off to the Land of Nod.”
Penelope walked toward Missy’s car, and as she did, her boss rolled the window all the way down. Jamming her head out, she yelled: “Well, at least we got the leader of the posse, didn’t we, Mr. King?”
“That, I cannot say. You may be right, that there are a number of skunks on your property. Or it might be just this one. But it is a special one, I assure you. It is a special skunk, indeed.”
And then he was ambling toward the barn, away from the euthanasia chamber, trap in hand, Dr. Longhair and the tuxedo kitten trotting alongside.
26
They were in the office after the ride back from the Critter Ranch. Missy, tone deaf as ever, had misinterpreted Penelope’s ire for fatigue and asked several times if she hadn’t slept well the night before.
Penelope responded that she’d slept fine and continued to stare out the passenger window. Missy’s attempt to recap the exciting day and the satisfactory conclusion had been met with stony silence and vague, mumbled responses from her employee.
Now at her desk, Penelope couldn’t discern if she smelled like skunk or not. Her nose was all out of whack. Checking the clock for the hundredth time since returning, she was dismayed to see that it was only four. She had an hour left with Missy, who, unbelievably, continued to revel in the whole skunk fiasco.
Penelope was responding to an e-mail from a tenant about the possibility of switching to gas from electric when her boss interrupted.
“Listen, I hate to rub it in, but you have to admit the Whisperer all but confirmed that Dimwit is training skunks up there. You could at least have the decency to admit I was right all along.”
Penelope’s fingers paused on the keyboard. She tried to read over what she’d just written.
“Okay, okay, don’t sweat it. I know I’m right, you know I’m right, so that’s good enough for me. What a day. It was too bad about the old-timer getting sprayed, but as he said, that comes with the territory. What a pro. He took that shot like it was nothing. I don’t know if it’s you or me or both of us, but the office has a distinct skunk aroma to it. Frankly, I think it’s you. Probably from having to ride in the truck with the skunk and the Whisperer. But whatever. I’m used to the smell now and it’s a small price to pay to get the leader of the pack. Now that it’s gone, the others will be lost little lambs. What a day. You get your dildo stolen and now you smell like skunk. Seriously, what a day, what a day.”
Penelope swiveled in her chair and said: “I promised you six months
when I took this job, and I’m not going back on my word. But after that, I’m putting in applications other places.”
Missy looked confused and shook her head a few times, as if clearing cobwebs. “Huh? What?”
“I’ve had it with Dimwit stealing my stuff. I’ve had it with Rolling Acres. And I’ve definitely had it with you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Let’s start with skunks. I smell like one right now. I think that’s a good beginning point.”
“You don’t smell that much. Seriously. I hardly notice it. Just faintly. Like a tiny skunk candle. Not that bad at all.”
“You’re obsessed. I can’t take it anymore.”
“You can’t quit. We’re a team.”
Penelope turned back to the computer. Missy raced beside her and sank down on her knees, clutching her hands like one in prayer.
“Please don’t quit. Please, please, please.”
“Stand up. Just stand up.”
Missy did so, but reluctantly. She looked ready to buckle her knees again at the slightest provocation. “Please don’t quit on me. You’re the first person I’ve worked with who gets me.”
Penelope inhaled, considered, exhaled. “Listen, you did me a huge favor by hiring me. I’ll always be grateful for that. I’d still be stuck in my mom’s basement without you. But I can’t be a receptionist my whole life. I need to make more money. You had to know I wasn’t going to stay here forever. I need something with a title. And again, more money.”
Missy brightened at this and started a quick lap around the desk. “Title? What do you want? Duke of Windsor? Tsarina? Pope John Paul the Second? Take your pick and it’s yours.”
Penelope couldn’t help herself and smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Office manager? Ooh, that has a ring to it. It might look good on a résumé when you do start looking for jobs in a few years.”
“That might help,” Penelope admitted.
“It’s done then. I’ll get you a little wooden plaque thing that says Office Manager with your name on it. And some fancy business cards, too, with spiffy fonts and all that jazz.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. But long term, I still need more money. I’m not trying to negotiate with you. Just, going forward, I’m going to need something that allows me to start a retirement account, for instance. I’m going to be old one of these days and I currently have zero dollars saved. And I’d prefer to own a place instead of burning money on rent for the rest of my life. And Theo will have college. I don’t have cable, I never go out to eat. Theo wants an Xbox I can’t afford. That last stuff is small, but a lot of women my age don’t have to check their bank account when someone asks them to meet for lunch. I do. It’s stressful. I’m not sure how I’m going to get all that, or if a good enough job even exists in Hillsboro for someone with my credentials. I may have to go back to college. But that costs money too. Anyway, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. This job pays well for what it is. I’m just saying that I’ll fulfill the commitment I made to you, but after that, I have to look for a permanent career.”
“Okay, I hear you. I had no idea how poor you were. I obviously have no clue how the other half lives. And that’s on me. I probably won’t change, but at least I know how one poor person lives. I’ve got a fifty-dollar Applebee’s gift certificate that a bartender gave me in honor of my one-hundredth margarita. I want you to have it. No argument.”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Missy nearly smiled at this but didn’t. She held up a hand to let it be known her largess was just beginning. “And I’ll talk to my dad about getting you a raise. A big one. We’ve been distracted by this move across town, but if we can get that wrapped up, I could put you up for more of a corporate position. We have regional managers all over the place and I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Hillsboro. I’d like to get Damien through middle school, but we’ll see. Anyhow, I’ll ask Daddy. He’s cheaper than hell, but I’m his only child and Damien is his only grandchild, so he can kiss it.”
“I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I can’t commit to anything right now, even with a raise.”
Once again, Missy dropped to her knees and shook prayerful hands before her. Penelope had seen people do this in movies when pleading for a life to be spared, but never in person.
“It’s Dimwit, isn’t it?” Missy said. “It’s not really the money. Or that you smell like a skunk. It’s the bathroom whacking. Day in and day out. It wears on you like Chinese water torture. Oh please please please, don’t let him win. If you quit, he wins. He’s beaten me again. I can’t take it. I won’t take it.”
She looked now as if she was trying to muster up some tears to go along with her pleading. She was wrinkling her nose and blinking her eyes rapidly and then turning up to stare at the overhead light, all the time shaking her hands at Penelope’s knees.
“Are you trying to make yourself cry?”
“Yes, but it’s impossible. I have a lot more respect for actors than I did like thirty seconds ago. How do they do it?”
�
�Listen, you talk a good game about getting rid of Dimwit. But when it comes time for action, you make up excuses. You allow yourself to get obsessed with garbage like trained skunks instead of going about proving he’s a thief.”
Missy popped up like one of those snakes in a prank box of peanuts and attempted a high karate kick. She only managed to get her leg about two feet off the ground, but one of her heels went sailing across the room nonetheless. She stood lopsided now in front of Penelope, toes on her shoeless foot wiggling crazily up and down. “I’ll break in tonight!”
“Tonight?”
“You heard me. Skunks or no skunks, I’ll get Dimwit for you. For both of us. Then I’ll get you a raise and that plaque and business cards and we can stop this nonsense of you looking for other jobs. Dimwit’s the problem. Dimwit’s what came between us. He’s trying to break up the team, but I’m not going to let it happen! Operation Dimwit, phase two, begins now!”
“You’re serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack. I’ll be in that skunk door lickety-split and take pictures of all the stuff he’s swiped from us. Your dildo is the main artifact we need. It’s like the Ark of the Covenant of Operation Dimwit.”
“If you’re serious, I’m in too.”
Missy responded with another karate kick, which sent the other heel flying into her office and clattering along her desk. “Yee-hi and hell yes! My new office manager is in!”
“Do you care if I leave a little early? It’s looking like a long night and I’d like to try and get rid of this smell before I come back.”
“Yes. Leave early. According to Carl Junior, Dimwit leaves every night at midnight. God knows what windows he’s peeking in all over town after his late-night Walmart run, but I’m guessing it’s yours. Why don’t I pick you up about a quarter till, so we only have to worry about stashing one car?”
Penelope agreed to this plan, gathered her things, and left to destinkify.
27
The decision was made to park across the highway at Tractor Plus in case Dimwit’s late-night habits had changed since Carl Jr.’s report. They were clothed all in black, Missy in an Ozzy T-shirt and Penelope donning shirtless Jim Morrison, who’d always proved lucky, under the sheets and out. They shut their cars doors as quietly as possible and walked toward the highway. Not a car was in sight and the night was overcast, moody, and still. A dog barked from behind the tractor place and Missy nearly jumped out of her skin. She clutched Penelope’s arm and said, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. Quit talking so loud. It’s just a guard dog. He’s fenced in.”
Missy nodded and followed Penelope across the highway, holding the sleeve of her T-shirt in one hand, a large, rattling Louis Vuitton bag in the other. “Sorry. I’m jittery as hell. I couldn’t sit still after work so I made a trip down to the Shack to try and relax. Tammy had the microwave set to Popcorn, or Baked Potato, or something super high. Can you hear me crunching when I walk?”
Though a lecture was due, Penelope felt the less talking the better. They passed through the Rolling Acres gate and she nodded for Missy to follow her around back of the office. A motion light went on when they neared Carl Jr.’s maintenance shed and again Missy jumped.
“Damn it to hell,” she said. “That could give us away.”
Penelope walked on around the building, out of the light, and Missy followed, bag clattering against her leg.
“I’m not worried about that light,” Penelope said, “but you’re making a racket. What’s in the bag?”
Missy arched her brows several times and her eyes shone with a piratical gleam. She reached into the satchel, pulled out a heavy cop-style flashlight, and thumped it twice against her palm. “We’ll need this to see, plus I can bop Dimwit’s head if he catches us. It’s dual purpose. Totally practical.”
“Your phone has a flashlight. And you aren’t bopping anybody. That would get us busted for sure.”
“Safety precaution then,” Missy said, not listening at all and reaching into the bag a second time. “Okay, here’s your walkie-talkie.”
“We have phones.”
“These feel more stakeout-y. Come on. I paid like six hundred bucks for them. And with a phone, you have to dial, redial, all that crap. These stay on all the time.”
Penelope took the walkie-talkie. There was no time to argue.
“Okay,” said Missy, “it’s straight-up midnight, the Dimwit hour. I’m going to avoid the driveway and just book it up that hill. That way, if he throws us a curveball, I can dive in the weeds. Safer route.”
“You’ll break an ankle. There’s no telling what he’s got lying around up there. Just use the driveway.”
“Negatory.”
“Okay, whatever. By the way, do I still stink?”
Missy, loading her junk back in the bag, said, “Not at all. I don’t smell a thing.”
“You answered too fast.”
“You’re fresh as a daisy.”
“I smell like skunk. That Palmolive bath didn’t work at all.”
Missy slung the bag over her shoulder, took a big obnoxious sniff, and said, “Yeah, but it’s the scent of the lead skunk. That should buy us some time. With you down here playing lookout, the rest of them won’t be inclined to be snooping around Dimwit’s. I’ll have the skunk door all to myself.”
“I lit every fragranced candle I had and doused myself in body spray. I’m supposed to have a date tomorrow.”
“If that’s the case, I’d recommend the tomato juice, baked potato, and chaga bath.”
“Boiled potato.”
“You say Po-ta-do, I say Po-ta-toe. The key is the chaga. That’s the special sauce. Do not skimp on the chaga. Do as the Whisperer does, is what I say, and you’ll be ready for Mr. Sweaty, I guarantee it. Anyway, when I get a little ways up the hill, let’s test our communication system?”
“Sure.”
“Should we do a breakdown or something before I head out?”
“What?”
“You know, like when everybody on a team puts their hands in a pile, and you say One, two, three, Operation Dimwit!”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Suit yourself,” Missy said, offering a high five and a cocky grin. “Operation Dimwit is on!”
Penelope met the offered palm with an unenergetic one of her own, then Missy was trudging in her tights and Chuck Taylors across the parking lot toward Dewitt’s, Louis Vuitton bag banging to wake the dead. Penelope decamped to a spot at the corner of the shed, where she could simultaneously watch the entrance and Missy’s jaunt up
the hill.
Penelope was more excited than she’d anticipated and was reminded of times rolling the yards of smartass boys with a gaggle of friends. Now that she was alone and the plan in motion, it seemed riskier and less planned out than it should have been. They really had no idea about Dimwit’s night owl habits, other than months-old intelligence from Carl Jr. Glancing across the road to Tractor Plus, she tried to calculate the best escape route should they need to scram. She had little doubt of her own wiliness under such circumstances, but clanking-bag Ozzy might prove another story.
The radio crackled and Missy said, “Breaker one nine. Breaker. Testing. Trucker lingo, et cetera.”
“I can hear you clearly without the walkie-talkie. Please shut up. You’re going to wake the trailer park up.”
Much quieter, Missy said: “These old farts took their hearing aids out four hours ago and are dreaming sweet dreams of Doris Day. But, yes, affirmative.”
“I can see you too. You’re walking right where the light is shining from Dimwit’s front door. Scoot over five feet.”
Penelope now watched a small figure hunch down and spider-walk toward the shadows, head twitching itchily everywhichway. Then suddenly, she was gone. Penelope squinted but could make out nothing but high weeds. The radio popped again and several wheezing profanities followed.
“What happened?”
A flashlight popped on and then
off.
“Some inbred hayseed left a rusted tire up here and I busted my ass on it, that’s what happened.”
Penelope saw a small shadow rise, look down, and then kick. This was followed by more oaths.
“I think I just broke my toe. The Chuck Taylors were a bad idea. And I’m itching like a mother.”
Limping, she moved into the darkened area that constituted approximately ninety-five percent of Dimwit’s domain. How she’d managed to walk in the one lit area boggled the mind and Penelope had her first real concerns about the plausibility of this mission and the woman she’d partnered with to pull it off. The idea of arrest also entered her mind and the likelihood that she might supplant the HHR on the front page of the Hillsboro Daily Record.
A minute passed, then Missy strolled directly under the light of the front door. She paused—plainly visible—and crouched as if inspecting something low on the door. Penelope looked around quickly, saw the coast was still clear, and spoke into the walkie-talkie: “The doggie door is in the back. I told you that five hundred times.”
Missy stood up, glanced around jerkily, and—unbelievably—
responded: “Oh yeah. I forgot. Ten-four.”
“Get out of the light!”
Nodding down the hill several idiotic times, she whispered “Affirmative” and slipped around the back of the trailer.
A moment later her voice came over the radio. “I am currently looking at the skunk door. Speaking of which, you haven’t seen any, have you?”
“Shh! You’re screaming.”
A little quieter: “Have you?”
“No.”
“They feel safe with their leader’s scent down there. Us splitting up was a good plan.”
“Get a move on.”
“Putting the metal down now, Rubber Duck. It’s a tight squeeze but I lubed up after Tammy’s. I’m gonna strip down and slide right on in there.”
“Don’t take off your tights. You may have to run for it.”
“Tights are off. I’m going in.”
There was nothing for Penelope to do now but wait. This was the time when things could get hairy. She was scanning the perimeter when the walkie-talkie squawked again.
