by DL Cook
“It's being fumigated at the moment. Nasty infestation of vermin.”
“I see,” Don said. “You have a license for that?”
“Of course. Now, if I've answered all of your questions, I will be heading off to bed. I'm not as young as I used to be. If you do find my son, please let me know.”
The maid returned to escort them out.
“Well thanks for your time ma'am.” Don got up and took Libby's hand. As they reached the door he turned around, “one more question if you don't mind. Have we met before? You look so familiar.”
“Not that I recall,” the woman said with a tight smile. “You probably saw my portrait at Town Hall. I was on the Council some time back.”
Don grumbled.
“What's that?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you can tell me.”
“He's just a bit upset because they cut our budget today,” Libby explained. She didn't know why she did. Something about this woman gave her the creeps. Or maybe it was just the hunger monster waking.
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Hold on a second. Let me get my checkbook. I'd be more than happy to give you a donation.”
“It's really not necessary,” Libby said.
“It's a pleasure. I insist.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Don said again and folded the check when they drove away. “Just enough to replace the ME van Klump lost.”
“Won't insurance cover it?” Libby wondered. She turned onto the main road. She wasn't afraid of ghosts but going to the cemetery after dark frightened her a little.
“Our premiums are already through the roof. Better not to make another claim.”
Libby nodded. As she drove, her husband sent out an APB on Travis Quinton. All officers not tasked with securing crime scenes were told to be on the lookout for Travis Quinton.
“What makes you think he's even in town?”
“He was in Methton,” Don replied. “I have a hunch he's keeping the two girls nearby. As soon as we get this body business over with we'll get you something to eat. Then we'll coordinate with Peggy on the manhunt.”
Tom's phone buzzed when he finally made it out of the bathroom for the second time. He had a new email from Don. He hoped it wasn't a pink slip. Then again, he could sit at home all day playing video games until unemployment ran out. He had a tinge of disappointment when the email turned out to be an APB on Travis Quinton, photo attached.
The wanted man in the photo looked remarkably like the man at the counter buying chips, candy, and soda.
“You got any toys?” he asked the clerk.
“In back,” the clerk said. He eyed Tom. “You left the place as clean as you found it?”
Tom nodded. He remembered that it was important to make eye contact when meeting new people. He stared at the clerk's forehead.
“What's the matter with you? Are you gonna buy something or not? Bathroom's for paying customers only.”
Tom dug in his pocket for change. “How much is that candy bar?”
“Dollar fifty.”
“What's the cheapest thing you have?” Tom tried to act nonchalant when Travis Quinton's lookalike came back to the counter with a doll.
“Bubble gum in that row there,” the clerk pointed. “Twenty five cents each.”
“I'll take one please,” Tom said. He picked fuzz off of the dime, two nickles, and five pennies he found in his pocket. Having paid, he remained in place, peeling the wrapper off the gum and flicking it into his mouth.
Travis Quinton's double managed to get around him. Tom leaned toward him as he opened his wallet.
“Hey buddy, do you mind?”
“Sorry about that,” Tom leaned further, brushing up against against the man. He peered at his driver's license. It was blurry so he leaned even closer.
“Hey man, what's your problem?”
“Sorry about that,” Tom straightened up. He got the information he needed, having positively identified the man as Travis Quinton.
He followed Travis out the door where he crashed into him when Travis stopped. “Sorry about that.”
The man turned around and pointed a gun at him. “What are you, some kind of queer?”
Tom raised his hands and chewed his gum. “No. Are you Travis Quinton?”
“Are you a cop?”
“Yes I am,” Tom said with pride.
Travis frisked him. “Where's your gun?”
Tom thought about it. “I left it in the van.”
“What van?”
“It's gone!”
Tom guessed the expression on Travis' face was confusion. “You got handcuffs?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me the key and put them on yourself.”
Tom gave him the key. He tried to explain that he wasn't that good at putting on handcuffs, especially on himself, but Travis told him to shut up.
“Get in the car. A cop hostage might come in handy. I'll enjoy killing you later.”
Don had the sick, frightened workers strap the coffin to the roof of the cruiser.
“This is wrong,” Marcy said. She was one of the few that wasn't sick. “You're all throwing up because of the curse,” she told the workers and chanters. “Doug Hadiger is mad that you took his body out of the ground.”
“Keep working and ignore her,” Don instructed. Normally he was less vocal in contradicting Marcy, but he was tired and hungry. Libby's tummy rumbled, reminding her of her own hunger.
“I left you some prasad,” Marcy handed her a plate of spaghetti mush. “I made it myself. Delicious.”
Don always told Libby not to eat her mom's food. And she understood why. But she was so hungry. Don slapped it out of her hand and shook his head at her. Libby groaned and felt her tears well up. Why was he being so mean?
Her mom handed her another plate. “Last one,” she said.
Don knocked it down.
“A bit clumsy today, eh Don?” Marcy asked, but Don ignored her.
“One more strap and we're out of here,” Don said.
Marcy initiated another chant to placate the spirits. She still had loads of energy. “Crazy energy,” Libby called it. Everyone else, when not heaving out the contents of their guts, made only a halfhearted attempt.
Libby observed the sick people and worried that the ghosts weren't as nice as she thought. Since Don prevented her from eating the prasad the ghosts might haunt Don and her as well.
He saw it in her face, or maybe he just knew her that well. “There's no such thing as ghosts.”
“But...”
“Your mom gave them all food poisoning.”
That made some sense. “But how come she's not sick?”
“Have you ever seen her eat her own food? Ever? It's even worse than my mom's. The only one who can handle it is your dad,” Don pointed at the sleeping Ted in the other car. “So don't worry. You'll be fine as long as you don't eat your crazy mom's cooking.”
With the final strap in place, Don and Libby set out for the morgue. Libby hoped that Mort was there with his delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Tom scratched his nose, then returned his cuffed hands behind his back. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't lock the second cuff. He hoped Travis wouldn't get mad at him. If Libby were here she'd help him. She was a good sister.
“What's that smell?” Travis said from the front.
Tom wasn't sure whether that last fart was completely gas, so he kept quiet. If he didn't confess Travis might never know it was him. He hoped what he felt was just sweat and not what he thought it was.
His captor turned onto a dark road and after a few minutes parked outside a decrepit trailer. He got out and opened Tom's door. Pointing the gun he said, “get out slowly and don't try nothing stupid.”
“Okay.” Tom climbed into the trailer upon Travis' instructions and sat down in a chair. Travis bound him to it with duct tape. Then he left the trailer. Tom assessed the two girls across from him, chained to the wall. They
seemed okay.
“Dinner time,” Travis came back with the stuff he bought. “I got you some toys too so you won't whine about it,” he stroked one of the girls' chin. She flinched away from him, but couldn't go far.
“May I have a candy bar too please?” Tom inquired. “I accidentally swallowed my gum.”
“No. Shut up. I'll tell you what, though. Before I kill you, you can watch me play with the young ones.”
Tom raised an eyebrow at him. A drop of sweat went into his eye. The stinging made him squint. One of the girls saw his face and screamed.
“Don't scare my girls,” Travis said. “The glands are no good when they're scared.”
“Sorry about that. It's hotter in here than the merchandise in China town.”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Shut up,” Travis pressed the barrel against Tom's forehead.
“That tickles,” Tom said.
“I said shut up!”
Tom nodded. He looked on longingly as the girls ate their chocolates.
“I'll be back,” Travis went out of sight and slammed a door. Moments later the shower started and Travis sang “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”
Tom sang along for a while. Poison was a great band.
He decided to call Don for some advice on what to do. He broke the tape with little trouble and reached for his cell.
Don's phone rang as they left the cemetery. “What's up, Klump?”
They skidded to a halt. Libby hit her head on the seat when her body whiplashed backward. The coffin, teeter-tottering on the light rack, sounded like it would crash through the roof.
“You're there with Quinton and you found the girls?...Then get the girls and get out of there...Yes, I'll buy you pizza afterwards, but hurry...Alright, see you soon.” Don hung up and handed Libby his phone. “There's a family map thing in there. Find it please. I set it up after we had your dad go undercover. This way I can track all of you bozos.”
Libby found it. “Getting directions now. It's over by Orchard Road it looks like.”
Don gunned the gas, flattening Libby into her seat. The coffin crashed into the back. Libby thought maybe Don had a point about getting her a helmet. “All available units to Orchard and Stone,” Libby repeated into the radio.
Tom thought Mettler gave good advice. He should have thought of it himself. He got up, cracking the chair in half. A part of it stuck to him with the tape, but he'd deal with that later. The girls screamed as he approached them. He made his most social smile, wide eyes and all. They screamed louder.
The shower turned off. “What's going on out there?”
“We're escaping,” Tom said. He pulled on the chain of the girl closest to him. The wood splintered. A few tugs later it came loose. Her sister's chain was attached to a thin metal pipe. It was much stronger than it looked. He struggled, gritting his teeth. Wet footfalls sounded behind him. He turned around in time to get hit in the head with something hard.
“Oww,” Tom said. That was mean. He pushed Travis away. The naked man lost his balance and broke through a table. Tom pulled harder on the pipe. It gave way, sending a plume of white dust down on them. Tom picked the girls up carefully by the backs of their shirts while supporting their legs with his other arm. That's how it said to pick up puppies on the internet. Libby said they were getting a puppy, so he'd been practicing.
Unsure of whether to push or pull, Tom burst through the trailer's door. It wobbled on its bottom hinge as he jumped to the ground. A bullet whizzed by his head and a gun fired behind him. Screaming with the girls, he ran toward the tree line.
“Come back here,” more bullets flew by them.
Don and Libby arrived first on the scene. They found the trailer. Light emanated from behind what remained of the door. Libby followed Don inside, drawing her gun.
Don pointed to the broken table, chair, and burst pipe. “They had a fight.”
Libby found a chocolate on the floor. She unwrapped it and stuck it in her mouth. “Will Tom be okay?” She hoped nothing bad happened to her brother.
“Yeah. I'm sure he'll be fine.”
They followed the wet footsteps outside. “Looks like they went this way,” Libby judged by the tracks in the mud.
“That way,” Don pointed in the opposite direction.
“How do you figure?”
“That's what it says on the family map.”
“You're a genius!”
They took out their flashlights and entered the woods. Libby grabbed Don's hand so as not to get lost.
The girls screamed in terror. Tom did too. He wasn't scared, really, but he'd learned that one way to be social was to do what others did. So screaming, they plunged deeper into the thicket. Every time Tom thought they lost the maniac another bullet shot past them. Tom felt a sting on what he considered his upper love handle. “Owww,” he hollered. It made him run faster.
“You smell,” said one of the girls.
“Sorry about that. So anyway,” Tom huffed, “Mettler said he'd buy me pizza. If you stop kicking me I am willing to share.”
“What kind?”
“Mushrooms...”
“Ewww.”
“Olives...”
“Ewww.”
“Extra cheese...So anyway, sometimes Mettler is cheap and I can only get one topping though.” They reached a road. Tom ran alongside it for a while, then cut across and went into the woods again. When no one shot at them in a few minutes he slowed down and stopped to rest. The long run meant he could avoid the gym for a week. No, for a month.
There they spent the next half hour. Tom kept the girls occupied by telling them about his job as a policeman. They giggled and refused to believe he was a cop. He was nothing like their dad, said the older one. She missed him a lot.
“So anyway...” Tom ran out of things say. Then he remembered. “Did you hear that the moon is a giant space ship controlled by the reptoids?”
“You're weird.”
“Ha ha. So anyway, do you know Alex Jones?”
“No.”
“Hmmm.” His phone buzzed, thankfully. Mettler asked him where the hell he was. Tom looked around. The moon afforded him a good look at the tree next to them, but not much else. “We're by a tree,” he said. “It's got lots of branches and stuff. It's pretty big. Do you know it?”
“Klump! You're in the freaking woods. There's trees everywhere.”
“Good point.”
“Is Quinton with you?”
“No, we lost him. Do you want me to look for him?”
“Stay put, Klump. Don't move unless you have to run away from Quinton. How are the girls doing?”
“I think they're good.”
“Alright. Hopefully we'll find you soon.”
Don hung up. He and Libby came back to the trailer. The GPS tracking got them nowhere. They proceeded with Libby's plan of following the tracks. By this time two more squad cars arrived. Don updated his officers on the situation. They streamed out to look for Tom, the girls, and Quinton.
They found Tom an hour later, watching videos on his phone while the two girls slept on either side of him.
Don bought them pizza. Libby examined Tom's wound during their wait. His protective vest didn't let the bullet through, but he'd have a nasty bruise for a while.
“Stop babying him. He's fine,” Don put a tray down in front of Tom and Swinton's daughters. “Extra cheese for the girls, and a slice of salad pizza for Klump.”
Tom's face fell.
“Sorry Klump. That's all they had.”
“Oh well. Thanks anyway, Mettler.”
“Honey pie, stop being mean to my brother,” Libby said.
“You always ruin my fun,” Don replied. He took the salad pizza away and placed it in front of Libby. She almost devoured it all before Don brought Tom his mushroom and extra cheese pie.
“Thanks Mettler.”
“No problem. Good work today. We'll discuss the van tomorrow.”
/> “Okay.”
Don took Libby to another table, out of earshot of Tom and the girls. “We'll find Quinton,” he told her.
Libby nodded and stuck a piece of pizza in her husband's mouth.
“According to Tom the guy was naked,” Don said between chews. “Hopefully we'll spot him soon. I wish we had dogs in the budget for this sort of thing.”
Libby brightened. “We don't need a budget for that. We can get two awesome doggies for free.”
Don frowned.
“You want doggies too. Admit it.”
“Oh yeah. All the walking, picking up dog crap, feeding them. I'm real excited.”
“Oh you'll love them, silly pie.”
“I will 'love them'? What have you signed up for?”
“We're getting doggies,” Libby batted her eyes at him.
“'So anyway,'” Don switched topics, “the way I figure it Travis had Swinton's family kidnapped. He made Swinton do his bidding so he could be released from jail. When he was done, he sent Charlene and Duey to kill him in the hospital.”
That made sense to Libby.
“What I don't get, though, is why that Gerald Oakley and that curator guy, whatever his name is, were killed. Was it random? Was it something special? What's up with that painting? And then there's all those bodies we found in the warehouse. Quinton's connected, but he couldn't have done it.” Don sighed wearily. “Those girls lost their parents. Duey's escaped. We don't know who he's been working for. The 'Ice Queen.' Our budget's been cut. We have a corpse strapped to our roof. And I'm sure the paper will write about all the stuff we did wrong.”
Libby shushed him. “Everything will be okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yes,” she kissed the top of his shiny bald head.
“Can I have another pie please?” Tom called from the other table. The girls giggled.
“They're already making it,” Don replied and Libby hugged him.
Marcy's Spaghetti Prasad, “An Improvement on Batali”*
Ingredients
3 heads of garlic, pressed
10 tablespoons garlic powder
3 cans crushed tomatoes
1 pound sun dried tomatoes, soaked overnight
3 packs dried spaghetti
1 pound mushrooms, chopped and dropped accidentally on the ground, wiped halfheartedly
1 quart olive oil
