Short Stories To Tickle Your Funnybone

by Thornhill, Robert

  “Pardon me, Sir,” I said. “I know this is an unusual request, but I wonder if we can borrow your dolly for just a few minutes?”

  “Sorry ma’am,” he replied. “It’s against company policy. I could get fired.”

  I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I was prepared. Although most of my skills as a bounty hunter aren’t very sharp, I am a fantastic liar. I’ve found it often comes in handy.

  Like now.

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my fake badge that I had bought at the dollar store and flashed it in front of his face.

  “Let me explain,” I said. “My name is Stephanie Plum and I’m a bail bond enforcement agent for the City of Trenton and I need to use your dolly in the apprehension of a fugitive.”

  Sounds good doesn’t it?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

  “Sure you have,” I said. “You watch TV don’t you?”

  “We’ll sure,” he replied. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Then I’m sure you’ve seen police officers chasing a criminal and stopping a motorist to commandeer his car?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen that before,” he said.

  “Well, this is the same thing only I need a dolly.”

  “I--I just don’t know. This seems kinda weird,” he stammered.

  “I understand,” I said. “Let me clear this up for you. I’ll just call my Captain and have him give your supervisor a call and we’ll get the OK from him. What’s your supervisor’s name and number? I’m sure we can get this cleared up in the next half hour to forty five minutes.” I whipped out my cell phone.

  He turned and looked at the mountain of packages yet to deliver, grimaced, did some mental calculations and said, “How long would you need to borrow it?”

  “Ten minutes tops,” I replied.

  “Well OK, but hurry,” he said as he unstrapped the dolly from the truck.

  I pushed the dolly up the sidewalk, propped open the screen with a rock and drug the dolly to the second floor.

  When I entered Winnie’s apartment, I found Winnie cuffed and Lula scarfing down Doritos.

  “These are damn fine chips,” she muttered. “What we gonna do with that thing?” she asked eyeing the dolly.

  “This,” I replied, “is our mode of transportation for Winnie.” I laid the dolly on its back next to Winnie’s chair. “Here, help me get her onto this thing. We’ll just roll her out of the chair and on to the dolly and roll her down the stairs and out to the car.”

  Easy—Right!

  We huffed and puffed and pulled and then gravity took over and Winnie toppled out of the chair, but she hit the dolly and rolled off. Gravity was on our side but inertia was not. We each got next to Winnie, me at her shoulders and Lula at her butt and we pushed and pushed some more until she was finally on her back on the dolly.

  “Whew,” Lula gasped. “Please don’t let me eat no more of those chips. I don’t wanna get like that.”

  We then realized our next problem. Winnie wasn’t going to stay on that dolly by herself. We needed something to tie her on with.

  At this point, rope was not part of my bounty hunter gear and I made a mental note to visit the local True Value. We started looking around the apartment for something to use as a tie down. I was rummaging through her drawers and pulled out a pair of black pantyhose. You can only imagine how big a pair of pantyhose has to be to fit a 300-pound woman.

  “Jesus,” Lula exclaimed. “These babies are big enough to seine fish!”

  We took a sniff and concluded that someone already had. But they were perfect. When spread out from toe to toe there was ample material to go around Winnie and the dolly. We found two more pair and proceeded to wrap Winnie to the dolly like a mummy.

  “OK, now what do we do?” Lula asked eyeing our handiwork. “You think we can move this tub of lard?”

  “Well sure,” I replied, “I’ve seen guys move refrigerators by themselves with one of these things. It can’t be too hard.” Right?

  Lula and I each grabbed a handle and lifted with all we had.

  “I better not get me a hernia over this,” Lula gasped.

  We finally got her in a semi upright position with the weight balanced over the wheels, just like I’d seen the refrigerator guy do it. We wheeled her out the door to the head of the stairs and looked down.

  Oh oh! Gravity and inertia again.

  We eased the wheels to the edge of the first step, held on with all our strength, muttered a prayer, and forward we went. WHUMP! The wheels dropped to the second step and held. So far, so good. Encouraged, we went for number two. WHUMP! Hey, this isn’t so hard. One step at a time. WHUMP! Rest, WHUMP! Rest.

  We were about four steps from the bottom when all hell broke loose. We heard a dog bark. We heard a cat screech and suddenly a big yellow cat comes busting through the open door and leaps through the air landing on Winnie’s big tummy. The cat’s next leap was right between our heads. We ducked, Lula screamed and let go of her side of the dolly and gravity took over. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!

  As fate would have it, just as Winnie hit the foyer floor, Joyce Barnhart walked in the door. We could see the sheer terror in her eyes as she looked up and saw 300 pounds of Winnie and 50 pounds of dolly coming straight for her.

  One more WHUMP! and a bloodcurdling shriek as Winnie and Joyce collided in the doorway. Good old inertia gave Winnie the advantage of forward momentum. We hurried down the steps to find Joyce spread-eagled on her back with the mummy Winnie directly on top.

  “Get her off! Get her off!” Joyce screamed.

  Lula and I each grabbed a handle and lifted with everything we had. We had just lifted her high enough to get the weight off of Joyce when we heard a gurgle and a rumble and Joyce looked on in horror as a stream of orange bile erupted from the depths of Winnie Taggert. A half of a bag of chips and who knows how many diet cokes covered Joyce from head to toe.

  “UGH!” Lula said. “Guess I won’t be eating any Doritos for awhile.”

  We finally got Winnie upright again leaving poor Joyce in shock, gagging and crying on the front step.

  The poor UPS driver who had witnessed the disaster rushed up to us as we got to my car.

  “I hope my dolly is OK. I need it back NOW,” he said.

  “Look buster,” I replied. “If you want your dolly back, help us get our fugitive into the trunk of my car.” and I popped the lid. My car may have its shortcomings, but it has a huge trunk.

  As we looked at Winnie and at the trunk Lula remarked, “Good thing we took your car. Her fat ass wouldn’t of fit in my trunk.”

  We untied Winnie and the three of us rolled her into the trunk. WHOOSH! The shocks dropped to the springs and the back end of the car came to rest with the tailpipe touching the ground.

  The poor UPS guy looked at his dolly that was covered with orange glop. “What am I gonna do with that!” he wailed.

  I reached into my pocket and handed him a quarter. “There’s a carwash three blocks away. Here, it’s on me. The City of Trenton thanks you very much for your help.”

  Boy, will he have a story to tell back at the garage.

  We closed the lid, jumped in the car and took off. All the way to the police station sparks shot out of rear end of my car as the tailpipe dragged along. A big brown turd, rolling down the street with sparks coming out its ass. So much for being inconspicuous. Lula hunkered a lot on the way back.

  We pulled into the police lot. I parked and went into the booking desk. Carl was on duty.

  “I may need a little help with this one,” I said. “Any chance we can get a couple of uniforms out there?”

  The officers came out. Most know me and delight in giving me a hard time. Today was no exception.

  “Whatcha got in the turdmobile, Stephanie?” Murphy asked.

  “A little present for you guys,” I replied, and I popped the trunk.

  “JESUS! What’s that smell?” Murphy said a
s he gagged. “You bounty hunters can bring ‘em back dead or alive. I think this one’s been dead for awhile. I’m not touching that.”

  “I just bring ‘em in,” I said. “After they hit this parking lot, they’re all yours.”

  I went back to the booking desk and picked up my body receipt. ONE DOWN!!

  Chapter 2 Encouraged by the fact that we had actually brought in an FTA the first time around, we were ready for round two.

  I pulled the next file. The FTA was Wally Beaker. A single guy, 32 years old who had been picked up for indecent exposure and urinating in public. He ran a small bookkeeping office and lived in a small efficiency in the back.

  “Sounds to me like we got us one of them Pee Wee Herman types,” Lula said. “Let’s go get the little pervert.”

  We pulled up in front of the bookkeeping office and a sign on the door said ‘OPEN’.

  “We’re in luck,” I said. “Let’s get this over with, and please, let me do the talking.”

  We entered the office. It was a large room with two chairs for clients and a small divider that separated the client area from an office desk. A small bell sat on the counter with a sign that read ‘Ring bell for service’. I stepped up and gave the bell a couple of dings. No answer. I dinged it again and from somewhere in the rear of the building a wavering voice came back, “Please have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

  A few minutes passed and a small neatly dressed man appeared from the back room. Lula wasn’t far off from her Pee Wee Herman description although on second look he more resembled Mr. Peepers. Your typical CPA/bookkeeper.

  “Good morning ladies,” he said. Then he grimaced, bent forward, grabbed his back and let out a low moan. After a few seconds he tried to stand upright and managed an obvious forced smile. “How may I help you today.”

  “Wally Beaker?” I asked and he nodded yes. “My name is Stephanie Plum and my associate and I are bond enforcement agents. It appears that you missed your court date. We’re here to help you set a new date and get rebonded.”

  His head drooped, he sighed, and again doubled over, grabbing his back.

  “Are you OK?” I asked.

  “Not really,” he replied. “I’m having a bit of a medical situation. Nothing life threatening, but really uncomfortable. I’m really sorry about missing my court date. I run a respectable business here and I was just too embarrassed to go. If it gets around that was arrested for indecent exposure, my business will suffer.”

  “Well it’s your own damn fault,” Lula barged in. “If you’d keep your business zipped up in your pants, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “See,” Wally replied, “already you have prejudged me as some kind of sexual deviant. I’m just a bookkeeper, for Chrissake. I’ve never had so much as a parking ticket. --I’m –Ugh – Ugh, just going through a personal crisis right now.”

  “Wally, let me explain how the system works,” I said. “You’re a CPA. If a client tells you he won’t pay his taxes, will the IRS just forget about it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well it’s the same thing. You were arrested and given a court date that you skipped. It’s like missing an IRS audit. Get the picture? You can’t just ignore this. It will only get worse. If you don’t reschedule, the judge will issue a bench warrant for your arrest. How would you like to be sitting here with clients and have the police come and take you away in handcuffs? How would that be for business?”

  He started to respond, but as he did his eyes glassed over, he bent double again, emitting a low moan.

  “What in the world is wrong with you?” I asked.

  “It’s kind of personal,” he replied. “I’m in the process of passing kidney stones and its really messed up my life.”

  “Oh shit,” Lula said. “When I was a ho, I had a pimp who had them stones. He moaned and groaned for days. We had to pump him full of Valium to keep him from screaming. He finally passed them. It was like shooting BBs out his pecker.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do to make this go away?” Wally asked. “Let me tell you what happened so you won’t think I’m a pervert. I started getting these severe pains in my back and side and I had to pee almost constantly and sometimes without warning. The doctor sent me for a CT scan that confirmed I had kidney stones. There is nothing to do but tough it out until they pass. I was leaving the doctor’s office which is downtown when my bladder started screaming at me and I knew if I didn’t relieve myself I’d be wetting myself right there on the street, so I ducked down an alley, got behind a big dumpster where no one could see me, pulled my pants down and begin to urinate. Just then a back door from one of the offices on the street opened and a girl came out with a bag of trash for the dumpster. She saw me there fully exposed, dropped the bag of trash and started screaming.”

  “Well I can dig that,” Lula said. “If some Dude was standing by my trash can with his wanger in his hand, I’d scream too.”

  “That’s not the worst part,” Wally moaned. “Just when she started screaming, a cop was walking by the entrance to the alley. As he ran up to us, the girl pointed to my private part, still straining to find relief. The cop tackled me, cuffed me, and stood me up. There I was with my hands behind my back and my winkie still hanging out. It was so embarrassing.”

  “I think I may have a solution for you,” I said. “You’ve never been arrested and have no previous history of sexual perversion. What we have here is a case of extenuating circumstances--actually a medical emergency.”

  “That’s right,” Lula chimed in. “I’ve heard of pregnant women riding a bus and their water breaks and they go into labor. There they are with their legs all spread out and their doodah all hanging out for everyone to see, but thereain’t no one arresting her cause its, like she said, extenuating circumstances, a medical emergency.”

  “Do you think that would work?” Wally asked.

  “I’m sure it would,” I replied. “You should get a letter from your doctor explaining your condition. What happened that day has a logical explanation. I’ll bet the charges will be dropped. But you will have to go to court to explain. I think your clients will understand and forgive kidney stones. But now, we’ll have to take you downtown to reschedule.”

  “Shall I cuff him?” Lula asked.

  “Doesn’t look that dangerous to me,” I replied. “Let’s give him a break. He’s been through enough embarrassment.”

  “Hang on a second,” Wally said. “I have to get a few things and lock up.” He came back a few minutes later with a set of keys in one hand and a strainer in the other.

  “What the hell you gonna do with that strainer?” Lula asked.

  “Until the stones pass, I have to pee through this strainer. It will catch the stone and the doctor will send it off to be analyzed. Apparently there are several kinds of stones.”

  So, Wally locked up, we all piled in the turdmobile and headed for the police station. Wally’s office was just across the river from the downtown area. It wasn’t a long bridge, but it was narrow. Just wide enough for one lane of cars each direction. We had just reached the bridge when a scream erupted from the backseat.

  “ OH GOD, it’s coming, I can feel it!” Wally screamed. “Quick pull over. I’ve got to get out of the car. Oh God, my pecker’s on fire! I’m gonna piss all overmyself and the car if you don’t let me out.”

  I quickly reviewed my options and decided my poor car had enough problems without the back seat smelling like a urinal, so I flipped on the flashers and pulled to the side of the bridge. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough room for the traffic behind me to pass, so the whole bridge full of cars came to a grinding stop. Wally jumped out of the back seat, strainer in hand and started working on his zipper.

  So there we were, a big brown turd stopped in the middle of the bridge, traffic honking up a storm behind us, and Wally on the side of the road with his flinger out, pissing through a strainer.

  So much for being inconspicuous.

  W
e heard a blood curdling scream, a pause, and Wally exclaiming, “I got it, I got it. It’s out!”

  Wally tucked himself back in and headed for the car proudly carrying his strainer and kidney stone. The car directly behind us suddenly laid on his horn startling Wally and the strainer fell from his hand and the precious stone rolled under the turdmobile.

  “Oh no,” Wally shouted, and he was down on his hands and knees under the car retrieving his errant kidney stone.

  Lula was hunkered down and I have to admit, I had hunkered some myself. We looked at each other, rolled our eyes and Lula muttered, “He outta name that damn thing Mick Jagger, cause it sure as hell is a Rolling Stone.”

  All’s well that ends well. We got Wally back in the car. I called Connie at the office and had her meet us at the station to bond Wally out. Connie took Lula back to the office and I drove Wally home.

  On the way back, I had a very satisfied feeling as I reflected on the day’s events. We had delivered two FTA’s without anyone getting shot or maimed. I had two paychecks in my pocket, and Joyce had gotten slimed with Dorito puke. It doesn’t get much better than that.

  Chapter 3 As I was driving toward home, I passed the First Baptist Church and saw numerous workmen on the front lawn.

  “Oh crap,” I thought. “Tonight is the opening ceremony for the live nativity scene and I’m supposed to be there with my family.”

  You have to understand that in the Burg, the opening night of the nativity scene is a big deal. It’s like turning on the Plaza lights in Kansas City, or lighting the mayor’s Christmas tree. It is the one singular event that officially launches the Christmas season in the Burg. EVERYONE is expected to attend the ceremony. See and be seen. Merry Christmas.

  Some carpenter in years past had constructed a wooden manger consisting of a backdrop, a cradle for the baby Jesus and a small fenced area for the live animals. A live sheep and a donkey accompanied life size statues of Mary, Joseph, the Angel, and three shepherds.

  Obviously livestock kept penned up for a month needed care. This was provided by Moses Thacker. He was a farmer from upstate New York. He had retired and moved to the Burg to be near his family. Missing the farm life, he had volunteered to care for the animals, bringing them food and water and cleaning the stall daily.