The Lovely Chocolate Mob

The Trip Home

Walter was driving me home, or at least to a place where he could drop me off, hopefully near my house. We talked about the past few days.

“Randall, I have some bad news for you,” he finally said.

“Uh-oh, what kind of bad news?”

“I didn’t want to break this to you in the grill, in front of David or Kim. I wanted to give you a chance to sort this out first.”

“What kind of bad news is it?” I repeated, trying not to sound too antsy.

“It’s about Franky Burke and Miss Chocolate…”

“What about them?”

“Now, you know I wouldn’t purposely do anything to hurt you; I remember your visits to the pen…”

“What about them?” I asked again, growing impatient.

“Things aren’t over with them. They’re still a couple, romantically linked.”

That felt like a kick in the stomach. It blew out our successful “high” feeling, plus I’d already assured Helen and Mindy that Dr. Burke was in the clear.

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“I know.”

Not trying not to sound exasperated, I said, “How do you know?” This might perhaps give Walter a little time to go into his technical expertise, which included bragging. I guess it’s not bragging if you can do it, however.

“I’ve continued tapping in on telephone conversations. Franklin is pretty slick; he bought a new cell phone, but he’s not fooling anyone.”

“Do you have any proof of this?”

Walter smiled and reached over to a switch on his dashboard and flipped it. What came over the speakers were the voices of Dr. Franklin Burke and, from what I could tell, Susan Lovely.

“You haven’t called me in the past few days.”

“Things have been busy down at the hospital. I’m always on call; I’m a doctor, you know.”

“I was worried you’d forgotten about our little Caribbean cruise getaway…”

“I hadn’t forgot, baby. Things just got a little hectic at work. Say, that reminds me. You haven’t been talking to anybody about us, have you?”

“No, nobody. I know what secrecy means to you.”

“Well, good. I need to tell you something… something strange. This might move our schedule up a bit, but… I’ve been found out.”

“By your wife? The hospital? Who?”

“That’s the strange part. I don’t know who. I was hoping you could give me some clues.”

“What happened?”

I reached over to the switch and flipped it to “off.”

“Don’t you want to hear the rest?” asked Walter.

“I’ve heard enough. Franklin’s still got a girlfriend on the side, and after I’ve told Helen and her daughter Mindy that there was nothing to worry about.”

“Wow, guess you talked to her too soon. So what happens now?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure what else we can do. We’ve tried going to the source, tried to talk some ‘sense’ into Franklin…”

“I’ve already done something.”

I looked over at Walter, who was grinning ear to ear while driving his huge vehicle in the dark. We were entering the city again, and lights were beginning to appear, which showed Walter’s teeth; he must have been really pleased with himself. I started to worry.

“Uh-oh, what have you done?”

“Well, I got to figuring. Franky’s a hard-working doctor who wished he could have saved a little of his dough for a comfortable retirement, but his wife is a high-maintenance dame, see? Boy, you really missed the bullet there, Randall!”

He looked over at me for a second; I wasn’t laughing.

Looking back at the traffic, he said, “Anyhow, I got to thinking that this chocolate bikini model probably had so much appeal to him because…. Why do you think?”

“Because she’s so good-looking?” I guessed.

“Well, yeah, she’s good looking; there’s no doubt about that,” concurred Walter. “But his wife is just as good looking, even if she is a little bit older. Try again.”

I was growing a little annoyed, but this was Walter’s game. Eventually he’d make sense.

“Because of her family business?”

Walter laughed. “Close, but no chocolate cigar. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” I asked. I’m sure I already knew.

“Because she’s so dang rich, that’s why! If he married this broad, he’d have no financial worries for the rest of his life, even if Helen Ceraldi-Burke sues him for every penny he’s got.”

“It’s doubtful that he’s got any pennies left to sue; it would cost her more in lawyer fees than what she’d get out of him.”

“Well, perhaps,” said Walter. “So, do you wanna know what I did?”

“Okay, Walter,” I said, “what did you do?”

This is what Walter lived for. He could now explain to me his ingenious plan and its execution for my wonderment.

“I’ve been watching the news and listening on the phones and internet, and today was the day that the will from Old Man Chocolate, that’s Cornelius Lovely,” he said as he looked over at me, ”was to be read and probated, all within a few hours of each other. As everybody thought, Mr. Lovely left his granddaughter Susan the big prize, the bulk of his estate. She’s worth billions! Or at least, she was.” Then Walter stopped talking. Apparently I was supposed to ask questions.

“She was?” I said. “You’re using past tense, what do you mean, ‘she was’?”

Walter started laughing again. “Well, she was worth billions, but now she’s worth only bikinis!”

“Walter, what did you do?”

“I did a little internet banking, Randall-boy. When they transferred the wealth out of the old man’s estate to her bank account, I intercepted the money, and it’s all safely hid in anonymous bank accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, even in the former U.S.S.R….”

Interrupting, I said, “Walter, don’t tell me anymore.”

He looked puzzled. This seemed to take all the fun out of his story telling. “Why? Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

“I suspect you had access to all the bank account numbers and made the switch online, but how you did it is beyond me. What I’m saying is the less I know the better it would be for you and me.”

A puzzled look continued to cover Walter’s face, who was still trying to drive, and then he became enlightened. “I get it! You’re saying if you’re the one who gets caught and the cops try to sweat the truth out of you, you won’t be able to tell them anything!”

“That’s it, precisely.”

“You’re covering for me. Gee, thanks, Randall. You’re a pal. But it sure takes the fun out of giving you all the details.”

“Just one question, Walter.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you do it? And why didn’t you include me?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Okay, it’s two questions. Now why and why?”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I didn’t include you because there wasn’t time; the money was going to be changing hands today, and I only found out about it last night. I had to move fast. I didn’t have time for amateurs. No offense, Randall.”

“No offense taken.”

Walter smiled at this. He was reassured that our friendship was still in tact.

“And as for the first ‘why’…” he continued. “I figured that if Susan Lovely were broke, she might not be such the totally desirable woman that Dr. Frank Burke thought she was, and then he’d stay with his wife, the mother of his four kids.”

We rode in silence for a minute. I pondered this over.

“That’s logical thinking on your part, Walter. I can see your point.”

“Thanks!”

After a few more moments of silence, I said, “But this brings up a problem.”

A quizzical look covered Walter’s face. “Problem? What kind of problem?”

“The money. What do you plan to do with the money?”

After a bit of silence, Walter said, “I haven’t got that far yet. And that doesn’t seem to be a problem to me.”

“I mean, after all, what you’ve done is taken money from some poor girl to whom it rightfully belongs…”

Walter burst in with “Some poor girl! She’s been a successful bikini model; she’s not hurting…!”

“Let me explain,” I continued. “When I said ‘some poor girl,’ I didn’t mean to say that she was broke. I meant to say, in the arena of finances, she has done no wrong. The money is legally and rightfully hers. It was left to her by her grandfather, who built a chocolate empire and earned it fair and square.”

“She’s dating a married man!”

“Yes, she’s seeing Franklin Burke, but that doesn’t mean she has no right to her family fortune. It’s what Old Man Lovely wanted, and he hasn’t done anybody any wrong. Quite the contrary, he’s created jobs and employed thousands!”

Walter hunched over the steering wheel. “I’m listening,” he said. To him this was all new.

“Plus, what are your intentions with those billions? To keep it for yourself?”

“I thought about that. I thought about keeping it, but then decided we’d split the billions between the three of us.”

I said nothing here. I couldn’t. The idea of a billion dollars just falling into my lap was something to consider. But what would I do with it?

“Walter, we didn’t earn it!”

“I’m not finished! I said I thought about it; I didn’t say we’d actually do it!”

“Sorry. Well, what were you thinking, then?”

“I thought I’d just hold onto this money for a while, for just a little while, until the dust cleared and Dr. Frank Burke saw reason enough to go back home to be with his wife and children, where he ought to have been in the first place.”

“How long is a little while?” I asked.

“I haven’t got all that worked out just yet. Mebbe long enough to make some dough off the interest?”

He glanced over to where I was sitting, but could tell by my face that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

“Keeping the interest is stealing. It’s not ours to keep,” I said.

“Well, it’s all in my possession now,” said Walter, “and I’m the only one who knows where it’s all at, so technically, it’s only in my possession.”

“So, we’re back to square one. What do you intend to do with it?”

Walter grinned. “I finally came to the conclusion that I’d put it all back into Susan Lovely’s account, all at once from the different banks, under guise, of course.”

“Of course.”

“That way she’d get it all back, with interest. It’s just out of her control for a little while, a tiny bit, until everybody does the right thing.”

“I’m proud of you, Walter.”

That last remark seemed to cheer him up a bit. I’m not sure I could say that I was proud of what he did, but I was happy with the conclusion he came up with, and all on his own.

“Just one more thing bugs me though, Walter.”

“What’s that, Rand?”

“That’s an awful lot of money. Are you sure you couldn’t be traced?”

“Heh! Not a chance.”

Just then a white light hit Walter’s RV, so bright we couldn’t tell from which direction it came. Everything was lit up, and Walter brought the RV to a screeching halt. The sound of helicopter rotors appeared and was getting louder, and the white light was getting even brighter.

We looked at each other, saying “the cops!” at the same time. A loud voice crackled over a loudspeaker, “Freeze! FBI! Don’t move; we have you under surveillance!”

Freeze? When anyone says that to Walter, he takes it as ‘Charge!’ or ‘Mush!’ or ‘Giddyup!’, because he floorboarded the gas and off we went. I was petrified, felt my heart and stomach sink, and yelled, “What are you doing? They’ll shoot us!” whereas Walter was yelling also, saying, “I’m not going back to the big house!” We screamed and yelled and the RV gained speed through the city streets, with the bright light following us from above. I hoped and prayed Walter wouldn’t have a wreck, and visualized us sprawled out all over the street like so much roadkill. Fortunately, it was late and there was no traffic; Walter ran stop signs and red lights, and I could see myself in handcuffs, being booked and fingerprinted and photographed, wearing orange jumpsuits and appearing in court and losing all my freedoms for the rest of my life, making license plates in the rehabilitation facilities furnished by taxpayers. This wasn’t something I wanted to experience either. I continued screaming, “Look out! Stop! Watch that pole!”

Walter came to a bridge, stopped the RV under it, and said, “Take the sewer!”

“What?”

“The sewer! Go underground!”

“What sewer?”

Walter had unbuckled himself and stepped out of the vehicle and swung open a compartment on the driver’s side.

I unbuckled and got out and ran around to see what he was doing. When he stepped back, I could see he was pulling something from the side compartment, something that looked like a bazooka.

“The sewer!” he yelled. “Look, see the manhole, go down the drain and disappear! Here, catch!” With his free hand, he had reached back into the compartment and tossed me some sort of a giant key, a manhole cover key. “Get going! Move!”

I stood there under the bridge with the key in my hand, and could see Walter was walking toward the opening, the way we had come in. He was moving into an offensive position.

I ran to where he was. “What are you going to do?” I said.

“I’m not going back! Get out of here!”

The bright light had bounced around on both sides of the bridge, and we could hear the helicopter coming back our direction, but Walter was in complete charge. This was his situation. The light and helicopter had been looking for a large object, the RV, and had searched the far end of the bridge. It was probably hovering about 70 feet high, and seemed to be circling.

The light hit me at that point, and I froze in place, staring at the big white spot. However, it then moved off me, and so I was in semi-darkness once again. The helicopter must have thought a big vehicle carried many passengers and was looking to round them all up.

“What about you?” I said.

“I’ll be all right! Move!”

That was all I needed. I ran to the man-hole cover, and, feeling around, located the hole where the big key was supposed to fit. I put the key in and gave it a heave and the cover came up. Laying the heavy lid to one side, I went down into the hole, hoping that Walter would soon follow. I heard him yell, “Pull the cover back!”

“What?”

“Pull the cover back over the hole! I’m going to make a run for it!”

“You can’t outrun a helicopter!”

“I don’t have to!” and with that Walter lifted the bazooka to his shoulder and took aim. I saw the bright light hit Walter, lighting him up for the FBI.

I dragged the manhole cover back over me and found myself completely in the dark. I was fumbling around on the wet concrete, knowing that I had to get away from this entry point as soon as possible. I didn’t know which way to go and didn’t care; I just wanted to put space between me and that flying spotlight. I leaned over and walked quickly, to the north I thought. Soon I found I had to crawl on all fours; these drains weren’t as big as they used to be when I was a kid. After about 30 yards, I took my shoes off and tied the laces together and hung them over the back of my neck, and took my socks off and tied them around my knees; at least this would give them some protection. I couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, but oh-my-gosh Walter was a billionaire who just shot a helicopter out of the sky. Would this make him a murderer, too? And not only an anybody murderer, a cop-killer, on the scale of the FBI, which is a federal crime, for sure! The type to whom the courts show no mercy. I was crawling on my knees in the sewer, and Walter had blood on his hands. But I had been with him, which made me an accomplice. How low had we sunk?





The Tunnel

It was dark, and it stank. I was wet all over, especially my hands and feet. Good thing I had decided to wear jeans; any regular pants would have been ruined in no time. I estimated I had crawled the length of nineteen football fields, or 5,700 feet, or well over a mile. I’d been counting my knees; every time they touched concrete that was considered to be a foot. I was somewhere around 5,700, but I’m sure I had skipped a number or two. We hadn’t been too far from my part of town, in the RV, so if I had picked the right tunnels, perhaps I’d make it back to my own bed sometime in the next 24 hours. I was tired, it was slow progress, and I didn’t like being underground, not one bit. I wondered if it was the next day already, and decided to check the time, so I pulled my new cell phone off my belt to view, and it lit up the whole tunnel! I should have thought of it earlier; I’d use the telephone for light, shining a green glow ahead of me every now and then, because there were bound to be other creatures down there. Fortunately, I hadn’t run into anything bad yet. I supposed they scattered when they heard me coming. I was hoping I wouldn’t run into any alligators; if I yelled there’d be no one else down there to help; I was completely on my own. Isolated. And lonely.

It had been hours since I’d left Walter upstairs, and while crawling at a pace I could handle, I was hoping my nerves would settle down, giving me a chance to think clearly.

Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten involved in Helen and Franklin’s situation; after all, who were we to try to solve their problems? We could barely solve our own problems! We weren’t God, nor the church, nor the courts, nor the marriage counselor, nor their family; how could we fix what man decided to destroy?

While reflecting on this, I decided that the courts didn’t really fix anything either; that wasn’t their role. They just divided assets in a fair and equitable manner, or gave the appearance of it, when there were differences in divorce court. I supposed the judges tried to make sure a deserted wife and kids didn’t go without some support, or income, but why the heck was there so much divorce in our country, anyhow? It’s almost as though we’re children; we start something and somehow find that we’re not able to carry it on to completion. And it wasn’t a both/and situation anymore; all it took was for one person to act up, as Franklin was doing, to destroy a marriage.

My mind had plenty of time to wander while being buried underground. I considered this problem further, thinking that if we were to just sit back and let things play out, how would I feel about myself whenever I looked into the mirror to shave, brush my teeth, or comb my hair? Who would be looking back from the mirror? That’s something I’d have to live with. Would it be some coward who didn’t lift a finger to help preserve a family, to help keep some stability to the community, to keep a home for some kids? If so, then there would be another ruined marriage on the trash heap of romance, thanks to any non-involvement on my part. No, I’m not sorry I scared Franklin! He needed scaring! He deserved a whole lot more than that, but violence is something I considered unprofessional. It’s messy, and there’s just no excuse for it. I started talking to myself, muttering, “No, I’m not sorry; I’m glad I did it!” and after a while, started yelling it. I listened for an echo, but there wasn’t much of that down there. The tunnel probably needed to be bigger. It was just me talking out loud in a concrete tube underground. It wouldn’t help thinking too much about my situation, since I didn’t want to risk getting claustrophobic. I hoped the ground wouldn’t cave in on me.

I could have married Helen, but that possibility slipped through my fingers; those children could also have been mine. I had dreamed of a quiet, peaceful, tranquil family life, with a beautiful wife who loved me and children who were all honor roll students with blond hair and blue eyes and straight teeth. Maybe I could have had a happy life. Maybe I could have been one of the beautiful people, and if not that, then perhaps one of the socially approved types. There was a lot of “coulda, shoulda, woulda” in that underground tunnel. I thought about it some more and decided my children wouldn’t have been as handsome as Franklin’s; obviously he had the superior “pretty-boy” gene to pass along to his children.

Life was like this tunnel, in that I had no choice but to keep crawling forward. I could have gone backwards, I supposed, but I knew what was back there. I kept going forward even after Helen dumped me for Franklin, and here I was still stuck in a fix. Maybe it was better for Helen to marry Franklin instead of me; he could probably handle things better. If she had married me, she’d have to keep her expectation levels down, and not push me too hard to be successful and acquire stuff so she could live the life she wanted. I’m not sure I could be “out there” too much in the public eye. I’ve never been good at selling myself.

Those kids. They were all genetic wonders. I know my family, and we’re not picture-perfect. The kids that Helen and I would have had would have been a watered-down version of what she had now; perhaps they’d all come with my character flaws as well.

Those kids! What beautiful kids. I could never have done as well. Maybe it was better that I’d never married; I could never have sired such great-looking kids like that. And they were all bright, too, and seemed happy. It sure would be a terrible thing for their family to break up; this would shatter their little worlds.

“I’m glad I did it!” I yelled, again.

That felt better. The only good thing about being down there was that it wasn’t winter, and I wasn’t freezing my tail off. I was in a cramped space, but at least I wasn’t shivering. I could be thankful for that. “Thank you, Lord,” I said. “Now please get me out of here.”

I had gone through all the thinking I could do on my own, and decided to ask for wisdom, since I was on my knees, anyway. “I’m sorry, Lord,” I started. “Please give me guidance. I deserve this. I know I’ve earned it. We scared Franklin and stole money and stuck our noses in other people’s business. Maybe. I led the group; the fault is all mine. Please don’t punish Walter and David; I talked them into it. You’re good. Thank you for being good. Help me to be good.”

“Ow! Sh**!!” My palm found a pebble. I remembered I was in the middle of a prayer. “Sorry, Lord. I know I cuss too much. I’m working on that. But this is like a sewer down here and I was probably thinking on that.” I had no business cussing around the Almighty, although He knows I have a quick temper at times. That’s no excuse, just an explanation.

The mind switched gears quickly while placed under duress. “Lord, why did Helen leave me? I tried to be good to her. Since you’re sovereign, I guess you knew what you were doing when you let her leave me. I guess you were making me into something besides a husband. But why did it have to hurt so much? Lord, sometimes I think it would be nice to have been married, but you know what you’re doing. On the other hand, I do have a quiet and peaceful life. It is a bit lonely at times, though. Maybe I should get out more, be involved more. That may be how I got down here. Thank you, Lord. Your will be done.”

Well, I felt as though I were at peace, for a little while anyway. I liked being at peace; it sure beat being worried, scared, or wanting something unnecessary, which happened to me often, probably more often than I’d like to admit.

I was getting sick of crawling, and decided to go up the next manhole I saw; I thought I had gone far enough. Hopefully there weren’t too many policemen around when they arrested Walter. I know he wouldn’t talk; he’d keep his mouth shut; he’s not one to crack under pressure. I’ll have to find a good lawyer for him. I’m sure there are a few who went to school with us; one of them will remember Walter. We’ve all done favors for each other during our days away from school; maybe they’ll help out pro-bono for old time’s sake. Maybe he won’t have to spend all his life in the big house.

Murder! He’d be charged with murder! Oh, this would be all over the television, with the whole nation watching. The general population wouldn’t take kindly to shooting an FBI helicopter out of the sky; neither would any federal judge.

I could feel fresh air and decided I was near an opening. Using the cell phone, I looked down the tunnel and could see that it opened into a small area, probably near a street curb drain. I put the phone back on my belt, not wanting anybody spotting a green light coming up out of a storm drain if they happened to be wandering around this time of night; people really ought to be home in bed; that’s what homes were for. So what was I doing down there?

At the tunnel’s end, there was enough room to stand up. I had to take my time doing that, though, since my joints weren’t as flexible as they used to be. It took a little time to get my feet under me to manage myself, to reach the manhole cover directly above. I put my ear as close to the little keyhole as possible and listened. There wasn’t any traffic noise; that was good. It was late, or early, and maybe I wouldn’t cause a wreck. Hopefully this manhole was part of the sidewalk and not on the street. If that was the case, there ought to be a drain nearby, but I didn’t see an opening, even though I felt and smelled the fresh air. I decided to risk using my cell phone light, hoping there would be nobody outside to see it. I opened the cell phone, and the little room turned from pitch black to bright green, and fortunately, there was a drain opening right next to me, so this manhole cover ought to be next to the sidewalk, and not in the middle of traffic, somewhere. It’s a good thing I had a little knowledge of drain systems, and even though I designed them, I didn’t get to see them from the inside very often.

I stood and pushed the heavy lid up. It was stuck; eventually I gave up and lay down on the little floor area. Maybe I should have just gone to sleep there, which would have been easy to do. I might have, but the thought of some creature coming along and taking a bite out of me would keep me from sleeping. I got back up and pushed again, until I felt the cover give. I rested for a minute before starting to push a third time; I didn’t want to throw my back out. I couldn’t have that, not while down in a drain. The thought of being hurt and stuck in a drain was frightening; I’d have to call for help, and if help did arrive I’d have to explain what I was doing in a drain. Maybe I could say I was doing research for my job, but that would be stretching it a bit. I pushed the lid, and it gave way.





Getting Home

It was a little bit lighter outside than in the drain. Once I got my head above the lid level, I could see a sidewalk, and there was no movement in the area, at least not from my side; nobody was walking around in front, and I didn’t hear anything from behind. At least there wouldn’t be any talk or reports about a strange man who came up out of a drain after midnight.

I gave it one last heave, and the lid opened wide enough for me to escape. I slowly climbed out of the hole, then slowly lowered the lid back into place, taking care so there would be no clanging sound. I thought about leaving fingerprints on this manhole cover, but at the moment was too tired to do anything about them.

Looking around to see my location, I sat down to put my socks and shoes back on, not wanting to attract attention on the way home. I searched the sky for the North Star, trying to figure out which direction to start walking in order to get home; it was cloudy. We were still south of my house when the helicopter spotted us; I’m sure I had crawled over a mile, but because of a few turns in the drain I may have gone east or west, or even back in the direction I had started from. Thinking on this, north was still my destination, and I started walking, looking for street signs on each corner; maybe I could at least figure out which neighborhood I was in.

Fatigue was setting in, but if all my estimations were right, at least I wouldn’t have to walk too far. I came up to a readable street sign, and got my bearings. Good thing I knew this town like the back of my hand; I had played on many of these streets as a child, having classmates in different sections of the city. Janet Field, the neighborhood baseball field, was near; it had been named after a little cheerleader who passed away from cancer. Maybe I could find a working water faucet and wash up a bit. All parks were closed at night; gates to the roads leading in were shut and locked to traffic, but since I was on foot, that wouldn’t be a hindrance.

I walked in the direction of the park and thought about what I had just done. I’d emerged from the belly of the beast, like Jonah from the big fish, although I hadn’t been down there for three days, thank goodness. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have had the energy to push the lid up, or to even crawl to an easier exit point. I wondered if Jonah had survived on seaweed. The only thing I saw growing in the drain was mushrooms, and I didn’t know enough about them to know if they were safe to eat. I should be grateful I got out when I did, or else they might have started looking good to me.

Arriving at Janet Field, I found a working faucet and washed up the best I could; I drank and drank until I couldn’t hold anymore. Who would have thought warm water could taste so good? I ran water over my shoes and the lower parts of my blue jeans; they were wet already, but I would rather be wet with clean water than stagnate drain water.

Home and bed were the destination now. I headed to the north side of the park and walked down Finley Street. Good thing there was no traffic; I’d look like a wandering vagrant, and in the age of cell phones someone could call the cops on me. I could just see myself answering questions to a policeman. Who am I? Where do I live? What am I doing out in the middle of the night? Why do I smell like a wet rat? Were you part of the FBI murders? Don’t I have better things to be doing than being out for a walk in the middle of the night? I hoped I would be able to answer questions without making a policeman mad. I’m sure I looked like a criminal.

It was quiet for a short while, then a backyard dog noticed me and started barking. This in turn got all the dogs in the neighborhood stirred up, and I was greeted by barking, fenced-in dogs as I moved down the street. You could gauge the sizes of the dogs by their barks: the deeper the growl, the bigger the dog. Some were louder than others; thank goodness for leash laws. A pet was supposed to be under control by its owner, but I’ve seen times when that wasn’t always the case. My front yard seemed to be a favorite visiting spot for loose dogs. At least, I hoped they were loose. I didn’t like to think neighbors who walked their dogs would intentionally stop at my yard for pets to do their thing.

Ignoring the barks, I kept walking; I had picked up the stride a bit and soon would be home. It would be daylight in a few hours; perhaps I could get a little sleep. There would be no way I could go to work; I’d have to call in sick to get some shut-eye. I’d catch up on any projects by working late, tomorrow, or even later today.

There was my house, but a light was on in the kitchen. Perhaps I had left it on before walking off to be picked up by Walter. Perhaps Walter had talked to the police, and they were waiting to arrest me? No, Walter wouldn’t crack so soon. I must have left it on.

I waited outside for a number of minutes before deciding to go on in. If it were the FBI, then they’d found me; there’s no place else I could run. If I forgot and left the light on, I’d have to improve at that. The good part was, at least I had a night-light.

Taking out the keys, I opened the front door. Walking in, I saw that the television light was on; I knew I hadn’t left that running. I didn’t watch TV today; what was going on?

Walking further in the house, I saw Walter, lying down on my couch with a blanket pulled up over him. He looked up at me and said, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for hours!”

I didn’t say anything, being stupefied.

He continued, “Ate some of your Texas Chili; hope you don’t mind.”

I finally came to myself. “What are you doing here?”

Now Walter was the one with the surprised look. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?” he asked. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“How did you get away?”

“I got in my RV, started ‘er up and drove, and I came straight here. I’ll need a place to stay for a little while; hope I don’t get in your way.”

“You won’t be in my w-----“, I said, then stopped to get to the point. “What happened to the helicopter? Didn’t you shoot it out of the sky?”

“The helicopter? Oh, that! Well, yes, I guess I did.”

“You killed the pilot? The police? The FBI? How many people were killed?”

“I didn’t kill anybody; what are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about?” I asked in disbelief. “I saw you point a bazooka toward a helicopter!” Now I was getting close to hysterical.

“Bazooka? What bazooka? That wasn’t a bazooka! Those things are dangerous! You could kill somebody with those!”

“Well, what were you pointing at it?” I demanded.

“That was a modified electronic-pulse scrambler, powered with 10 “D” alkaline batteries!”

“It was a bazooka!” I insisted.

“I said modified! It used to be a bazooka, but not anymore!” said Walter, amazed that I didn’t get it. “Sheesh, you think I wanna kill someone? Killing is bad!”

I sat down and then realized what had happened and put my head in my hands. So this is how Miss Planter felt.

“You thought I shot a helicopter out of the sky? Oh, ye of little faith! How could you ever think that about me?”

“I crawled a mile underground to come home to find you watching TV on my couch,” I explained without looking up. “I thought you had killed federal agents and were in jail.”

“No,” explained Walter. “Let me tell you what I did. I aimed my pulse-gun at the helicopter, and it locked in on the exact radio frequency being used by the helicopter. All these new helicopters are digital now, and a digital design flaw is all it takes to give me an entrance into the cockpit dashboard. I had my gun pre-set for ‘gas gauge,’ so when I pulled the trigger, it shut off power to the gas light. When the gas light goes “off,” the computer on board reads it as “empty,” since it’s essentially the same thing. The alarm automatically went off, alerting the pilot he’s fresh out of gas and had better land quickly, which is just exactly what he did. He lit out of there looking for a clear place with no trees or telephone lines, pronto! Then I came here.”

“You’re saying that nobody got killed? No explosion, no crashes?”

“That’s what I’m saying! Neat, huh?”

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know; the last I saw of them they were headed south, and quick, too!”

I let this soak in. “Nobody died,” I said.

“Nope, not a one.”

“You’re not a killer.”

“Randall, I may be a lot of things, but I haven’t killed anybody, at least not yet. Killing is where I draw the line.”

“And you just drove away? What about the police back-up? Weren’t there any cars and sirens?”

“I heard sirens, but I didn’t wait around to meet them; I got the heck out of there!”

“Oh, my goodness,” I said. “I’m so tired.”

“I think it would do you some good to take a shower and go to bed. You stink.”

“I think I’ll do just that. But let me call in sick first; I’ll just leave a message on the machine at work.”