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Authors: M.A. MacAfee
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are.”
“Oh?” He eyed me with suspicion then said, “I checked the closet. Wolfs as messed up as you.”
He regarded me a few more seconds then gestured toward the phone. “By the way, you got a message from Skate King. A Wolfgang Kin, at this address, missed the late-night drawing.” Harry smirked. “He won a pair of roller skates that are to be turned over when he emcees at the Skate Queens’ competitive derby next week.” Harry started to leave the room but turned back. “One other thing, the answer is no. N-O,” he spelled for emphasis. “I will not officiate at some whirligig.”
“Oh, please, Harry.” I followed him to the doorway with my hands curled upward in supplication. “Those skates are worth a couple hundred bucks. High quality leather tops with killer wheels. You know he can’t be the one to collect the skates.”
“You should have thought of that before you signed him up for the drawing,” he said, completing his exit.
Thwarting a Holdup
It was late, nearing ten p.m. and, though I seldom went out by myself after dark, the pantry was bare. Harry had been held up at work and wouldn’t be in until after midnight.
“Eat dinner without me and don’t wait up,” he’d said over the phone. In line with his suggestion, I decided to pick up an order of cheese nachos at an all-night minimart located about five blocks away.
While our neighborhood wasn’t strictly in the low-rent, crime-ridden district, it was close. So for the sake of security, I brought Wolf with me. I was about to heft him without his wheels and head for the elevator, when it struck me that he appeared too mirthful. If he were going to function as a prop to deter crime, he needed to cut a more imposing figure.
Given Wolf’s slight stature and his funny painted-on face, turning him into a tough-looking bodyguard wasn’t going to be easy. I considered strapping the bandolier he wore in the Seafair parade across his chest, but a guy out late at night looking like he’s packing might attract the wrong sort of attention.
So I worked with what I had, some military medals I’d purchased at an army-surplus store while shopping for Wolf’s western wear. I pinned several impressive-looking bars and crosses on Wolf’s chest and placed Harry’s old skipper’s hat on Wolf’s head. Not bad, I thought, driving toward the minimart with Wolf buckled in the passenger seat beside me. At least it was consistent with the nautical theme of his attire.
Lampposts cast an amber glow on the empty streets and lights from apartment windows blinked as I passed. Though the shopworn Volvo rattled as I drove, I felt confident that Wolf could play sentry if I needed to call for a tow truck and await its arrival.
“I’ll only be a minute, so no beeping the horn,” I warned Wolf as we pulled into the minimart’s deserted parking lot. To enhance Wolf’s real-guy impression, I switched on the radio and cranked up the gain.
Inside the store, I prepared my nachos at a dispenser with pumps for cheese, mustard, and catsup. On my way back to the clerk behind the counter, I spotted a man in a baggy black outfit lurking behind a rack of potato chips.
I had just set the nachos on the counter, when the young man came up behind me with a sawed-off shotgun poking out of his sleeve. “Open it.” He pointed the gun muzzle first at the clerk, then at the cash register.
Clearly stunned, the clerk hesitated, his eyes fastened on the waving gun.
“Now!” the robber shouted, looking hyped enough to be peaking on a meth high.
“Okay-okay-okay,” the clerk said. But in his haste punching keys to open the computerized cash register, he caused it to shut down.
The robber, all the more agitated, cursed and filched handfuls of candy bars that he stuffed in his pockets. Eyeing me, he flagged his gun. “You got a car?”
I glimpsed my old Volvo parked beyond the store window with the keys in the ignition. In the same instant, a probable future
“Oh?” He eyed me with suspicion then said, “I checked the closet. Wolfs as messed up as you.”
He regarded me a few more seconds then gestured toward the phone. “By the way, you got a message from Skate King. A Wolfgang Kin, at this address, missed the late-night drawing.” Harry smirked. “He won a pair of roller skates that are to be turned over when he emcees at the Skate Queens’ competitive derby next week.” Harry started to leave the room but turned back. “One other thing, the answer is no. N-O,” he spelled for emphasis. “I will not officiate at some whirligig.”
“Oh, please, Harry.” I followed him to the doorway with my hands curled upward in supplication. “Those skates are worth a couple hundred bucks. High quality leather tops with killer wheels. You know he can’t be the one to collect the skates.”
“You should have thought of that before you signed him up for the drawing,” he said, completing his exit.
Thwarting a Holdup
It was late, nearing ten p.m. and, though I seldom went out by myself after dark, the pantry was bare. Harry had been held up at work and wouldn’t be in until after midnight.
“Eat dinner without me and don’t wait up,” he’d said over the phone. In line with his suggestion, I decided to pick up an order of cheese nachos at an all-night minimart located about five blocks away.
While our neighborhood wasn’t strictly in the low-rent, crime-ridden district, it was close. So for the sake of security, I brought Wolf with me. I was about to heft him without his wheels and head for the elevator, when it struck me that he appeared too mirthful. If he were going to function as a prop to deter crime, he needed to cut a more imposing figure.
Given Wolf’s slight stature and his funny painted-on face, turning him into a tough-looking bodyguard wasn’t going to be easy. I considered strapping the bandolier he wore in the Seafair parade across his chest, but a guy out late at night looking like he’s packing might attract the wrong sort of attention.
So I worked with what I had, some military medals I’d purchased at an army-surplus store while shopping for Wolf’s western wear. I pinned several impressive-looking bars and crosses on Wolf’s chest and placed Harry’s old skipper’s hat on Wolf’s head. Not bad, I thought, driving toward the minimart with Wolf buckled in the passenger seat beside me. At least it was consistent with the nautical theme of his attire.
Lampposts cast an amber glow on the empty streets and lights from apartment windows blinked as I passed. Though the shopworn Volvo rattled as I drove, I felt confident that Wolf could play sentry if I needed to call for a tow truck and await its arrival.
“I’ll only be a minute, so no beeping the horn,” I warned Wolf as we pulled into the minimart’s deserted parking lot. To enhance Wolf’s real-guy impression, I switched on the radio and cranked up the gain.
Inside the store, I prepared my nachos at a dispenser with pumps for cheese, mustard, and catsup. On my way back to the clerk behind the counter, I spotted a man in a baggy black outfit lurking behind a rack of potato chips.
I had just set the nachos on the counter, when the young man came up behind me with a sawed-off shotgun poking out of his sleeve. “Open it.” He pointed the gun muzzle first at the clerk, then at the cash register.
Clearly stunned, the clerk hesitated, his eyes fastened on the waving gun.
“Now!” the robber shouted, looking hyped enough to be peaking on a meth high.
“Okay-okay-okay,” the clerk said. But in his haste punching keys to open the computerized cash register, he caused it to shut down.
The robber, all the more agitated, cursed and filched handfuls of candy bars that he stuffed in his pockets. Eyeing me, he flagged his gun. “You got a car?”
I glimpsed my old Volvo parked beyond the store window with the keys in the ignition. In the same instant, a probable future
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