Timmy Failure It’s the End When I Say It’s the End

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Timmy Failure It’s the End When I Say It’s the End Page 8

by Stephan Pastis


  And turn back toward my dad.

  “Your minute is up.”

  “Well, you look good,” says a voice from behind

  me in the library conference room.

  “Flo, please,” I answer without looking

  up. “I need time to concentrate. Finding a

  polar bear in the Arctic is like trying to find

  a needle in a pancake stack.”

  “Okay, that’s not quite the expression,

  but kudos for trying.”

  I turn around.

  “Mr. Jenkins, what are you doing here?”

  I ask.

  “What are you doing here?” he replies. “I

  figured you were dead. Bubonic plague and

  all.”

  “Yes, well, it comes and goes,” I answer,

  blowing my nose for effect.

  Mr. Jenkins sits down in the seat next to

  me.

  “Listen, Timmy, Rollo’s filled me in on

  everything.”

  “Who is this Rollo?”

  “So I know about the missing script.”

  “I deny everything.”

  “And that you’re trying to find it.”

  “Slander.”

  “And that you’re still hoping to make

  your film.”

  “Lies! Fibs! Charcuterie!”

  “Okay,” he says. “I’m pretty sure that

  last one is a plate of meats.”

  “I’m hungry now,” I conclude. “Can we

  finish?”

  “Yep,” he says. “But, Timmy, listen. I’m

  not gonna say anything to your mom. But

  you can’t be missing rehearsals. Okay?

  Because then we will have an issue.”

  I say nothing.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he says. “I

  don’t know if you’re gonna find your script

  or whether you’re gonna get to make the film

  you want, but, uh”—he pauses—“well, this

  part’s sort of confidential.”

  He pats the underside of the table with

  his hands.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Checking for listening devices,” he

  answers. “How do I know this place isn’t

  wired for sound?”

  “I’ve checked,” I tell him. “I can assure

  you it’s not.”

  He nods and lowers his voice.

  “Anyhow, I don’t know if you’re gonna be

  able to find it or not, but I hope you do. . . .”

  He looks from side to side and then lowers

  his voice.

  “Because that Tom John John is a pain in

  my patootie.”

  And Tom John John is a pain in my

  patootie as well.

  Not to mention a pain in the patooties of

  Corrina Corrina, Nunzio, Max, Scutaro, Toody,

  Molly, and Rollo.

  For in the rehearsals that followed, he

  decided to make all of us flying cat angels.

  In fact, the only person who got out of

  it was Angel, and that is only because he

  threatened to throw Tom John John in a

  kitty litter box.

  And even worse, none of us knew a thing

  about ballet.

  But with filming only a short time away

  and no other script to work from, each of

  us had little choice but to try to learn Tom

  John John’s oddly named ballet poses.

  And things at home are not much better.

  For the beeping that Molly heard in the

  storage unit had more significance than I

  foresaw.

  “Timmy, the storage rental place called

  and said my unit’s burglar alarm went off,”

  my mom tells me as she tucks me into bed

  one night. “Do you remember if we locked

  the door when we left?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” I answer

  definitively.

  “Well, I couldn’t remember, either, so I

  went down to the unit to check. And sure

  enough, it was unlocked.”

  “Oh,” I say. “These things happen.”

  “Yeah, but then I went through all the

  stuff to see if anything was missing. And

  guess what I found out. Guess, Timmy.”

  It is at this point in the conversation

  that I want to hop into a cardboard box and

  ship myself to China, safe from my mother’s

  wrath.

  All because of the Segway.

  You see, my logic was that my mother so

  rarely went to the storage locker that she

  would never notice it was gone. So I didn’t

  bother to tell Corrina Corrina and Molly that

  they had to return it. I just figured they could

  ride around on it for as long as they were

  working on the stolen script case.

  So as my mother’s eyes narrow to tiny

  slits and her gaze bores a hole in my perspir-

  ing forehead, I know that I must confess all.

  My only hope: points for honesty.

  “Mother, I —”

  “I found the pearl necklace your great-

  aunt Colander gave me!” she blurts out. “I

  thought I had lost that thing forever!”

  She holds it out for me to see.

  And it is as though the governor has called

  to give me a death-row reprieve.

  “I’m very happy for you, Mother,” I

  say, trying not to drip sweat on her pearls.

  “Those are quite beautiful.”

  “But that’s not all,” she adds. “Because

  then I realized I had gone all the way down

  there and not brought the storage-unit key.

  Lucky for me the padlock was open, or I

  wouldn’t have been able to get in there at all.

  So then I had to race back home and grab the

  key so I could relock it. You know, the key I

  always keep hanging on the refrigerator.”

  And suddenly, I could not remember if I

  had put the key back on the refrigerator.

  And in a flash, it is as though the

  governor has called all over again.

  “And guess what I saw when I went to

  the kitchen,” my mother says, her stare cold,

  causing my blood to pump like I am being

  strangled by an anaconda.

  “Mother,” I say, “I’m afraid I can’t take

  any more of this guessing.”

  “Oh,” she answers. “I found a Christmas

  card to you from—who else?—Aunt Colander!

  I thought you’d be thrilled. There’s probably

  money in it. Gee, you’re no fun at all.”

  She hands me the letter and leaves.

  “Oh,” she adds, pausing in the doorway,

  “the key was there, too.”

  There was no cash in my great-aunt

  Colander’s Christmas card.

  But there was this little rhyme inside it:

  So I do.

  “Well, hello, stranger,” she says. “I’m

  surprised you remember this old lady.”

  “Of course I remember you,” I tell my

  aunt. “You were Agent X, an integral part of

  my detective agency.”

  “A badge I still wear proudly,” she says.

  “You should. For an amateur, you

  showed potential.”

  “I will take that compliment in the spirit

  in which it was offered.”

  “Are you at home now?” I ask.

  “I wish,” she says. “Stupid doctors stuck

  me in a hos
pital. Been here two weeks.”

  “If it’s against your will, I can send in a

  team,” I tell her.

  “I may take you up on that,” she answers.

  “But for now I should probably stay put.”

  “Sniffles?”

  “Bigger, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand,” I tell her. “I, myself, have

  been struggling with bubonic plague.”

  “Is that so?” she asks.

  “Affirmative,” I answer.

  There is a pause, followed by the sound

  of her talking to someone.

  “Sorry about that,” she says. “Nurses

  won’t leave me alone.”

  “I am constantly hounded by the outside

  world,” I respond. “So I am sympathetic.”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid I’m one of those

  people hounding you at the moment, so I

  don’t want to keep you. But before I go, one

  quick thing.”

  “You need a job?”

  “Oh, well, no. But the subject matter is

  probably just as bothersome.”

  “What?”

  “I hear you’ve been talking to your

  father,” she answers.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Your mom told me.”

  “That woman gossips like a caffeinated

  crow.”

  My aunt laughs. Then coughs.

  “Don’t make me giggle,” she says. “Hurts

  too much.”

  I wait for her to stop coughing.

  “Anyhow,” continues my aunt, “I don’t

  think your mom knows what to say to you

  about it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, you never had a dad in your

  life. And now suddenly you do. He sort of

  surprised you by appearing out of nowhere,

  didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I offer. “Like a cougar in a peach

  tree.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard that expression

  before, but sure, I suppose it works.”

  She coughs again.

  “The point, Timmy, is that your mom

  thinks this is all sort of up to you. Whether

  you want to spend time with him. Or

  whether you don’t.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t,” I say. “So problem

  solved.”

  “Right,” she answers. “You were always

  good at solving problems.”

  “I’m a professional,” I tell her. “At

  everything I do.”

  “Of course,” she says. “Speaking of

  which, did you know that your dad once

  wanted to be a writer for a living? Not sure

  if it’s still the case. But it was.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I used to know him. Briefly. Back

  when he was with your mother. Big

  dreamer. Not a bad guy. Just young.”

  “No,” I reply. “He’s mostly bad.”

  She laughs again. Then groans.

  “All right, I’m gonna let you go back to

  your work,” she says. “I don’t want criminals

  thinking they can run amok.”

  “Won’t happen,” I assure her.

  “Hey, final thing, Timmy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Forgive people sometimes. Even if you

  don’t think they deserve it. Because one

  day you won’t deserve it. And someone will

  surprise you and do the same.”

  “Like a cougar in a peach tree,” I answer.

  “Sure,” she says. “Or maybe more like a

  beautiful butterfly landing on your head.”

  “I loathe butterflies.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Cougar in a peach tree.”

  “I’m glad we agree.”

  She coughs. Much harder this time.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” she says. “I’m

  signing off. I love you, I love you, I love

  you. And if there’s a big blue place where

  they let me roam around after this, well, then,

  I’ll love you from there as well.”

  “Ditto,” I answer.

  “Good-bye, love.”

  When I hang up the phone, I am greeted by a

  loon in the windowpane.

  “Molly, you’re two stories up!” I cry.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You said assassins expect conventional

  entries and exits. And I don’t want to die.”

  “Well, you might now,” I inform her.

  “Why are you disturbing me in my abode?”

  “Big news,” she says. “Corrina Corrina

  wants to meet.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Her detective headquarters.”

  “That big bank downtown?”

  “No,” she answers.

  “She’s in a new office now,” Molly

  continues. “One you’ve never seen. At least,

  not from the inside.”

  “Well, climb down,” I tell her. “And

  don’t break your head. I’ll meet you in the

  backyard.”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “Hey, and Molly?” I call out to her as

  she begins climbing down. “What’s the big

  news?”

  Molly looks up at me and smiles, her

  mismatched pupils dancing in the December

  sun.

  “She found your script.”

  Molly and I race to Corrina Corrina’s office

  like sharks to a chum-fest.

  And as we run, I pepper her with

  questions.

  “So how did she find it? Where was it? What

  happened?”

  “Timmy, we’re almost there,” says Molly,

  running ahead of me. “And you always say

  we have to be careful about security. There

  are spies everywhere.”

  I stop suddenly. She does the same.

  “Good point,” I answer. “So speak in

  code.”

  “But I don’t know any code.”

  “Just say it backward.”

  “Okay. Corrina Corrina and I went back to

  your dad’s bar a second time.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Saying it backward,” she says.

  “No, Molly Moskins! Say your words

  backward!”

  “Oh, this is way too confusing,” she

  replies. “I’m just gonna say it!”

  “Then say it already!” I cry.

  “Corrina Corrina and I went back to your

  dad’s bar a second time. And the mean lady

  wasn’t there.”

  “Dundledorf?”

  “Right. So Corrina Corrina was able to

  talk to people. And once she started asking

  questions, she found out it was Crocus—”

  “Just as I suspected,” I announce. “I knew

  it all along.”

  “No. She found out it was Crocus who

  was staring at us from the other side of the

  bar. It was a little hard to see him at first.”

  “Please don’t pause mid-sentence like

  that.”

  “Well, don’t interrupt,” she says.

  “Anyway, she walked toward Crocus and he

  was very nice to her. But then, she saw that

  elf. And knew instantly that it was him—”

  “Just as I suspected,” I announce. “I knew

  it all along.”

  “No, Timmy. It was him, the same guy

  who got kicked by the reindeer.”

  “This is very hard to take, Molly! Please


  stop pausing in the middle of your words.”

  “I’m not. You just keep talking over me!

  Anyhow, in the middle of our talking to the

  elf, your dad walks back in, I guess to get his

  last check. And, well, he confessed—”

  “Just as I suspected,” I announce. “I knew

  it all along.”

  “No, Timmy! Confessed that he hadn’t

  been very nice to you and said he felt bad.”

  “OH, THIS IS UNBEARABLE!” I shout.

  “Molly, do not pause between your words like

  that!”

  “I’m not pausing! You just keep jumping

  in! The point is that this old man in a fedora

  walked over to us and revealed everything!”

  “Oh, great, so let me guess—he revealed

  to Corrina Corrina that he didn’t like beer?

  Revealed that he didn’t want the television

  so loud? Revealed that he wasn’t fond of little

  kids yammering in the bar? Tell me, Molly,

  what stupid scenario is it this time?”

  Molly just stares at me.

  “He revealed to Corrina Corrina that you

  left the script on the bar that day. And it didn’t

  belong there. So he put it behind a stack of

  phone books under the bar.”

  She twirls her finger through her curls.

  “Anyhow, that’s where Corrina Corrina

  found it.”

  Astonished, I am unable to speak.

  “Gee,” she says, “why can’t you always be

  this quiet?”

  Focused but famished, we make a brief stop at

  a taco truck.

  “Molly, under my guidance, you have

  done fine work,” I tell her. “I shall reward you

  with a tasty taco.”

  “Four tasty tacos,” she says.

  “It’s unfortunate to see you take

  advantage of my generosity.”

  “But I’m hungry.”

  “I will buy you one tasty taco,” I tell her,

  purchasing it from the man in the truck and

 

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