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Timmy Failure: Sanitized for Your Protection

Page 10

by Stephan Pastis


  I put down the megaphone, confident in

  the power of my voice.

  “Well, Rollo Tookus, if you worried less

  about megaphones and more about who you

  let in to the meetings of this charitable organi-

  zation, perhaps things would have turned out

  differently.”

  “Huh?” asks Toody.

  “Corrina Corrina infiltrated your organi-

  zation!” I reveal. “And once here in this sacred

  room, she learned of the vast amount you had

  stored in your treasury.”

  “So?” interjects Nunzio.

  “So on the eve of her trip to Chicago, she

  looted said fund.”

  “She went to

  Key Largo

  . Not Chicago!”

  says Rollo. “I told you that already. Your hotel

  guy wrote it down wrong.”

  “What’s the difference?” I ask.

  “About fifteen hundred miles,” says Rollo.

  “Listen!” I shout. “Brilliance like this is

  not commonplace.”

  “Oh, God,” says Rollo.

  “But then the Weevil Bun panicked,” I

  announce dramatically. “As squirrelly thieves

  always do. For she knew that if she crossed

  state lines with that amount of cash, she was

  sure to get nabbed. So she passed off the loot.”

  “To who?” asks Nunzio.

  “As if you don’t know,” I answer.

  “I don’t.”

  “To

  you

  !” I declare, staring at Nunzio.

  “Me?” asks Nunzio. “Why me?”

  “Because, Nunzio Benedici, as Rollo

  Tookus once told me,

  it was

  you who was mold-

  ing all the bunnies

  .”

  “Oh, God,” says Rollo again. “Please don’t

  involve me in this.”

  “Bunnies?” interrupts Toody Tululu.

  “What bunnies?”

  “

  Chocolate

  bunnies,” I explain. “And why

  was Nunzio molding chocolate bunnies, you

  ask? Because chocolate bunnies are hollow!

  The perfect place to hide stolen cash!”

  “I’m lactose intolerant,” says Nunzio.

  “Exactly,” I answer, still standing astride

  the YIP YAP podium. “So you smashed the

  poor defenseless bunnies with a hammer and

  gave all the cash to someone you thought you

  could trust.”

  “Who?” asks Nunzio.

  My eyes gaze slowly across the room, land-

  ing squarely on the rotund kid.

  “Me?” shrieks Rollo Tookus. “Oh, my God!

  He’s lost his mind.”

  “Yes, members of YIP YAP, the man you

  foolishly elected as your sergeant-at-arms has

  a long history of criminal activity. Need I

  remind you who took the Miracle report from

  Mr. Jenkins’s storage closet?”

  “That was an accident!” cries the rotund

  kid, rising to his feet.

  “Shush your piehole!” I tell Rollo. “Or I’ll

  get out my megaphone again.”

  “That really hurts my ears,” says Nunzio.

  “If you think

  that

  hurts your ears, listen to

  this next part,” I tell the rapt crowd.

  “What’s the next part?” asks Nunzio.

  “That Rollo Tookus panicked! As nervous

  ninnies like him always do! And so he

  smuggled the stolen funds off to the most

  notorious criminal of our generation.”

  “Who are we talking about

  now

  ?” asks

  Toody Tululu.

  “MOLLY MOSKINS!” I shout. “A woman

  whose criminal enterprise is so vast that even

  the great Timmy Failure has trouble ascer-

  taining its full scope.”

  “I think I have a headache,” says Nunzio.

  “I am so confused,” adds Toody.

  “Well, don’t be,” I answer boldly. “Because

  here is where I tell you everything.”

  “Oh, God,” says Rollo. “What now?”

  “That Molly Moskins, ever fearless and

  cunning, fled the state, bound for Chicago,

  home of pitchforks and giant beans. And on

  the way there, she stopped at the E-Z Daze

  Motel.”

  I hop off the podium and pace down the

  center of the table for effect.

  “So what happened at the motel?” asks

  Nunzio.

  “There, the villainous Molly Moskins

  broke under the heat of my relentless inter-

  rogation,” I answer. “Confessing to the crime

  and giving me all of the stolen cash.”

  “So

  you

  have it?” asks Nunzio.

  “No,” I answer as I pace the length of the

  table like a seasoned prosecutor. “Because I

  spent it. On miscellaneous travel expenses. I’m

  a very generous tipper, you know.”

  “So what does

  that

  mean?” asks Nunzio.

  I suddenly stop pacing and twirl around to

  face them.

  “That I am the criminal,”

  I confess.

  “Oh, God,” mutters Rollo. “I give up.”

  “This is ridiculous!” shouts Toody Tululu.

  “I’m going home,” says Nunzio.

  “You listen to me, Timmy Failure,” says

  Toody. “As I was about to explain to everyone

  before you barged in, there

  was

  no theft.”

  “No theft?” asks Rollo.

  “

  This

  I’ll stay for,” says Nunzio.

  “Arrest me,” I calmly mutter, placing my

  hands behind my back. “For the good guy is

  now bad.”

  “I was doing the YIP YAP books,” contin-

  ues Toody, “just trying to figure out what we

  had in the treasury, and I forgot to carry the

  decimal point.”

  “You what?” asks Rollo.

  “Carry the decimal point. I wrote down

  that we had twelve cents. But I goofed. Now,

  if I had just remembered to move the decimal

  point three places to the right, you’d see we

  actually had a hundred and twenty dollars,

  just like we’re supposed to.”

  “So we have the money?” asks Rollo. “It

  was all just a math error?”

  “Yep.” Toody smiles. “Sorry for all the

  hullabaloo.”

  “We’re saved!” cries Nunzio.

  I remain standing on the table, my head

  down, and my hands behind my back.

  Toody and Nunzio leave the room. Rollo

  follows them, but pauses in the doorway.

  “I’m going to turn the lights off now,

  Timmy. You might want to get off the table.”

  Fearless, I remain motionless, prepared

  for my arrest.

  Rollo turns off the lights and closes the

  door.

  “It’s grown dark,” I announce.

  “With my impending arrest, I have no choice

  but to rehire you,” I announce.

  The bear is not pleased.

  “There’s just no other way,” I explain.

  “My imprisonment could be long. I will be

  separated from friends and associates alike.

  And I’ll
need someone to run the detective

  agency.”

  But he’s too worn-out to argue.

  That’s because ever since he escaped the

  Drakonian by riding empty railcars home,

  he’s been working for my mother.

  Mostly washing dishes.

  All to pay off the exorbitant hotel bills

  he racked up when he was His Highness in

  Chicago.

  But Total also knows that his rehiring

  marks the start of a new phase.

  Namely, the end of the free bonbons.

  Because while there may be a provision

  in his contract specifying what I have to give

  him if he’s

  fired,

  there is no such provision for

  if he’s

  hired

  .

  “Remain brave,” I tell him, patting him on

  the back as he dries another dish.

  But I know all this grunt work has been

  hard on him.

  So when he is done doing the dishes for

  the night, I give him something that I’ve had

  with me since Chicago.

  And for the first time since coming home,

  he is happy.

  I sneak behind the pockmarked stucco walls

  of the low-rise building and stoop down beside

  the trash bins.

  Bathed in the cheap neon light of the city,

  I sit still, the smell of rotten fruit wafting from

  the soggy pile of cardboard beside me.

  For it is a tough life, but it is a detective’s

  life. And it is what I signed up for. And if you

  want dolled-up glamour, then look somewhere

  else, kid.

  So I wait patiently, immersed in the sound

  of honking cabs and muscle-car engines. The

  symphony of the street.

  And as the appointed time nears, I glance

  at my watch. Each tick echoing the beat of this

  cold detective’s heart.

  Aware of the risk. But staring right down

  the barrel of it.

  And when the click of heels across broken

  pavement grows near, I know that danger has

  arrived.

  In a little pink dress.

  “Hello, Timmy Failure!” chirps Molly

  Moskins.

  “Not so loud, Molly!” I answer. “I’m not

  supposed to be here!”

  “Me either!” she says. “I’m grounded just

  like you!”

  “The world’s gone mad,” I remind her.

  “I know!” she replies.

  We are in the back parking lot of the E-Z

  Daze Motel.

  Well, not

  the

  E-Z Daze Motel.

  That one was too far away.

  But it’s a chain. And this one is not far

  from home.

  “Did you hear that Yergi Plimkin got his

  books?” asks Molly.

  “I did not,” I answer.

  “Yes, a lot of them. But they weren’t in his

  language. So he uses them to mount his llama.”

  “I’m glad,” I tell Molly Moskins, “but I

  didn’t ask you here so we could talk about

  llamas.”

  “Why

  did

  you ask me here?” asks Molly.

  I don’t answer, but I know why.

  And that is because detectives are tough

  men, but decent men.

  And so, after making sure no one is

  around, I press

  PLAY

  on my portable music

  player.

  And to the tune of flamenco guitar, I make

  somebody’s night.

  All while the E-Z Daze man smiles down

  on me.

  Forgiving me as he should.

  The bad guy now good.

  www

  .candle

  wick.com

  For more shenanigans, visit www.timmyfailure.com

  More memoirs. More greatness.

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