Chapter 7

“I’m sorry about that, man,” Stoker said.

We were in the living room late that night. Yertle was lying in my bed, the paper beside him, and Stoker had woken up, blood caked on the side of his head and particles of lamp in his hair.

“It’s okay,” I lied. Honestly, he’d scared me to death when he threatened and tried to boil the baby. “I understand.”

“It’s Tuck, man,” Stoker said. “He messed me up when we were teenagers.”

“That was Tucker?”

“Yeah, he gave me some drugs and I was out for a week. When I woke up my mind was like it is.”

“I’m sorry, Stoker,” I said.

“Meh,” he shrugged. “It’s fine. Anyway, I, uh, didn’t hurt Yertle did I?”

“No, you came close, though, so I hit you with the lamp.”

“Thanks, man, I hate to think what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

“Me, too,” I shuddered, imagining. “We need to get Yertle home, Stoker, before something bad does happen to him.”

“Of course. We’re almost done. I sent a message to his mom today while you were at work.”

“What did it say?” I asked, worried he’d written it in a lapse.

“Don’t worry, Murray, I was straight all day. I even wrote it five or six times, making sure I was alright.”

“Okay,” I said. Stoker was usually careful about his lapses. “So what did it say?”

“I just gave her some information that can lead her to the million dollars,” Stoker said. He still wasn’t going to tell me.

“Stoker, you need to tell me. This evening made me realize that I need to know what’s going on.”

“Okay, okay, Ray. Look, man, when I was looking up this lady I found out her father’s in Lockmoore Retirement Castle.”

“So?” I asked.

“Well, there’s another man there too: Kenneth Abernathy.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?” I asked, unable to place my finger on the person.

“Kenneth Abernathy II,” Stoker said. “President Grimrose’s personal assistant.”

My stomach sank and I felt as though I was about to be sick.

“We’re stealing money from the President?” I asked, the words like fire, painful to say.

“Well, no, Moe. Check it out. Abernathy and Yertle’s gramps are buddies. If the mother asks her father to ask Abernathy to ask Abernathy II for a million bucks, the mother will probably- well, almost definitely- get it.”

“No way is the president going to give us a million dollars.” I said.

“Look, man, the personal advisor gets almost thirty million dollars budget. A measly million ain’t gonna break him. Plus, I sent a note of distress along with all the information. I told the lady I need operations and I’ll die without them. She’s a mother, she’ll eat it up.”

I thought for a moment and realized he was right. The odds of us getting the money were great.

“Okay,” I said. “What’s next?”

“We wait,”

 

*

The next evening, when I arrived home from work, I saw Stoker playing with Yertle on the couch.

“What’s going on?” I said as a greeting, shutting the door behind me.

Stoker looked up with a smile and said, “Guess what, man?”

“What?” I set down my messenger bag and keys on the coffee table.

“Yertle’s mom got the money.”

“Are you joking?” How could she have come up with the money that fast?

“Nope,” Stoker grinned. “We pick it up tonight down at the Crazy Joe’s Burger House on Winchester at nine.”

I sat on the couch, absolutely astonished. Not only had Stoker’s plan worked, but nothing went wrong.

“Now that you’re here, Kinnear,” Stoker said, standing up. “I’m gonna go get some stuff done in my room. Can you watch Yertle?”

“Sure,” I replied, taking the baby in my arms. “What’re you working on?”

Stoker shrugged. “Just some stuff.” and with that he left.

Bouncing him on my knee, I said to Yertle, “Well, little guy, it looks like you’ll be home soon.”

The baby looked up at me with a smile and giggled.

Reviews

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I love a plan born of misfiring synapses, (I've had many myself), cos even when they fail they are entertaining! It's so insanely flawed that it just might work! I can't wait to see how all this pans out and you've set it up nicely for the reader to take a breath and plunge onward! spence