Chapter 4

The next morning I awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs and the sound of a baby cooing. As I opened my eyes I was immediately taken aback by the sight of a nearly-newborn lying in my bed. After a moment, however, the memory of the other day came back and I relaxed.

From the kitchen, Stoker took a break from singing a scat-version of “Rock-A-Bye-Baby” to call out, “Breakfast is almost ready, man!”

“Why’d you make breakfast?” I called back.

“Come out here and see, Lee,”

I slowly got out of bed and, taking Yertle with me, walked through the hall and into the kitchen. At the table were dishes of eggs and bacon. A fresh pot of coffee rested between two plates on one side of the table and on the other side was a formula bottle and a high chair.

“Set Yertle down and check this out,” Stoker said, pointing to the counter television.

I gently sat the baby in the high chair and stood in front of the TV next to Stoker. On the screen was the woman from Owen’s Grocery and below her was a news banner that read LOCAL WOMAN’S NEWBORN KIDNAPPED.

“…Leroy was stolen while I was shopping,” the woman was crying. “I don’t know how, I was watching him the entire time. I don’t know who stole my baby boy, I don’t care, I just want him back.”

Stoker turned off the TV and turned to me, smiling. I didn’t understand why he was grinning. I had just watched the same interview and my stomach was tight.

“Did you hear that, Matt?” He asked.

“Yeah, she wants her son back.” I said.

“No, Moe, she doesn’t care who stole Yertle, she just wants him back.”

“I don’t see the difference,” I admitted.

“She. Doesn’t. Care.” Stoker broke it down. “She’ll do anything to get Yertle home safely.”

“Then let’s get him back to her, Stoker.” I said.

“No, Joe, don’t you see? Taking Yertle was pre-game warm up. This is the first quarter. We can’t forfeit. We’ve still got three quarters to go.”

“You don’t feel the least bit bad about this?” I asked.

“Nah, I’ve got everything under control. There’s no reason to feel bad.”

“What about that woman? What about Yertle?”

“What about them?” Stoker shrugged. “The woman will get over it after Yertle’s back and Yertle will never remember this at all.”

I chewed my lip nervously. I’d seen the journals and notes and preparation Stoker had put together and I knew he could handle this situation, but he was also a slightly brain-damaged drug user and everything could fall apart easily.

“How long will all of this take, Stoker?” I asked.

“As long as it takes, man. Probably not too long, though. Tell you what, let’s sit down and eat and chill.”

“I want to know exactly what your whole scheme is.” I said.

“No, man, later. First, we eat, and then we speak.”

I shrugged knowing I wasn’t going to know anything until Stoker wanted me to.

 

*

I swear, Stoker could be the world’s first Private Investigator/ Chef. The eggs were delicious and the bacon was just the right texture, not too crispy and not too chewy. We sat there, Stoker and I, as Baby Yertle sucked at the formula bottle. A wide smile and an occasional cheerful gurgle let us know he was fine.

“So,” I said, sipping my coffee, full of cream and sugar. “Are you ready to talk?”

“Not yet, Brett,” Stoker shook his head. He took his mint-tin of pills from his shirt pocket, opened it, and popped what looked like a Mellow Yellow.

“Why not?”

He settled back in his chair and shrugged. “It’s too soon to say anything.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” I asked.

“You can make a note,” Stoker suggested. “We need a note and if you’re bored you could do it.”

“What do you mean ‘a note’?”

“Y’know, like in the flicks. The kidnappers always have a ransom note. With all the letters clipped from magazines and whatnot.”

“Stoker,” I told him. “If you haven’t noticed, this is not a movie. This is real life with real consequences.”

“I know, Joe,” Stoker said. “But there’s truth behind those films. Anyway, do you want to write the note or should I?”

“I can,” I said. I might as well do what I could now, it might make things go smoothly. “What should it say?”

“Big block letters, man: MS. BABY MOMMA, PAY ONE GAZILLION CLAMS OR THE LIZARD’S OURS!”

“Stoker,” I said, trying to snap him out of one of his lapses. “Let’s think of something else.”

“How about: MA’AM, YOU’RE SON IS SAFE. NO HARM WILL BE DONE TO HIM. WE ASK FOR $1,000,000 FOR HIS RETURN. WE WANT THIS TO BE OVER AS MUCH AS YOU DO.”

I nodded and said, “That’s better. Should I handwrite it or do that clipping thing?”

“Nah, man,” Stoker replied as he began to rock his chair back and forth. “You should type it and drop it into the lady’s mail slot.”

“Do you know where she lives?” I asked.

“Small house on Brighton. Probably loads of cops and news crews stalking the place. I’ll give you the address.”

“If there are cops surrounding the house, how am I supposed to deliver the note?”

Stoker thought a moment, rocking back and forth, and then said, “Tuck.”

“Tucker Smalley?” I know Stoker can be smart, but he can also be stupider than anything on the face of the earth. Send a known drug dealer into a situation like this? Not a bright idea. “You want Tucker Smalley to deliver a ransom note? The police are already trying to bring him in. If, no, when they get him he’ll drop our names and we’ll be in prison for years.”

“Relax, Max,” Stoker held up his hands in defense. “Tuck has some new runners under him. They’re fresh and unsuspecting. They’ll work perfectly.”

“How do you know Smalley will agree?” I asked. I knew Tucker and knew he was a stickler about his ‘employees’, as he called them. He’d never risk losing them.

“A fair trade,” Stoker smiled. “A couple tins of Grandma’s House for one day’s use of a newbie.”

I was shocked. Stoker never sold, traded, gave-away his stash of pills. He was afraid some kid would end up getting them. He must really expect his plan to follow through.

“Okay,” I caved. “Give Smalley a call. Be careful about it, though, alright? Don’t tell him about Yertle or anything.”

“Of course, man,” Stoker said. “Mum’s the word.”

Reviews

[spence]

My first note of criticism. I think you've mentioned Stoker's drug and brain problems once too often, it sort of made me think, ' yeah, I know', as I read.
Aside from that it's still very enjoyable. The eccentricities of Stoker are exceptionally complimentary when twinned with the cautionary manner of 'not yet bret'- the enigmatic mannerisms and charasmatic thought processes of a damaged and drug addled 'rebel outlaw' are displayed so well in this chapter.
It's easy to get a real feel for the happenings as they occur. I see the scenes as if I were in a room smelling of breakfast- Yertle gurgling along with the tv, creating a babble of background noise while the dialogue takes place and the plot unfolds, excellent writing, spence