Something struck his head, hard, and rebounded into the snow. It had made a crinkling noise when it hit the side of his head, and Joseph yelped in pain. He spun around and looked at the abandoned train cars, searching for who might have thrown something at him.
Brittni was now getting to her feet, still unsteady from the fall, and brushing snow from her jacket and thighs. Joseph felt a jolt in his stomach as he caught a peek of her bending over, then shook his head to clear it.
Wham! Another hard object crashed into his skull and this time a ballet of fireflies popped into his vision. He raised his hands over his head and shouted, “What the hell?” A third object smacked into his chest, but the ample padding of his winter jacket stopped it completely, letting the thing drop into the snow at his feet. Keeping one arm wrapped around his head, Joseph bent down and retrieved the artillery.
It was a small white circle with red pinwheel stripes, covered in a cellophane wrapper. Someone was assaulting him with peppermint candies.
The customer stopped in front of us and huffed. “I’m hoping you guys can help me.”
“Sure,” Dub said. “How can we be of service?” His entire demeanor changed from a stoner looking for rape spiders to a helpful employee.
The man adjusted his sweatband. “I, uh, I’m looking for a, uh, well, a thing,” he stammered. He kept glancing at Ermina. His face grew red. “I mean, it’s not for me, you know? I’m picking it up for a friend and—“
Dub raised a hand politely to silence the man. “I understand, sir. A lot of people pick up gifts here.”
“Right,” the man nodded. “A gift. See, I’m looking for, uh, well an inflatable pig, I guess.”
“We have a variety of inflatable pigs,” Dub replied. “Is there a certain one you’re looking for? They’re in different aisles.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The guy looked nervously at Ermina again. “I’m, uh, looking for one with vibrating orifices. That, uh, recites portions of the tax code when you thrust into different, you know. Holes.”
The administrative office was a sort of corral behind the cafeteria. Really just a clutch of desks ringed by tall displays acting as makeshift walls. We entered between two racks of neon cats-o-nine-tails. There were about 8 desks, but only one person was in the area. A pale-faced woman with wet-looking black hair spilling down one side of her head like a waterfall.
We approached the desk. As usual, Ermina stood behind me and didn’t speak initially. Before I could speak, in a flat voice the woman asked us to have a seat.
We sat in two chairs in front of her desk and waited. She continued reading for a minute or so after we sat down before she put the screen she was holding on her desk. “I was catching up on the morning porn feed,” she offered as an explanation. “Girls in Buckets 12: Backseat Bitches. Just came out. It was better than Dumpster Hookers, which was on yesterday.” She leaned back in her seat and pressed her fingers together. “I assume you keep up with the pornos?”
I shook my head and Ermina nodded hers. “The Cavern of Infinite Ass is my favorite,” Ermina said.
Joseph strained against the chilly gelatin as his arms dug deeper. “Please, help us!” he cried. “She’s not moving!” He had no idea how this girl had gotten trapped or where the gumdrop had come from, but it had now been minutes since they had heard her scream. How long could someone live without breathing? The poor girl’s time had to be running out. At his side, Brittni was sobbing as she flung green goo from her fingers after each handful she removed from the gumdrop’s side.
Ms. Trell shook her head back at them. “Deviant little shitheads is what they are,” she huffed. “Let’s go call the police and report that we’ve caught the miscreants.”
Mrs. Jaboney said, “I think that we should probably call the FBI to report these sick individuals.”
“Maybe there will be a reward?” said Ms. Trell.
“I think for animal murderers, they sometimes will give the death penalty,” replied Mrs. Jaboney.
“A nice reward would definitely make up for the crap salaries they pay around here,” reported Ms. Trell.
“Did you hear that, children?” sang Mrs. Jaboney. “The state might give you the chair. I bet you didn’t imagine that your little brains might get fried for your little pranks, huh? I will be there laughing as your little murderous butts melt to the wooden seat!”
“You actually think there are rivers and lakes and valleys under the floor?” It seemed crazy. The floor was the floor.
“There’d have to be plenty of room for those dick spiders to creep around,” Dub speculated. “Things are big, cust.”
“I don’t buy it. Wouldn’t we hear about people, I don’t know, seeing stuff?”
“Like on the news?” Ermina asked. “The news is just a bunch of commercials.”
I shrugged.
Ermina pressed on. “And anyway, you do hear rumors sometimes. A few anyway. Like people seeing deer.”
“Cust. Or dick spiders.” Dub was nodding.
“Okay, I can almost believe there are lakes under the floor, but not giant arachnids with dicks on their legs. I mean, come on, it's just stupid.”
“No cust, for real,” Dub shouted excitedly. “We get a few sightings a month. Job Jorgenson, right? This janitor who works the back aisles where the big water pipes start, he fucking fought one of them. It attacked him over near the fuckable teddy bears. Tried to fuckin' rape him, cust, for real. Like eight-way rape. He fought it and chopped off one of its dick feet. That's where I got my specimen.”
I looked at the gnarled, black spider dick in the bag I was holding. Its bristles stood up defiantly, daring me to doubt its existence.
The teachers were toning down their lessons with only a couple weeks to go before the Christmas break began. In first period English, Joseph and his classmates spent the entire time making Christmas cards based on literary themes. Joseph cut a sled and Christmas tree out of cardboard, used glue and glitter to accent a snowy incline, and pasted the sled against the tree. He titled the card “Silas Night, Holy Night.”
In second period History, their teacher had them get into groups and work on a worksheet asking questions about the three branches of government, while he played old Bing Crosby records on an ancient phonograph machine. The record sped up and slowed down, and Joseph daydreamed about being caught in a time warp. A time warp created by Peter, of course. He was always the disturbance creator.
The oldest looking guy knelt in front of the netting. He pulled out a tazer and tazed the raccoon over and over again. The little animal twitched and made weird shrieking hissing sounds and started smoking.
“Yee fucking haw,” the rookie whooped.
It was only when the smoldering raccoon stopped twitching that one of them noticed me.
“Damn,” I said. “Criminal animal?”
The oldest guy—I’d guess he was the seasoned veteran—stood and holstered his tazer. He kicked the dead raccoon. “You got no idea.”
“Shoplifter,” the rookie sneered. He flipped off the dead, netted animal.
“How does an animal shoplift?” I asked.
The veteran answered. “They got very agile hands, these guys. They’re grabby as hell. Open garbage cans and what not.” He kicked the raccoon again. “Garbage is still property of the US of A.”
