Benkharakh.com

A Novella By Ben Kharakh (Age 16)

1

It was a dark corridor that gleamed with a sparkle that only dulled metal and dust could produce; it smelled of ammonia and dried blood; it was deafly silent, except for the sound of a slight rattling, which seemed to echo from all around. There are certain places that give off negative energy, such as cemeteries, abandoned buildings, or prisons. Places where the undead tend to roam. But a place that embodies all of these things in some way is an old mental institution with a morgue in the basement.

Restless souls wander through its hallways waiting for some misguided traveler or child who accepts a dare to step through its doorway and unleash pure evil on to an unsuspecting world.

A knock bellowed through a smartly furnished room. “Ahh! I don’t know why I watch these kinds of movies.” A second knock, followed by a sneeze. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Charlie. Let me in, Dave.” Peering through the peephole of the door, Dave could see his trusted friend Charlie Chapman. Charlie was a short, portly, bald man who hated it when people asked him if he was related to the late silent movie actor Charlie Chaplin. Though he quickly jumped to conclusions, Charlie had a keen sense of observation, was very intelligent, and could climb a tree as well as a monkey. “Come on it’s freezing out here!”

Dave went to open the door, but paused as his hand gripped the cold brass knob. Dave knew Charlie well, and they had been friends for a long time; he also knew that every time Charlie was around, something unpleasant would happen to him. In fact, it had been a week ago that Charlie inadvertently squandered away two hundred of Dave’s dollars.

A metal door separated the two; on one side stood Dave, who was six foot three inches, just tall enough to grab something of Charlie’s and hold it above his head long enough to degrade him to the level of a six year old. Dave was dark skinned and dark haired, and tended to fit the description of an early 1950s detective. Day or night, warm or cold, he would always wear a brown trench coat and fedora.

Dave slowly turned the knob and let Charlie in. “Man, it’s cold out there. I mean, it’s colder in the hallway than it is outside.” He slid off his coat and placed it on the back of a chair. He then slowly unraveled his scarf, placed it on the inside of his plaid Furgora Cap, and sat down on the chair, placing the neat bundle beneath it.

Dave’s apartment was lightly furnished. In the center of the room sat a large old chair, which had been given to him by his super. It had a polished oak frame and was upholstered completely in leather. The true motive behind the gift was for personal gain on the super’s behalf. The super was an old man who despised all of his tenants and wished to do as little as possible to help them. A new chair had been given to him as a bribe in order to fix the heater. The super being completely immersed in his newfound fortune had decided to exchange the old chair for Dave’s service of removing it and replacing it with the new one.

All the other things in the room circled the chair. In front of the chair was a television set, to the right was the kitchen doorway, and to the left was a sofa and coffee table. Atop this table was a record slash tape slash CD player that Dave bought when he found out its price had gone slash.

An awkward tension filled the room as the two stared blankly at the T.V. “What are we doing?” asked Charlie.

“What?”

“Our lives have no direction, no meaning,” Charlie explained while pulling an imaginary piece of lint from his gray sweeter. “We sit all day, and walk aimlessly through life with no purpose. I want to make some sort of impact on the world, or at least somebody,”

“Are you tired of sitting around all day wandering aimlessly through life? Are you alone, depressed, or itchy? If so, then what your life is missing is a degree in law, air conditioning repair, private investigation, or one of our other fine courses.” Dave and Charlies’ eyes shot toward the television and stared in awe as a man with a toupee told them what it was that was bothering them and how they could fix it.

The two stared blankly at each other and scrambled for a piece of paper and anything that can be used as a writing utensil. “ That number again is,” informed the television as Dave victoriously wrote it down, “1 (800) 668-7325,” and as suddenly as it began it ended, leaving the two with a sense of mild importance.

Charlie fumbled with the phone and managed to dial the number. It took thirty seconds for the automated answering machine to pick up, explain to him why it is that they’re busy, and put him on hold. “Hello, and congratulations on your first step to lifting yourself out of the dark hole you call life and bringing yourself out into a world filled with love, happiness, nursing or one of the other wonderful fields of study offered at the University of Study for the Untrained Class of Kinship. Please hold, and one of our human interaction interpreters will be with you in a moment.”

Dave looked at Charlie with an expression demanding explanation and the one he got he found acceptable, “I’m on hold.” The two stared blankly at each other and Dave’s eyes drifted toward Charlie’s knee; when Charlie noticed this, he was thrown into a fit of examining his pants for lint, hair, or anything that may have caused such a reaction from Dave. They would have remained in the same state had it not been for the arrival of Bethany.

“Hi, I’m Bethany. To whom may I be speaking to?” spoke the voice of what seemed to be a young woman, but whom in reality may not have been.

“Hi Stephanie, I am Charlie and I am--” He was interrupted by a piercing yell, which informed him that her name was Bethany. “My mistake. As I was saying, I am interested in the private investigator course,”

“Where are you calling from?” inquired an offended Bethany.

“This is five forty six, Sixtieth Street in Brooklyn, New York. Could you explain more to me about--” an increasingly annoyed Charlie questioned in vain as Bethany continued to interrupt, “And what is the zip code there?”

“Double one, two, zero, four. Could you please tell me what this course consists of and what constitutes as a private investigator?” This time Charlie had raced through his response.

“How do you plan on paying for this?” She asked again, shocking Charlie. It appeared that he could not win such a battle of wits and would be forced to answer her questions and hold his own until she was finished.

“Master Card: oh, seven, seven, five, eight, three, two, four, six, nine, zero, four, five, two, three, one.” Answered Charlie slyly, shocking Dave with his mastery of his secret code.

“Thank you very much. Expect your package to arrive at that address within a week.” Bethany had hung up on Charlie, who stood with a grimace because he knew what had happened and knew the ramifications for such an act.

Charlie began to reach slowly under his chair for his scarf and started putting it on. Dave began to question him, “ So what did they say?” Charlie did not answer and continued buttoning his coat. “What happened?” asked Dave a second time. Charlie swayed in place, and then walked around Dave and toward the door. He opened it and faced Dave. “Call me when it comes,” he said, closing the door as he ran away.

Dave rushed to his door, but looking through the peephole saw that Charlie had left the building.

2

It was Thursday; two days had passed, and Dave had still not phoned Charlie. Since then, Charlie had done several things: watched five hours of a Marx Brothers marathon; walked to the end of his hallway in his purple robe to watch with a childlike sense of bemusement as his bag of garbage slid down the chute; parked his car down the street; and wrote checks to a variety of organizations including NY Heating Co. and The Bank Of New Hampshire for an out of state car loan.

Charlie had decided that for lunch he would like a turkey sandwich and two hard-boiled eggs. He turned off the television, left his raggedy brown couch, and walked toward the kitchen. As always, he would pretend to get tangled in his bead door, imagining that the threads were the tentacles of a giant sea beast. His apartment was poorly furnished with wooden furniture that he picked up mostly in central New Jersey at garage sales.

In his kitchen was an old oval table with four black metal legs and a wooden surface. He had a gas oven and old cabinets with chipped white paint. As with all kitchens, there was a refrigerator. Charlie tried to open his, but it was stuck. He grabbed on to the handle with both hands and pulled hard; the door opened, and a container of milk fell out. He set the milk aside, intending to use it in his coffee, and he went on to scour the fridge for his meal. He found the eggs, cheese, and mayonnaise, but could not find turkey.

Charlie sat on a red foldout metal chair and placed his head on his arms, which lay crossed on the table. When he realized that it was shaking, he sighed and put some packets of sugar under one of its legs. Charlie sniffed the air and noticed it smelled of stale bread. He checked his bread pantry and it was empty, which meant that somewhere in his house was a small deposit of aging bread.

Charlie decided to walk to the Russian deli down the block and buy some turkey. He got dressed in his usual ensemble, this time replacing his gray sweater with a green turtle neck. He turned off the lights, picked up his car keys, and left his apartment.

He walked through the hallway and down a flight of stairs. Charlie preferred living on the first floor because he could quickly enter and exit the building. Although Charlie never had anywhere to go, he never liked to be late. Charlie waved to the super and said hello to the strange old man who always sat outside his building in a fold-out beach chair. The man never said hello back because he gave the impression that he didn’t know English, but always said something Italian in a derogatory tone.

He was walking to his car when he saw Dave pull up to his apartment building in his black 1999 Nissan Maxima. He turned around and ran to his car. As Charlie neared it Dave rolled down the window. “Why were you running?”

“Well, I saw you,” Charlie made a break for some heavy breathing, “You pulled up to my building and I thought it was important.”

“It is important, but not important enough to make a fool of yourself in front of all of these people.” Dave waved his hand and unlocked the doors. “Come on, go around,”

Charlie eased himself slowly into the car and instantly noticed a difference in his level of self-esteem.“ Can I turn the seat warmers on?” questioned Charlie with a sense of importance.

“Yes”

Charlie received great joy from being able to control the warmth of his behind.

“Look in the back seat,” said Dave without turning his head. On the beige leather interior sat a medium sized box with a sheet of paper sticking out from the top. “Read what it says.”

“Dear sir or madam, congratulations on your first step in becoming a private investigator,”

“Not out loud, I’m trying to drive!”

The letter went on to say that the steps in becoming a private investigator were very difficult and that even after receiving the already enclosed diploma that it wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed to be in movies and poorly written detective stories. Also, it’s very important to keep in mind that you may endanger your own life and that unlike in Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys, most criminals carry guns and will kill even small furry animals if they happen to witness the crime being committed.

A second sheet, which was attached to the first, read as follows: 10 Steps to a Sneakier You, one certificate signifying completion of the course, one small two way radio, and one small decorative, yet working, magnifying glass.

“I took a copy of the book at the library so you can read it.” Charlie hadn’t noticed, but Dave had just finished a third circle around his street and was nearing Charlie’s apartment. “When you’re finished with that, give me a call.”

Charlie got out, book in hand, and went upstairs to his apartment. As soon as Charlie entered, he sat down and began reading. For the next three hours he read, then he used the restroom, he continued reading for the next four, and nearing seven PM decided to order some Chinese food. Waiting for the food to arrive, he read, and when it arrived, he ate, and then read. At midnight he had finished the entire book and then went to sleep.

The next day Charlie called Dave to schedule what he referred to as a lunch conference; the two met at a Russian café on Brighton Beach that prepared a variety of soups and kabobs. As Charlie sat eating his lamb kabobs, Dave began to interrogate him.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here? Is it so you had an excuse to eat the food?” In front of Dave sat Charlie, who had finished two servings of lamb and began to lick clean his third plate. “Come on, let’s go outside; all these people are staring at you and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

The two walked along the boardwalk discussing their plans. “First, we should take an ad out in a paper,” suggested Charlie. “If we do that, then--”

“Yes, I’m familiar with that. But I don’t want them calling me. We will give your phone number instead.” Delighted with the notion, Charlie agreed. In under an hour, Dave was dictating to a representative of a newspaper the advertisement he wished to place, from Charlie’s apartment.

“Yes, Dave Freeman: Private Investigator. Don’t forget to have that colon in-between Freeman and Private.” Dave put the receiver on the phone and stared at Charlie who had a grimace on his face.

“Why is it your detective agency?” He asked.

“Because I paid for it,” he retorted. “Call me if anyone responds to the ad.” Dave got up and left Charlie’s apartment the same way he left it: smelling of stale bread.

3

Dave had certain rules of conduct when it came to the world around him. He refused to eat any thing that started with Mc, he didn’t acknowledge the phrase “How’s it going” as an apt replacement for “Hello,” and no one could call him before ten in the morning. Charlie also enjoyed sleeping, but crime doesn’t rest, and when something valuable is stolen from someone they will do everything in their power to get it back, and if they’re unable to do it themselves they’ll get someone else to do it for them.

Dave was sleeping, enjoying what he had designated as “prize sleep,” which fell between the hours of five and nine in the morning, when he was awakened by an obnoxious ringing.

“Dave, are you awake?” was a question that defied all logic, but Charlie asked it anyway.

“What time is it?” was the mumbled response that Charlie received.

“Eight thirty.” This was followed by the sound of the receiver being pressed down. This action was repeated twice in the next two minutes, after which Dave disconnected his phone. Dave went back to sleep and was awakened ten minutes later by an obtrusive knocking that forced him to concede that he would not be going back to sleep.

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait an hour and a half?” mumbled Dave as he brushed his teeth.

“It could have waited, but I’m hungry,” Charlie answered as he searched through the kitchen cabinets. Finally, he settled down in front of the television with a bowl of cereal. Charlie began watching television when he heard Dave begin showering. Dave later emerged wearing a robe and was drying his hair with a towel.

“What are you eating?”

“Cereal,” answered Charlie.

“Is there any left?” Charlie shook his head from left to right. “What was it that couldn’t wait until ten?”

“Someone called regarding our advertisement; they said to go to 564 Dexter Drive.” Dave left the room and returned fully dressed in five minutes. He went to the kitchen and ate a banana as he walked toward the door. He then motioned to Charlie, and the two left.

They neared the address and were greeted by a tall, thin woman, wearing a gray fur coat. The house she was standing in front of was two stories high, with a balcony on the second floor directly over the doorway. It had a five-foot high metal fence surrounding the entire perimeter of a moderately sized property. She opened the gates, and they parked on a driveway made of gravel.

“Hi, I’m Dorsa Woolsof and you must be Dave Freeman,” she said, offering her hand to Charlie.

“Actually, I’m Dave Freeman, and the man you spoke to on the phone was my associate Charlie Chapman.” Dave walked around the car and noticed a human silhouette in a window.

“Tell me, Mrs. Woolsof, do you live alone?

“Yes, except for the maid. Let’s go inside, I’ll fix you some coffee.” She led the two inside, where Dave continued to interrogate her, which she found odd because she hadn't told either of them why she required their services.

“You see, my diamond ring has been stolen. It was given to me by my late husband and its market value is very high. The night I had noticed it was stolen, I had a few friends over, and my son had come by earlier demanding money. He said he didn’t have enough of it and that somehow he would get it from me.” While she had been telling them this, the maid had come by and brought them coffee. She was no taller then Charlie, with dark, short hair and no noticeable features. When she had bent down to pour Dave some coffee, Charlie had noticed that she had some stubble on her upper lip. Seeing this had shocked Charlie and caused him to drink his coffee too fast, burning his tongue.

The conversation continued for another twenty minutes when it was decided that the son, Morty Woolsof, should be questioned next. Morty lived on the sixth floor in an old apartment building in a predominantly Russian neighborhood in Sheep’s Head Bay. Dave was worried about parking his car on the street when it was darkening; so he parked it in a parking lot in front of a Mega Food Town Emporium.

As the two walked to the building, Charlie made a remark which was frowned upon by Dave. “Did you notice that the maid was lurking around listening to our conversation?”

“She’s a maid; she doesn’t lurk, she cleans,” Dave said. “Are you insinuating that the maid took it? The butler taking it is the most reasonable and logical answer in such situations, but in this scenario there is a maid, not a man.”

“She had some stubble over her upper lip.” Dave then realized that Charlie’s statements were patronizing the entire profession of private investigation and did not bother to dignify his statement with a response. They arrived at the apartment after a two-minute walk. The building itself looked very haggard, and when they neared the door they didn’t have to use the intercom system because the lock was broken.

The elevator ride was one of the most horrific twenty-six seconds of Dave’s life. He stood motionless, staring at the metal door ease itself into position, listening to the sounds of the metal cables pulling the compartment up to the sixth story, and examining the peeling paint. They arrived at Morty’s door and knocked instead of using the doorbell because it seemed more appropriate for the situation.

“Morty Woolsof, this is Dave Freeman. I’ve come to discuss something on the behalf of your mother.” The door opened slowly, revealing a skinny man about the age of thirty with a receding hairline and thick eyebrows.

“Are you the police?” he asked cautiously.

“No, we’re detectives. Your mother’s diamond ring is missing, and we wanted to know if you knew any information pertaining to its whereabouts. ” Morty looked at Dave, then at his watch. He closed the door for a few seconds and then opened it wearing a jacket and holding a medium sized box.

“No, I don’t know anything.” He stepped out of the apartment, locked the door and walked down the hallway to the elevator. Dave and Charlie followed down the stairway, and out the building. Morty waited at a bus stop, and Charlie hid behind a tree while Dave got his car. When Dave returned, Morty boarded a bus, and they followed it until he got off. At this point he entered a pawn shop and exited soon after carrying a burlap bag with a green dollar sign embroidered on it. The pursuit continued and ended when Morty arrived by taxi at a church.

The two parked in the church parking lot and were greeted by a man in a silver leotard wearing an elliptical plastic helmet with a clear plastic window on the front. Over the door way was a banner that read, “Welcome Amateur Superheroes.” When they entered, they saw several booths containing brochures, comic books, and action figures for characters who were created by the curators of the booths. They saw Morty wearing a fish costume in front of a booth labeled “Mer-Man.”

Dave began walking toward the exit because he was convinced that anyone who was foolish enough to wear a fish costume was unable of committing such a crime, but Charlie thought otherwise. “So you stole the ring and bought yourself this fish outfit? Where’s the rest of the money?” He leaned over the booth and began feeling for something.

Enraged by such accusations, Morty pushed Charlie off of the booth. “Alright, Fatty Mcfattterson.” Charlie stared blankly at Morty, waiting for an explanation. “It means you’re fat. I didn’t take the ring. What you saw me pawn was a desk lamp.” He then bent down to pick up an oddly shaped sign that read, “Biff,” and hit Charlie over the head with it.

They returned to Mrs. Woolsof’s house to inform her that her son was not the thief and to gather a list of people who were present at her house when the ring was stolen. It was decided that the investigation would continue the next day.

The two were driving when Dave’s car began to stall. It did so for a reason that was unknown to both of them. He parked next to a Russian grocery store and used a pay phone to call his motor club. “They said they’ll be here within an hour and that I should wait in the car,” he explained. “So, while I wait, go to the grocery store and buy me a box of the cereal you finished and a sixteen ounce, foot long beef stick.”

“Okay, I’ll get your foot of beef,” said Charlie as he opened the door. He was about to leave when Dave touched him on the shoulder.

“Beef is not measured in feet, it’s measured in pounds and ounces.” Charlie looked at him, blinked three times, and left the car. He had been gone three minutes when there was a loud scream followed by a man dressed entirely in black running out of the store. Charlie returned to the car with the box of cereal, but not the beef.

“Where’s the beef?” asked a perplexed Dave.

“I was in one of the aisles retrieving the beef, when I heard noises. I crept up to the counter and saw a man dressed entirely in black trying to rob the store, but he didn’t see me. At that point I hit him with the beef, he dropped the gun, and ran away.” Charlie handed the box of cereal to Dave. “The police will probably catch him, so I’m going to go see if I get a prize for stopping the robbery.” Charlie left Dave alone in his car to wait for a tow truck.

The tow truck arrived after forty-five minutes. A disheveled looking man emerged from the gargantuan machine and used an assortment of chains and levers to raise the car onto the bed of the truck. The truck then drove to an auto center, and the car was eased off. The driver informed Dave that he should leave his key along with a short letter of explanation and place it into the mail slot.

Dave arrived home at nine and was ready to go to sleep at nine thirty when Charlie called. “Hey, Dave. After I left I followed the police and they eventually caught the robber. Then they gave me a citation for aiding in his apprehension. I went to a liquidation store and bought a frame for it.” There was a slight hesitation in his voice. “When did you get home?”

“The car was towed to an auto repair center a mile away from my apartment; so I just walked home. Tomorrow I want you to question the guests that were at Mrs. Woolsof’s house alone. I will be unable to help because I have things to do.” Charlie did not question Dave’s decision, and the conversation ended.

4

At this part of the story it is necessary to explain how it is that Dave and Charlie are able to pursue a career in private investigation and still be financially stable. Dave had previously worked as a graphic designer for a small corporation, which declared bankruptcy. He was receiving unemployment payments of three hundred dollars a week for four months. During this time, he had concentrated on his true passion: writing. He had been able to successfully write short stories no more than fifteen pages in length and submit them to literary magazines, but lacked the inspiration to write a novel.

Charlie had not worked for two years and had been receiving payments from the city of New York after winning a settlement of three million dollars as compensation for being run over by a street cleaner. He decided to quit his job as an assistant manager of a bank and not work for the rest of his life. In order to have financial security for a long period of time, he decided not to spend all of his money on material possessions and invested half his money in the stock market.

Dave awoke at ten thirty, brushed his teeth, and immediately sat down on his sofa to call the unemployment office. He had unsuccessfully attempted to call their automated service for twenty minutes. During this time he had devised a formula to find what the probability was of the call he made, ”X,” being answered by a busy signal. “X” equals “Y,” the number of unemployed people calling at the same time, divided by “Z,” the number of phone lines available at the time the call is made. Unfortunately, there was more Y than Z, which meant that Dave was getting F’ed in the A. As minute twenty-one neared its end, Dave was suddenly greeted by a robotic voice that beckoned him to enter his social security number using his numeric pad. Then he would use said pad to answer a series of yes or no questions pertaining to his efforts concerning job acquisition.

Next, Dave got dressed and prepared himself a breakfast of cereal, milk, and tropical dried fruit. He began by getting his bowl, which was a large green soup bowl, and a silver spoon, which had been given to him by his grandmother, who claimed it was a holistic way to keep healthy. Next, he counted twenty-four frosted wheat squares and placed them in a bowl accompanied by a quarter of a cup of tropical dried fruit, which was then submerged in a pre-measured cup of milk. After he consumed all of the solid foods, he tipped his bowl and drank the milk, which had embodied the flavor of its previous contents.

Dave then washed the eating utensils that had been used and put on his shoes, jacket, and hat, and left the apartment. In order to avoid any complications involving the unwanted removal of his possessions from his home by strangers, he had several locks installed on his front door. This meant that he had to carry around a large collection of keys, and any sudden movements he made would be followed by the sound of metallic clinking. Dave’s car was once broken into; the radio was stolen, a homeless man had used it as a bed and bathroom, the window was all over the upholstery, and a prophylactic device was found, hidden in between two seat cushions. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to his home.

Dave was going to visit his mother, as he did whenever she began to pester him with phone calls. She lived ten blocks away from him. It was twenty minutes each way, and Dave passed the time by thinking. He thought of what to think about; of whether he was spending his time thinking about the right things, and then he realized that he had already arrived at the building and that he did not think of what he wanted to.

Dave pressed the button on the intercom system twice in rapid succession, which was the secret code shared between him and his mother. He took the elevator up to the sixth floor, and as soon as the elevator doors opened, he saw his mother standing at the door with her arms open, awaiting his embrace. She was shorter than he, with curly black hair and brown eyes. At the moment, she was wearing an apron that covered a purple wool sweater and beige pants. Over her hair was a frilly pink hair net made from velvet. She welcomed him inside and immediately offered him a pair of slippers.

“David, you seem taller,” she said, with a smile on her face.

“No, Mom. It may be that you’re shrinking.”

Dave stepped inside the apartment and walked toward a white chair with a floral design that was obscured by a plastic slip-on cover. As he passed the kitchen, he saw his father preparing a salad of radishes, garlic, and other ingredients that he was not able to identify, all of which were smothered in tomato sauce. His father was a medium sized man who wore an undershirt that was tucked into black sweat pants. He smiled and waved jovially. “Are you still on unemployment?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Dave nodded yes, and his father gave a quite chuckle and continued to prepare the salad. Dave sat down, and his mother quickly maneuvered herself onto a seat opposite him, stepping on his feet and knocking over a lamp during the process. Such accidents often occurred when a person underestimated their own girth.

“How are you?” asked Dave’s mother.

“I’m good, mom. And how are you?” She nodded and gave a sigh, which Dave interpreted as a good thing. “I wrote another story and it will be published next week in Baggett, a forum dedicated to humorous writings.” He reached into his pant pocket and handed her a square of paper, which he unfolded into a ten-page packet.

She took it and looked it over. “I need my glasses,” she said and raised herself as though she was going to retrieve them, but instead placed the packet on the bed and sat on it. Dave’s father walked into the room with a small decorative plate with a reddish mass that was the finished product of his efforts.

“You go inside and eat. I’ll talk to Dave.” Dave’s mother left the room. “So how are you doing?”

“I’m good, dad. I got a job, in a way.”

“What do you mean `in a way?’” his father asked, and as he did so a piece of sliced radish fell off of his fork and stuck to his lower lip. He then proceeded to wipe it off with the back of his left hand and licked it off with his tongue.

“Must you do that?” asked Dave.

“What?”

“You come in here, eating this foul smelling mess, and then you drop portions of the mess on yourself and the furniture. What is it, anyway?”

“It’s stuff I found in the refrigerator covered in pasta sauce from a bottle. I put so much sauce I can’t taste the other ingredients. Taste it.” The fork was maneuvered so swiftly that Dave could not escape it.

“So many flavors in my mouth,” described Dave, “all of them I don’t like. “

“I’ve lost all interest in this; tell me about your new job.”

“I’m a detective,” Dave replied.

“A detective? What do you want to be a detective for? Who needs detection? No one needs a detective, that’s why we have the police. They do the detection. Besides, how did you become a detective?” His father seemed to enjoy making his son reconsider his lifestyle and always pushed him to be more practical.

“I got a degree in the mail, and we’re running the agency out of Charlie’s apartment.”

“Oy,” his father said and wiped a drop of sweat from his brow. “How is your fat friend? How is he spending all that money he won?”

Dave made himself more comfortable in the chair and made a noise of discontent. He crossed his legs and was ready to give an answer when he heard a fork scraping against a plate, which meant his mother had finished her meal. “He’s good. He decided not to work the rest of his life and live in his apartment the same way he usually does. He put half of his money in the stock market and decided that if he spends forty-five thousand dollars a year for twenty years he won’t have to go to work ever again.”

“What about after that?”

“He plans on being run over by a street cleaner again.” Dave’s mother had come into the room and was drying her hands with her apron. She walked over to a small wooden counter, opened it, and removed a box.

“Your father and I received this blood sugar monitor testing thingy from a friend, and we think it would be best if we used it on you.” She opened the box and emptied its contents onto a large wooden table that was in front of the bed. “First, I want to test it to see if I do it right.”

Dave’s father walked into the kitchen and returned with rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs. Dave sat uneasily in the chair, hoping that something would prevent him from having to use the machine.

Dave’s father put his glasses on, and Dave’s mother did the same. Then they looked at the equipment, up at each other, and exchanged glasses. “Let’s do it on me first.” She handed him an elongated rod that he put on her extended index finger. He pressed down on a button at its handle, which caused a small needle to pierce the skin of the finger. “Now we have to smear it on the strip.”

Dave’s father opened another box and removed a test strip while Dave’s mother squeezed her finger, causing a drop of blood to accumulate. She wiped it on the strip, which they then attempted to put into the device. It was a small rectangular control with an LED display. There was an opening on its side, which was divided into two compartments. They inserted the strip into the top compartment with the blood facing up. His father pressed some buttons and then looked up at his wife.

“It isn’t working,” he said.

“Well, maybe you’re doing it wrong.” She looked at the box and read the directions. “Did you put it in the top slot facing down?”

“No,” said Dave’s father. He took out the strip and dipped a cotton swab in alcohol and proceeded to clean the machine. Then he made another incision into the index finger. This time he did as his wife said and got the same results. “It isn’t working,” he said.

“Well, let’s try again, but now we’ll put it in the bottom compartment facing up.” She raised her finger and retrieved another strip from the box. Upon putting the newly created sample into the machine they were met with the same result. “I’m calling Susan, she should know how to use it; she gave it to us.”

‘No,” he said, “We’ll do it again.” They repeated the entire process, this time placing a newly made strip into the top compartment facing up as they had the first time, and received the same result. Dave’s mother’s finger was bleeding profusely and she had wrapped it up in a paper towel.

“I’m calling her,” she said as Dave’s father cleaned the machine. Dave’s mother waited as the phone rang and then looked up in exasperation. “She’s not home,” to which her husband replied, “Gah!”

Dave’s father sat on the chair reading the back of the box, while his wife bandaged her finger. “I see; we’ve been doing it all wrong. We’re supposed to put it in the bottom part facing up,” he got up, cleaned the machine, and Dave’s mother offered her ring finger to the piercing device. They followed the instructions verbatim, but with a groan were met with the same result. All of the materials were put back into their boxes, and the contaminated test strips were thrown away. Dave was satisfied that he emerged from the incident unscathed.

“That’s all right,” said Dave’s mother. “We’ve got other things we can try out on you; like these new pills your father picked up or, we can open the can whose label fell off. Who knows what’s inside? Could be peaches, could be beans, probably corn though.”

“I think I’m going to go,” said Dave. He began to dress and saw that his mother’s smile had turned into a frown. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll call you later. Bye.” Dave opened the door to leave and yelled goodbye to his father, who responded, “Don’t yell. I’m standing right here.”

As Dave left the building and crossed the street, he turned around and saw his father waving to him out of the window. Dave waved back, and continued on his way home.

It was noon, and Charlie had already been awake for two hours. He was prepared to begin interrogating all of the guests of the Woolsof residence. After parking his car, Charlie approached the entrance of a building and was greeted by a doorman. “Hello,” said the doorman, and tipped his hat in recognition.

“Hi,” responded Charlie, and raised his hand as he walked through the door and toward the elevator. Suddenly a man grabbed him by the shoulder. Charlie stopped and turned around. Staring at him was a man wearing the same outfit as the doorman, except that it was maroon, while the doorman’s was blue. His attire consisted of a rounded hat that had a gold colored rim around its circumference and a suit that looked like the hat with sleeves.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’m going to visit someone in this building,” replied Charlie.

“Do you live here?” The man asked. Charlie was puzzled; the man obviously was not one of high intelligence. This assumption was made based on the question he asked. If Charlie had lived in the building, the doorman wouldn’t have asked him if he lived in the building.

“No.”

“Are they expecting you?” Again, Charlie was confused. Why would the man be against visitation? Had it been something the doorman said? When Charlie said hello, the doorman may not have heard him and he may have thought that Charlie did not say hello and that he thought less of him because he was a doorman. Charlie came to the conclusion that the doorman and the man he was currently talking to were in cahoots.

“What are you insinuating? That I’m going to commit a crime of some sort?” The man looked at Charlie and squinted his eyes. “That I am here to inflict grievous bodily harm onto the inhabitants of this building?”

The man walked to a desk and picked up the phone. “Who are you here to see?”

“Marla Wilkins,” answered Charlie. The man dialed a phone number and waited for a few moments until someone answered. He had a conversation with whoever answered, or was conducting a subterfuge in which it looked like he was talking to someone. Which ever of the two was true did not matter because Charlie sneaked off into the elevator.

When the elevator stopped at the sixth floor, Marla Wilkins was waiting outside it. “No, need to get off, Mr. Chapman, I’m going downstairs.” She was a middle-aged woman with red hair that curled upward at its tips. She was wearing a red dress decorated with mock fur. “I don’t know who took the ring,” she said without looking at Charlie.

There was a silence on the elevator that lasted until the second floor, where Charlie hit the emergency break button. There was a loud ringing in the elevator and the entire building.

“Ahh!” Marla screamed, “Why did you do that?”

“I need to ask you some questions,” replied Charlie, “Was there anything different about the time you spent at Dorsa’s home the night the ring went missing from any other?” His face turned red as he attempted to scream over the ringing.

“No!”

“Anything different about the guests?” Sweat began to build up over his brow and he wiped it with the sleeve of his coat.

“No! Except, the maid was there the entire time, then she suddenly left for ten minutes and then she came back with some of the buttons from her blouse unbuttoned, which she fixed when she noticed one of the other guests looking.” The period of time that Marla had estimated the maid being away was a reasonable period of time for her to use the bathroom.

Charlie pressed the button again, and the elevator began moving. When they reached the first floor, both the doorman and the lobby attendant were standing at the elevator door along with a small group of people. As soon as the doors opened, Charlie pushed them aside and ran to his car. The people watched him run into the parking lot. He was so distracted with the task of running that he passed his car; he turned around and ran for the driver’s side door, looked up at his audience, and tried to enter the vehicle. Charlie was so flustered that he dropped his keys; he picked them up from under the car and hit his head as he raised himself off the ground. He watched the people as he rubbed his head. They were standing in a state of bemusement, some with their mouths open and others turning away because the scene must have been so embarrassing for Charlie that watching it embarrassed the people.

Charlie quickly drove away and continued on his way to the next guest on his list of suspects. There is no need to describe in great detail what transpired between Charlie and the remaining six of the seven guests. After meeting with three of them, the other guests were notified by previous guests that Charlie was coming to see them. Two of the guests had acquaintances of theirs answer the door claiming that those who he wished to speak to were away. The third would not answer the door of his house, but Charlie could clearly see that the individual was home by putting his head to the door and hearing shushed laughter and whispering concerning the plan to remain hidden until Charlie left.

The gist of their discussions was the same: they claimed not to have stolen the ring and noticed the maid acting strangely for a maid. This made Charlie ponder what kind of behavior was strange for a maid. Her duties consisted of cleaning and cooking; she was entitled to take brakes to rest and use the bathroom. Pretending to be a maid in order to gain the trust of an employer and then rob said employer was a good plan because the thief would be fed, housed, and paid before they committed the crime. Charlie thought that if he was not already rich that he would pretend to be a maid so he could rob his employer, but instead he had decided that the maid was a man thief in disguise.

At this time it was four thirty, and Dave had already returned from his mother’s apartment. He had spent the walk home thinking about his writing, but his thoughts were interrupted when he was nearly run over by a brown car. Dave was certain that brown cars were not manufactured, but from that point on he noticed a slight discomfort in his stomach and wondered what he had eaten that could have caused it. When he reached his home, Dave sat down at his chair and removed a two-inch thick, three-foot wide wooden board that he mounted on the arms of his chair and used as a table. He reached over the side of the chair and lifted a leather backpack that contained a laptop computer that he had purchased at a discounted price, along with the bag it was in and a laser printer, from his company upon its bankruptcy for a total of two thousand dollars. Dave also purchased a thirty pound plastic barrel of pretzels for ten dollars; he didn’t like pretzels, but couldn’t resist the great deal.

Dave starred at the screen of the computer until his word processing software loaded. He had learned that the best way for an author to begin writing is by writing about something he was familiar with, so he wrote about himself and Charlie as they began their endeavor in private investigation. He stopped only to adjust his pants, which seemed to be curling against the skin of his thighs in an annoying manner.

When Charlie knocked at Dave’s door, Dave had been finished for several minutes, but not of his own accord. He had not been able to write a conclusion to his story because the real event itself had not yet concluded.

“Dave, I’m not sure who the thief is, but if we call everyone together and say that we know who it is, but pause at the moment when we would reveal their identity, the thief themselves may confess.”

“Charlie, that’s just dumb enough to work,” said Dave and the two of them left the apartment. They traveled to Mrs. Woolsof’s via Charlie’s car, and during the entire trip, neither of them spoke. Dave thought that if this meeting was not a success that he would forfeit the possibility of becoming a detective due to lack of experience. Charlie thought that maybe he could buy himself a cat so he could occupy himself during the day. Charlie liked cats, and if he bought one he could also buy many toys and accessories for it, which may require construction, and overall would be very time consuming.

When they arrived to the home of Mrs. Dorsa Woolsof, she was pleased by their arrival because she assumed it meant that they knew where her ring was and she was even more pleased when Dave asked her to invite all of the guests for a meeting. Many of the guests were hesitant about whether they should come, but Mrs. Woolsof told them that there would be food and beverages. The guests arrived within an hour and when they had all been seated and served, Dave stood up in front of them.

“I have called you all here today because Mrs. Woolsof’s ring has been stolen. I know who did it and will tell you right now,” he paused and looked around at the guests. They were all sitting around him on white leather couches while holding flutes filled with wine. Some of them were whispering indistinctively, possibly about how foolish Dave was, while others were placing shrimp in zip-lock bags that they kept in their pockets.

Charlie was standing next to Dave holding three hors d'oeuvres in his right hand and leaning on a vase with his left. He looked around the room and realized that no one was going to confess. At this point he screamed out, “The manly maid,” and pointed at the maid who at the time was scratching her chin.

“What?” she asked in a masculine voice, “Oh damn,” she muttered and ran toward the door, knowing that her plan had ironically been foiled by the two guys who thought they were detectives. As she ran for the door, Charlie threw the vase that he had been leaning on at the maid, and it hit her in the nape of the neck. The she was a he. The vase broke into several small pieces upon impact with the floor, and amongst those pieces was Mrs. Woolsof’s missing ring.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Woolsof said. She then proceeded to write out a check for one thousand five hundred dollars, which she handed to Dave. “I have deducted the cost of the vase.” Dave accepted the check, folded it neatly into fourths, and placed it in his pocket. The maid had been tied up using nylon rope, which was found in the kitchen of Mrs. Woolsof while waiting for the arrival of the police.

Dave and Charlie left the premises quickly. Although the two did not admit it to each other, they both had doubts of how creditable their certification of investigation was. Because of the high amount of money in Charlie’s possession, Dave would keep all of the profit made from the business. For Charlie, the business was just an activity to keep him entertained during the day.

5

Dave lay quietly on his side while clenching a large decorative pillow. He had been in this position for half an hour without any movement; as minute thirty-one reached its end, his eyes opened and he rolled out of his bed without any concern for the sheets and pillows that fell to the floor. He moved slowly through the room, keeping his arms extended to maintain his balance. He sat down in the chair, around which his entire seating arrangement was based, reached over its side, retrieved his wooden board that he used as a table, and then got up, holding the board under his arm. Dave stood in place and looked around the room in a state of confusion that he often referred to as a “brain fog.” He remembered the reason for which he stood, and went into his kitchen to clean the board of any sandwich-related stains.

Dave returned to his seat and began writing, an activity that he enjoyed very much, but was rarely able to do uninterrupted. Soon after Dave began, he paused to remove the acrid taste he acquired after sleep from his mouth and to rid his hands of the unpleasant clammy feeling that plagued him whenever he began to write. He returned once more and wrote for a continuous hour and ten minutes, finishing a short story he began the day before. Because Dave didn’t enjoy the outcome of his first attempt at private investigation, he changed the ending of his story to one that was less convenient for the main characters and more entertaining for the readers. In Dave’s new story, the maid was a robot.

The automobile mechanics that were currently in possession of Dave’s car told him in as few words as possible that his water pump was broken. Dave was not familiar with that part of the car, or many other parts for that matter, and was forced to pay the amount demanded and wait the time necessary whether it was fair or not because he wouldn’t know the difference. After receiving such unpleasant news, Dave decided that it was a perfect time to go for a walk.

Charlie’s morning was not as productive as Dave’s in the sense that he woke up at ten thirty and spent the next three hours watching television. He stopped only to use the restroom and refill his beverage.

Dave walked at a moderate pace along Ocean Parkway, which stretched from the ocean to a place that Dave was unsure of. Dave was a very pensive individual, who sometimes was so deep in thought that he would lose notice of his surroundings. He decided that when he returned home he would make grammatical corrections to his newly written story and submit it, along with other writings, to magazines and publishers. This lead to thoughts of what genre Dave could classify himself in, which were interrupted when a colorful bird flew from a tree and then to a bench; the bird was soon frightened away by Dave as he walked past the bench. Dave’s thoughts switched from writing to birds, then to sandwiches because he was hungry; soon after he began to reenact a song that he enjoyed in his mind, and by the time he had returned back to thoughts of writing he was at home eating.

While Dave was eating, Charlie was sitting underneath a bed sheet canopy in his underpants; he had constructed a fort out of chairs, blankets, pillows, and towels. Charlie would have remained in this child-like state had it not been for the ringing of the telephone.

“Hello?” asked Charlie.

“Hey, it’s me, Dave. I don’t think this whole put-an-ad-in-the-newspaper thing is going to work.” Charlie did not answer using words, but instead made a noise that signified further explanation was necessary. “Come again?” Dave paused and listened for a reply, but instead heard a frightened yelp. “Are you there? Are you listening to me? You built a fort out of your linens, didn’t you? I’m coming over there right now, and when I get there, you better be wearing pants.”

Dave left his apartment and walked to a bus stop because the spot where he parked his car was too good to give up so soon. A loud buzzing noise informed Charlie that Dave had arrived and was waiting to be let into the building. In one swift movement Charlie stood up, picked up all of the materials used to construct his fort (excluding the chairs), ran to his bedroom, and threw them into a closet. He pressed a button that allowed Dave to enter the building and then remembered his need for pants.

Dave knocked and Charlie answered also with a knock to which Dave answered, “Come in.” When the door was opened, both pretended that the previous incident never took place.

“Hello,” said Dave. He entered the room, and the door was locked behind him. Dave took off his shoes and proceeded to sit down on one of the chairs Charlie used to build his fort.

“I don’t think that our advertisement in the newspaper is going to get us any clients.”

“Why not?”

“Because if someone has a ring stolen, they tell the police, or if for some strange reason they need a private investigator, then these people must be very silly because a private investigator is a person who is not qualified enough to be a police officer.” Dave paused because he lost his train of thought and informed Charlie of this.

“Anyway, if someone needs a detective, they won’t look in the newspaper, they’ll look in the Yellow Pages. We can put an ad in the yellow pages.” Dave did not explain why because he assumed Charlie knew, “But we can get an ad in the Internet yellow pages.”

“Sure,” responded Charlie, “But can we keep the one in the newspaper?”

“Yeah,” said Dave while putting on his shoes. “Okay, I’m leaving. I’ll take care of the new ad.” Dave left and Charlie stayed for the remainder of the day, and most of the following day too.

Dave went to a nearby office supply store to send his writings with a privately owned package distribution agency because he did not have great faith in the United States Postal Service. Once, Dave got a package marked fragile, and when he opened it, bees flew out and chased him around his apartment.

Several things occurred in the period of time between Dave falling asleep and Dave receiving a reply from a publisher in New Jersey. The first being that Dave’s car was repaired for the price of nine hundred dollars, which was paid for in cash with the money made from what would later be referred to as “The Case of the Manly Maid.”

The book received from the University of Study for the Untrained Class of Kinship was enjoyed by both Dave and Charlie, who, each of their own accord, later traveled to their local library to acquire other books written by the same author. They enjoyed his How to Kill Friends and Intimidate People, but not so much his Guide to Eating Fast and Dying Last.

Charlie had visited his mother; the visit itself was of no significance, but afterward Charlie had a strange encounter. While sitting on the subway, waiting for his stop, Charlie was approached by a woman who asked him, “Why do you look so down?” Charlie did not understand what the woman meant by such a remark and believed she was under the influence, but of what he was not sure. The conversation went as follows:

“Why do you look so down?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You look sad.”

“Oh, I’m not sad; I’m just making faces. You happened to walk by as I was making my `guess who’s dead’ face. Next I will make my `excited but restraining myself from smiling by biting my lower lip’ face.”

The woman laughed and offered her hand to Charlie for him to shake, “My name is Samantha Henry.” Charlie believed that one cannot trust a person with two first names, but accepted the hand anyway because he found her attractive.

“I’m Charlie Chapman.”

“Are you related to.” Charlie interrupted before she could finish and excused himself from her presence by claiming that he had to leave the train at that moment because he remembered that he left the iron on inside the stove, which was also on.

Yet only one event would have a profound effect on the weeks to come for both Dave and Charlie. Dave had received a response from a publisher. He informed Dave that he enjoyed his writings very much and would like to speak to him as soon as possible and in person. Using his telephone, Dave was able to schedule an appointment for the following day.

As Dave walked toward his bedroom to retrieve a map of New Jersey, the telephone rang.

“Hello,” said Dave.

“Hi, it’s me: Charlie. How’s it going?” Charlie often liked to call Dave and discuss various topics in an attempt to be distracted from his meaningless life.

“I’m good. I got a letter from a publisher.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’m going to New Jersey tomorrow to meet with him.”

“Can I come?”

“Sure,” said Dave. “Damn,” he added under his breath.

“Great, I’ll be there at eight.” The conversation ended abruptly and was a success for Charlie because he would be occupied for the entirety of the following day.

6

Dave’s apartment was very hot because of the broken heating system, which raised the temperature of his bedroom an additional twenty degrees while producing a variety of unpleasant hisses and pops. He lay in bed with his eyes closed but was not asleep; instead, he thought of being asleep and the consequences of having less sleep. His alarm clock was set to ring at seven in the morning, and it did. The occurrences of the next hour are unimportant and some may be explained later.

They drove through the crowded streets and on to Bay Parkway; often a pedestrian would cross a street without looking, or a car would cut in front of them; when this would happen, Dave would shout obscenities. Charlie considered this strange on Dave’s behalf because he had spent his entire life in the city of New York and knew of the idiots that lived there. Yet, when encountering such an idiot, Dave would call them names, to which Charlie would respond: “Shut up! They can’t hear you, you’re in here and they’re out there.”

They drove over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and approached the toll plaza, which they passed through quickly because Dave owned a small device that would automatically deduct the fare needed from his checking account when passing through a toll. This day in particular, Charlie saw a driver brandish his timesaving device like a police badge and then laughed at the man. In the same car was a small boy who saw Charlie laughing and began staring at him. Charlie then stuck out his tongue, to which the boy responded by raising his middle finger into the air and waving it defiantly.

They drove through Staten Island and its unbearable smell, commenting on the odor. “It smells,” said Charlie.

“Yes it does. It must be unpleasant to live in a place that has a disgusting odor. It smells in New Jersey too; not all of it, though, just parts.”

“I know people that live in Staten Island and they don’t notice the smell; and if you drive away from the parkway, it doesn’t smell at all.” With that last comment, the conversation ended. The radio was turned on to fill the void created by the lack of dialogue. The genre of choice was classic rock. Once on the Garden State Parkway heading south, Charlie had to make up for the lack of talking with complaints; the first dealt with the temperature. “It’s hot in here, can I open the window?”

“You’re hot because you’re wearing a jacket and a sweater,” said Dave. Charlie removed his jacket, revealing a wool sweater. Five minutes passed, and a second complaint was made public: “I’m thirsty.’

“There’s some water in my backpack.” Charlie looked toward the back seat, reached over to a leather backpack used for carrying Dave’s laptop computer, which it currently did, and removed a large plastic container of brown liquid.

“What’s this?” asked Charlie.

“It’s Snelltzer, Snapple and seltzer.”

“What?”

“It’s lemon tea and seltzer.” Charlie sampled the beverage and produced a face of discontent that featured both head shaking, closed eyes, a noise of disgust, and twitching. Nonetheless Charlie consumed a lot, surpassing greatly the amount needed to quench his thirst because he was selfish.

Five more minutes passed and Charlie attempted once more at conversation, “Dave?”

“Dear God man, what do you want from me? If you’re asking me to stop so you can use the restroom, forget it,” yelled Dave curtly.

“No, I was just going to ask if there were any new Dave developments.”

“I see. Have you noticed that my eyes look a bit red?” Charlie nodded. ”Well, yesterday I bought new shampoo. I make my hygienic decisions based on odor and additional services; this brand claimed that it could prevent dandruff and its scent was `Refresh.’ I didn’t understand what that meant, but there was a picture of a mint leaf, so I took it.”

“Yeah,” added Charlie, “I don’t like these new odor names. I remember when they would name it after what it smelled like. Orange smells like orange,” here he paused for effect, “but now they have scents that are more like flavors, and they do this mostly on kids’ shampoos to encourage consumption.”

“Exactly. I thought if there was something called `Mountain Breeze,’ which I didn’t know could be bottled, then Refresh would be a more ambiguous scent.” The two quieted as they passed over a bridge. “So I brought it home and used it. I looked over to see if there were any special directions and noticed that under Refresh it says, `For a cooling sensation.’ Well, I didn’t know what it meant, but apparently cooling means painful stinging, and before my shower was done, my scalp, eyes, and any other part of my body that was exposed to the shampoo received an exciting stinging and burning feeling.”

Charlie began laughing. “Thank you for laughing at my misfortune,” commentated Dave, which only enhanced the heartiness of Charlie’s laughter. The car moved at seventy-five miles an hour on a newly paved road. The parkway was surrounded by a variety of trees on both sides; one could tell by the diminishing amount of trees that an exit or body of water was approaching. The car moved across to the rightmost lane and slowed to enter exit one fourteen.

The road had fewer lanes now, and the trees were replaced by banks, car dealerships, diners, manual and automated car washes, and discount stores; there were too many of these unnecessary places of business, most of which had very few visitors, which could be seen by the amount of automobiles in the excessively large parking areas.

Dave was nearing his destination but hesitated because he was unsure of what street he was on. At first, signs informed him of his location and of the street names, but soon they began to dwindle in number and eventually ceased to be. “Where are all the signs? How am I supposed to know where I am?” asked Dave, but received no answer. The only visible signs were those supporting various political parties and advertisements for garage sales. There was an abundance of signs directing drivers toward an auction of some sort. Charlie wished to go and expressed his concern for the mater claiming that “it could lead to adventure,” but Dave rebutted with, “No it can’t. Stop bothering me. I don’t know where I am.”

The car slowed down and approached the shoulder of the road, which did not exist, and the car sat idly on grass, gravel, and a small maple tree.

Dave examined an atlas that he removed from beneath his seat, and was able to deduce his location: approximately half a mile to the left of his destination.

“With whom is your appointment with?” asked Charlie.

“With Mike Schiller, head of the Schiller foundation.”

“I see. So you’re meeting him in his house.”

The house, number three hundred thirty-one, was two stories high and two thousand square meters in area, while the property was roughly one and a half acres. From the door to the curb was a distance of fifty meters; they walked along a wide driveway that ended at the base of a three-car garage. The grass was thick and free of weeds; the trees were all Japanese Red Maples of great height showing that they were of proportionally great age. Beneath the windows was a large area with several large blueberry bushes, azaleas, and rose bushes, all currently bare except for the azaleas. There were bare patches from which colorful peonies would sprout in the spring; the remainder was covered with thick creeping phlox.

Dave rang the doorbell while Charlie inspected the mailbox; it struck him as odd that an individual with such a house and landscape would own and proudly display a mailbox shaped as an upright cow with nipples that act as handles to open four differently sized compartments. The door was eventually opened by a lanky man, slightly shorter than Dave, who wore a salmon colored shirt and beige khaki pants. His heating system was one that worked very well, and the warmth from inside was inviting.

“Hello. I see you’ve brought a friend,” said the man.

“Yes, I have,” answered Dave, making it known which of the two was the writer. They shook hands and were invited inside. The part of the house that was visible from the entrance was large and furnished nicely with leather seating arrangement, a large television, and antique wooden tables; the rest of the house was decorated with the same superfluous motif.

“Let’s go to my office were we can discuss what I have in mind,” proposed the man.

“I would much rather read this book in my pocket and not be a bother,” said Charlie.

“Alright then, you may do so. Watch TV if you want or have something to drink.” The invitation to abuse the man’s hospitality was accepted humbly by Charlie.

Dave was led up a staircase, down a wide corridor, and into a medium sized room.

The man walked around a wooden office table and sat in a leather chair, and Dave sat opposite him in a chair of slightly lower quality.

“I enjoyed what you submitted to me very much.”

“Well, I try my best.”

“I think you have some real talent, which I would like to exploit for personal gain.” Dave nodded. “I have lots of money, and if you write something of high quality, I will publish it.”

“Okay,” said Dave, not quite understanding what the point of the meeting was.

“I want you to concentrate on your writing; I will give you ten thousand dollars as encouragement, but you must sign this contract, for legal reasons.”

Charlie had been looking through the cupboards for something to eat; he had found nothing and went to the bathroom to inspect the medicine cabinet in search for incriminating medicines. His search was interrupted by approaching footsteps, and he quickly shut the door and flushed the toilet; when he emerged, Dave was putting his shoes on and Mike Schiller was supervising.

“Any place to eat around here?” asked Dave.

“Yeah, make a left when you pull out of my driveway and go straight until you can go either left or right; go right and follow the signs to Norway Park Activity Center; on your way there you will pass the Blue Moon Diner. Stop there to eat.”

“Okay,” said Dave, and the two shook hands. Charlie walked around them and put on his shoes; when he looked up, he was given a condescending look by Mike Schiller.

The two left the house and followed his directions to the diner. Charlie ordered a sixteen-ounce steak meal; the potato, vegetables, salad, and soup that came with it were eaten by Dave. The conversation began with a discussion of movies recently watched during the day by Charlie and ended with the statement, “Let’s go to the park. We might as well because we’re nearby,” being made by Dave.

The park was empty except for Dave, Charlie, and the owners of a plum-colored car. When approaching the parking lot, one traveled down a winding road to an oval of available parking spaces. This area was surrounded by newly planted pine trees and the stumps of trees that were there before; the remnants of these trees could also be seen distributed throughout the park in the form of wood chips, either in large piles or scattered about. There were two handicapped parking spaces, several wooden tables stained with fungus and bird feces, and rectangular patches of dead grass where portable bathrooms once stood.

The activity center was a white building, most likely the former home of a deceased native who wished not to burden his children with tax payments and instead donated the house to the county. Inside were two restrooms and two rooms used for various activities, presently empty except for a wooden clothes rack and a shelf used for holding outdated park-related pamphlets.

The park was a series of elliptical paths that encompassed bare fields that were sometimes used for growing corn; the wooded area contained paths covered in sand and dried leaves. Native to this park were a variety of birds, rodents, rabbits, and deer, as well as several cats and dogs that had been neglected by their owners and had become feral. Dave and Charlie walked down a downward path, which was actually grass that was mowed amongst tall grass, and were informed that they must yield to bicycle, people, and horse traffic; several feet ahead they were informed by a similar sign that the dried out pond currently filed with weeds and rash-inducing plants was called “Indian Springs.” A similar sign indicated that ahead was “Norway Ramble.”

“What’s a ramble?” asked Charlie.

“Don’t know; let’s find out.” They walked up an inclined path that opened into a large circle. Walking toward the left, they entered a shaded path that slowly led uphill. They walked without speaking, but a tree they passed began a short dialog.

“Look at that,” said Dave, referring to a tree that had a large hole in its trunk with two smaller holes above it. A branch projected outward from above the larger hole, causing the tree to appear as though it had a face.

“Looks like it has a face,” added Charlie, ending any possibility of further discussion concerning the tree’s pseudo-face.

Ahead, the path went uphill toward a black iron gate. They reached the top and walked toward the right, where they entered an area covered with dry leaves and uprooted trees that were beginning to decompose. At this point Charlie announced he had to urinate and walked away from the path toward a more secluded area. When Charlie was no longer in Dave’s field of view, Dave shouted, “No, that’s not a bear; it’s just Charlie urinating.”

Dave waited for Charlie’s return, which never came. He looked at his watch and approximated that five minutes had passed. Dave sat on one of the decaying trees and moved leaves with a twig in an attempt to waste time until Charlie’s return. Dave thought of walking as being the act of avoiding one’s starting point; for this reason, Dave returned to his car to wait for Charlie.

Charlie, in an attempt to return to Dave, walked in the opposite direction. He knew he was not going the right way because he was not yet on the trail, but he continued in the same manner because he thought that eventually he would reach some sort of path. Instead he was met by a small wooden fence, which he stepped over, placing himself on the side of a road. Not knowing where he was, he continued to walk, hoping to meet someone who could help him. Eventually he reached a small grocery store and walked inside to ask where the park was. Charlie was told that the park was very close, but because of the way the town was built he would have to walk much farther along the road to get there.

Charlie began to walk and on his way passed a bus stop; he continued to walk and then heard a noise similar to that of a bus, and when he turned around he saw that it was in fact a bus. Conveniently, this bus’s destination was the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Manhattan; Charlie, due to his lack of interest in walking and disregard for Dave, entered the bus and in exchange for six dollars and sixty-five cents was driven to New York.

Dave was unaware of this and waited at the park until its closing time at five o’clock. He spent his time reading and walking, and at one point attached a note, from inside his car, to his window informing Charlie, if he would happen to walk by, that Dave was eating at the Blue Moon Diner; but when he returned there was no Charlie, and Dave was forced to concede defeat and return home to Brooklyn.

Charlie arrived home and did not call Dave to tell him he was alive and was not mauled by a bear or eaten by small rodents; instead he spent the evening in the company of a lady-friend and other acquaintances. Dave had arrived home and discovered the same message left both on his answering machine and his electronic mail box: a person had seen his advertisement and wished to employ Dave and Charlie’s investigative skills for reasons unknown.

7

Dave and Charlie were waiting patiently for both their meal and their possible client. It was arranged that the three would meet in the Denver Diner in Bensonhurst, located across the street from a discounted clothing store that the two planned on visiting after the meeting. They ordered a large dinner consisting of a twelve ounce steak, salad, soup, clam stuffed with imitation crab meat and a flounder fillet with the same filling, as well as a dessert, beverage of choice, and platter of various vegetables and salads including celery, radishes, and chickpeas. All of the aforementioned foods were intended for one person, but the meal would be spilt amongst the three. Such a meal could be purchased for twenty dollars, and for this reason the diner was always crowded.

The table the two were sitting at had three chairs; opposite each chair was a paper place mat explaining how to mix various alcoholic beverages. Charlie studied the directions carefully and was surprised to find a beverage that featured butter as an ingredient, but he kept this information to himself. The diner was filled with conversations in various languages, but Dave and Charlie’s table remained quiet. Charlie was mentally arranging the beverages in the order that they appealed to him most while Dave remained motionless, staring at a painting across the room. The painting was of a young woman near a lake, leaning against a tree and fanning herself with a piece of paper. To Dave she began to lose her form and so did her surroundings; slowly he began to take notice of individual dots that made up the picture. He became dizzy and rubbed his eyes with his palms, and when he finished, a platter of vegetables was being placed on the table.

Onto a small plate Dave placed several spoonfuls of chickpeas, a cold radish, and a stalk of celery. Charlie did the same, adding a buttered piece of bread to his serving.

Dave broke the silence, “This is the best diner I know of.”

“I agree,” Charlie said with no hesitation. “When is this fellow supposed to come?”

Dave placed a radish into his mouth and began to chew it and produce what would be considered loud crunching noises if they could be heard. He covered his mouth with his hand and attempted to speak while chewing, “He said around seven thirty.”

“What’s his name?” asked Charlie while dipping a celery stalk into a plastic cup of blue cheese sauce.

“Ron Carlomeion.”

Soon after the name was said, a dark haired man who seemed to be in a hurry entered the room. He repeated the phrase, “excuse me,” as he forced people out of his way.

“Hello gentlemen,” he said and the two reached out their hands so that they could be shook, although no one wanted any shaking. “No thank you,” he replied. The gesture was rude, but left the two satisfied.

“There’s no need for introductions. I’ll get right down to business. I want you to go to Foodland and buy a lot of tuna because when you buy tuna you get a bonus ten Foodoints in addition to the regular ten foodoints per dollar. I’ll give you money so you can get me enough foodoints so I can go on a three month cruise, then you’ll return the tuna and keep a fourth of its cost.”

The two nodded and were unable to speak. The man was so rude that it made him charming. “Here is where I can be reached. If you decide to accept, call me tomorrow at ten PM the latest. If you decide against it, call anyway to tell me or don’t call at all and I will assume that you will not aid me in my endeavor. I will give you an extension until noon of the day after tomorrow to decide. So, really, the deadline is noon of the day after tomorrow. Everything clear?”

He had to know how obnoxious he was; there was no way it was unintentional. He was as unpleasant as three nuisances at the same time. It was possible that he was the physical manifestation of hair being pulled out by the roots.

“Good. Now, if you excuse me, I must go; they’re giving away free chicken at the bank.” The man got up, knocked over all of the beverages on the table, and left.

“Wait, if they’re serving free chicken at the bank, why are we eating here?” asked Charlie.

“There’s no free chicken; that guy’s just a bigger idiot than you are,” said Dave, his voice raised slightly so as to be heard over the obscenities being exchanged between Ron Carlomeion, a man who he accidentally pushed into a chocolate cake, and a woman who he knocked a pitcher of water onto.

“Oh,” sighed Charlie, “So that means we’re going to accept his offer?”

“No!” answered Dave so loudly that people turned to see the cause of such an exclamation, “way that we’re getting all this food for twenty dollars plus dessert,” he added, sensing the animosity dissipate building in the crowded room as the people agreed approvingly. “First, if we were to agree we’d call tomorrow, and second, we’re not calling.”

That was the end of that as a topic of discussion. The meal was enjoyable and a twenty percent tip was left. They crossed the street and partook on some shopping; spending twenty minutes looking for a belt they didn’t find and then left the store with a can of poppy seed pie filling that Charlie planned on eating as his breakfast. The two parted at the store’s exit: Dave went home to sleep, and Charlie went home to call Ron Carlomeion to confirm his appointment as an investor, followed promptly by sleep.

The meeting was arranged in front of a Foodland so large that the words “Power House of Nourishment,” appeared as a subscript after every appearance of the aforementioned store’s name. Charlie was told to arrive at ten and that there was no need to describe how Ron would be arriving, only that he would be. Charlie waited patiently in front of a row of tool sheds that could be mistaken for small houses due to their windows, vinyl siding, and doors equipped with functioning knobs, mail slots, and the occasional peep hole.

Suddenly, without warning, as most sudden events are, an apple hit Charlie in the back of the head. Charlie felt the back of his head with the palm of his hand, and the nape of his neck felt the apple’s juice run beneath his shirt. The experience was not painful, but it was unpleasant. Charlie looked around for the person who was to receive a good thrashing, or at least a pummeling, but either way it meant no more than a crooked smile and slanted eyes aimed at the assailant. Charlie spun slowly, examining his surroundings, and what he discovered was Ron Carlomeion, staring blankly at him from inside a tool shed. Charlie cautiously approached the small building, trying to act inconspicuous by taking large steps and keeping his arms at his sides, with wrists protruding forward and fingers extended awkwardly.

Ron opened the door and introduced himself, “The name’s Carlomeion: Mr. Carlomeion.” Charlie wanted to strangle his host, but instead he decided to give curt responses to any forthcoming inquiry.

“I know,” said Charlie after stepping inside. “We’ve met before, Mr.--”

At this point he was interrupted, “Call me Ron.”

“Yes, well, as I was saying: we’ve already--”

“Actually, call me Mr. Carlomeion.”

“We’ve already--”

“Call me Kyle.”

Charlie put both of his hands over his face and slowly slid them downward, compressing his cheeks and stretching his lower lip toward his chin as he released a groan of irritation. He looked about the small room, thinking if it would really be a crime to kill a man as odious as Kyle. He decided against it. Instead, he was marveled by the room’s interior. It was a tool shed that looked like a house, but inside it was a small office. Bordering a window was a plastic patio table and two chairs of the same material. In the back wall was a small hole through which a telephone cable and extension cord traveled, powering a variety of electronic devices, including a miniature refrigerator, which Kyle approached and opened to reveal beverages and snacks.

“Mr. Chapman,” said Kyle, “would you like a small bottle of seltzer, or maybe an ice-cream sandwich?”

“I’ll have one of each,” said Charlie, seating himself in the chair that stood adjacent to the entrance. “I know someone who works at a funeral parlor and he’s going to let me borrow a hearse to transport the tuna.”

“Okay.”

“And then, well, that’s pretty much it. I can do it tomorrow, actually; all I will need is the money,” said Charlie, noticing an employee of Food Land approaching the tool shed with a determined look on his face.

“I’ll go with you,” he replied, and at that moment the door was opened with such force that, after hitting the wall, the knob became embedded in it.

“What the crap is going on?” exclaimed a pimply-faced teenager. The two leapt off of their seats and Kyle began to explain himself, but was interrupted. “Are you leaching power from the store?”

“That’s a good question,” said Kyle while moving toward the mini-fridge.

“And are all of these things from inside?”

“Let me ask you a question first,” said Kyle, leaning against the refrigerator, “Would you like an iced tea or Popsicle?” Without hearing the answer, the two aforementioned items were thrown at the employee and Kyle ran toward the wall and knocked it off of its frame and to the ground. The employee chased after him, shouting the word “security.” During this time, Charlie was able to slink off undetected.

Charlie spent the remainder of the day preparing for the adventure that he would have the following day. This activity, however, only took up three of his hours, and the afternoon was spent making a miniature version of himself out of clay, which he wanted to harden by baking, but instead melted in the process.

Dave began to delve into stand-up comedy. He decided to combine two methods that he saw were successful for other comedians: observational and anecdotal humor. Instead of discussing things that were obscure or telling stories that few could relate to, he poked fun at the foibles of television, his local shopping center, and retold stories that were humorous due to their outrageous nature. He did not perform his material in front of a live audience, but instead dialed numbers at random, but not so random that they were long distance phone calls, and told whoever answered his insightful, although often times trivial, observations.

An example of one such conversation went as follows.

“Hello, sir or madam, you have been selected to participate in a study group for the purpose of determining whether certain material is offensive or not,” Dave would say, while attempting to sound like a recording, “If you wish to aid our organization, please stay on the line and a representative will be with you shortly. If at any time you wish to end this session, please hang up without hesitation. Since you have not disconnected the call as of yet it will be assumed that you are interested.”

If at this point the other party remained attentive, Dave would begin to read some pieces from his notepad. “Little Jimmy found a banana in his father’s closet hidden in a metal tin. He thought it was funny, but he wasn’t laughing after he accidentally shot his brother with it. Kids are always eating crazy stuff, and that’s why companies put `non-toxic’ on art supplies; this wouldn’t be a problem if crayons weren’t called plum, cotton candy, or macaroni and cheese. There are choking warnings on toys for a similar reason: kids are often tricked into putting toys in their mouths, and not just by other children, adults do it too. `Come on, Billy, you can’t fit the whole toy in your mouth. And you know that all the little pieces taste the best, don’t you?’” After several hours of testing the material, Dave had an eight-minute bit worthy of a comedy club appearance, but it would take much practice and praise for him to accrue enough confidence to perform it.

Kyle rocked gently back and forth inside a metal helicopter, an amusement intended for a child, but thoroughly enjoyed by an adult. “Are you ready?” asked Charlie, to whom Kyle responded by raising his hand, a signal that further waiting would be necessary. Thirty seconds later, an exchange of brief phrases was made.

“I can’t go inside; they have pictures of me hanging up with the caption `arrest this man,’” explained Kyle, and handed Charlie a debit card and a Foodland Passport To Savings. “I made this account so you could buy tuna. The limit is sixty thousand dollars, so spend wisely.”

“On tuna.”

“Yes, on tuna. Goodbye.” Kyle walked away, but not before walking carelessly in front of a car, which frightened the driver and caused him to perform several evasive maneuvers that concluded with crashing into a blue sedan.

Charlie collected all of the tuna in the store, paid for it, and loaded it into his borrowed hearse. After each transaction, the collected tuna would be unloaded in an air-conditioned storage unit. Twenty-eight stores were visited, and by eight in the evening Charlie had accumulated enough Foodoints for a three-month cruise. The experience had tired him, and once he arrived home he went straight to bed on his couch. He dreamed that he was wandering through a house that was not his own. Charlie was unsupervised in this house and was therefore free to rummage as much as he pleased. His curiosity, however, was his downfall. After opening the door of a bathroom medicinal cabinet, he was attacked by bees, whose stingers chased him as he screamed, “Bees, bees, bees!”

Charlie was startled out of his slumber by the ringing of his doorbell. He looked at a nearby digital clock and discovered that it was two in the morning. A buzzer did not sound prior to the ringing of the bell, which meant that the intercom system had not been employed to gain access to the building. Immediately Charlie concluded that he was to be the victim of a door-to-door type mugging. He reached for a bottle of Citrus-fist, an all-purpose cleaner that he hoped to blind the assailant with while he beat him with a long handled shoehorn that he held in his other hand. The attack was more mental than physical because it was not a robber that stood on the other side of the door but Kyle, who was much more unpleasant.

“Hello,” he said as he entered the apartment, rubbing mud on the floor.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Yeah, two in the morning. A bit late for cleaning, isn’t it?” he asked.

“No, I was going to spray you in the eyes with that,” said Charlie, fully awake and rather perturbed.

“Do you have my card?” without a reply Charlie removed the rectangular piece of plastic from his pocket, shoved it in the hand of Kyle, and kicked him out the door. Charlie watched the nuisance walk down the corridor toward the elevator. He pressed the doorbell of an apartment building, thinking it was the button needed to activate the lift, but instead the only thing lifted were elderly people out of their beds.

From this point on, Kyle will be absent from the story; he will be busy with his three-month all-inclusive cruise.

Charlie waited three days until attempting to return some of the tuna.

“Hello,” said Charlie to the young, dark haired girl who stood behind the counter of the customer service center, “I would like to return this tuna.”

“Sorry, sir,” she said promptly, “we’re not allowed to accept food in such large quantities. If you were returning a single can of tuna, or three at most, it would be okay, but two cartfulls is pushing it.”

Charlie was abashed; it felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach after having told him that his car was towed at his expense. “Could you check again?” he asked, his voice quivering.

“Sir, there’s nothing to check. It’s like you going to a nursery, buying several trees, planting them, uprooting them a week and a half later, and then trying to return them. We don’t want your uprooted tuna, sir. Goodbye.”

Charlie walked away, mumbling to himself, “Oh no, what am I going to do? I’m in trouble. This is no good. Why? No. Come on. What is this?” and other phrases of a similar nature. He had a big obstacle to deal with, but the easiest way to solve a problem was to make it somebody else’s, and that was his exact intention.

8

Dave awoke and did not expect to find two hundred cans of tuna blocking his doorway, but that’s what made it such a surprise. A note provided an explanation. “Dave, while you’re getting rid of this tuna, could you take care of the two thousand or so cans by my house? Thanks.”

Dave phoned Charlie, attempting to better understand the logic behind his actions.

“You didn’t have to put all of that tuna in front of my door; all you had to do was ask for my help.”

“Yeah, but you might have said no.”

“No matter how you cut it, a cow is a cow.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there’s no excuse for your behavior. Nonetheless, I’ll be come by and help you.”

“Thanks,” said Charlie, and was about to begin to talk about something banal, but he was told that if he wished to make a call he had to hang up and try again.

Dave was dressed and ready to go; he had collected many plastic bags and planned on filling them with the tuna, but he discovered that it had all been stolen by his fellow tenants. Dave was surprised, and partly flabbergasted. Had the neighbors left some sort of canned fish or processed meat product, or even vanilla wafers, he would not have been at all tempted to steal them. Dave was disgusted, but comforted with the knowledge that he would live to see them die.

Dave arrived at Charlie’s apartment with little, if not any, effort; the same, however, could not be said about the conversation the two were to have.

“What are we going to do?” asked Dave, abashed by the situation.

“We can make the world’s largest tuna salad,” replied Charlie, trying to conceal the product of great thinking in the guise of impromptu.

“Yes, and then we can serve it to the world’s largest land mammal, the elephant, with the world’s largest glass of the world’s cheapest wine,” said Dave patronizingly while maintaining an earnest dignity. “Then after it’s hopped up on tryptophan we’ll shove it in the world’s biggest pair of pants.”

“Shut up. The solution isn’t as easy as you think. We can’t just give this tuna away.”

“Sure we can. That’s actually my idea. We’ll choose a non-profit charity that collects food for whatever purpose and give it all to them. But this is going to be a very time consuming operation, so you’re going to owe me.”

“Owe you like `pick me up at the airport,’ owe you like `hey, man, I need a kidney,’ or owe you like `I need you to smuggle this cocaine across the border in your lower intestine?’”

“The latter is just an exaggerated version of the second choice, but, yeah, more like that.”

Charlie paused to think, and demonstrated his pensiveness by cupping his chin between his thumb and pointer finger and massaging it with the two. “You’re not going to need a kidney any time soon, right?”

“I may or may not, that’s not the point. I’m going to start on this tuna business some time in the near future. Now I will leave, but first I’m going to rummage through your fridge and take a beverage.” Dave did as he described so quickly that Charlie did not have time to express his approval of the plan.

The events that ensued are not as exciting as one would imagine, and therefore will be omitted. The tuna was successfully donated to Food for the Destitute, an organization whose motto is, “The Homeless: they’re everyone’s problem.” News of Dave’s generosity spread through the city and he received several congratulatory phone calls, letters of praise, and an invitation to appear on a local late night talk show. The time prior to the latter was spent by Dave perfecting his stand-up comedy routine, and with no contact with Charlie, who was seen as a distraction and a time burglar.

Charlie was preoccupied with his own endeavor: the purchase of one thousand scratch and win lottery tickets. Certain companies release themed games for a limited amount of time, but with increased odds of winning comes a decreased jackpot. The amount of time invested totaled three days, earning Charlie a profit of two dollars, which he spent on pie.

The night of Dave’s television appearance came sooner than he expected, which made him even more nervous than before. The show, however, would not be seen by many as it was a show that appeared only on public broadcast stations, at obscure times, and was an unpopular show on top of that.

The studio was of medium size and was also the location of several other shows and the monthly fundraising. The latter was an event that irritated Dave, as well as many other people; the station would show its most popular programs, and then interrupt them every twenty minutes so that they could ask the audience for money. They couldn’t pull off such odious behavior at other stations, but because it’s public broadcasting it’s okay, although it shouldn’t be.

Dave arrived too early because he didn’t want to be late. He busied himself by sampling various foodstuffs that were offered to him and by exploring the building. Few things could have caused Dave to deviate from his path; a closet labeled “props” was such a thing. Dave explored the room and saw many strange hats and an abundance of plastic weaponry. He was about to pull on a cord that was attached to a deflated mass, what sort he was intending to find out, but he heard that the door was soon to be opened.

Dave did what anyone should do, but would not do, in such a scenario. He approached the entrance and stood in the area where he would be concealed when the door was opened, and once the latter occurred he would leap and scream at the person, causing them to yelp in fear.

“Why did you do that?” asked a young woman who was probably an intern, but may not have been.

“Oh, that guy told me to scare you,” said Dave coyly.

“You mean the big guy with the blonde hair and the pig’s nose?”

“No, the lanky guy with glasses and the pierced ear.”

“You mean Barry?”

“Yeah. And now I must go.” Dave slowly exited the room, and ran as soon he was out of the intern’s field of view. He soon heard his name being called over the intercom, but he did not know where he was inside the building. Dave used the nearest exit, walked to the front, and then found the studio to which he was being asked to go.

Dave suddenly experienced a sharp pain in his stomach, a tightening of the throat, and dizziness, which most would describe as symptoms of nervousness or dying. He entered the room and saw that it was filled with nearly fifty people, all of whom were not there to see him. He was told by the floor manager how to put on a microphone, when his appearance would be made, and how he should behave while in front of a camera.

Before Dave was to be interviewed, a local politician spoke about the poor conditions of public education, stressing that there is nothing bright about a dim future. This was followed by local musicians, although referring to them by such a name would be an insult to artists, good and poor, of any form of expression. Their style was one commonly explored at that time: the sound of retching accompanied by abrasive guitar chords. The final twelve minutes of the program were to be partly filled with a brief discussion with Dave and a second performance by Tainted Fetus, who would perform their only song, Drown the Baby.

“Next we will speak to a man whose remarkable act of generosity earned him an appearance on this program.” After the man spoke, the audience applauded apathetically.

The man stood to greet Dave with a handshake, and Dave panicked. He did not know how to shake a hand. Squeeze hard, grasp gently, and how long? these were all questions that Dave knew not the answer to, and for this reason he slapped the hand. It was a playful slap, one that could not be misconstrued as an act of aggression or disrespect.

The two sat down. Dave sat uneasily in a chair that was two small for him. He cupped his knees and chuckled awkwardly. To Dave the room spun, causing him to feel nauseated, and this feeling he blamed on the host, who sensed Dave’s animosity and tried to remove it.

“Well, Mr. Freeman, can I call you Dave?” Dave nodded and answered faintly. “Good. I must say: I was quite impressed by your donation. If any of you,” he turned away from Dave and faced the audience, pointing at them with a pen he held in his hand, “have read last week's issue of Brooklyn Times, which you might not have done because it’s a very local paper, there was a snippet about this man here, who donated about sixty-thousand cans of tuna to charity.” This comment triggered applause.

Dave, who had been starring at the bottom row of the audience, looked up to face the host. He was a slim man, with dark hair speckled with gray. His face was kind, and had a miniscule amount of stubble, which connoted a grandfatherly appearance in a man who was no more than fifty years of age. Dave realized that the man meant no harm, and decided to take an active participation in his interview.

“Why tuna?”

“I had a lot of it and I couldn’t possibly eat that much.”

“So you gave it all away?”

“That’s right.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this man is a real philanthropist.”

“And I write my own jokes, too.” The dialog was moving quickly, and Dave had said something that he hadn’t meant to say.

“Really?”

“Oh yes, like a stand-up comedian.”

“Well, I think we’d all be delighted to hear your material. Go over there were the band was playing and talk into the middle microphone.”

Dave got up, and as he walked he felt that he was ready for his performance. The only thing that troubled him was his movement. He knew not where he would place his hands, whether he should hold the microphone or stand next to it, but these things would be decided shortly. It was too late to think for he had already started talking.

“Sometimes I like to go to my local shopping center and walk around, criticizing their products. I particularly enjoy the gummy products, shaped like turtles but flavored as limes –it makes me feel as though I’m missing out. But, apparently, people would rather eat something shaped like a worm rather than an orange. I mean, it’s food, shape it like what it’s supposed to taste like or at least gelatinous mass shape. Fish don’t taste like crackers and crackers aren’t fish; but the ones I’m referring to bear a smile and wear sunglasses, so not only are they being eaten, they’re eaten with style. It’s like the little peanut-man with his top hat and monocle. Do you know how he got those? He sold his friends out and you ate them.

Food manufacturers seem to have trouble naming their products; I’ve seen drinks with names like Surfer Cooler or Pacific Quencher with pictures of little people playing on the beach; this leads me to believe that people is a main ingredient.

Blueberry Blast, Tropical Fruit Mambo, Ruby Red Tangerine Extreme: what’s so extreme about this juice? Nothing, they just want to make it more exciting; well I don’t want to drink anything that’s going to make me explode, combust, or dance.

There’s Jell-o and now there’s Extreme Jell-o, Jell-o to the max. Of course extreme is spelled with out the “E” and there’s no difference between the two, but I am told that when ‘X’ is accented in such a way it means drugs, so apparently there is a difference.

There are chips that come in bottles; this way one gets fatter faster and then they choke. “Dangerously cheesy,” is used to describe cheese puffs. I would think marketing would want to avoid the word dangerous. ‘No this has too much cheese, it may kill you.’ it may deter possible consumers.

I like these stores that try to please everyone with their large selection, which may range from socks to electronics. But, with more variety comes a greater selection of things you don’t need. Like the unnecessary car accessory section, which specializes in big fluffy pink dice, seat covers, steering wheel covers—basically cover covers. Next to that is the air freshener section, featuring the foot-shaped air freshener. Why feet? Feet are associated with foul odor, not mint. There are no cherry-scented feet walking around to my knowledge.

Then there are collectable items. What makes an item collectable? Writing collectable on it makes it collectable. But to be collectable the object has to relate to something of importance: ‘You’ve seen the cartoon, now buy the shampoo. You’ve seen the movie, now own the candle.’ If one has to give a gift, there’s always Genuine Replicas: the original sells for thousands, yours does not; or the paperweight, which is the equivalent of giving someone a rock as a present.

Toy department is fun to visit, get to see what adults think children will enjoy. There are the dolls behind glass cases; they’re for looking at, not playing with. Then there’s the plush toy you hit to get it to talk, which teaches children that hitting others is fun. Some things say ‘non-toxic’, which needs to be known if it is a product that children are likely to eat; this could be avoided if crayons weren’t called ‘plum,’ ‘cotton candy,’ or ‘macaroni and cheese.’ These companies know what they’re doing; kids like macaroni and cheese.

Greeting card companies seem to be the only companies for whom it is acceptable to make up holidays to sell their products. There seems to be a card for almost every occasion, although I’ve yet to see a ‘heard you had a boil removed’ card. But greeting card companies are not without a sense of irony, which can be seen with their Arbor Day campaign.

The alternative to going to such a store is buying a gift from one of the many catalogs that comes to your house. Of course, this only works if the person who's going to get the gift really wants a rubber dog’s head that barks when anyone walks by, a talking bottle opener, or giant pillow shaped as a banana.”

The audience applauded earnestly. Dave didn’t know what to do next and was relieved when the host approached, shook his hand, and whispered, “Walk off the stage.” After leaving the stage, Dave continued to hear the loud clapping, which ceased abruptly when it was announced the band would play. If asked to describe them, Dave would say, “If crud went for a walk and stepped in something, they would be the crud in crud’s shoes.”

“That was fantastic,” said someone.

“Well, I tried my best.” Another hand approached Dave, which he held but would not shake.

“I’m Bret Hankinson, host of Getting Witty With It: a weekly, half hour long, program dedicated to creativity. I really enjoyed your set and think you would be great for a project I’m working on.” Dave made a noise. None in particular, just a noise produced by forcing air into the area between his upper lip and gums and forcing it out through his teeth. “Stop by my office anytime this week.” The man presented a business card to Dave.

“If I soak it in water will it become a sponge?”

“You can soak it in water, but then you’ll just have some wet paper.” Bret shook Dave’s hand while Dave wiggled his finger against Bret’s palm, thinking, “That’ll show him. Shake my hand? I’ll shake his face. What? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m leaving.”

The following day Dave went to the office; he had time to do so because he was unemployed. He entered the building and asked the security clerk where the office of Bret Hankinson was located, but the clerk refused to answer because Dave fit the description of a suspicious character; a character, however, from a fifties detective film. A call was required to grant entry. “Mr. Hankinson, it’s me, Steve from security.” A pause followed. “Yes, sir, I understand.” A second pause. “But I explained already, calling you that makes me uncomfortable.” A third and final pause. “Fine, Laura,” he shuddered, “there’s a Mr.,” he pointed to Dave, who answered, “Freeman, here to see you. He says he doesn’t know who you are. The stand up comedian, sir, I mean Laura. Okay, I’ll send him right up.”

Dave walked toward a turnstile type gate to access the elevator area, but he was not allowed to pass. “You have to sign in,” said Steve. Dave did so, leaving his name, date, time of arrival, and an estimated departure.

“Wait,” Steve demanded, “You didn’t sign your name.”

“I did,” said Dave, but Steve disagreed.

“No, I need a signature and this is in print.” Dave re-wrote his name, which did not satisfy Steve. He signed in a second time, “What?” Steve added, “I can’t read that. Do it again.” Several minutes were spent in such a manner, and Dave began to despise Steve. His face, laden with every blemish one can have, and several others previously limited only to canines. His hair, unkempt and greasy, shared the scalp with flakes ranging in size from grains of salt to slithered almonds. His odor: a pungent stench exactly like stagnant water, the type one would encounter in a wooded area. He was truly an ugly man.

“You know,” said Dave, “a scientist once said that ugly people travel in packs; he must have seen you and assumed you were eight ugly people at the same time.”

“Pardon?” said Steve, abashed,

“God made darkness so we could see less of you.”

“I understand,” he said, lowering his head, possibly to conceal tears. Dave proceeded to ask earnest questions that were insulting in nature, which ultimately led to, “Let me help you.” In which way, Steve wanted to know. “By providing you with a skin treatment the likes of which you have never dreamed.”

“You mean a shower?”

“Yes, I will bring you to the guy who cleans dogs. He’s very friendly, or at least the dog seems to think so,” but Steve did not find this amusing. “Seriously,” continued Dave, “I will arrange something.” Dave offered his business card and Steve accepted; however, Dave did not have a business card; instead he wrote his information on a gum wrapper.

Dave arrived at the office and was greeted by Bret, some woman, and a guy whose name he did not know. “Dave Freeman,” said Bret, pointing at him, “Meet Storm Window and Jonathan Steele.” Unpleasant hand shaking ensued. Their names, fictitious or not, were what Dave called them.

“Dave,” said Storm Window, “here is our problem: one of our clients runs a law group that specializes in accidents that affect one’s appearance. We need a commercial that says what happened to you is not all right and you should be remunerated.”

Dave thought, and then answered, “Well, this could work: an unattractive woman appears in front of a black screen and says, `Hello, do you look like a man? If so, you probably are one or suffer from a horrible disease known to doctors only as lookalikeaman syndrome. Now, you can try appearance altering cosmetics, surgery, or hormones, but, as you can tell with me, it doesn’t work.’ Then she’s pushed out of the way by a lawyer who says, `so call one eight hundred oh dear, and we’ll take the euch out of you.’”

“That was excellent,” said Jonathan Steele, and both Bret and Storm Window concurred. Dave was told to leave soon after and that he would be summoned once more when his services would be needed. No payment was discussed, as neither parties felt one was necessary.

Charlie called Dave, and Dave taunted him with an impromptu quip. “You’re one crazy bastard, Chapman, and I’ve had enough of your renegade ways.” Each sentence was followed by a pause where Charlie questioned the sincerity of Dave’s comments. “Twenty dollars worth of city damages, forty worth of unpaid parking tickets, and you spilled coffee on the cruiser’s upholstery. You’re a bad seed, Chapman, and I won’t let you be the rotten apple that spoils the whole bunch. I’ve had it with you. You’re suspended indefinitely, without pay! Now turn in your badge and gun.” The two had a good laugh, and Charlie proceeded to explain that he had been so satisfied with the outcome of the tuna collecting fiasco (it was a fiasco albeit its success) that he began collecting caps of his favorite fruit drink so he could get a dispensing machine and a year’s supply of said beverage. He had collected five thousand seventy six by placing collection baskets at various locations. Then, in six to eight weeks when he had his free drinks, he would work at a franchised sandwich shop, but only briefly so he could steal a roll of the free sandwich stamps. He would walk every day to said eatery and eat only sandwiches and drink only his fruit drinks, which may lead to weight loss similar to that of the kind he saw on television.

“You do realize,” asked Dave, “that you’re rich?”

“What?” said Charlie, the response Dave suspected he would receive. Both knew that it was only wishful thinking on Charlie’s part, the kind that young children are prone to enjoying.

Dave also told a story, explaining his first and second visit to the office. When he returned to the building, Steve, the foul-smelling security guard, had already been to a dermatologist. What sort of treatment he received was unknown to Dave, the results, however, were apparent. It was possible that he had been washed in glycolic acid or scalded to such a degree that the blemishes left of their own accord. The smell, unfortunately, remained, slightly more pungent than before. This problem had a simple solution: Dave walked across the street to a pet care store and purchased a spray used to mask the odor of urine in various fabrics. Steve smelled like a summer’s breeze, although he preferred a spring rain.

Dave entered the office and was greeted by the same group, consisting of Jonathan Steele, Storm Window, and Bret Hankinson. “Dave, your commercial was filmed and will go public some time in the near future,” said Bret, to which Dave replied by smiling lightly.

“Our next project is a product that allows you to attach wheels to almost any object.”

“Well,” thought Dave, “I think for a product with as much potential as that that there should be an infomercial.”

“Yes,” agreed the three, “That is good, but how do we market it?”

“I couldn’t sleep one night, so I turned on the TV, assuming that because I pay for cable it would be on all night, but I was mistaken. The majority of the channels had paid programming, as it was called, for a variety of products that are the same in almost every way. The only one that caught my attention was one in the style of a talk show. There was a host that had an opening monolog with jokes; there were guests that talked about the product; and a band that sang a song slightly pertaining to the product. Now, the way they were talking about it, I had no idea what it was. It could have been puppies, skin care, a pyramid scheme, it turned out to be a make your own donut kit, at which point I turned off the TV and was lolled to sleep with thoughts of how ridiculous the whole show had been. How fat and frugal does one have to be to make one’s own donuts? Anyway, your infomercial should be like a sitcom.”

“Alright, you write it and we’ll pay you.” Dave liked the sound of that, that being Storm Window’s voice; the idea itself seemed to be one that he would not enjoy. He was handed a variety of information on the topic, as well as a bag of refuse that he was asked to throw away. He left the office and passed a janitor, whom he gave the garbage to.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his mouth concealed by a grayed mustache and beard. “The man has more hair on his face than on the top of his head,” mused Dave.

“I’m giving you some garbage to throw away.”

“Oh, thanks,” said the man, “I really appreciate it. I’m on my break, you know.”

Dave apologized. “Oh, sorry,” mocked the janitor. “That makes it better. You think I like being a janitor? Oh, Jake, come here and wash the place where I go to the bathroom, clean up this mess I made while eating my expensive lunch that’s worth more than an hour of your services, my chair is uncomfortable, come and kneel on the ground so I can sit on you! What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a creative consultant,” answered Dave.

“Oh, well la dee da Mr. Funny Pants. How would you like it if you were walking down the street and a man slapped a manila envelope on your chest and said, `here, write a commercial for this product I wouldn’t even give as a gift to my janitor but would hoodwink others into buying so that I can be rich’?”

“Funny Pants? La dee da?” mumbled Dave, confused by the expressions used. “Listen, sir, I’m sorry you’re not treated nicely, but I have nothing to do with it. Throw this out because it’s your job.” Dave walked away, hearing his name cursed by the custodian. “I’ll remember you!” he said. “I’ll spite you good first chance I get.”

Dave was unafraid of the threat and walked to a bus stop farther away than necessary so that he could contemplate his assignment. More thinking took place during the bus ride, but to no avail. Even the time spent showering and the ten minutes before sleep was fruitless. Three days had passed before Dave went to a local pool club where he paid three dollars to walk inside of the pool, climbing the walls and floating with various objects, his favorite being a Styrofoam noodle. Once he returned home, Dave began to write. The story began with Phil, a man who drove a truck filled with his own possessions to his new home, and Fred, Phil’s friend, who was assisting him. The two arrived at the building that would be the new home and began to unload the truck, but before doing so were greeted by an attractive female neighbor and her equally attractive friend. After a brief conversation, in which the phrases, “If someone asked how I felt about you I would answer, ‘that person is alright by me,’ and ‘You’re so wonderful that I want to cut off your skin and wear it as a jacket,’ were employed, it was discovered that Phil and Fred had much in common with the two and that a meeting at a later time would be very enjoyable; the ladies agreed and a time was set. The two men attempted to move a sofa, but found that it was very difficult. Noticing that their newly introduced love interests were watching, Phil and Fred were abashed because moving the furniture would be a very arduous task that they were too weak to complete.

They went to a pirate-themed variety store where all employees were forced to encompass traits of the pirate lifestyle in both vernacular and dress.

“Arg me maties, what’s up?” said a man too fat to be a pirate.

“I need something to make moving easier,” said Phil.

“Shiver me timbers and punch my face, come over here.” The two followed as the man limped, a limp whose authenticity was increased by the presence of a peg leg and a constantly updated bruise created by the manager. They approached a display that read,

“Add a Wheel: add mobility to objects that lack it,” and featured a wheel with a face, legs, arms, and all of the other parts of a person called Ada Wheel, the female mascot that encourages wheels on things that don’t have them, even if it’s for a good reason.

“Arg, wheels have been used for thousands of years, but only now are they being used to their full potential, arg.”

“You mean I can put wheels on a chair?”

“Yo ho ho, you can put them on anything,” said the pirate, swinging his arm in a way that pirates did not swing.

“Can I put it on a couch?”

“Arg me matey, you can put it on anything.”

“Can I put it on a heavy coffee table?”

“Shiver me timbers, do you hear me not? You can put it on anything.”

“Can I put it on a washer slash drier?”

“Arg, I’ll slash you and make you walk the plank. It goes on anything, got it you filthy sea vermin?” The pirate removed three packages from their wall hanger unit and forced them into the arms of Phil. “Now get out of here, arg, before I make you fish food.”

The two left and discovered that assembly was simple, so simple that if assembly had a physical manifestation that could be quantified, then very many would be an apt description of how much there is, meaning that it’s very easy. The two ladies were impressed and went out to dinner. Afterwards, they all returned to Phil’s new home and played various games with Add a Wheel, such as attaching it to shoes to create roller blades, or to chairs to make roller chairs. The program ended with Fred saying, “This thing is wheelie great,” and then a wheel was thrown at his face, causing both great pain and laughter to ensue. Theme music played, ending credits were shown, and ordering information was provided. Then the program was repeated two more times, making a total of three viewings in a half-hour period.

The above was presented to Bret, Storm, and Jonathan, and they were delighted with it to such an extent that they immediately began filming.

“And they finished filming it yesterday,” said Dave, nearing the conclusion of his story.

“How did it go?” asked Charlie.

“Very well. They showed it to a test audience and they reacted with both laughter and an interest in the product. So much so that I was invited to an office party, for which I am leaving right now.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m just saying that because I want to go to this health club I was at recently. It’s great; they have so much stuff, including an indoor track, exercise room, climbing wall, table tennis, racquetball court, and probably other stuff I haven’t seen yet. I’m going to become a member. You should too.”

“Okay,” said Charlie, delighted by both his friend’s success and the discovery of this pool-club, which would provide him with, in theory, a great deal of fun.

The two met and had a great time at the club, and discussed the possibility of an even greater time if there was no male nudity in the locker room.

The party of which Dave spoke took place three nights later, and a wonderful time was had by all who attended. There were drinks, food, music, and mingling. Dave had eaten, danced, and met many nice people.

“Hey, Dave,” said Bret, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Joe Hanson.” After the dreaded handshaking there was a brief five-second period, during which a man holding a platter asked, “Duck?” and Dave commented, “I know,” causing a chuckle on the part of Joe Hanson and creating a friendly atmosphere.

“Dave, Bret tells me that you wrote the Add a Wheel commercial?” Dave did not deny his involvement in the project, adding that he did his best, which earned him great praise from both Joe and Bret. “Bret also tells me you were a detective,” Dave nodded, surprised that this information was known. “Maybe you could find my missing office supplies?” said Joe, causing all three to laugh. “I’m serious,” he added.

At that point Dave’s laughter ended and his smile vanished, “I guess I could,” he said, and was given a time and address to report to. “Excuse me,” said Dave, “I seem to have spilled something on myself.”

“No you haven’t,” said Bret, to which Dave responded by pointing at a wall, his mouth agape and his palms pressed to his cheeks, contorting them in a humorous fashion. When both men looked to see the cause of the expression, Dave left, hoping to evade further conversation, but not succeeding. Half an hour longer he remained, forced to listen and feign interest in whatever was said to him.

“Just when I’m out,” thought Dave after leaving, borrowing an expression that was borrowed by others prior to his borrowing, causing the original speaker of the expression to be forgotten, and creating a rather convoluted sentence, “they pull me back in.” Dave rode the subway home, regretting his involvement in the detective agency, albeit it being the cause of his success, and regretting not checking the seat prior to sitting in it, albeit it being the only one available. “My future, just like the substance I sat in, is unknown and unpleasant,” thought Dave.

9

Dave had been sitting in a dimly lit office for a period of time he judged to be between one and four hours long. As a child, Dave was often told that reading without enough light would damage his eyes. Such was a thought that crossed his mind at that moment. The thought that followed concerned the time of day. He looked about the office and saw a wall clock, one that lacked numbers but had notches at each of the cardinal points. “How nice, a time estimate. Hey, Bob, what time is it? Between three and six. Yeah, thanks a lot, jackass, I could have told you that. Odd that without the word jackass, that phrase would lose its humor. I would like to think that I don’t need profanity to enhance a joke; however, profanity is subjective, and I do not fin