Finally, another end

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 33
*******************

Back at headquarters, The Bad Guys circled around their loot - a veritable treasure trove of a small amount of groceries. Yum!

Circling was pretty much all they did, though. Nobody was eating. Nobody was looking at the food. Not even the lettuce (which was far greener than usual, considering the season) caught a wandering eye.

All eyes were on the toy blimp, sitting just outside the circle, swaying gently on its elliptical side, back and forth in the slight breeze that flowed through the cavernous hall.

Upon further review, the Bad Guys’ circle was more of an ellipse itself once taking into account the curvature of Sally’s tail. Whatever the shape was, it stayed that way, frozen, for minutes.

After these minutes passed, Rog moved: “I’ll put this thing in one of the closets.”

Midnight stopped him: “No. We’ll take it back.”

Rog: “That’s a nice thought, but you saw what happened. The door wouldn’t open until we stole it! We are stuck with this thing. We’re stuck with it…”

Midnight: “Then we’ll leave it outside the door. Surely there are limits to our chains.”

Cal: “Why did we even do this?”

Rog: “I just explained that, man. We had to!”

Cal: “No, we didn’t. There was hardly a gun to our head. We hadn’t eaten for one day, and we stole an old widow’s most cherished possession – her blimp.”

Rog slumped back into the ellipse: “Her zeppelin…”

Cal: “Nobody calls it that anymore.”

Rog: “The note did.”

Cal: “That’s the problem.”

Midnight: “We’ll take it back. The food, the blimpzlin thing… all of it. We promised we’d fight back if we were ordered to deprive anyone of their humanity. We failed, but we’re not yet condemned.”

Everyone agreed. A rush of adrenaline swept over the company. For once and at last, the adrenaline targeted a task that was fundamentally good.

The sweeping rush succeeded in complimenting more than troop morale. It also fed the wind, helping to push the blimp off its repetitive course of rocking, away towards the open air, and then down, down, down into the empty pool.

POP!

Cheap rubber met the end of a scorpion corpse, and that was that.

Sally left. Rog left. Midnight picked up her roses, burying her face behind them; she left.

Cal stared at nothing. There was nothing to stare at.

He did, however, eventually read his new note:

Congratulations. You are level 2 Bad Guys. More (plus) on back.

See you here tomorrow. Plus – These are your pants. Obviously.

END CHAPTER 1

The Fall of Man and Blimps

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 32
*******************

During the second chorus (which, in this version, comprised the entirety of the song), Cal crescendoed to cover a slip-up with the ladder. If the task at hand weren’t so depressing on every front, this mistake might have been construed as a coordinated attempt to lengthen the song for the sake of comedy and humiliation. Instead, it was just another horror.

“…to the bottom of every bottle, there are words in my head, it’s what I’m yelling for yeeah, yeeah, yeeah…”

The zeppelin came down. The door opened. Midnight and Rog rushed out.

“…yeeah, yeeah, yeeah.” The song ended.

Geraldine applauded loudly, and Cal experienced what it was like to receive the most undeserving applause of all time. He simply stood there, comatose as a result of everything.

Geraldine had a tear in her eye: “Oh my! Nobody’s sung to me with that much emotion since my husband… In fact, nobody’s sung to me at all since then…” She stopped to wipe the tear. “Here, young man. You’ve been so polite to me, and so wonderful in general, that I think you deserve this.” With another old lady wink, she handed Cal a box of granola bars. “We just won’t tell those silly police.”

Cal nodded his thanks, perhaps involuntarily as a result of the guilt weighing down his conscience. A braver man might here admit his misdeeds. A more honorable man might choose hunger over evil. A more centered man might resist the debauched commands of a piece of paper...

The notes had already achieved power. Cal drifted out the door, as river debris.

Geraldine shouted a shout of realization: “Wait a second!”

Cal turned, pale.

Geraldine: “I know this cat! It’s Sally! She’s one of my lot!” She lifted Sally up, offering her to Cal. “Here, take her along with you. She must like you, and she knows how to get home.”

Thus, the first of Cal’s cohorts he really learned something about was the cat. Of course, he was in no state to care one way or the other.

This is How

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 31
************

If the Bad Guys were going to finish this off, Cal needed to do more than gently discuss photography. He needed to do something loud in its distraction. He needed to follow the cat’s example.

Geraldine began to rise with another salmony snack. Cal swung around to a position oriented diametrically opposite the undesirable action. Sally fwipped her tail, excited for the food and the show.

Cal: “Umm, so Miss Geraldine, I wanted to sing something for you.”

Geraldine: “Oh my! I don’t think I deserve anything like that, but a wise woman never rejects a serenade. Croon away, young man.”

Cal delayed, not yet ready to unveil his ineptness: “Yes, umm, is there anything particular you want to hear.”

Geraldine: “How about Dillies in My Basket?”

Cal: “I can’t say I know that one.”

Geraldine: “Okay. How about Ross ‘n Bess’s Easter Eggland?”

Cal: “I can’t say anyone knows that one.” Midnight silently giggled in the distance. “Maybe I’ll just do one I know.”

Geraldine: “Ah! I’ve got it!”

Cal: “Yes?”

Geraldine: “I’m sure you’ll know this one. They play it on a station for younger people all the time. I don’t know why, but sometimes my radio gets stuck there and I have to listen to the stuff for hours. I can’t say I like the crunkier tunes, but there is one song that always gets my foot tapping.”

Cal: “Yes?”

Geraldine: “I think it’s called Remind Me, by the Quarterback.”

Cal: “You don’t mean Nickelback, do you?”

Geraldine: “Oh my! That’s it!”

Cal repeated: “You don’t mean Nickelback, do you?”

Geraldine: “That’s it alright!”

Cal sighed, and began to sing.

Uninspiration

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 30
***************

Sally mrowed loudly and leapt towards the old woman, paws outstretched. Before Cal could even think to make a move of his own, Sally blinded Geraldine!

Metaphorically, that is.

Geraldine had reached below the counter to retrieve cat treats. Sally was currently contentedly consuming one. Cal observed, awestruck by the fortune of what had either been incredible feline strategy or incredible feline hunger. The lady/cat exchange had distracted Geraldine from the thump of Midnight and Rog’s door collision, a thump that just so happened to occur again soon after the first, and again (though altered expectations decreased thump intensity in turn). The door was not opening.

Geraldine: “Why hello there, miss. You’re a hungry little kitty, aren’t you? You haven’t been hanging around with this polite young man, have you?”

Cal (genuinely): “Actually, she has been. The last two days this cat showed up at the weirdest place.”

Geraldine: “Oh my! What is this strange and possibly wonderful place both you and the cat visited?”

The place was definitely strange. It was definitely possibly wonderful. It was definitely kind of establishing itself as the headquarters of the people trying to rob Geraldine’s. Therefore, Derwood County Community Pool definitely couldn’t be mentioned.

Cal: “I don’t remember.”

Geraldine: “Really? You can only remember that it was weird? My, a place with that effect truly must be strange.”

Geraldine looked down as she shuffled around for another treat. Cal looked over at Midnight and Rog. They were visibly frightened. Cal looked up above the intractable door. He was visibly frightened. The Bad Guys all looked over at a stepladder Geraldine used to place higher-up groceries. It was not visibly frightened.

The zeppelin floated in its place. It visibly belonged there, where it had been for more than half a century.

Unfortunately, circumstances inspire change.
*******************************

Moving Along

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 29
**************

Cal took the hit in stride: “Umm… What?”

Geraldine: “I remember polite young men when I see them; there being so few of them anymore.” She winked a kindly old lady wink as they dropped the storage crate at its destination. She then headed back towards the counter, where, upon arrival, she would have a direct line of sight to the pilferers, who (as tends to be the case concerning pilferers) currently weren’t being so polite.

Cal parried again: “So, umm, I have a question for you?”

Geraldine persisted towards the counter: “Wonderful! I’m always happy when my customers - or my non-customers who are polite - wish to test my knowledge. It makes me feel young again, in an old and experienced kind of way.”

Cal didn’t understand: “Yes. Good, then, my question is, having to do with…” He spotted something worth mentioning. “What do you think about the photos of us?” This probably wasn’t the best something to spot and mention.

Geraldine: “Oh my! I was thinking about those a lot today, actually.” Cal knew this was the end. He’d be interrogated on the reason for police suspicion, during which Geraldine would reference her dead husband; Cal’s mind would sink into a bog of philosophy as he cross-analyzed the heroism of World War II versus his own, stagnant, dissatisfied life situation; guilt would begin to overwhelm upon the conclusions not only that the older generation’s sacrifice had inspired him to do little, but also that he was essentially spitting on their sacrifice at this very moment, as he watched his fellow thieves creep towards the exit; and he would crack.

Geraldine: “I think I’d like the pictures better if they weren’t black-and-white. Now, not everyone has the skin to pull off color, but you and your friends each have excellent complexion. Yes, yes, I’m sure I’m right. I’ll talk to the police about this next time.”

Cal calmed. The seconds Geraldine had spent building up false fear and then erasing it with unexpected banality had allowed Midnight and Rog to reach the sliding doors. They hadn’t even needed supermarket-themed ghillie suits – an innovation Cal had prayed for a bit amongst the rest of his panicking. To complete the mission, Cal simply needed to keep Geraldine’s attention in his direction a short while longer…

Sally jumped up on the counter and meowed. Geraldine looked in her direction, which looked towards the exit.

Midnight and Rog hurried outside, and they failed, running into non-responsive doors.

Geraldine reached towards the photos. No, she passed those. She reached to the left, circa the telephone to call the police. No, she passed that. She reached below the counter, where store owners are prone to keep silent alarms.

Shotguns and Kalashnikovs are also prone to be kept behind store counters.

Cal uncalmed.

No Days Off

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 28
****************

The electronic sliding doors – the one modern convenience of Geraldine’s otherwise cash-only depot – slowly slid open. Their modernity was limited in pace.

In front of the Bad Guys was arranged all the candy they could hope for, in addition to a lot of other foods probably more deserving of a place in their starved bellies. Sweets could wait and should wait. This was an errand of necessity, not pleasure, despite the inherent excitement the heist had begun to stir. Cal, Midnight, Rog, and even Sally featured a visible twinkle in their eyes, each in their left eye, their right eyes remaining unobstructed for scouting purposes.

Consistent in her old-fashionedness, Geraldine was not there. Whilst attending to whatever it was that needed attending, she’d abandoned the counter in good faith to the integrity of the customer. She’d also abandoned on the counter the criminal photos of the three human customers who’d just entered.

Rog: “Maybe we should come back.”

Cal: “What?”

Rog: “This has to be a trap.”

Cal: “I do sense a nearby blow dart.”

Rog pointed at a package of Twizzlers: “Those could easily be constructed into blowdarts.”

Cal: “And what would serve to be the poison shot out of them?”

Rog: “According to the Surgeon General, the Twizzle itself.”

Cal: “Twizzle - The singular tense of Twizzler?”

Rog: “Yes.”

Cal: “Of course. In conclusion, I disagree. This is a great opportunity. Not only can we take the food we need; we can also leave the money for it at the register.”

Rog: “What about the blimp?”

Midnight took charge: “Screw the blimp. Get the food. Leave the money. Let’s move.” The boys obeyed, each falling into habit and picking up a shopping bin as they did. The robber band hurried to the produce section, where they rapidly identified the ripest fruit and veg before hurriedly (but gently, so as to prevent bruising) adding the goods to their haul. The most casual burglary of all time had begun, in haste! Dairy followed, with meats next. Issues concerning what Cal the poultritarian could eat threatened to slow the affair, but when he confirmed an affinity to turkey the problem was solved. At this rate of success, the time Fort Knox would learn to fear the infamous Bad Guys was just a casual Friday away.

A voice called out: “Excuse me. Could whoever is out there please come help me with this crate?” The voice was Geraldine’s.

Midnight whispered to Cal, who, like Midnight, and Rog, and Sally, had been frozen for the twenty seconds that had warily and unwarily passed since Geraldine spoke: “Go.”

Cal: “What?” Cal didn’t whisper this so much as he choked it out all pubescent-like.

Midnight: “You remind her of her husband. Go!” It made enough sense. Geraldine already knew someone was there. And she was an old lady who needed help. Cal went.

Geraldine looked up from the crate she was hunched over: “Oh my! What a polite young man. Now you lift that end over there, and I’ll lift this end.” Apparently she hadn’t recognized him.

Or maybe she had.

Geraldine: “Now don’t you go stealing anything.”

Cal gulped: “Excuse me, ma’am.”

Geraldine: “This box is full of those things you put on your car wheel to keep people from stealing them. I thought it would be funny if I made a joke about stealing them, seeing as how they’re anti-theft devices. It’s a bit of old-time humor for you.”

Cal was still panicking, but he made an effort to recognize this sub-par comedic attempt: “I see, I see. Very good, ma’am.”

Geraldine: “Oh my! You really are a polite young man. It’s too bad I still can’t sell anything to you, what with the police order and all.”

She had.

PS I Hate You

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 27
*****************

Rog yelled at Cal: “Make sure she stays on the towel!” Sally sat still atop the towel, in the backseat of Rog’s large, tight-spaced car, where she hadn’t so much as twitched a tail for the ten minutes she’d already been there. Only five of those minutes had been spent driving, with the other half consisting of Rog arranging a stick-based boundary around the towel. Here is what was said at that time:

Cal: “Those sticks will make more of a mess than the cat.”

Here is what was happening at this time:

Cal: “The sticks fell on the floor again.”

Rog: “Pick up sticks! Pick them!”

The ridiculousness of the situation obvious, it was unfortunate that a ubiquitous somberness played trump. Cal and Midnight each clutched their most recent notes in their hands, as if they were horrible grenades set to explode upon a fist unclenching. They were not non-horrible grenades. Sally’s stomach grumbled at a pitch slightly above the rest of the caravans'. And Rog’s anger mostly served to distract himself from the task at hand – a task that referred to neither “driving to Geraldine’s” nor “unreasonably keeping the cat but not the sticks off the interior.”

Everybody had accepted the need to acquire food. Everybody had consented to the idea that thievery was the only option left to fulfill that need. Everybody had even reluctantly submitted to the orders that the targeted corporation would not be a corporation at all, but rather the Mom & Pop (archaic) store known as Geraldine’s.

Nobody had accepted the P.S. demand.

It may be recalled that Geraldine hung a memento of her deceased spouse over her store’s entryway. It may be assumed that this is now relevant.

P.S. Take the zeppelin.