Doug spent most of the morning dragging stuff from his father’s workshop into the yard. He wanted to take a good look at things out in the open. The yard offered the benefits of sunlight and fresh air.
The workshop was too hot inside for Doug to concentrate and too full of parts and equipment for him to differentiate the junk from the good stuff. The large machines stayed in the workshop, but Doug hauled the rest of the things out in the buckets and milk crates in which his father stored them.
Anything that wasn’t worth keeping went straight to the trash.. He’d do some research on anything that looked like it may hold value. He’d either advertise the items online or save them for the inevitable yard sale.
Doug took a break and stood with his hands on his hips, looking over his father’s belongings strewn across the yard. He decided this was a good time to get out of the sun and eat lunch. He picked up an aluminum briefcase and carried it inside.
He laid the briefcase flat on the kitchen table and opened it. A manila envelope marked ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ rested on foam padding in the deeper side of the briefcase. Doug picked the envelope up and looked at the other side, which had nothing more than a string closure. He set the envelope aside.
Lacy came into the kitchen with Roddy hot on her heels. “Whatcha got there?” Lacy said.
“I can’t say.”
Lacy glanced at the envelope. “I don’t think that applies to you. Whatever it is, it’s yours now.”
Doug saw her look at the envelope. “I’m not worried about that. I haven’t seen what’s in the case yet. You got here at the perfect time.”
“We came in for lunch,” Roddy said.
“Me too,” Doug said. “I brought this in to open it without the sun beating down on me.”
“We’re having sandwiches and potato chips,” Lacy said, “want me to make you one? Is PBJ okay?”
“Perfect. As long as you put a handful of chips in there.”
“You got it. How about you, Roddy?”
“Same as Dad.”
Lacy floated around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients. “Three ‘Bostwick Specials’ coming right up.”
Doug removed the half-inch layer of foam covering the case’s contents. The bottom layer was much thicker and had four pistol-shaped recesses carved into it. The first three were empty, but the fourth still held an item in its form-fitting grip.
Roddy had moved closer to his dad to get a better view of the briefcase. He couldn’t hide his excitement when he saw what was in it. “Whoa! A gun!”
“I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Doug said. “I’d better take a look at what’s in that envelope.”
Lacy carried two plates to the rectangular table and put one at each end. Then she got her own plate and an old, yellow Tupperware salad bowl filled with potato chips and brought them to the table. She sat at the long side, opposite the briefcase.
Doug picked up the envelope and unwound the string. He slid a small stack of papers out, then sat in front of his sandwich. He read the first page while he plucked potato chips from the bowl without looking.
“What’s it say?” Lacy said.
“From what I know about military jargon and abbreviations, this is a submission packet Dad sent to the DoD.”
“The Department of Defense? I didn’t know he worked with the military.”
“He didn’t,” Doug said, “this is a rejection letter.”
“For what?”
Doug wiped his chip fingers on his pants, not wanting to add the oil and salt to the already grease-stained papers. He held them out at arms length with both hands, as if reading a proclamation from a scroll. “A Personal Electropulse Weapon.”
He shuffled through the papers, then went back to the second in the stack. “Dad calls them ‘Nerve Guns’ here, but ‘Personal Electropulse Weapon’ is the wording the government used.”
Doug put the papers and envelope into the case, covering the three empty foam cavities. “I’ll dig into this a little more after I dig into this sandwich.”
He spoke through a mouthful of PBJ and potato chips. “Great sandwich, hun. These chips give it the perfect crunch. We should make them our new brand.”
He looked over at the nerve gun for a few seconds, then gave in to his urge and picked it up. It was heavy, but well-balanced. Its design conjured equal parts Roy Rogers and Buck Rogers. A red tag hung from a wire threaded through a small hole in the body. The tag read ‘INERT’ on both sides.
“What happened to the other three?” Lacy said.
“It doesn’t say. The only thing from the DoD is a big red ‘REJECTED’ stamp in the middle of the pages. The proposal mentions serial numbers 0001 through 0004. They could’ve kept three of them for more testing and sent this one back for Dad to fix the things they didn’t like.”
“But why render it unusable?”
“Uncle Sam wouldn’t want to be liable for some random, unknown weapon floating around out there, so they must’ve disabled it before they sent it back.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Lacy said. “Which number is that?”
“Four.”
“They could have at least sent number one back.”
“That would have been nice.”
“Now that you own it, what are you going to do with it?”
Roddy shot from his chair, “Can I have it? My birthday’s coming up.”
“Your mother and I will need to discuss that.”
“Okay,” Roddy said, “but remember, I’ll be ten.”
“That’s riiiiight, the big one-oh,” Doug said before popping a chip into his mouth.
Both returned their attention to lunch, but neither stopped thinking about the nerve gun.
“I wonder if there’s more stuff like this out there, and if any of it’s dangerous,” Lacy said.
Doug stood, holding the last quarter of his sandwich. “We’ll never know if I don’t get back out there. Thanks for lunch, babe.”
He walked outside, stuffing the sandwich into his mouth along the way. The sun was still as hot as it was when he went in. He felt a renewed energy with lunch in his stomach and the prospect of finding something else as intriguing as the nerve gun.
***
“Can I go back to Grant’s? I told him I’d be back after lunch.”
The Bostwicks’ move from the other side of town made it impossible for Roddy to attend his old school. He discovered he’d be in the same class as Grant when the school year rolled around. Lacy was happy he’d already know somebody when he started at his new school.
“I’m going to the grocery store and I want you to come with me. Plus, your dad’s busy with that junk out there. I don’t want him to have to worry about you too.”
“Can I pick out my own cereal?
“Yes, I’ll let you choose one box. Go put some shoes on.”
Roddy looked on the front porch and in the entryway, but couldn’t find them. He went back into the kitchen in a panic. “I can’t find my flip-flops!”
“What’d you do with them?”
“I think I left them at Grant’s.”
“I want you to wear actual shoes to the store, but you should get them before we leave so you don’t forget to do it later. I’ll go tell Dad we’re leaving, then meet you on the porch.”
“You mean rendezvous.”
“Right.”
“You mean roger.”
“Go!”
Roddy ran upstairs and put on a pair of future lawn mowing shoes while Lacy went outside. She found Doug digging through a wooden box full of wiring and electrical components. “I’m taking Roddy to the grocery store with me. But first, he’s going back to the Lytles’ house to get his flip-flops. Any request from the store?
“Another bag of those—”
“Potato chips? Already on the list. Anything else?”
“That’s all I can think of.”
“Okay, see ya in a bit.”
“See ya.”
Lacy went around the side of the house and sat on the porch steps, waiting to rendezvous with Roddy, who came home empty-handed and looking frustrated. “What happened? Where are your flip-flops?”
“They didn’t open the door.”
Lacy stood and took Roddy’s hand, turning him back toward the sidewalk. “It sounds like I need to bring out the big guns.”
Lacy marched Roddy past the Bests’ house. She stepped over the uprooted sections of sidewalk while Roddy chose to jump off the ramp using the path he perfected over the previous weeks. He landed, then started to cut across the Lytles’ front yard.
“Use the walkway,” Lacy said.
“But there’s not even any grass.”
“It doesn’t matter, we need to respect their property.”
“But we play on it all the time.”
“We’re not here to play.”
Roddy followed his mom onto the porch and stood beside her. Lacy knocked. They waited thirty seconds. She knocked again, harder this time.
“We should go around back,” Roddy said, “that’s the door we always use.”
“Lead the way.”
Roddy led Lacy to the side of the house like he owned the place. They stopped at the tall side gate.
“I’ll wait here. Come get me if you need me,” Lacy said.
She caught a glimpse of the garbage in the back yard as Roddy passed through the gate. Cars in various states of disassembly, stacks of pallets, old furniture, and a huge pile of bagged trash from the house dominated the lawn.
The family was engaged in a boisterous conversation in the kitchen, explaining their obliviousness to Lacy’s knocking at the front door. They stopped talking when Roddy began knocking on the back door. Lacy fought the urge to go back there unsolicited. Roddy knocked until somebody answered.
He opened the gate five minutes later, flip-flops in hand. “They had trouble finding them.”
“You haven’t been gone that long. Why were they so hard to find?”
“Somebody thought they were theirs and took them to their bedroom.”
“How do they not know what does and doesn’t belong to them?”
Lacy had the feeling the Lytle children watched them walk home. Her eyes fell on the Lytles’ upstairs windows as she opened the car door. She thought she saw a curtain fall back into place.
Roddy flung his flip-flops onto the porch, then ran to the car and jumped into the front seat, a rare treat. Lacy backed out of the driveway, then accelerated past the Best and Lytle homes. She could have sworn she saw Grant skulking around the maple tree. She half expected the flip-flops to be gone when they got back.
***
Doug poured the last glass of iced tea from the pitcher. He realized too late that he forgot to remind Lacy to buy more tea bags.
She walked into the kitchen with plastic grocery bags cutting off the blood supply to her fingertips. “Looks like you need to make more tea. Good thing I remembered to buy bags.”
Roddy came in behind her, complaining about how his fingers hurt. “Dad, can you take these?”
“Go ahead and put them on the counter,” Doug said, “if you can lift them that high.”
“You’d better put them on the floor. They have jars in them,” Lacy said.
Roddy set the bags onto the floor in front of the pantry door and untangled his fingers from the handles. He clenched and released his fists to get the blood flowing again while he went back out to retrieve his flip-flops. He ran upstairs to put them in his own bedroom, where they belonged.
“I let him pick out the ice cream for his birthday,” Lacy said. “I hope you’re in the mood for Rocky Road.”
“I’m always in the mood for Rocky Road. I take it he got his flip-flops back?”
“I didn’t think he was going to. They didn’t answer the front door when I knocked, and it took forever for them to answer when Roddy knocked on the back door. I don’t know if they didn’t hear us over themselves talking or if they were ignoring us.”
“I have a hunch it was the latter.”
“I discovered the reason for their high fence.”
“Dogs?”
“Dump.”
“Ha! What does that mean?”
“They’ve got furniture and pallets piled around the three or four cars I could see from the gate. On top of all that, bags of household trash filled in the bare spots, with a large pile taking up the rest of the yard. If the trash guys only knew what was on the other side of that fence.”
“Sounds like the stuff of nightmares.”
“I’ll let you know in the morning. As for this afternoon and evening, I’m going to bake Roddy’s cake.”
“What cake did he pick?”
“I had to make the call on that. He couldn’t decide, so I went with vanilla confetti cake and vanilla confetti frosting.”
“Good call.”
Lacy lowered her voice. “Will you do me a favor and wrap Roddy’s present?”
“Sure,” Doug said, “There’s a roll of kraft paper out there and I think I saw some tape.”
“Won’t that be a bit too industrial looking?”
“It’s better than using Christmas paper, if you even know where it is.”
“As if he’ll notice. I’ll leave it to you, then.”
“Your job is to keep him away from Santa’s workshop.”
“I’ll put him to work in here.”
Lacy started down the hallway and called upstairs. “Roddy! Can you give me a hand in the kitchen?”
Roddy shouted from the top of the stairs. “Be right down!” He rumbled down the stairs and whipped around the newel post.
“Please help me put the groceries away. Then I’d like your help making your cake.”
“And frost it?”
“We have to wait for it to cool,” Lacy said, “then you can help me frost it.”
*** End of Part 2 ***
Copyright ~ Terrence Campbell ~ 2023