Posted by: jockmackenzie | May 19, 2009

“Dealing with Dymans” Chapter 13, Pt. 1

13. Other Players

Click the “start arrow” below to hear the audio of this chapter:


Darryl Gordon slept in on Monday morning. Often he awoke with a case of P.I.P. – Pet Induced Paralysis, but not today. Mr. Tibbs, the much-loved family pet, had a bad habit of snuggling at the foot of the bed, right in the spot where Darryl’s feet should have been. But sometime during the night, the orange tabby had gotten him up by scratching on the rug, indicating a desire to be let out.

Darryl and his wife luxuriated over a morning coffee, even a bowl of oatmeal porridge. Yes, life was good. With only days remaining before Christmas, Darryl had declared an entire week-long holiday for the staff. Being the boss allowed him that privilege, but not the privilege of taking all that time off for himself. No, he would go in to work but he’d go late, and he was going to enjoy every minute of his time at home with the wife.

Sticking his head out of the sliding patio door that faced the back yard and the garage, he called, “Here kitty, kitty. Time for breakfast, Mr. Tibbs. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” He found it strange that the normally hungry Mr. Tibbs didn’t come running. He reached for the box of Kitty Krumbles and shook it outside. That was sure to bring the oversized fluffball charging like a runaway pumpkin. Still no cat.

Eventually, having milked every moment of pleasure that he could from his self-declared holiday, Darryl got his coat and hat and headed for the company truck parked in the back yard garage. When one last elongated call of “Mr. Ti-ibbs, here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty” proved ineffective, he called to the missus to check again soon.

Darryl took long searching looks on his way across the yard, still didn’t see anything, and was surprised as he rounded the corner to see the side garage door slightly ajar. Attributing the open door to his failing memory, he reached in with his right hand to push the automatic door opener, and almost in the same motion, took one last look over his right shoulder, and gave one more call for his special pet.

What Darryl wouldn’t realize until he received a frantic call from his wife later that day was that a message, boldly smeared in blood, had been waiting for him on the inside of the double metal door. As he stepped into the garage, the door was already above him; the “DON’T F – – – WITH SIGNS” message from Dougie Dymans was hidden from his view.

Darryl climbed into his truck, backed into the alley, rolled down the driver side window, and paused to light a cigarette. Movement to his side startled him and he looked to see what it was. The neighbor, Mrs. Michols, was poking her head through her back gate. She was calling her cat, actually one of her several cats. Darryl wasn’t sure how many of the mangy critters the old biddy had, but he knew they all used his flowerbeds to leave their droppings. Why couldn’t they learn to use a litter box like Mr. Tibbs?

With Christmas in his heart, he was just about to tell her that his cat had gone missing as well . . . when Mr. Tibbs leapt onto a fence post on his right and then down into the Gordon back yard. Distracted and relieved, Darryl drove on.


• • •


Brianne was excited, and nervous, and hopeful. Brianne was going for her first ever job interview. She’d seen the ad just days before, the ad looking for a sales associate for Sharma and Dymans Fine Jewellery. There was nothing, nothing in the whole world, that would make her happier than to work in such a wonderful place, a real jewellery store with all those sparkling diamonds, and emeralds, and sapphires, the gold, the silver, the crystal. It would be a dream come true.


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