Keep Your Paws Where I Can See 'Em
As the hot, summer sun hung over Cave Creek, Arizona, an old, burgundy, 1965, El Diablo convertible with a white landau roof and a license plate reading STNLYMBL pulled off of the dirt road it was travelling on and came to a stop next to a silver, Airstream trailer nearby, which was adorned with Native American decorations.
In the driver's seat of the car sat Stan Pines, a tall, beefy man in his sixties, with very large ears and a large, red nose who was wearing a black suit, red, western-style, bow tie and large, square glasses. On top of his head was a fez, jauntily tilted to one side. Stan turned to the passenger seat where his young nephew called Dipper sat looking at his brown, leatherbound book with a six fingered hand and the number three on the cover. He was wearing an orange t-shirt with a puffy, blue vest over it, grey shorts, blue and white sneakers and a blue baseball cap with a pine tree symbol on it.
"You wanna wait in the car? This won't take long," Stan said in a gruff voice.
"It's hot out here," said Dipper.
"Come on, then," said Stan, opening his door and stepping out of the car. Dipper shut his book, tucked it under his arm, and got out too. Stan stretched his arms upward and groaned an old man groan. Then he winced and grabbed his back and groaned in pain.
"How much is this guy asking for, anyway?" Dipper said as he joined his uncle at his side.
"The only price I'll pay for anything: 'best offer'," said Stan. "I just hope nobody's beaten us to it."
Just then, a rusty, old, red, Ford pickup truck pulled off the road and parked beside Stan's car. It had Texas license plates.
"Uh oh," said Stan. "Might be competition."
Out of the truck stepped a big, bearded man in a brown jacket, hunting vest, dirty, white shirt, beige, checkered pants and leather, work boots. His face was painted with red, white and blue clown makeup.
As soon as Stan saw the man, he pulled something out of his pocket. "Looks like I'll have to step up the theatrics," he said, putting a black eye patch on over his glasses. Dipper rolled his eyes. Then he opened his book and flipped a few pages until he landed on one that said Killer Klowns at the top with an illustration underneath. The picture wasn't identical to the man with the truck, but it was close enough.
After the clown, a small girl about Dipper's age jumped out of the truck. She had long, curly, blonde hair in pigtails and wore a pink, tank top with blue jeans that had the cuffs rolled up and patches on the knees. There were no shoes on her feet, Dipper noticed, as she wiggled her toes in the sand when she landed in it. Dipper immediately thought she was as pretty as Pacifica Northwest, but with a wild look in her eyes that reminded him of his hyper-active sister.
"Howdy, folks," said the clown in a friendly, Southern drawl. "Captain Spaulding's the name. You wouldn't by any chance be the ones selling the genuine Skunk Ape paw, wouldja?"
"Actually, no," said Stan, frowning. "We're here to buy it."
Captain Spaulding laughed. "Ah, that's what you think," he said. "Me and my daughter, Baby, here, drove all the way from Ruggsville, Texas for that little item, and we ain't leaving here without it."
"Well, me and my nephew drove all the way from Gravity Falls, Oregon, and WE aren't leaving here without it either."
Captain Spaulding smiled a big smile. His teeth were crooked and stained yellow, with black, diseased gums. Dipper cringed.
"Well, may the best man win," said Spaulding, deviously.
Just then, the door of the trailer opened and a thin, shirtless, man with a pot belly and cutoff jean shorts on came out. He looked like he was also in his sixties, or maybe just had lived a wild life. On his head, besides the long, scraggly, grey hair he had, was a leather band with a feather in the back like a Native would wear, even though he was clearly as Caucasian as everyone else there.
"Quite a crowd out here," he said to his guests. "You all here to buy some turquoise?"
"No," said Stan, flatly. "Sir, may I introduce myself-"
"I am Captain Spaulding," interrupted Captain Spaulding, loudly. "Proud proprietor of Captain Spaulding's Museum of Monsters and Madmen."
"And I'm Stan Pines, known worldwide as Mr. Mystery, owner and operator of the Gravity Falls Mystery Shack." said Stan, proudly, as he gave Spaulding an angry look.
"Mystery Shack? What kind of dumbass name is that?" Spaulding said under his breath. "Sounds like those old House of Mystery comics to me."
Stan gave the clown the side eye and growled.
"Reggie Coyote," said the shirtless man. "Pleased to meet ya. I'm guessing you men are here in response to my Gregslist ad."
"You gotdamn right," said Spaulding.
"Well come on in and I'll show ya the merchandise," said Reggie, waving them onward.
Stan and Spaulding began to head inside.
"I'll wait out here, Daddy," called Baby, who had climbed onto the hood of the truck and was sitting cross legged.
Dipper quickly piped up.
"Me too," he said.
"Whatever," Stan said with a shrug, and followed the other two men into the trailer and shut the door.
Dipper casually walked over and leaned against one of the truck's headlights, but was unsure of what to say to this strange girl once he did.
"What's your name, kid?" she asked, suddenly.
"Dipper," said Dipper.
Baby laughed a high pitched, mocking laugh.
"What kind of a name is Dipper?" she asked.
"Says the girl named Baby," answered Dipper.
She stopped laughing.
"I like you," she said. "We're gonna have some fun together."
To Be Continued