Chapter Two: Stick 'em up

"Salt Shaker wants to see you in his office," Reba said, poking her head into Ron's cubicle. He was busy writing a humorous story for tomorrow's Daily Prophet. It was about a young man haunted by the presence of a possessed head of lettuce.

"What?" Ron jumped at the mention of the Salt Shaker. He quickly reached for his wand.

Reba gave him a quizzical look. "I said that Misses Ticklefeather would like to see you in his office."

"Oh." So she hadn't mention the Salt Shaker. He was just being a little overcautious. The possibility that it had actually followed him all the way to work was absurd. Right? "Okay I'll be right there. I just have to finish this paragraph." He tried to concentrate on finishing the first paragraph but now his mind was on the salt shaker, again.

"Salt Shaker Salt Shaker," Reba said looking at him worriedly. His eyes were darting each way. "Ron! I asked if you were okay?" She grabbed his shoulder and shook it slightly.

He grabbed a water bottle out of one of his drawers and held it in front of him. "Get back, you!" he shouted, aiming it at the giant Salt Shaker blocking him into his cubicle. But the Shaker was gone. Reba was standing there now looking completely frightened.

"Where has the little devil gone now?" he demanded, standing up and peering over the walls of his makeshift office. People were staring over at him looking confused.

"Who, Ron?" Reba asked slowly backing away. Ron saw this and again pointed the water bottle at her chest.

"You're hiding it aren't you? Turn out your pockets." He could see the little shaker peering at him laughing maniacally.

"I think you've gone a bit bonkers," Reba said, trying to get away. Ron squirt a warning shot and pointed it back at her. "It's You-Know-Who!" she shouted pointing over Ron's shoulder, ready to scurry away.

"Who gives a damn?" he muttered. "I have bigger fish to fry. Now hand over the Shaker and no one will get hurt." This time he actually squirt her. It dripped down her shocked face.

"You squirt me," she said in an unbelieving voice. "You actually squirt me."

"Someone get a paper towel over here, now!" commanded the man in charge of the Quidditch Section. "And hurry it up. We have a sopping wet woman over here. Shhh... it's okay," he said in a calming voice, helping her into his chair.

Ron dropped the water bottle in horror and fell into his own chair. He'd squirt someone. He'd actually squirt someone. Did that make him a criminal now? That damn Salt Shaker. It had probably set all this up. Curse it, we hates it.

The two guys in charge of the newest wizarding fashion stepped into his cubicle and bound his arms with ropes emitted from the tips of their wands.

"I demand my lawyer!" he shouted, trying to wiggle loose form the ropes. "Innocent till proven guilty. I never meant to squirt her. It was an accident."

They lifted him up to his feet but his legs fell in and he tumbled the floor. Ron knew that his face was, at this point, probably redder than his hair. In fact it was probably redder than a tomato (pronounced ta-MAH-toe. None of this ta-MAY-toe crap for him).

"No funny business," they warned him, lifting him back to his feet.

Funny business? Who are they to say that to me? They're the ones that are wearing pink robes with rhinestones embroidered into them. Does that one have a donut tattooed on his ankle? Yes, I believe he does. What a freak.

They dragged him into the aisle and all the time he was cursing the Salt Shaker. It was probably laughing real hard right now snuggled safely in Reba's pocket.

Everyone backed up as he was dragged past them. Some of the women shielded their eyes and the men comforted them. So this was what it felt like to be considered a dangerous man.

Ron could see the headlines now. "Psycho redhead squirts co-worker. Blames it on evil salt shaker." He would die of shame. That was not something he wanted.

"I really didn't mean to," he began pleading but stopped when he saw his pathetic face mirrored in the glass of a painting. With his bright red hair and freckles he looked like a kid being dragged to the Headmaster's office for setting off a dungbomb in Mrs. Norris' mouth.

He looked back once and saw Reba's face. Tears of fear were streaming down it. He was so busted.

As he passed another painting he saw the Salt Shaker silently jeering at him.

"I control your life now. Remember, Ron. Salt kills." Its grainy voice echoed in Ron's head.

Breaking free from his captors he smashed his foot into the painting obliterating the image of the taunting Shaker.

Everyone gasped, and drew even further away. He looked around at them but they were all gone. Giant Salt Shakers were there in the missing peoples' stead. They made a huge pathway and he was dragged down it. The Shakers stood there stoically, making Ron's fate seemingly ominous.

He hung his head in shame and when he lifted it again he was in front of his boss' office and all the people had returned. No more Salt Shakers.

"This is serious business, Mister Weasley." His boss' voice emitted for the office. It sounded slightly disappointed. "Please step into my office."

Ron pushed open the door and stared at the lithe form of his boss sitting on her desk. "Shut the door behind you."