Chapter 3
The late night and the rain pattering on his bedroom window kept him asleep until ten
o'clock the next morning. Cursing his late start and wrapping his "sari" around him
against the morning chill, he headed downstairs to start a fresh pot of coffee and to
retrieve his clothes from…
"Damn!"
….he'd forgotten to put his clothes into the dryer.
"Great, another friggin' delay!" He grumbled as he passed through the kitchen to the
laundry room.
Once the clothes were tumbling, he focused again on the coffee and making himself a
PB&J for breakfast. He ate and read some more of Patterson's book while he waited
for his clothes to dry.
Twenty minutes later he headed to the laundry room to check on the clothes. The jeans
felt dry so he tossed his makeshift sari on top of the washing machine and dressed as
he pulled his clothes from the dryer. The socks soon had his cold bare feet warm and
toasty, and his boxers, Henley, and flannel shirt warmed him further as he pulled on
his black jeans.
"Ow…ow…ow!
His pants, with hot zipper, button and rivets scalding his skin, were quickly off and tossed
upon the dryer to cool down. He returned to the kitchen and busied himself there while he
waited. It was the perfect opportunity to finish disposing of Mrs. Lovett's pie. He turned
the water to hot in the kitchen sink and retrieved her pie plate from the freezer. He put
the plate underneath the hot stream of water and waited for the heat to dislodge the
frozen concoction from the glass. Once the white mass was dislodged, he put it into one
of the plastic bags from the convenience store and returned it to the freezer. He then
washed and dried the pie plate to return to Mrs. Lovett along with the potholders.
Pants cooled and completely dressed, he was eager to inspect the traps. He was grateful
that the rain had abated and that the morning grayness was slowly parting to reveal patches
of blue and shafts of gold. Or maybe not, as he looked out from the front porch, the clarity
of the day seemed to magnify the devastation of his lawn.
"Little bastard." He cursed as he trudged over to the first trap. Squatting down, he
removed the cardboard cover the reveal two sprung traps…and nothing else.
"What?"
He quickly made his way over to the next set of traps, carefully lifting the cover, only
to find more of the same sprung, and empty traps.
"No way!"
Frustration was setting in by the third empty set, and he rushed through the rest, angrily
kicking the cardboard off all the sprung, yet empty traps. The need to retaliate against the
critter took hold and he stormed off to the side of the house. He pulled off the faucet
insulator and reconnected the garden hose hanging on the wall to the faucet and unrolled
the hose over to the closest gopher hole. He shoved the hose into the hole hoping he could
drown the sucker. He went back, turned on the faucet and looked back at the hole. He
couldn't help but notice that his front yard now resembled a small water park. Multiple water
geysers were now shooting into the air from the damage the gopher had done to the in
ground watering system in the lawn and flower beds.
"Ah, shit!"
He yelped when he realized that the flowerbed on the side of the house was shooting a stream
of water at his ass. Turning back to cut off the water supply drenched the front of his pants.
"Damn it!"
Yanking the hose from the hole and picking a trap up off the ground, he headed into the house
for his car keys, not caring that he left muddy footprints on the tiled floor or that clumps of mud
fell from the trap he was carrying. Wet and angry, he tossed the trap down onto the passenger
floorboard of his car he quickly backed down the driveway and floored it into town. He mentally
prepared himself for a confrontation with the old man about the damn traps.
Lost in thought on the drive into town, it took a minute for the familiar sound to penetrate his
consciousness and pull his eyes up to the rear view mirror. He could only shake his head when
he saw the flashing red and blue lights behind him. Pulling off to the right and putting the vehicle
in park, he dropped his head to rest upon his hands gripping the top of his steering wheel. He
jerked upright when he heard the sharp rap on his window. He lowered the window as he reached
for his wallet.
"I need to see you license, registration and proof of insurance." The officer asked bluntly.
"Yes sir."
He pulled his license from his wallet and opened his glove box to retrieve his registration and
insurance card. He handed them up to the officer.
"It's you." They both said simultaneously.
Once again, Rick was face to face with Officer Tom.
"We meet again." Officer Tom commented.
"So it seems." Rick replied.
"You in a hurry to leave town this morning?"
"I wish," he lamented, "I'm still having gopher problems. Dang traps I was working on last night
didn't work. I was just heading to the hardware store to complain to the man who sold them to me."
"You might want to calm down before you do any complaining. Do you realize you were doing
sixty in a forty?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. You might want to take a moment. I don't want to have to respond to an
aggravated assault call at the hardware store and find you there. I think you had enough fun
last night."
"You're right. I am a little stressed from yesterday. Sorry."
"Not a problem. I'm not gonna' write you up today as long as you just chill out a moment and
remember to slow down." Officer Tom handed back his paperwork.
"Yes Officer. I'll do that. Thanks."
"No need. I owe you one for last night. Just try to stay off my radar the rest of the time you're
out here, ok?"
"Done deal."
He watched from his side mirror as Officer Tom walked back to his patrol car and he let out a sigh
of relief as the flashing lights were turned off and his car pulled away. Returning the documents in
his hand to their place, he drove slowly on to the hardware store. He parked, grabbed his trap and
headed inside to discuss the situation.
It seemed that the old man was the only person who worked at the store. He had to wait twenty
minutes as he demonstrated the merits of five different portable heaters to a woman who couldn't
make up her mind. Rick stepped in to help finish the deal.
"Wow, I really like this one. I'll take it," he said as he reached for the last one of its kind from off the shelf.
"Hey," the woman protested, "I wanted that one."
"I'm sorry, your right. Go ahead." He backed away from the prize and let her grab it from the shelf; she
turned and headed off to the register. The old man gave him a quick wink before he followed her to the
register. Rick stayed back until the transaction was completed and the woman was out the door before
he approached the register. He set the dirty trap down with thump onto the counter.
"You get your gopher?" The old man asked.
"Nope, that's why I'm here with this trap. All twelve went off last night and not a gopher in any of them.
What's wrong with them?"
"Nuthin' wrong with 'em," the man replied bluntly.
"What do you mean nothing wrong with them? They didn't work."
"Oh, they worked alright."
"If they worked, then where's the dead gopher that's suppose to be in it?"
"You got yourself a smart gopher, that's all."
"A smart gopher?"
"Yep."
Well, if he's so smart, what am I suppose to do now?"
"You'll have to gas 'em."
"Gas him?"
"Yep, hang there a sec I'll get you what you need."
Rick rolled his eyes as the man went scurrying off across the store. He returned a short time later with a
box and a long T-handled rod.
"This should do you," he said as he set the items down on the counter.
Looking at the items placed before him he just had to comment.
"Why didn't you give this stuff to me the first time?"
'Well, there's no hundred percent guarantee with this method. You never get to see the dead gopher like
you do with the traps. Bam, he's dead, you know it's gone. With this method, they just die down in the burrow."
"How does this work?"
The man explained the finer points of the simple contraption and Rick left with the confidence that his
gopher problem would soon be over. Stopping at The Fishin' Hole on the way home, he bought an order
of fish and chips to go.
Back at the house, he stuck his food in the microwave to keep it warm and then headed outside to set up
the gopher gas chamber. First he had to locate the main burrow by poking the long T-handled stick into
the ground till it freely sank a good ten to twelve inches into the ground. Once that was done, he slid the
soft neoprene fitting onto the tailpipe of his car and unrolled the flat expandable hose to the opening of
the main hole. All he had to do now was turn on his car and thirty minutes later, the carbon monoxide
would take car of this problem once and for all. He started the car and headed inside to dry his damp pants
and enjoy his lunch. He was pulling off his pants when he heard his doorbell ring. He tugged his pants back
on and opened the front door to revel Mrs. Lovett on his front porch.
"Hi Mrs. Lovett. Something I can do for you?"
"I thought I'd come over for my pie plate in case you forgot."
"I didn't forget. I've just been busy this morning. Hang on a second and I'll get it for you." He hurried to the
kitchen and grabbed the items from the counter and hurried back.
He handed her the pie plate and the potholders.
"Thank you for being so thoughtful Mrs. Lovett." He surreptitiously replied so that he wouldn't have to lie to
her face about the food.
"You're welcome; will you be staying again tonight? I could make you another one."
"No, I'll be heading home in a couple of hours, thank you, though."
"You're welcome. It was good to see you again."
"You too, Mrs. Lovett. Bye, bye." He forced the parting by starting to close his front door.
"Oh, bye bye."
He shut the door as soon as she turned to walk away.
He quickly pulled off his pants and had them in the dryer so that he could turn his attention to the
meal that was becoming colder and soggier by the minute. Holding up a limp fry he had an idea. He
turned on the stoves broiler and dumped the fish and fries onto the broiler pan; this would make
the fish and chips warm and crispy again. As the stove warmed he decided to toast his upcoming
success with a bottle of wine from his wine cellar. The cellar would accommodate up to an hundred
and fifty bottles but he only kept fifty or so on hand to cover most occasions. The door to the cellar
was just off the kitchen and he was at the bottom of the stairs a matter of seconds, an odd smell
struck his nose. He opened the door and was overcome by fumes. He pulled his Henley over his nose
and mouth and quickly ascended the stairs as the fumes followed him out into the house. A coughing
fit overtook him as he made his way out the front door. As he stood in his driveway breathing in
gulps of fresh air, he realized that somehow the carbon monoxide was leaking into his cellar. He
hurried over to the car and shut off the engine.
"Son of a freakin bitch!" He'd almost killed himself along with the gopher.
He took a deep breath of air and held it as he rushed into the living room to open the French doors
so the house would vent faster. He opened the double wide garage door with the remote in his car
and then opened the laundry room door to the garage to vent some more. Next he went back inside
and turned off the heat and turned the air conditioner on full blast. He stood outside while the fumes
vented from the house and shivered as the cool crisp air stung his bare legs; his pants were still in
the dryer. The cold concrete of the driveway made his stocking clad feet ache. He waited a few more
minutes before he ran inside for his pants and shoes. Running back out the front door with the items
in hand, he collided with someone coming in. His momentum sent them both sprawling across the front
porch.
"What the hell?" He blurted out as he tried to right himself.
Rick looked over into the face of Officer Tom, laid out oh his porch and now sporting a bloody nose.
"Crap," he said dropping his shoes and pants. "Let me get you something for that."
He ran inside and ran back out with a roll of paper towels and offered it to Officer Tom who was now
sitting with his head tilted back, pinching his nose closed with one hand. He threw a baffled look at Rick.
"A wittle help peeze." He said pointing at the roll.
"Oh, sorry."
Rick unrolled a few sheets and handed them down to the man.
"Tanks." Officer Tom said as he pushed the wad against his nose.
Since Officer Tom was incapacitated, Rick did all the talking.
"Let me guess," he said. "Mrs. Lovett?"
The officer nodded.
"What, did she call saying some pervert was streaking through the neighborhood?"
"Pretty much," Tom's replied nasally as he eyed Rick's boxers.
"Can I get dressed while I explain?"
"Go-head." He waved his free hand motioning him to continue.
Rick dressed as he narrated his ongoing gopher saga to the man. As he finished explaining, the officer
could only shake his head in disbelief. He pulled the wad of bloody paper towels from his nose to comment
on Rick's story.
"You have to be the unluckiest bastard that I've met in…"
His reply was cut short by a loud piercing alarm suddenly emanating from inside the house.
"What the hell is that?" Rick yelled over the noise.
"Smoke alarm!" Officer Tom yelled back.
Rick's eyes flew wide and he ran into the house.
"Wait!" Tom yelled after him. Struggling to his feet with the wad of towels back to his nose, he was hesitant
to follow this man and his bad luck into a burning building. He turned towards his car to call the fire department
when he heard a loud crash and cursing coming from the garage. He turned back to see Rick standing in the
middle of the empty garage with a pair of oversized lobster claw oven mitts on his hands stomping on the
smoldering remnants of a charred meal. He couldn't help but laugh.
Officer or not, Rick stood with his lobster claws on his hips and glared at the man.
"I'm sorry," Tom's snort of laughter sent fresh droplets of blood splattering onto the concrete below. "It's just
too funny!" He imitated lobster claws opening and closing with his hands before he put the wad of towels back
to his dripping nose.
Rick pulled off the mitts and threw them too the floor before storming out of the garage.
"Hey, wait…wait!" Tom called after him.
Rick stopped when he reached his car and leaned back dejectedly against the passenger side. Tom walked over
and stood next to him. Checking his nose, he found that it had stopped bleeding.
"Need any help?" Tom offered.
"Seriously?" Rick questioned.
"Seroiusly. I either help you now, or I have a feeling I'll be out here again later with either Bob, the fire department
or the EMT's."
"Very funny."
"Come on, what can I do?"
"Well, I could use a couple of rolls of duct tape from the hardware store." Rick said pulling a twenty dollar bill from
his pocket.
"That it?"
"Yeah, I think that'll do it."
"Alright then," he grabbed the twenty and headed to his patrol car. "Stay out of trouble till I get back"
Rick just shook his head and headed into the house. Cold air blasted him as he stepped into the foyer. He reached
for the remote to turn off the AC. Instead, he turned and ran back out the door yelling at Officer Tom's retreating
patrol car.
"And Batteries!"
The car never stopped as the man didn't hear.
"Damn it."
Back inside he considered throwing the remote across the room to further vent his frustration, but instead he
threw it back into the drawer and slammed it shut. He manually shut off the AC and began cleaning up the mess
in the garage and in the foyer while he waited for Officer Tom to return.
He was on his hands and knees cleaning he last of the mud trail from the floor in the kitchen when Tom returned.
"I got your tape…wow, nice place. I never get to see the insides of most of these homes. What do you do to
afford a place like this?"
"I'm a writer."
"Wadda ya' write?"
"Mystery novels mostly. Ever heard of Derrick Storm or Nikki Heat?"
"You write Nikki Heat? My wife reads those. She loves your books."
"Yeah," he said taking the duct tape from the man's hands. "If we both survive this, I'll hook you up with a copy
of my new book due out in August."
"Wow, thanks. That would be great. So what now?"
"Now, we need to duct tape the cellar door."
"Lead the way."
Twenty minutes and two rolls of duct tape later, there was an extensive seal attached the door. They both headed
back upstairs for the second attempt to gas the critter to death.
Rick started his car and as they waited he regaled Officer Tom with stories of Mrs. Lovett's pies.
"Oh my god, I think she's trying to kill you."
"That's what I keep telling my mother, but she just say's I'm overreacting."
"Well, if I find you dead in your house one day, I'll know who to arrest."
"Thanks, I think?"
Tom just laughed.
A good ten minutes had passed and Rick wanted to check to see if the seal on the cellar door was working. He joked
to Tom that if he wasn't back in five minutes he needed to call 911.
The seal was holding and he was confident as he headed back outside that the damn gopher would soon be dead. He
gave Tom the ok sign as he approached his car.
"The seal is holding; everything looks…"
His comment was interrupted by a high pitched squeal coming from the direction of the front yard. They both looked
over just in time to see a small yet vicious looking gopher with bared incisors charging right at them. Rick jumped up
onto the hood of his car while Officer Tom fumbled with his sidearm. The shot he got off was hurried but accurate
and gopher guts spattered the driveway and the rear quarter panel of Rick's car.
"Nice shot." Rick commented.
"Damn, that was one psycho gopher." He replied.
Rick turned off the idling car and they both stood over what was left of the rodent's carcass.
"Now what?" Tom asked.
"Now I scrape the remains off the driveway and bury them in the yard."
He headed into the garage and retrieved a shovel. He scooped up the carcass and carried it to the back yard. Officer
Tom watched as he dug a large hole.
"He's not that big," Tom remarked.
"It's not all I'm burying." Rick commented as he dropped the tiny body into the crater he'd dug.
Hurrying into the house, he returned moments later with a plastic bag in his hand. He emptied the bag containing a frozen
pie and burnt fish and chips into the hole atop the gopher.
"Mrs. Lovett's pie." Rick said, as he buried the remnants of death under a mound of dirt.
They both walked back to the front of the house, Rick, to return the shovel to the garage and Officer Tom to take
his leave. They shook hands in parting.
"Thanks for your help today, I mean it."
"Glad I could help."
"I'll be heading back to the city later; so you probably won't see me again until the summer."
"I hope not." Tom joked.
Rick laughed as Tom made his way to his patrol car and waved as he drove away.
Two hours later with everything cleaned, turned off and shuttered tightly till the summer, Rick discovered that he
rather enjoyed the three hour drive it took to get back home.