"Hey asshole! Wake up!" Eeyore pounded on Tigger's door the next afternoon. He wanted to get that money to Mr. Fox so he could have this Gopher bullshit over with and take his hashish, his gun, and Metallica CD, and finish what he was doing two nights ago.
Tigger rolled over and groaned.
"Go away!" he yelled and shoved his head under his pillow.
For an answer Eeyore kicked open the door and waded through the trash that cluttered the floor of Tigger's apartment. Tigger's apartment smelled like a combination of beer, fabric softener sheets, urine, and one of those hippie shops that sold incense, hemp necklaces, and moon crystals.
"Let's grab the dough and take it to that Mr. Fox dude," Eeyore said. "Get up!" he began whacking Tigger over the head with a pillow.
"Get a life man, Jesus!" Tigger squealed. "I was up late last night."
"We have ten thousand bucks in our care," said Eeyore. "I want to get it the fuck out of my responsibility."
"It's safe," Tigger replied. He rolled over and scratched his ball sack to make sure that it was in the proper place. "I put it in Roo's golf bag."
"Roo's golf bag!" Eeyore exclaimed. "What if he takes it?"
"That little tit hasn't played golf in over a year," Tigger replied. "Those clubs sit and gather dust just like all the other shit his parents have bought him over the years."
"Well hurry up," said Eeyore. "I have shit to do this weekend."
"What?" Tigger asked. "You got no life? Going to sit around in your shitty ass trailer, smoke weed, listen to Exodus, and masturbate?"
"Something like that," mumbled Eeyore. "Hurry up!"
Within minutes Tigger was ready and they traipsed downstairs to the garage.
"It's right over here," Tigger said and gestured to a pile of trash in the corner.
"I don't see no golf bag," said Eeyore.
Tigger began to wade through the pile. There was a weed whacker, car bra, a couple of inner tubes, a pitch fork, and a snow mobile, but no golf bag.
"Dude it was right here last night," Tigger exclaimed. "Right on top of the snow mobile. I zipped it up in the front pocket."
"You better not have spent it on titty dancers!" said Eeyore. "You know if Gohper doesn't kill us, the bookie will go after us."
"The titty dancers down at the club aren't even worth a pot to piss in let alone ten grand," Tigger laughed, however there was nervousness in his voice.
Even though Tigger was wasted drunk last night he clearly remembered putting the money in Roo's bag. Tigger could always remember things even when drunk. Sometimes he would claim that he didn't remember things like the time he grabbed Christopher-Robin's girlfriend's ass at Owl's Christmas party, and the time he hit on a twelve year old girl in the hot tub at the Best Western, but he always remembered. Sometimes in those situations it was just easier to claim not remembering, than admitting to acting like a complete jack off.
Tigger and Eeyore searched though the whole garage. Kanga had a lot of shit in her garage. Her defense lawyer husband Geoffrey, had lots of money so he had lots of toys. There was exercise equipment, skis, pool equipment, tennis rackets, and bicycles.
"Hell fire!" Tigger spat and chucked a bicycle across the garage. It nearly missed Kanga's Jaguar. "Where the fuck could it be?"
"Well maybe Roo decided to play golf," Eeyore suggested. "Let's find Roo."
Tigger and Eeyore knocked on the door of Kanga's house. Roo answered the door.
"Hi Tigger," he greeted. "Want to play Nintendo Wii?"
"I'll give you a Nintendo up your ass," Tigger replied. "Where's your golf bag?"
"How the hell should I know?" Roo shrugged. "I don't play golf anymore. Golf is for old farts."
"We need the bag Roo," Eeyore explained.
"I don't know where it is," said Roo. "I think the garage maybe."
"What's going on?" Kanga had come to the door.
"I need Roo's golf bag," Tigger spat.
"Oh, well I actually loaned that out to one of Geoffrey's friends this morning. His grand son is in town and they were going golfing. He needed a set of child's clubs and Roo never plays. He's much to frail and sickly to play competitive sports."
"You fucking loaned it!" Tigger shrieked.
"Don't say fuck around my boy," Kanga yelled.
"Why? Dad does," said Roo.
"Shut up and go upstairs," Kanga snapped. "I don't see what's wrong. What's it to you if I let someone borrow Roo's golf bag. You wouldn't have any use for child's clubs."
"It does matter," Tigger muttered. "I had hid some shit in there, some really important shit."
"Tigger you own nothing important," Kanga laughed. "What? A pack of Marlboros?"
Tigger explained about Gopher, the bookie, the hashish, and the money. Kanga listened wide-eyed. You would never think a Suzy homemaker like Kanga with her Bible and her chocolate chip cookies, and her lawyer husband would smoke pot, but even they kept a stash around for the occasional Friday night haze.
"The man who borrowed the bag is one of Geoffrey's partners at his law firm. His name is Harold Daniels. I don't have a number for him. Maybe Geoffrey can ask him on Monday."
Tigger shook his head. Monday would be too late. The bookie would already have made his kill. Sadly they left Kanga's.
"Fuck!!!" Tigger screamed as they walked down the lane.
"Perhaps it won't be that bad," said Eeyore. "Bookies usually kill fast and efficiently. They like to do a smooth, clean, kill so they won't get caught. Usually a bullet in the head, sometimes they'll snap your neck."
"You idiot," Tigger sneered. "What if they decide to break our legs? Leave us crippled?"
"I might as well be crippled," Eeyore shrugged. "Then I wouldn't have to go out and do stuff and I could get money from the government. Probably get more chicks."
"You won't get chicks being crippled," said Tigger. "Chicks dig scars not cripples."
"No," said Eeyore. "Women like to nurse and mother. A crippled man is like taking care of a puppy. Anyway, I'm hoping Mr. Fox's men will just do a nice clean shot in the head. They'll put a pillow over the barrel so that it's quiet, and the neighbor's don't hear."
"You're fucked up," Tigger replied.
"Many happy returns of the day," Winnie-the-Pooh greeted. He and Piglet were strolling down the lane.
"Happy my ass," Eeyore scoffed. "What are you two douches up to?"
"We're going to The Thoughtful Spot to have some brie and baguette and some fine wine from Burgundy," said Piglet.
"We're also going to play Dungeons and Dragons," Pooh added. "Want to play with us?"
"No," said Tigger. "Eeyore, Gopher, and I are fucked. We lost ten thousand bucks of cash that was supposed to go to this bookie dude for some prime weed. The bookie is going to come and beat our asses."
"Oh bother," Pooh shrugged. "Well if you decide to change your mind and play with us, we'll be at The Thoughtful Spot."
"Pooh we have to help them," said Piglet. "Drug lords are even more serious than heffalumps and woozels."
"Yeah because Heffalumps and Woozels don't have machine guns," Tigger put in. He went into great detail about the golf bag and how Kanga had loaned it out.
"Why don't we just go to the country club and look for them?" Piglet suggested. "They probably don't even know that the money is there."
"We're supposed to ride up to the country club in my piece of shit Cutlass?" Eeyore laughed. "They'd shoot us at the gate."
"Well we could take my Lexus," Piglet offered. "I don't mind."
Piglet was independently wealthy. She was loaded and had a garage full of luxury cars, a house full of antiques, and a closet full of Chanel and Prada.
"Fuck, I'm game for that," said Tigger. "She's right. They probably don't even know they have the money. We'll go to the country club, we'll find them on the ninth hole, we'll ask if we can get something out of the brat's golf bag and then we're off the hook."
Or so they thought.