JA20 :: Pockets

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Full Pockets

Bobby - Quarters

Excited voices downstairs woke Bobby. He snuck to the door of his bedroom and pressed his ear to the door. All the fun always happened during his nap or after Moms made him go to bed! It was hard to hear through the door and all the way down the stairs, but there was something about a villain and a gun. Bobby crept back to the bed and grabbed his favoritest bear, squeezing him tight against his chest as he crept back to the door to listen some more. Trixie was ‘splaining how she had a rev’lation during the movie and got Tom—hey! Bobby liked Tom at The Cameo, too! —to call her a cab, except she didn’t come right home, she went to Honey and Jim and Regan and Dickie’s home. And, just like she thoughted—his sister was must be just about the smartest person in the whole world—she caught the burglar red-handed! Just like the heroes in the comic books Mart would sometimes read to him. Except in the comic book the bad guys are always the bad guys, and he can hear Trixie’s excited voice telling everyone how the bad guy she caught was his friend Dickie. Bobby stuck his fingers in the pocket of Bear’s overalls, running chubby fingers over the two shiny quarters he’d secreted away there. Dickie had given them to him so he could buy his own strainer to catch frogs in, so he’d stop getting in trouble for borrowing Moms’. What if the quarters were stolen, too? Did that make Bobby an ‘complice? Was he going to jail, too? Bobby snuck out of his room carefully and snuck into Trixie’s room, to look out her window, and, sure enough, he could see the red and blue lights of a patrol car. The police were there for him, too! Maybe if he gave the quarters back, and ‘poligized, and ‘splained how he didn’t mean to possess stolen goods, only he thought Dickie was his friend, and that’s how he accidentally end up with stolen quarters in Bear’s pocket, maybe they wouldn’t take him away to jail for ever and ever! He didn’t want to go to jail.

Bobby raced down the stairs and threw himself at his dad, because his dad made everything better. “Dad. I didn’t do it on purpose. I actually did it. Please don’t let them take me to jail!”

Peter Belden scooped him up in his arms, trying to soothe him. “What’s the matter, Bobby? What did you accidentally do?” He asked, knowing his young son regularly confused the words “actually” and “accidentally”. “Did you have a nightmare, Bobby?”

Bobby shook his head. “I actually did it! I thought Dickie was my friend. He gave me shiny quarters to buy a frog catcher strainer for my very own. I was ‘cited, because it would be my very own!” He fumbled for the quarters and squirmed around in his dad’s arms to give them to the police officer. “I’m sorry, off’cer. I didn’t know Dickie stoled stuff and the quarters might be stoled, too. I’m sorry, only please don’t take me to jail!”

“No one is going to jail tonight, Bobby,” the officer assured him. “Except Dick and his partner, Louie.” He handed back the quarters. “Dick wasn’t ever accused of stealing quarters, so you can keep these and get that frog catcher of your very own. Maybe your dad can take you in the morning. But right now, I think your bear is awfully tired and probably wants to go back to sleep.”

Bobby yawned. “Bear might be a little tired,” he agreed.

Harrison - Matchbook

Mr. Wilson had alerted him to the absence of one of the hostesses. Had it been the Wheeler girl, Harrison wouldn’t have felt any concern. But it was Miss Belden, and she was up to something more than hosting a Halloween party for her classmates. He caught sight of her blonde curls in the shadows of the dining room. She was acting shifty. He turned the lights on to confront her. She jumped, whirling around. He thought he saw something drop into her pocket, but none of the valuables in the room would fit in her pockets. In any case, he didn’t take her for a common thief. Whatever she was up to, there was something more to it. Miss Diana had been miserable the past few weeks. Harrison did not intend to let any ill will from her classmates, especially her supposed fellow hostesses, ruin the evening for the young woman.

“Oh, hello, Harrison,” Miss Belden stammered out, obviously caught off guard. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Nor did I expect to find you here, miss. The other young people are in the gallery where the grand march is in progress,” he said pointedly. A good hostess would be, generally speaking, hosting. A good friend would simply be present. Someone with no agenda would at least be attending the party. Miss Belden was doing none of those things, so she had some sort of agenda. He couldn’t tell what it was, though.

The youngster took the hint and fled back to the gallery, so Harrison let the matter go, intending to stay vigilant. Much as he personally disliked Mr. Wilson, he appreciated the tip. He would have to thank the man later. It was only polite.

Harrison decided to check over the dining room once more, to be certain all was ready for the party goers to eat as soon as the costume competition and party games concluded. One of the orange accent candles was missing. Harrison shook his head. What in all the world did Miss Belden want with a little candle? They weren’t anything special. A quarter would get you a half dozen at Crimpers. The usual candles, Lynch blue with a gold spiral, which Harrison had set aside in one of the sideboard’s drawers, were far pricier, if she was going to steal a candle.

Maybe it was something else entirely. He noted that Miss Belden’s eyes were glued to the matchbook in his hands when he lit the orange candles later in the evening, as the party goers settled down to eat. As a result, he was very careful to put the matchbook in his pocket, rather than the sideboard drawer. Whatever she was up to, he wasn’t going to facilitate it.

Dismissed by Miss Diana, he retreated to his own room to further contemplate Miss Belden’s possible plans and what she could possibly need a candle for. Light or heat, presumably, but the whole of the estate was wired. Why not turn on the lights, unless she didn’t want to draw attention, because she was up to no good? And heat, or fire, what use could there be for that? Other than something destructive? Maybe he should return downstairs and keep a closer eye on things. Mr. Wilson certainly couldn’t be trusted to supervise.

Spider Webster - Gum

Spider Webster loved being a police officer. More than he thought he would. He’d always assumed a job was something he would have to do when he couldn’t get away with playing ball all day any more. Even shifts like today’s, the evening shift that meant he wouldn’t see Tad all day, would miss dinner with his little brother, who didn’t have anyone else but him and Mrs. V in the whole world. While Tad ate dinner, did his homework, played video games, and went to bed, Spider would be hanging out on a street corner, making sure Sleepyside’s residents were obeying the speed limit, stopping for the red light, and otherwise not doing anything they’d regret in the morning. Traffic duty was boring, but Spider still loved it.

Now that it was truly dark, traffic had thinned out – not that Sleepyside streets were ever really busy – and Spider was settling into the long stretch of his shift, not expecting much of anything. He was reaching for the pack of gum in his pocket – chewing it was something to do, more than anything, and he’d realized quickly that he needed a habit he wouldn’t regret, which ruled out cigarettes or chewing tobacco or any other potentially addictive way to ease the monotony – when he saw a coupe pulling a trailer down the street, headed toward his intersection.

Now that’s odd. There are only a couple of those traveling homes in Sleepyside. The Wheelers’ is parked on their property, and not going anywhere. The only other one I know of is the Lynches’ Robin. I hadn’t heard anything about them going on vacation, though I suppose, with that new brother in the picture, anything is possible. Still, who would want to drive a thing like that in the dark when they could just wait for morning?

Sure enough, it was the Red Robin coming down the street, going a bit faster than Spider thought was wise, but not over the limit quite yet. Spider glanced up at the light, realizing it was changing. Good, that’ll give me a chance to wave at Ed Lynch and see if everything seems okay. Spider looked back at the approaching vehicle and realized it was picking up speed, not slowing down. That wasn’t like Ed Lynch at all.

Spider climbed onto his motorcycle just as the coupe entered the intersection. A metallic bang nearly had him jumping back off the bike. He looked around hurriedly as another crash resounded through the intersection and realized pots and pans were flying out of the Robin’s windows.

“Help! Help! Spider! Help!” Someone yelled from within the trailer. It sounded like Trixie Belden, but that made even less sense than Ed speeding through the red at this hour of the night.

“Dispatch to 113, I copy pursuit of the Lynches’ Robin from your station,” Spider’s radio crackled, and he realized he must have called in the situation without even thinking about it. Good; a patrol car would be here to back him up in minutes. Since he was under assault by kitchenware, it seemed likely something was deeply amiss with the trailer and her occupants.

“Pull over, you!” He shouted at the driver when he drew alongside the coupe. The man was not Ed Lynch, though Spider thought he was the new brother of Mrs. Lynch. Now with no ability to deny that he thought the siren hadn’t been meant for him, the driver slowed to a stop.

Just as Spider got off his motorcycle, Trixie—for it was indeed the Belden girl in the window of the trailer, and the middle Belden boy, too—screamed out, “Watch out, Spider! He’s got a gun!”

By that point, Spider figured nothing about this stop should surprise him. He drew his own gun as he approached the driver.

Spider wasn’t sure who to believe in the story that tumbled out of the driver, Trixie, and Mart Belden, and had to admit he was more than a little glad to hand them all off to Molinson, and the lieutenant back at the station, to sort out. He’d hear about it when he got back to the station at the end of his shift. It promised to be quite the tale, one way or the other.

Spider returned to his intersection, parked the bike, and reached into his pocket for his long-awaited piece of gum. A nice quiet night shift sounded better than ever right now.

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