Three Scoops is a Blast! Page 13

  Eaten raw and in moderation on a day-to-day basis, it could prolong existence indefinitely and stop aging at whatever point in life the diner happened to be. That’s where George and Hannah were, locked in place at ages 22 and 20 respectively. Sautéed and served in a smothering heap on top of steak, it could lead to paralysis and death. Hannah knew exactly how much to serve and in what form to achieve the desired result. Justin didn’t stand a chance.

  Justin was too close to knowing the truth. George could see it in his eyes. The diary confirmed it. He and Hannah could only disguise themselves so long. Their lack of aging was an impediment to staying in any one place. That’s why they kept on the move around the globe.

  They could have semi-normal lives for ten to 15 years at the maximum. In each block of time, they liked to enjoy themselves and play their own private jokes. They would even mix up their names, never straying too far from their roots, but sometimes having fun with the gender.

  They liked Justin. But there was really no alternative. It was time, once again, for Hansel and Gretel to kill their supplier and move on.

  Fuzzy on the Details

  March 20, 2010

  Paying attention to detail solved the case. There were several abnormalities to note about the two-foot-tall fish tank. A small amount of water had been displaced, as if someone’s arm had been inserted all the way; the ceramic castle on the bottom appeared to have been moved on its granular base, possibly for aesthetic reasons; the mosquito larvae and black worm food weren’t in their usual spot on the shelf; and the gold and silver angel fish were still active and alert a long while after the estimated time of death of the corpse in the condo’s kitchen. None of these was conclusive on its own. The owner and chief fish wrangler could have performed these acts just before the last roundup, but the investigator on the case was used to following his hunches.

  It seemed the murderer might know and love cichlids. A shared interest with the victim could explain the lack of forced entry. A beam of light shone on one particular suspect. Further investigation revealed motive and opportunity. The healthy fish were the dead giveaway.

  Felix Bender punched the control button to turn off the police drama. Watching crime-solving shows was his chief form of relaxation. He particularly liked it when a single clue, left behind by even the brightest of criminals, led to an arrest. This was the kind of attention to detail Felix wished he could summon in his own life. But Felix was weak on the finer points. It wasn’t that there were many limits to his intelligence. Rather, he was readily distracted. Felix had big dreams and it was easier to fantasize about success than to do the grunt work.

  It’d been weeks since Felix had truly relaxed. Not since his wife Charlene announced she was leaving him. For what must have been the hundredth time, he reviewed his life. His shortcomings in the matter of detail had been a curse, a blessing and then a curse once more.

  As a young man, his failings caused him a great deal of consternation when it came to choosing a career. Almost all occupations require some level of focus on a limited number of observation points. Early on, Felix imagined what it would be like to train for law enforcement. A goodly portion of police procedural work involves honing one’s everyday observational skills. Who is entering or leaving a store, theatre or bank? Who is interacting with whom and in what manner on any given occasion? Who are the bystanders at a crime scene? What is each person wearing? Be able to describe the appearance of the couple sitting across from you in a restaurant. There was no telling when this might become important after the commission of a crime. Felix soon realized he could not maintain focus. His thoughts dispersed in other directions too quickly.

  He worked in the food service industry for a number of years. That seemed like it might offer interesting possibilities. There was no denying how much he liked food. The more exotic and piquant the better. Crème brulee, bouillabaisse, jambalaya, moo goo gai pan, baba ganoush, moussaka and shawarma were all delectable treats. But as for how to prepare them, they were all just foreign words to him. He was quickly lost in doubt as to when to add cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, savory or rosemary to a bubbling stew. Where he did shine was in observing the kinds of people who knew such things. He acquired an in-depth understanding of the personality types who were epicures and chefs versus the meat-and-potatoes-choosing average Joes.

  He thought he’d try auto sales for a while. He imagined himself driving a fancy car. But did he know all-wheel drive from four-wheel drive, the imports from the domestics, the esoterica of anti-lock braking and hi-tech electronic systems, hybrids versus plug-ins? More to the point, was he really interested? In a word, no. Did he quickly pick up on the character profiles of those who chose convenience or fuel efficiency as compared to off-road behemoths or luxury brands? Yes.

  The same disinterest in detail limited his growth prospects along several other career paths. Lawyers, accountants, architects, engineers, doctors, real estate agents - these were all fact hoarders and detail grinders. By the time he was in his early 30s, Felix was beginning to despair over ever finding his true calling. He was feeling badly for Charlene who wanted a nice home and to start a family. It seemed everyone else in the world had a purpose and an interest.

  Felix became depressed and drilled inward for an answer to his dilemma. Being of rather shallow mind, that seemed like a barren prospect. The opposite proved to be true. As occasionally happens in life, the unexpected poked up and bestowed a blessing on one of fate’s chosen favorites.

  Felix began a journal about his emotional crisis and how he was dealing with it. From somewhere deep within, he happened upon humor as the best approach. He pitched his work-in-progress to a self-help publisher. You Might As Well Have Some Fun While You Go Nuts was the rather long but catchy title of his opus. Its major message was that people caught in overwhelming circumstances should change the pronoun “you” to “I” in the title and repeat it, or even sing it, over and over. Felix’s refrain provided a mantra barrier to hold back the abyss.

  The power of suggestion contained in the phraseology really did turn some people’s lives around. Felix’s pop psychology was a huge hit. He chose to present himself not as a man who sees a glass either half-full or half-empty, but as one who judges it to contain the right amount of fluid to soak one’s dentures in overnight. His musings crossed over into cultural phenomenon.

  That’s when the talent agent Shannon came into the life of Felix and the on-air persona of Fuzzy was born. Shannon had been retained by a local TV station to find an afternoon host to interview guests about their personal problems of a work, family or romantic nature. Felix adopted the stage-name “Fuzzy” with one intention only, to name the show Fuzzy on the Details. It was to be a slightly more light-hearted approach that would differentiate it from the other tear-your-soul-apart offerings on the airwaves. The owners of the station jumped at the opportunity.

  The show proposed it was sometimes better not to know all the details. Drop obsession, achieve closure and move on with a freer frame of mind if at all possible. Young and dynamic Shannon and her executive husband Phil quickly became best friends with Felix and Charlene.

  In no time at all, Fuzzy’s wit, charm and novel approach were winning viewers at an impressive rate. The show moved from local to national, with notoriety and attention in lock step. Fuzzy became the nation’s favorite relationship guru. Much of the subject matter was outrageous. One of the first guests was a man who was sure his neighbour’s son was on drugs. Confronting the neighbor, however, harvested a bitter fruit. In a classic combination of “not as it seems” and “people in glass houses”, it was eventually revealed the supplier was the interviewee’s daughter.

  Then there was the lady who knew too much about what everyone else at her workplace was doing. Having a strong record of applying herself to the task at hand and resentful over what others might be getting away with, she started secretly monitoring her co-workers. So-and-so in production was leaving fifteen minutes early for lunch ea
ch day. Several clerks in accounts receivable were shaving their departure times to arrive early at the gym. Too many employees weren’t reporting accurately on sick days and vacation time. She took this intelligence to her boss but in the final analysis, it was her spying that was most upsetting to the company and she was the one let go. The show preached steadily on the need to accept some of the flaws of others.

  Fame and fortune were Felix’s new companions. He was able to realize many of his fantasies. But perfection was not about to last forever in Fuzzyland, as Felix would soon discover.

  A little over two years into his new life, Felix arrived home as per usual just before dinner. He kept regular hours since the broadcast was taped in the morning, leaving the afternoon to prepare for the next day.

  Charlene was waiting for him with a chilled open bottle of Lowenbrau. She asked him to join her in the study of their new home. There was something she wanted to discuss and she needed his relationship expertise.

  When they were settled, Charlene broached an awkward subject. “Shannon’s been behaving strangely lately.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  “She’s not available. You know I drive into town to have lunch with her on a regular basis. On several recent occasions, she’s called at the last minute to cancel.”

  “That’s not so unusual.”

  “I was okay with it in the beginning. But her excuses are becoming flimsier and flimsier.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, first she had to rush to her sick mother’s side. Then it was her sister who was ill. More recently, it’s been a constant stream of car trouble. She needed an oil change one week. Then her tires had to be rotated. I thought it might be because I’d done something to upset her and she doesn’t like me anymore. I was afraid to discuss it with you because you two have such a close working relationship.”

  “I can’t imagine that’s true. And she has been talking about having car trouble and illness in the family.”

  “But then I started paying more attention to your show.”

  “Oh? And where did that lead?”

  “I came to the conclusion she’s having an affair.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Shannon. I doubt that very much. She and Phil are very close.”

  “You had a lady guest a couple of weeks ago who suspected her husband might be cheating on her. Remember how the discussion went?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “You said it would be easy to know. There would be numerous tell-tale signs. If both parties were married, which was likely, they would need to meet in a hotel room. That would mean someplace close at hand if they were co-workers. Gifts as a sign of affection would be ticking time bombs. They’d have to be careful about where any expenses would appear, on credit cards or bank statements. You were quite specific and gave her a good number of clues to watch out for.”

  “Thank you. I really do try to help my viewers.”

  “Last week, I finally did call you at work after Shannon cancelled. I was upset and wanted to talk with you about it. You weren’t available. Later you said you’d been tied up with Sid in accounting from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m.”

  “That’s right. We went over advertising accounts and where we might be able to pick up some new sponsors. I even told you some of the firms we think are the best prospects.”

  “Then yesterday when Shannon backed out again, I tried to reach you and only got your phone mail. Apparently there was a meeting with the honchos from corporate all afternoon. You came home and acted out their three-man dog and pony show, word for word. It was quite amusing.”

  “So?”

  “You’re the one Shannon is having the affair with.”

  “What do you mean? That’s ridiculous. Do you have any evidence?”

  “You mean like lipstick on the collar or a lingering scent of perfume or a hotel charge?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have all the evidence I need. There’s no point in denying it.”

  Felix said with a crestfallen expression, “How can you be so sure?”

  A wistful smile fleetingly crossed Charlene’s face. “Because I’m your wife and I still know you better than anyone else, Felix or Fuzzy or whoever you think you’re becoming with your new celebrity status. When it comes to your missing whereabouts, you’re no longer vague with the details.”

  The Size of the Skip

  March 27, 2010

  The man, his son and his daughter had a routine when they went for a bike ride. Taking point position would be the son, about to turn age 12, on a medium-sized bike. In the middle would be the daughter, just short of 8 years old, on a small but not too small bike. Bringing up the rear and keeping an eye on the whole convoy, the 50-something man was on the biggest bicycle of the three.

  They would ride in tandem down the street that ran past their cottage and up and down the undulating hills that made their community such a pretty place in which to live. White pine, spruce and cedar mainly hid the oak and maple that came to the fore in the fall when the leaves changed colour. Multi-hued and variously-sided cottages were set back on sandy soil.

  There was one biggish hill they liked to pretend was a monster. They called it San Garganza for no particular reason, except it sounded like the kind of place where the souls of dead bikers might have made their heads-over-heels exits. It was fun to pretend they were scared by the place. The pot-holes on that particular stretch of pavement were a bit of a safety hazard.

  Most often, the rides were pure enjoyment with not much to upset the pleasure of the experience. There were a few cars and trucks that would drive past and sometimes annoyance was expressed when it was obvious someone was driving too fast through what was basically a residential community with quite a few kids. All in all, the man knew his children would remember these rides with fondness when they grew up and had families of their own.

  It was the spring of the year and the three of them were particularly glad to be out for their first ride. Winter in the city had been medium harsh, with an average amount of snowfall. The father had been working quite hard and while he had not by any means ignored the children, it was easy to underestimate how much they’d grown up.

  Leaving their wife and mother behind to attend to some womanly matters, and because she needed time to herself every now and then, the outbound ride from the cottage was uneventful. Including the plummet down San Garganza hill, the journey took twenty minutes to reach the local playground with a swing, slides and other contraptions such as monkey bars at different heights. They each took their turns doing silly things, including the man, although he did also rest on a bench for a while. After half an hour they were ready to head home again.

  Something about the moment quietly overwhelmed the man. Perhaps it was the perfection. Not purely perfect but as close to perfect as anything was going to be in this life. Here he was on a beautiful spring day with two of his three children and they were all feeling young and coltish.

  With age, the man had come to realize that, at its core, the nature of time is illusory. The body is merely a shell to the mind. Memories are skipping stones with their immediacy undimmed by the size of the skip. It had been only a hand wave ago when each of the children was a baby and needed a good deal more attention than they truly required now.

  Last year the daughter had moved up a size in bike and what had been an awkward exercise in balance and mobilization then was now a thing of ease and grace. That was just one of the changes underway on a day-to-day basis in their lives. Time was getting away from him, no doubt about it, and he was helpless to do anything but run with the stampede.

  He thought back to his father’s far-fetched stories about biking adventures. His father claimed to have ridden for hours to escape out of the big city on the weekends. There’d be visits to relatives at a farm. It was deemed nothing to pedal 50 miles at a go. Measurement in those days was in miles, not these newfangled shorter kilometres.