The Snafued Snatch

THE SNAFUED SNATCH

by Jackie Griffey

SMASHWORDS Edition September, 2013

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book, or any portion thereof in any form. This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE SNAFUED SNATCH

CHAPTER ONE

Light from the street lamp glittered and flashed like lightning off the candy apple red Mercedes sport car as it burned rubber turning the corner, was jerked over on the shoulder, and skidded to a stop. The passenger bolted as if the car was on fire then waited a few feet away, poised as if frozen in his flight. The one on the driver's side revved up the engine and pointed the car down the dead end street toward the gravel pit lake. His passenger was already running again when he joined him.

The two young men ran at an angle toward the deep ditch on the far edge of a vacant lot. Their hasty flight was accompanied by the loud noises of more screeching brakes and the wail of a siren. They clambered through the weeds and underbrush like a couple of mad goats until they dropped out of sight down a drain pipe into a sewage culvert. It was ankle deep in what they hoped was water. They continued running underground, panic driven, to where they were about halfway through the adjoining field and a dark turn hid them from any eyes that might peer into the widened sewer drain. Only then did they drop down to rest, spent and heaving for breath.

That was close!

Yeah, just our luck to pick a convenience store where the owner was working instead of some clerk that doesn't give a hoot! He musta shot five times!

I noticed, came the sarcastic reply.

Jerry Jenkins, self styled bandit, glared at his partner, Don Tankersley. Tank, he panted. We've got to find ourselves something that pays better than this!

Tank held up his hand, the whites of his eyes big in the near pitch blackness. Both of them listened, holding their breath. The distant sounds of the police cars and the search were fading. They heard cars leaving before they could breathe normally again.

Guess they're giving up? Jerry smirked. Wonder if they're going to have to pull that car out of the gravel pit to see if we're still in there? His partner didn't answer, he sat listening intently.

Jerry scowled, his face twisted with scorn. I hope they do! I want the clowns to get at least as wet as we are! Looks like a good laugh about dunking a couple of uniforms is all we're getting out of this.

Tell me about it! Tank sighed, feeling sorry for himself. I couldn't even afford a funeral at that place where I work doing this!

Jerry gloomily .added up the damage and expense. We stole a car; wasted our time; and got shot at. We're sitting here in I don't want to know what, and we got nothing but stink to show for it.

At least, I've got my salary check in my shirt pocket. I hate the place and the nerdy guy who runs it, but they do pay on time.

Yeah, Jerry's voice dripped with sarcasm. Let's hear a cheer for the prick and the dead! Crap! They're not even in the small print on our worry list right now.

Restless as he was miserable, Jerry got up and went back to the drainage pipe where they'd jumped down. Tank didn't bother moving. Jerry braced his feet as he pulled himself up and held onto the edge of the concrete rim to peer over the top. He looked back toward his partner.

I guess it's safe now, he called. "Don't see any lights and we heard cars leaving.

Tank didn't comment.

Jerry dropped down and went back. Guess we better go on the way we started in case some of those cops might be waiting for us.

Yeah, we'll be out of here soon. It'll be safer going on than going back.

Tank took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose at the bad odor that surrounded them. He slowly got up and felt in his shirt pocket, then in the one on the other side of his shirt. He stopped abruptly turning a panicked look at Jerry. My check! I don’t feel my check in here!

That's all we need! Feel in there again and make sure. You got a match or anything?

A small pinpoint of light appeared and flitted around, frantically searching near where they stood. It came from Tank's disposable key chain light and didn't cover much of an area at one time.

That rat! Tank's voice bounced off the hard walls and set the animal in motion. The light showed the young rat slipping in his hurry, rodent claws scrambling for traction, trying to get out of the puddle he was in and run. That's my check he's got in his mouth!

Jerry made a dive and grabbed at the rat. It was little and squeaked in terror that matched Jerry's. Jerry strangled it out of sheer fear it would bite him and dropped it. He got up shaking, the check safely in his hand.

Tank appeared beside him in the gloom. He was pointing at something.

Jerry moved back instinctively, then saw it was a large tom cat eyeing the little rat.

The rat's tail moved a little, Tank said. Jerry straightened out the check, paying no attention.

It's alive, Tank said. As he spoke he bent and instinctively reached out toward it. But the cat put a big paw on the rat and hissed at him, baring its teeth. Tank stood there a minute feeling sorry for the rat, his eyes locked on the cat's. It's ears were laid back flat against it's skull in defiance. Jerry's voice broke the spell.

Come on, for God's sake. You think that cat's going to give you a tip for his dinner? Jerry handed Tank his check. Put that in your shirt pocket that buttons, he said as he turned and started walking.

Tank shivered. Besides the fright of their close call and where he was, his feet and his pants were wet. He couldn't remember ever being more miserable. I'm coming, I'm coming.

They continued in the dark, careful where they put their feet, Jerry leading the way this time.

The water and the smell didn't get any better as they sloshed through ankle to knee high wetness in places, Tank flashing the tiny pinpoint of light every few feet. He was still shivering. Wonder if we've got any more company down here?

Hell no. The four legged critters bigger than that rat and the cat on a hunting trip have better taste, you moron! You got any idea where we are?

.Yeah, used to come down here and swim in the gravel pit once in a while. We can go on through this field and come out on the road on the other side.

They reached the other side of the stretch of drainage and climbed out. They walked, the breeze drying their clothes if not improving the smell.

Our van is supposed to be ready tomorrow, Tank volunteered the information trying to think of something to cheer them up.

Good. I'll meet you at the mortuary when you get off and we'll go pick it up. Don't cash your check. That mechanic tell you what's wrong with the van?

No, said something about maybe an alternator?

I hope he's wrong, they're high. He's probably going to screw us on parts and labor too.

Well, we'll cross that high priced bridge when we get there.

They walked a few minutes in silence. Tank groaned, I smell so bad I'm beginning to wish I was still in the car.

* * *

At The Herald weekly newspaper, Maggie Driver sat at her computer staring as if hypnotized at the monitor and remembering the trouble she had learning to use it. Now she wondered how anyone could get along without one. The admiration was not mutual and the thing constantly fussed at her and threatened to shut down. It was definitely a love-hate relationship.

I can forgive its bad manners for the help it is. She frowned, waiting for it to boot up after telling her it had been shut down improperly. There was no other comment or sympathy offered. The machine was checking itself to see if that electronically illiterate human in the chair had caused any damage.

Maggie frowned. There should be a charm school for computers.

She went back to daydreaming about her husband Joe coming to take her to lunch. Lieutenant Joe Driver, my wonderful, sweet, good looking husband. She smiled to herself until reality intruded.

Is that smile just gas or are you thinking about what you're going to wear to the party?

Fatima, the receptionist's voice broke into Maggie's fantasy of Joe and candlelight in some expensive place which would probably turn out to be Burger King.

No, I don't know what I'm going to wear yet. Or where I'm going to get it, for that matter. I told Joe about the party Grace is having and he's not so enthused about it. I think he's praying to the patron saint of husbands he'll have to work that night! Maggie laughed remembering Joe's reaction when she told him about the Halloween party.

He'll get over it. I'm looking forward to it. Grace will do it up neat for, she made quotation marks with her fingers. For All Saints Night.

Umm, Maggie narrowed her eyes, curiosity showing. You must have something fantastic in mind to be looking forward to it. You already decided about your costume?

They were interrupted by the outside door opening.

Here comes trouble, Fatima mumbled. She quickly sat down, putting the high receptionist's desk top between her and the newcomer.

Maggie looked and saw only an average looking man in an average looking suit and was just summing him up as totally average when she got to his face and saw the lecherous gleam in his eye. She backed up a little, feeling uncomfortable. Her legs touched the chair and she was going to follow Fatima's example of sitting when the man beckoned to her and held out a paper in his hand.

I didn't see Hank's car out front, can you show me where this street address is? He covered the leer with a disarming smile.

Maggie went to him and looked at the paper. She felt his arm around her waist as she realized it was a page he'd torn out of a phone book!

He managed to brush against her breasts as she backed up, her face turning red with embarrassment and temper. Before she could say anything Hank spoke from the hall.

Come on back here, Ted. And keep your hands to yourself or I'm going to let Fatima knee you in the groin!

Hank Hanover who owned the paper looked grim enough to do the job himself, but the man laughed it off and went to join him.

Who was that? Maggie wrinkled her nose in distaste.

He doesn't rate who, he's more of a what? Cross between a dirty old man and a lecherous old goat. Always run sit on a straight chair when you see him coming, they're as unembraceable as Frankenstein.

I'll remember. I hope he doesn't come here often?

No. His name's Ted Chumley and he's not here very much. Hank knows what a load of garbage he is.

Then what's he doing here? Maggie was not happy with knowing he would probably be back some time.

He works for one of the politicians Hank has to put up with. They probably all just ignore him. Fatima frowned, I think he takes messages, takes care of travel plans and things like that. General stuff and fund raising too, I guess. Fund raising seems to be in all their job descriptions. What he is, is just a general flunky. You know, does stuff the bigger crooks don't want to fool with.

Maggie nodded, Hum, I get the picture. She brightened up, Back to where we were. Do you have something in mind for a costume to wear to Grace's party?

Sure do. I'm going to drag the Trip with me as part of my get-up if I can find what I want. Fatima grinned like an imp, her beautiful face full of mischief. I'll have Momma make them come and protect me, she giggled. So they won't have any choice about going.

Fatima worked full time at The Herald, took some classes at the university, and also worked as a high fashion model who sometimes got work with a local agency. Maggie immediately imagined the protection she referred to. The Trip was her three brothers who were triplets. All three were in college on sports scholarships. They were all the security any girl would need en route to a night job. They accompanied her if there was an excellent paying assignment at night or the shoot assignment was somewhere Momma deemed worthy of taking some protection along.

Maggie eyed her suspiciously. Fatima wasn't above using her 'little sister' advantage.

Sometimes I wonder if the Trip should be protected from you! What is it you've got in mind that you'd need protection for?

You know when you first found out I was working for the agency, you complimented me saying I probably could pose as the Queen of Sheba?

Yes, you told me your Momma named you Queen Esther Johnson and you had your name legally changed to Fatima. Maggie nodded, then realization dawned on her. You don't mean

"Yep! If I can find the right costumes, I'm going as the Queen of Sheba and then Shad, Shack, and Bed"

Maggie glanced at Floyd, the only other employee in the office and started crooning, Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednigo, to Floyd's delight. He and Fatima hummed along for a few lines.

But what about the Trip? What will they be?

If I can find the costumes I'll get them Roman Centurion costumes. Won't that be neat?

Floyd went back by his desk grinning at the idea, then disappeared again into the press room.

Sounds great to me, but I don't know if you can find the costumes. Maggie gave it some thought. And it will definitely take your mother's help to get the Trip into costumes like that. Roman centurion costumes would be mostly leather and roman sandals wouldn't you think?

Probably. But they can have fun stuff like shields or something too. I think so anyway. We'll see. She glanced out the door. Here's that fellow you're so stuck on.

Yep, that's my Joe! See you in an hour. She met Joe at the door thinking what a good-looking Roman he'd make. As if anything short of divine intervention could ever get him into a costume like the ones Fatima has in mind.

* * *

Jerry met Tank at work as promised. He walked up the concrete parking area and saw Tank sitting on the back steps of the office of the Heavenly Rest Funeral Home. He looked around. Everybody gone but you?

Yeah. I couldn't tear myself away, I just love my work.

Uh-huh, you tell lies, too.

Tank got up, looking happy for some reason beyond Jerry. You better be nice to me, I got transportation. He pointed at the panel truck parked nearby.

Hey, things are looking up. How'd you manage that?

Walked by the keys and they just jumped right in my pocket, Tank said with a straight face. And since they have such a high turnover here, I don't think they will fire me even if they catch me. I don't care if they do. I've quit a lot of places that smelled better than this. He walked over and climbed into the driver's seat of the Heavenly Rest's van.

Jerry got in beside him and immediately shrank back, Hey, what's that thing in the floor?

It's an arm. Tank grinned looking pleased with himself. I stole it when I was taking some bodies and other things to the TRS Supply Associates. They supply the cadavers and stuff for the medical schools.

What for? Jerry bent down, looking closer. It's an ugly thing, isn't it?

You'd be ugly too, if you were pickled like it is. It's nearly Halloween, thought it'd be good for a laugh.

Whatever. Did the guy tell you what he thinks is wrong with our van other than the guess about it might be the alternator?

No, they must be trying to charge like the doctors they've been watching on television. When I tried to ask more about it he said they can't tell till they get in there, like it's an operation or something.

Well, I hope it's not the alternator. They'll charge us about three or four times what they have to pay the parts house, then the labor! Jerry rolled his eyes in horror.

We'll make it. We've got to have transportation, not that it's not a compliment to call the van transportation. But don't worry, I've still got my check in my pocket.

They didn't talk much on the way, each wondering about the van. About the only thing good about the old van was it was paid for. Since it was paid for, they only bought liability insurance on it when they had to get license plates and repairs were only done when it wouldn't move without them.

Good thing they have somebody here late a couple of nights a week, Jerry observed as Tank pulled into the parking area in back of Holden's Automotive.

The mechanic saw them coming and came to meet them. He looked at the Heavenly Rest panel truck and Tank stuck out his hand.

I'm glad you're open till eight o'clock. Did you get our van fixed?

Yes, purrs like a kitten now. But you're going to have to keep an eye on a couple of things and bring it in more often for servicing. He handed Tank the yellow invoice.

Jerry could tell by the look on Tank's face as he read it the news wasn't good. He held out the invoice where Jerry could see it. It was nearly twice what Tank's check was. Jerry took the invoice looking grim and moved away to look at the van. Tank opened the Heavenly Rest van door and slumped against the driver's seat. Jerry came back and gripped his arm, jerking his head at the right side where the severed arm was as he handed Tank the invoice to hold. He walked slowly back over to the van where the mechanic was waiting for him.

Tank quietly reached inside and got the severed arm, wondering what Jerry had in mind. We sure can’t scare him out of asking for the money now, if that’s what he thinks.

The mechanic raised the hood of the van, explaining to Jerry some of the things he'd done and that might need to be done later. Their attention was on the problems under the hood as Tank silently sidled back towards them, carefully holding the pickled arm.

Jerry saw him from the corner of his eye. What's that? Jerry squinted, pointing vaguely at the engine.

When the mechanic bent to look, Jerry grabbed the arm from Tank and swung it like a bat. Holding it with both hands he hit the mechanic a hard blow to the head. It staggered him but didn't quite knock him out. The mechanic stumbled a few feet before he fell to the concrete.

Tank gasped before he swung into terrified action. He took the keys to the van from a key board on the nearby wall, grabbing the shop's copy of the invoice under it. Moving quickly, he tossed the keys to Jerry. Meet you at Heavenly rest!

By the time Tank retrieved his arm and got the door open he knew they were both in big trouble. He clambered into the Heavenly Rest's panel truck thinking of assault and battery charges and grand theft auto that were now hovering over them.

Their van was pointed toward the street and Jerry leaped into it. He revved the engine and took off, running over the mechanic as he went. It made a resounding thump, the sound bouncing off the back of the place’s s open shop walls.

Tank followed, eyes wide with fright. He went around the mechanic's body feeling sick at his stomach.

CHAPTER TWO

Tank stopped at the grocery store where he had cashed his salary check before and came back with a package of cup cakes. He handed one to Jerry. Want to go have a pizza? It's just as cheap as buying something from the deli or trying to cook it.

Yeah. One large, one topping won't be much. He frowned at the sugary pastry before taking a bite. We've got to get on the ball and think of something better to do than we've come up with yet.

Yeah, Tank agreed. That gets my vote! Fine night's work that last job was. Probably took us about five hours counting casing it, getting the car and running for our lives!

Shot at, run down the sewer, and not a dime to show for it! Jerry's face looked like forty miles of bad road or maybe disgust on a gargoyle. His stomach punctuated the end of the statement with a growl at the half finished cup cake. He threw the wrapper out the window in spite of the litter sack in the van.

Tank ignored his ill humor and didn't comment, concentrating on his driving. He parked in a slot near the back where there was another exit from the lot. He didn't understand or try to analyze why he needed to see a quick way out, but his insides still felt like there was a cold breeze blowing through them. He tried not to think about the mechanic.

Jerry was already at a table when he got through checking out the exit to the next street. He held up a hand and Tank joined him.

What did you order, everything and a pitcher?

Jerry nodded. I've been thinking about things we can do. The thing that pays the best right now is snatching someone.

Kidnapping, you mean?

Jerry nodded. "Maybe we can think of some way to cash in on that.'

I don't know, Tank said doubtfully. Getting nearly killed was the main thing I had against our last job. That and the fact we haven't so far, got us enough money to buy Band-Aids with for our trouble. But there's no benefits attached to kidnapping either, are there? And some of the ones I've read about, they don't always pay off.

What the most of these unsuccessful snatchers are doing wrong in the kidnapping business is taking somebody with too much security or too much of a high profile. Besides which, they always ask for so much money it gets the attention of all the wrong people. It's no wonder they get caught.

All the wrong people? What do you mean? They have to contact the family. Isn't that what they always do?

I mean, we can pick someone who could pay us a lot more than any of these penny-ante jobs we've been doing, they got that part right. But we won't ask for so much money it will make them desperate enough to turn us in to the police. If we don't ask for a humongous amount of money it would be safer than going the police route for them just to pay us that smaller amount and get the person back without all that danger and excitement, you get me?

I guess so. But small amount? Tank's face wrinkled up, Small is our problem now. How small?

"Small enough they could get it in a hurry and get their snatched person back without getting the police involved