By The Pant Leg
Just as Trimmer yanked the broom closet door open, I noticed something I might have missed before, or maybe had forgotten. Funny how forgetting happens, and then all of a sudden you remember! Does that ever happen to you? For example, I’m not supposed to snap up bacon strips sitting on the kitchen counter, but I forget pretty much every time.
But that’s not the point. The point is Trimmer had a gun – now held at his side as he yanked the door open with his other hand. And then? And then the same thing happened that always happens when the broom closet door opens: stuff came flying out. The iron, for example, which hit Trimmer in the head; and the ironing board, which fell forward and knocked the gun from Freddie Dancer’s hand; and lots of other stuff – baseball bats, tennis racquets, skis – and we don’t even ski, me and Bernie, the only snow I’ve ever seen being on TV – and beach balls, lawn chairs, the broken TV – all too much to take in at the moment, what with how we were getting down to business, me and Bernie, with these perps. Was that screaming coming from Trimmer? I wasn’t even hurting him, had him by the pant leg, that was all. He must have been the type who’s deep-down afraid of me and my kind; the type that makes my job easy.
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