Cocoa Tales

Episode 16

The elevator doors opened at the ground floor. Jessica and Floyd stepped out, walking through the busy precinct, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might want something from them. They marched through the building and its bustling sounds, young investigators, reporters demanding answers: they ignored it all as they left the building.

In the parking lot behind the building, Floyd led Jessica to a new car. Well, new to her. The long sedan with the faded paint stopped Jessica dead in her tracks. "We're riding in that?"

"Well, the good car is smoldering at Shasta High School," Floyd replied as he unlocked the driver-side door, "and Smokey is all we have left to us at the moment. Don't worry: if I drive fast, we won't smell much."

Jessica sighed as she started walking toward the sedan.

Leaning on his desk, Harold spoke quieter to me, as though that would prevent him being heard: "Do they know what I've been doing with Cocoa the last six months?"

I say nothing because I have nothing to say. I don't know why they're going there anymore than Harold does.

"Do they even know Cocoa was the bomber?"

I could answer that one, but Harold sweating actually helps the story at this point. Builds tension, you know?

"Bleep tension," Harold exclaimed, "am I about to be arrested!?"

Mind the grown-up words, Harold, this is supposed to be kid-friendly.

"Bleeping bleeps," Harold grumbled.

Ooh, I just had an idea about what Cocoa and The Sandman are up to.

Leaning forward, exposing the back of her neck to The Sandman, Cocoa said, "I found it in Harold's place. It belonged to Nibbles."

The Sandman nodded. "And you think you can bring him back?"

"Sort of," Cocoa said. "Feline magic is tricky, but I think I can pull it off."

Faber, meanwhile, was slowly walking along the sidewalk leading to his house, the brown home with the concrete walkway cutting his lawn in half. He turned onto that walkway slowly muttering, "Miserable day, miserable job, miserable life; I just want to go home, pop open a bottle of beer and drown this miserable day-job-life in sweet, sweet liquor juice." At the front door, he leaned his head against the wood and whined. "Baby wants his bottle."

He opened the front door but didn't step in. Just froze at the sound of gunfire, screams and explosions. "Aw, nuts."

As he entered the living room, he saw his nephew seated on the floor playing video games. "Hey, Uncle Faber," Timothy said. "The high school exploded again!"

"I know," Faber replied as he flopped into his recliner. "I was there."

"Will we get another week off?"

"Try to be a little less excited about this," Faber said with a groan.

"Why?" Timothy said. "Did someone get hurt this time?"

"No," Faber said as he shut his eyes. "It's just poor taste to root for a feline bomber."

"The bomber's a cat!?" He paused his game and turned to look at his uncle.

"Uncle sleep now," Faber muttered leaning his head against the side of the chair.

Timothy sighed. He wouldn't learn anything new about the mayhem and destruction in his town, so he returned to imaginary mayhem and destruction in his game.

Outside Faber's home, leaning against a tree across the street, The Sandman watched the home in silence. Perched on a branch within the tree, Cocoa said, "The kid is awake. He's sitting in front of the television but the cop is in his soft, padded chair nearly asleep."