Creative Writing Pieces

When Times Get Tough

I rub my eyes as I awaken, for the phone anxiously wants me to answer it.

"Hello?" I ask, a bit of annoyance threaded throughout my voice.

A high-pitched voice responds, "Meet me at the corner of Fifth and Maroon at seven a.m. – no later."

*CLICK*

What the...?

I check the time on my alarm clock: six a.m.

I sigh and throw my legs over the side of my bed to get up from my fluffy embrace.

Once I am showered and have made coffee, I fill a travel mug to the brim and am on my way.

Fifth and Maroon... where have I heard that before?

I type the address into my GPS and am instantly reminded.

Oh, that's right. It's where the old cookie factory used to be.

When I arrive, I see nobody on the corner of the intersection. Yet, I step out of my car and walk up to the street sign. I hear steps behind me and flash around. I don't see anyone until I look directly in front of me; and down.

"Ah, Detective Williams, I see you've accepted my offer."

I can't help it. I explode with laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"You're... you're a kid!" I get out between howls.

"Yes... I still don't understand why you resemble Ed from The Lion King right now."

I can't answer until I get my laughter under control. "What do you want, kid? Where's your mum?"

The child cocks an eyebrow. "Look, can we just talk business? You showed up, so I assume you don't have any work you have to do at the moment, and I have a job for you." He holds up a briefcase I don't notice until now. "Succeed, and you'll get this."

I scoff. "What's in there?" I gesture to the case, "Monopoly money?" I chuckle at my own little joke.

He pops the case open.

I take a step back, face stern. "Where did you get all of that?"

The case is filled with real, green bills – stacks of them. It looks like a lot of money.

"Doesn't matter; so, do we have a deal or not?"

I think it over. He was right before; I'm not exactly busy at the moment; and his job can't be that difficult, yet it pays extravagantly.

"All right, kid, you have a deal." I hold out my hand to him. "But once we shake, you can't go back on your word."

He shakes my hand.

"Okay. So, what's the case?"

"Tommy, I just want to know if you stole the cookies from the cookie jar!"

"I don't know!"

"How could you not know?!"

My client shakes his head. "He's in denial, Detective. I know he did it."

I turn to face him. "I don't think he did. He's eight; he would have done a bad job at covering it up. He would have crumbs on his shirt or his face, and he doesn't." I sigh and turn back around. "You're free to go."

He picks up his backpack and leaves the cafeteria.

"I'm telling you, Detective, he did it! This 'free to go' thing is going to come back and bite you on your tail!"

"And I'm telling you he didn't do it. Let it go."

"So what? The case is closed? Just like that?"

I shake my head. "The case is still open, Tommy is no longer a suspect."

He lets out a frustrated puff of air and hunches over his lap.

"What's up with you and these cookies? Why are they so special?"

He sighs again before he looks at me. "They're these amazing cookies my mom only makes, like, once or twice a year."

"Chocolate chip?"

He nods. "How'd you know?"

I pull a stray cookie out of a bag Tommy left in the room and show it to my client.

His eyes widen. We send each other a telepathic message and rush out of the room and through the exit.

In the distance we can see a small Toys 'R Us car racing off far from the building and to the horizon.

My client drops to his knees. "Toooommmmmyyyy!" He screams into the sky. He strangely resembles Dave from Alvin and the Chipmunks.