By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye
Our resident gumshoe
Saturday, Oct. 24, 2015, 7:00 p.m.
For a lawman, there’s nothing more disturbing than a knock on the door. Sure, it’s probably just an old friend stopping by to wish you well or a neighbor in need of a cup of sugar, but when you’ve seen as much action as I have, you can’t help but wonder whether or not it’s some stickup artist coming to separate you from your wares at gunpoint.
Tentatively, I opened the front door to Tsang’s Hong Kong Palace, the restaurant above which I occupied a small office.
Sure enough, I found a tiny trio of masked hoodlums with their hands out.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” they shouted.
One of them wore a black mask and a cape. I think he was supposed to be that Darth Vader cat from that flick I watched with Agnes the Librarian this summer. The kid in the middle was some kind of space alien and there was also a girl dressed up as a fairy princess.
“Now see here, bums,” I said. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that this is some kind of charity operation but I’ll have you know this is a capitalist establishment, see? Head down the street three blocks and take a right if you want the nearest soup kitchen. You’ll find no New Deal Democrats here.”
“Oh Jake, knock it off!”
Ms. Tsang, my landlady, dressed up as a hideous green witch, walked over with a bowl of candy and doled out free goodies to the little freeloaders.
“Thank you,” said the Darth Vader kid.
“Lose this address, degenerates,” I said as I slammed the door in the kids’ faces.
Ms. Tsang walloped me in the shoulder.
“Get in the Halloween spirit!” she said. “You used to take me trick or treating and you never complained this much.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “But that was back when kids made their own costumes and didn’t buy a plastic get-up from the pharmacy and you could trust that your neighbor wasn’t some kind of a nut job pervert sticking razor blades in the candy apples. Hell, you could even eat an unwrapped candy apple. Like everything else in this time period, Halloween has gone downhill fast.”
Ms. Tsang handed me the candy bowl.
“Man the door,” she commanded. “Pass out the treats. Keep the lectures to yourself.”
“Free food to any jerk that knocks on the door,” I said. “I swear the…”
“The Commies didn’t win!” Ms. Tsang interrupted as she headed for the kitchen.
My niece knew me all too well.
I spied one of the minuscule candy bars.
“Fun size,” I read on the wrapper. “What’s so fun about it?”
Another knock.
“Can’t you loafers read the sign?!” I asked as I opened the door. “NO SOLICITORS!”
Delilah K. Donnelly, Legal Counsel for a Website with 3.5 Readers
Oops. It wasn’t a Trick or Treater this time. It was delicious dish Delilah K. Donnelly, Attorney for our mutual client, Bookshelf Q. Battler.
Hair as if she’d just stepped out of the finest salon and a dress to match, she was a stunning vision as always.
Now there was one treat I’d like to trick.
“Have I come at a bad time, Mr. Hatcher?”
“Ms. Donnelly!” I said. “No, not at all!”
I showed her in.
“I apologize for that obnoxious outburst,” I said as I took the lady’s faux fur stole. “I thought you were someone else. You can feel free to solicit me anytime. Early and often, preferably.”
“I haven’t time to feign a lack of disgust in the face of your perverse inclinations, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “I’ve come on most important business.”
“Of course,” I said. “Please, tell me all about it. Can I offer you something sweet, delicious and fun sized?”
“Thank you but no,” Delilah said as she walked toward the booth in the back left hand corner of the restaurant. “I refrain from candy.”
“Who said anything about candy?” I asked.
Bookshelf Battle 