me sometime.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with my bike,” I said, struggling to try and find the criminal mastermind hidden beneath this smoked out snow bum.
“I feel you, bro,” Turnip replied, tapping his fist to his heart before suddenly looking serious. “What’s this all about, anyway? The questions and stuff.”
“We’re putting a monthly employee newsletter together and you’re our first profile,” I replied.
“No way!” Turnip replied excitedly.
“Way!” I replied, mirroring his excitement. “So, now that our readers know a little more about the real Turnip, let’s move onto the next segment of the interview.”
“Gary,” he said.
“Gary?”
“For your article. My real name is Gary Larkin. It’s not really Turnip. My buddies just call me that because of the way my stupid hair sticks up,” he said pointing to the clump of hair pointing due north directly on top of his head.
“I’ll be sure to print that Turnip isn’t your real name,” I said, fighting to suppress my laughter. “Now, onto the part of the interview we like to call ‘Quiz Time.’”
“Oh, man. Like I said. Tests and school and shit ain’t really my strong suit,” young Gary the root vegetable replied.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “This’ll be easy. I’m just gonna ask you a few questions about the kind of stuff you do here at Monumental High every day, okay?”
“Sure. That sounds easy,” Turnip replied, relaxing a bit.
“Good. First question. If I was a customer going to the premier of a new sci-fi movie and wanted to totally get space-brained before showtime, what strain would you recommend?”
The look of apprehension on Turnip’s face was replaced by that of sheer excitement. “Dude! I totally got you. Most guys would suggest Blue Diesel or Laughing Buddha, and those are both great, but I’d hook you up with Alice in Wonderland.” Turnip leaned back, completely satisfied with his answer and clearly in his element. Now that he was once again relaxed, I launched into my second question.
“Okay, those all sound good. Let’s say I want to buy three and a half grams of all three of those strains. How much would that be?”
The slightly panicked look returned to Turnip’s face and his fingers waived in the air as he struggled to do the math in his head.
“Got it?” I asked, adding to the pressure.
“Eighty-nine dollars,” Turnip replied, sounding unsure.
“Great, here’s a hundred-dollar bill and I want you to keep three dollars as a tip. Quick, what’s my change?”
Once again, Turnip counted on his fingers before excitedly exclaiming, “Eight!” as if he were answering the final question on a game show.
“Perfect, thanks so much, Turnip. That was great,” I said before standing and extending my hand which he shook excitedly.
I ushered Turnip out of the office with a pat on the back before closing and locking the door behind him. Pulling my gun from my waistband I turned around and leveled it at Ken’s head.
“What the fuck, man?” he shouted, rolling his chair backwards.
“Don’t move, Kenny, or I swear I’ll shoot you right in the fuckin’ head.”
“Hey, Aero. Come on, man. For real. Put that shit down.”
“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Was he right?” I asked, ignoring Ken’s request to lower my gun.
“What?”
“Turnip. The total price of my purchase. He said it should have been eighty-nine dollars. Was he correct?”
“No. It should have been eighty-seven,” Ken replied.
“He didn’t strike me as a math whiz. He also didn’t strike me as someone who’d be smart enough to come up with a plan more involved than making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Ken’s eyes darted to the floor.
“He also doesn’t seem like someone with a financial motive to steal from his employer, does he?”
Ken shook his head slowly but said nothing.
“But I know someone who needs money pretty badly. Someone with a sick little girl and a mountain of medical bills, don’t I?”
Ken nodded.
“Look at me, Ken.”
When his eyes finally met mine, I could see they were full of tears. “Please don’t kill me, Aero. I’m all she has left. I’m all Mabel has.”
“Why did you do it, Ken?”
“You said it yourself. Our health coverage doesn’t cover all her expenses and I’m hemorrhaging money. Her mother drained our accounts before she left town and left us with nothing. I’m fucking desperate, Aero. I’m sorry, man. I would never had let Turnip take the fall.”
Desperate men do desperate things.
“Why not come to Sundance for help? The club could have helped you.”
“I was afraid of being in the club’s debt. Afraid that if I borrowed