The Letters

A short story by Tommy Paley

Tommy Paley
Aug 8, 2017 · 5 min read
Photo by Jilbert Ebrahimi on Unsplash

“Explain what the letters mean.”

“The letters? The ones we have been cutting out of my dad’s magazines for the past 3 hours? Are you serious? Haven’t I already told you, again and again, making sure I explained it slowly so as not to confuse you? Am I talking to myself? C’mon! The letters, when placed in a certain order will spell out our demands. And if they don’t give us what we want, then we are going to make them pay. Are you with me?”

“Ummm. I guess. Sure?”

“Sure? You guess? Don’t forget how much I’ve done for you. Remember where you were when I found you. I can always send you back?”

“Well, no. I’m not doing that.”

“That’s what I thought. Look, I can’t do this without you, Kyle. I need you. While I am the brains of this operation, you are the guy supporting the brains of this operation. Can I count on you?”

“Yeah, Steven, you can. Honestly, I was going nowhere in life when we met that one Friday in May which felt like a Thursday in June. I was stuck and going nowhere and I needed a purpose. You gave me that purpose as well as a $5 bill with the promise of more purpose-giving and $5 bills in the near future if I followed your lead without asking too many questions.”

“And follow you did. And here we are. The day we’ve been working towards for months. It’s time.”

“Is it my turn again already?”

“It is, Kyle. See, we are taking turns. First I went, then you and then me again and it has continued that way for as long as I can remember. We are taking turns so as not to raise suspicions. We are also wearing different wigs and outfits on our turns to fool the local police who, in my experience, are so easily fooled I sort of feel sorry for them and their loved ones.”

“Remind me what my next job is.”

“Okay, I need you to break into the warehouse and crank up the heat as high as it goes.”

“That will make it pretty darn hot, though.”

“Yes, Kyle. We’ve been through that. That is the point — making the warehouse so hot the pets act like they’re melting.”

“The pets? I’m allergic to pet hair and dander. Spots everywhere.”

“For the hundredth time — there aren’t any actual pets! Why would there be pets? It’s supposed to be an inside joke that we both understand. Pets don’t melt. They also don’t act. It’s comedy. Look it up.”

“Alright, alright. I break in. I turn on my theme music on my iPod. I go into each room. I turn up the heat. The pets, who aren’t there, would be melting, if they were, not actually melting, but just so hot. Correct?”

“Yes. And remember to grab the documents they keep in the desk on the 3rd floor.”

“And then I exit stage left.”

“Stage left?”

“That’s also an expression, smart guy. Looks like you don’t know everything. I minored in theatre. Failed all my classes, but was a pro at exiting the stage. I’ll grab the documents and come back here, making sure I’m not being followed by driving, picking up the phone and calling building security, stopping, asking for directions, reversing and taking short naps along the way.”

“You know, if we try, we can finish by lunchtime.”

“I hope so.”

“That’s amazing. We’ll be sitting pretty and they will have no idea what hit them.”

“Hitting? I’m a pacifist.”

“It’s an expression, Kyle! A pacifist? You are the most muscular guy I’ve ever met and you are the muscles of our team.”

“But only as a last resort. Like only if my words don’t work.”

“Right, right.”

“What happens after they get our demands and realize what we’ve taken?”

“Who wants to have some fun?”

“Me! Wait, is that one of those questions I’m not really supposed to answer? Or one of those other questions where there is no actual answer and they are only asked to make me feel dumb.”

“Real question, Kyle. Do you want to have some fun once we are paid?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Step one, new identities. Step two, grow mustaches. Step three, take the train as far south as we can. Step four, find us some women and then we live like kings.”

“Great plan, but what about Sasha.”

“What about her?”

“It’s just hard to know what to do with her.”

“Look, Kyle, Sasha is part of your past. Like the chapter of your life that has already happened and you’re about to close the book on?”

“Does this involve reading in some way?”

“No! I’m just saying that Sasha is old news and you need to stop thinking about her and those legs that are to die for. Seriously, you will die if you are with her. Don’t you forget what happened?”

“I remember. But, as hard as I’ve tried, she has me under her spell. I think she practices witchcraft or something.”

“It’s all in your head, buddy. Once we pull off this job and leave town, I’ll find you a thousand women better than her.”

“A thousand women?”

“Or two!”

“Okay, whatever you say, Steven. I’m in.”

“Latch the door when you leave.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t forget to be at the warehouse by 11 am tomorrow.”

“I didn’t know they were open on Sundays.”

“Open?!? They aren’t open, Kyle! You are breaking in!”

“Ooops! Right, breaking in. Won’t forget that again. Or maybe one more time. Not that I’m planning on it. Just saying it’s possible. Like that other time I kept forgetting the combination even though it was my birthdate and we stood in the pouring rain only to realize the door was open the whole time.”

“I remember. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”

“See you back here tomorrow at lunch with the documents.”

“See you then.”


Editor:

Dewi

Chalkboard

Thanks to Kathy Jacobs, kai lovel, and Dewi

Tommy Paley

Written by

I write creative non-fiction, humorous and random short stories, unique and tasty recipes and fiction involving odd and funny relationships. I also love cheese.

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