NYC Midnight Madness Short Story Contest

Please enjoy the following short story that is my entry into the NYC Midnight Madness 2009 Short Story Challenge. Each participant is assigned a genre and a topic. My genre was comedy and the topic guns. Feel free to comment. Here goes…

BAB’S INHERITANCE
By
Janelle Kingsley

SYNOPSIS: Though Babs babbles, her partner Sukey doesn’t really sulk when they receive information that Babs has inherited something from her crazy old Uncle Bart. A visit to a psychic reveals nothing, but once the objects Babs inherits arrive, her creative juices begin to flow while Sukey risks her job to research the value of the inheritance.

Babs was literally dragging Sukey by the arm to the door.

“You promised, Sukey. You really did.” Babs hated to beg, but when Sukey got stubborn, she was nearly immoveable. In most respects though, Babs and Sukey were perfect partners.

“But I never figured you’d go through with it. I just don’t believe in the supernatural and you can’t make me.” Sukey wasn’t angry, but she could not comprehend how Babs could be so gullible. Babs was forever bringing home crazy schemes to make a million dollars or some natural remedy for a non-existent ailment or a numerology prediction.

“Ok, let this be a fun activity, like getting your nails done.” Babs coaxed and Sukey relaxed her resistance a bit.

“Ok,” Sukey replied relenting, “but you can’t expect me to believe anything some charlatan psychic has to say.”

“I don’t expect you to believe it,” Babs said quickly. “I know you won’t believe it, but I want you there really, to help me remember the session because sometimes psychics speak in cryptic riddles or messages. It takes real smarts to figure out what they mean.”

Sukey rolled her eyes at that statement but chose not to respond. Instead she asked, “And by the way, what is it you want to find out? Something about an old dead uncle?”

“Well, it’s really my mom’s uncle, this old, at least 100 year old coot who lives, I mean lived, somewhere in Arkansas or Kansas—I get those two places mixed up. He was like this eccentric old guy that the whole family was afraid of but supposedly had some secret that was worth millions.”

“And you think a psychic will connect with this dead guy. How much are you paying for this?”

The session with the psychic lasted just short of an hour during which time he revealed that Sukey only had 8 toes owing to a fetal defect in which her 2nd and 3rd toes on both feet had never fully separated. While the toe bones were separate, a webbing of skin connected them.

Sukey suspected Babs had somehow informed him of her condition. “When you made the appointment, what information did you give him?”

Babs, however, protested strongly. “Sukey, the guy doesn’t even know our names. How could he do any research on us if he doesn’t know our names?”

“Well, he could have used caller ID to get our names and do research from that.” They mutually decided to drop the subject.

Besides the amazing revelation about Sukey’s toes, they also learned that great Uncle Bart had died in a nursing home in Kansas. His spirit was very strong; he wanted Babs to have something. The message included the words knots and shots and his spirit, according to the psychic, would not rest until Babs had the “something” which had something to do with the knots and shots.

“Knots and shots,” Babs mused. “What do you suppose it means, Sukey? Uncle Bart was so insistent that this message get through.”

Sukey was driving them back from Mercer Island where the psychic lived in an upscale neighborhood with a beautiful view of Lake Washington, which, if she really thought about it didn’t jive with her concept of scheming dishonest charlatans. Or maybe it did, but just not charlatans of that type. She pulled into their Belltown condo’s alley and down the ramp to the garage.

Though Sukey wasn’t one of the newbie’s or the old-timers at Microsoft, her 12 years had afforded her a certain amount of financial security. Head of a design team, Sukey worked long hours. When she met Babs six years ago at a cultural festival at Seattle Center, they’d hit it off right away. Babs worked for the city organizing use of the Center House for cultural events. Shortly after they met Babs moved in with Sukey and they had been happily together ever since. Sukey tolerated Babs’ forays into “short term insanity” as she called it, when Babs became convinced in “the something”, like the healing power of dandelion tea or the predictive ability of palm readers, if Babs didn’t take it too seriously. Babs had been babbling (and it was unfortunate that her name was Babs and she did babble) about this Uncle and seeing a psychic for about a month since she had received legal notification that she was the sole heir of Bartholomew McGill and she would be receiving a box of his effects soon.

“Perhaps this mystery box will give us the answer,” Sukey replied as she pulled the BMW gracefully into her parking spot.

Late the next afternoon, when Babs returned from work she found in front of their door a box marked Barbara Adler. After she unlocked and opened the door, she bent down to pick it up, but for a small box it was very heavy. Finally, she maneuvered it onto the countertop of the kitchen. Holding her breath, she slit the taped center and sealed edges of the box and slowly opened the flaps. Inside was a rectangular shaped object, about 12 by 18 inches wrapped in skeins of yarn. Babs was still working on winding the yarn from the box into balls when Sukey got home.

“This is some serious wrapping,” was all Sukey said, as she set to work helping Babs wind yarn. It took another 30 minutes to remove and wind all the yarn, all the while Babs talked about what kind of yarn it was.

“Do you suppose the yarn has any value? I mean, maybe it’s really old and rare. Is there such a thing as antique yarn? What do you think is the most valuable yarn?” Babs rattled on; whatever came into her mind became a verbalized thought. But when the surface of the box began to appear she became quiet. The box was inlaid with mother of pearl. The design looked like an insignia or crest of some sort. The highly polished wood into which the mother of pearl was set looked quite exotic with many color grains. The box was locked.

“Where the hell’s the key?” Babs asked looking further into the box. The other items in the box appeared to be rocks which was why it was so heavy. She and Sukey removed each rock one by one, turning each over searching for a key that might be taped to one side. Sukey came upon a fake rock…a plastic rock that had a small button on the bottom. She pushed it and a drawer opened to reveal a tiny silver key inside.

“I found it,” she announced. Babs took it from her and inserted it slowly into the box’s lock.

“My stomach is in knots,” she said. “This box with all this yarn and rocks has convinced me, Uncle Bart was really nuts. What if there’s a shrunken head in here?”

“Come on, Babs, we’ve gone this far. Let’s see what’s in it.”

She turned the key, lifted the lid and looked down at two odd but also old looking pistols.

“What is this? What kind of stupid inheritance is this?” Babs was in a state of total disbelief.

“Looks like a pair of dueling pistols, but like really weird ones. They’ve got a scroll design on the sides which makes them kind of pretty, as guns go.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I HATE guns. You know that.” Babs pouted a bit. “I’ll take the damn yarn and knit me a sweater and you can learn to shoot the guns if you want.”

“Well, if they are antique, you don’t want to shoot them. That would bring down their value. Besides, they might backfire.”

“Ok, ok, but what am I going to do with this?” Babs was completely disillusioned. She looked into the box for something more. “This is just so disappointing.”

“Hey, you’ve got some yarn there. Listen,“ Sukey put her arm around Babs, “it’s not a big deal. I’ll look into the history of the guns. It might be interesting.” Babs seemed unconvinced. Sukey pulled her face close, “Really,“ she said, “you have nothing more or less than you had before, so don’t let it get you down.”

They stood together for a while looking at the box and then Sukey said, “Let’s go get our nails done, ok?”

Over the next week Babs decided to design something with the yarn. Gauging the weight of the yarn, she decided to use small needles to create a holster for the guns. “Why not?” she thought. “Who doesn’t need a knitted holster?” She measured the pistol’s barrel and the handle. She looked at some holster designs on line. They were all made of leather. Not a single knitted holster.

“There you go,” she said emphatically to herself, “an entirely new market.” So she drew up her plan. The knitted holster took less than 5 hours to make. She slipped one of Uncle Bart’s guns into the holster and she liked the way it looked and felt. Babs could see all sorts of possibilities with the design. Beadwork could be added for truly designer holsters. Monograms. The knit could be striped or intarsia or… gosh, the possibilities were limitless.

She fitted the first holster to a knitted belt she’d made for Sukey for Christmas a few years ago. When Sukey came home, Babs made her try it on.

“Wow. This is nice, babe. Lightweight. The pistol slides in and out easily. How’d you make that happen? It would be pretty funny to have some cowgirl trying to whip out her pistol but it snags and gets stuck,” Sukey said laughing.

“I thought about that which is why it’s so tightly knit,” Babs informed her. “Can you see the possibilities for this? I would love to market holsters at Nordstrom’s and Neiman Marcus. “ Babs had stars in her eyes imagining it all. “You know what I should do? I’ve heard this really works, too. You make a prototype, the very best item you can create, and then send it to a high profile celebrity. I’m thinking Angelina Jolie. Wouldn’t that be great if Angelina Jolie wore one of my knitted holsters, and, I suppose, she’d have to have a gun in it, to the Academy Awards? You know how they do that whole ‘look who’s wearing what designer’s clothes’ runway thing before the awards ceremony begins? And she’d step up to the microphone and announce to the world that she was wearing a Versace gown with a Babs Adler holster and oh…a squirt gun by Mattel, because I couldn’t possibly throw Uncle Bart’s guns.” Babs and Sukey began to laugh at the thought, but Babs was excited.

She became obsessed with designing knitted holsters.

After she’d used up all the yarn that had been wound around the pistol box, she trotted down to the yarn store for more yarn, for exotic beads and design inspirations. By the end of the next week Babs had created 12 holsters and had plans for a book entitled One Skein Holsters as Gifts. She’d photographed her designs with Sukey as her model. “These photos will look great on the website I’m going to set up,” she told Sukey. “The Babs Adler Holsters website.”

Though less consumed by her “mission” than Babs, Sukey had been researching the guns. These seemed to be both old and uncommon. Few people at Microsoft were gun aficionados, however Daniel Butler, a security guard Sukey had met, knew something about pistols. Microsoft had tight security with “idea theft” being what it was, but Sukey thought she could smuggle them in to get Daniel’s opinion.

Sukey wrapped the box in a blanket and put it in the trunk. She had no worries until while driving to the Redmond campus she suddenly panicked. “My God,” she said aloud, “are those considered concealed weapons? Am I breaking the law? Will they take me to jail? I can’t hold down a responsible job if I’m a felon.”

Crossing Lake Washington Sukey began to hyperventilate. By the I405 exit she was so light-headed she knew she had to pull over. With the car in park Sukey opened the door and put her head between her legs. She breathed deeply and slowly, focusing only on her breathing, which was why she didn’t notice the state patrol car pull up behind her. She didn’t hear the door open or see the trooper getting out.

“You ok ma’am?” the trooper asked bending down to look at Sukey’s face.

“I’m fine,” Sukey replied and promptly fainted.

When Sukey came too, she was being strapped onto a gurney and put into an ambulance. Various monitoring devices were attached to her.

“What’s happening?” she asked as her former panic-stricken state returned quickly. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ve got to…I’ve…” Realizing if she said anything about the guns she’d really have some troubles, Sukey decided to make the best of it, especially since her arms were strapped to her sides.

By the time she arrived at the emergency room of the hospital she had calmed down considerably. What she really wondered was where her car was? They wouldn’t leave it along the interstate would they?

It took four hours to convince the ER physicians that she was fine and only suffering from a panic attack during which time Babs got a ride to the Washington State Patrol office to pick up the car (which hadn’t been searched) and then rescue Sukey from the hospital.

“The thought that I might be carrying concealed weapons, that’s what got me,” Sukey explained as they drove home.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I don’t care what kind of guns they are or if they have any value. I don’t really like guns, but I do like holsters AND I’ve got a real potential buyer for my holsters!”

“You do?” Sukey asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I do. You know that great little shop down on 1st with all the antiques and handmade goods—Marjorie’s? She wants to take 10 of them on consignment. Isn’t that fantastic?”

Sukey smiled. “You know what? That Uncle Bart of yours was a strange guy, but he sure got you going, didn’t he? You would never have thought to knit a holster if you hadn’t inherited the guns.”

Babs blurted out, “Hey, wait a sec. Knit—knots gun—shots. That’s what the psychic said, remember?”

“I don’t know, Babs. You’re just giving some random words a meaning they don’t really have.”

“Yes, Sukey, but what about your toes? How did the psychic know about them? You’ve never adequately explained that to me.”

At home, Sukey took the box of guns out of her trunk and put them on the top shelf of the closet where she hoped no police officer would find them and consider them to be concealed weapons.

Babs continued to turn out knitted holsters even sending one off to Angelina Jolie hoping she’d wear it to some movie awards event.