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Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by Simon Barber
23.
“Hey, Harry? Bert.”
“Hidy Bert! How’s your wife and my kids?”
“Oh hardy har har, Harry. Something’s come up.”
“What, beside my blood pressure?”
“Judge for yourself. You know the Buckhorn Bet?”
“Sure do.”
“You know how I’ve had some of the boys watching him.”
“Yeah, uh-huh.”
“Well, one of them mugs decided to take it a step further.”
“How much further?”
“Second-story work.”
“ . . . “
“You there, Harry?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here Bert. Gimme the lowdown.”
“Near as I can figure out, one of Herenui’s boys gets it in his head to check and see if Buckhorn’s pickling himself on the sly, get me? So this guy goes up the wall and climbs in an open window.”
“And then?”
“Well, here’s where the story gets a little hazy. Guy’s still in the hospital, see? Anyway, he got into Buckhorn’s son’s room.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. The nanny threw the mug out the window. Good arm on her, too; he goes head first into a trash can.”
“Head first, hey?”
“Yeah.”
“From the second floor.”
“Third, actually.”
“Third, then. Guy get arrested? Buckhorn file charges?”
“Nope, and nope.”
“Bert?”
“Yeah, Harry?”
“Call our boys back. Paws off watching Buckhorn.”
“Way ahead of you, Harry.”
***
Rosie:
Naturally Willow and Reggie told me all about it the next morning.
When I stopped laughing, I moved the pending question.
“Why didn’t you call the cops?”
Reggie sipped at his orange juice and gave Willow the eye. His wife flagged and her ears dipped. “We didn’t want Da finding out about it.”
My future son-in-law lowered his glass. “We figured that the word would get around quickly enough. And I have to say that I saw fewer furs following me around this morning.”
Gotta admit, Willow had a point. We’re getting closer to Der Tag, and the last thing I want is Franneleh having anything causing him any anxiety. The poor dear deer gets so much tsuris at work anyway, there’s no need to pile any more on him. And I could guess that Brush, bless him, was probably doing his best to keep things as quiet as he could.
“So, what else are you planning, kiddo?” I asked Willow.
She promptly looked a bit shifty, and Reggie chuckled. “Well,” she said, “it’s a pity that Speed Week’s over, and the warships have all left.”
“Oh?”
“I was going to have a word dropped in an ear or two that a new, um, sporting house had opened.”
My jaw dropped. My future stepdaughter was evil.
And I loved her for it.
And who hasn’t played the ‘telephone, telegraph, tell a neighbor’ game, I ask you?
Willow snickered and picked up her cup of tea. “But I do have something else in mind. Now, Rosie . . . “ she said, her voice trailing off as she pulled a coy expression.
“Ye-es?”
“You know, you have a wedding coming up . . . “
“That’s right.”
“And the blushing bride needs bridesmaids . . . “
“Uh huh.”
She started batting her eyelashes at me. “So have you picked any yet?”
I nodded. “Yes.” Before she could react I said, “Toni’s going to be my matron of honor. She’s my oldest friend, almost a sister to me, and we worked the burlesque circuit before we came to Spontoon.” Her disappointment was clear as day when I added, “And Vicky, Kara, and Athena are going to be my bridesmaids.”
“But surely you could use another – “
“Nix. Your father and I talked it over. We’re keeping it small.” Willow looked like she was about to cry, so I gently pulled up out of her chair and hugged her. She returned the hug and I whispered, “And besides,
after all the trouble you’re giving those shtarkers, the last thing you want to do is let them know, right?”
She nodded, and I heard Grace say softly, “I agree, Rosalie. It just wouldn’t do.”
“Sehr gut. Now, have a seat and another cup of tea, okeh? Settle your nerves.” I eyed Reggie. “I don’t hear you asking.”
“Me? Good Lord, no, Rosie,” he said. “Who’s the best man?”
“Franneleh asked Sergeant Brush.”
“Oh? How nice. I’d best drop by and have a chat with him.”
Willow and I exchanged glances, and we both looked at Reggie, who was finishing his orange juice. He caught us staring at him and he said, “What? We need to arrange a bachelor party.”
That made sense. My bachelorette party was going to be held at the Lotus, and Brenda and Covina promised that they would keep the fun clean – well, as clean as the fun can get there. Willow’s been there before, but I knew Athena hadn’t. She might find it an eye-opening experience.
Of course, talking about the wedding reminded me that there’d be two services, and I decided that I’d have a talk with Mrs. Steinmink about whether a minyan can be arranged.
***
Brush:
I pick up the phone, an’ it’s the desk sergeant. “Hey, Orrin?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you come out here a minute? Guy out here to see you.”
“Guy got a name?”
“Reggie Buckhorn.”
My ears twitch at that, an’ th’ Inspector catches it. “I’ll be right out,” an’ I hang up.
“Problem, Sergeant?” Th’ Inspector asks.
“No, Sir,” I sez. “Just need ta have a talk wit’ someone.” He nods and goes back ta lookin’ at th’ crime reports while I head up front.
I’m almost runnin' outta stuff t’give th’ Inspector. An’ we still got ‘bout a week before th’ weddin.’
Buckhorn’s lookin’ around the room where th’ desk sergeant’s sittin,’ like he ain’t never seen it b’fore. “Mister Buckhorn,” I sez.
“Hm? Oh! Sergeant Brush, good morning. I’ve been told,” an’ he lowers his voice a bit, “that you’re the best man at the Inspector’s wedding.”
“Ain’t a big secret.”
“No, no, I expect not. Um, have you given any thought to the bachelor party?”
Oh yeah. That’s onea them Euro things. I sat in on one we did fer that du Cleds guy; ‘course, we had it at th’ jail so neither him or Buckhorn here would get in any trouble. Well, I hadn’t thought of a bachelor party. I figgered th’ Inspector wouldn’t want one, an’ I told Buckhorn so.
“Good heavens, Sergeant!” Buckhorn sez. “It’s a time-honored tradition.” He scratches at an antler before he sez, “I have an idea. Let me plan a party, and you can approve it. Does that sound fair?”
I think it over, an’ stick out a paw.
With me exercisin’ whatchacallit, a veto, over things, what could go wrong?
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by Simon Barber
23.
“Hey, Harry? Bert.”
“Hidy Bert! How’s your wife and my kids?”
“Oh hardy har har, Harry. Something’s come up.”
“What, beside my blood pressure?”
“Judge for yourself. You know the Buckhorn Bet?”
“Sure do.”
“You know how I’ve had some of the boys watching him.”
“Yeah, uh-huh.”
“Well, one of them mugs decided to take it a step further.”
“How much further?”
“Second-story work.”
“ . . . “
“You there, Harry?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here Bert. Gimme the lowdown.”
“Near as I can figure out, one of Herenui’s boys gets it in his head to check and see if Buckhorn’s pickling himself on the sly, get me? So this guy goes up the wall and climbs in an open window.”
“And then?”
“Well, here’s where the story gets a little hazy. Guy’s still in the hospital, see? Anyway, he got into Buckhorn’s son’s room.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. The nanny threw the mug out the window. Good arm on her, too; he goes head first into a trash can.”
“Head first, hey?”
“Yeah.”
“From the second floor.”
“Third, actually.”
“Third, then. Guy get arrested? Buckhorn file charges?”
“Nope, and nope.”
“Bert?”
“Yeah, Harry?”
“Call our boys back. Paws off watching Buckhorn.”
“Way ahead of you, Harry.”
***
Rosie:
Naturally Willow and Reggie told me all about it the next morning.
When I stopped laughing, I moved the pending question.
“Why didn’t you call the cops?”
Reggie sipped at his orange juice and gave Willow the eye. His wife flagged and her ears dipped. “We didn’t want Da finding out about it.”
My future son-in-law lowered his glass. “We figured that the word would get around quickly enough. And I have to say that I saw fewer furs following me around this morning.”
Gotta admit, Willow had a point. We’re getting closer to Der Tag, and the last thing I want is Franneleh having anything causing him any anxiety. The poor dear deer gets so much tsuris at work anyway, there’s no need to pile any more on him. And I could guess that Brush, bless him, was probably doing his best to keep things as quiet as he could.
“So, what else are you planning, kiddo?” I asked Willow.
She promptly looked a bit shifty, and Reggie chuckled. “Well,” she said, “it’s a pity that Speed Week’s over, and the warships have all left.”
“Oh?”
“I was going to have a word dropped in an ear or two that a new, um, sporting house had opened.”
My jaw dropped. My future stepdaughter was evil.
And I loved her for it.
And who hasn’t played the ‘telephone, telegraph, tell a neighbor’ game, I ask you?
Willow snickered and picked up her cup of tea. “But I do have something else in mind. Now, Rosie . . . “ she said, her voice trailing off as she pulled a coy expression.
“Ye-es?”
“You know, you have a wedding coming up . . . “
“That’s right.”
“And the blushing bride needs bridesmaids . . . “
“Uh huh.”
She started batting her eyelashes at me. “So have you picked any yet?”
I nodded. “Yes.” Before she could react I said, “Toni’s going to be my matron of honor. She’s my oldest friend, almost a sister to me, and we worked the burlesque circuit before we came to Spontoon.” Her disappointment was clear as day when I added, “And Vicky, Kara, and Athena are going to be my bridesmaids.”
“But surely you could use another – “
“Nix. Your father and I talked it over. We’re keeping it small.” Willow looked like she was about to cry, so I gently pulled up out of her chair and hugged her. She returned the hug and I whispered, “And besides,
after all the trouble you’re giving those shtarkers, the last thing you want to do is let them know, right?”
She nodded, and I heard Grace say softly, “I agree, Rosalie. It just wouldn’t do.”
“Sehr gut. Now, have a seat and another cup of tea, okeh? Settle your nerves.” I eyed Reggie. “I don’t hear you asking.”
“Me? Good Lord, no, Rosie,” he said. “Who’s the best man?”
“Franneleh asked Sergeant Brush.”
“Oh? How nice. I’d best drop by and have a chat with him.”
Willow and I exchanged glances, and we both looked at Reggie, who was finishing his orange juice. He caught us staring at him and he said, “What? We need to arrange a bachelor party.”
That made sense. My bachelorette party was going to be held at the Lotus, and Brenda and Covina promised that they would keep the fun clean – well, as clean as the fun can get there. Willow’s been there before, but I knew Athena hadn’t. She might find it an eye-opening experience.
Of course, talking about the wedding reminded me that there’d be two services, and I decided that I’d have a talk with Mrs. Steinmink about whether a minyan can be arranged.
***
Brush:
I pick up the phone, an’ it’s the desk sergeant. “Hey, Orrin?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you come out here a minute? Guy out here to see you.”
“Guy got a name?”
“Reggie Buckhorn.”
My ears twitch at that, an’ th’ Inspector catches it. “I’ll be right out,” an’ I hang up.
“Problem, Sergeant?” Th’ Inspector asks.
“No, Sir,” I sez. “Just need ta have a talk wit’ someone.” He nods and goes back ta lookin’ at th’ crime reports while I head up front.
I’m almost runnin' outta stuff t’give th’ Inspector. An’ we still got ‘bout a week before th’ weddin.’
Buckhorn’s lookin’ around the room where th’ desk sergeant’s sittin,’ like he ain’t never seen it b’fore. “Mister Buckhorn,” I sez.
“Hm? Oh! Sergeant Brush, good morning. I’ve been told,” an’ he lowers his voice a bit, “that you’re the best man at the Inspector’s wedding.”
“Ain’t a big secret.”
“No, no, I expect not. Um, have you given any thought to the bachelor party?”
Oh yeah. That’s onea them Euro things. I sat in on one we did fer that du Cleds guy; ‘course, we had it at th’ jail so neither him or Buckhorn here would get in any trouble. Well, I hadn’t thought of a bachelor party. I figgered th’ Inspector wouldn’t want one, an’ I told Buckhorn so.
“Good heavens, Sergeant!” Buckhorn sez. “It’s a time-honored tradition.” He scratches at an antler before he sez, “I have an idea. Let me plan a party, and you can approve it. Does that sound fair?”
I think it over, an’ stick out a paw.
With me exercisin’ whatchacallit, a veto, over things, what could go wrong?
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Deer
Size 320 x 470px
File Size 15.2 kB
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