Detective Nichols was incredibly late coming home. He knew his wife Lisa was going to be furious and worst of all, he had nothing to show for his late night. Bartlebee Bean had dropped off the face of the earth. His secretary was enjoying getting paid to sit at her desk and do nothing at all to do besides play Angry Birds on her phone. Evidently Bartlebee’s only friend was an unemployed fellow by the name of Arthur Knob, but he hadn’t been home when Nichols stopped by his house this morning. No one had seen Bean at the diner he and Knob frequented nor their usual watering hole. Nichols had begun to wonder how two people as well connected as the accountant to everyone and a loudmouthed business owner like Smith could disappear so thoroughly in such a small town.
Nichols was betting that Smith had either left town or been killed and it almost certainly had something to do with that Varner character, but Bean’s residence was still in pristine condition. There was no evidence that any kind of ill fate had befallen the accountant. Being such a small town, it was entirely possible that Bean was simply off on a bender in the woods somewhere. These yokels liked to do things like that here, he had found. Including some of the cops on the force, unfortunately. Why he had let Lisa convince him to move back here with her, he still had no damned idea.
Lisa screamed upstairs and Nichols sprinted towards their bedroom, weapon drawn.
A burly man with a ski mask over his head stood over Lisa as she lay in bed. He had a pistol pointed at her chest. “That’s right, scream bitch! I like it when you-”
Nichols fired two rounds into the intruder’s chest and one into his head. He dropped instantly.
+
Arthur held the door open for Sam and Desiree. "This feels weird. Is it weird?" he asked as they entered Big Stan's Diner.
Sam patted his arm patronizingly. "Honey, it's happening in your life, of course it's weird."
Bartlebee and Desiree made a beeline for the only open booth and sat down together, already snuggling or cuddling or whatever it was called when a new couple got cozy in the middle of a diner filled with retirees. Sam and Arthur sat down across from them, but settled for holding hands under the table.
"Oh my God, I knew it. It's all been a cruel dream and I'm about to wake up and do this all over again," Abby moaned.
"Hi Abby." Arthur grinned sheepishly. "You know Sam from the bar, right?"
"Is Sam from the bar your girlfriend now?" Abby asked, still looking quite shocked.
"Yes! Well actually we haven't talked about it yet, so maybe. But hopefully-ow!" Sam had pinched Arthur very hard to shut him up.
"You're babbling," she told him.
"Holy shit. Dime Guy has a girlfriend, look at you!" Abby slapped Arthur on the back congratulatory. "Does this mean you'll sit in other waitresses' sections so I don't have to count dimes any more?"
Arthur nodded happily.
"Thank God!" Abby said and then walked away.
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be too horrible seeing her,” Sam insisted.
“You were right, no need to rub it in.” Arthur squeezed her hand playfully.
“Well isn’t this just so damn adorable.” Arthur winced when he heard that voice. Priscilla Dugle stood over them with her long nailed hands resting menacingly on their table. “I really hate to break up a kinky bunch of lovebirds in a four-way, but I need to borrow Dimey for a tick.”
Arthur didn’t get a chance to respond, Priscilla grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the booth.
“Hey!” Sam snarled.
Arthur held up his hand soothingly. “It’s fine. I know how to handle Priscilla. She’s very reasonable once you know how to speak her language. Right?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along! Why does no one else listen to me?” Priscilla pulled Arthur out into the parking lot. “This isn’t about dimes, Dimey.”
Somewhere back in the depths of Arthur’s brain he dredged up a memory of Duke telling him something incredibly stupid he planned on doing for Priscilla. “Shit,” Arthur swore under his breath.
“Shit is right,” Priscilla said angrily. “Your boy screwed the orangutan and good. He’s in the morgue downtown with three new holes about his person.”
Arthur sighed. He had known Duke wouldn’t last long as a hit man, but dying on his first contract? Even Arthur hadn’t been that pessimistic. “How is this my problem, Priscilla?”
“Don’t sass me, Dimey! This is a courtesy for all the favors you’ve done me over the years. That new cop, the one whose slut wife is trying to steal my Mason away from me, was already looking for you to find out where Bartlebee has been hiding. They want to ask him about the dearly departed douchebag Evan Smith’s finances, see why he either skipped town or got himself killed. Now another one of your close acquaintances tries to kill his wife in their own home? He’s going to be pissed. And suspicious. Pisspicious. Watch your ass.” Priscilla pointed two fingers at her eyes, at Arthur, and then back again before wandering off to her car.
“God dammit,” Arthur moaned. Just when he had thought things were turning around!
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked when Arthur returned to their table.
“I’ll tell you later,” Arthur whispered. Bartlebee and Desiree were too thoroughly enjoying each others’ company to ruin their morning.
“I don’t see how you can be such a people-pleasing pushover and still have everyone in town want to kill you!” Sam whispered back.
“It’s a gift,” Arthur answered glumly.
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