Robbie pulls out what paper hes got left from Ketchum. Just a sorry ass pile a singles. He jogs his lard ass to his bedroom closet and brings down this torched coffee pot where he keeps his secret bank. Sure isnt secret to me. I detectived that stash when I was just a wee little punk. But Im respectful of secret coffee pots and havent borrowed but fifty or sixty bucks over the years. No reason for Robbie to hide it anymore. In football they call this the two minute warning. He pours the whole pot a cash on top a the sexy witch and adds in the Ketchum singles and then he counts that mess out three times cuz Robbie doesnt have any more room for mistakes.

* * *

He takes fifty for himself and the rest he folds into my hand. Thats a nice suprise, right? He squats down next to me and shouts for Midget to get her ass in here and then he starts instructing me quiet and dramatic how I have one final job to Mission Impossible, how I got to run to Walgreen one final time. He yells for Midge again. He tells me trick or treats not but three hours away and we need some organization pronto in this bitch. My mission, if I choose to accept it, is to purchase the most poison ass products Walgreen sells and hustle my white ass back to Yellow Street.

* * *

So heres the rest of the plan. While I do a shopping spree, Robbies gonna turn the crib out and see what old chemicals hes got hiding. Divide and conquer, he says. Divide and mightyducking conquer! I dont interrupt his flow cuz hes going smooth but in my head I hope he does the bathroom closet first cuz thats pretty much the Robbie Museum of Natural History. Theres Robbie artifacts in there like you wouldnt believe. Whole set a silver ass silverware that must be a heirloom and a box full a satan books he stole from the library back when he tried to be a satanist. The whole story of his broken ass family is there if you know where to look.

* * *

Nuttiest thing I ever found inside was a box filled with dog junk. You know, junk for a dog. Heartworm treats and doggie shampoo and flea goop. Probably not toxic enough for putting on candies but dang. Who knew Robbie owned a dog? Its as mysterious as Lottes goldfish Ive never seen. Guess Robbie treated his dog good too. See, thats the kind a thing that makes you reevaluate a fat boy. Anyway further back theres also a bunch a crusty ass rusted ass corroded ass bottles a cleaning junk his folks musta bought before they scooted.

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