An Introduction To The Mad World

The sliding door to the BP dinged gaily as it opened, a one-note fanfare for the little girl who traipsed in excitedly, clutching the hand of her father. She was beaming, strung tight with anticipatory glee and wrung the sleeve of her dad’s white business shirt impatiently. “Fri-day, Fri-day,” she sing-songed. “Snowballs for meeee…”

The object of her passionate serenade lay not five feet away, and to her the cellophane-wrapped Hostess treat was paradise found. She gazed almost reverently at the coconut-covered mounds of cake and sighed.

“Hurry up, honey,” her dad encouraged. “We’ve gotta make the movie by six.”

So, she made a beeline for the coveted snack. Her small hands reached out to claim the prize. Only, there was no prize. The cardboard case on the shelf was…empty. Impossible! She had seen them, her beloved Snowballs. The couldn’t have been a mirage. She –

“Sorry, kiddo,” said a voice behind her. “Guess I got the last one.”

She whirled to tip her gaze up at the lanky, shaggy young man who stood holding the last package of Snowballs in his hand. The girl gasped softly. Immediately, her father was at her side. “It’s okay, honey. I’m sure they have more in the back.” And he called over to the chashier. “Hey! Ma’am? Do you have any more Snowballs?”

The fat woman manning the register shook her head. “Nope. We’re not carrying them anymore. That was the last case.”

The dad frowned and then turned to address the younger, shabbier man. “Look, kid – can my daughter please have those? She’s been looking forward to them all week. I promised her.”

“Sorry,” the younger man replied. “I want ‘em.” He gave a glance to the little girl who trembled in crushing disappointment, shrugged and turned and started for the register.

The father blinked, honestly surprised. “Hang on,” he protested, tugging the other fellow by the hoodie sleeve to turn him around. “Are you telling me that you’re seriously going to take the last package of Snowballs from a five-year-old? Come on, buddy! There’re other snacks. Look at her – “ he gestured to his daughter as she clung to his pants’ leg, on the verge of tears. “- she’s been waiting all week.”

“So?” was the noncommittal answer from the younger man. Again, he turned and strolled toward the cashier.

The little girl promptly dissolved into tears.

The father picked up his child and cradled her close, glaring at the fellow who was purchasing the Snowballs with lint-speckled change from his pocker. “You’re a piece of shit,” the dad called darkly to the young man, who didn’t turn at the accusation. “I hope you choke on those things.” And he turned to carry his daughter down an aisle to try and find something to compensate for her misery.

The young man finished paying, gathered up his spoils and strolled silently out of the BP. He unlocked his battered Ford Escort, peeled off his hoodie and tossed it in, then shut the door and made his way ‘round the back of the convenience store. In the unpopulated back alley, he wandered between two dumpsters and deposited himself down on the asphalt, ripping open the cellophane of the Snowballs.

He slid his gaze toward a rat that had crept out, whiskers quivering, from under one of the dumpsters. The young man smirked grimly at the rodent. “Bet you want some of this,” he guessed aloud.

The rat scurried over to the young man and sat back on its haunches. “Of course I do,” it replied in a clipped, British accent. “I can analyze it far better than you can, Digg. Give it here.”

The lanky man, Digg, obediently set the cakes down on the ground beside the rat. “Nearly broke a five-year-old’s heart buying it,” he sighed, watching the rat sniff and paw at the Snowballs.

The rodent nodded. “Better a broken heart than one that’s no longer beating,” he replied. “This one’s definitely tainted with the serum.” He looked up with glittering, black eyes at Digg. “How’s Miss Belinda coming on her end?”

Digg smiled grimly. “Good. The cashier inside said they’re not gonna be stocking the Snowballs anymore. Bel must’ve held up her end of the deal. And there was only one package left, so Mien must’ve just missed it when she went to buy them all out.”

The rat smoothed it’s tiny, pink hands over the fur of its belly. “Well, that’s a relief. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened to this city if people had actually consumed those vile things. It certainly would’ve been an epidemic at the very least. Well,” said the rat, glancing about, “you had better go, Digg. Can’t be caught talking to a rat, after all. I’ll be in touch.”

Digg nodded and rose. “See you, Roderick,” he bade in farewell before taking his leave of the alley.

As he reached his car, he looked with dispassion at the wicked, new scratch that marred the entire perimeter of his car. He didn’t even blink. Slowly, he opened the door and settled in. “You save a girl’s life and her dad keys you car for it. I love this job.”

His tone was only half sarcastic.