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  katiekat



13.


Vee:

“It’s certainly a beautiful day,” I said. I really didn’t have to, but we were playing tourists, so it’s part of the game.

We had taken a water taxi from Casino Island to Meeting Island to get the lay of the land. I was wearing a nice sundress with a matching parasol and dark glasses. Allan was wearing shorts, a loud floral shirt he’d picked up in Hawai’i while unsupervised, and dark glasses. While it’s part of how you expect tourists to dress, the sunglasses have the very useful advantage of hiding your eyes. Unless you know the tells, you can’t know where a fur’s looking.

We were also lucky that there were still tourists walking around.

“Oh yes,” Allan said, “although I’m grateful for the shade trees.” We turned down a side street at random.

Of course, it wasn’t random. We’d set up a pattern that was random only to a layman but were working our way closer and closer to our target.

So, ‘by random’ we arrived on the streets where many nations have their embassies here in the Spontoons. There are one or two located down some side streets, and all in former British colonial houses. Because of the need to stay close to the seat of government, the neighborhood was a rather interesting one. The Soviet Embassy was next door to the Tsarist Vostok Island Embassy, and the two houses were separated by a very high privacy fence. The gate guards looked like they spent most of the day glaring at each other.

The Embassy of the People’s Republic of New Haven to the Spontoon Independencies looked a little dilapidated – a few warped clapboards here, some faded whitewash there – but the two guards at the gate, both armed with wooden batons roughly two feet long, looked alert. We’d been on the other block, noting that the Embassy property shared a back fence with a doctor’s home and surgery.

“Must be a lot of spies here,” I said.

Allan gave a soft snort. “I think there are more spies per capita here than in Washington, my love. I saw a recognition signal chalked on a mailbox over on the tourist boulevard.”

“I saw it too,” I said. “Your fieldcraft’s getting rusty, Allan.”

“I'm not rusty. I'm caramel colored.”

I giggled. “A little gray, too, but I like it.” I slipped an arm in his and leaned closer as we walked down the street. “You know,” I murmured, “the Starlingists don’t like Trotskyites.”

“I know. The Soviet guards seem to be dividing their glaring time between the Vostokies and the New Havenites.”

“Hmm. Something to consider.”

“Quite true.” Allan made a show of yawning. “Care to go back to our room for a nap?”

“Just a nap?” I asked, giving him a raised eyebrow.

He smiled.

I smiled back.


***


Brush:

“Hello, Sergeant.”

“Well, well, well. Hello, Miz Buckhorn. How’s tricks?”

“I need your help.”

My ears go straight back. “Yez ain’t seen anudder coupla yeggs, has yez?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Imagine my relief. As if I ain’t got enough on my plate. “So, what’s up?”

“Well, Rosie and the Inspector are getting married.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know dat. I’m th’ best man.”

She grins an’ her face lights up. “That’s wonderful.”

“Ain’t gonna be so wonderful, less I can find my helmet.”

“I’m a little concerned that the New Haven Embassy might do something to disrupt the wedding. I want to know if you’d like to help me.”

“We ain’t shootin’ ‘em.”

“No, we’re going to keep it sort of low-key.” She suddenly gets this shifty look on her face, makes me think she might be part fox. “Just keep them busy, pranks and such.”

“Pranks?” Now I’m gettin’ a shifty look. “Whatcha got in mind?”

“Well, I recall one prank, from back in college. Some frat boys slipped laxatives into a pie for a rival frat.”

I think a minute. “Ever heard o’ bogberries?”

“No.”

“Little things, but they pack a wallop. Opens th’ gates at both ends, savvy?” She savvied, and grins at me. “I’ll ask around and see if I can find any. They ain’t native ta Spontoon.”


***


Rosie:

Franklin, bless him, wasn’t going to ask what might be going on, so I wasn’t going to enlighten him. I just hoped that Willow would keep the fun clean, for his sake.

Still, I was waiting to see what was going to develop.

Meanwhile, there were twenty more days before The Day, and I think I’ll be twitching by the time I’m supposed to march up the aisle. So many things to plan for, oy.

The Mirror, the Elele, and even The Island Birdwatcher all posted very tasteful and refined wedding announcements, which was great. For the Mirror, I think L’yra had taken Charlie Crane firmly by – well, and told him to play nice.

“Hiya Spots.”

“Toni!” I hugged my old friend. “Come for lunch? Where’s Pete?”

“Pete’s having a little meet and greet with a few business types here in the Spontoons. Meanwhile, my dear, you and me are goin’ places, and doin’ things.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re going to a dressmaker, and get you measured for a dress.”

I gave her a look. “As if I could get away with wearing white.” We both giggled like that. “Sure you don’t want some lunch first?”

“Well – “

“Nick makes a mean Reuben sandwich.”

Toni’s tail swished. “You sold me.”

The two otter sisters and Vicky were taking care of the other diners while me and Toni had lunch and talked for a while. Toni had a few things to pass on to me about Cupcake duCleds and her and Les’ fawns, and we’re laughing about that when I see someone come into the biergarten.

I excuse myself and raise a paw. “Athena! Over here!”

Toni gives the skunkess a once-over and whistles. “She from the Lotus?”

“Nah. Married Doc Meffit.” I stand up as she makes it over to our table and we share a hug before I make with the introductions. “Have a seat. How long now?”

She pats her belly and smiles. “Jacob thinks I’ve just taken, so I think the little one will be out and about sometime in May of next year. But I came around to congratulate you on your wedding. I’m very happy for you.”

I grinned at her. I’d had a paw in setting up the ceremony for Athena and Doc Meffit. “Toni here’s going to drag me out to hunt up a wedding dress. Care to tag along?”

“Oh, yes please!”


***


Allan:

By the time Vee and I finished writing everything up, we had the place thoroughly cased. Even had a map showing the intersections and where the Embassy stood in relation to the other buildings in a two-block radius.

Job well done so far.


***


Reggie:

Willow and I parted company after a light lunch. I insisted on a light lunch, as I thought that anything heavier might make me sleepy in the tropical heat. So I was light on my hooves and, I hoped, of sharpened wits as I headed down the street to the nearest of the casinos, the Grand.

“Welcome to the Grand,” the concierge, a well-turned-out canine with a Spontoonie accent, called out to me as I entered. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yes!” I said, perhaps somewhat too enthusiastically, as his ears went straight back. “I am interested in placing a wager.”

“The Casino is through there, sir,” and the chap pointed at a set of doors beside the ones leading to the dining room. I thanked him and sallied forth.

I paused just inside the entrance to look around and get the lay of the land. Roulette and baccarat tables, blackjack, a row of fruit machines – ah! A tote board, the very thing, and I headed in that direction, where a pair of felines were busily wiping down the boards with sponges and water.

I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me.”

One of the felines, a rather thin fellow with grayish fur and darker fur on his face and paws, jerked a thumb in one direction. “Over there, to the right.” A glance in the indicated direction enlightened me as to the location of the men’s and ladies’ rooms.

However, that was not my need for the moment.

“Ahem.”

The other feline, this one sporting a gray tabby pattern to his fur, straightened up from what he was doing, dried his paws off and asked, “Can you be helped?”

“’May’ would be a happier locution, my good fellow,” I said. “I wish to propose a wager for your tote board.”

“Air races are through – “

“Yes, until next year.” I smiled. “Do you, by chance, know who I am?”

“Why?” the first one asked. “Have you forgotten?”

I leaned an elbow on the counter. “Have you perhaps heard the name Reggie Buckhorn, late of Shepherd’s Hotel?”

The tabby started to say something, but stopped abruptly as his eyes widened and his ears went back. “You - ?” he murmured.

“Yes,” I said. “And I wish to propose a wager.”

The tabby launched a kick at his compatriot, who got to his feet and looked as if he was deferring retaliation until after the customer (me) had departed. “Wh-What’s the wager?” the tabby asked.

“From your reaction, I gather that my reputation precedes me,” I said. “Here’s the wager: From today, until the day I leave these beautiful and hospitable islands, I will not cause any sort of disturbance that could cause a response by the Constabulary, the Riot Squad, or the Fire Department.” The punter’s compatriot, his blue eyes bright in his dark mask of face fur, was busily scribbling the wager in a small notebook. “And I shall personally wager one hundred good-looking pounds . . . against myself.”

“Ooh . . . “ came a sudden chorus from the scattered habitues of the Grand Casino.

Followed by a concerted rush toward the tote, a few furs already waving banknotes. There was a scrum as odds were calculated, and my wager was placed on the board, at four to one odds.

The wager accepted, I gave over a hundred pounds and received a receipt for same, before making a smaller wager on behalf of Fausti.

Leaving the bettors and punters of the Grand, I headed back to Shepherd’s with a light heart.




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