Page 50 of Statler

Shit.

Was he a hoarder? No.

Was he proprietary about his shit? A solid, yes.

He glimpsed Tonka toting something toward Stat’s cabin.

Wha…?

“Hey. Tonk. Why are you moving my spare carburetor? You know the one I’ve got has been glitchy as hell lately. I’ll be needing that back-up.”

Tonka kept walking while Diz fielded the question.

“Lately? You’ve got to be kidding, boss? You’ve been bitching about that sticking choke for the last six months,” Dizzy derided. “And not to harp on it, but you had a shitload of time on your hands before this job gelled, yet you never got around to switching it out. So suck it up. You’re going to have to live with the bad one for a while longer.”

Tonka, uncaring, walked inside to deposit the four-barrel someplace where Stat was sure to trip over it.

Great.

“What else have you been messing with?” he asked, examining the pile with trepidation.

“Samples of drywall from that contractor symposium you went to last spring, and a bunch of highly aromatic t-shirts.”

Sherbert kicked that odd grouping. “I think the shirts are where your truck-funk has been coming from.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Blue grumbled, drawing her head out of the vehicle where she’d been poking around under the seat. She had what appeared to be a very stained, gnarly looking white paper bag in her hand.

“If I’m not mistaken,” she grimaced, averting her face from the sack, “this is the food Ellen Sothard sent home with you four months ago. It has clearly ossified into a science experiment, so I’m not going to open it and make sure.”

Statler ducked his head, shamefacedly. “I, uh, wondered where that went.”

“Well, you’re certainly not eating it tonight,” Dizzy quipped. “Which begs the question, what, exactly, are you feeding your date?” he asked cheekily.

“Shit.” Statler swore at his latest brain glitch. “I was going to make some sandwiches and grab a bag of chips.”

Blue waved at him, airily. “Fine. You go do that, and we’ll finish up here.”

“Shoo,” she said, when he didn’t move.

Statler was reluctant.

“I’m not sure I trust you guys,” he pouted.

If they started tossing his stuff…

“Don’t worry, boss,” Pipes assured him, clapping him on the back. “We’ll only throw out the shit that’s grown mold or has developed legs of its own. Anything else, we’ll put in a pile in your living room.”

“With the exception of all the clothes,” Blue interjected. “I’m taking it upon myself to throw that mountain of stink right in the washer.”

“I can⁠—”

“Uh, uh,” Blue cut Statler off. “If we add it to the stuff in your cottage, it could be weeks before you get to it. And there’s no way I’m going into your living room for meetings if we have to face that every time.”

“Fine,” Stat agreed, albeit reluctantly, watching as Sherbert carried a portable vacuum cleaner toward The Beast. “And vacuuming it is okay, but please don’t hang any of those crappy air-fresheners on my mirror when you’re through. I hate that fake smelling shit. Especially the supposedly pine ones.”

“How about some Bahama Breeze,” Pipes asked cheekily.

Statler growled. “Unless you want to find the thing under your pillow tonight, I’d suggest, no.”