The Green PIckle Gang

By Robert Smith?

A Walther's.32 Pistol,An Italian Red Leather Purse and something the looks like a Giant Green Pickle are all essential ingredients in this wacky thriller.Can this unlikely Gang counter the evil deeds of one of Comic Literature's biggest villains? They may not succeed but their continued efforts show they really tried hard.
Not your grandparent's mystery, the novel pits an unlikely group of amateur con artists as they try to salvage the reputation of one of their colleagues. It should be read only by those with a well-developed, but perhaps not too sophisticated, sense of humor. For those who qualify a good time is virtually assured.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Smith?
• Release date: Jun 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458156082

Book preview

The Green Pickle Gang

Robert Smith

Copyright Robert Smith 2012

Published at Smashwords

License notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the work of the author.

CHAPTER ONE

Larry looked down at his knuckles. Once again they bulged white, protesting his death grip on the ungainly, horizontal steering wheel. He took a deep breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Why had his nervousness returned? After successfully navigating the Safeway parking lot, he had relaxed a bit. Only two people had honked at him and one possibly had given him the finger. He was too focused on navigating to be sure.

Sam’s dictum: 'Don’t look back. Just pretend you’re driving a car,' had helped. Of course only an idiot would think the vast expanse behind him was a car, yet the one time he gazed back it had scared the crap out of him. So, now eyes forward only, he thought. He didn’t need to be reminded of the size---figuratively and literally---of his purchase.

What he did need was more driving practice with the salesman, but once Sam was sure of the sale, he seemed to lose interest. He had wasted no time getting the papers signed and getting Larry off the lot and on the road.

Sam had smiled broadly and clapped Larry on the back after the contract was signed. Don’t worry Mr. Baker, after a few miles, driving this jewel will become second nature. He thrust out his hand, I'm sorry I can't spend more time showing you how everything works. He slid a thick manual over the desk to Larry. You look like a quick learner and it's all in here. He shook Larry's hand again. Congratulations and the best of luck. You'll need it.

Sam Bronsky heaved a sigh of relief as the big Fleetwood left the lot. No sale was really complete until the rear wheels left the property and that monstrosity had been particularly hard to unload. He couldn't believe he had actually sold it. And on the last day of the month! He had made his quota and, in addition to his commission, he had earned the hefty bonus the boss had promised to anyone who unloaded that white elephant.

So what if he had to finesse some of the paper work? If the guy couldn't make the payments, well, that's what collection agencies are for. He whistled a happy tune as he went back to his office to calculate his earnings. Maybe he would have enough money to buy the Prius his wife was nagging him about.

Still, Larry realized his nervousness now came only in small part to his driving and more to the fear of what would happen as he approached his destination. What would Beth think? More importantly what would she do? He wasn't afraid of physical violence, although at the critical unveiling he would step back a bit just in case.

Certainly, the strategy of revealing only part of his plan seemed more crucial than ever. But now the whole wild scheme, as he had planned it over the last few weeks, seemed crazy and reckless. Not at all like his careful, cautious, and, yes, even timid demeanor that Beth often made fun of. Well, at last he would show her! He quickly dismissed the old cliché of cutting your nose off to spite your face.

He turned down Cobblestone Lane and did a right onto Lilac Court, realizing suddenly that his street was a cul-de-sac. Oh well, turning this baby around would be a problem he would address latter. Hadn't the truck that delivered his flat screen been just about as big?

But first things, first.

He noticed Beth's Volvo in the driveway. She was definitely home. It was time to face the music. More likely the Brahms Requiem than Ode to Joy... Larry pulled up to the curb, resisted the temptation to take a swig from the single malt scotch he had just bought at Safeway and made his way slowly to the front door. His knees wobbled slightly as he looked back. God, it was big. Sam's dictum held true even when you weren't driving

Honey, I'm home, he announced loudly, opening the front door. He was pleased that she was not in the living room where she could have seen him drive up. Poubelle, her toy poodle, greeted him enthusiastically. The dog jumped up and down trying to get Larry's attention. C'mon bend down and scratch my ears. Heck, no one ever plays with me anymore.

After a visit to France four years ago, Beth had decided to get a little poodle when they got home. One night, leaving a Paris Bistro she saw a sign above a trashcan proclaiming it to be a Poubelle. Now, it also referred to that little white thing that was jumping up at him. Try as they might Larry and Beth had never successfully trained him not to jump up on people. Luckily, the little thing could only reach his pants cuffs. It probably had been just as well that they didn't get the Doberman, Larry had wanted.

A voice came faintly from the family room. Goodness, Larry what are you doing home so early? Beth said quickly, snapping off the TV but not before Larry caught a glimpse of what clearly was a soap opera. She seemed embarrassed. No doubt she felt it didn't fit her image as an intellectual do-gooder and tree hugger.

Good, he thought, let her be on the defensive. It can't hurt.

I...ah...decided to take the afternoon off. Larry hated to lie and settled for this half-truth.

Well good for you, Mr. Workaholic, she said, hiding the remote behind her back.

Ha, too little, too late, he mused.

She stared at him, But I'm surprised you're taking off early like that. Not like you at all.

He quickly launched into his rehearsed spiel, hoping it wouldn't sound to pat. Seeing how it's your birthday tomorrow I thought I'd come home early and give you your present.

Larry had realized, when he first started planning, that he could tie in his scheme with her birthday. He just hoped it would help. So...speaking of surprises. I've got a big one for you. Yeah, he thought, really, really big. Come on I'll show you. Larry tried to keep his tone as cheerful and upbeat as possible as he led her to the front door. Look out there, he said swinging the door open. Just look at that!

Beth seemed puzzled. Look at what? I can't see anything. That big, ugly green thing is in the way.

Larry gulped. It had not started well. Honey, that's it. Happy Birthday!

What? That enormous thing is my present? What is it? An ad for Vlasic Pickles?

Ha, Ha. I've always enjoyed your sense of humor. No, it's an RV, silly.

Well, it sure is a silly RV, I'll give you that.

Now, now, Larry forged on bravely. "You happen to be the new co-pilot of a brand new Fleetwood 42- foot diesel-pusher, complete with three pop-outs and two televisions. They call it their Providence model."

Well, they've got that right. It would take divine intervention to get me into that thing. She looked closely at him. What's gotten into you, Larry? A belated mid-life crisis or are you entering your second childhood?

What do you mean? We've talked about getting an RV and exploring America.

Yes, in ten years, after you retire. I thought we were talking about a little one---like that VW camper my parents used to have. Not this monument to America excess.

Oh come on, Beth, please don't channel your flower-child mother, besides we're getting too old to rough-it. There's even a dishwasher in there and since it's a diesel it gets good gas mileage, That is, Larry thought, if you consider nine miles to the gallon, 'good.' And besides I got a good deal on it.

Why's that? Because it looks like a giant dill pickle?

Green happens to be very 'in' now.

Maybe when you're talking about saving the environment. But a green RV? Now that's an oxymoron.

A what?

An oxymoron, you stupid moron. Didn't you learn anything at that fancy college you went to?

Larry glared at his wife. I was taking accounting courses, something practical, while you were wasting your time getting an English degree and driving all over the country trying to save the environment. Now that was an oxymoron. He hesitated and went on in a more conciliatory tone, Okay, to tell the truth I did get a great price because it is green. Some VIP from Pakistan had it custom painted. I think their national flag is mostly green. Lucky for me he had to leave the country suddenly.

Oh great, so you bought an RV from a drug dealer?

No, no, he never took delivery, besides he's not a drug dealer but a government official.

There's a difference?

There you go again. He took a deep breath. Okay, time to move the agenda along. I've got another surprise for you.

You've got to be kidding. I'm still reeling from this one. What? Did you do quit your job?

A stab of terror struck his heart. How did she guess? He tried to recover, No, no, of course not, he responded quickly, thankful that he didn't have to lie since technically he didn't quit. But I have taken...ah...some time off. Yeah, like forever. And we are leaving for a trial run tomorrow.

What? You've got to be kidding! Larry, I couldn't possibly get ready. She studied his face closely. Something fishy is going on but she had no idea what.

Please, Beth, I've already got the time off. Truer words were never spoken. And I just went to Safeway and stocked it with all the food and provisions we'll need. Just throw together some clothes and bedding and we can leave first thing in the morning.

Beth collapsed onto the oak rocking chair inherited from her mother.

This is so crazy, she said, half to herself. She looked up at Larry. He seemed so determined that she didn't want to disappoint him. Never in his life had he proposed something so bold. He was always so careful and levelheaded. Often to a fault.

Her mother had warned her about Larry. You've got to be crazy marrying an accountant, she had said hearing of their engagement. All they do is hide from life behind a mass of numbers.

Certainly, Beth didn't want to squash his new found confidence, but this was too much. Her mother would turn over in her grave. That green monstrosity was antithetical to every thing her mother had believed in. Larry, I just don't think...

Come on, be a sport, he interjected. If we don't like it we can turn it back in a couple weeks. Larry felt bad doling out his first complete lie, but he had to get her out of the house. Larry decided to deliver what he hoped would be his clinching argument, You see, I thought we'd go south and surprise Tommy with a visit. You haven't seen their kid in over a year.

The offer flummoxed Beth. She knew it was time to mend fences with Megan, Tommy's up-tight wife. They had a falling out when she went down to help with the newborn. It had been all Megan's fault. Imagine not breast-feeding the little guy! And above all rejecting her offer of the rocking chair! The same chair her mother had used to nurse her and she used with Tommy. What a stuck-up ingrate! Thinking she was so superior just because Tommy, the big insurance executive, made more money and had a bigger house then they did. But God, she missed seeing Tommy Jr. and she knew it was time to let bygones be bygones if she ever wanted to seen Junior again. If the visit turned into a disaster she could always blame Larry...

Larry could see her indecision. Look, let me fix a couple gin and tonics and I'll show you around our new palace on wheels. You'll forget all about VV Campers, I guarantee it.

Beth sat there looking at Larry bound off to the kitchen with new life in his step. He seemed like a new man, yet somehow on edge. Was it just the excitement or something else? All she knew for sure was that the whirlwind of changes had left her exhausted. She sighed. What the heck, it was getting rather boring around here.

I wonder, what the heck is a 'pop-out', anyway?

CHAPTER TWO

Wow, Larry I hate to admit it---I mean, I really hate to admit it---but this giant pickle is a hoot to drive. I'm sitting up here with commanding this giant horizontal steering wheel, way above everything except the 18-wheelers. Look at the view out the windows. Say, you remember that famous song by Roger Miller?

You mean, England Swings?

No, the other one.

You mean, Dang Me?

No, dang you, I don't. God, Larry you're hopeless. Look, we're driving down the highway is this mammoth vehicle, terrorizing those little cars down there. Does that ring a bell?

Oh sure, You Can't Roller-skate in a Buffalo Herd. Right?

I hope you're putting me on, or else Alzheimer's here we come. I mean Queen of the Road, stupid.

Hmm, that doesn't sound right.

It sure does when I'm driving.

Larry finally got it and joined in, And this ain't no four-bit room you're driving...

I'll say. This thing is larger than our first apartment.

Minus the cockroaches.

Don't remind me.

So how do you like your birthday present?

Well, it certainly is the biggest one I ever got. And the most ridiculous. Oh well, that's Larry for you. She remembered the time when they were first married and he bought that skimpy lingerie set. And I thought it was my birthday.

Beth, aided by an extra hefty gin and tonic, had taken the grand tour the night before and had been impressed by the completeness of it all. Lots of seating area, a nice dinette and, in addition to the dishwasher it had a stacked clothes washer and dryer that Larry had forgotten to mention. Good. Beth hated Laundromats. Since Larry had never done a load of wash in his life, no wonder he failed to remember it. The queen-sized bed was as big as the one in their house. It really was a home with a motor.

Larry had studied her carefully as she made the tour and had been pleased with her reaction. After a while he fumbled around a bit, consulted a hefty book on the dinette, and pressed some buttons on a control panel. Grinning at her he said, you haven't seen anything yet. To her amazement three sections of the RV began to slide out, seeming to double the size of the unit.

Voila, Madame, your pop-outs. Now technically they're called 'slide-outs' but all us seasoned RV'ers call them pop-outs.

Beth let that bit of bravado pass. If Larry was a seasoned RV'er, I’m Miss America.

As she zoomed down Highway 5, Beth still had trouble comprehending this rapid turn of events. Even if they were gone only a week, nothing like this had ever happened in their marriage and she was still trying to figure out what had gotten into Larry to cause such the dramatic change in behavior. Even his driving was different. Always a cautious, timid driver he had steered the RV quite confidently through the various turns and road changes leading to the Interstate.

The only problem came when they pulled into a gas station to refuel. Larry hadn't been too happy that the dealer had only given him a half tank of diesel but since the tank held 150 gallons, Beth could understand why. Especially at well over $4.00 a gallon.

Larry pulled up to the pump gracefully enough, making a very wide turn towards the island. He clambered down from the cockpit---you do not just hop out of these things, he reminded Beth. It's definitely not a VW. First he went from one side to the other, looking increasingly perplexed. Beth realized he was looking for the gas cap.

Great, a real veteran RV'er who didn't know where to put the fuel. She reached for the manual in the cubby of the giant dashboard and found that the filler was not on either side but in back. She realized that made some sort of crazy, boorish logic. Sure, just take up all three-pump stands and then it didn't matter which side the filler was on.

She yelled out her window, Okay. Mr. seasoned RV'er it's at the back. Larry climbed back in, looking a bit sheepish. He waited for the cars in front to vacate the stand in front while Beth wisely refrained from any comments.

Just as the island was clear a little Mazda zoomed up and tried to beat them to the front pump. Larry forged on, narrowly avoiding a collision. Size--and tonnage--does matter. The driver was not too happy and flashed a very rude gesture at Beth. She, of course, did not respond in kind, that would be very unlady like. Instead she smiled prettily and flashed him the peace sign just did in the late '60's when she accompanied her mother on marches.

She had been under ten at the time and didn't know exactly what they were protesting or even what that sign meant. But as she walked she learned that war was bad, peace was good and everybody should love their fellow man.

No doubt, the man in