Assassination Consternation

Little Doug disposed of his Christmas tree last week. As far as Sack observers were concerned, this was an extraordinary development. Typically, Little Doug's Christmas tree would be slumped on his back deck until late spring.

When asked about the tree's early exit, Little Doug simply shrugged. He said he had no rational explanation for his action.

Weed, of course, had his own theory on the matter.

"Sometimes," he said thoughtfully, "the guy's just conscientious by accident."

***

Last Friday afternoon, Oscar made a horrifying discovery. He said he was going out to buy some asparagus when the sordid event occurred.

Strategically placed on his icy driveway, near the driver's door of the car, was an object designed to cause serious harm to his life and limb. It was a menacing tropical killer, incongruent with the old town's northern winter climate.

It was a banana peel.

***

According to Oscar, there could be no other explanation of the affair. He said he was clearly the intended victim of an assassination attempt.

"I could see the humour with a banana peel on dry pavement," he said sternly. "But a banana peel on the ice is definitely a dastardly business."

Friday, of course, is garbage day in the Sack. The old town's waste management professionals frequently drop part of their haul as they go about their business. This would be the rational explanation for the errant banana peel that was positioned beside Oscar's car door.

"Balderdash," he said.

***

Who would want to assassinate Oscar? This was the question bantered about during the indoor version of our show last Saturday night.

The list of suspects, once Oscar, Weed and your agent delved into the matter, turned out to be lengthy.

Oscar pointed his bandaged finger (injured while slicing the aforementioned asparagus) directly at Rental Doug. An assassination, he argued, is an evil matter. Rental Doug's close affiliation with Satan, albeit unproven, would make him a primary suspect.

"Pshaw," Weed exclaimed. "Why would Rental Doug want to knock you off?"

Oscar gave Weed a dismissive look. "Why did Wayne Gretzky score goals? Why did Hank Aaron hit home runs? It's just what they do."

"But, why you?" Weed responded.

Oscar paused for a moment. This is something he does infrequently.

Finally, he put his glass of drink down and looked squarely at Weed. "That's easy, my friend." Then he held his arms out in a grand gesture and said:

"It's because of my aura of goodness."

"Oh, right," Weed replied. "I forgot about that."

***

Although Rental Doug was Oscar's obvious choice for the assassin, it was agreed that other suspects should not be ignored. As Weed pointed out, such mysteries rarely end with the most obvious answer.

"If you ask me," Weed said, looking pensive, "I don't think you should ignore Pleasant Street as the source of this attack."

Pleasant Street, of course, is located a short distance from the Sack. Over time, the two neighbourhoods have developed a rivalry of sorts. Weed, who happens to be a baseball buff, says the Pleasant Streeters are the Boston Red Sox to the Sack's New York Yankees.

Although Oscar's nemesis, Dan "Danny" McGraw lives on Pleasant Street, he was quick to discount Weed's theory.

"This assassination attempt was the work of someone who's cunning, deceptive and sly. Those Pleasant Street oafs lack the capacity for something like this."

***

"If it wasn't Rental Doug," Oscar continued, "it still must be someone closer to home."

Silence descended on the Wonders' front room for a moment. Oscar gazed directly at Weed for a few seconds. Then briefly, he studied my face from across the room. Finally, Weed broke the silence with a loud, emphatic fart.

"Who wants a refill?" he asked, getting to his feet.

***

Weed returned with replenishments and the listing of suspects continued.

Gordon, I pointed out, should not be ignored in this discussion. Oscar, in his role as an undercover suburban anarchist, has worked tirelessly to undermine the chairperson of the Sack Resident's Society.

"Good point," Weed declared. "And don't forget about the reindeer, too."

For seven straight years, Oscar has made a point of disturbing Gordon's Christmas display of illuminated reindeer. When Gordon is engaged elsewhere, Oscar repositions the reindeer so they appear to be copulating on his front lawn.

"It's possible, I suppose," Oscar said slowly. "But I doubt that Gordon would have the wherewithal for this kind of business."

***

"What about Big Doug?" asked Weed.

"What about him?" Oscar replied.

Weed went on to explain that Oscar is the antithesis of Big Doug. The big man is known for his strict adherence to a life of discipline, structure and predictability. Oscar, on the other hand, is well known for his laissez faire, everything-will-come-up-roses approach to life.

"He could be carrying a hidden resentment toward you, you know," Weed explained.

"True enough," said Oscar, "but a banana peel wouldn't be Big Doug's style. He's more of a shotgun-in-the-chest kind of fellow."

***

"It's a bit of a long shot," I said to Oscar, "but what about young Doo?"

Sack kids enjoyed a midwinter holiday last Wednesday. Apparently, it was a professional development day for their teachers. Young Doo was playing street hockey with some other kids in the Sack's centre circle. One of the Sack's cowboy kids was playing goalie. A pair of goalie pads and a face mask had been added to his western attire.

On three occasions, an errant tennis ball had banged into Oscar's garage door. At the time, he was engaged in some strategic planning on behalf of his employer. To most people, this process would appear as if he was simply taking a nap. However, Oscar assures us that nothing could be further from the truth.

After the third bang on his garage door, Oscar went outside, clad in dress shoes, flannel pyjama bottoms and a white T-shirt. He admonished the boys and threatened to throw their tennis ball "into the middle of next week."

After returning to his bed, Oscar heard two more bangs within quick succession. He marched outside and immediately picked up the boys' tennis ball. Then he threw it as high and far as he could. According to Oscar, the ball soared over Ben's house and landed somewhere in the vacant lot where Serenity Terrace will some day stand.

Young Doo was furious. Apparently, the ball belonged to him.

"You're gonna get in big touble," he spat, as Oscar walked back into the house.

***

Oscar, of course, was doubtful about Doo as a possible suspect. A child, he explained, would lack the intellectual ability to recognize the lethal nature of the banana peel. Besides, he added, young Doo can't even pronounce "banana," never mind use one as an assassination device.

"So you doubt that Doo would do the deed," said Weed, smiling.

"Yeah," Oscar replied. "We're looking for an adult suspect."

***

The evening drew to a close without a definitive answer on the matter. Oscar said he was sticking with Rental Doug as his primary suspect. Weed and your agent agreed to "keep our eyes peeled" for any further evidence in the affair.

After Oscar and Weed left the Wonders' home, I decided to have a small snack before retiring for the evening. On the kitchen window sill were three ripe bananas. I took one and ate it at the kitchen table.

When I was finished, I folded the peel carefully and placed it in the kitchen compost bin. I made sure that it was on top of the other waste material.

When the time was right again, I needed it to be readily accessible.

***

Hot Rumours and Cold Facts

Frigid would best describe the old town's weather this week.

***

Extreme cold tends to minimize social contact around the Sack. Outdoor conversations are terse, at best. A brief nod and a wave tend to be the norm when the temperature plummets.

On Wednesday, I encountered Computer Doug as I left for work. He wore a pained expression on his face as he cleared the ice and snow from his car. I greeted him with a gloved peace sign and asked about his general welfare.

"Friggin' cold, eh?" he replied, looking up briefly from his task. He gave a final sweep of the windshield and stomped back into his house, presumably to get his kids off to school.

***

Later, I returned to the Sack and found Ben chipping the accumulated ice from his driveway. His nephew, Jeff Christ stood behind him with a shovel. It was Jeff's job to shovel the broken bits of ice from the driveway.

I slowed down as I passed and shouted a greeting through my open window. Jeff Christ straightened and replied with a stiff wave. He was wearing a ski mask and a toque, so it was hard to gauge the warmth in his response. Ben glanced briefly in my direction. There was a definite grimace on his face. Through gritted teeth, he said:

"Friggin' cold, eh?"

Then he continued to chip the ice from his driveway.

***

The telephone rang as soon as I stepped into the warmth of the Wonders' home. Whenever this happens, it will almost always be Oscar on the other end of the line. Sometimes I think he must be waiting at his window for my arrival.

Oscar bristled when I mentioned this to him once. He said he had much better things to do than stand in his window waiting for me. Instead, he credited his "sixth sense" for the timeliness of his calls. He also claims to have the ability to recognize the sound of each resident's car as it passes by his house. The Wonders' compact car, according to Oscar, sounds like a sewing machine, in comparison to the muscular sound of Big Doug's pickup truck.

I remain doubtful about all of this.

***

"Friggin' cold, eh?"

That's what I heard when I picked up the phone. Oscar, of course, was on the other end of the line.

"That's what people keep telling me," I replied.

"There was a lot of sea smoke today," Oscar said with authority, "so I took the day off."

Oscar has a personal policy that prevents him from working on days when there's sea smoke in the old town's harbour. The ocean, of course, has no relationship to his job. In fact, he works from home almost all the time.

But sea smoke, in Oscar's view, means it's too cold to do anything other than remain indoors. As a result, he stays in his bathrobe and watches television for most of the day.

Of course, this isn't much different from his behaviour on warm, sunny days.

***

"So, are you sitting down?" Oscar asked.

Standing in the kitchen, I said, "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I've got two pieces of blockbuster news. One's a rumour and the other's a fact. Are you ready?"

"Hit me," I replied.

***

Sack residents never fear unemployment. There are always plenty of positions available with the local rumour mill. The pay isn't very good, of course, but there's always plenty of rumour to manufacture.

"Okay," Oscar said, "I'll give you the rumour first. Have you seen Dora lately?"

"No," I answered, "Can't say that I have."

"Well," Oscar said smoothly, "rumour has it that Dirk and Dora have split. My sources tell me she moved out a few weeks ago."

"The dickens you say," I exclaimed. "Who told you this?"

"Norma. Apparently, the news is all over her Tuesday night bingo."

"Wow."

***

Burning Manor has been very quiet lately.

Dirk has been seen sporadically as he comes and goes from the Sack. And Dora, of course, has been conspicuous by her absence. There have been no sightings of their most recent house guest, Crystal Ball for some time. Sack observers say she moved out before Christmas.

If this news is actually true, it would be a mixed blessing. Dora is frequently at the heart of Burning Manor shenanigans, so the Sack could enter an era of relative peacefulness.

On the other hand, there can be a fine line between peacefulness and the tedium of suburban life. Gordon, for example, would have very little to fret about without Dora's hijinks. Eventually, his focus would shift to minor violations of the Sack's code of conduct. Big Doug's use of the word "arsehole" would drop dramatically and the phrase "frickin' dick dog" might never be heard again. And finally, late-night Sack theatre productions would be few and far between.

Only time will tell whether Dora's departure from the Sack is permanent.

***

"So that's the rumour. Are you ready for the fact?" Oscar asked.

"Hit me again," I answered.

"Have you noticed the second car in Elizabeth's driveway lately?"

"Yup," I replied. There has been a maroon-coloured, late-model sedan in her driveway for the last couple of weeks.

"Guess who it belongs to?"

"I give up. Who?" I don't like to make guesses unless there's a cash prize for the correct answer.

"Her ex-husband," Oscar said quickly.

"And?"

"They're getting back together."

"No way," I replied.

"Yes way," Oscar answered. "Gordon found out directly from the horse's mouth.

"From Elizabeth?" I asked.

"That's exactly the horse I'm talking about," Oscar replied.

***

According to Gordon, Elizabeth has been divorced for about five years. Apparently, the marriage ended after her husband experienced some kind of mid-life crisis. An affair and some compulsive gambling caused Elizabeth to put the kibosh on their union of twenty-plus years.

Gordon says the ex-husband is now a reformed man. He said the couple have been negotiating the renewal of their relationship for the last three months. According to Elizabeth, their reunification is on a "trial basis" for the immediate future.

***

Oscar said he knew only a few details about Elizabeth's "new-old" husband.

Apparently, the man works as a funeral director at one of the old town's funeral homes. Oscar said this can only be a good thing for Sack residents, especially Little Doug. If last year's DOTY award winner happens to take a fatal plunge from the top of his twenty-foot ladder, Oscar says we can be comforted by a possible discount on Little Doug's cremation.

Little Doug has spoken on many occasions about his desire for cremation after his death. He said he's horribly claustrophobic and couldn't bear to "lie around in a coffin" under the ground.

***

"So, do you know anything else about Elizabeth's husband?" I asked Oscar.

"Just his name," he replied.

"Please tell me it's Doug," I said quickly.

"Sorry, it's Bob."

"That's not gonna do," I answered.

Oscar said, "No, it certainly won't."

***

It didn't take long to come up with a new name for Bob, Elizabeth's new-old husband.

The long version of Elizabeth's name has always been "Queen Elizabeth" among certain Sack residents. This is a tribute to her somewhat regal bearing and her propensity for looking horrified at anything that doesn't fit her rather narrow perspective on proper behaviour.

Bob will now be known in these pages as Prince Phillip.

***

After agreeing on the new moniker, Oscar asked if I wanted to take a quick trip down to the local coffee cathedral. He said he was going to ask Weed to come along so we could update him on the latest Sack news.

"No, I think I'll pass," I replied.

"Why not?" Oscar asked.

"Because it's too friggin' cold outside, that's why."

***

If the Shoe Fits

Recent and unfortunate evidence that climate change might be upon us:

From May to October, Big Doug washes his truck by hand every weekend. This ritual is carried out even when the vehicle is clearly spotless.

On the first Saturday in January, Big Doug, clad in coveralls and a pair of Wellington boots, was outside on his driveway with water bucket and rags in hand. He spent the better part of an hour carefully washing his truck. The Weather Network claimed it was a balmy 13 degrees (Celsius) outside.

Oscar says we should expect a horde of flying monkeys to descend upon the Sack any day now. He could be right about this.

On the same quiet and sunny Saturday morning, Mrs. Wonders glanced out the window and suddenly gasped. Dirk was walking through the Sack with his big, barking dog on a leash. While this was unusual in itself, it was Dirk's outfit that sparked her reaction. He was wearing a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and what appeared to be a pair of pale blue boxer shorts. He was without socks and wore a pair of laceless work boots.

Other Sack residents caught a glimpse of Dirk and his dog. Given the choice between a horde of flying monkeys and seeing Dirk in his dog-walking apparel, all said the same thing:

"Bring on the monkeys."

***

On January 4, Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman left for a two-week vacation in Cuba. According to Oscar, it will be their first real vacation in many years.

Last year, of course, brought some significant challenges for Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman. As Mr. Bitterman described it to Oscar, his gall bladder was "on the fritz" during the early part of the year. At the same time, Mrs. Bitterman was engaged in a nasty battle with menopause. Apparently, this caused her to gain a lot of weight and appear as if she spent the majority of her time locked in a steamy sauna.

The Bitterman duo also had their hands full with the trials and tribulations of their daughter, Britney. She gave birth to Baby Maybe in May. While this was a joyous event, it was tempered by the fact that the illustrious Maxwell happened to be the baby's father. Maxwell, of course, is chronically unemployed and, other than the gift of a stolen bicycle, hasn't contributed a single loonie in support of his infant son.

One can only hope for better things for Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman as the new year begins. A fortnight in Cuba certainly sounds like a step in the right direction.

***

Sack residents, of course, are quite familiar with Cuba.

Big Doug, Gordon and several others have been going there annually for some time. Mrs. Wonders and a good friend leave next week for a seven-day stay. Ben and Norma went last year and plan to go again in March. Elizabeth and Florence have separate plans to holiday there in April.

Outside of Florida, Cuba is one of the few winter holiday destinations one can reach directly from the old town. Trips to other warmer climates require a connecting flight. And thankfully, Cuba is also a relatively inexpensive place to visit.

Oscar says the Sack is almost solely responsible for keeping the Cuban economy alive, in the face of the US trade embargo. I remain doubtful about this.

***

Several hours after the Bittermans left for Cuba, a taxi motored into the Sack and stopped in front of their house.

Maxwell stepped out from the front passenger seat carrying a green garbage bag. Britney, with Baby Maybe in tow, made her exit from the back seat of the cab. Then Maxwell walked around to the open trunk and removed a small suitcase.

As the taxi drove away, Maxwell and Britney, with Baby Maybe tucked in her arms, scaled the front steps and entered the Bitterman residence. For just a moment, they looked like a young couple entering their first newly-purchased home.

A few hours later, it was learned that Britney and Maxwell were residing in the house until Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman returned from Cuba. According to Weed, Maxwell said they decided to take a "vacation" at the Bitterman home while the opportunity was knocking.

He didn't say whether Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman were aware of the arrangement.

***

Barred from smoking in the house, Maxwell has quickly become a fixture on the Bitterman front porch. This has given him easy access to Sack residents as they go about their daily lives.

Maxwell, of course, remains "unwaged." That's how Oscar likes to describe it. Cutlass Supreme Painting, Maxwell's fledging business, remains at a standstill. Unlike his other visits to the Sack, he hasn't had much to say about the whereabouts of the company's namesake, a mostly grey-coloured 1993 Cutlass Supreme. It was last seen on the back of a tow truck, after he left it parked illegally outside the Bitterman home.

Comfortably ensconced on the front porch, Maxwell has been chattering away to anyone who will listen to him. He also tried to flog a fifty-dollar gift card from Canadian Tire. He claimed that he received it from one of his many cousins as a Christmas gift. However, Weed's girlfriend, Daisy has it on good authority that it was a gift from Britney's parents.

After failing to sell the card at its face value, Maxwell reduced the price to forty-dollars. Weed claims the card was eventually sold to Big Doug for thirty-five. He could be right about this.

***

Last Sunday, Oscar, Weed and your agent took a casual stroll to the local coffee cathedral. Oscar had a fist full of gift certificates for the place. He said he wanted to treat us to a round of double-doubles and some maple sugar donuts.

When we met on the street, before leaving for the local coffee cathedral, we found Maxwell near the Sack's centre circle. As usual, he was wearing his Montreal Canadiens tracksuit and a matching ball cap. This time, however, he was wearing only one white running shoe. He was holding the other one in his hand like a brick.

Maxwell was looking up at something on the hydro lines that run around the inside perimeter of the street. He was hopping up and down on one foot while taking aim at an object that hung from the wire. He was preparing to throw his other shoe at it.

***

While outside for his first cigarette of the day, Maxwell had noticed a curious addition to the Sack's landscape.

At some point during the night, a pair of Nike sneakers had been tossed on the overhead hydro lines. The sneakers were white, with blue striping. They looked relatively new. Someone had tied the shoes together so they would hang hopelessly over the hydro line.

Maxwell was trying to knock the sneakers off the wire by throwing one of his own at them.

***

In addition to being an expert in candlepin bowling, residential painting and the preparation of steamed mussels, Maxwell claims to have in-depth knowledge on the subject of sneakers.

The Nike sneakers that hung from the Sack's hydro lines, according to Maxwell, were definitely in the range of one hundred dollars. He also estimated the shoes to be either size ten or eleven. Either size, he told us with confidence, would fit his feet nicely.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he squinted at the shoes as they bounced gently on the wire. His last throw had hit the wire itself, but had failed to dislodge the shoes. That's when Weed wondered aloud whether the shoes already belonged to someone in the Sack.

Maxwell seemed taken by surprise. Then he asked, "Well, if they did, why would they throw their Nikes on the hydro lines?"

***

As Maxwell continued to throw his shoe at the hanging sneakers, Oscar went to get his boy, Dorian. The sleepy-looking fourteen-year-old walked stiffly down the front steps with a bored expression etched on his face. Oscar asked him if the shoes belonged to him or any other Sack kid.

Dorian shielded his eyes from the sun and peered up at the hanging shoes. Then he smirked and said, "Ain't mine. Nobody else's, either."

"Aren't," said Oscar flatly.

"What?" Dorian replied.

"They aren't your shoes."

"So why'd you ask me to look at them?" Dorian said with a haughty tone.

"Never mind."

***

We invited Maxwell to join us down at the local coffee cathedral. But even the news about Oscar's gift certificates wouldn't pry him away from the hanging sneakers.

As we walked away, he was still throwing his shoe at the hydro wire. Dorian was now sitting on his porch steps with his elbow on one knee and his fist under his chin. Now, he wore a look of mild amusement as he watched Maxwell concentrate on his task.

***

At the local coffee cathedral, Weed told us about the latest addition to his unique vocabulary.

Whenever he sees or hears something he doesn't like, he says he's now uttering a single word of his own creation. The word, according to Weed, is "Ack." He said he got the idea for the word after watching one of Little Doug's bird-killing cats throw up a hair ball. I haven't had a chance to tell him that he isn't the first to conceive of the word. I'm quite certain it wouldn't make much difference to him anyway.

Weed gave us several demonstrations of how the word works for him. The first was when he discovered that the coffee matron had neglected to put sugar in his coffee. He took a drink of the brew, grimaced and then pointed to his coffee cup. Then he said, "Ack."

***

Weed said "ack" for the second time when we returned to the Sack.

As we walked into the Sack, we were startled by another unusual sight. Maxwell was near the top of a twenty-foot ladder that leaned against a telephone pole. At the bottom, holding the ladder in place, was Dorian and one of his pals. Several feet away, one of the Sack's ten-year-old cowboy kids was sitting on the trunk of a car watching the whole affair. He was wearing his western outfit with a pair of winter boots on his feet. There was a toque under his cowboy's hat.

At first, it appeared that Maxwell was using a long pole to try and unwind the shoes from the hydro wire. Moving closer, one realized that the pole was actually a pair of hockey sticks held together at their ends with duct tape.

Oscar looked up at him and asked, "Have you lost your mind, Maxwell?"

***

According to Dorian, Maxwell had borrowed the ladder from Little Doug. Later, Little Doug would say he had no idea why Maxwell needed the apparatus.

"When a man needs a ladder," Little Doug said calmly, "I assume he has a good reason for needing it."

The hockey sticks were provided by Dorian. Maxwell found the duct tape in Mr. Bitterman's garage. Dorian said Maxwell had suddenly arrived at the idea for the whole caper after his throwing shoe landed in a puddle of water.

***

Seconds after Oscar questioned his sanity, Maxwell gave a cry of triumph as he successfully unwound the shoes from the hydro wire. The sneakers fell from the wire and landed with a dull thud on the top of a parked car.

Maxwell backed carefully down the ladder and quickly snatched the shoes from the car's roof. He walked back to us with a satisfied smile on his face.

Oscar said to him, "You know you could've got yourself electrocuted, don't you?"

"No chance," Maxwell replied with a grin. "I've done all kinds of electrical work before. I could have my electrician's papers, if I wanted to."

"Ack," said Weed.

***

Maxwell walked over to the front porch of the Bitterman home and sat down on the first step. He was working furiously on the knots that held the sneakers together.

After finally freeing the laces, he flipped off his own shoes and put the Nikes on his feet. He stood up and put his hands in his pockets. Then he started to wiggle his feet in the newly-acquired sneakers. Finally, he took a few steps forward with a look of concentration on his face.

Maxwell stopped and then walked slowly back to the steps. He turned around again and wiggled his feet a few more times. Then, he looked at us and said, "Score."

Oscar simply shook his head. I gave Maxwell my trade mark peace sign and turned to walk back toward the Wonders' house.

"What do you think?" Maxwell asked Weed, nodding proudly at his new Nike sneakers.

"Ack," said Weed.

***