The Hungry Heist

A note to the reader:  This is a work of fiction.  Any real persons mentioned have been placed in a fictional context and reflect no actual or true events.  There is graphic content, but only for the specific goal of bringing awareness to social justice issues.  Enjoy!

***

Why they called me, I have no idea... But, hey, I was always grateful and honored to receive!  Humbly, I accepted the job... Another non-violent crime, and another—thank God—non-violent approach to solving it...

I’m Bill Watson, if you didn’t know, but on the streets at night they call me “The Forgiver.”  My work started way back when Quentin Tarantino made that horrible movie with a horrible title.  You know the one... “Kill Bill.”  Gosh, it’s still hard to say, even to talk about it...

Of all the titles to choose for a movie.  Really?  “Kill Bill,” like it’s an order to the first whacko who doesn’t like a “Bill” in their life to go up and whack him?  Holy Toledo I was mad!  I was just doing my thing, a screenwriter by day.  No big deal, I love the movies, was hot on Hollywood giving me a spot, and...

That movie dropped.  When I first saw the poster, I froze, instantly thinking of the three most-likely people who wanted to kill this Bill.  Would they be inspired by Quentin’s low-brain title?  Long story short, I held a grudge against that crazy Indie film director, eventually sought him out at his home in Northern California.

I was ready to do some damage to make him feel bad for the pain he caused me and maybe countless other “Bill’s” around the world.  I had my line ready, when I reached his front door, but before that stopped off to collect a three-iron from a driving range en route.  I wasn’t thinking I’d hit him with it per se, but just wanted the prop to at least scare him into more benign, less offensive movie titles.

I finally got to his house on Super Bowl Sunday, and he was throwing a wild party with seven of his favorite girlfriends.  Beautiful gals of all shapes, sizes, races—all of them pretty liquored up, including the security guard out front, who waved me to the front door irresponsibly.  Couldn’t he see the metal shaft of my shiny Wilson Pro Staff iron?

Quentin himself answered the door as the Cowboys scored, the noise died down, him asking, “Hey, dude, who are you?

“My name is Bill, Dude, and I’m ticked at you for making that dumb movie about killing a guy with my name.”

I raised up the three-iron, still unsure what would happen.

“Woah, Bro, take it easy!” Quentin protested, looking so sad and vulnerable, and suddenly I thought my work done.  I lowered the weapon, as the guests gathered around, most of them high on God knows what Hollywood-happy drugs.

I extended my hand to the director, as he opened his scared eyes.  He took it, and we in the end “hugged it out” like men.  I Forgave Quentin, right then and there.

And from that moment until this day, I took on that mantle, to be the one people called when they had a problem and didn’t want to resort to violence.  I became The Forgiver.  And around me sprouted a whole “business” you could say, called INV (It’s Not Violent).  We joined hands with another fun group called in fact FUN (Fun United Network).  The mission of all our work to bring non-violent, even fun solutions to violent problems, even crime.

Today the call came into INV, Malloy picking up the phone for Williams Robb, absent with a cold.  Malloy told me a bakery on 7^th Street was hit, the only missing item being a secret ingredient of their chocolate chip Christmas cookies, the “Grand Macca-Delux” they sold to local 24/7 stores.  Addicting stuff!

Most on the street knew what they put in their cookies, so when I first heard about the stolen item, I nearly dismissed the case.  But when I thought a little more, I had to admit there was an ingredient to their cookies I couldn’t spot.  A unique taste not of sugar, butter or cocoa, beyond the rush of what a macadamia nut can do.  There was a sprinkle of chewy “unknown...”

Now, nothing like that would make me want to steal, but I was me, and someone else... Well, what if on a certain wintry day, they felt a hunger so great for that taste that they had to go out and find out what it was—even commit a crime to do so?!  Sure, the conventional wisdom pointed to the rival bakeries in the area.  But from the first, I suspected a more innocent happening, a childlike wanderer with a lust for Christmas cookies that just had to on that night satiate against all other reason.

I laughed in my office, Malloy eyeing me askance.

“Williams...”

It was obvious to me.  Williams Robb had, as I said, called in sick, but this couldn’t be coincidence.  The reader can have their doubts knowing Williams Robb to be the superhero he was!  All of us at INV strove to be proper citizens, used public transportation or walked to crime scenes for the sake of the environment and greater peace. We rejected sirens and guns, sought out only non-lethal policing techniques, judged absolutely no one as less than human beings.

Criminals had off days... Like you never had one?  What should we do... shoot them or help them?  We helped at INV, Britney Spears and FUN helping in their way, as well—perhaps more on that later.  But now we had a complication in that one of us (I was almost 100 percent sure) was the very instigator of a bothersome crime in town.

Rather than explain how I was so sure it was Williams Robb who had committed the theft of Trampy’s Bakery’s secret Christmas cookie ingredient, I’ll just share an old case report.  It’s from the Christmas file, something most modern law enforcement offices had, and we at INV were no different:

Christmas Eve, 2019

Incident #174b

Hot Cookies Unattended/Un-Eaten/Un-Appreciated

“24/7” Store on Robinson

Attending INV Officer:

Williams Robb, INV#1521

***

I had just finished dinner on 6^th Street with Officer Tucker, stopping by the 24/7 establishment on Robinson, in search of a satisfying dessert. Tucker suggested I try the pastries, so I advanced cautiously toward the back of the store.

There, on Christmas Eve mind you, were two unattended, uneaten Trampy’s Grand Macca-Delux cookies shining in the display window of the 24/7.

Shocked that no one had already bought them, I asked the store attendant (a Carl Roberts originally of Cincinnati) exactly when the cookies had first been placed in the display.

When he said “yesterday morning,” I nearly had a mind to arrest him on the spot for negligence of basic baked good selling practices. I was angered until Tucker nodded to my INV badge, calming me down enough to take the logical action of confiscating the two cookies before they spoiled.

***Counter Complaint

Carl M. Roberts

24/7 attendant:

“I was shocked the officer took the two cookies without paying. He cited some bull@#t law that doesn’t even exist, then I saw him eating the cookies outside with a big grin on his face. WTF???”

***INV Officer Robb Response to Carl Roberts’ Counter-complaint:

“I understand the attendant’s concern. He felt I had stolen the cookies because I was hungry for a great dessert, and there they were. That I used my INV authority to raid his store...

I’ll admit I was thrown by the aroma of the cookies at hand, and that I acted out of an impulse to taste that which produced such an amazing smell.

I apologize to the attendant Carl Roberts, will pay for the cookies I ingested, but suggest to INV leadership (and to the mayor herself) that Trampy’s Bakery be investigated for putting an addictive ingredient into their cookies that make people irrational and prone to stealing.”

***

Report Conclusion:

Robbs, Williams, INV Agent 1521 – was suspended from duty for a week-long period, and ordered to stay away from both 24/7 and Trampy’s Bakery until a full investigation had been made.

Officer Malloy, #2120

INV Documents Division

1/21/2020

***

The above issue was squashed and forgotten until last night.  I talked to Williams not long after his suspension, and he claimed to be over his addiction to both Christmas cookies and his need for justice with Trampy’s Bakery.

But when I heard the details of the bakery theft just now brought to my desk, I knew I’d need to pay a visit to Williams personally, before this really blew up in our face.  I just hoped no matter what, that the men and women involved in this incident could come together and forgive...

***

I was almost out the door, when I recalled my favorite weapon: a brand new chess set.  I hardly ever went out on the job without one.  It was a great game, chess, and also a symbol of seeking non-violent solutions, of playing at war instead of waging it.  I didn’t know who would get the chess set that night, pretty sure Williams already had one, thinking maybe some angry baker at Trampy’s could use a boost.

(When I resolved crimes non-violently by awarding the chess set, I included a half-hour tutorial on the game, theirs to schedule whenever they wanted...)

Williams’ home was too obvious a location to start, imprudent after a moment’s consideration.  Knowing he might be a little guilty for what he had done and seeking peace, I figured he had headed up to Mater Dolorosa Retreat Center in Sierra Madre, California.  I had personally received great healing up there, from physical to emotional injuries.  How can pain last long with a thorough meditation on someone who was nailed to a cross, beaten, starved and abused to a slow death?  Then think of that sufferer’s suffering mother... and you have the tone of Mater Dolorosa.

I told the chief baker and manager at Trampy’s I’d be by their establishment around eight, giving me time in the late afternoon light to catch the Metro, then walk up to the beautiful retreat center, full of deer, quiet and restful gardens.

And... there was Robb.  Resting himself on a chair overlooking the San Gabriel Valley.  Almost asleep, he barely raised an eyebrow or heartbeat when he noticed my presence.  Only a thin smile starting in the eyes, for we loved each other dearly... and there was of course no fear in true love.

“Why’d you do it, Williams?”

He just laughed, both of us eyeing a doe and her fawn walking calmly toward their herd.  The city was below but not audible, time at rest...

“I had to find out what they were putting in those cookies, Bill.”

I just froze, nodded a little, trying to steer clear of any judgment.

“Did you bring me a chess set?” asked my friend, smiling fuller now that the cat was out of the bag, the culprit naked with his crime fully exposed.

“That’s for the baker, Robbs, probably a very upset person right now.” I tried to smile off the seriousness of everything. “What did you take?”

Robbs thought a moment, decided to let me into his world.  He fished a stolen file from under his seat, handed it over to me without reserve.

“They told me someone stole not just a file, but the secret ingredient itself?”

“I hid it, Bill,” confessed Williams Robb in the fading sunlight.  Two bucks clashed antlers lightly, the does and fawns calmly foraging, looking up only if Williams or I moved too fast.

“What the heck is the secret ingredient?”

Williams looked around to see if anyone was watching us.

“What does one in three men miss in this world, whether they admit it or not?” riddled my conflicted superhero friend against the last bit of light of that day.

“I need more...” I managed, putting on my sweatshirt as the sun disappeared at last.

“The Christmas cookies of Trampy’s Bakery, those they sell in large volumes at 24/7 stores throughout this community...”

“The Grand Macca-Delux,” I helped...

“Yes, the Grand Macca-Delux...” Williams continued, almost in pain. “Their secret ingredient, the one that makes them so intoxicating to certain people...”

Williams shook his head, as if he wasn’t going to be able to spit out the truth.  Instead of telling me, he reached under his chair, whipped out a garbage bag full of something perhaps to do with this case.

“Is that it?”

With almost a tear in his eye, Robbs nodded, handed me the bag. 

I could feel his pain, smelled something odd and was becoming sick already, before I opened up the bag, saw something I thought I recognized, shook the bag once... “What the...?”

“Foreskin.”  Robbs reported his fact with conviction, but I couldn’t at first believe him.  “They use human, male baby foreskin marinated in fermented peach juice, intoxicating their victims with a powerful addictive quality I’ve named Intactin.”

“Intactin?” I managed to ask, near sick but holding on, as I focused on the orange sky behind the herd settling in for their night under the stars.

“What every circumcised man wants—again—whether they admit it or not.  They want their foreskin.  They want to be whole.  Somehow the bakers at Trampy’s found a way to combine a small amount of alcohol with the scents and tastes of that male body part missing in a third of men worldwide, more than half in Turtle Island.  And that combination is what made me steal the cookies last year.”

“And now you stole the secret ingredient...”

“The world should know.”

“That unconsenting male genital mutilation is wrong?”

“That, of course, Bill.  But our community should also know that Trampy’s Bakery is selling cookies with an addictive drug made from human foreskin!”

“Indeed, that might be helpful information,” I concluded, already thinking of my next date with the folks at Trampy’s.  What would I say...? What would I do...?  Who would get the chess set in the end?

***

Her name was Francesca, I learned.  The angry baker at Trampy’s, made even more angry by my tardy arrival at her store at 8:08 that night.  I didn’t waste any time with her, presented the bag of foreskin, studying her as I did.

She was a combination of relieved mixed with guilty, knowing her secret was out now...

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

“No, we don’t use guns, even those attached to city representatives,” I answered.

“Are you the Forgiver?” she asked.

“I am,” I responded, nodding.

She began to sob quietly, and I placed my hand gently on her shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” she managed after a moment.

“I know you are, Francesca.  A lot of us do stuff that’s weird, and over time it becomes normal... Just something we do... It’s extra tempting, when we make money off of ‘weird.’”

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Well, we actually have a division at INV dedicated to child abuse.  I’d like you to continue baking, but without this odd secret ingredient.  And I’d like you to volunteer some time to our child abuse division...”

“Child abuse?” she questioned, after a thought.

“Yes, Francesca.  From strapping babies down to cut off parts of their bodies against their will, to verbal, physical and emotional abuse later in life.  It’s all abuse.  And all forgivable, if...”

“If what, sir?”

“Well, if we admit what the problem is first.  Tell the truth...” 

And with that bit of dialogue I decided to present Francesca with the chess set, as a token of my forgiveness.  I loved her and all sinners.  Not for her only, but for my peace.  So that my humble soul could one day get to heaven... forgiven