A Pilfering at the Pastry Bakery

It’s wonderful to gaze up at my bakery after finishing a workday. I call it, ‘Pilfering Pastries,’ a charming title I reluctantly acquiesced. Once I set up shop, I received an astonishing amount of hiring forms. Me being curious, I inquired of their past spots they worked, and to my surprise the bakeries were shut down. Now they’re looking to work here, and I’m not looking to open up a Chocolate Factory! Just a simple, cozy bakery I can calmly settle into each day. I don’t want to appear unsympathetic, but that's just how the business runs. Besides, it’s not like I’m ostracized, I have family and friends I cater to now too. 

I’m walking down the sidewalk, my house approximately 15 minutes away, and my phone receives a message. I pick it up to read the text, 

“My beautiful son, I have never been as excited for my birthday as this one. I’ve looked forward to all my birthdays, but this one will surely take the cake, love you baby.

Love, Mom.”

She’s about to be turning 50, and I’ve genuinely been looking forward to this birthday. It gives me an excuse to show off my workmanship and go all out on this cake, so I hope to impress. She’s taught me everything, so messing up this cake would be severely disappointing, possibly worth a whip from the spoon. Taste is my main virtue, so I’ve made sure to concoct the perfect recipe. It’s a recipe I use for all of my cakes, and, to an honest extent, is the reason I’m in business, a secret ingredient. Shadiness aside, it’s something I’ve failed to grasp after years of baking, and after beholding this virtuous secret, I’ve made sure to keep it hidden from other potential competitors.

As I proceed to walk around the street corner, a man careens into my side, no calling of foresight. Simultaneously I turn to gaze and already he’s left me, leaving me to sarcastically accept my own apology. Unsure of who this man is, slight apprehension starts to tickle my mind. Piqued, I come back to quickly grab my loose bearings on the ground and retire my thoughts in place of them.

Relieved to get home, I get up onto the step adjacent to my door, until suddenly my phone buzzes with a notification from my security app, saying “Someone Has Entered”, a video pops up of the same man who bumped into me earlier. I had a feeling! I break into my house, grab my keys, and drive, driving straight into my bakery almost. Leaping out, I see the door broken open, glass shards and pieces caked upon the sidewalk. Now that I’m here looking at the broken glass door, my fear starts coursing through and I decide to inform the police. The call finishes, and I have to risk it at this point, or else he might get away. Out of sheer tenacity I pushed the door, and managed one step into the bakery. I stand poised, quiet. Everything in my head was still loud, which made the uncertainty of the robber’s whereabouts more insistent in my mind. I stood dead, my ears tender in the quiet. In adrenalized scrutiny I couldn’t pick up anything wrong, even if it felt like someone was in my presence. My senses are as excited as an ecstatic kid shaking his plush toy. I went to the register and with relief found no cash withdrawn. I locked the register and looked around. Maybe I scared him off earlier when I almost crashed into the store, comically blaring my horn as I approached(I did it out of fear). But then, a frightening thought made me tremble. I slowly peeked into the kitchen and just as I saw, I quickly felt myself sink completely down into the ground. The secret ingredient..

...is gone.

“No idea who, huh?” the officer asked.

It’s amazing for people to look at the police and just think, “Oh, these guys.” The police arrived 12 minutes later, so even if I had called from my house I wouldn’t have a chance of saving my store. How come they can fire a clerk for being 12 minutes late, yet police only get the eye when they come 12 minutes too late? Who knows, but my bread and butter has just been stolen, and these lazy lilies were bench’in it at 7/11.

“Yes, there will definitely be charges placed once the person in question is caught. However, the perpetrator ran off with nothing in possession-.”

“No, he certainly DID take something,” I firmly replied, in contrast to his mistaken snark, “It’s a secret ingredient that I receive once every year, and I need it, it’s literal life or death...

…for my business.”

“Well sir I’ve seen the footage you’ve provided, and it appears the covered individual may or may not be carrying something, “secret”, on him. By my contractual obligation, we’ll do our job to kindly ask him.” So sad to think this is the guy who is legally “justice”. I’m still glaring at him when he shifts over to fill some paperwork, overtly staring. If only he knew, the amassing, overwhelming displeasure that everyone in this town had, the truth would break him. Perhaps this is why we let asshole cops be asshole cops.

“From this point on sir, there’s not much else we can get from you. We’ll take it from here, I can tell you had a long day and--”

“Yes sir! Sure thing officer!” I militantly chant in his face. I stand quiet for a couple seconds, mockingly wide-eyed at him and decide to walk away. I look back and see him getting into his cop car.

 I thought, ‘Sure showed him,’ and headed home looking deservedly smug.

I’m awake, and it’s currently midnight. I usually have an easy sleep routine, but tonight I was still up and something was picking at me. Still unsure of what to do, I sit and contemplate. Particularly, I remember the man, the one who came around from the street corner. Something was weird about him, not much of a mystery. It makes sense he would do his best to conceal his identity. He knew what he was stealing too, he had to be one of the other bakers who worked in town. He got there as soon as I came home, which means he wasn’t sight seeing and had intent on robbing my bakery for its secret. Knowing all that, I really feel like I can find who the perpetrator is, I just have to figure out which bakery is responsible.

Obviously the cops won’t believe me, so I’m most likely going to have to tackle this on my own. Seems stupid, but unreliable cops get you nowhere, especially when they’re dumb.

Still half-asleep, I flailed up and after finishing my round of vertigo I went out to inspect.

I carefully park my car in the parking lot, and approach. Expecting somebody to still be here, I fumbled with my keys to open the door. After fumbling some more, I remembered it’s already busted open. I stand still and breathe, firmly exhaling. Instilled with confidence I regain my composure, and take my second, first step inside the bakery. It’s ridiculous to expect the police will ever find anything on this case, so I’ve got to try to find what I can. It’s just that when you have a store to run on your own, it’s like your own child and you have to go out your way, because your store is everything. I inspected the kitchen, and found something interesting. I always keep the kitchen tidy enough I can recognize when things are out of place, yet everything is intact the way it was when I left. The more I kept thinking, the more I was convinced it had to be a past bakery owner. It’s a jump, but the robber knew where it was, and it’s strange that he didn’t fumble stuff around. He came here with intent, an intent of vengeance for his fallen comrades. Man, they need to go get a life.

A shout came out of nowhere,

“Don’t move, I know someones here!” I froze and didn’t say anything. Maybe one of the officers came back to do some inspecting. I mean, I already got robbed once. Either way I was picking straws, fiddling away at them to keep my attention away from the equally bothersome officer.

For a moment I thought he had left, and silently I rose up from my spot. 

*BAM!* One gunshot rang past the door and I instantly recoiled, “What the hell!?”

“Show yourself, now!”

Still in the room, I used my fear to composedly proclaim, “Now look, I’m the owner, alright? I am just here for business reasons-”

“I don’t care man, just come out and show yourself!”

I’ve never heard a policeman refrain from using the phrase, ‘Come out with your hands up!’ I came out and to my surprise, I came face to face with another burglar!

He went off saying, “Now, since you’re this establishment’s ‘owner’ I can ask where you’re hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“What do you mean *what*?” he mocked, “The only reason you’re in business at all, your secret ingredient of course!”

I just looked at him in fear, shock, and confusion; splattering out, “I don’t got it!”

“What!?” He clicked his gun at me, “You’re lying.”

“I just got robbed, don’t you see the broken glass!?”

“Yeah, so what? You’re telling me you’re out of it!?” he grew with anger.

I said nothing, whilst looking down.

He stared at me for a few seconds and mildly accused, “You’re lying again.”

I didn’t see a point in replying again, but I was also too scared to respond.

“We know you’re the reason we went out of business. Our bakery went out of commission because of you,” he said.

 “My bakery was great! All I needed was some good, honest people and my kitchen. It was perfect. Then you took it away from us, not just me, but all of us.” Even in fear I managed to find him more of a nuisance than the police officer. 

“Look at me however you want, but you stole from us, and now I’m gonna steal from you.” 

He walks towards me, so I back up towards the wall, except I’m already pressed up against it.

“I guess I’m going to have to inspect the kitchen, if that’s alright.”

For some stubborn reason I didn’t budge, “No thank you.”

“I wasn’t asking, I was stating,” and as he shoved me aside and came upon my door in my very own bakery store, I thought something. Maybe he did at one point have a bakery store with friends he made and a kitchen he relished, but that chapter is over. Now, it’s my time. My own mother is getting a birthday cake, and if this burglar knows who really stole it, then all hope isn’t really lost. What’s worse, this guy is going to get what’s coming to him for shoving me aside!

“AAaahhh!” I charged into him as hard as I could from behind, crashing through the door and the burglar hitting the ground, dropping his gun. In the stunned moment, I took his gun and threw it across the room, into the sink. Stupid, but I had him down, and I needed both hands to beat the crap out of him.

He tried to get up, so I dropped down with an accompanying punch to the face. Surprised by the pain in my knuckles, I pulled a couple more punches to quench the pain, then a couple more times after that because I was feeling the rush. I screamed, “Who do you work with!?”

In a daze he said, “I don’t work with nobody, I told you--*cough*-- I’m an owner.”

I raised my fist in intimidation and grinned, “You’re lying.”

He noted my sarcasm, “Well, if you’re not going to be serious, then maybe I don’t need to tell you anything!” 

He socked me and pushed me off him, allowing ample time to start heading towards the knife in the sink. I don’t know what came over me, but that’s when panic sprung. I charged, and his stomach hit the sink. He finally wheezed in defeat, and fell onto the solid ground. Still overcome with fear, I ran out the store and hopped in my car. I dial the police, the phone rings. It thankfully picks up, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes! It’s-” gunshots fire toward my car, and I duck to avoid incoming fire. As soon as I hear the gunshots stop, I hear someone patter down the sidewalk. I looked up to find no one in the store and no one at my car door. I made it out alive.

Soon the business fell under and I went bankrupt, forcing me to sell off my store to another. My cakes weren’t as good, so the competition forced me back under (from what I assume was my secret ingredient) and I was soon having difficulty maintaining myself. Fortunately, the new holder of my bakery was kind enough to hire me, so at least I have a job. I’m immediately greeted by some familiar faces from work, and I wave to one of my employees.

I randomly receive an apology, “Sorry about your store.”

I looked at him kindly and replied, “It’s alright. Now, we’ll be working together as equals. This’ll be fun!”

He looked away, and walking away I swore I heard him whisper, “Not quite…”

I came into the kitchen and reminisced from the month before, remembering how I beat up that burglar, good times.

I see the owner come in, I turn towards him and say, “Again, thank you so much, and uhmm….”

I notice what is in his hands, recognizing it I look into his eyes, cursing him

“You dare…” I trailed off, I couldn’t believe it

As he turned around he revealed the secret ingredient and says, 

“Let’s get cooking, yes?”