LAUNDROMAT II

Lenny and Pat were squeezed under a small sewing table in the tailor’s shop, shaking. The blood had drained out of Lenny’s usual gray, plump face — he was slowly turning paler, and tiny droplets of water were forming around his forehead.

Pat tried to push himself further under the desk and glanced at Lenny. “Darn-it! What’s wrong with you? You don’t look good!”

Lenny tried to clear his throat. His face turned dark gray, and his cheeks turned purple as if violets were blooming. Then, his breathing became shallow as he tried to swallow. His eyes and nostrils opened wide, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He quickly sealed his mouth with both hands and shook his head from side to side.

As he looked at Lenny, he felt his head spinning with thoughts of throwing him back into the tailor’s path of fury. “I told you I had a bad feeling about this place! How many times did I say it?”

With that statement, Lenny’s throat swelled, his mouth opened wide, and portions of his lunch came out with a violent swoosh: roast beef, cherry skins, and morsels of french fries.

A few days earlier, on a sunny day, Lenny and Pat Cobolt strolled through the old town section with cobbled stone streets with a mix of shops and cafés. There was the Handle & Hammer Pub, Anvil’s Antiques, the Magazine Pusher newspaper stand, Pin’s café, and a mix of shops selling art and antiquities. The wind made a whooshing sound as it flew by Pat’s neck. He pulled up his collar and shook his shoulders as if to wiggle snow off them.

“Geez! It's so darn cold out here. Should’ve stayed out West,” Pat mumbled.

Lenny seemed not to notice Pat hugging himself. Lenny bent over to tie his shoes. “Come on. It’s gonna take some planning, but it’s a big payday, and it takes care of everything on the list!”

Pat pushed his right hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of blue crumpled paper. “We ain’t doing this,” said Pat. He uncrumpled it, glanced it over, and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“If we do this job, we'll eat like kings for the rest of the year! We take care of everything on our Christmas list and won’t have to hustle for a while, you know?”

Pat shoved his hands into his empty jacket pockets. “We’re doing another payday job, not this one. It’s not about the money. Besides, that woman gives me the creeps.”

Lenny threw his hands up in the air as if under arrest. “Come on! You’ve never met her! What are you worried about? We’re the Cobolt brothers; we can get difficult jobs done! It’s what we do! Besides, her name is Caroline Staples, which sounds pretty harmless!”

Pat and Lenny grew up in the same foster home in a small rural town outside a big city. They were born days apart in a local hospital - it was a struggle to feed a newborn back then. Someone dropped them off at the edge of a farm. The farmer and her wife had a reputation for caring for kids and ensuring they had a first-rate education. So, one chilly morning, the farm’s security system picked up two objects with vital signs. Ruth and Florence rushed over and found the babies asleep in a basket wrapped in blue blankets. The note pinned to them read: “The boys aren’t brothers, but please raise them as such.”

Pat inhaled deeply as if savoring the aroma of chicken pot pie fresh out of the oven.

“Look! After this job, we’ll keep a low profile. Maybe we get outta town and take up a blue-collar job to blend in,” said Lenny.

Pat pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Spare me! Your soft hands have never seen a day of hard labor! Besides, you need an appointment to get into the shop, which takes months.”

Lenny stopped walking. “Well, we got an appointment to see the tailor.”

“WHAT?” Pat’s yell caused the couple across the street to stop and stare.

Lenny pulled a ticket out of his jacket pocket as if he had just scored big on a one-dollar scratch ticket. “Some guy was bragging about his appointment date over at the café. So, I snatched it from him. Now, it’s our appointment!”

“Oh no, no! What did you do to the guy?”

Lenny cracked a wide open-mouth smile as if he were sitting in a dentist's chair for a cleaning, then giggled, “Word on the street is that Ms. Staples is creating an expensive suit, and the owner of that suit wants the finest thread money can buy.”

“I said no!”

Lenny rubbed his head. “Get this! The thread takes months to manufacture and weeks to ship. It’s made from Mulberry silk and mixed with gold strands. Each spool of thread is estimated to cost thousands of dollars, and she told the owner she would need twelve spools to get the job done. We go in, get the threads and CACHING!”

Pat lowered his head. “I’ve heard stories!”

“It’s an easy job!”

Pat, with his head still lowered. “Maybe we need to slow down and stay out of trouble for a while.”

“Are you kidding me?” blurred Lenny.

“Is anything ever easy with you?”

Lenny leaned in towards Pat. “Just imagine, when this is all done, we’ll be lounging at an all-inclusive somewhere in Barbados.”

Pat grabbed his jacket collar and tried pulling it closer to his hairline. “I should have worn a scarf. And my gut is telling me we should skip this one.”

Lenny skipped around Pat as if he was doing a round of double-dutch. “Come on, she’s just a tailor!”

“No one knows what this woman looks like,” said Pat.

“Who cares! We don’t need those details,” said Lenny. “We just need the threads!”

“Life is about details, Lenny! Remember that job out West? You didn’t look into the location like I asked, and we got lost in the desert for almost a week trying to find the joint!”

“We only spent two days in the sand.”

“And the time down South! And that time up North!

“Those were misunderstandings. Besides, luck is always on our side.”

“Whatever, Lenny!”

The tailor, Caroline Staples, was not your ordinary tailor, not by a long stretch. You couldn’t drop off your clothes unannounced. Her two storefront windows were blacked out, and the main door hosted a digital sign with the business hours and information displayed on three lines in an oversized, thick, black font: “Appointments ONLY. No Exceptions!”

The only person who could show up unannounced was her boss: the laundry lady, Ms. Diana Hernández. Yes! The same woman who owns dozens of laundromats in the area also owned the tailor shop.

Pat shook his head, left to right.

“I know getting into the store is an ordeal - security is tight. The double-lock door system reminds me of high-end banks. You’re buzzed into the front door and wait in a small lobby for the first set of doors to completely close.”

“I don’t like this!” said Pat.

Lenny didn’t seem to be bothered by his friend’s head movements. “Once the front door closes, the second set of doors buzz open onto the shop's main floor. Security cameras are everywhere, in every corner. Lucky for us, we have an appointment.”

“Let’s pass on this one,” said Pat. He stopped walking. “Someone’s probably watching that place - security is too tight, her clientele pay a high price for everything, and the waiting list for an appointment is months out.”

Lenny stopped walking and pulled out a small box from his jacket, the size of a deck of cards with a small on/off switch on the side. “We’re the only people watching that joint! Besides, this solar box can knock out her electrical system. We get in, grab, and go.”

The solar box was one of Lenny’s great finds. You see, Lenny loves exploring estate sales. He found it in the attic of an old ranch-style house in Yarmouth Port a few months earlier and knew what it could do. The estate sale agency said it was a “piece of junk,” and he could have it for “free.” The solar box replicates a solar burst on a tiny scale, and the energy output can short-circuit anything - in theory.

“Did you ever stop to think that the high-end security isn’t for her merchandise or clientele; it’s for her?”

Lenny busted out a rumble of laughter. “Somebody is getting soft on crime.”

Pat pushed him against the wall. “Clam-it! Why are you always so loud?”

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of her! She’s less than a hundred pounds on a wet day!”

Pat stepped back. He took another step backward. “We can’t just walk in there and tell her to hand over million-dollar sewing threads.”

“Well, we’ll be the first to ask her for all of them politely!” Lenny said with a mischievous grin as if he was about to jack up a fancy car with cement blocks and strip it of all four tires.

Over the next few days, Pat and Lenny ironed out their plan. They thought about everything and decided not to use the solar box - it would cause too much distraction, and they didn’t know if it would work; they didn’t have time to test it out. After all, they wanted this operation to be low-key - not even the cops would show up.

On the appointment day, Lenny and Pat walked down the street towards the tailor’s shop with a package in hand.

“I checked in with my contact, and no one has ever seen her leave the building, front or back,” said Lenny.

Pat cleared his throat. “She probably goes through the sewer.”

Lenny cracked a laugh. “You’re such a clown! Who cares if she uses an underground transit system? We’re in and out the front door in record time.”

Pat continued his stroll. “So, all we need to do is walk in, tie the tailor up, grab the threads, and leave.”

Lenny grabbed his chest and released a loud burp.

“What was that?” Pat asked.

“I need a mint,” he said. “You got any of those small white mint drops?”

“No!” Pat shook his head. “Why do you eat so much food before a job? You’re like a bear about to go into hibernation.”

The two men continued a few more yards when Lenny stopped and pointed to the nearby tailor’s shop.

“There it is,” said Lenny.

They strolled up to the shop’s front door at 8300 rue Verasoie. Lenny stretched out his finger and pressed the doorbell.

An automated voice echoed from the speaker system. “Please place your ticket in the slot marked tickets only.”

Pat placed the ticket in the slot.

Then:

The first set of doors clicked open. The men entered a small lobby area and waited for the doors behind them to completely close before the second set would open.

It was that space in between that both men appeared to be still.

Then, Pat dropped his shoulders just a little, and Lenny’s eyebrows rose to his hairline as the doors opened into Caroline Staples’ domain.

Both men stood there with eyes wide open. They just didn’t walk into a tailor’s shop - they walked into a museum dedicated to the memory and preservation of staplers! One could call it a shrine, maybe a heritage site.

They didn’t know that Ms. Caroline Staples was obsessed with staplers of shapes, sizes, and colors. She had staplers from all the decades known to humankind, some behind thick protective glass. Furniture parts, such as a sewing table, a side chair, and a bench, were designed with the structure of the stapler in mind. Staplers lined the counter and sewing and cutting tables.

There were pictures of famous people holding staplers, ceramic and clay staplers, a flower pot shaped like a stapler, and stiletto staplers in every rainbow color. On the far left of the counter was a small golden statue of the seated Buddha looking at a collage painting of staplers.

Hernández knew about Caroline’s obsession with staplers and her rigid upbringing. Caroline’s mother worked hard to keep all things together: the family unit, the family image, and the family budget. Caroline watched her mother’s two marriages fall apart. Then, one day, Caroline found admiration with the stapler: after all, it was reliable and kept everything together. So, she promised to keep her life together, and love had no place to dwell - not even from friends.

Pat shook his head in disbelief. His gut told him to stay home today, and he didn’t listen. In fact, he has always ignored his gut instincts, and today was no exception.

The automated voice returned. “Ms. Staples will be with you shortly. Please place the package on the counter and take a step back.”

Lenny placed the package on top. Then, a beam of yellow light emerged from the ceiling and scanned it.

The automated voice said, “One gentleman’s jacket. The fabric is a mixture of wool, cashmere, and cotton. It is not the finest quality. It needs a wash and new buttons.”

Suddenly, Lenny slammed the solar box on the counter and flipped the switch.

The lights immediately flickered and sparkled on and off. Then, the room was in total darkness.

The automated voice chimed in with a languid pace. “S-Y-S-T-E-M F-A-I-L…”

Lenny shouted out. “We want the threads! Hand it all over, and nobody gets hurt!”

Pat grabbed Lenny’s shoulder. “That wasn’t the plan!”

Yet Pat knew that Lenny was never going to follow the plan. There was only one way, and that was Lenny’s way.

Lenny looked back at Pat. “I can handle a woman who’s not even a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“You –!” Pat shouted as he stumbled backward, knocking over a container of pins and needles.

Lenny interrupted. “This is not a good time for name-calling!”

While on pins and needles, small emergency glow lights came on, providing enough light to cut through the darkness and shadows.

Then, there was a sudden crackling sound, as if someone was pouring milk over rice cereal. The crackling stopped, and Ms. Caroline Staples appeared out of the backroom on the second floor.

Her brown hair was pinned up in a bun, and her solemn look wasn’t allowing her dimples to show. She was dressed in brown slacks with wide flaring bottoms and a white shirt with a wide collar. Her orange shoes had a low heel, and her matching beaded bracelet and necklace were yellow. She stepped softly.

“Don’t TOUCH anything!” Staples wailed as she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then, her tone and pitch immediately changed. “How may I help you fellows?" she asked.

“Hand over the threads!” Lenny shouted.

Caroline took another deep breath and exhaled. “Please don’t touch the staplers.”

“Wrong choice.” Lenny pulled out his gun first and started shooting.

Pat, already lying on pins and needles, threw his hands up and screamed: “W-A-I-T!”

In an instant, Staples’ fist hit a side panel of the wall, and a custom-made rifle-shaped staple gun sprung out.

Pat curled into a ball when staples started flying across the room; a few grazed Lenny’s head.

“Awh shoot!” said Lenny, as he grabbed his head.

The bombardment of staples pushed the two men into a corner and under a small desk. Once again, darkness filled the room. There was a loud smash - as if someone threw a glass vase against the wall. Then, a bang - as if a car hit into the back of a dump truck.

Then:

The staple gun's load and release metallic sound continued as the automated voice said, “The system is back on. Emergency lights are operational. Alerting Ms. Hernández and the security team.”

“Cancel that order,” said Staples.

Pat elbowed Lenny, “I told you this was a bad idea. She’s gonna skin us alive!”

Lenny returned gunfire while Staples secured herself behind a cutting table. She was about to recharge her staple gun when the phone rang.

Lenny and Pat looked at each other. “How was I supposed to know she had a landline?” Asked Lenny softly.

Staples wiggled herself towards the phone and picked up the receiver.

“I’m fine,” she said. “No trouble at all, yes. There’s no need to send the police; it's just a minor electrical issue, yes. I’ll work on it tomorrow. Yes, I did my second meditation for the day. Yes, I feel much calmer these days — well then, the suit will be ready as scheduled. Good evening, Ms. H.”

Staples hung up the phone and scanned the room. She noticed a piece of crumpled blue paper. “System, scan the contents of that piece of blue paper on the floor.”

Pat looked at Lenny and mumbled something to him.

A beam of yellow light scanned the paper. “Sending the scanned document to your mobile device, also sending a security update.”

Staples reached into her pocket, pulled out a translucent, slender card the size of her palm, and looked at the notes on its screen. “My security system tells me you’re out of ammo, and I know you’re out of options!”

Then Pat yelled, “What would the Buddha do?”

Both men squeezed under a small sewing table, looking at each other. Then Staples took a long, deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Now, tell me more about this Christmas list.”

THE END