Cookie Thief

 

            As I got out of bed, I glanced through the window into the cold winter world outside.  The fog shielded the sun and I stood shivering in my pajamas.  After my daily routine of dressing and taking care of business in the bathroom, I found myself in the kitchen where my little brother sat all alone.  He was rocking back and forth in his chair while munching his cereal.  I grabbed a bowl of Cheerios for myself.  I decided to be a man and take my chances with milk that was well past its expiration date.  As I sat down I remembered the delicious cookie I saved from the night before.  I grabbed the jar and popped the cap off.  At that moment I felt my whole world turn upside down.

“Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?”

There was no response.

“John, answer me!”

            “Not me,” John responded as he continued to munch on his cereal.

            “Not you, then who?”

            I looked around.  The Saturday morning cartoons played in the adjacent room.  The dining table was a jumbled mess.  The Funnies were laid out and John’s messy table manners had left Fruity Pebbles scattered all over the place.

            “How could it not be you? You were the first one to come into the kitchen.”

“Mommy would kill me if she found out I ate it.”

Perhaps it really wasn’t John.  Unlike most boys, he usually was honest and sweet-hearted and liked to draw hearts and flowers instead of guns and beasts.

            “Well then maybe it was Sara?”

            I knew that Sara – my buck-toothed sister – would have done anything to tick me off.

            “But Sara left with Abby.”

            “Well then, it must be them.  They probably stole the cookie and ran out. They’re always up to no good.”

            “Billy, you’re so silly!  It can’t be them.  They left yesterday ‘cause they wanted to have a sleepover.”

            “Phsss…girls…Well, then do you have any idea who else it could have been?”

            “Mommy wouldn’t eat the cookies ‘cause she’s on a diet and daddy hasn’t come home from work yet.”

            So far I had no major leads.  I couldn’t let this mystery go unsolved.  Whoever stole my cookie needed a good whooping.  I looked around the room for clues and finally stumbled upon an unusually long trail of ants.

            “Huh?  It looks like the thief left a cookie crumb trail.  Let’s follow it.”

            A few ants carried the scattered crumbs.  We followed the trail which lead to the living room, the couch, and finally to a cabinet near the window.

            “Billy! Billy! It must be him!” John screamed in his high-pitched five-year-old voice.

            “What are you talking about?” I said as I peered up.

            “Look at where the crumbs are,” John pointed to the tank. “It’s obviously the red herring.”
 

            “John, you’re an idiot!”

            “Billy, why are you such a meanie?  I’m only trying to help.  I’m going to tell mommy.”

            “Ugh,” I sighed.

            “I think he must’ve ran out of his food and went to steal ours!”

            “For crying out loud, fish don’t eat cookies!”

            “But look at all of those crumbs.  They lead directly to him!  He probably swam all the way to the table and back.”

            “John, how the heck did they let you pass kindergarten?  Fish can only swim in water.  If they leave water they die.”

            John grabbed a chair and pulled it in the direction of the tank.  He pushed his face toward the glass.

            “John, get down from there before mom comes and yells at you for not eating breakfast.”

            John ignored me as he examined the red herring.  His hand touched the slightly smudgy surface and he tapped on the glass.

”Come here little fishy,” he said but the fish didn’t respond. “Hey, Billy. Does the herring seem a little strange to you?”

            “Yeah.  It’s just floating which probably means it’s…”         
 

            “Its what?”     
 

            “It’s dead.”

            “De.. de… dead?”

            John’s eyes immediately swelled with water.  He looked at the herring again, and tapped on the glass.

            “Well, at least now we can have him smoked for lunch,” I said.

            John reached into the cold water, grabbed the fish, and slapped it down on the table.

            “Quick Billy, do CRP, do CRP!”

            “You mean CPR.  And no I’m not going to do CPR.”

            John began pushing against what he presumed was the fish’s chest with his index finger.

            “You don’t do CPR on fish.  All you’ll end up doing is...”

            “Ahhh… Noooooooo! Mommy!  Mommy!” John yelled as he began running upstairs.

            The fish’s silky body was punctured and what looked like to be a mixture of oil and blood leaked out.

            Upon close inspection I noticed pieces of chocolate chip and cookie dough mixed inside with the guts.  What kind of sicko would waste such a good cookie?

 

***

 

            I grabbed a chocolate cigarette from my trench coat and headed out the door.  The thing that bothered me the most about the entire incident was that the cookie was stolen but not enjoyed.  Such injustice to a cookie cannot be tolerated.  The scrumptious morsels were wasted and jammed into the helpless little red herring.

            I entered the SUV and watched my mom drag my brother to the car.

            “Mommy, I don’t want another fish,” he cried. “Nothing will ever replace it.”

            “Don’t worry honey, the guy at the fish store has magical powers and will bring your fish back to life.  I promise.”

            “Are you sure?” my brother yelped.

            “Yeah, of course.”

            “But didn’t we already flush him down the toilet?”

            “Uh…yeah…but that’s so…he will…arrive at the store…quicker than us.  That way we can see him alive sooner again.”

            Poor little John and poor mother.  Doesn’t she remember how expensive the supposedly rare red herrings are?  We paid around two hundred dollars for the last one.  Two hundred dollars just to cheer up a little kid is not worth it.  Not even if it means listening to my brother whine for days.

***

 

            We drove the SUV through the Solano tunnel.  Other than a few kids waiting at the bus stop, the streets was pretty empty probably because of the chilly weather.

            The aquarium was located on San Pablo Street near El Cerrito.  We parked next to a van with a fish logo.  As we opened the door, a bell rang and a person with an unusually bushy mustache appeared.  According to his tag he was Derrick Longjaw.

            “Hi, how may I help you?” he asked.

            “Oh, hi,” my mother replied. “Could I have a word with you for just a minute – in the back?”

            “Um…sure.  Oh, I think I remember you from a few months ago?  You bought that beautiful red herring.  How is it doing?”

            “Shhh,” my mother whispered.  “It unfortunately died and my little boy’s heart is broken.  I want him to think that its still alive and that you will bring it back to life.  Do you happen to have another one?”

            “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.  I do have another one, but I must warn you that these fish are getting rare.  I only have one more left and because its so rare it will cost a bit more than before.”

            “How much?”

            “Four hundred dollars.”

            “But that’s more than twice as much as before!” my mother blurted out loud.

            “Mommy, what happened?” John asked. “Is everything alright?”

            “Ye…yes sweetie.  Don’t worry, you’ll see the fishy again.”

            “So you want it?” Derrick whispered.

            “Yes,” my mother said with a forced smile.

            As Derrick went to the back, I looked around the aquarium.  I saw the tropical fish section with the glowing fish.  Why didn’t we get these before?  They’re so much cooler than that stupid red herring.  Bored with the fish, I headed back to the counter.  A glass of milk caught my eyes.  A cold glass of milk would have been the perfect combo drink with my chocolate chip cookie.  And right next to the glass of milk I noticed (could it really be?) a chocolate chip cookie.  Three-fourths of it were gone.  Only a quarter of happiness was left.  That last quarter looked so scrumptious and very much like my cookie with those big chocolates chunks and moist dough.  Derrick was one lucky man.

            “Alright, mam. Here’s the herring,” Derrick said as he handed the bag to my mother.  “See, Johnny, the fish is alright.  I fixed him up for ya pretty good.”

            “Wow! Thanks, mister!” Johnny responded with a big smile.

            As we were about to leave I caught another glimpse of Derrick – Derrick and his funny mustache with all those chocolate morsels and cookie crumbs stuck between his whiskers.  At that moment it hit me.  We were practically robbed.  The cookie thief was none other than Derrick himself.

Before we entered the SUV, I called out to my mom.

            “Mom, wait!”

            “What, Bill?”

            “I know who stole the cookie and killed the fish.”

            “Shh…what the heck are talking about?  No fish were killed.”

            Oh yeah, I forgot.

            “What I meant to say is that I know who dun’ it.”     
 

            “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “This entire thing was just one big scam,” I blurted.  “Derrick wanted to make some big bucks off of you and when he saw how attached John was to the first fish, he knew he could get you to come back to buy another if something happened to the first one.”

            “That’s a pretty far-fetched story, John.  What makes you think he came to our house and killed our fish?  Do you have any evidence?”

            “It’s the cookie! That bastard stole my cookie and used some of it to kill the fish.  He is going to eat the rest.”

            “Watch your language in front of your brother! And how do you know it’s your cookie?”

            I was shocked at her ridiculous question.

“Mom…I know my cookie.  From the first moment I laid my eyes on the cookie on Derrick’s desk, I knew something was up.  I realized that all my hunches were correct.  He stole my cookie.  Nobody steals my cookie and gets away with it.”

            At that moment I grabbed my nunchucks and ran back into the store.  I was almost too late.

            “Stop right there mister.  Let go of my cookie!”

            “Hah,” he scuffed. “What can a puny kid like you do?”

            His mouth opened wide as he drew the last quarter of the cookie to his mouth.  I only had a few milliseconds left.  I grabbed my nunchuck and swung it at his hand.  It was a direct hit.  The cookie flew out of his hand and into midair.  I ran and leaped forward with my hands cupped.  But as soon as I caught it I felt a hard blow on the head.  Despite being nearly unconscious, I looked up.

            Derrick was unaware of my little brother who stood behind him with a hammer.

            “You killed my fishy!” John yelled as he swung toward Derrick’s balls.

            I painfully chuckled.  Derrick deserved it.  He fell to his knees and gasped as if he was running out of air.  I managed to get up with some pain and felt a slight lump on my head.  I was happy though.  I had one more bite.