CHAPTER 9
1102 Words
CHAPTER 9Sam pulled a chair out of the mound of furniture blown up against the wall and walked it to the empty floor of the bakery’s public area in front of the counter. He set it down and returned to the periphery of the room to grab another. As he walked back and forth, setting up tables and chairs, he kicked green flyers out of his path that had blown off the counter. Ping pushed a mop in a yellow bucket on wheels through the swinging doors and started to clean up pumpkin pie filling that had splattered the floor.
“There doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage,” Sam said. “Luckily, with the rain coming down like it is, foot traffic has been slow.”
“Yes, it is fortunate no customers were here,” Ping said distractedly as he mopped.
“What was that all about? I thought you had a deal worked out with the dragon. He was supposed to sleep until you died, and then he could have your body. That was the dragon, right? It wasn’t my imagination.”
“I think so. Maybe it was the equivalent of tossing and turning in your sleep or a nightmare.”
“Has that happened before?”
“No. I’m always aware that he’s here, but nothing physical like that has occurred since we fused during the battle with Mara in Oregon City.”
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t start sleepwalking or something,” Sam said, putting the last chair back in place. He looked up to see Ping staring at him with a look of panic.
“You don’t think that will happen do you?” Ping said.
“How would I know?”
“You said you prompted him to go back to sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s when the whole scene ended.”
“So we have some way of dealing with it if it becomes an issue.”
“Maybe. It could have been a coincidence that it ended when I yelled. My prompting might not have been what caused it to stop at all. I didn’t interact enough with him to get a sense of that. Anyway you realize that, even if I did prompt him, the effect would only be temporary. It’s not like I can solve the problem, if there is a problem.”
“We’ll have to wait and see.” Ping leaned forward and wrung out the mop, then turned and pushed the bucket back through the swinging doors.
Sam wove between the tables, bending over and picking up the flyers and other loose papers that had blown to the floor. While he struggled to pull one from under a table leg, he heard the front door open. Someone rustled an overcoat, apparently shaking off the rain. Once Sam got the paper out from under the table leg, he looked up to see a burly bald man in a trench coat standing in the glass doorway, surveying the bakery. He looked annoyed.
Sam straightened and said, “Hi, can I help you?”
“Yeah, tell me what happened to the ceramics store.” His annoyance looked like it was turning to anger.
“Mr. Ping decided that he would rather have a bakery. Kinda cool, huh?”
“Not how I would characterize it, young man. Where’s Ping?”
“He’s in the back. Are you sure there’s not something I can get for you? We’ve got some fresh Danishes—just came out of the oven this morning.”
“Tell Ping that he’s got a visitor who would like to talk to him.”
“Can I tell him who—”
“That’s not your concern, young man. Go get Ping.”
Sam turned, walked behind the counter and pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Ping stood in front of a bank of ovens, bending between open doors removing a rack.
“More pies?” Sam said.
Ping smiled and said, “Pumpkin. Customers have been requesting them. We’re only two weeks from Thanksgiving. Have you ever had a Thanksgiving dinner before?”
“Where I come from we didn’t have a lot to give thanks for.”
“All that’s changed, hasn’t it? I’ll give you a slice of pie after they cool down.”
From the front of the store a growl reverberated, “Ping!”
Sam jutted his head back toward the doors and said, “There’s a guy out there who wants to see you. He doesn’t look too happy.”
Ping wiped his hands and walked into the front of the store. The man stood at the end of the counter, looking as if he were about to stomp into the back of the bakery. He held his place as Ping cleared the doors and said to him, “There you are.”
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Ping, it’s me, Carl.”
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“What are you trying to pull, Ping? It’s me, Carl Galinsky. I was driving by, and I noticed the ceramics place is gone. Vandy’s not going to be real happy when he hears. What’s going on?”
“If you are looking for a ceramics store, I’ve got the card of another establishment back in the office. Give me a minute, and I’ll get it.” He turned to go into the back.
“I don’t need another ceramics store. I need to know what happened to this one. Why is there a friggin’ bakery where my boss’s ceramics store is supposed to be?”
“I think there is some confusion here. This is my business. I don’t have a partner.”
The man rolled his shoulders, puffed out his chest and pulled up his belt. “I think Mr. Vanderberg is going to think differently.” He leaned across the counter to get into Ping’s face. “Look, you’ve got a choice to make. You can tell me what you’re up to now, or you can wait until Vandy tells me to pull it out of you. It’s up to you.”
Ping’s face flushed. “I’m sorry, um, Mr. Galinsky, but I don’t know anyone named Vandy. So, unless you’re going to buy a cake or some Danishes, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Galinsky’s jaw flexed several times as he stared back, trying to figure out how to respond.
Ping subtly leaned away from him.
Slapping his hands down on the counter, Galinsky said, “Your call, Ping. I hope for your sake the inventory at the warehouse is accounted for.” He turned and walked out the door.
Ping didn’t move, only watched after him. He heard the light shoosh of the swinging doors behind him. Sam stuck his head out and asked, “Is it okay to come out?”
“Yes, he’s gone,” Ping said over his shoulder.
Sam stepped out with a soggy, steaming brown lump in his hand. “What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure. It appears there may have been more going on with my business interests than I had anticipated.”
“It’s your business. What right does that guy have to tell you what to do with it?”
“Again I’m not sure. I went over all the paperwork before I shut down the ceramics store. There was no mention of a partner. Of course my counterpart could have had arrangements that were, shall we say, off-the-books.”
“You mean, something illegal?”
“Or perhaps something everyone wanted to keep private for some reason.”
Sam licked at his dripping hands. “Sounds like it could be a mess, especially that part about the warehouse.”
“Yes, a steaming big brown mess. Sort of like that pumpkin pie you have mauled.”
“It’s kind of runny, but it tastes good.”
“You have to let it cool before you eat it.”
“Sorry, I guess I jumped the gun.”
“I think I may have as well.”
- Writer
