The Toilet Paper Caper: Chapter 6
By: Glenda Thompson
Tags: Mystery, Satire, Toilet Paper Caper, Collaboration, Humor

The Toilet Paper Caper: Chapter 6

A Stark Mystery

“Dude, really?” Darling looked at me, at Clarabelle, back at me. “Why would you think he’s my brother?”

“You said he wasn’t heavy. The Hollies? Neil Diamond?” Apparently, Darling wasn’t into the music scene. I shook my head. “Never mind.”

“I just meant he’s a geek, but we need to hang with him. At least until his brother, Jimmy, shows up. Jimmy’s a real gearhead. I need him to make some carb adjustments to the Pinto.”

Carb adjustments? To a bean? If I knew how to adjust carbs on beans I could make a fortune as a diet guru back in my time.

Darling continued. “She’s running too rich. Need to lean her out a bit.”

Clarabelle raced up, tugging on Darling’s sleeve. “Come on, man, we got to book. Fuzz is on its way.”

“Chill out, dude. You’re tripping. Pigs ain’t gonna bother with a TP party.”

“Look, here’s the skinny.” Clarabelle held out a baggie filled with bennies and ludes. “The jock tried to rip off my stash. I told him to get bent. That lightweight couldn’t handle these. They’re hardcore. So he ratted me out to the five-o and we need to split, like now.”

“You need to take a chill pill, dude. You really think the jock called the fuzz? What’s he gonna say? That dude was bogarting his stash?”

Sirens split the air. Darling grabbed my hand and dragged me to the Pinto, Clarabelle close on our heels. We must have looked like a bunch of clowns piling into that little car.

Darling cranked the ignition. Black smoke poured out of the exhaust as the engine coughed and sputtered but finally caught. That girl laid rubber as we peeled out of there.

Great. I’m stuck in the seventies with the man on my tail and no clue what the hell is going on. A commercial for the Tonight Show blared from the scratchy car speakers. Tonight Show… Johnny Carson. A memory tickled the back of my mind. Something about a Wisconsin Senator… Fro-something? Froberg? No, Froehlich, Harold Froelich. OMG, this has happened before. Maybe Whipple didn’t cause this after all.

“Darling, what day is it? Right now.”

“December 18, 1973. Why?’

“We need to get to Burbank, California right away. Before Johnny Carson’s show tomorrow night. Otherwise, we are going to find ourselves in a world of shit, here and now.”

An incredulous look on her face, Darling turned to me as we flew down the road in a cloud of dark smoke. “What are you babbling about? What does The Tonight Show have to do with the price of tea in China? You’re jive-talking me, dude.”

“No, I’m not. It started with a joke Carson made… is going to make… on his show tomorrow night. If he makes that joke, it will be three weeks before the chaos settles down. Maybe longer. My time won’t be the only time to have a toilet paper shortage.”

“Dude, that’s tattered.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off of me.

“Whoa!” Clarabelle hollered from the back seat.

We both turned to look at him. Wide-eyed, he was pointing in front of us. The road in front of us split to go around an ancient oak tree.

Too late Darling jerked the steering wheel. We slid sideways on the road, the rear of the car heading straight into that massive oak.

Another memory popped into my head. Weren’t Pintos infamous for their exploding fuel tank — mounted at the rear of the vehicle?