Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

A
LSO BY
D
ON
B
RUNS

S
TUFF
S
ERIES

Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
Stuff to Die For
Stuff to Spy For

S
EVER
M
USIC
S
ERIES
Bahama Burnout
St. Barts Breakdown
South Beach Shakedown
Barbados Heat
Jamaica Blue

A
NTHOLOGIES

A Merry Band of Murderers
(editor & contributor)
Death Dines In

(contributor)

A N
OVEL

DON BRUNS

Copyright © 2011 by Don Bruns

FIRST EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-933515-79-3

Published in the United States by Oceanview Publishing,
Longboat Key, Florida

www.oceanviewpub.com

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Tom and Dick Smothers. Your rapport, your sense of timing, your comedy, your entire story inspired me to create Skip and James. Thank you for all the enjoyment you’ve given millions of people over the years.

Thank you to Linda Reilly, who gave us the genre “Dude Done It.” She plays an interesting character in the book. And thanks to Angie Clark, Dr. Ken Clemens, Virginia Crouse, and Judy Schiller who lent their names to characters in this novel. The charities you donated to appreciate your effort. Please let it be known that I hijacked your identities and you are much nicer people than you appear in the book. Most of you. Margie Bush, thank you for finding the petting zoo in Indiana. Thanks to Maryglenn for the wonderful work on publicity, to Bob and Pat Gussin, my publishers, to Rachel, Susan, John, and Mary A. for all the hard work. To George for the wonderful covers, to Don Witter, Jay Waggoner, Bill Lodermeier, Mike Trump, and the entire crew from Ohio. To David and Marsha in Sarasota for their generosity; to my wife, Linda, who edits all my novels; and to Jody Stacy who introduces all the new spy gadgets. Thanks to Rich Theodore for his medical advice.

Don Bruns          
Sarasota, Florida

DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

I found the article again, the one about the dead body on the carnival ride, and I wished I’d mentioned it to James the first time I saw it. The story was online, on an archived page of the
Miami Herald.
It was one of those stories that tells you something happened, then leaves you up in the air. You never hear the end of the story. We’ve all seen those. For weeks you search the paper, the Web, and there’s never an ending. Never a final summation that tells how it all came out. Well, I found the story after the fact, and in this case, I know exactly “what happened.” I was there for the ending. So was James. And Em, Angie, Pugh, and a cast of characters too lengthy to mention here. We now know what happened, how it happened, and why. The story was written by Jonathan King.

RIDER DIES FROM AMUSEMENT RIDE INJURY.

Correspondent Jonathan King

A thirty-two-year-old woman was killed yesterday when her safety bar malfunctioned on a ride at a North Miami
shopping center. The ride, operated by Moe Show Inc. had been inspected by local authorities upon installation Wednesday.

The Cat’s Pajamas carnival ride spins at a high rate of speed, investigators said, and Ellen Bernstein of Palm Grove was thrown from her seat. Her body was found in the mechanism below the ride.

I cringed when I read that passage. Her body was found in the mechanism below the ride. I tried not to think about the gears probably chewing her up. I’ve seen some dead bodies, but that would be just too gruesome.

Spokesperson for the Palm Grove Plaza said that Moe Show Inc. was entirely responsible for the rides and safety of all riders.

Owner Moe Bradley stated that all rides were inspected on a regular basis and they were looking into the matter.

No other details are available at this time.

I’d seen the article, eight months ago, but hadn’t paid much attention to it. Later, I remembered it, but didn’t really think it could impact anything going on in my life. If I’d mentioned it to James, and if I’d said no to James, I could have saved my friend James and me a lot of trouble. But then again, trouble seems to find us no matter what.

The tartan skirt hit her mid-thigh, and I admired the tanned legs. She sat at the counter, staring straight ahead, a brown mug in front of her. We stood in the doorway surveying the small coffee shop, the counter, and ten tables.

James tapped me on the shoulder. “Got to be her, amigo.”

I nodded. I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl. A tall blonde with shoulder-length hair and a marvelous figure.

“Built like a brick shithouse, Skip.”

Leave it to James to bring it down a notch.

“Was that the description?”

He rolled his eyes.
“Attractiveyoung lady drinking coffee.”
His eyes drifted back to the blonde-haired beauty. “Hey, man, I don’t see another single female in this room, do you?”

Two older gentlemen sat at the table directly inside the door, a chessboard on their table. I couldn’t tell if they were playing chess or just staring at the board. It didn’t seem to matter to either of them.

“I mean, there’s two good-looking women over there,” he pointed to a sofa in the corner, “and two couples in the back
there, but my contact is supposed to be by herself. I only see one lady sitting by herself. The lovely lady at the counter. Tell me I’m wrong, amigo.”

“I don’t like it, James. What if it’s not her?” It wasn’t unusual for James to make an honest mistake. It wasn’t unusual for James to make a dishonest mistake. You could never tell with James.

“Come on pard, it’s got to be her. So what do I have to lose? I’ve just got to figure out a unique approach.” He stared at her, then turned to me. “I could say, ‘You’re the most ravishing creature that I’ve ever seen in my life.’”

I thought for a moment. Then it came to me. “But you’d be plagiarizing Jeff Goldblum in
Life Aquatic.”
James knew thousands of movie quotes. But then, I usually figured them out so I guess both of us were full of useless trivial crap.

“Can’t pull anything over on you, Skip.”

I wasn’t exactly proud of that.

James turned and walked to the counter, keeping his eyes on the attractive young lady. I stayed where I was, not knowing what to expect. He stepped up to the condiments basket and I watched him pull out a white sugar packet, look at it, then look down at the girl. She hand-brushed her hair back from her face and sipped coffee from her brown mug, never looking to her right or left. A consummate pro.

James walked back to the doorway. Smiling at me, he waved the sugar packet. “Got a pen, pardner?”

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got an idea.”

I don’t think he had a clue what was going to work.

I fished in my shirt pocket. As a salesman, on the rare occasions I actually convinced a prospect to sign a contract for their home security system, my company required me to carry a pen.
This one had about twenty seconds on it. I’d actually signed one contract with this pen.

James took the cheap plastic ballpoint pen, studied the tiny white packet, and started crossing out printed words. He held the sugar packet in his hand, letting me watch the process. When he was finished he put
my
pen in
his
pocket and handed me the little sack of sugar.

“James?”

“Read it.”

He’d crossed out almost everything on the packet. The name of the company, the copyright and patent information, the nutritional content, the slogan ‘Make Life A Little Sweeter’ and whatever else had been on the printed package. Two words remained.
Sweet. Sugar.

I frowned, not having a clue where he was going.

“Hey, I’ve got to impress her. I’ve got a lot riding on this.”

“And how is this going to impress her?”

“Watch and learn, grasshopper.”

James shifted his shoulders, gave a tug to his khaki cargo shorts, pulled down his Banana Republic T-shirt, and strode to the counter. The well-dressed gentleman always gets the lady. But the girl never glanced his way.

I walked closer, not getting dangerously close, but close enough to watch the master at work. I was ready for his defeat and humiliation. After all, this was my best friend, and I wanted to be there for him when he succeeded and when he failed. And this time he was particularly vulnerable.

“Excuse me, miss?”

She deliberately took another sip of her drink, finally glancing at him with some disdain. It was obvious she’d been through this before. I could see the contempt that she had for him.

“You must have dropped your name tag. It has to be yours.”
James handed her the packet. She refused it, looking at him with cold eyes cutting into his soul.

“This name tag, ma’am. It has to be yours. The name fits you perfectly. Am I right?”

Again he offered the small packet.

Finally she took it from his fingers. I could see the skepticism on her face, a frown and a curl on her upper lip. She glanced at the sugar packet. Looking up at him, she blinked. Then I could see her mouth the words.
Sweet Sugar.

I had to give James credit. He stood his ground, smiling and watching her reaction.

The girl looked back at him, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were bright, and I could see her pearly whites sparkling.

“You—” she took a deep breath. “You are good.” She looked back at the packet, and I could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, you’re good.” Then she laughed out loud. “Where did you get this idea to …” pausing, at for loss for words.

“You’re Agent Hot Pants?”

“I am.” I swear she blushed.

“Simply reporting as ordered ma’am.”

“Yes you are. I swear—listen, I’m not supposed to say this, but you are the best one yet.”

James turned and winked at me. I decided my consoling services were not required at this point.

“I don’t want to blow this,” my best friend said, “but would it be out of line for me to call you sometime?”

The drop-dead gorgeous female smiled even wider. “Out of line? Yes. Way out of line. In fact, that question should get you disqualified. You know that, right? You could be ruining your chance to get this job.”

James didn’t flinch.

“I think it might be worth it.”

A coy look on her face. “Oh, do you?”

“I do.”

“I’m serious. You understand this could cost you the job?”

My roommate nodded, his confidence never waning.

The smile remained on her face. “But,” she hesitated, looking right into James’s eyes, “if you’ll give me your pen, I’ll write down my number. That’s what you want, right?”

He nodded.

“On the sugar packet.” I saw her jot down the number.

That was the last I ever saw of my pen.

“I got the job, pard.” He was sprawled out on our worn cloth couch, drinking one of my Yuengling beers. “She gave me the highest rating of anyone in the group.”

“Heck of a way to interview for a job, James.” I closed the door and threw the mail on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, they wanted creative, they got creative. I just try to give’em what they want.”