The Mother of Invention

Looking at Kent, “Wait here in the van,” Stan instructed, pointing a finger down at the console separating the two seats.

“What are you going to do?” asked the boy.

Stan growled, “I need to grab a few things and make sure Deacon hasn’t gone and done something really stupid,” he answered. “You, wait!”

Kent nodded as Stan vanished from sight only to return a short time later carrying a white plastic bag bearing the Walmart logo.

Climbing into the driver’s side of the van, Stan handed Kent the bag, “You know they charge you for those now, cheap mothers,” he grumbled, turning the van on.

“For a while now,” Kent replied, peeking inside the bag and spotting a bundle of black electrical tape, a small spool of fine gauge coated wire and a handful of red road flares. “What is all this?” he asked, making a face.

Taking the bag from the boy, Stan pulled out eight red colored sticks, a roll of black electrical tape, some of the wire, and a box container a small alarm clock. Within seconds, he had everything taped together to look like something it was not.

“Holy crap, that totally looks like a bomb!” Kent exclaimed with a bit of an impressed chuckle.

Tossing the faux device onto Kent’s lap, Stan grinned, “That was the whole point. It’s supposed to look like a bomb numb nuts,” he replied.

Picking up the homemade thing, Kent hefted it in his hand, “Looks like something Wile E. Coyote would build,” he chortled.

Starting the van, Stan glanced back at the boy, “I’m heading into the vampires’ nest and my back up plan just backed up, so kid I want you to park your ass in the corner of rotten Ronnie’s in Walmart. Whatever you do, do not go anywhere alone with any of those girls or they will turn you into a finger puppet. Get out your phone. If you don’t hear from me within the next two hours, this coyote has fallen prey to them broads. Our code will revolve around good old Wile E. You get me?”

Kent nodded. Pulling out his phone, he exchanged contact info with Stan before exiting the van and putting the fake bomb on the seat.

Watching him go, Stan would have loved to drag the kid along, but the stakes were just way too high. How these women could even do such a thing was beyond him. Finger sized? Sam was right, sounded bloody crazy. Regardless, Oliver needed him and at the end of the day it did not matter how bizarre or outlandish it all seemed. Phone still in hand, he typed the address Deacon had provided into Google and set off.

It did not take too long before he pulled the van in behind Cady’s vehicle. Getting out, he walked to the passenger side of her car and climbed in.

Turning to look at him, “I’m so glad you’re here, I’ve been so worried. I mean, the white haired lady came out after Deacon left and then when I saw her next, it looked like, this might sound weird, but it looked like maybe she had his clothes,” Cady explained, eyes big and round.

Frowning, “His clothes?” Stan asked. Sam’s words came back to his mind, ‘Made him small.’ Is that what happened to Deacon? Jesus. Did they actually shrink him?

Cady nodded, head bobbing, “Then two women came out, the white haired lady and another woman but not Sersei. And there has been no sign of Deacon,” she shared.

Nodding grimly, “No Deacon?” he asked. If he suspended the belief that shrinking was impossible, then it seemed likely the rescue mission was now for Oliver and Deacon.

She shook her head.

“So, as far as you know, it might just be Sersei in the house?” he asked, hopeful. If it was just Sersei and Oliver…

Cady shrugged, “I honestly don’t know,” she answered.

“I’m going in,” he advised, getting out of the car.

“Please, be careful,” she beseeched, eyes pleading.

Stan gave her a wolfish grin, “I’m not the one you should be concerned about,” he assured confidently. After what the grey haired woman did, as long as he did not let one of them touch him, he felt he should be safe.

Tucking the ‘bomb’ inside his jacket, he loped across the street and up the front walk of the house. Approaching the front door, he leaned close to the door and peered through the window. Reaching for the ornate door handle without bothering to look down, he tested it to see if it was locked. The lever clicked and the door opened. “What is this? Canada?” he murmured, pushing the door slowly inward and cocking his head to the side and listening for any sounds. Hearing nothing, he paused at the threshold. Gloves. He should have bought gloves. He was too busy trying to be clever he forgot gloves. Pulling down his sleeve, he wiped the door handle and slipped quietly into the house.