Tales of The Midnight Hobby Shop, Part 2

When we left Ed and Frank they were marvelling over the disappearing model kit that didn’t disappear. Get a beverage. It’s time for part 2:

I can’t overestimate the healing powers of coffee and a bagel, especially at Del’s. It was quarter after three and there was no one in the place except Frank and me. We asked Del to set ’em up as we had a little story to hash over we thought the client should know. We were drinking coffee to end a strange episode, so we made it a cup for the kit and one more for the midnight hobby shop.

“I think we should drive over to my place to have an early breakfast meeting with the client. I’ll call Leslie and see if she’s good with that. Can you call the client and convince him to come over right away?”

“Yeah, but do you think the kit is ok in my car?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to open it until we get it to a safe place.”

“Where’s that?”

“I don’t know that either, but it’s not here in public.”

I put some bills on the table and we headed to the phone booth outside.

—

Leslie picked up the phone after the first ring.

“You’re up?”

“I couldn’t get back to sleep after you left.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s ok. What happened?”

“Same as usual, but this time one of the kits didn’t disappear.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. I want to have a breakfast meeting with Frank and the client at our place in about half-an-hour. Would that be ok?”

“Sure, I’m up anyway and I want to hear everything.”

“We’re at Del’s. I’ll bring home some bagels and lox and coffee.”

“No coffee, I’ll make some.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was Frank’s turn. I gave him a dime and went back into Del’s to get some breakfast goodies. Frank was waiting by the phone booth when I came back outside.

“Is he coming over?”

“Yeah. He’s a bit grouchy about the time, but he’s coming.”

I gave Frank one of the bags of bagels and we went to our cars.

—

Our house isn’t much, but at least we’ve got a big kitchen table and lots of chairs. None of them match. Some came from the stash in my grandmother’s trolley shed, others from the remains of Leslie’s marriage, and others from who knows where. I always sit in the beat-up captain’s chair. My grandmother told me it was my granddad’s favourite. Now it’s mine.

We dealt some plates and utensils and I poured some of Leslie’s coffee into mugs. The three of us sat and ate and chatted and waited for the client.

“Frank, what’s the client’s name?”

“I don’t know. He pays with envelopes stuffed with cash squeezed into my mailbox, so I don’t ask too many questions.”

The front doorbell rang. Leslie got up from the table and padded through the hall to answer. Hopefully ‘The Client’ was behind door number one.

“Rob?”

“Hi Leslie.”

“Are you the client?”

“Yeap, that’s me.”

“Are you still with the lab?”

“No. Are you still there?”

“No. Not for a long time.”

Rob and Leslie stared at each other for an eternity of seconds. 

“Where are my manners? Please come in. They’re in the kitchen.”

Rob stepped over the threshold and started to take off his shoes.

“You can leave ‘em on. Come this way.”

Leslie lead. Rob followed.

—

After some howdy-dos, it-was-you-all-alongs, and friendly banter, accompanied by generous helpings of bagels and lox, we finally settled down. I figured it was now time to get it all on the table.

“Like I said, we’ve got a kit from a midnight hobby shop in the trunk of Frank’s car. What we don’t have is an explanation about what’s going on. So, what’s up?”

Rob began:

“It’s a bit of a long story. Earlier in the year I got these phone calls in the middle of the night telling me to go to such-and-such an address at such-and-such a time in the morning. Always different locations and different times. I figured it was some sort of scam or prank, so I would hang up and go back to sleep. I didn’t call the police because I didn’t think they’d do anything since the only crime was waking me up.”

“So, why’d you call us?”

“There was something else about the calls that bothered me that I didn’t want to tell the cops. The guy doing the talking sounded a lot like my son. I wasn’t sure. It was just a nagging feeling. The fourth time it happened I decided to get up and go. Look, we’ve been estranged for a few years. He’s got mental problems and a problem with booze. I thought maybe this was some strange way of his to get my attention. I’ve tried everything to find him, but I haven’t.”

I got up to refill everyone’s coffee. Rob continued:

“Ok, so I drove over to the place. I parked my car on a side street to try and keep a low profile. I walked over to the address. It’s some store all lit up in the middle of the night and it’s full of people. I go in. It’s some sort of hobby shop. I ask everyone about my son, but no one knows who I’m talking about and I get lots of odd looks. I don’t know what to make of it so I leave and figure it was some kind of sick joke after all. When I got to the street I turned around to give it one last look and all of a sudden all the lights instantly go out. Ok, I’m curious so I walk back to the store to see what’s going on. It’s a stationery store. All the hobby stuff is gone and it’s been replaced by pens and papers and the like.”

Frank and I gave each other a knowing glance. It sure sounded like what happened at Bruno’s Shoes. Rob continued:

“This is when I decided to call you guys. I’m a model maker like you and I know your company’s got a bit of a reputation in the community.”

Frank looked hurt and countered:

“Don’t believe everything you’ve heard.”

“Come on Frank. You and I learned model making from those aircraft recognition model classes they gave us in rehab during the war. I know you, and I know your company does all sorts of model related investigations. I figured if half the stories about your investigations were true, you were the guys to get to the bottom of this.”

“So why didn’t you come clean at the start? Why this man-of-mystery crap?”

“Look, I was embarrassed ok? I figured if I disguised my voice, told you just the barebones of what I wanted done, and paid you with a big pile of cash, you’d do your thing and not ask questions.”

Now it was Frank who was embarrassed. His old acquaintance knew him a bit too well.

“Ok fine, but what about …..”

Frank was cut off mid thought by a sheet-metally cacophony

thunk! bang! thunk! clang! thunk! bang! thunk!

coming from the street.

We all jumped out of our chairs and bolted for the kitchen door. 

thunk! thunk! clang! bang! thunk!

The racket was coming from the trunk of Frank’s car. It was parked on the street, in front of our house. Frank and I ran to the curb.

The trunk was pockmarked with dents. Little hillocks had been hammered into its metal surface. From the inside.

I had to admit those Swedes knew how to build a car that could take a punch. This 27 year old senior citizen showed no sign of having its trunk seal broken; there were lots of dents, but it was still firmly closed.

Frank reached into his pocket for the key to open it.

“Don’t Frank, I….”

bang! 

This last bang raised a new little hillock and lit up a tsunami of house lights up and down the street. 

“Damn! Frank, get in the car and get out of here. My neighbours are calling the police as we speak. You need to get the hell out of here! I don’t want to explain this to the cops.”

“Go where?”

Panic was setting in.

“I don’t know, just get going! Call me when you’re there.”

Frank got in his car and drove off. Rob was standing on the lawn watching. I called to him:

“Get in your car and follow him! Don’t let him out of your sight!”

He skidded his car out of my driveway and raced after Frank.

As they turned right and away at the stop sign at the north end of the street I could hear a faint siren approaching from the south. 

As Leslie and I quickly walked back to the house I tried to concoct a story about musical raccoons using our trash cans as a drum set.

---

Need to read Part 3? It's right here.