Robbery
the side of the pharmacy, which had an entire wall of windows at the front. He slowly leaned around the corner and placed his face up against the glass with his hands, shielding the reflection from the streetlights so he could see inside. There was no sign of anyone. He leaned his ear up to the glass to listen for any commotion. It would be a lot easier to hear without those sirens blaring in the background. Once he had determined there was no threat to his safety, Justin put on his Fat Tony courage and entered the building. The inconsiderate criminals hadn’t locked the door upon leaving, so getting inside was easy.
The sirens were growing louder with each passing second, but Fat Tony carried on toward the back of the building. Behind the pharmacy counter was a middle-aged man with black hair, medium-brown skin, and terrified brown eyes—he’d been tied to a support beam at the edge of the shelving unit that housed the medications. The near-empty shelving indicated what the criminals were after. “Hey buddy, I’m here to help. Is there anyone else here?” The man shook his head. “Okay, the police are coming. I’m going to cut your hands loose.”
The man nodded his approval.
“Police! Everybody put your hands up!”
Justin ignored the command because he was busy using his Swiss Army keychain knife to cut through the tape on the pharmacist’s wrists. Karma was eagerly licking Justin’s face as he bent over to help the man. Justin giggled at the tickly tongue assaulting his face. “Stop it, Karm. You’re getting your goobers everywhere.” Justin was struggling to cut the tape free from the employee, but Karma was relentless in showing her affection.
“I said put your hands up!” A voice boomed from in front of the counter.
“One second man, I almost have this tape free.”
“You have two seconds to put your hands up.”
Karma turned to face the constable with determination in her eyes. Before anyone could react, the hundred-pound dog lunged forward at the uniformed man, tackling him to the ground, and licked his face relentlessly.
“Karma, no. Karma, come.”
Like a good dog, she returned to sit beside her master, but the constable was on his side spitting, trying to clean his face with his sleeve.
“Hey, I’m sorry about that, man. She just thinks everyone loves her. Are you all right?” Justin reached his hand out to help the man stand as other men and women in uniform rushed past to clear the scene.
The muscular blond man refused the helping hand and stood, giving Karma an intense glare. “That dog is a menace, and I told you to put your hands up! Don’t make me tase you.”
“Now there’s no need for that. I’m just here to help.” Justin looked at the cursive embroidered in the man’s uniform to address him by name. “I was the one who called you guys, Constable Pee-cult.”
The officer turned his narrowed grey eyes toward Justin. “It’s Constable Picault, Pee-koe,” he enunciated.
“Sorry about that. You should get someone to fix your nametag then. They spelled it wrong.”
Picault released an exasperated sigh. “Just call me René then. What’s your name?”
Justin stifled a laugh. “René? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”
“It’s French. I assure you, it’s a man’s name.” René stood taller to enhance his masculinity, which wasn’t really necessary with his six-foot muscular frame.
“Oh, hey. My girl here is French too! That must be why she likes you so much.” Justin looked down at his dog with a proud smile. She sat beside him, wagging her tail and producing a drool puddle on the floor.
It quickly became clear to René the level of intellect in the man before him. “Can you tell me your name, please?”
“It’s Fat…” The small blond man shook his head. “Justin. Justin Peterson.”
“What were you going to say?”
“Oh nothing. Fat… you have a fat head. Yeah, that’s what I was going to say. You must be really smart. Maybe it’s a French thing. Karma here has a fat head too, and she’s the smartest girl I know.”
Picault pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths to stop himself from being consumed by frustration. “Thanks for that.”
“You know, they say dogs are as smart as a two-and-a-half-year-old kid, but not Karma. I think she’s as smart as me.”
“That seems about right. So, Mr. Peterson, what were you doing here?”
“I was at a dog yoga class at Clippendale’s. Karma farted doing downward dog, so we high-tailed it out of there.”
Somehow, that statement left Constable Picault with more questions than answers. “And, this dog yoga class, what time did you leave?”
“Right around 8:20. Karma and I walked outside, and she was staring at the pharmacy, growling. I told you she’s smart. I thought it was just a raccoon or something, so I got her in the truck. A few seconds later a big white van skidded up and two guys jumped in.”
“Did you catch the license plate number?”
“No, I didn’t. Sorry, man.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Peterson. It’s our job to catch these guys. Anything you can tell us would be helpful, though. Did the van have any business name or distinguishing marks?”
“Just a plain white van. No windows in the back. The one guy who ran outta here must have been near eight feet tall, though. He looked like Yao Ming’s Irish body double.”
“Who?”
“Yao Ming. Basketball player. Do they not have basketball in France?” Justin mimicked bouncing and throwing a basketball, as if clarification was needed. “Sorry, basket-boll.”
“I’m from Montreal, not France. I’m just not familiar with Yao Ming.”
“Ah, Montreal,” Justin said with a terrible French accent. “Lovely place, Montreal. Home of the Wonderbra.”
René released a frustrated sigh and held his hand to his temple with his eyes closed to keep himself calm. He took a few slow breaths.
Another officer from behind the counter, who was helping the employee, walked toward René. “You almost done here, Picault?”
“Almost. Give me a minute,” René addressed his partner—a short, pale, stocky man with a receding hairline and no career ambitions. A stark contrast to Picault, who wanted to uphold the promise he had made to keep the people of his new hometown safe, and took his physical health seriously. “Mr. Peterson—can you write your contact information here, please? Phone number, email, home address. We’ll be in touch with any more questions.”
“So, I’m not under arrest or anything?”
“Should you be?”
“Well, I didn’t tackle you and kiss your face, so I guess not.”
“Lucky for you, stupidity is not a crime. I see no valid reason to arrest you, but I’d suggest not entering a crime scene in the future.”
“That’s real nice of you, René. I don’t think I’d survive long in prison.”
René couldn’t disagree with that statement, so he gave Justin a nod.
Justin then leaned in and whispered, “I have shy bowels, if you know what I mean.”
Picault’s nose scrunched as he wished he could rewind the last several minutes of his life and prevent the encounter from ever happening. “Unfortunately, I do. Thank you for your time, Mr. Peterson. We’ll be in touch.”
“Yep, no problemo, Constable René. You catch these guys.”
“We’ll do our best.”
René breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the irritating short man vacate the building and head down the street.
Justin turned to leave the pharmacy with Karma at his side and got back in his truck. He couldn’t wait to tell the other Suburban Watchdogs all about his experience at the next guys’ night and put a plan in action.