>>23522Whistling cheerfully, I took the rocket and its reluctant passenger through the gate, and quickly set it up in the middle of the alleyway. I kind of wanted to milk the theatrics a little more, maybe sing the national anthem or something, but the longer I drew this out the greater the chance that someone might open a window and see what I was doing. So, I quickly flipped open my Zippo, lit the fuse, and took several steps backward. I put a flat hand to my forehead in a mock gesture of salute.
“Semper Fi, little buddy,” I said. The fluffy foal’s bulging eyes turned towards me, and it looked like it was trying to gurgle out some last words. I’m no fluffy lip-reader, but I’m almost positive that it was trying to say “Faggot wuv ou Daddeh.” Either that or it was complaining about its “poopy pwace huwties” again; who the fuck even knows with shitrats. In any case, a second later the fuse burned its way to the rocket, and a torrent of flame began to erupt from its base.
Unfortunately, I was never much of a physics student, and I had failed to take into account how much of an impact the extra weight of the fluffy would have on the rocket’s trajectory. Instead of shooting gracefully up into the air as I had planned, the rocket made a rough lurch to the side and began to skitter a short distance down the alley, the terrified foal flailing its limbs as it repeatedly struck the asphalt. I had a rather harrowing moment myself when the rocket did a loop-de-loop and came back around, flying head first towards me. I leapt instinctively to the side, and it shot over my head and up into the air at the last minute.
I flipped over and watched it. Its flight path was still erratic, but it was a good twenty-five to thirty feet in the air now, so hopefully it wouldn’t cause any collateral damage. It wobbled out over the main street, where it finally exploded with a deafening BANG that somehow didn’t quite muffle the “screeeeee” sound of the dying fluffy. Several car alarms on the block went off; a red mist and some blue-colored chunks rained down onto the street below.
“Oh, shit!” I cried. I figured I should probably get the hell back into my house before anyone looked outside and saw me here. The last thing I wanted to do was answer a bunch of awkward questions from the fire marshal. If they figured out that there was a fluffy attached to that rocket, they’d probably just assume it had been the delinquent kid down the street who had set it off. All I had to do was get back inside–
“Excuse me, sir?”
My hand froze just above the gate handle. Slowly I turned towards the east end of the alley, the direction of the public street where the explosion had gone off just seconds ago. To my dismay, a uniformed police officer was standing there, with a few spatters of red on his shirt and a fragment of blue fluff on his shoulder.
“Uh, yes officer?” I asked, trying to play it cool. The officer took a few steps towards me and then stopped.
“My name is Officer Waczynski with the Clackamas County Sheriff’s department,” he said. I swallowed and tried to look nonchalant. “Sir, are you aware that it’s illegal to set off fireworks in this neighborhood without a permit?”
“I…uh…well…”
So much for playing it cool. The officer reached up towards his breast pocket, and I assumed he was going for his citation book, or maybe his handcuffs. However, his hand didn’t stop at his pocket. It continued its journey upward, and then stopped at his shoulder. Suddenly, he shot me a wry smile, and then pointedly brushed off the fragment of blue fluff. I gazed upon his eyes, and in that moment I knew that Officer Waczynski was my nigger.
“I’m afraid you can’t shoot off any more fireworks in this alley,” he continued. “You wouldn’t want to see kids, pets, or anything important get hurt, would you?”
I shook my head, and the officer shot me that sly smile again.
“I’m sorry, officer,” I finally stammered. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking.”
“Just don’t let it happen again, or I will have to write you a citation,” Waczynski said, and turned to go. He paused, then turned back to me. “By the way, if you go a little way past the other end of the alley, there’s a path down to the river. It’s pretty much all open space down there. It’s usually deserted, so if you want to mess around, do it there. Just keep in mind that we do have noise ordinances in this neighborhood.”
Without another word, Waczynski turned and went back to his duties. Meanwhile, the last of the blaring car alarms was finally silenced by its owner. I turned to go back inside my house.
***
Later that night, I was sitting in the living room watching more old reruns. It was a show called Laverne and Shirley this time. This old-timey TV was pretty good, I was thinking, and I figured I’d keep watching this channel for awhile. I heard a sound coming from the hallway, and looked up to see Heather emerging out of the shadows.
“How are the shitrats?” I asked. Heather shot me a disapproving but loving glance.
“They’re fine,” she replied, not taking the bait. “Say, have you seen the little blue one around here? I couldn’t find him in the safe room, and all Ramona will say is that “blue babbeh” went “‘splorin’.” She doesn’t seem too worried, but, well, you know how fluffies are…”
I frowned, as if remembering something. I made a show of hesitating, then cleared my throat.
“Well,” I said, “I noticed earlier that the game roo–uh, sorry; the safe room door was open a little way. I shut it, and I didn’t see any fluffies in the hall, but it’s possible that one of the babies might have wandered out.”
“Damn!” Heather made an irritated face, then she shrugged helplessly. “Well, I hope he’s alright…”
“Don’t worry,” I said, beckoning her towards the space on the couch next to me. “If he’s in the house he’ll turn up.”