The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 3, post 4

Chapter 3 Big Trouble Well, the next day I got a shocker-roo. I was about my 20 minutes late to start my paper route, and I was trying to think up a good excuse for being late. No excuse equals a 50-cent deduction from my route money. Yeah, I had about decided to go with our two mules getting out, and I had to help daddy catch them. I stepped in the newsstand, and was just about to start my little white lie when Doc held up an El Dorado Daily News. I took one glance and just gasped. Oh, my God!, I thought. There was a picture of all 10 little dogs on the front page, and there was poor Mrs. Graves looking like the saddest person in the world. I would have screamed if I hadn’t been standing there in front of Doc. “Look at this newspaper, Richard! My God, some crazy person sprayed Mrs. Graves’s little show dog Chihuahuas with bleach! Look at these poor little dogs! I’d sure hate to be the person who did this. Those dogs were worth several hundred dollars, and now they ain’t worth a dime. And whoever sprayed those dogs with bleach committed a felony. A felony will get you put in jail.” I know I must have turned white as a ghost, because I wasn’t breathing, and when I took a second glance at the paper, and saw all those brown dogs that were now white-spotted, I almost dropped over into a duck-dying fit. Of course, Doc wasn’t paying me much attention. He was just mouthing on and on about what sorry person would do that to poor little dogs, and according to Doc, just break old Mrs. Graves’ heart. Yeah, I felt really bad until I thought about one of those dang dogs’ teeth digging into my ankle. Did I think about confessing? Naw. That was the very last thing on my mind, and if I was honest, it wasn’t even on the list. My list was one thing: Dodge the bullet. So I just started rattling a lie. “Doc, that is just about the worse thing I have ever heard of. I sure hope they catch the sorry person who did that to those poor little dogs” “Well, Richard, Marshal Wing came by here late yesterday, and he said the best he could make out the person who sprayed bleach on those poor dogs must have used something that squirted the bleach. That’s the best clue he has, and he’s interviewing everybody who could have seen anything.” Well, while Doc was talking I had put my paper bag on, and when he said “squirted” I nearly crushed my water pistol, which was in the bag. Gotta get rid of this danged water pistol! I thought. And right then I knew that water pistol wasn’t long for this world. Shoot, as soon as I got out of the newsstand, I headed north across Front Street, and when I came to the railroad tracks, I placed the water pistol right on one of the rails. “The MoPac will take care of that danged water pistol in about 20 minutes,” I kinda mumbled. Heck, I was so nervous, I started running the paper route, and when I burst through the newsstand door Doc was shocked. “Richard, you couldn’t have finished the route. What did you do with the papers?” “I didn’t miss a house, Doc. For some reason I had a lot of energy.” “Well, boy, if you can run the route that fast, I’m paying you too much.” “Naw, Doc. Remember the Sunday papers are so heavy they take twice as long. Maybe I should get paid double for Sundays.” “Get outta here, Richard.” Well, I felt a lot better knowing the MoPac had taken care of that water pistol. Then I had a thought: Go look at the pieces. Shoot, I took off running and in a couple of minutes, I was standing beside the rail where I had placed the gun. “Hummmm, where are the pieces?” I muttered. Yeah, at first, I thought the train had just crushed the pistol to dust, but then I thought, no, that couldn't happen, but there wasn’t a trace of the pistol. “Oh, my gosh! Where’s that danged, red water pistol?” I yelled