Bing bong.
Bing bong.
Bingbongbingbongbingbong.
Bing. Bong.

"Just a minute!" Operations yelled, trying to catch the trailing end of his robe belt so he wouldn't trip down the stairs.

Bing bong.

"I'm coming!" He jerked the belt tight. Why of all the mornings did they have to pick his sleep-in morning . . . He got to the door, glanced out the side window. Oh, Gawd. Not that kid again. Every time he saw the kid, the inexplicable phrase, "Oh my God, they've killed Kenny!" popped into his head. The kid was also the leader of the pack of devil-ridden jackel-children that pegged snowballs at him every morning while he walked to the car. His only consolation was that given their criminal natures, most of them would end up someday as Section One recruits. He couldn't wait to place them in abeyance.

A mitten-clad finger reached for the bell again.

He jerked open the door. "Wha--"

"Hey, mister, yawanna buy a candy bar?"

"You got me up for that?"

"They're for my soccer league."

Operations pulled his robe tighter and surveyed the snow-covered lawns of the neighborhood. "It's the dead of winter. Nobody plays soccer in the dead of winter."

The boy sighed. "It an indoor league. Do you wanna buy one? They're a dollar and--"

"No. No candy bars."

The kid refused to budge. "I see. I'll come back between every other house on my route, just in case you change your mind."

"Wait a minute. " Operations stretched over, reaching into a little set of draws on an old shelf . He pulled open a drawer and pulled out some cash. "Look, here's fifty bucks. Take it and go away."

"I don't have fifty candy bars, only thirty-two."

"Fine. I don't want any candy. Just take the money and go away."

"No." The kid was resolute. "I have to sell the candy bars. Do you have change?"

"Look." What little patience Operations had was wearing thin. "I don't like candy bars, I'm not allowed to have candy bars, I don't want your candy bars. Take this as a donation and go away."

The kid shook his head. "Sorry. The deal is, one dollar, one candy bar. You have to have the candy bars."

Operations put on his most intimidating face, leaned down, and hissed, "I don't like candy bars, and I really don't like little boys."

The kid smiled. "But I bet your girlfriend does."

"Huh?" He glanced over his should to see Madeline coming downstairs in his favorite shorty silk robe with the ornate dragon painted across the back. She ran her hands through her hair, smiled at him satedly, and said, "Trouble, honey?"

Well, the kid, simply by virtue of the innate cunning of childhood, without benefit of the tutelage of Niccolo Machiavelli and his ilk, quickly saw where power lay. "Hey, lady, wanna buy a candy bar?" He smiled, the smile of cherubs, of seraphim, captured by Old Masters in cathedrals throughout Europe, practiced by con men the world over.

Madeline smiled. "Oh, how sweet!" What are you raising money for?" And pushed the door open wider and gestured the kid in. Where Operations proceeded to watch the snow melt off the kid's boots and onto the carpet.

"Soccer league. Indoor." He shot a meaningful glance at Operations.

"Of course." Madeline opened her purse, hunting. Lipstick, Kleenex, lip balm, hair brush, bullets, eye liner, change purse, keys, suicide pills, rouge, experimental hypnopsychotic drug, more Kleenex--Aha! The wallet! "Do you have ten?" she asked and handed him a $10 bill.

"Yes, ma'am!" He sat down and opened his sales kit. "I knew you would like candy bars. You're beautiful." He ogled Madeline's bare legs with prepubescent awe.

"And you're very handsome."

"Yeah, yeah," Operations interrupted. "Count out the candy. Let's get a move on."

The kid rolled his eyes and Madeline giggled. "I've got five different kinds."

"You didn't tell me you had five different kinds," Operations said.

"You said you didn't like them," the kid shot back. To Madeline, "I've got Reese's Cups, Hershey's with almonds, Hershey's plain, Kit-Kat, and Krackel."

"Two of each."

"Excellent choice."

"Okay, you're done, let's go." Operations hauled the kid around by the colalr and pushed him toward the door.

The kid held out his hand.

"What now?"

"That fifty bucks. I just remembered, if people want to give money, Coach said it was okay."

"You said--"

"I forgot. I'm a kid, okay?"

Operations peeled off the bills. "You're a little chiseler. There are RICO laws, you know."

The kid stuffed the cash in his envelope and smiled. "My dad's a lawyer, and since the soccer league is non-profit the RICO statutes don't apply." Operations shoved him out the door and slammed it shut. I'll get you and your little jackel-friends, too, he thought.

"Madeline?"

"Up here." She came down the stairs, tucking her blouse into her skirt, fixing her earrings.

"You don't have to go--"

"Sorry, I do. I have to buy plant food . . ."

He took her hands in his and stroked each of her fingers. "Christopher could do that. You could stay . . . "

"Well . . ."

Bing bong.

He rolled his eyes. What now?

Operations when to the door, checked the side window. No one. He opened the door. "Wha--"

Splat!!! The target was terminated by snowball directly to the face.

Operations 0

Jackels 1

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