Page 57 of It Takes a Thief

“Oh yeah? You’re the wirehead who ran the yearbook club,” Wolf retorted.

“The yearbook committee,” growled Tobiah.

And then the swinging front door hit him in the ass.

Tobiah went staggering forward, arms flung up like a devout guy salaaming. “Whoa!” cried Wolf, and salaamed himself out of the way just in time, as Tobiah did a faceplant on the floorboards. Overjoyed, Wolf jogged a little victory dance, although he hadn’t really done a thing to merit it.

“Did you see that?” he crowed joyously. He even talked to the girl who had banged her way in the door. “Did you see this fourth Stooge fall smack on his face? He’s gonna need braces again when I’m done with him.”

When I took note that the new girl had long, ash-blond hair braided with fake flowers and beads, I stood. “Knoxie, keep Tobiah occupied,” I instructed.

Just in time, too. Tracy had rushed right to Tobiah’s side, squatting next to him, brushing chunks of his bowl haircut out of his eyes. His enormous eagle’s nose was bloodied and his eyes were even crossed, but he tried to stand to attack Wolf Glaser once more.

“I’ll fucking get you, you fucking wally!”

“Tobiah, don’t,” Tracy urged quietly.

There was obviously something hot and forbidden between them, but Wolf was distracted by the hippie. He wasn’t paying enough attention to reality. That was the problem. It was literally bugsmashing him in the face, and he just walked away, grinning like an oblivious gomer.

Then it struck me, that was what I was doing. Walking away from Maddy like an oblivious gomer. I was addicted to work—addicted to the club. “Sunshine?” I asked the hippie. “Wolf said you had some ideas about this calendar. Red Rocks Showdown.”

“Yes,” said Sunshine. She was so mellow, it took her several seconds just to say that one syllable. She took the calendar and pointed at the showdown date. “My little brother and I were sparking up a blunt out back yesterday. He told me he’d seen a symbol on your vortex calendar that was funny, man. This symbol here appears to be that of Tyranitar.”

“Tyranitar?” I repeated dully.

“Tyranitar!” cried Wolf, whipping out his phone. I don’t know how he avoided whipping out a flashlight or a grenade instead. He swiped with the professionalism of a major propeller head. “He’s a Pokémon character. See?”

Wolf showed me his screen. “Yeah! His bite has STAB! Right, Sunshine?”

Sunshine shrugged. “I guess. My brother would know.”

The cartoon character was a spiky dragon with no pupils. It was sort of cute. I asked, “What’s ‘stab’?”

Wolf was completely unashamed that he knew this stuff. “STAB is ‘same type attack bonus.’ You get more damage for a move of the same type.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Tyranitar’s the greatest Pokémon for offense and defense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Got any weed?” Sunshine asked me. “Wolf told me your brother owns a pot plantation.”

I hated it when people asked me that. Just because Lytton owned Leaves of Grass didn’t mean I walked around with a few ounces in my pocket. I moved away from the bland girl when the front door banged open again and about four or five people piled in. They weren’t wearing cuts, as usually happened. In fact, they were sort of clean-cut student types, and all of them were holding their phones up, looking around at the animal heads and animated Hamm’s beer signs on our walls like they’d never seen a dead jackalope before.

“I don’t see it,” said one.

“Neither do I,” said another.

“What’re you looking for?” asked Sock Monkey.

One of the guys said, “This bar and grill is supposed to be a PokéStop.”

“Seriously?” asked Wolf, his face wrinkled. “Let me check.” He furiously thumbed his phone.

I gathered this had something to do with Wolf’s game. “Let me see your phone.”

I rudely snatched the kid’s phone away. He’d been looking at a regular Google map-type thing of downtown P&E, but with cartoon characters popping up all over the place. Several were within a couple block radius of the Bum Steer.