Book 1: Temporary Insanity
Episode 5
Wanna See My Flame-Thrower?
Dobie’s neighbors Cheryl and Christian were on the sidewalk, gawking, when he came up behind them and asked what was going on.
“A crazy woman,” Cheryl didn’t bother turning around, “is threatening to blow up the building.”
“Which building?”
“Our building,” she and Christian said in unison.
“The one the cops have surrounded,” Christian added with a laugh.
“They say the woman is in your apartment,” Cheryl said.
“Why my apartment?”
“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“I don’t really have a girl…” Dobie began, dropped it, and approached the closest policeman.
He told the officer that his friend – “definitely not my girlfriend” – was apparently the one in his apartment. He was escorted to the front of the barricade and introduced to the hostage-negotiating team who told him that she was believed to be well-armed. The man in charge asked Dobie if he could talk her out of it.
“I can try.”
Someone fitted Dobie for a bulletproof vest while the sergeant dialed Dobie’s landline. When Venelia answered, the sergeant handed Dobie the phone. “You’re up.”
Dobie took the phone and said hello.
“Oh, hi, Dobie,” Venelia said casually.
“Hey,” he tried to match her tone, “what’s going on?”
“I’m going to blow up the building.”
“Yeah, I heard. Why?”
“Why not?”
He had no answer for that. “Okay. But why all of a sudden? I mean, why now? The day after we... uh...”
“I’m blowing up the building now,” she didn’t want to hear it, and hung up.
“Wait!” he shouted, too late. “She’s gonna blow up the building now,” he relayed the message.
Everyone braced for impact. When it didn’t happen immediately, Dobie did something brave/stupid. He climbed over the barricade of patrol cars and walked into the apartment building’s courtyard.
Moving slowly, he got close enough to see Venelia through the upstairs window, just to the right of the stairs. He waved.
She waved back, looking down, detonator in one hand, Uzi sub-machine gun in the other.
“Hey, Venelia?” Dobie said loud enough to be heard through the window. “Can we talk?”
Staying inside the apartment, Venelia opened the door, out of view of police, and said, “What now?!”
“Why?” Dobie asked simply, holding his arms out in the universal body language that asks “why?”
“Did you hear about Thompson, Thompson burning down?” she asked.
“Yeah...”
“That was me.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He forced a laugh.
She smiled, proud of herself.
“I hate to keep asking this,” he continued, “but... why? What’d they ever do to you?”
“They fired me!” she spat. “That’s what they did to me!”
“Sorry to hear that, but they fired me, too. I guess technically the temp agency fired me, but you don’t see me putting a flame thrower to the place.”
“You were just a temp!” she spat again.
“Hey...”
“So, I torched the place. The Dynamos teach us to take care of our problems. The importance of justice… and retribution. Balance.” Her face lit up, and she added, “Wanna see my flame-thrower?”
“Ha!” Dobie laughed. “I’ve used that line…”
“I’ve got all kinds of neat stuff here,” she ignored him. “Plastic explosives, hand grenades, the flame-thrower, this Uzi….”
Like the first time they met, when she mentioned his aura, the light in her eyes disappeared as soon as it had appeared. This was followed by an unbearable silence.
Dobie tried to fill the silence with conversation. “So... you’re gonna blow up my apartment.”
He never was good at small talk.
“Yeah,” she giggled.
He looked back at the police barricade. Several officers were gesturing for him to retreat to a safe distance. One was pointing at her watch. Dobie ignored them.
“Where’d you get all that weaponry?” he asked Venelia.
“The Dynamo Center,” she said. “They keep it for protection.”
“I guess they are in a pretty rough neighborhood,” Dobie reasoned weakly. After another pregnant pause, Dobie said, “Uh, Venelia?”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re gonna blow the place up, could you maybe throw a couple of my things down first?”
She stared blankly at him. “Are you serious?”
He nodded.
She rolled her eyes. “Like what?”
“My leather jacket, for one.”
“I guess so. Sure.”
“And maybe the computer? It’s almost new, and...”
She shook her head and disappeared into the apartment.
Afraid she might return with that flame-thrower blazing, he took a few steps toward the courtyard exit.
She returned with his jacket in one hand, Uzi in the other. “Hey! Where’re you going?”
“Nowhere,” he held up his hands, as one does when held at gun point.
“Here’s your jacket,” she tossed it down, again careful not to show herself to police sharpshooters, if there were any.
“Thanks!” he forced enthusiasm – like a Dynamo – as he put it on.
“You can say goodbye to your computer,” she said.
“Is there, uh, any beer in the fridge?” he asked, and meant it. “I’m getting thirsty.” She rolled her eyes again. “Never mind. But, seriously, you don’t have to do this.”
“I’ve got no choice.”
“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” he hated to sound so trite, but it’s all he could think to say.
“A life behind bars,” she laughed bitterly. “I can’t go back to prison, Dobie. Do you know what they do to people in prison?”
“I’ve heard stories,” Dobie shrugged. “But how many years would a person do for arson, really? Five? With time off for good behavior, you’ll probably do two, max! Working in law firms, I’ve learned that much.”
Venelia scoffed. “Goodbye, Dobie. I’ve got things to do.”
When he didn’t move, she raised the Uzi at him.
“Okay, see ya later,” he backed away.
“I doubt it.”
He was almost out of the courtyard when she shouted after him, “Hey, Dobie!”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again for last night. Maybe I will see you sooner than later.”
She tossed out what looked like a rock. Dobie caught it and looked at it. It wasn’t a rock. It was a hand grenade.
“Aaaaah!” he screeched and tossed it high into the air. Realizing it would land on top of him – or close enough – he made a dash for the police barricade. He was halfway there when the blast sent him flying into the front end of a police car.
He squeezed between it and another vehicle as the explosions came one after the other. Several apartment units, with his at the epicenter, evaporated behind him.
When the explosions stopped, he turned and asked anyone with eardrums still intact, “One hand grenade did all that?”
“Judging by the smell,” the sergeant behind him said, “I’d say Semtex did that.”
~ ~ ~
Dobie’s neighbor Christian had a wealthy friend in Beverly Hills – Serge somebody – who said they could stay at his place. The guy was almost never there, and Christian had a key. Cheryl insisted that Dobie tag along. It was the least they could do, she said, after his bravery at the apartment.
“More like stupidity,” Christian muttered.
Dobie claimed the backyard guest cottage for himself. Cheryl said there were rooms available in the main house, but Dobie insisted. As he familiarized himself with this Serge person’s mother-in-law cottage out back, he stumbled upon a stash of Dynamo materials, stacks of various books and photographs of the head Dynamo, Elroy Smith.
He wondered what this guy’s connection was to Venelia’s cult, but was too exhausted at the moment to pursue it. The man’s religious proclivities could wait.
Dobie took a shower and got into bed. Lying there, looking up at the ceiling, he resolved to stop drinking. Stop getting drunk, at least. If he hadn’t been such a drunken fool, he might be in his own bed now. No more sleeping with women he barely knew, too.
He should find a new line of work. No more temp secretary stuff. Get a real job, a man’s job like digging ditches or driving a forklift. Better yet, computer programming. Learn to code, as they say.
Then it hit him: today was his birthday. How could he forget? Twenty-eight years old.
Dad was right. I should’ve finished college. Oh well. Happy birthday to me!
The front doorknob turned slowly. He hadn’t bothered to lock it. The cottage was well-hidden, surrounded by the backyard trees. He thought he was safe.
Did Venelia survive the blast and follow him here? He sat up, ready to leap out from under the covers.
Cheryl appeared in the doorway, her flimsy lingerie billowing in the gentle breeze. The main house’s back porch light illuminated her figure through the sheer material. She smiled and locked the door behind her.
He knew Cheryl well enough. Besides, it was his birthday. Things were looking up.