A JAMAICAN WEED EXPLOSION

Kavi let Harris and Arthur stride ahead. Her body felt frail, throbbing with a hollow ache. Her request—coffee first, please—had been roundly vetoed. She pinched herself, made sure this wasn’t some sort of nightmare. She half expected to walk into this costume shop to find an end of semester exam for a course she’d skipped.
"You look sick," Harris said.
The Holiday House Costume Emporium sat sandwiched between an Italian takeout joint and vape store in a low-rent strip mall. To call it a 'shit hole' slanders the usefulness of a manure pit. Grimy glass windows displayed costumes, from run-of-the-mill (gorilla) to exotic (crotchless fox) to baffling (a crocheted arm and leg connected by a web of yarn).
"Alright," Arthur turned and stopped before the front door. "I think I should do the talking. I’m clearly the people person of our little A-Team."
“Hey, I’m a people person.” Harris scowled.
“As long as those people are trolls,” low-caffeine Kavi sniped. "No argument from me, Arthur. Talk your arse off in there."
An electronic doorbell ding-donged their entrance. A thousand plastic eyes bored into Kavi’s skull from pegboard walls. Her stomach cinched pinhole tight. She gazed to the floor, hoped to steady the world beneath her feet.
"Welcome to the Holiday House!" The clerk's voice crackled. He wore long hair in a loose, greasy ponytail and a teenage attempt at facial hair. Pit stains yellowed the underarms of his 'Holiday House' tee.
"Hello. No costumes today" Arthur said. "We just need to ask a few questions."
The kid froze. "You cops? You have to tell me you're cops."
"Fuck no," Harris snorted. "You know how inflated the Municipal Police budget is? How much of our tax burden goes to overpriced cars? I would never."
The teen's mouth lolled. "So…you're not cops? Cause, y'know…entrapment."
"That's not how entrapment works," Kavi swallowed the knot in her throat. "Trust me, we're not cops."
Harris pointed over the counter. A small camera angled over them from back corner of the room. "Can we see the tapes?"
"That's it?" Arthur slapped the counter. "You go straight to, 'can we see the tapes?' Where’s the witty banter? The opening repartee like cannon fire? As private eyes in a potboiler, we need to do better, or no one will buy this hunk of shit. I had a whole bit worked out about costumes and getting naked."
The teen's eyes grew wide. He shrank back from the counter, hands deep in pockets. "Getting naked?"
Kavi's stomach lurched. "Just, please...” She scraped her brain but couldn’t find any words. “Camera?"
"Decoy," the teen thumbed over his shoulder. "There's no tape."
Harris elbowed past Arthur and Kavi and slapped the counter. "We demand an inventory of wildlife costumes and a complete list of sales."
"Effing hell.” Arthur wiped a hand over his face. “As far as sticking to plans goes, you're right shit, Harris."
"Oh man," the teen's face melted into a Salvador Dali smile. "You think we keep records?"
Claustrophobia wrenched Kavi's chest. As horribly as she expected this to go (as she expected most things to go, really) this impromptu interrogation was somehow going worse. What if this kid kicked them out? What if one of the costumes fell, suffocating her? What if the cops showed up and started shooting? What if the costumes hadn't been properly cleaned and some rare strain of flesh-eating bacteria started gnawing on her face?
"Did anyone buy an elephant or orangutan costume in the past few weeks?" Arthur said.
"Oh dudette." The teen pointed to Kavi's face. "Please don't hork in here. It's bad enough they make me clean the Furry costumes after conventions."
"Are you okay?" Arthur crouched, put his face to Kavi's.
"Just caffeine withdrawal,” she lied. "The costumes?"
The teen chewed his tongue. "Dudes, the cops already asked me all this. Like I told them, I have no idea. I mean—the internet? You heard of it? Why would a criminal get costumes two blocks from the store he's going to knock over? You'd have to be idiotic."
"Your face is idiotic!" Harris slammed the counter.
"Not helping," Arthur said from the side of his mouth. He pushed Harris back and fixed a beaming smile on his face. "Sorry about my associate. I assure you; a few answers and we’re out of your hair."
"Okay here’s an easy one." Harris spread his arms to indicate himself, Arthur and Kavi. "Were any of us in your store recently?"
"Uh, recently?" The clerk turned red-rimmed eyes to his cash register. He busied himself picking grunge from the qwerty valleys. "Man, I—I dunno."
Kavi ignored the lizard costume inching towards her and pressed forward to the counter. The clerk’s non-answer had shifted a gear inside her and she turned to Detective Mom interrogating a fibbing kid. "What do you mean, you don’t know?"
The teen, half sea-turtle, sunk his head into his shoulders. His face buried in the stains of his shirt, he mumbled an answer.
"Pardon me?" Arthur turned his ear toward the teen.
"I said I've been stoned!" the clerk shouted. "My bud UPS'ed me some glorious green last week and it's all so mellow, man!"
"Motherfucking hippies!" Harris said.
"What," a shrill voice shrieked from the entry behind them, "in the kitten-petting mother fudge are you doing?"
Sergeant Detective Alex Dalkowski filled the doorway. She wore the same purple skirt and jacket as she had in court, as she had during their interrogations. Kavi saw the Detective in triplicate, hue-shifted like an old rabbit-eared TV, its color and v-hold knobs broken. Alex's hand darted into her jacket, to her sidearm.
"Dalkowskis," Kavi's voice slurred like an EP played at 33 1/3. "This kid's testimony isss…suh…suspect. He's been stoned out of his mind since Sunday!"
"Dudette," the teen stomped. "Not cool!"
"Stoned…like on drugs?" Alex pushed through the Irregulars to the counter. "Are you stoned?"
"Immunity!" the teen cried, "I plead the fifth! I know my Constitutional rights!"
"I don't give a flying squirrel about any jazz cabbage," Alex said. "I had some follow-up questions, but now I need you to tell me again if you're certain about the costumes?"
The teen thrust a shaky hand out from his pockets, a small baggie dangling from his clutched fist, and pointed at Arthur.
"They're badgering me! They're badgering me!" the teen's voice cracked.
"Bullshit!" Harris cried.
"Wow, that is...an impressive amount of green." Arthur plucked the baggie, opened its mouth and sniffed. "Do you mind if…?"
Alex swiped the pot. "None of you are smoking pot! And none of you should even be here!"
The teen crinkled his brow. "But I'm scheduled until 4."
"Not you, Cheech and Chong, them!"
Alex swung back on the Irregulars. The baggie in her hand, still open, spewed a kush volcano. Two quarters of the finest Jamaican bud rained through the store. Weed pattered Kavi's cheek, startled her back into the wall. Commotion breathed life into the costumes. Gorillas, superheroes and sexy nurses jumped down like paratroopers. A zombie, its mouth crusted with yellow drool, chomped its teeth to Kavi's shoulder and wrapped its limp arms around her neck.
"Queen mother!" Arthur swatted at the zombie.
"Oh man," the teen swung his arms over the counter and ducked to the floor, desperately raking bud into his pockets. "I'd rather clean vomit."
Kavi broke for the door. Cold air slapped her face. Harris and Arthur lagged behind.
"What the hell was that?" Harris shouted.
"I told you 'coffee first,'" Kavi said through deep, calming breaths. "Coffee first!"
CHAPTER NINE
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