“Look at this guy,” Dinah declared. She had the cruiser’s wheel while Sam scribbled away at a report, rocking in tune with his MP3 player. The bass thunked out from around his headphones as he moved.
“Hey,” Dinah demanded, wriggling Sam’s kneecap. Sam squinted out at the street. “What?” he snapped, a little too loud for Dinah’s taste.
Dinah stabbed a finger in the direction she wanted him to look. Sam observed a man staggering under the weight of an armchair as he tottered up one of the driveways past a “For Sale” sign.
“What do you suppose he’s up to?” Dinah asked.
Sam shrugged. “Moving? In or out? I don’t know.”
“Who cares? I just had to point out that he’s a complete moron. He’s going to bash his head in against the wall or something.”
“Why don’t you go over there and tell him?”
“Too busy actually doing my work.”
A second man came around the garage and joined in on the campaign to get control of the chair.
“Stop the car,” Sam said.
“Why?”
“Look, the sign is still up on that unit. We’ve got no evidence the place was actually sold.”
Dinah brought the cruiser into a position perfectly parallel with the curb. Upon opening the door, she admired her work until Sam came around the car and grunted at her.
“Six inches,” Dinah announced. “I bet you can’t beat that.”
Sam answered by walking towards the men balancing the chair. “Excuse me. Gentlemen. Can we be of assistance?”
The first man dropped his end of the chair while the other let his end down more slowly. The first man mopped his brow and said, “Thanks officer. I think we can handle it from here.”
“As long as you stop trying to hot dog it,” the second man said. He offered his hand to Sam. “I’m Atticus.” Sam shook his hand in a loose swoop. The second man continued, “Everyone calls me ‘Pug.’ This is Wyatt. We just signed on the dotted line for this place an hour ago.”
“You mean you two together?” Dinah asked. Her handshake with Pug was firm and lingering. Wyatt made do with a wave.
“Yes, that’s right,” Pug told her. “Wyatt and I are a team.”
“Couple,” Wyatt corrected. “We’re a couple.”
“But still a team,” Pug said. “You can’t deny that.”
“Yes, all right. We’re a team, if you must. Whatever you call us, we go together like—”
“Pork chops and applesauce,” Pug cut in.
“Sauerkraut. In my house it was always sauerkraut,” Wyatt said.
“Well, whatever it was,” Dinah said, hands on hips, “It’s an applesauce neighborhood boys. Behave accordingly.”
“Right,” Sam said.
“Will do,” Pug said. He rolled the armchair up across the back of his shoulders and spirited it off towards the door.
