Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

“I thought you said you started that new job today. When do you have to be there?” Dorian asked as he did a figure eight with the cord from his earbuds around his finger and thumb.

“Mikey texted me to come in after four this afternoon to pick up my uniforms and sit through an orientation video that they make everyone watch.”

“Uniforms?”

“They’re just black t-shirts that have the logo and the word ‘Staff’ printed across the back,” Cadence motioned across her shoulders.

“Do you know what you will actually be doing there?” Dorian continued to gather up his laptop and other belongings.

“I’m not quite sure. I guess I’ll help where I’m needed.”

Dorian nodded. “So, I’m going up to visit with Granny to see if she has anything for this scratchy throat. Do you need me to tell her anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Dorian tucked his laptop under his arm and pointed to it. “Thanks for the track. I promise I’ll overdub my own beatbox later.”

“You better!” Cadence wagged a finger at him. He smiled and headed out the back door.

Dorian tapped at the motel door, backing it up with a verbal “knock, knock”, fully expecting to be put through the minor torture of participating in a knock-knock joke. The door popped open to a light metallic tinkle.

“Granny?” Dorian called through the crack. He was hesitant to enter. Granny almost always made him, and Cadence, participate in the knock-knock entry ritual. He pushed the door open a bit more.

“Granny?”

There was still no answer. He feared for one of two things. Either Granny was incapacitated in some fashion or she was lying in wait, ready to ambush him with a whiffle bat, paint gun, or possibly a bear trap. It could be anything when it came to Granny’s game-playing.

“It’s me, Dorian. I’m coming in.”

Dorian crept cautiously into the apartment. He could hear humming and the clink of glassware coming from the rear of the suite. He guardedly peered around the corner, into the kitchen. Granny stood atop a stepstool in front of the sink, funneling a floral-scented liquid into a neon-colored, space-rifle squirt gun. Another rifle stood propped against the counter, its tank already filled with liquid. A third stood empty, waiting to be filled.

“It’s on the table,” she said without turning around.

“Excuse me?” Dorian responded.

“It’s tea with honey, for your sore throat. Drink it while it’s still hot,” Granny urged.

“How did you . . .?”

“I know things. Sit. Drink!”

Dorian took a seat at the dinette. A tea party had been arranged on a serving tray in the center of the table, complete with napkins and doilies. He raised the china teacup to his lips and paused to inhale the lemony steam rising from the brew. He took a mouthful and swished it around a bit before swallowing. It burned like lava as it splashed down his throat. He let out a gasp typically reserved for ghost peppers.

“What was in that?” He wheezed.

“Oh, just a little honey, a little lemon, a little of this, and a whole lotta that.”

Granny put the stopper into rifle number two and began filling rifle number three.

“I think the whole lotta that made a hole in my throat!”

Granny set the squirt gun into the sink and climbed down off her stool. She walked over to Dorian, poured herself a cup of tea, and downed it in one gulp. She then rubbed the back of his head, kissed him on the cheek, moved up close to his ear, and whispered, “Don’t be such a pussy.” She returned to her stool and resumed the loading of liquid ammo.

“The scratchiness in my throat is really annoying,” Dorian complained.

“More annoying than a whiny bitch sitting at your kitchen table?” Granny poked.

“Aw, c’mon Granny. Give me a break. This hurts in a way that my throat has never hurt.”

Granny corked the last rifle and wiped her hands on her apron. She stepped back off the stool and walked over to Dorian.

“Let me feel your forehead,” she said.

Dorian leaned forward. Granny touched the back of her hand to his head.

“Well, you don’t feel too warm. Do you feel achy or have the chills?”

“No, I feel normal, except for the throat thing. Oh, and you’ll need a bucket of water balloons. Make sure there are a lot of them.”

Granny dropped her hand and stepped back. “What did you just say?”

“I said that I felt normal. Why?” Dorian replied.

“I meant after that. What did you say after that?”

“I didn’t say anything after that,” Dorian answered, with a confused look on his face.

“You told me to fill a bucket with water balloons. You said I would need a lot of them.”

“Why would I say something like that?” Dorian wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, but it sounds like a good idea to me.”

Granny checked the cupboard and a couple of kitchen drawers.

“Damn, fresh out of balloons!”

Granny reached into her apron a pulled out a wad of bills. She peeled off a couple of twenties and pressed them into Dorian’s hand.

“Run down to the Quickie Mart and get a couple of bags of balloons. While you are there, get yourself some throat lozenges. Get back here quick, like a bunny, okay?”

She patted him on the butt as she hurried him out the door. He turned to ask a question and was abruptly stifled by the door slamming in his face.