Chapter 1
Birdington’s Ripe for the Plucking
(Part 2)
Barry led Billy-Bob and I into the home, an unwise decision since the first thing he did when he jacked the door open was stub his toe on the doorstop and yelp in pain.
I put my hand over his mouth to prevent further noise. But it seemed like Barry was prone to it, because he then bumped straight into the kitchen counter and knocked the leg out of a table with a frantic swipe of his foot.
Clang, Bang, Whump and Slam; it seemed like watching dominos. Pans fell to the floor with a defining Clang, almost as if they were swimmers diving into an invisible pool.
The table smashed to the floor, unbalanced on its two remaining legs. It broke in three places. Barry was still flailing in fright like an idiot, smashing into the counter and knocking it over. Who makes this fragile crap anyway?! The counter crashed to the floor with a loud WHUMP.
The last musical note in this catastrophic symphony was of all the pots, pans and silverware in the fallen side of the counter crashing to the floor.
Wonderfully played. Stupid, STUPID Barry. I knew this was a bad idea. They should have sent me in with Jib. Jib’s not…you know…stupid.
A light upstairs flicked on. Perfect. I could hear a Clakker’s voice from up there. That grainy, annoying, squawking voice that made my skin crawl.
“Brrukaw! What th’ hell’s goin’ awn down thar?!” The Clakker’s big feet thumped down the stairway.
Each thump sounded like a heartbeat coming from my chest. I didn’t need this! I didn’t want to get caught! I’m not a felon, I’m a hostage! A puppet in Bailey’s bigger game! Oh, Odd. I can’t get caught red-handed! I need to leave before…
Flash.
A bright light came from what I assumed to be a camera. The click and whirr of mechanical gears confirmed this.
“Ha! I gotchya, ya filthy thief! Now ev’ryone’s gonna know who’s been a-plunderin’ our town,” The Clakker said deviously.
I moved back towards the door. The Clakker shook nervously and stepped back; assuming that I might try something funny, being an Outlaw and all. My eyes were as wide as saucers from the shock.
I was a felon, and now the Clakkerz had a face to go with their perp. I would soon be on all of the Wanted posters. “Look out fer this Outlaw: a wussy and a thief!” They would read.
Not only did I not want to be a thief, but I was now a wanted Outlaw. Bounty hunters would be after me left and right.
Should I attack the Clakker? No, I’m in enough trouble as it is. I did what I thought would be the best option.
I backed out of the house and ran.