The Chugga-Chugga Toot-Toot Choo Choo Caper by John Weagly
from Windmills: a PUNK NOIR Magazine series
I was leaving Holden’s Hobby Shop when a guy in a ski mask came bursting through the front door.
He had a Smith & Wesson 9mm in his right hand, hanging down by his side, and was headed for the counter. Sometimes situations can be difficult to figure out, but this wasn’t one of them.
As a PI, I get paid to do a lot of things—follow cheating spouses, find missing people and pets, research public records, expose fraud and, sometimes, apply pressure to people that need a reminder on how to be civil. That’s just a few. On rare occasions, I get paid to be a personal shopper.
“I want a windmill,” Danny Dunkirk said.
“Have you tried going to Holland?” I asked.
Danny had come into my office without an appointment. He was about five foot four and as round as an Oreo. I didn’t have anything going on, so I asked him how I could help him.
“It’s for my Lionel train set. I’ve got a rural section that’s a little bit bare. In 1995, Lionel put out a limited-edition metal windmill. They haven’t made any new ones in thirty years.”
I almost asked him if he’d searched online but stopped myself. Instead, I quoted him my fee which he agreed to. I drew up a contract, and once he signed it and left, I searched online.
They had a windmill at Holden’s Hobby Shop in Oak Park.
I drove out to the western suburb listening to Johnny Cash’s live album “At Folsom Prison.” I parked on the street in front of the store and went in.
Holden’s was one of those places that felt like the jam-packed shelves were going to topple over and crush you. Plastic model kits. Slot cars. Kites. Figurines. And every brand of electric train you can think of. The center of the store was taken up by a massive train set with buildings, trees, streets, tunnels, mountains and bridges. “Last Train To Clarksville” by the Monkees played on the sound system and I wondered if it was a coincidence or if they had a playlist of train songs that played on a loop. It all smelled like dust and lack of sunlight.
I told the guy behind the counter what I was there for, his name tag said he was Mitch, and he found it in the overcrowded mess. The windmill was used and the box a little beat up, but it had the tower and the blades and even a motor with wires and a switch that made the propeller part spin. I bought it and got Danny a miniature cow, too, because who doesn’t like cows?
The suburban bandit came in as I was picking my purchases up off counter. Before he could aim his gun at anyone, I swung my bag at him, hitting his shoulder with the windmill. He wasn’t expecting that and his eyes got big. I took advantage of his confusion and tackled him to the ground. On the way down, he ripped a covered bridge off of the train display and tried to smash it in my face. I swatted it out of his hand. Once I had the gun away from him and he was subdued, I told Mitch to call the cops.
“You broke the bridge,” Mitch said.
“Call the cops,” I said again.
Mitch snapped out of it and called the police.
I kept the robber on the ground until the police showed up. I told them what happened, and they thanked me for thinking fast. They trundled him off and I grabbed my windmill and cow, both thankfully undamaged, and headed for the door.
“You have to pay for the bridge,” Mitch said.
I turned to look at him. “What?”
“You have to pay for the limited edition Robert James Waller Covered Bridge you destroyed.”
“I just saved you from a robbery. And possibly getting shot. And it was our jail-bound friend that grabbed the bridge.”
“I should probably check to see if anything else is broken, but I’ll just let you off with the bridge.”
“You’ll just ‘let me off’ with the bridge?”
Mitch nodded. “They don’t make them anymore.”
I smiled at him. “I’m walking out of here,” I said. “You can call the cops again if you want to try to stop me. I strongly recommend that you don’t try to do it yourself.”
I left and got in my car. When I got back to the office, there was a voicemail from Holden himself (I guess they got my name from the credit card receipt). He thanked me for stopping the robbery and told me I wouldn’t be charged for the broken bridge. But, he was sorry to inform me, I was now banned from his store.
Anyway, I got the windmill. And Danny liked the cow.
This story appears as part of Windmills, a PUNK NOIR Magazine series.
Bio
John Weagly is a seven-time Derringer Award nominee (winning once in 2008). He’s also been nominated for the Spinetingler Award and the Pushcart Prize. As a playwright, over one hundred of his plays have received productions by theaters on four continents. A collection of his short speculative plays, TINY FLIGHTS OF FANTASY, has been taught at Columbia College. You can find more of his short stories in the collections THE UNDERTOW OF SMALL TOWN DREAMS and DANCING IN THE KNEE-DEEP MIDNIGHT.
PUNK NOIR, the online literary and arts magazine that looks at the world at its most askew, casting a bloodshot eye over the written word, film, music, television and more.
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This is such a fun one...