It was a late Spring when Brad, my brother-in-law, and Bob and me went shopping at my favorite Mall. When others get invited to go along I always insist on taking my pick-up because I want to be the one driving in case I spot something nifty. That way I can divert their attention to other things while I drive straight to it.  I also learned when someone else drives it isn't safe to launch yourself out of a moving truck on account of all the cruel stuff you can land on.

So, there we were, driving up to the household section and the instant the truck careened around the corner I seen a four-piece set of swiveling bar stools sitting out there in front of God and everybody.  I pointed and instantly yelled, "Them are mine!  Don't nary a one of you two pansies has any dibs on them chairs. They're mine, got it?"

I immediately started loading my chairs and Brad goes off to look at something else. The next second I turned around and here's Bob bringing back this briefcase.

"What's in the case, Bob?"

"Dunno," he said, holding it aloft with a big grin on his face, "It's locked?"

"Locked!?"  I said with a wide-eyed expression, "What dumb ass would lock a briefcase if he was taking it to the dump?"

"Dunno," he said, putting his ear next to it and shook it, "What do you think's inside?"

"Ohhh, I imagine a paper clip, maybe an old business card or two."  Then, to be sheer evil, I said, "Maybe it's got a small fortune of cash in it." We left when the day's shopping experience petered out and I couldn't help but notice how Bob kept that briefcase sitting right in his lap with both his hands holding the sides of it. I looked at him with sadness because I didn't have the heart to tell him hoodlums 'n drug dealers don't usually take their money for rides to the dump.

On the way out Brad leans over and asked, "Hey, what're you gonna do with your chairs?"

I said, "You just hide 'n watch."

The road back from the dump terminates on Highway 93 at a four-way intersection.  It just so happens that on the southwest corner of that intersection sits a second hand store and pawn shop known as The Jolly Packrat. It's also well known that Roger, the owner of the place, is a crook because his items are so priced that you'd be better off buying them new.

The truck skidded to a stop and I leaped out along with Brad and Bob who kept close company with me as I walked into the place acting like I owned the joint. Inside I began telling Roger the cockamamie story I dreamt up during the short walk from the truck to the front door. I told him my sister, who'd just recently moved into a smaller place, didn't have any room for the chairs nor a place to store them and since she didn't have a pickup she wanted me to take the chairs to a second hand store because, I told him, "It'd be a real damn shame to take them to the landfill."

I glanced at my two companions who were standing beside me and they both exhibited a bizarre expression on their face that said, "Why, you little two-bit shyster! What a load of crap you weave!"

Roger looked them over and said, "I can't give you any more'n $50.00 for 'em, Joe."

I looked at him, then the chairs, then back at him and said, "I suppose she'll be happy with that."

Back out at the truck I folded the 50-dollar bill and stuck it in my pocket and then Bob started his whining.

"How on God's green Earth do you get away with shit like that, Joe? You walked in there with four chairs you got FROM the dump and stood in there," He jabbed at the air with his finger, "In front of that..." He jabbed again, "...man saying how much of a damned shame it'd be to take them TO the dump!"

"I keep my mind clear of impure thoughts, Bob, that's how."

On the way to Brad's after we left the pawn shop Bob is all in a tizzy with his briefcase.  He'd pick it up and shake it and say, "Man, I can't tell anything about what could be in here cuz of the weight of it.  What d'ya s'pose this case weighs by itself?"

Brad, ever the joker said, "I don't know but I know a stack of hundred dollar bills weighs ten ounces."

Bob literally coughed on his beer and out of the corner of my eye I saw him wipe his mouth on his shirt sleeve then he gurgled, "How, how...how bigga stack?

My Bro held his thumb and forefinger up in the air about an 1 1/2" apart, "Ohhh...this big."

Bob went ape - he picked the case up again and shook it, "I cain't hear anything sliding around in there!"

I gave Brad a 'work with me' look. "Maybe," I opined, "It's wedged in between the folders in the lid.  Either that or there's mor'n one and they can't slide around."

Then Brad got this thoughtful expression on his face, which causes me to regard him as being slightly devious, and piped up saying, "Ya know, Bob, we're in for thirds."

"THIRDS!,"  Bob yelled, "What in Hell makes you think you're in for thirds?!"

I gotta tell ya, my brother-in-law is quick off the cuff.  "Well," he said, "We're going to my shop to open it up and you're riding in Joe's truck."

"I, I...I gotta cry bullshit here!," he screamed, "Joe just got $50 for his FREE chairs - we didn't get a third of that!"

"Hey, we wouldn't be here if he didn't ask us to come with and we're going to MY shop to open it up.  Therefore the thirds."

I had to admire Bob's fruitless defense.  "Well," he said, "That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard!  Drop me off at my house and I'll open it up there then!"

Now it's my turn to stir things up a little.  "I can't do that, Bob..."  I said, looking seriously into the rear view mirror, "...we're going to Brad's cuz his place is the closest, b'sides he's got all the necessary tools."

"Necessary tools?!   I got a hammer 'n screwdriver!  That's all we....er, I need to open this flimsy case!" He paused a split second for a breath of air, "You two are a bunch of idiots!  I found this briefcase, it oughta be mine, dammit!"

"Bob, you ain't gonna git any argument here.  The briefcase IS yours, it's the inside stuff is what comes down to thirds."  By this time I'm turning onto Brad's road and Bob is in the midst of a flitter.

"I don't see how it can be thirds!"  He yelled as I made the turn.

"That's cuz you're a Capitalist, Bob, Capitalists think that way." I said with little emotion as we pulled in front of Brad's shop.

We were hardly inside long enough for the filaments in the light bulbs to get warm and Bob was already banging at his briefcase with a hammer 'n screwdriver.  And while Brad and I popped open our beers we couldn't help but shake our heads at the pitiful sight.

We even snickered a little.

Presently, the little lock thingies snapped open and Bob raised the lid and peered inside.  "Do you meatheads have any idea how to spilt two paper clips into thirds?"

I took a slurp of beer and said, "Awww, go ahead I got a box at home, you and Brad can have 'em.  So, now whachoo gonna do with the briefcase, Bob?"

"I dunno.  Why?"

Right then Brad jumped up in the air like somebody stuck him with a hat pin, "Hey, Bob, you think you can get it to lock back up again?"

"I think so.  Why?"

"Well, I think we ought to take it back to the dump.  But not until..."  We watched him walk over to his workbench to grab a handful of quarter size washers and toss them inside the case, "...we load it up."  He turned and went outside to the nearby storage building and came back carrying several paperback books and tossed them into the case.  Next, he walked back over to the bench and whipped out a pen and a pad of paper and began writing.

I gave Bob a 'what the Hell's he up to now' look then the two of us leaned over Brad's shoulder to see what he was writing...

 

Yeah, we thought there was money in here too,
Bob, Brad & Joe

 

He threw the note into the case and said, "Be sure it's locked up tight and let's get outta here."

 

For being a dumb brother-in-law he sure is deviously clever.