Chapter 19: Dr. Wu

Chapter 19: Mindy Watkins Visits Dr. Wu

Like a lot of Southerners, Mindy Watkins was sensitive to cold weather. With the temperature in the mid-thirties, high winds and light rain, Mindy critically evaluated the heating unit of the People Car Sedan and she concluded that it kept the driver's seat warm and toasty.

This was Mindy Watkins first electric car and it still felt funny to drive. She readily admitted that she had been taken in by the half hour infomercials where John Joseph himself touted the advantages of the People Car.

“Most Americans fail to reach financial independence because they spend too much money on automobiles...not just the purchase price but the maintenance as well...would you consider comfortably driving a car that might outlive you? A car that you might pass on to your children? And they might pass it along to their children?...Not planned obsolescence. Planned permanence.”

Inspired by Volkswagen Beetle, the People Car maintained the same style every year. The plan was to correct minor flaws every five years while maintaining the same exterior. The People Car came in six colors with three interior styles. No sunroofs, moon-roofs, T-tops or rag-tops. No special editions.

For a multitude of reasons the People Car was the cheapest car to purchase and the most economical to maintain. Except for the audio system, there were no microchips inside the car. It was manufactured in Alabama in conjunction with the Kikuchi Auto Company, a small Japanese bus, truck and motorcycle establishment. The design costs were minimal considering there was only one design.

Electric cars generally had lower maintenance costs. The heat involved in internal combustion caused the heartiest metals to warp and change shape over time. The dependence upon electronic regulators from emissions to cabin temperature jacked the price of new cars and made repairs difficult and pricey. A crank-handled door could be repaired for under a hundred dollars whereas it cost three to ten times as much to repair a push button window.

The Joseph Motor Company planned to expand into tour buses, school buses and trucks. They had a two door People Car and a minivan that didn't look like a minivan on the drawing board. For now, they hyped the People Car, a model that became a blockbuster in its sixth year.

Meanwhile, the high end electrics sold well but the retrofitted combustible electrics underperformed and now undersold. The dinosaur dealers were married to the “One Gas Tank” model. One power source that took a painfully long time to recharge.

The People Car offered a large battery and five smaller batteries. The smaller batteries could be swapped out in minutes. Joseph Motor Company was currently offering recharge franchises at one hundred mile intervals along US Interstates as well as along Canadian highways. As the ad said, the age of People was here and Mindy Watkins now drove a People Car.

As Mindy Watkins pulled in front of Greener Pastures gated community, a guard holding an umbrella greeted her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Watkins,” the tall middle age man said in a deeper than average voice.

“Hello Deputy Cummings,” Mindy Watkins replied daintily.

She let the engine run and the giraffean man opened the driver door and shielded the VIP with a gray umbrella. Deputy Cummings offered Mindy Watkins his arm and he escorted her into the cramped guard house. He then returned to park the people Car in the designated parking area.

Greener Pastures Forensic Housing was Amerijail's first venture into secured living. It was a gated and secured twelve house community with a common area, a horseshoe that culminated in a cul de sac. Despite the exorbitant rents Greener Pastures charged government agencies to house witnesses and refugees, it was still a bargain because the renting agencies did not have to provide their own security.

Break even was somewhere between forty and fifty per cent occupancy and Greener Pastures currently rented ten of twelve units. One of the two vacant houses was rented to R and D superstar, Doctor Richard Wu and his two Chinese houseboys to offset what Mindy Watkins acknowledged was undercompensation for his enormous contributions.

At ten acres, Greener Pastures could still add a few houses should the need arise. No one used the tennis court or ball diamond or picnic tables. That could be two more units. Greener Pastures was a gold mine and Mindy Watkins dreamed of spreading the model throughout the American South.

At an idling speed the Octaroon deputy with the gray Hitler mustache gave Mindy Watkins a tour of the compound. They drove past the home Department of Justice rented for James Charles Pearce and his family. From the backseat of the SUV, Mindy Watkins peppered her chauffeur with questions.

Officer Howard reported that the Pearces were quiet people. The kids were being schooled online and rarely left the house. They had not attended church ever since their patriarch was shot during a service. Mr. Pearce had been in and out of the hospital. He almost lost his life a few times but he's been home for a few days now.

The CIA-sponsored Amal family also kept to themselves. The occupants sponsored by the US Marshals had been moved to parts unknown. That woman sponsored by the FBI liked to drink white wine and she too was quiet and kept to herself.

Parked in front of Dr. Wu's extended ranch house, Mindy Watkins asked her driver his opinion of electric cars. She would be surprised at his detailed answer. If he had money to burn, Officer Howard might buy a “movie star electric.” But on his budget, the only reasonable choice was the People Car.

“People Car people are people people,” Officer Howard explained. A cult had been formed around people Car customization. A guy from California had removed the back seat and put in extra batteries. He could go fifteen hundred miles without recharging. “Try doing that with a gas burner,” he cued his passenger.

He continued. “Hippies like em. Rednecks like em. Brothers like em. Wrenchheads like em. People who hate cars like em.” Officer Howard explained how Joseph Motor sponsored People Drags and bands played over their silent engines and he emphasized the diversity of humanity who turned out. Joseph Motor Company offered hefty cash prizes for speed records and sponsored intercollegiate competition. “The People Car is a pallet for mechanical artists,” Officer Howard summarized, lifting his description directly from ad copy.

Deputy Howard then pointed out the flaws of the competition. Skimping on steel to compensate for weak engines, electric fires, fatal shocks, sudden mysterious mechanical failure, high recharge times....Mindy Watkins had to cut him off. She dialed Dr. Wu from his driveway.

“OK. I'll send Rue to meet you,” Dr. Wu said softly.

A delicate Chinese man in a blue flowered kimono pranced out the front door and approached the SUV. Officer Howard opened her door and held the umbrella for Mindy Watkins. The dainty Chinese man bowed and said, “Wehrcome Miss Watkin.” Officer Howard walked them to the front door, protecting his wards with an umbrella. He returned to the SUV and putted back to the guard house.

Mindy Watkins entered the four bedroom dixie ranch leased for a dollar a month to Dr. Wu. She paused in the parlor to remove her shoes. The blue kimono host gently took her hand and guided her over thick, springy carpet. Mindy was taken by the strong incense, the muted lighting and the artificial fog. The fog resembled movie set fog where the actors are obscured except for their shoulders and necks and faces.

A second young Chinaman in a pink flowered kimono appeared out of the fog and raised his right hand above his head like he was expecting a high five. Mindy offered her free hand, her left, and submitted to the leadership of Dr. Wu's girlboys. Had she not signed their paperwork and had she not known that Lou was from Singapore and Ron was from Hong Kong, she would have guessed thy the two young men were twins. “Dr. Wu is known for his exacting taste,” Carlisle had commented on his worldwide search for talent.

“What you dwlink?' Lou asked ever so politely.

“Just water,” she answered and instantly the blue-kimono man returned with a tray that held a bottle of Perrier, and a glass of ice adorned with a lemon. With a hand flourish above his head, he instructed Ron to lead their guest and he followed behind them as they waltzed through the fog. They stopped outside a bathroom and the pink-flowered escort floated out of the fog to hand Mindy an Ole Miss sweat suit. He gently commanded her to enter the bathroom and to remove her pantyhose and to don the sweats.

Mindy closed the door behind her. There was no fog in the bathroom. It was neat. Meticulous like a hotel bathroom that had just been touched up. Fluffy pink hand towels, pink pump soap in a pink-flowered dispenser. She removed her pantyhose and draped them over the shower curtain. She sat on the toilet and urinated. She flushed, washed and climbed into the Ole Miss sweat pants.

In the foggy hallway Ron gently took her left hand and gently guided her ten feet to a darkened room and closed the door behind them. Lou gently guided Mindy into a fluffy chaise lounge. He poured her Perrier and handed Mindy the glass.

With the urgency of an Indy car pit crew Ron washed Mindy's feet with a heated wash cloth. “This for you, Miss Watkins,” Lou purred as he placed a heated mask ever so gingerly on her face and a heated bonnet on her crown. Headphones were placed over the bonnet and they fit snugly over Mindy's ears.

At first the headgear was a distraction. Even more so as the tonal symphony commenced. Soon the focus was back on her feet. No such thing as a bad foot rub. A lobster could do just fine if he concentrated, Mindy reasoned. But Ron was clearly schooled in one or those arcane Oriental practices that Westerners never learned.

Mindy Watkins did not know or care what sort of Eastern esoterica was being applied to her heels. She knew that he pressed on the ball of her right foot and she felt intense pain simultaneous to the release of all pain and suffering. Something was leaving her grasp.

Ron shifted his attention to her right heel. He rubbed superficially and then applied pressure. Mindy Watkins found herself in a floaty, dreamy, foggy place. She felt like a fish in warm water but there was no water. She saw the contented face of her father and she felt even warmer. She spotted her mother floating above her as aloof now as she had been on Earth.

Mindy felt a coziness in her chest when she saw the family dog she had grown up with. “Am I dead?” she asked herself. As soon as she posed the question she saw her twin sister and Carlisle. Then she saw her son and her daughter-nieces floating ever so comfortably. Then there was dark, restful bliss.

When she reviewed the evening Mindy Watkins would not recall finding her way to the dinner table. She remembered sitting across from Dr. Wu at the opposite ends of a long dining room table. She remembered the fog that filled the perimeter of the room but did not encroach on the dinner table. She remembered Dr/ Wu's two houseboys drifting in and out with tasty victuals prepared in the kitchen.

Dr. Wu informed his employer that Lou was an aspiring chef in the Corsican tradition. Mindy Watkins would not be able to elaborate on the soup and salad and choice entrees except to say how great they were. She would, however, have a box of pastries to take home to her family.

Mindy Watkins had meant to review a half dozen points of business with Dr. Wu but she fell short of that goal. Mostly she stared at his kind face and bald head and wondered why some ethnic groups could wear baldness well and others could not. In a state of high satisfaction Mindy Watkins listened once more to Dr. Wu lament his unappreciated talents.

The FBI had Dr. Wu on referral but when he a religious zealot barricade himself in his cabin with hostages, the good doctor wanted to plant religious commands in the zealot's head. The FBI chose instead to burn his cabin down. The CIA wanted to stick to their bloodless torture techniques that were not half as effective as the Doctor's. Naval Intelligence, the Army, the Air Force: they would listen to Dr. Wu and toss him a bone and then ignore him. It was demoralizing.

Mindy Watkins informed her genius in residence that she procured a contract for an inmate named Delbert Wayne Duncan whose confession would help the careers of a lot of good people and spare the taxpayers the burden of a prolonged trial. Dr. Wu nodded and switched the topic to the artificial Samadhi machine she had experienced earlier. “Is it mahlketable, Miss Watkins?” he asked sincerely.

Mindy Watkins said she would look into the consumer demand and shortly thereafter she would be driving her People Car back to Lake Wily. Yes, in the person of Dr. Wu, she had a latter day Edison on her hands. Just had to find a way to bring his talents to market. For now, he was accepting lodging and a small wage but if Greener Pastures filled the last two vacancies Dr. Wu and his boyfriends would have to move on.

With the last remnant of Pseudo-Samadhi drifting from her head, Mindy Watkins stared at the highway in front of her and pondered the words of her departed father. “The hardest thing in business is to turn a cash steer into a cash cow.” She never knew what that meant but it seemed to make sense now,

Chapter 18: Night At The Abbyshire

Chapter 18: Night At The Abbyshire

One night at a fancy Mississippi River casino where Christina Roy would be introduced to the Gougers and the Delveccios. The three couples would gamble and drink and dine in luxury. Unbeknownst to the ladies, the gentlemen would be filtering some of their ill gotten gains into the light of day.

Ronnie Delveccio and his pudgy cherub of a wife, Jackie, picked up Steven and Lauretta in Jackie's king size SUV. Ronnie completed the leg to the Roy residence at an average speed of 72 miles per hour, counting the time spent at two stop signs and a red light. The passengers would shower compliments on the tall raven-haired beauty who happened to be Roger Roy's wife and mother to three of his children. Steven had met her a couple of times before and did not eye her as closely as Ronnie.

In many ways Christina balanced, if not contrasted her husband's presentation.. She had dark hair and pale skin. Roger had white-blond hair and an always ruddy complexion. He had coarse manners and hers were refined. He was loud and she spoke softly. His was a cracker accent and hers was southern aristocrat. In a long, royal scarlet skirt and black and scarlet top she stood apart from her pastel companions. Her black riding boots did not exactly complement her darker than coal Mary Hartman pigtails, but they certainly captured one's attention in a not offensive way.

The party of six poured back a pitcher of margaritas. Roger yelled at his kids and spoke softly to his mother-in-law who would be staying overnight at the Roy house. Then the revelers were off to the Abbyshire Resort and Casino.

The Abby, as it was referred to even before its opening, celebrated the Edwardian Era. Britain at her proudest. Pomp and frills and oversized paintings of fox hunts and croquet matches. Lots of faux antiques and portraits of stately geezers. The bedrooms were ultra-modern by contrast with king-size beds and jacuzzis that could saline or glycerin or proprietary-comfort bubble baths.

The guests would check into their rooms, toilet and muster on the floor of the Lords and Ladies of Linen Casino Parlor. The ladies would split from their husbands and wander as a trio deep into the jungle of flashy-splashy slot machines. The men would stay huddled at a kiosk of progressive slots. All three had tried to explain to their wives the advantages of progressive jackpots and all three had failed in their edification. Never mind that one could actually find a casino game that puts the odds in the player's favor. The girls would rather search for machines that engaged their attention with graphics and catchy ring tones.

As soon as the ladies wandered off, the gentlemen increased the stakes. Their first choice in progressive machines, a sixteen feed that paid homage to Kikuchi Motorcycle Company by displaying a model crotch rocket and cranked acceleration noises through each machine's speakers, seemed to be monopolized by a team of prog chasers.

The trio would settle for a nine feed kiosk that was on the cusp of break even. Prior to arrival they had consulted the Joseph-affiliated Mondo Investor website in search of positive return machines. One feed was in positive territory and two almost there. Rather than trying to sell cusps and positives to the wives, the boys emphasized the quaint charms and luxuries of Abbyshire with its TV series tie-in, a series the ladies all enjoyed.

They played a cramped row of Virtual Janitor machines, a tie with the surprise blockbuster developed by Joseph Games. With the deez and doze grumblings of bald-headed Frank in the foreground the astute gamblers took full advantage of their wives absence to discuss matters of discretion.

Steven Gouger worked the middle box, leisurely feeding the max bet via his new Abbyshire card that was wedged into the provided slot. Ronnie Delveccio also fed the max and he slid to his right to whisper to his friend, “We failed,.” referring to his and Jackie's in vitro efforts.

“So did we,” Steven Gouger said flatly. “Let's have some fun tonight.” Then he added, “Roger's having some problems with his friend. I'll bring you up to date.” Ronnie Delveccio collected a thousand dollars from each of his comrades to cover the upcoming celebration of his fake win and he left for the blackjack tables.

Of the three wives, only Jackie handled household finances. Steven and Roger could hide their cash here and there and pay monthly bills from their stashes. Ronnie did not pay household bills so he falsely won money to clear things with his wife. For all of her common sense Jackie was naive on things related to gambling.

Ronnie found his way to the Fox Hunt Blackjack Den where he seated on an imaginative piece of furniture that combined the best features of an executive chair and British saddlery. There he would exchange fifteen thousand dollars in cash for table chips. He would guzzle margaritas and play wildly until he hit either the ten thousand or twenty thousand dollar mark or until his wife caught up with him. He would tell Jackie that he started with a thousand dollars and a few hours later the chips had bred faster than Brooklyn hamsters. He would tell his cohorts that he could count cards even when he was sloshed and that is what always threw the pit bosses off his trail.

Back at the progs Roger Roy discussed his problem and Steven grew concerned. He unnamed informant blew into Mississippi a little over a year ago with “GANGSTER” written all over him. Roger and his buds tripped him up and Roger was able to use his influence to classify him as a “covert informant.” Off the books, so to speak.

The informant knew what he had to do which was to lad Roger to criminals with cash. Of course the CI was reluctant to give up his fellow gang members so he outed a few drug dealers his people had sold to. Still a dangerous proposition and one that his people would certainly view disapprovingly.

The prior jobs were small and the CI contented himself with a finder's fee. He knew the job he set up on Khalid Christopher was large and he wanted a cut. “How much?” Steven asked. Roger mouthed the figure.

“Ain't gonna happen!” Steven roared.

Roger nodded then added. In a whisper, “It's worse than that.” He paused and and once more pressed the “Maximum Play” button and turned back to his colleague. “He was supposed to get the hell out of Dodge. His people aren't stupid. They are going to figure out who set up their Bozo and then they will come after my guy.”

Steven's machine registered three push brooms. Not the progressive jackpot three plungers would have yielded but it put him up a few thousand dollars. “What's your plan?' he coolly asked Roger.

“When I met this guy he was clean. Tox screens confirm that. But I been around a while and I know cokehead confidence when I see it. He figures he's got as much dirt on me as I do on him. Maybe he's right. But I don't have a whole gang of California Negroes breathing down my back like he will. Not yet I don't.”

“Things could get messy if his people come after him,” Steven whsiper3d about the janitorial sound effects of scrubbing brushes and flushing toilets.

Roger's machine hit three push brooms and placed him in the “Up” column. “I thought about it, believe me. There could be a public dispute and he gets nabbed. What's he got to lose? That's when he writes his tell all.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Steven asked as his machine lit up three cleanser drums, assuring that the evening would be prosperous even if he missed the progressive jackpot.

“Actually there is,” Roger purred and held the silence to enhance the drama. He grumbled about a streak of machine spins and then spoke deliberately. “My man says he has a golden goose. But he wants to play on the team. Four way split.”

Steven let loose a long, slow, deliberate groan accompanied by the “Piece of Cake” declaration from Frank The Janitor. “The deal was....”

“I know what the deal was,” Roger cut in. “This guy is already in. He doesn't need to know your identity. We'll do one more gig and then he'll leave town.”

“And if he decides to sick around?” Steven asked in a soft voice.

Roger Roy took his fingers off the machine and turned directly to Steven. With a cold stare that reminded his colleague why he was a feared and fearsome presence, he deliberately stated, “Then I will solve the problem all by myself.”

Steven nodded. “It has to be unanimous and I'm not much of a salesman.”

Roger returned his focus to his machine. The big jackpot would elude them but they would both come out a few thousand ahead and they would legitimatize a few thousand more. The ladies would check in from time to time. Jackie and Lauretta would each lose a few hundred and Christine would gloat about the forty two dollars she was taking home.

When Jackie caught up with her husband he had twelve and a half thousand dollars in chips on the table. He left the dealer a generous tip with the stipulation that he back up his story that he started with just a thousand dollars in chips. Jackie would not question his success. She would throw herself into her husband's arms and kiss him deeply. “Dinner's on me!” Ronnie announced triumphantly.

The genuinely British concierge arranged for a party of six in the Kipling Suite. The ladies had packed their evening gowns and shoes as had Steven and Ronnie. True to form, Roger Roy ignored his wife's instructions and forgot his suit. This would cause a brief shouting match in the Argyle Room with Ronnie acting as peace maker.

Somehow sensing Roger's forgetfulness on matters not related to work and also anticipating spilled cocktails, Ronnie packed a second suit. Like the one he would be wearing, it was a traditional cut coat with a starched white shirt and tepid tie.

In Ronnie and Jackie's room Roger Roy tried on his duds. Perfect fit! The waist. The hem. The sleeves. The men were skeletal twins except for their feet. Ronnie wore size ten and a half and Roger wore twelves. No way. No how.

Once more, Mr. Bristle, the stuffy but affable concierge solved the problem instantly. He had a pair of size twelve black Wingtips sent to Roger and Christine's room and the delivery man placed the shoes on Roger's feet using an ivory shoehorn that featured a handle of bas-relief honoring the finer equine specimens of the Edwardian Era. Roger paid handsomely for his room service kicks and still found something in his wallet for the shoe guy and Mr. Bristle.

In their classic, toned-down suits the gentlemen could have been cast as extras in almost any decade. Christine would steal the show with a florid design that accentuated her stature. Her Southern grace would have an opportunity to shine and it would light up the room.

Lauretta attempted to look less perky and girlish with a dreamsicle orange and white gown that made her look extra perky and extra girlish. She too, would display a subtle Southern grace challenged at times by abundant libations.

Jackie chose a plum gown that suggested the word “prom.” “It's a beautiful shade pf plump,” a perky and inebriated Lauretta Gouger pronounced ever so innocently. Jackie's Malden manners would reveal themselves throughout the evening and the pretty plum gown would serve as a catch basin for food and drink and one wayward sneeze.

It would be a night to remember conceptually if not in detail. At the Kipling Suite a chess piece of a waiter the party appetizers none of them had ever heard of. They would drink cold beer and frothy margaritas and guzzle fine wine during dinner. They would all order variations of beefsteak, potato and salad. They would sip and then chug a brilliant liqueur. Finally, they would be treated to a Brandy Broadside dessert. Twelve variations on sugar and butter and pastry and cream with the common denominator of Snidingham Exquisite Brandy soaked into every morsel. They tipped exorbitantly.

Mr. and Mrs. Roy would be golf-carted back to their room via the VIP elevator. The Gougers would be next. The Delveccios, the unofficial host and hostess would find themselves in their room as the sun rose over Mississippi.

Ronnie Delveccio would sleep face down on the carpet. Roger Roy vomited repeatedly and begged his wife not to tell anyone. Steven Gouger would lie in bed with his wife cuddling him. “If I die right now, I will be a happy man,” Steven declared.

“You can't die,” his tired wife said softly. “You're all I got.” She kissed him and they both fell asleep.

Chapter 16: Delbert Wayne Duncan On Remedial Education Unit

Chapter 16: Delbert Wayne Duncan On Remedial Education Unit

Delbert Wayne Duncan did not know that he was circling in a holding pattern, awaiting the outcome of negotiations concerning his being subjected to Dr. Wu's advanced interrogation techniques. The inmate was mesmerized by the wallscreen in his cell that showed a nine year old Delbert Wayne Duncan celebrating his birthday with a large family he had seemingly forgotten.

“Prison is the last great venue for advertising,” Lamar Watson liked to tell his adoring daughter. Of course there were obstacles to bringing Madison Avenue to The Big House. Bundled And Fortified Fiber Optics revolutionized the “delivery process.” Jailbirds would be able to watch a treasure trove of commercials that streamed through ultra-low energy interfaces as culinary odors were piped through the vents.

With their messaging refined if not perfected, the problem for Mindy Watkins and Amerijail turned to recruiting sponsors. Not surprisingly, vendors were not enthusiastic about marketing their products to a population on a trajectory that did not forebode a high volume of consumer decisions. The ever resourceful Amerijail responded by developing heir own product lines. Precious Memories, a wholly owned subsidiary of Amerijail, utilized a packaging firm that dumped their generic cereals into house brand boxes. To date, Swan Song Foods had packaged six cereals and three toaster pastries for Precious Memories. Precious Memories was also negotiating with other packagers to market dinner products that had been developed at Amerijail's Western Tennessee Unit.

The face of a nine year old Delbert Wayne Duncan had been lifted from the Internet and set onto a nine year old body using a process called Morph-Vid originally developed by Joseph Productions. James Joseph once oversaw a production company called “the virtual network” because of the volume of content they cable stations and networks. The cash-soaked Josephs sometimes swapped their crisp new shows for the rights to old, unmarketable movies. What would conglomerates want with moth-eaten fodder that were not even considered classics?

Morph-Vid to the rescue. An old cheesy Western serial was colorized and given a hip hop soundtrack and the faces of contemporary actors were sewn into the new product. The old thirteen part “Tumbleweed” series retold with black heroes and Caucasian villains were a direct to video sensation. “Tumbleweed Remix” sounded the tsunami alarm for an epoch of small screen and theatrical releases produced for a fraction of the cost of a conventionally made movie.

Morph-Vid would find its way into other venues. Pornography had traditionally held the attention of a largely male audience but women who were shown hardcore vids with their own faces grafted on the head of female actresses became loyal, if not fanatical customers. Their enthusiasm spiked even higher when voice emulators substituted their own voices for the actress's voice. Men who did not enjoy traditional porn frequently paid top dollar to watch a better-bod version of themselves perform with a beautiful partner.

Advertising was the next frontier for Morph-Vid. Consumers might open their wallets to watch a version of themselves in a porn vid or even an old Tarzan flick but who wanted to morph into a commercial? Amerijail transported its inmates into the future. Delbert Wayne Duncan sat on the cot of his cell slowly chewing on a Precious Memories blueberry toaster pastry.

Delbert seemed to have forgotten that when he was nine he won a croquet tournament that saved the whole town from eviciton and his Uncle Wilbur and Aunt Sarah rewarded him with Precious Memories Corn Flakes. He seemed to have forgotten that when he was nine, he saved a baby from a flooding river and the townspeople rewarded him with a parade and a serving of Precious Memories Fudge Crispies Cereal. He seemed to have forgotten that when he was nine, he rescued a family from a burning house and Uncle Dave and Aunt Ruby rewarded him with an assortment of Precious Memories toaster pastries.

Now as Delbert leaned against the wall that abutted his vinyl cot, he closed his eyes to focus his attention on the rapturous flavor of his Precious Memories Strawberry toaster pastry. Life was good.