Chapter 19–Tuesday, 3:30PM

Jones sat beside Herb as he sped east on Hazel. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, I know, dear,” he was saying. “But I don’t think I can come home right now.” A pause. “I’ll do my best,” he said finally. He snapped the phone shut.

Jones glanced sheepishly at his chief. “My wife,” he offered. “Our vine has a dozen blossoms and she’s sure little ones are going to overrun the place tonight.”

Herb had never married. “Not the marrying type,” he’d always told folks. He knew what Jones wanted. He wanted to go home. Herb sighed. He hated the words as he said them. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

Herb spotted Parsley and the green onion to his left as he neared the intersection of Hazel and Filbert. He pulled up to the curb, jumped out and crossed the street. Jones was close behind.

The green onion was not pleased at all with the rubber band Parsley had around his middle. He was screaming obscenities and struggling to get free. Jones leapt on his back and helped Parsley subdue him.

Herb bent low and got eyeball-to-eyeball with the odious fellow. “Shut up, scum!” he yelled. “Shut up! If you don’t, I’ll saute your whole family.”

The clerk, in obvious pain, shook his head vigorously. “I’ll talk. I’ll talk.”

Jones and Parsley let up on him a little, but kept him pinned.

The interrogation began. “Why did you send me to the back door when I asked for the video room?” Herb demanded.

“I was scared,” the onion confessed. “A big guy, a rhubarb, threatened to chop me up if I let anyone mess with the security cameras. I didn’t know what to do.” He was crying now.

“What day was that?” Herb had no patience left.

“Sunday? Monday, maybe?” the onion replied. “It was this week.”

“Monday was yesterday.” Herb was in the man’s face. “Was it yesterday or the day before?”

The man’s eyes grew round. “It wasn’t yesterday. Must’ve been Sunday. It was Sunday.”

Herb grabbed the re-focused stalkers’ photo from his back pocket. “He look anything like any of these guys?” he asked.

The onion glanced at the image. “No,” he shook his head. “Those are celery. This guy was rhubarb. Reddish around the roots.”

“You sure?!” Herb had to know. “Look at the faces.”

The clerk looked again. More carefully than before. After a half-minute, he shook his head again. “None of them look at all like the guy who threatened me.”

Herb stood. “Get him in the car, boys,” he instructed. Parsley and Jones lifted the man by the band around him and pointed him in the direction of the chief’s car.

“Where are you taking me?” the onion asked, once again upright.

“Back to the store,” Herb responded as the four of them crossed Hazel. “I want you to show me where the surveillance recordings are kept. Don’t worry about that rhubarb. If you cooperate, we’ll make sure you’re protected.”

The onion wept. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The car door opened. Jones instructed the man to duck his head as he got in then slid into the seat beside their captive. Parsley rounded the vehicle and ducked into the passenger seat as Herb hit the ignition, floored the accelerator and spun the car around in a tight U-turn.