was a stepping-stone (they hoped) to a job with a police force. For me, it was a combination of the two: a pseudo law-enforcement job to augment my puny medical retirement from the military until I got back on with a real police force. I didn’t mind taking on the director of security responsibilities until Woskowicz showed up, but no way did this job represent the pinnacle of my ambitions.
Joel, however, was enthused by my temporary ascension. “You can fund the operation of all the cameras now,” hesaid when I’d chatted with each of the officers as they came on shift and sent them on patrol.
“I’m the acting director of security for a couple days,” I told him, sitting at my regular desk; it seemed presumptuous to move into Captain W’s office. “I’m supposed to keep the office functioning, not rearrange the funding priorities.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Will you have time to swim today? I lost another half a pound.” He patted his still round belly.
“Good for you,” I said encouragingly. “Have you asked Sunny for a date yet?”
“No,” he mumbled. “But she’s bringing her golden retriever to my agility class now, so I get to see her twice a week.”
“Ask her out.”
“I want to lose five more pounds first.”
“Joel, you sound like a girl,” I said. “Sunny either likes you or she doesn’t. Five pounds one way or the other isn’t going to make a difference.”
“You think? Well, maybe,” he said, clearly not convinced.
If his reaction was anything to go by, it looked like I didn’t have much of a future as a dating advice columnist. Before I could urge him further, the radio crackled.
“EJ?” It was Harold Wasserman’s voice. He was the oldest of our security guards, a sixty-something retired engineer who had returned to the workforce primarily to avoid having to take care of his twin four-year-old grandsons. “We’ve got a rabbit issue. Can you come down to the fountain?”
“On my way,” I said, resisting the impulse to ask what kind of bunny issue could come up in a mall. Visions of a mass escape from the pet store filtered through my mind, and I hoped it wouldn’t create the chaos that a few looselizards and snakes had generated not that long ago. Shoppers wouldn’t object to a cute kitten or beagle puppy playing in the halls, would they? Although, I thought as I mounted the Segway and headed for the elevator, the janitorial crew might have a bit more work.
By the time the elevator bumped to a stop on the lower level and I motored toward the fountain, a small crowd had gathered. Geez, how could a long-eared, fluffy-tailed mammal generate so much interest? When I pushed through the onlookers, I understood. I found myself confronting a six-and-a-half-foot-tall bunny wearing a polka-dotted bow tie and swinging a chair around by two legs. Harold Wasserman stood several feet back, trying to calm the hyped-up rabbit.
“Look, buddy—” Harold caught sight of me and broke off, hurrying to my side. “It’s the Easter Bunny. He’s drunk. He tipped that little girl out of his lap.” He pointed to a ringletted tyke watching big-eyed from within the Easter Bunny’s tulip-decked enclosure. “The mother”—he lowered his voice—“smelled beer on his breath and flagged me down. When I suggested that he go home and sleep it off, he got off his chair, picked it up, and took a swing at me.” He rubbed his forearm. The odor of cigarettes leaked from him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Harold grinned behind his luxurious gray mustache. “The twins do worse than that to me three times a week.”
“Okay. You get the crowd to move along, and I’ll see if I can’t persuade Mr. Bunny here to simmer down.”
I approached the man in the Easter Bunny costume cautiously, trying to figure out where the eye holes were so I could make eye contact. They clearly weren’t in the bunny’s head, which was adorned with plastic disks for eyes. Approximately
Joel, however, was enthused by my temporary ascension. “You can fund the operation of all the cameras now,” hesaid when I’d chatted with each of the officers as they came on shift and sent them on patrol.
“I’m the acting director of security for a couple days,” I told him, sitting at my regular desk; it seemed presumptuous to move into Captain W’s office. “I’m supposed to keep the office functioning, not rearrange the funding priorities.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Will you have time to swim today? I lost another half a pound.” He patted his still round belly.
“Good for you,” I said encouragingly. “Have you asked Sunny for a date yet?”
“No,” he mumbled. “But she’s bringing her golden retriever to my agility class now, so I get to see her twice a week.”
“Ask her out.”
“I want to lose five more pounds first.”
“Joel, you sound like a girl,” I said. “Sunny either likes you or she doesn’t. Five pounds one way or the other isn’t going to make a difference.”
“You think? Well, maybe,” he said, clearly not convinced.
If his reaction was anything to go by, it looked like I didn’t have much of a future as a dating advice columnist. Before I could urge him further, the radio crackled.
“EJ?” It was Harold Wasserman’s voice. He was the oldest of our security guards, a sixty-something retired engineer who had returned to the workforce primarily to avoid having to take care of his twin four-year-old grandsons. “We’ve got a rabbit issue. Can you come down to the fountain?”
“On my way,” I said, resisting the impulse to ask what kind of bunny issue could come up in a mall. Visions of a mass escape from the pet store filtered through my mind, and I hoped it wouldn’t create the chaos that a few looselizards and snakes had generated not that long ago. Shoppers wouldn’t object to a cute kitten or beagle puppy playing in the halls, would they? Although, I thought as I mounted the Segway and headed for the elevator, the janitorial crew might have a bit more work.
By the time the elevator bumped to a stop on the lower level and I motored toward the fountain, a small crowd had gathered. Geez, how could a long-eared, fluffy-tailed mammal generate so much interest? When I pushed through the onlookers, I understood. I found myself confronting a six-and-a-half-foot-tall bunny wearing a polka-dotted bow tie and swinging a chair around by two legs. Harold Wasserman stood several feet back, trying to calm the hyped-up rabbit.
“Look, buddy—” Harold caught sight of me and broke off, hurrying to my side. “It’s the Easter Bunny. He’s drunk. He tipped that little girl out of his lap.” He pointed to a ringletted tyke watching big-eyed from within the Easter Bunny’s tulip-decked enclosure. “The mother”—he lowered his voice—“smelled beer on his breath and flagged me down. When I suggested that he go home and sleep it off, he got off his chair, picked it up, and took a swing at me.” He rubbed his forearm. The odor of cigarettes leaked from him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Harold grinned behind his luxurious gray mustache. “The twins do worse than that to me three times a week.”
“Okay. You get the crowd to move along, and I’ll see if I can’t persuade Mr. Bunny here to simmer down.”
I approached the man in the Easter Bunny costume cautiously, trying to figure out where the eye holes were so I could make eye contact. They clearly weren’t in the bunny’s head, which was adorned with plastic disks for eyes. Approximately
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