The Trinitron Saga

Chapter 1: The Sacred Order of the Trinitron

"Are you sure about this?"

"Sure. I'm always sure. Seriously, why would you even ask that?"

"'Cause you're usually wrong."

"Aw, geez, Pook!"

An indignant look. He started to give a sharp retort, but then thought better of it. Pookie had a point; he was usually wrong about such things. But he just had such a feeling about this guy.

And boy was it going to make a great story. Their business had been really struggling recently, and it was in dire need of a serious pickup. Ever since they had run out of leads on that missing UFO story, nothing had come up that seemed worth their time. Until this. Could a local bookstore owner really be a secret cult-leader? They had to explore it.

The two friends stepped into the store. Immediately, they were engulfed by the smell of old books. Light poured through the window, illuminating the clouds of dust which pervaded "Sunlight Used Books." In some dark corner, a record player scratched out a Chopin Nocturne. It was an awful recording. Behind the counter sat a crusty old man. His cracked glasses slithered slowly down his crooked nose, only to be shoved ungracefully back into place by a twisted grey finger. He coughed,

"You boys want something?"

The two companions exchanged glances. This was the right place.

"Yessir," Billy began. "Do you have a section on religion?"

The old man grunted. It sounded like it could have been an affirmative, but possibly not. He sniffed, edging his glasses back into place.

"I'm sorry, was that a yes?"

Another grunt.

"Thank you...?"

Silence.

"You'll have to excuse my father." A voice came from around the corner. "He's not very good with people. No clue why he insists on working the desk. Come on in here."

Pookie glanced back at the curmudgeon, whose face was now hidden behind a newspaper. He felt very uneasy about all of this. But Billy was right, they needed the work. His eyes still fixed on the cranky old man behind the counter, he walked slowly into the next room.

"Pookie! Watch ou..."

THUD!

Books spilled over everywhere. No longer in their neat stacks, they poured over their caretaker in a merciless barrage. Yellowing pages pulled from their bindings as the young bookstore owner was buried under the pile of books. Dust flew up in the two friends' faces and they coughed and sputtered helplessly. The old man lowered his newspaper as the commotion reached his ears. He grunted, and returned to a dull article on ragweed allergies.

"Help me get him out!"

"I'm sorry Billy, I didn't see..."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to walk into a room backwards? Geez, Pook!"

"I dunno... a lot, I guess."

The two friends had the books off of the young man in short order. Billy helped him up.

"I'm so sorry, sir. My friend's a little clumsy sometimes. Are you ok?"

He was short. Disheveled black hair hung down from one side of his head like ivy. A tight red sweater clung to his wiry frame, and he held a thin book under one arm.

"Yeah, I'm fine," He answered. "So you're looking for books on religion. You want anything in particular?"

The two friends gave each other a significant glance.