Norma C Plummer Stories
Password: Mince Pie
I was young and single, and couldn't afford to fly home for Christmas.
So here I was, working my friend Pat's security shift on Christmas Eve
at the warehouse. As soon as he had carefully explained the security
controls, Pat produced boxes of Christmas food prepared by his wife,
"Enjoy the feast, Jason, but keep your beady eyes in your curly black
head on the dials as well," Pat called back as he left.
I stood up to look out at the vast warehouse with its crated appliances
stacked high. Lights showed only where the aisles crossed, producing a
cold, eerie affect. Here though, locked in the security office, all was
bright and warm. I returned to the swivel chair at the wrap-around
console to do my job. A few minutes later, I was startled to hear
scuffling at the door. Then a face appeared directly above me at the
window - a funny, laughing face, which disappeared at once upon the
sound of something collapsing, followed by a loud cry of "Ouch! That
hurt!" Outside I found two men busily picking up the cardboard boxes
they had used for a step-stool. They looked up from their bent
positions, and gave me a pair of trusting smiles.
"I'm Mike," said the tall one, standing upright now.
"I'm Joe," said the shorter one, who had appeared at the window.
"My name's Jason," I said. "What brings you two here, and how did you
get in?"
"Oh, we're friends of Pat," explained Mike. "He told us you wouldn't
mind sharing the Christmas goodies with us. We drop in almost every
night to keep him company."
"Well, you'd better come in, and we'll get acquainted. Tell me - where
did you come from?" I asked, my voice rising, but they avoided my
question. Mike, the tall fellow, was quick in his motions, but very
deliberate in his speech. His brown eyes would take on a look of deep
thought before he spoke. Still he was the obvious leader, if you could
claim leadership dressed in secondhand, ill-fitting brown pants, and a
thick woollen sweater that had once been a tan colour.
Joe, on the other hand - a roly-poly figure, had somehow found a better
outfit of clean jeans and a blue nylon bomber jacket. Joe's face was so
full, that his blue eyes seemed hard put to find space for looking out.
Although mentally slow, his joyous nature had an endearing quality.
Now they asked politely if they could open the packages of food left by
Pat. Their fingers twitched with anticipation. I nodded. They
immediately began dismantling the contents as cautiously as members of a
bomb squad. They revelled in the discovery of thick slices of turkey,
mixed vegetables, mashed potatoes, and all the Christmas trimmings,
including a wonderful glass bowl of trifle. Soon the dinner, still warm,
was served out. I enjoyed my share too, while keeping an eye on the
console before me. Now it was time to question them again as to where
they had come from. Mike answered in his slow, deliberate manner, while
Joe, cake in hand, sat on top of the filing cabinet, kicking his heels
in contentment.
"We-1-1," drawled Mike, "it's a secret that everybody around here knows.
You see, one day we wandered in when the warehouse fellows were lined up
at the catering truck. And there you are." He stopped speaking, pleased
with his confession.
"Are you trying to tell me you took up housekeeping in this very
warehouse?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yep," chimed in Joe. "We brought in odds and ends during busy times
when no one was paying any attention, and before we knew it, we had a
cosy hideaway right behind the sign "Dead & Slow Moving Stock". They
both laughed uproariously, and I chuckled to think of them fending for
themselves, rather than be caught up by some social agency.
Just then Joe looked out the window from his vantage point atop the
filing cabinet, and shouted, "Here comes the boss! He knows about us
too."
"The boss!" I cried. "You mean in the car approaching the gate on my
monitor right now?" The intercom buzzed at once, and a terse voice
spoke. "Camden here."
"Yes Sir," I replied. "Password please."
"Password?" growled the voice. "You're Pat's replacement?"
"Yes, Jason Haverty here. May I have the password please?" I insisted,
in case Mr. Camden was testing security.
After a long pause, the boss replied in a resigned voice. "It's 'mince
pie'. That Pat makes up the strangest passwords."
By the time Mr. Camden entered, Mike and Joe had set up the bowl of
trifle and fruit punch. He was a hearty man with a stocky figure,
dressed in a leather jacket. He acknowledged my presence with a nod, and
headed directly for the trifle. Mike and Joe moved smartly to serve him,
and nothing more was said until he finished his generous helping. Then
he announced, "That's what I came for. Pat's wife's trifle. Can't beat
it anywhere!" Camden smiled at the rapt faces of Mike and Joe. It was
evident he took a protective interest in them. "Everything alright with
you boys?" he asked. They nodded happily. "Well then, I'll be off. Carry
on, Jason!"
As soon as he was gone, Mike and Joe brought out a board game, and
settled down to play. All went on quietly until about midnight when I
leaned forward in my chair, and called out that another car was at the
main gate. The boys toppled over their board in their haste to see.
"That car looks like the boss's car, but there's something odd about it
- can't tell for sure with that bit of snow on it," cried Joe. "Oh, oh.
There's a large van pulling up behind it."
A voice over the intercom said, "Camden here. I've forgotten something.
Pass me through again!"
"That's not the boss. That's not his voice," hissed Mike and Joe.
"You won't mind repeating the password?" I suggested.
"Sure, sure. Tonight it's 'mince pie'."
How did this impostor get the password? They must have had a listening
device. I flipped the silent alarm for the police.
Mike and Joe, in great excitement and alarm, kept hissing to me, "It's
not the boss. It's a raid on the warehouse."
The voice from the car outside clicked on again saying, "Open these
gates! Do you hear? Or I'll have your job!"
"Give me a moment to sort out these switches," I replied, stalling for
time. A flood of swearing came through the speaker. I just sat silent at
my controls, anxiously waiting for the police. Mike and Joe reported
from their perch that the driver of the van was coming forward to speak
to the man in the car.
"He's getting nervous, 'cause it's taking so long," said Joe. "There he
goes now, backing away... He's gone!"
Just then, the police cruiser drove up and blocked the sedan against the
gate. The two officers questioned me from their cell phones, and I
explained the situation. They then approached the sedan with caution.
Identification cards were carried back and forth to be checked out. As
soon as the police had finished their investigation, they informed me
that the men in the missing van were likely the ones prepared to execute
the actual raid on the warehouse goods. The man in the car had no
record, and so they were forced to let him off. Well at least there had
been no forced entry, all thanks to Mike and Joe with their warning. But
when I looked around to thank them, the heroes had slipped away.
Having been alerted by the police, Mr. Camden phoned in from his home,
anxious to check that all was secure. I explained what had happened, and
assured him there had been no actual trouble, thanks entirely to the
alertness of Mike and Joe.
"Good for them!" said Camden laughing. "They're a great pair! I must do
something special for them."
Rather boldly, I suggested they might like a television.
"Why not!" exclaimed Camden, in high spirits. "And as for you, Jason, a
mince pie!"
And so the night passed slowly but without further event. Finally at 7
a.m. the day man took over, and I went home to sleep.
I'd forgotten all about Mr. Camden's promise of sending me a mince pie.
However, on Boxing Day a messenger came to my door with a box and a note
attached. As I opened it up on the kitchen counter, an aromatic smell of
mince pie greeted my nose. Then I turned to the thank-you card. I
couldn't believe it! Inside was an offer of a far better job than my
own, as supervisor of the loading docks at the warehouse. And for that I
had Mike and Joe to thank - Mike and Joe, the best-known secret,
somewhere back there in the warehouse, living happily behind the "Dead &
Slow Moving Stock".
By Norma C. Plummer