the tool man's rocks

He couldn't believe it had come down to this. Back on the streets, after so many years. Dressed incognito, which consisted of a drab brown trenchcoat and a pair of Blues Brothers black sunglasses, Tim Allen walked causally down a semi-empty sidewalk, gray suitcase in hand. This was the best place in the city to do business, not a lot of people who cared. The people who were around were all potential customers, Tim just had to find the highest bidders. One man, who had a silvery beard and was leaning up against a street lamp in a torn flannel shirt and matching flannel pants, seemed desperate for some of the Allen's medicine. Tim looked up and down at the man and decided he didn't feel like dealing with a lumberjack in a onesie today. Further down the street, there were two younger men playing some kind of hitting game. The first guy would hit the other in the face and then the second guy would slowly pick himself up off the ground and retaliate by hitting the first guy in the stomach. Tim slowed his pace so he could more carefully watch this odd game. It seemed that there were more to the rules than just back-and-forth punches because by this time the second guy had drawn out a shiny butterfly knife and was waving it from side to side. It was then that Tim realized this wasn't a game at all, but that these two must actually be fighting. He went from somewhat of a crawl to a dead stop while his eyed viewed in wonderment the scuffle taking place before him. Tim was close enough to hear parts of a dialogue between the two combatants. The guy with the knife said something about "gutting you from left to right" while the other guy came back with "not before I fuck your mother". At this moment, the knife guy lunged forward and drove his blade into the lower abdomen of the first guy. Tim watched in astonishing horror as the blood flowed from the stomach to the sidewalk. The owner of the knife looked absolutely shocked and took off running down the sidewalk right past Tim while the receiver of the knife collapsed in a crumpled, crimson mess. Tim knew he had better get the hell out of there before any fuzz arrived and he was wrongfully involved in something. It had been a long time since Tim thought of police as "fuzz". Without anymore hesitation, Tim blindly darted away from the crime scene out into the street. There was a loud crash and a shooting pain from Tim's ankles to his chest. He could see black.

The driver of the car got out and ran to Tim sprawled out on the pavement. The driver shook Tim and tried to get some kind of sign of life. After a few long moments, Tim sluggishly rose to his feet stilling feeling a sharp pain in his body, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact location. The driver couldn't believe his eyes and opened his mouth in excitement.

"Oh my God! You're Tim "the Tool Man" Taylor! I can't believe it, of all the people I could have run into!"

Still a bit disoriented, Tim somehow had a feeling that this man wasn't referring to actually "running into him" with a car. It didn't bother him though, Tim had felt this lack of compassion before.

"Oh, Tim Taylor! I am a huge fan, can I have your autograph? Oh wait, better yet, can I buy you a cup of coffee? I know a place just down the street, and they make the best damn coffee in the whole city. I go there all the time. My brother actually slept with one of the employees there. Yeah, you'll never believe this, he told that this girl is complete slut. She's slept with, like, forty seven guys in the past year. She even had a threesome with another girl once. I think her name's Alison, or maybe Vickie, I don't know. So what do you say?"

This man spit words like a machine gun. Tim felt like the best way to deal with this was to back the conversation up a bit.

"I'm Tim Allen, actually. My name's Tim Allen, the actor. Tim Taylor was my character on Home Improvement. I'm not actually a tool man. The show's been off the air for about seven years now. And I'm going to have to pass on coffee, I'm kind of in a hurry. Sorry."

"Oh, sure, not a big deal. So what are you doing here in the city?"

"I'm here on business."

Tim looked around suspiciously.

"Yes, I'm here on business, and I really am in a hurry so I need to go. Thanks for helping me up."

Tim turned and walked away. The driver threw in one final remark.

"Okay, bye! It was nice to meet you. Sorry I hit you. I'll be sure to tune into Tool Time next week!"

Tim only had one word on his mind regarding that man, and the word was "jackass". He knew that he had to focus all his engery now on business. If he didn't make a deal today, he would definitely pay for it tomorrow. He entered a somewhat desolate park just across the street from where he was run over. The leaves on the trees had all but died and fallen off and snow would be here soon. Tim had never liked how quickly Autumn came and went, but he had to think about business and nothing else. Customers, he thought to himself, were all around, he just needed to find the right ones. Tim was desperate for some extra money. His past few films hadn't garnered him nearly enough and he was feeling the impact. Christmas with the Kranks, The Shaggy Dog, Zoom... the last actor that had a string of movies that shitty was Carrot Top... or maybe Pauly Shore. Either way, Tim needed money, and the only way to get money now was to do business. And the only way to do business was to find customers. There was a young woman who was grossly underdressed for this time of year wandering down the park path. She was attractive, but still a little homely. Tim decided that she was more prostitute attractive than anything. The kind that was wrong for a relationship but perfect for a one night stand. Tim knew he couldn't do business with her or he might end up having more extra-marital sex. He saw a man dressed in an awful maroon tartan suit sitting on a bench watching the ducks skate on the neaby pond. He too had a briefcase and there was no one around him. The man was balding but tried to cover it up by slicking the thin strands of graying hair over his scalp. He was older and his face definitely showed it; there was something about him. He was also a little on the heavy side, not that Tim could say anything seeing as he himself wasn't exactly cut like a rock anymore. The guy probably eats a lot of donuts in the morning, Tim thought to himself. Despite his poor choice of clothing, the man looked respectable, he looked like he had money. This was exactly what Tim had been hoping for, he had found his customer. The Allen nonchalantly strolled down the path towards the man. As he got closer, the man looked up and Tim smiled at him; the man smiled back and then went back to watching the ducks. Tim now walked over to the bench where the man was sitting and stopped just a few feet away.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I have a seat?"

The man looked up again and gave another smile, this smile even bigger and more satisfied than the last.

"Of course not. Please, do sit down. It'll be nice to have some company."

Tim sat down and proceeded to have small talk with the man. Several minutes passed and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Strangely enough, this whole time, the man never recogized Tim. It seems as though the sunglasses and trenchcoat worked to Tim's advantage. The conversation slowed and reached a point where Tim saw fit to try and make a deal.

"You know, it's been great talking to you. You should let me buy you a drink some time. Anyway, more to the point, I was wondering if you were at all interested in a little thrill."

The man gave Tim a blank and somewhat odd look.

"Oh no, you don't understand. I'm not... you know, I'm not gay or anything like that, if that's what you were thinking. No, no, you don't have to worry about that, I wasn't trying to pick you up or anything. I was hoping to make a deal with you, though. You know, maybe have Christmas come early, you don't have to wait until December to have a little snow. Hell, Columbia has snow all year round, if you know what I mean."

The man now seemed to understand what Tim was saying.

"So what do you say? Are you in or out?"

There was a long silence between them that had Tim wondering whether or not he made a mistake revealing his true intentions to the man. After what seemed like a solid minute of nothingness, the man responded very calmly.

"Alright, I'm in. How much are you selling and what am I going to pay for it?"

Tim was very relieved.

"Hoo! Okay, my man! You made the right choice. I can set you up for a whole kilo at a hundred thousand, or I can do a half kilo at fifty. It's up to you."

"I'll go for the whole kilo. I'm gonna need it, ha! What with my dull life and all, the more bang the better."

"A kilo it is."

Evening was drawing closer and the park was empty except for Tim and his buyer. Tim grabbed his briefcase and set it on his lap. He put in the lock combination, 202, and carefully opened it up. Inside was a large, thick, and rectangular white block. At this point, the buyer had also set his briefcase on his lap and was putting in his own lock combination. Tim glanced down and caught a glimpse of the number the man was putting in, 911. Suddenly, a shiver of terror ran up Tim's back. The man opened his breifcase only to reveal a single handgun and a badge next to it. The man swiftly pulled the gun out, cocked it, and pressed it to Tim's face.

"Ken Woodard, Narcotics, Division 12. And you're going down you rock-peddling motherfucker."

Tim Allen awoke with a jolt in his brain. He sat up in bed covered in sweat and looked down at his pillow to see that it was equally soaked in fear. It was still early morning, the sun wasn't even up yet. The dream had felt so real Tim was having a hard time believing that it never actually happened. He couldn't go back to sleep, not now. So Tim opted to get up, put his robe on, and start the day early. He made himself some coffee and sat massaging his head. He knew that today was going to be hard. He was desperately in need of some money. His latest movies hadn't grossed even half as much as they were projected to. Tim needed a source of money fast. Today was going to be a difficult and long day. However, Tim knew that he could ease the stress and possible agony of the coming day just a little bit. He knew he could ensure this day wouldn't be the worst he's ever had. He went into his foyer and opened his coat closet. He then turned around and grabbed the drab brown trenchcoat that he had set out the night before and tossed it into the closet and slammed the door. Then he went back into his bedroom and turned on the bedside light. There was a gray suitcase lying at the foot of his bed. Tim walked over to it and kicked it far under his bed, burying it in shadows like a time capsule for another generation to find. He then proceeded to shower, get dressed, and have breakfast. He knew that today wasn't going to be that good, but he also knew that it wasn't going to be bad. He not only needed money, but he also needed a new way to get some.

Maybe he'd fire his agent and hire a better one...