MINK

I wrote this in '07, it's one of my favorite shorts. Kinda reminds me of the 'sell your gold to us by mail' thing. Perhaps they read my story and designed a modification.

MINK
"There could be thousands." "Millions!" Pat & Bob turned their heads towards one another at the same time, wicked grins reflecting each other. Their noses less then twelve inches apart because they both sat at the same computer station looking at prices on FURS.com. The grins grew to laughter. Pat grabbed a calculator and flopped on his bed. He poked in numbers "Okay" he said "If we get say, only a couple hundred coats and they average a hundred bucks each, An' I'm figuring way under projection, that would be twenty thousand smackerooneys," He carried the ooneys off like a wolf until their laughter fouled it up.
Pat caught his breath first "We'll need a warehouse." He said. "I bet we could use my dad's garage." Pat kept talking, thinking out loud. "My kid brother can be our warehouse guy."
"We'd have to pay him to keep quiet. You trust him? What about your folks? Their gonna wonder." Bob was whining.
"No problemo, seniorio, I'll make up some garbage about distributing or something. Their so happy that I'm outta the house and in collage they won't do nothing to screw that up. Besides, they'll be real happy that I'm trying to make a buck." Pat promised.
"It's legal?" Bob was still whiny. Pat replied "Of course." "Really?" Bob had a hopeful whine.
"Well, all accept the part about burning. But we probably shouldn't even have to do that." Pat's voice went faster as if to outrun the wicked grins that were reemerging on their faces. They high fived enough times for it to look like some kind of macho patty cake.
"We should leave all the boxes sealed until we need ‘em." Bob started thinking about details too. "Except the ones we need to dump for capital."
"Check. Go live late January, February at the latest. So we got over a month. That way we'll have the longest fiscal year before tax time dooos the exposeee." Pat was up and started a little dance.
"Wait a minute." Bob's whine was back. "What exposé’s are you talking about, man, I don't" "No, no, no." Pat cut him off. "No exposé’s. What I mean is that we'll have the maximum time for our donors to contribute before people start needing their tax right-offs again. We'll have to close up shop in a year you know. We'll just close the doors, man. Who's going to bother with two teenagers going out of business? It's perfect I tell ya, perfect." Pat kissed all the tips of his fingers at the same time with a big smack then flicked the kisses out in all directions. "Mmmwwaaah" was his sound for that.
"Well, what about the charity receipts?" Bobs whine was toning to normal.
"We'll send them. Look, we apply for a non-profit license; we'll use the application number. I bet it's done all the time because it takes forever. At the same time we file for an S-corp. as a holding company. Before the bureaucrats are done thinking about it we'll close shop. Voila!" Pat did the kissing fingers thing again. "Mmmwwaaah! All we need now is a regular ol' DBA so's we can cash the checks and bingo!" Pat punctuated his sentence with a cheek pop.
"This just can't happen, dude, your crazy man; we'd need at least a grand or two seed money. And it's just crazy, something going to happen, dude" Bob blurted out, half whiny, half belligerent "where are we going to get the seed money?"
"What's that?" Pat looked startled. "What!" Bob started to look around the small dorm room they shared. "That noise, don't you here it?" Pat was funning Bob's paranoia. He started to sing and step to the tune of Winter Wonderland' cupping his ears and wagging his arms in rhythm. "That noise, don't cha hear it? Hey boys, don't cha fear it. The sleigh bells aplay, on Christmas day, awalking in a money wonderland." Pat paused with a glance at his audience to make sure he was getting through. He continued louder, "Hey boys what's your worry? We're naaaught inabig hurry. We're cruising along, singing our song and stuffingour pocketsful ofmoney."
"I ain't spending my Christmas money, it's for rent. How are we going to get money out of the furs? We can't just set up a table and sell em on the corner." Bob did his whine.
"We can't? Crap! I thought we could." Bob was just too easy and Pat too merciless with his jibes. "It's covered, dude. Trust me. Let's get rolling."
Less then a month later their vehicle to riches was ready to go live on the net. It was registered as PeltBurials.com and had pictures of cuddly, furry animals as a motif. The hook was the heart string tug. The hook set was allowing the donors to access the value of their furs while maintaining a clean conscience.
DO YOU HAVE DEAD ANIMALS MOLDING IN YOUR CLOSET?
DO YOUR PRINCIPLES PROHIBIT YOU FROM WEARING FURS IN PUBLIC?
YOU ARE IN THE RIGHT PLACE!
THESE ONCE BLITHE ANIMALS ROAMED FREE IN THE WILDERNESS
ONLY YOU CAN HELP RETURN THEIR REMAINS TO WHERE THEY BELONG
YOU CHOOSE FROM MOUNTAIN, VALLEY OR HILL, PLUS STREAM,
RIVER OR LAKE AS YOUR SETTING FOR SCENIC BURIAL
WE WILL CONSIDER ANY OTHER ARRANGEMENT YOU WISH
WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE IF IT IS
APPROPRIATE FOR INTERNSHIP. IT COST YOU NOTHING!
YOU SHIP C.O.D. TO OUR HUMANE WAREHOUSE
OUR EXPERT ESTIMATORS WILL EVALUATE YOUR FURS AT FULL RETAIL
AND WE SEND YOU A RECEIPT FOR TAX DEDUCTION PURPOSES
YOU WILL HAVE PEACE OF MIND KNOWING THAT THESE DEAD
ANIMALS WILL NOT BE PARADED AS TROPHIES AGAIN
The response surpassed their wildest projections. In three months they had received more then a thousand parcels, many with a valuable fur inside. They moved out of the garage and into a discreet warehouse in a small industrial park. They had been selling the furs at the mammoth San Diego flea market and were raking in the cash. No furs were considered for entombment.
Pat and Bob were sitting in their dorm room/office so buoyant that they were slapping their hands and knees while trying to count the cash. Tears of delight dribbled on the bills. They were sloppy, money was everywhere.
The knock on the door was more of a bang, Pat and Bob looked questionably at each other, shrugging simultaneously.
"Yah, who's it." Pat said loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door as he approached.
"Pizza" was the muffled reply.
Pat glanced over his shoulder at Bob, who shrugged again. He opened the door.
The door frame was filled by a guy so big he had to scrunch his chin and crook his knees to see into the room. He wore an expensive black suit. He put his foot offhandedly in the door-sill and smiled, droning deeply "Good morning gentlemen."
Pat was obviously intimidated. "We didn't order no pizza." He stammered, unable to think of anything intelligent to say.
A smaller suit slid around the big lout and also smiled, glimpsing the money lying around. "That was piece of'' not pizza,' more like piece of' the action." The little guy cackled at his own joke; they were now inside. The big one closed the door softly and took position in front of it. He hunched a little by habit.
The smaller one was declaring. "I represent, let's say, a charitable organization' and we have a proposition for you boys."
"What? I don't get it." Pat said. He and Bob tried to discreetly gather up the green backs. It was impossible.
Pint size kept addressing his captive audience "My friends and me consider you boys to have landed on a lucrative scheme and we decided to franchise you."
All Pat and Bob could do was to sit on the bed. They looked unnerved; neither had been unnerved before. "Fa fa franchise?" Bob stuttered out as if it were a whole new word for him.
"Certainly, as good business men you boys must realize that your, ah, enterprise' needs to branch out. And we are here to help. Isn't that so, Brutus?" Not waiting for a response from Brutus the smaller suit went on "Of course Brutus isn't his real name but we like to call him that. It's very fitting, don't you think? Read page one if you please, Brutus."
"Sure boss." Brutus said in a monotone, he blandly continued with account numbers, balances and signatories of the S-Corp, their pending non-profit status, DBA bank accounts and various business licenses. Pat and Bob's eyes bulged out, their throats gobbled.
When Brutus was done the small suit went on. "Of course we'll have to make some minor modifications to your business plan. I have them right here," he handed a packet to Pat, "so you boys won't have any misunderstanding about what to do with the cash and furs. Of course, since you are expanding, we'll need to send some fellows around now and then to help you out. Page two, please Brutus." Brutus monotones again, this time he listed the names, addresses, birthdays, etc of the junior entrepreneurs' families. Both boys went deathly pale. Brutus collected the heaped cash; stuffed it in his case and the suits left. From their window the pale boys watched the two men disappear in a custom stretch Hummer.
The suits were as good as their word. In six months a network of holding stations fed an old, large warehouse in nowhere, Kansas. Inventory was video recorded, books where kept, receipts sent out and insurance policies purchased, all in Pat and Bob's name. This was all done by mysterious associates that came on irregular days and at erratic times. Pat and Bobs cut looked better then what they believed they might have made in the first place, so, for now, they were fairly satisfied with whole setup.
Two weeks later Brutus whistled as he drove south and considered the stink all those rabbit coats would make as they burned, along with the smell of a few ratty minks and ermines for authenticity. He thought the meeting with the boys had gone rather well. They had not seamed in the least concerned that he had showed up by himself for such important transactions. All the accounts and insurance policies were in order and had been attached to his offshore bank accounts, plus a couple of others that fronted for the Russian market. By now the bulk of the furs are en route to Moscow, those proceeds would go to his Swiss bank account. His insurance investigator cohort was expensive but well worth the ten percent. Brutus thought he may have to take care' of the guy; the dope probably had no idea how to spend a million and a half bucks without getting caught. His deliberation was interrupted by thumping in the rear of the customized Hummer, it sounded more authoritative then what he thought his smaller partner should be able to manage; maybe the little guy was getting desperate. Probably. He considered the two kids and was annoyed at his softness; he should have brought them along for the swim. They'd be alright; somebody would find them in a couple days, maybe a little dehydrated but they'll get over it. He continued to head south until he reached a deep part of the Rio Grande. He would miss the Hummer, it was hard to find a vehicle his size, but it would also be hard to hide, it was ostentatious. It's going to be hard enough to hide myself, he considered, but he'd have the whole continent of South America to hide in, that should be big enough. He chuckled, why people thought big guys like me are stupid he'd never know; if anyone thought about it they would realize that our brains are larger too.