“Yeah,” Dink said, “Inflammable. We figured it was safe to light firecrackers.”
Grady picked up the mic again. “Truck 3, help Number 7 before we lose this thing.
“So you thought in-flammable meant un-flammable?”
“Well, yeah,” Belch said, clinking his Zippo open and shut. “Otherwise it’d say flammable, right?”
“Except it really said inflamm-able.” Grady grabbed the lighter. In one motion he clinked it open and spun the strikewheel so it lit. “Able to be inflamed.”
“Oooooooh,” the boys said in unison.
“And you thought the picture on the 50-gallon drums, the picture of fire with a line through it meant...” Grady held out the lighter in the palm.
“Couldn’t burn.” Belch reached for his Zippo.
Grady snatched the lighter back. “Wrong again. It meant keep things like this—he rolled the lighter down his knuckles, palmed it, passed his left hand over his fist twice, and opened his now-empty right hand—away or you’ll burn down the warehouse.”
“Cooooool.” Dink and Belch harmonized this time.
Grady turned to his assistant, who had been taking notes. “You got all this?” When she nodded, he reached behind her head and revealed the lighter as he moved his hand past her ear. “Give this to the cops as evidence, please.” He walked away, shouting at Truck 4 to move south.
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