Chapter 1
BEWARE OF BELLUCCI’S BUBBLE GUM DRUM
Chapter One: Strawberry Debt
Scripture:
“The borrower is servant to the lender.”
Proverbs 22:7
Italian Quote:
“Ogni debito prima o poi presenta il conto.”
Every debt eventually brings the bill.
Five-Card Tarot Spread
Past: Six of Pentacles
Present: Page of Wands
Hidden Influence: Seven of Swords
Advice: Justice
Outcome: The Sun
Vinny Bellucci was tired of the children.
Not regular children.
Regular children asked for snacks, money, rides, and permission to stay up too late.
These children asked for rare books.
Discontinued candy.
Old merchandise nobody had manufactured in decades.
Publishing disputes.
Movie corrections.
Debt settlements.
The Caramel Corn Children came with sticky fingers and old invoices.
The Strawberry Patch Kids came smelling like summer fields and trouble.
The Apple Orchard Kids came with lists written in careful handwriting, every request sounding less like a favor and more like a reminder.
At first, Vinny thought it was funny.
Then Stephen King got dragged into it.
Then John Carpenter.
Then they started saying everybody had lied about what happened last summer.
That was when Vinny stopped laughing.
He sat in the attic office of the Saint Charles mansion with one of their notes in front of him, reading it for the third time.
RARE BOOKS MUST BE RETURNED.
THE MOVIES REMEMBER WRONG.
THE AUTHORS KNOW.
THE OLD DEBT IS NOT PAID.
ASK STORYVILLE.
Vinny tapped the paper.
“I don’t owe these kids anything.”
Valeri sat across from him with five tarot cards spread across the desk.
The Six of Pentacles sat in the past position.
A debt.
The Page of Wands sat in the present.
A child with a message.
The Seven of Swords sat in the hidden position.
A thief.
Justice sat in the advice position.
The Sun sat in the outcome.
Valeri studied the cards.
“You may not owe them money.”
Vinny looked at her.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” she said. “It means the bill is older than money.”
Vinny leaned back, jaw tight.
“They’re annoying.”
“They’re children.”
“They’re organized.”
“That too.”
Before Vinny could answer, his phone rang.
The school.
He looked at the number and frowned.
Vivica Bellucci did not get in trouble often.
She got attention often.
There was a difference.
She was in fifth grade, played drums in her garage band called the Bellucci Babettes, and twirled baton like she was leading a parade only she could hear.
Vivica had confidence, rhythm, and a sharp little business mind nobody had officially approved.
Vinny answered.
“This is Bellucci.”
The principal’s voice came through stiff and careful.
“Mr. Bellucci, we need you to come to the school.”
Vinny sat forward.
“What happened?”
“There has been an incident involving Vivica.”
“What kind of incident?”
A pause.
“Bubblegum.”
Vinny stared at the phone.
“Bubblegum?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“Did somebody touch her?”
“No.”
“Then why are you calling me like somebody robbed a bank?”
Another pause.
“Because the gum was stolen, counterfeit packages were found, and Vivica is being accused of selling unauthorized product on campus.”
Vinny went still.
Across the desk, Valeri turned over the Seven of Swords with one finger.
The thief card.
Vinny’s voice lowered.
“I’m on my way.”
By the time he reached the school, the office smelled like floor wax, paper, and fear trying to wear perfume.
Vivica sat in a chair with her arms crossed.
Her drumsticks stuck out of her backpack.
Her eyes were dry.
That told Vinny plenty.
Vivica did not look guilty.
She looked offended.
A pink wrapper sat on the principal’s desk.
Beside it was a box of bubblegum with Vivica’s name written across the side in marker.
BELLUCCI’S BUBBLE GUM DRUM.
Vinny picked up the wrapper.
“Explain.”
The principal cleared his throat.
“We discovered that Vivica has been distributing gum to students.”
Vivica snapped, “Selling.”
The principal blinked.
Vinny looked at her.
“You were selling gum?”
Vivica lifted her chin.
“It never loses flavor.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the reason.”
Vinny stared at her.
The principal slid a small plastic bag across the desk.
“These were found in another student’s locker. The student claims Vivica planted them after a disagreement over money.”
“I did not,” Vivica said.
Vinny looked at the gum.
The label was wrong.
Too glossy.
Too bright.
Too cheap.
He had spent enough years around counterfeit merchandise to know a fake before it finished lying.
“Where did the real gum come from?” he asked.
Vivica hesitated.
“Chucky.”
Vinny’s eyes narrowed.
“Storyville Chucky?”
She nodded.
“He gave me some. It tasted like strawberry and it never stopped tasting like strawberry. Then kids wanted it. Older kids. Junior high. High school. I kept it in my drum because nobody looks inside a drum.”
Vinny looked toward the corner of the office.
Her pink drum case sat open.
Empty.
“You kept the supply in there?”
Vivica nodded.
“And now?”
“Gone.”
The principal said, “Mr. Bellucci, we cannot have students running businesses out of musical equipment.”
Vinny turned slowly.
“She’s being framed with fake product, and you’re worried about the equipment?”
The principal swallowed.
Vinny picked up one of the counterfeit packs.
“This is not hers.”
Vivica looked at him fast.
“You believe me?”
Vinny looked at his daughter.
“I know a frame when I see one.”
Outside the school office window, movement gathered near the playground fence.
Children.
Too many children.
The Caramel Corn Children stood in a tight cluster, their jackets the color of burnt sugar.
The Strawberry Patch Kids stood beside them in red, watching the school like they had been expecting this.
The Apple Orchard Kids waited in green and gold, quiet as little judges.
Behind them, half-hidden by the fence, stood the yellow-eyed kids.
And in the middle of them all was Chucky.
Red hair.
Sharp grin.
Strawberry gum tucked in one cheek.
Vinny stepped outside.
The children did not scatter.
That annoyed him.
Then impressed him.
Chucky looked past Vinny toward Vivica.
“She didn’t do it.”
Vinny folded his arms.
“You know that how?”
Chucky held up a real wrapper.
Then a fake one.
“The fake gum doesn’t smell right.”
One of the Strawberry Patch Kids stepped forward.
“And whoever stole her drum supply knew where she kept it.”
An Apple Orchard Kid added, “That means school access.”
A Caramel Corn Child said, “Or Family access.”
Vinny’s face hardened.
“Which Family?”
The children looked at one another.
Nobody answered too fast.
That was how Vinny knew they knew something.
Vivica came out holding her empty drum case.
Her cheeks had gone red, but she was not crying.
The yellow-eyed kids moved closer to her, forming a strange little wall between her and the school.
For the first time all week, Vinny looked at the children differently.
Not kindly.
Not yet.
But differently.
These were the same children who had annoyed him with rare books and discontinued merchandise.
The same children who had dragged Stephen King and John Carpenter into old debt arguments.
The same children who kept showing up like unpaid bills in small shoes.
And now they were standing between his daughter and the accusation.
Chucky pointed at the drum.
“They didn’t steal gum.”
Vinny looked at him.
“What did they steal?”
Chucky’s grin disappeared.
“The clue hidden inside it.”
The school bell rang behind them.
Vivica clutched her drumsticks.
Valeri’s tarot spread flashed in Vinny’s mind.
Six of Pentacles.
Page of Wands.
Seven of Swords.
Justice.
The Sun.
A debt.
A child.
A thief.
A reckoning.
A truth.
Vinny looked at the children.
“All right,” he said. “Talk.”
Chucky smiled again, but this time there was no play in it.
“Now you want to listen?”
Vinny glanced at Vivica.
Then back at the children.
“For her,” he said. “Yes.”
And that was the first time the old debt began to make sense.
Closing Prayer:
Lord, protect the innocent when lies gather around them. Give wisdom to the young, courage to the accused, and truth enough to expose the thief. Let loyalty speak louder than rumor, and let justice rise where fear tried to sit. Amen.
