This was so weak that I didn’t even have to think “Your words cannot harm me, my mind is like a shield of steel.”
But it did come to mind.
What else came to mind was that Darnell was completely off the leash now. All the years that he’d been patiently waiting to get me were finally paying off.
He tossed my wallet down next to the keys and the empty first prize, Yes!, box and poor Chauncey’s wrapper and left. Good thing, too, I was about this far from putting some respect in him.
I didn’t trust myself not to go off if I saw the Sarge in the parking lot so I went around to the front door of the school. I had a good half-hour walk ahead of me.
Things were bad. The Sarge had called me a dickens and Darnell kept calling me sport. There’s no way that either one of these things could be called a good omen.
The sound of a car’s horn ripped through the air and my heart.
I whipped around expecting to see the Sarge’s Benz barreling down on me but it was a big black Cadillac limousine.
The passenger’s window whizzed down and Shayla’s mom said, “I can’t believe the Three-peat Kid is walking home. You deserve a limo ride. Hop in back.”
Shayla’s dad said, “Hold on for a second, Luther.”
He looked in the backseat and said, “Shayla, carefully slide Mr. Ramirez over to the other seat, his viewing isn’t until five and I don’t want to have his embalming fluid settle in one place before then.”
I think this is supposed to be what they call gallows humor.
Mrs. Patrick said, “You couldn’t possibly imagine what we have to go through every day, Luther.”
I gave a weak laugh.
The back door opened and the clickety-click of beads rolled out of the car as Shayla slid over to make room for me.
I stuck my head in and looked all around the back of the limo. I mean sure, it seemed like Shayla’s dad was joking, but what if he wasn’t? You never know how weird some people might be. I didn’t need any more drama in my life and if I had to bump around in the backseat with a corpse I’d rather walk.
There were no Ramirezes in there.
I got in.
Well, if nothing else good happened on this trip at least the seat was still warm from Shayla sitting there!
The divider window between the front seat of the car and the backseat started up. Shayla rolled her eyes and said, “No need, Daddy.”
We drove along not talking for a while, her looking out the left window and me looking out the right.
Finally I said, “Hey, Shayla.”
She said, “Hey.”
I said, “Congratulations, your project was bad.”
She looked at me for the first time since I got in.
She said, “Thank you,” turned her head back to look out the window, then whipped it right back around to look at me. “But you know what?” she said. “I’ve decided I’m not gonna allow myself to feel the least bit guilty. I’m just going to look at this as us finally being even.”
“Huh?”
She said, “You know what I mean. Your project was great, Luther. You showed much more imagination and initiative than I ever did. You should’ve won the gold this year. I should’ve won the gold last year, so I guess that makes us close to being even.”
This was another one of those branded moments, but this was one of those rare good ones! Between the warm seat and that comment, this ride home in a hearse was something I’d be remembering till the end of my life, or for the next four days, which were close to being the same thing.
I was doubly surprised, first because Shayla was out-and-out giving me much respect, and second because it seemed so important to me, it seemed like it made me glow!
Now was my big chance to let her know what my heart was really feeling. Finally I was going to be able to tell her what I’d been practicing on since Mr. X said I should.
I said, “Yeah. Whatever.”
She rolled her eyes again and looked back out the left window. I looked back out the right. I saw my reflection in the glass and got the third surprise of my ride in the Death Mobile. Here I was, pretty much a walking dead man, but I was grinning like the biggest fool in the world!
After the Munster Mobile let me off at the home I peeked through the window of the dayroom. Cool! Everyone was watching TV and no one had their noses plugged. After I checked on the Crew I headed down to my room.
Chester X was reading the newspaper.
“Hey, Mr. X.”
“Well, did you do it, did you win again? By that expression I’d say someone lobbed another grenade at Luther T. Farrell’s confidence.”
“No, Mr. X, it went good. I won the three-peat, but I tied with Shayla Patrick.”
“Great! Are we going to have a special ceremony to hang that third medal?”
“I won’t get it until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“That’s why you’re looking so down?”
“No. The Sarge found out what my project was on and gave me my four days’ notice.”
“Your what?”
“My four days’ notice. I got until she gets back from Washington to pack my stuff.”
“Mercy! That’s gotta be some kind of record, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anything less than two weeks’ notice before, on anything.”
Mr. X started counting off on his fingers. “Not on getting fired, not on getting evicted, not on even getting axed by your woman, usually you get a lot more time than that. No, four days is surely some kind of record.”
“Well, I got a plan. I don’t want you to get your hopes up but I think you might be involved.”
“Really? You aren’t thinking about …” From the tone of his voice you could hear his hopes rising.
“Like I said, Mr. X, I’ve got to do some investigating before I say anything.”
“Luther,” he said, “you don’t get to be my age by being impatient. I know you’re going to do the right thing! I knew you were too smart to take this forever. And don’t you think for a minute that I don’t know what would happen if I was in this home without you looking over me.”
I ignored his try to make me feel guilty. “Mr. X, after what I did I don’t think ‘smart’ and the name Luther T. Farrell belong in the same sentence.”
“Well, how ‘bout a hand of tunk? Maybe if I take some of your money from you it’ll help you forget your problems.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get all this stuff”—I patted the weekly receipts briefcase—“into the bank before it closes. I’m gonna try and find where she’s got my education fund, maybe it’s in something that I can withdraw right away.”
“Don’t you forget, son, I’ve got a little salted away myself. We can live pretty good for a while on that if we’re careful. I can get a job and with all those gorgeous Florida women and their naturally generous Southern nature you’ll be rolling in dough.”
I said, “If I’ve been figuring right I should have at least ninety grand in that account, Mr. X, I think I’ll be OK.”
“You keep me and my little savings in mind anyway.”
The phone rang.
Mr. Foster opened the basement door and yelled down, “Luther, it’s your mom and she doesn’t sound too happy.”
Uh-oh.
I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“What are you still doing there?”
I said, “You said I’ve got four days, who am I supposed to get to look after the Crew if I leave now?”
“You know what I mean. Don’t you play dumb with me, Mr. Lead Crusader. You’d better be there through Monday. I’m talking about why aren’t you at the bank making those deposits?”
“How’m I supposed to get there? Darnell took my keys and my money.”
“Use petty cash and take a cab. Listen,” she said, “I’m calling from the plane. Something told me to call and make sure you got those deposits in. Don’t jerk me around on this, it’s very important you get them to Elaine before the bank closes. I
could lose some houses if this isn’t done in time. Need I say more?”
I couldn’t believe she’d waste money on a plane phone call to remind me to do something I’d been doing for years. And those calls cost about a hundred dollars a minute! But maybe she’d gotten nervous thinking that I’d get revenge on her by deliberately not putting the deposits in.
Hmmm!
I took too long to answer her.
She yelled, which she almost never does, “Need I say more!”
I yelled back, “No!”
“OK,” she said, her usual calm, Darth Vader voice coming back, “OK, I see that your testosterone level has gotten so high that you’re man enough to shout at me, huh? Let me tell you something, you’d better pray that these next four days do something to mellow me out because if they don’t, may God have mercy on your soul.”
She slammed the phone down so hard that I bet the plane’s pilot had to make an announcement about unexpected turbulence and turn on the Fasten Seat Belts sign. I bet a air marshal jumped up with his gun drawn.
I headed up to the office.
Who did she think she was talking to? It’s a good thing she was on that plane because if she was anywhere within thirty miles of Flint I’d hunt her down and lay some real serious pain on her and her little rent-a-thug.
I opened all three of the office’s locks and went in to get the petty cash and the safety deposit key. The key and the petty cash were kept in a Bible inside her desk drawer. She’d always said that if you wanted to hide something from a thief all you had to do was put it in a book, especially a Bible, so she’d had me take a razor blade and hollow out a little secret compartment. I’d sliced out all the way from Genesis to the first parts of Revelations.
I was so mad I snatched at the drawer where she kept the hollow Bible and it flew across the room like a Frisbee. The drawer landed upside down on the floor.
There was a piece of duct tape pressed to the bottom of the drawer. I peeled it back and there was the safety deposit key, stuck in the tape.
This was strange. She forgot to tell me she’d moved the key’s hiding place. So if it hadn’t been for my little temper tantrum how’d she figure I’d get into the safety deposit box?
Maybe I’d just pretend I didn’t find it and couldn’t make those deposits, then we’d see how old Miss Never Make a Mistake liked that.
I turned the drawer over and started putting back all the things that had fallen out.
When I picked up the Bible and took the cash out, there the safety deposit key was in its usual place.
Hmmm, the one that was in the duct tape was probably a spare. I taped the spare key back under the drawer and put the regular one in my pocket.
I got all the Sarge’s other junk back in the drawer and slid it into the desk.
That’s when it hit me. I may be slow, but if you give me enough time I’ll figure most things out.
I took the safety deposit key out of my pocket and looked at the number on the top, V 581.
I pulled the drawer completely out, untaped the key and looked at its number, R 441.
I stood there staring at the keys. This other key could only mean that the Sarge had another safety deposit box that was so secret she even kept it from me!
I always thought that there were whole tons of records that I hadn’t seen and here they were. This secret safety deposit box was probably where she kept my education fund deposit book.
I couldn’t believe it. Not that she had other records— she’s always keeping track of anything that has to do with her money. If there was a way she could get a tax deduction out of it I bet she’d’ve kept track of how many times Mr. Baker farted in 2002.
What was hard to believe was that she’d be so sloppy that I’d find out where she was keeping these records. Maybe she was softening up in her old age. Too bad I wasn’t going to be around to check out the New Improved Compassionate Sarge.
I put both keys in my pocket and slid the drawer back. I picked up the weekly receipts briefcase and redid all three office locks.
It looked like my visit to the bank might be more interesting than I thought.
The cab let me off in front of the bank. As soon as I got in I headed over to the office that had Elaine Jones, Personal Investments Counselor written on the door.
She was looking at a computer screen when I knocked.
She smiled. “Luther, how are you today?”
“I’m fine, thanks, Elaine.”
She went to a safe and got the bank’s key for the safety deposit box. I followed her to a vault and we both put our keys in door number V 581. She slid the drawer out and walked it over to a privacy booth.
She started to close the booth’s door. “Thanks, Elaine.”
“You’re quite welcome. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”
“OK.”
When she’d closed the door I took all of the Sarge’s logbooks and receipt records and put them in their proper folders and logged what I’d done. I got the deposit slips written out for Elaine and closed the box back up.
“I’m all done.” I handed her the slips and the cash.
“Great. Let me get my key, and we’ll see you next week, Luther.”
Not unless you’re planning on visiting the Patrick House of Mortuary.
I slapped my head just like I’d practiced and said, “Ooh! I almost forgot, she wanted me to get into the other box too.” I reached the secret key toward her and held my breath.
“Oh.” She took the key from my hand. “It’s over in the rollaways, I’m going to need your help, Luther.”
“Sure.”
We headed into an area that only had five or six storage boxes. They were all on wheels and the size of the safes that you see in the cartoons.
“We’ll take it into there, Luther, the B room.”
I got behind the box and started pushing it.
Elaine said, “Wow, Luther, you’re quite strong. It usually takes me and Mr. Dixon both to move this one.”
Darnell! It seemed like I was the only one that this secret box was a secret to.
“Uh, yeah, I guess I am. I’ve been hitting the weights a little lately.”
We horsed the box into the room.
“Thanks, Elaine.”
I closed the door and held my breath. I don’t know why but my hands were actually shaking as I put my key in next to the one that Elaine had put in.
I took a deep breath and opened the safety deposit safe’s door.
No poisonous gas, no genie of death, not even a corpse that the Sarge and Darnell were waiting to ditch once the coast was clear.
Just a pile of folders, some bankbooks, a metal box and a bunch of the same ledger books that she had me make entries in every week.
I started with the metal box.
Bingo! It had a little over $50,000 in fifties and hundreds, and they looked and felt real. I put them back in the exact same order I’d found them.
Then I started with the folder on top.
Inside it were the titles to the Sarge’s Benz, the pickup truck, the cube van, the snowplow and a certain brand-new white-on-white-in-white Riviera, along with the power of attorney forms she’d signed over to me. I could understand the Benz, the pickup, the cube van and the plow, but Darnell’s Rivy Dog?
When I saw that the title was in the Sarge’s name it all got clear. No wonder Darnell Dixon was making minimum wage but could afford a new Riviera every two years, she was buying them for him!
I couldn’t believe it! But maybe this was part of some deal they’d worked out, maybe it was like me getting all my wages put in the education fund instead of in my hand.
The next folder had FNL written on it. I could tell from the columns and numbers inside that that stood for Friendly Neighbor Loans. The names of the people who’d borrowed money were all in initials, but I could figure a lot of them out.
Next to the names of the people who’d had problems repaying their loans in what the Sarge called a
timely fashion were the initials D.D. These had to be the poor broke-fingered, banged-up-kneecapped, bloody-nosed folks that she’d turned over to the Darnell Dixon “I Bet Your Trifling Soul Won’t Be Late Again” Collection Agency.
Two lines in the ledger were highlighted in yellow. One was from a couple years ago and had the initials P.T. and the number 1500, and the other one was dated from exactly a year ago and had the initials B.S. and the number 1700 written next to it. In a red pen the word FORGIVEN was written through both of the lines.
B.S. had originally borrowed $1200 but had let the interest run it up to $1700.
So this was how much my victory in last year’s science fair had cost. B.S. had to be Ms. Scott, she was on the hook to the Sarge. The Sarge had stole the science fair results by letting Ms. Scott not pay her loan back. I felt like I’d been gut-punched.
No wonder I was nervous about opening this box. The P.T. must’ve been for Peter Thompson, the guy from the Secretary of State’s office.
The next three folders had the deeds to what looked like fifty houses in Flint. The first folder had ACTIVE printed across the front of it. Inside were all the houses that she was still collecting payments for.
The second folder had a big X written across the front. Inside of it were all the houses that she’d let go for taxes or that the city had demolished, including Marcel Marx and Poofy’s house.
The next folder had the deeds to the three group homes.
The next folder had D.D. in big blue letters across the front of it. Inside were the deeds to ten or eleven houses. I peeped out what was happening real quick from the addresses. At least six of them were the houses that Mr. Baker, the Human Torch, had been transferred to. And all of them had gone up in flames.
I restacked the folders just like they’d been when I took them out. No need for the Sarge to know I’d busted her.
I started riffling through her bankbooks, trying to keep a running total of the balances. It’s funny how a couple of twenty thousands here and a couple of forty thousands there add up real quick. I finally lost track. I couldn’t believe how much money she had off the books. I couldn’t believe how cheap she was being with my crew, with all the other aides and with me.
Bucking the Sarge Page 17