Geezer Paradise

by Robert Gannon

  "I see you've had trouble paying your bill in the past, Mister McGee." She had a smoker's voice. "And, as you know, you're payments are in arrears at the present time."

  "Well, sometimes it's hard trying to live on a pension," I whined.

  "That may be true," Mister McGee, but that isn't the Electric Company's fault, is it?"

  "No, I suppose not," I said. "But I can pay half of the bill today, and the rest of it in two weeks when I get my check. Then I'll be almost caught up."

  "No Mister Mc Gee. Then you'll owe half of your last bill and the next bill on top of that." Then she proceeded to stare me down. She didn't know who she was dealing with. I've stared down the best of them. It turned into a Mexican Standoff. Then she threw me a curve ball. She put her tongue under her lower plate and pushed it up so it sat on her lower lip. It distracted me so much I forgot my list of excuses. She wasn't playing fair. I was about to plead for more time, when she slid her lower plate back and popped her top plate onto her lower lip. I almost cracked.

  She returned her teeth to their proper place and said, "Mister McGee, you've been making partial payments for almost a year and you keep falling further behind," she said.

  "I understand," I said, "But I . . ." She popped both plates together onto her bottom lip. The effect was so startling my mind went blank. I couldn't think. Knowing I was out-matched, I reached for my checkbook and wrote a check for the full amount. It wouldn't leave me with much to live on for the next two weeks, but I just couldn't take any more. I had heard stories about elderly people living on peanut butter sandwiches for weeks at a time. If they could do it, I could do it, too. And if I suffered a little brain damage because of it, nobody would notice the difference.

  I handed her the check. "There you are," I said. As I got up to leave she asked, "Are you married, Mister McGee?"

  "Yes," I said, a little too loud. "Two months now. Still on our honeymoon."

  I got out of there as fast as my arthritic legs could carry me.

  When I got home the house was warm, but the air conditioning was running full speed. I bent down to feel the air coming out of the floor vent--warm as spit. Another bill I didn't need. The day was heating up quickly. I went around back and listened to the unit. The blower fan was working but the compressor was silent. Willey came over to find out what was wrong.

  "The compressor isn't running, Barney."

  "I know. It's the same problem I had before."

  "You need am new unit," Willey opined. The heating and cooling systems are inside the same unit.

  "Do you have three thousand bucks you can lend me?" I asked.

  Willey said, "If I had three thousand bucks I wouldn't talk to you." Then Willey bent down and pushed a button. The compressor roared to life. I was saved. Willey looked past me. "Who took your foundation apart?"

  A half-dozen of my foundation blocks were scattered across the lawn. "The Night Stalker" was scribbled in red crayon on the side or the house! "Who the hell did that?" I asked.

  Willey went over and squatted down to peer through the opening in the blocks. "Something's stuck to your floor," he said.

  "What's stuck to my floor?" I knelt down and looked through the opening. Sure enough, there was something there. Willey scurried through the opening and crawled toward whatever it was.

  I heard Willey say, "Holy Shit." He had my attention.

  "What? What is it?" I heard a ripping sound and then Willey was crawling back towards me with the thing in his hand. He handed it out to me and I stood there speechless. "It's a bomb," I finally said. It was four sticks of dynamite wrapped with duct tape, with a hunk of gray putty on top. There were wires coming out of the putty that were connected to a small black box that was taped underneath it all.

  "It was duct taped to the floor right under where your bed is," Willey said. "If that thing went off last night you'd be nothing but a grease spot."

  I had to sit down, so I sat on top of the air conditioning unit. "What if it goes off now," I asked, my hands shaking. Willey squinted at the bomb. Suddenly he grabbed the wires and pulled them out of the gray putty. I jumped.

  "There," he said. "That thing's safe as a kitten now." I sat there sputtering, trying to catch my breath.

  "That gray stuff is called plastique," Willey said. "That sets off the whole shebang. They'd probably use a cell phone to trigger it. You're damn lucky we found it or you'd be in the obit page tomorrow." He wasn't helping my nerves any.

  Willey took the bomb away from me and said, "Come on, Barney. Let's go to my house until we figure out who did this, but I'm pretty sure Flaherty was behind it." I didn't say anything as Willey took me by the arm and walked me over to his house.

  Willey's house is just like mine, a bedroom in the back, then a bathroom off the hall leading to the kitchen/dining area, and the living room in front. It has the same carport on the right side and the same Florida Room on the left (a Florida room is what we call a sun-room up north.)

  We sat at Willey's kitchen table. Willey took two beers out of the fridge and popped one for me. I guess he figured I was shaking too hard to do it myself.

  "You're the first person I've known to have a bomb planted under his house," Willey cackled. I gave him the evil eye. The bomb was sitting in the middle of the table.

  "Should we call the police?" I asked. Willey and I looked at each other for a second, then we both shook our heads. "No," I said. "I guess that's not a good idea, not since we broke in." But how are we going to live here if somebody is putting bombs under our houses? Do you think Flaherty is behind it?"

  "I can't think of anybody else who wants us dead, can you?"

  "No, I guess not."

  "You know, Barney, I've been thinking about buying a gun. I think Mary has the right idea. We should be able to protect ourselves. What do you think?"

  "I think if you get a gun I'll move to the other side of the park."

  "Too bad you don't have a dog," Willey said. "It could bark and let you know when somebody's messing around outside your house."

  "You know they don't allow dogs in the park," I said.

  Willey said, "They would if you told them it could save your life." I couldn't believe what he was saying.

  "If I tell them somebody is planting bombs under my house they'll run me out of here on a rail."

  "How about you get a small dog and keep it in the house."

  "Wouldn't the neighbors hear it barking, even from inside the house?"

  "Yeah, I guess so," Willey said. I felt like a fish in a barrel, just waiting for somebody to shoot me.

  Willey jumped to his feet. "I've got it," he said. "Come on lets go," and he headed for the door. I followed him. We jumped into the Wrangler.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "To see my cousin, Opal," Willey said.

  "Why?"

  "Cause we're going to borrow Oscar."

  "Who's Oscar?"

  Willey was playing with the radio. "Oscar's her monkey."

  "Huh?"

  "Well, actually he's a chimp, but everybody calls him a monkey."

  I guess that explained it.

  We started off just as the daily fifteen minute summer downpour was beginning. In the summer months the clouds roll in from the Gulf and pile up until mid-afternoon. Then we have a fifteen minute cloudburst, followed by the sun again. Up north they call them cloudbursts. Down here they call them frog stranglers. Florida thunder storms are unlike any others. The rain doesn't just come pelting down. First it comes roaring in from one side, then it shifts and roars in from the other side--and then it swirls around in circles just to show off.

  Florida is also the lightning capital of the world, and it puts on a free show every afternoon in the summer.

  Willey said, "Head north on 19 and I'll tell you where to turn off." For a minute we drove in silence, listening to the rain on the soft top.

  "Are you going to tell me why we're getting a monkey?" I asked.

  "He's not just a monkey," Wi
lley said. "He's a watch-monkey. If anything is moving around outside, he starts chattering like . . . well, like a monkey. The best part is he doesn’t have to go outside like a dog. He's toilet trained. He squats on the toilet seat and does his business. Even flushes it himself."

  "You're pulling my leg."

  "No," Willey said. "You can see for yourself."

  "I don't want to see it."

  Fifteen minutes later the rain was just ending when we pulled up in front of a small, run down house on a dirt road. Willey got out. "I'll be right back," he said and headed to the sagging front porch. There was a rusting old Plymouth up on blocks on the side of the house. It was complimented by a rusting old washing machine, and piles of stuff. The house sat in a sea of knee-high weeds. And, of course, there was a satellite dish on the roof. There was no doubt in my mind that the house could contain a monkey. I sat there and wondered about Willey's mental health.

  Five minutes later the screen door opened and Willey came out holding a three foot tall monkey by the hand. A large woman came out behind them. She had a face that could stop a speeding freight train. That would be cousin opal. She handed Willey a plastic bag, filled I guessed with the little animal's clothes. The monkey was wearing faded red shorts--I guessed he didn't have a tail--with red suspenders, and red sneakers. His mother color coordinated his clothes. The woman waved to me and I waved back.

  "Bye, bye, Oscar baby," the woman said to the monkey. "Momma's gonna' miss you, sweetness." I figured she really liked the little guy. Willey opened the Wrangler door and the monkey jumped into the back seat. I looked back and said, "Hello, Oscar." Oscar gave me a big monkey smile. I smiled back, but I thought he looked a little crazy. "Does he bite?" I asked.

  "Naw, he's as tame as a kitten," Willey said. I thought that was a good thing, since he had big teeth. Willey waved goodbye to Opal and we headed back to 19.

  "Why does your cousin have a monkey?" I asked.

  "It was her late husband, Earl's, monkey. Opal likes to go out to bingo three nights a week. Opal got Oscar to keep Earl company. They would watch television together and drink beer. That reminds me, stop somewhere so we can pick up some beer." I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, where nothing was real. We were almost home when Oscar started chattering and holding his crotch.

  "He has to pee," Willey announced. "Pull into that rest stop up ahead." I pulled up to the restrooms and we all got out. Willey said, "Barney, take Oscar and find an empty stall for him. I have to go myself," and off he went.

  "Wait," I said. But it was too late. Willey was already through the door. I felt like an idiot holding the monkey's hand. But the people took to Oscar and smiled at him. The little ham smiled his monkey smile back at them. I took Oscar into the men's room and opened a stall door for him. He jumped onto the toilet seat, pulled his shorts down and squatted. I closed the door to give him some privacy, although I didn't think it mattered to Oscar.

  A man walked by and said, "Mister, that's one ugly kid you got there."

  "He takes after his mother," I said.

  When we got back to Willey's place, Willey sat Oscar down in a recliner and turned the TV on for him. Then Willey opened a beer for him. Soon Oscar was watching a raucous game show and smiling from ear to ear.

  "What does he eat?" I asked.

  "Mostly vegetables and fruit, but he'll chomp down on a cheese burger if he can get one. He won't be any trouble at all, you'll see. In the meantime you can stay here, Barney, until things calm down. You can sleep on the pull-out couch.

  That way there will be three of us keeping our eyes and ears open."

  I had parked my Wrangler in Willey's carport so we could keep an eye on it. I went over to my place to pick up my shaving gear and some clothes. When I got back to Willey's place, Willey was watching the game show with Oscar, and grinning like a monkey himself. They were on the same wavelength. I wondered if Oscar had fleas--I wondered if Willey had fleas. I missed my little tin house already.

  Later, Willey asked me to drive him to work because Julio was out sick. Willey doesn't have a car so he carpools with Julio, who works the same hours as Willey.

  "Do we have to take Oscar with us?" I asked.

  "No, he's fine watching TV. Just give him a banana when you get back, and he'll be happy." I dropped Willey off at Frank's, and when I got back to Willey's place Oscar was out cold in front of the blaring TV. The end table held three empty beer cans. Evidently, Oscar could open the refrigerator and pop open his own beer cans. I was starting to wonder about Oscar's abilities as a watch--monkey. I went back to my place to get Randy Wayne White's book and settled down in Willey's Florida Room to read. I must have fallen asleep, because before I knew it the clock said midnight--time to pick Willey up. I closed the book and pulled myself out of the chair. Oscar was still asleep in his chair. I left him there and went to pick Willey up.

  When we got home Oscar was still out cold in his chair. "Are you sure he's a watch monkey?" I asked.

  "Yeah, he's a crackerjack house guard. Opal swears by him."

  "Are you sure she doesn't swear at him?"

  Later that night I was asleep on Willey's fold-out couch. I woke up and saw Oscar staggering towards the refrigerator in pursuit of more beer. It was the middle of the night. How much beer could a three foot tall monkey drink? I got out of bed and followed Oscar on his boozy trip to the kitchen. Oscar pulled the refrigerator door open, and I slammed it shut. "You've had enough beer for one night," I told him.

  Oscar looked up at me and tried to focus his bloodshot eyes. I knew he couldn’t remember who I was. Then Oscar pulled the refrigerator open again, and I slammed it shut again.

  Oscar screeched, "Ew, ew, ew, ew, ee, ee, ee, ee, and bit me on the leg. That sent me hopping around the kitchen, holding my leg and swearing. While I was busy doing that, the little ape opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of beer. Then he ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Cute.

  "I'll get you, you little rodent," I yelled at the bathroom door. From the bathroom came, Eee, eee, eee. Then I heard a beer can pop open. I climbed back into my couch-bed and rubbed my leg. "Go ahead," I yelled. "Knock yourself out. See if I care." The bedroom door open opened and Willey came shuffling out.

  "What the hell is going on out here?"

  "That little rodent bit me when I tried to stop him from getting more beer,"

  Willey smiled, then he started to cackle. "Hee, hee, hee," and went back to bed.

  "I'm glad you think it's funny," I yelled at the bedroom door.

  I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. I wanted to go back to my own house, where there were no drunken monkeys. I wanted my life to be peaceful again. A week ago all I had to worry about was being evicted. Now I had somebody trying to kill me to, and I would probably still get evicted.

  Where were those Golden Years people were supposed to retire to? And where could I go to ask for my money back? I had seen this movie before. It was called, Hard Times.

  ****

  It were the dead of night an the Night Stalker was on the loose again. His last mission was a complete success. He drove McGee outt'a his trailer. Now there was jest one lef ta go, A Polski named, Willey, who lived next door to McGee. The Night Stalker didn't carry a bomb this time. Now he had what they called a, Molotov Cocktail. It were a lot cheaper to put together. Jest a empty whiskey bottle, he had lots'a them. Pour some gasoline into it and stuff a rag into the top.

  He worked his way ta the side of Willey's trailer, lit the gasoline soaked rag stickin' outt'a the top, and threw the whole thing at the trailer. It hit with a thud, but the bottle didn't break. Some of the gas splashed on the trailer's wall and flames were leaping up. There was no time to write his Night Stalker greeting on the trailer. It were good enough. Now he hadda git outt'a there. He heard loud voices from inside the trailer--jest the reaction he wanted. He moved into the shadows an' headed home. If that didn’t work he'd try the snakes. That ought'a do it.

  ****

/>   It was somewhere around 4:am when I woke up with a start. I had dreamed I fell off my roof backwards wearing nothing but my underwear. I used to dream I fell off my roof naked. Maybe I'm getting better. I was almost back to sleep when I heard a thud. Somebody had thrown something against the side of the house. I jumped up and looked out the window. Flames were leaping up from below.

  "Willey," I yelled. "We're on fire!" Willey came running out of the bedroom, and we both ran outside. The air smelled of raw gasoline. A Molotov Cocktail had been thrown against the wall, but it hadn't exploded. Willey came running with a garden hose and we doused the flames.

  "It looks like Flaherty is at it again," I said. We looked around to see if it had

  awakened any of our neighbors. All the windows were dark.

  "That does it," Willey said. "It’s just too dangerous for us to stay here anymore. In the morning we'll move over to McNight's place. He's in the hospital. He fell and broke a hip, and he probably won't be coming home for a while. His place is next to Mary's and she has the key."

  "Sounds good to me," I said.

  When we got back inside, Oscar was snoring in his chair. He had slept through the whole thing. "I'll bring him back to Opal in the morning," Willey said. "He's useless."

  It was hard getting back to sleep after being attacked like that. We were hoping whoever did it wouldn't come back and try again. Daylight was starting to come through the windows before I fell back to sleep.

  In the morning we looked at the damage. The wall was slightly blackened, but the metal siding had kept the fire from spreading. We were lucky. We had a quick breakfast, then we loaded Oscar into the Wrangler and drove up 19 North to Opal's place. Fifteen minutes later we turned onto the dirt road that led to Opal's house. Willey got out and took Oscar by the hand. He had Oscar's bag of clothes in his other hand. As Willey and Oscar neared the house the screen door flew open and Opal appeared on the sagging wooden porch with a shotgun.

  "Hold it right there William Jefferson Pulaski. You ain't bringin' that animal back here. He's yours now, so take'm and git outt'a here."