A Gift of Time

by Merritt, Jerry

  “Then we’ll just have to go back. But I don’t think it’ll be a problem. What’s the chance of needing the same tubes again today?”

  Arlie, however, had become obsessive about having all the proper tools and parts when we arrived at someone’s house to fix their radio. “Yeah, well we needed two 12AX7s last Friday and only had one.”

  Arlie had memorized the tube types and prided himself on knowing the first number was the tube’s heating element voltage and the last number indicated the number of internal elements. He also knew the 12AX7 was actually two 6AX7s combined into one tube and that it was used mostly in audio amplification circuits. Neither one of us had a clue what the AX meant but when I conjectured the A might mean it was for audio, Arlie added that to his compendium of tube knowledge, as well. Generally by the time I had fixed their radio Arlie had educated the owner on the vacuum tube nomenclature as we replaced each tube. It seemed to build confidence in our customers that we appeared so knowledgeable and made what we were doing seem beyond anything the owner should ever attempt on their own. Arlie mentioned high voltage frequently.

  When one old geezer conjectured that, if a kid could do it, he should have bought the tubes and replaced them himself and saved the five bucks, I feigned a high voltage shock a second later that even scared Arlie for a moment or two. When I got up off the floor, I noticed the old duffer had a much less confident look on his face. Arlie added, “You were lucky that time, mister. He usually pees his pants real bad after a good shock.”

  But today Arlie was of a single mind and insisted on riding back to my garage to pick up two more power tubes before our three o’clock appointment. I hadn’t finished my hamburger yet, so Arlie lit off in the mid-day heat without me. “Back in twenty, Cage. Just wait here and finish your lunch.” And off he went weaving down the road.

  He was not yet out of sight when an agreeable looking, middle-aged gentleman with silvery, swept-back hair and a golden tan on his broad face crunched easily across the oyster shell parking area to my table. “Aren’t you one of the kids who fixes radios and TVs?” His light gray summer suit and blue eyes gave him a look twenty degrees cooler than it actually was.

  I finished sucking on my milkshake and set it down. “Yes, sir.” I fumbled around in my back pocket and handed him one of our business cards.

  “Excellent. I thought it was you.” His teeth flashed white behind an expansive smile as he slid into the seat Arlie had just vacated. “My TV went out a couple days ago and I’m hoping to get it fixed before The Ed Sullivan Show tonight. I can’t get any repairmen from Pensacola to come out here. So …, I’ll give you five dollars extra if you can get it going for me this afternoon.”

  “I have to be honest with you, mister, we haven’t actually had a TV to repair yet so this will be our first.”

  “Not a problem. It’s broken now so you can’t make it any worse. Even if you can’t fix it, I’ll pay you for your trip out.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to be at a meeting in a half hour but I can run you out to my house and leave you to work on it. I notice you have your tool kit there ready to go. I’ll be back by two so you’ll have a couple of hours.” He looked around then leaned toward me. “My place is just on the edge of town.”

  “Okay, we’ll give it a try. My partner should be back in about ten or fifteen minutes with some spare tubes.”

  “I don’t have time to wait, though. You can move your bicycle around back so nobody will steal it and I’ll meet you back there with my car. I’ll have you back here by two.”

  On my first time through I might have gone with him. He looked harmless enough. Clean cut. Professional. And I would get five bucks even if I couldn’t fix the TV. But that was then. Suddenly this didn’t feel quite right.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t run off on my partner.” I took another bite of my burger.

  “Okay, kid. It’s easy money. But have it your way.” He pushed himself up from the seat with an impatient sniff and sauntered back across the oyster shells to his flashy, red Cadillac convertible.

  As his car disappeared into the distance, a dark sedan bounced into the parking lot and crunched to a stop next to my table throwing up a pall of white dust. I was really apprehensive now and stood up in case I had to run. Two men climbed out and flipped open badges. “Special Agent Felix, Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the closest man said. “It’s okay.”

  Still wary, I sat back down and sucked up the last of my milkshake with a loud rattle as the straw hit air.

  “You know what that means in French?” Special Agent Felix asked.

  “Empty,” I deadpanned. It was an old joke when I was in high school. It must have been a real knee-slapper in 1954. Special Agent Felix looked like I had just snatched a cookie out of his hand.

  “Smartass kid,” he grumbled as he slid into the seat the silver-haired man had just vacated. “Mind telling me who that was you were just talking to?”

  “Some pervert, would be my guess.” It was like I had just returned his cookie. He looked up knowingly at his partner then leaned in closer with an expectant air.

  “How so?”

  I related the conversation.

  “So he told you he lived on the edge of town and wanted to take you to his house to fix his television set?”

  “Pretty much. It didn’t feel right when I told him I had to wait for my partner and he said it was either go with him right then or lose five bucks.”

  “Good work, kid.” He turned to his partner. “This ought to be enough to finally get a search warrant. He doesn’t have a house here in town that I know of. He lives up in Atmore. I’ll call it in. You get the kid’s name and address.”

  Arlie rolled up about that time all sweaty and out of breath. The agent got Arlie’s name and address too.

  Chapter 20

  I followed the papers eagerly over the next few weeks but saw no mention of anyone being arrested that fit the man’s description. Finally the whole incident faded into the background of passing days until the end of August. Arlie and I were lunching at our usual table at the White Rabbit discussing whether the hamburgers had put any weight on us. I told Arlie he looked heavier than he had at the beginning of summer. He bunched up his biceps for me.

  “Yeah, definitely,” I lied. But at least his face didn’t look quite so drawn anymore and he smiled a lot now. Then I spotted the man across the parking lot. “That’s the guy over there, Arlie.” I nodded in his direction. “The one the FBI was after. Wanted me to fix his TV.”

  The man noticed us watching him and waved. He was sitting with a well-dressed woman and didn’t seem the least perturbed I had sicced the FBI on him. Or maybe he didn’t know. Maybe they had checked him out and he was clean. Maybe he did own a house on the edge of town as well as in Atmore. I had been counting on him being the cause of Joey’s mysterious disappearance on the first day of school. And that was only two weeks away. I was a little disappointed seeing him again. It had been quite satisfying to think my plan to come back and save Joey had worked merely by changing things enough that his abductor was caught well before he could act. Well, nothing was ever that easy. Now here he was again. I glanced up and down the road for an undercover car but there was nothing. This guy was flitting around free as a bird.

  I shrugged off the setback and returned my attention to my burger and fries.

  “Holy crap, Cage. Here he comes.” Arlie was on the verge of panic.

  I looked up. The man was striding easily across the parking area toward us. “It’s okay. He can’t do anything here in public. Just calm down.”

  “Still haven’t found anyone to fix my TV. Same deal as before if you boys want to give it a shot.” Arlie and I sat in silence as his toothy grin glinted down at us. “I can’t ride you over,” he continued. “I have to show my client a house down in Pensacola. But I can give you directions to it. The front door is unlocked. I’ll give you five bucks now just for your trouble and, if you fix it, pay you the rest later.”

&
nbsp; His affability was disarming, and I hated to turn him down again even though I knew better. I figured we could reconnoiter the house and leave if things didn’t look right.

  “Okay. But we still haven’t worked on a TV yet so no promises.”

  ***

  We rolled to a stop in the middle of the highway in the late-August heat. The house was right where the man said it would be. The rambling, white, one-story waited for us in ominous seclusion under an isolated stand of live oak a hundred yards off the road. It looked abandoned. An expansive grassy field surrounded it all completing the sense of utter desolation. Arlie and I coasted down the long, sandy drive but pulled up short of the house. I leaned my bike against an oak.

  “You stay here, Arlie. I’ll go check things out.”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s both get the heck out of here right now.”

  “We already took the man’s five bucks.”

  “Well, just leave it on the porch. I don’t like the looks of this.”

  I didn’t either and would have followed Arlie’s excellent advice except for one crucial detail. My whole reason for coming back was to save Joey. And I still suspected this guy might be the cause of his upcoming disappearance in a few weeks. The only problem I could see was the man getting there ahead us and lying in wait somewhere inside. But hadn’t the FBI already checked him out and moved on? I recalled a refrain from a song not yet written about a man with a gun and paranoia running deep. Damping down my overactive imagination, I turned my attention to a garage on the far side of the house. The doors were closed. If he was actually already here, his Cadillac would be hidden inside.

  “I’ll go check the garage first to see if his car’s in there.” Listen to yourself, I thought. You know this is not something you should be dragging Arlie into. You know there’s probably something not right going on here and it’s your problem; not Arlie’s. You’re supposed to be looking out for Arlie. Like you were supposed to be looking out for Joey the first time through. But I had now crossed the yard and stood peering between the cracks in the doors into the empty garage. There was quite obviously no car in there.

  I turned and searched up and down the highway for any sign of life. The road was deserted. A few crows flew overhead cawing as they passed. Other than that, there was dead silence. Across the way Arlie stood with his hands on his handlebar grips. I nodded to him then crossed back to the house and climbed up onto the porch.

  The front door pushed open easily. After a few seconds, I stepped inside. It was as quiet as the outside and musty as though no one lived there, though a child’s cap sat on a small table in the foyer. A television stared at me with cyclopean detachment from the family room near the back of the house just where the man had said it would be. I went back outside and motioned for Arlie to bring the tube caddy. He heaved out a deep sigh and lifted the caddy out of the handlebar basket.

  “You stay here by the front door and keep an eye out for the Cadillac while I check all the rooms to make sure he’s not hiding in here somewhere.” At that comment Arlie looked like he was about to bolt, but I told him I needed someone to keep watch for me. He finally calmed down.

  Arlie stood in the foyer dutifully peering out the front door, as I set out through the house. I checked under the beds, in the closets, behind the doors. When I got to the bathroom, I noticed the shower curtain pulled closed across the tub. That brought me up short. I had seen this exact setting in too many movies. There was usually someone standing behind the curtain. I stood stock still listening for nearly a minute but could detect no breathing sounds. Finally, I approached and, heart pounding, snatched the curtain back with a loud screech as the metal hangers slid across the support rod.

  I had to snort out loud at my fears. There was no one there. Now assured my concerns were groundless, I returned to the foyer where Arlie remained on guard.

  “Okay, we’re good to go.” I grabbed the tube caddy and headed into the living room. “Let’s turn the TV on and see what the problem is.” I clicked the on switch under the Sylvania logo. A low hum of charging capacitors emanated from the console as the thing warmed up and a half minute later a perfect picture appeared on the screen. I turned the volume up and we listened to Bucky Beaver sing a jingle about Ipana Toothpaste. The thing worked perfectly. Then the sharp, metallic clack of the front door being locked reverberated through the house. We both turned around.

  “You boys forgot to check the foyer closet.”

  His former affable grin had transformed into a predatory rictus. He licked his lips as his right hand rose up and Arlie and I found ourselves staring down the barrel of a large, black pistol. Arlie’s reaction was immediate. He screamed and streaked out through the back of the house scattering lamps, vases, and chairs in his wake. Seeing the man’s astonishment at so unexpected a reaction, I took off in the other direction before he could recover. Ducking into a dark hallway I knew led past the bedrooms, I followed it back into the living room. For the moment I was alone. Arlie still crashed around somewhere in the opposite end of the house.

  I crept over into the foyer only to find the front door latch needed a key to unlock it.

  From the back of the house the man bellowed, “Settle down,” then, incongruously, fired a shot. Arlie screamed again and the pandemonium increased as he careened through the house in his push toward the front.

  With no better plan coming to mind and the immediate need to do something, I scrambled back into the living room and grabbed up an ottoman to throw through the front window. To my dismay, it bounced off the glass and rolled across the floor. I picked it up and threw it harder. The shattering of glass reverberated off the walls as Arlie hurtled into the living room wild with fear. A moment later the man charged into the room directly toward me. I was almost out the window when a large hand grabbed me and hauled me back inside. I glimpsed the pistol coming down just before a flash of white light went off somewhere deep in my brain.

  ***

  A throbbing pain above my left eye welcomed me back to the real world. I was afraid to open my eyes for a time. I just lay still listening for any sound that might indicate Arlie was still alive but heard only the man’s breathing. When I finally cracked one eye open, yellow shafts of sunlight streaming in through the rear windows illuminated the man poised on the edge of a chair not three feet from me. When he noticed my open eye, he leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring down at me. From the low angle of the light, I figured at least an hour must have passed. Maybe more. Holding my forehead, I struggled into a sitting position.

  “Where’s Arlie?” I mumbled stupidly.

  “Your accomplice? Gone. Took off like a scalded dog.”

  That seemed to clear my head a bit. “He got away?” I couldn’t believe it. But I could hardly believe I was still alive, either.

  “Clean away.” The man leaned back in his chair with an air of confidence I thought unwarranted given that Arlie had somehow escaped. “You boys never should have tried to rob me. And you tore up my house something awful.”

  So, that was it. He had developed a cover story. Accuse us of burglarizing his home.

  “Yep. You boys really had me fooled with your radio and TV repair swindle. Fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

  I finally regained enough of my faculties to realize sitting there playing twenty questions with the man wasn’t my best option at the moment. I needed to get out of the house while the opportunity was apparently still open. Before he developed a plan C. I struggled to my feet, wavered about for a second, then staggered toward the front door. His chair creaked as he rose up behind me.

  The front door was unlocked again, but I heard a car pulling up in the front yard. What now, I wondered? As I opened the door in preparation for the run of my life, Old Man Quintin climbed out of his black Packard brandishing a double-barreled shotgun. Arlie scrambled out of the rider’s side as I wobbled across the porch and down the stairs.

  “Cage, you okay?” Then Arlie’s eyes shifted from me to
the porch behind me. I turned to see the man coming down the steps.

  “Hey, I can expla …”

  The blast nearly deafened me.

  The man’s head exploded in vivid, Kodachrome brilliance right there in the clear, afternoon sun. His headless body reeled forward down the steps following its own momentum until it splatted at my feet like a wet mattress. Blood pulsed feebly from open neck arteries as his heart thumped out its last few beats. I turned back to Arlie who had his hands over his mouth. Then to Mr. Quintin whose low-set eyes still sighted down the barrels of his shotgun at the body. Smoke curled up from both muzzles. Then I swung back toward the body only to leap reflexively away from a large blue eye staring up at me from the dry sand just beyond the reach of the man’s outstretched fingers.

  “Cager, get your bike and get out of here. I got to clean this mess of yours up now. And Cager.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You keep your mouth shut about this. You hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 21

  The next morning the paper ran a front-page spread on a house fire east of town. Total loss but no one was home at the time. I leaned back in my desk chair and puzzled over why Mr. Quintin had handled the mess I had gotten us into the way he did.

  I understood him rushing out there with a gun. Arlie must have been pushing him to save me. But he didn’t have to kill the man. Yet he had shot him almost in cold blood. I didn’t recall seeing the black pistol being waved about. Mr. Quintin could have just held him at gunpoint and had Arlie go inside and call the police. But, then, I didn’t recall seeing any phone lines running to the man’s house. Maybe Mr. Quintin had noticed that too and didn’t want to risk trying to haul the man in his car to the sheriff’s office. Or maybe he was just a man of action. Shoot first and ask questions later. Tripod was evidence backing that hypothesis. Or maybe he just panicked. But whatever the reason, Mr. Quintin had come through for me. It was certainly not anything I would have expected from him. And it was definitely something the FBI had failed to do. So I owed it to him to keep my mouth shut, as he had so succinctly put it. I realized, too, that, as with Aunt Cealie, I had prejudged someone before I got to know them better. The Cadillac man had needed killing merely as a public service and Mr. Quintin had graciously obliged.