Streams Of Yesterday

by W.H. Harrod

I arrived back at the register after having pumped exactly five gallons of gas into old Widow Diggins’ 1978 Buick La Sabra with my ears still ringing. She’d given me her two cents worth regarding, what she considered, the outrageous price of gasoline. “Why I recall buying gas from this station for seventy-five cents a gallon,” she screeched in indignation. I said nothing because I knew by this time that it made no difference that I represented the last link in a very long chain of big oil company lackeys. I was the unfortunate one who completed the final criminal act that had begun far away in the Middle East when some big oil company geologist pointed to a spot in the sand and said, “Drill here.” Nor would it do any good to suggest she might consider getting rid of her almost forty year old pile of rolling pig iron, averaging less than ten miles per gallon. One of today’s newer, fuel efficient small cars could easily fit into the area under the front hood now occupied by a gas hogging, 400 horse power V8.

  “Have a nice day,” I smiled and said to the not to be placated old crone as she rolled her car door window up in indignation.

  “I see old lady D complimented you on your good work again today,” said a voice from behind. I turned to find Mary June approaching the register, her purse and empty cloth shopping bag in hand. She was ready to leave for the day. “I don’t suppose the Judge mentioned anything to you this morning when he came in for breakfast?” she asked.

  Her questioning me in public regarding our ultra-secretive venture surprised me. I quickly looked around to ensure no one over heard her inquiry. She detected my concern and tried to reassure me no one was listening.

  “Don’t worry. No one is listening or suspects anything. Lighten up. You’ve been walking around here looking guilty for the last week and a half. You don’t joke with the geezers anymore. If you keep acting the way you are, people are going to begin asking questions.” She ended her short analysis of my current paranoid behavior and changed the subject. “By the way, Dom asked me to invite you along the next time I go out for tea. I’m thinking of going out tomorrow evening. What do you think? Are you interested?”

  She was right. I had acted somewhat detached this last week and a half. I decided right then to act more normal. That didn’t mean I’d be going out to her new buddy’s tea parlor anytime soon. Besides, I always came off as an insensitive jerk at polite conversation. As far as I was concerned, admiring more than one ornately designed, porcelain boxy thing over did it.

  “Oh, thanks, but I’m sure I’ve got some work to do around here,” I replied trying hard to deliver my polite refusal in a disappointed tone.

  “Okay,” she responded with a hint of sadness. “Well, you’ve got both my home and cell numbers so just let me know if you need me for anything, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” I said as she headed for the door.

  I stood in place going over my brief encounter with Mary June until another familiar voice announced its presence.

  “You know, you’re kind of dumb for such a smart guy. See you Monday,” said Flo as she breezed by me.

  “Wha…what?” I asked about the time the front door closed behind my other insubordinate subordinate. She was long gone, and I realized I probably did not want to find out what she meant anyway. I don’t know that I was afraid of Flo, but I suspected that somewhere in the back of my mind there resided an unanswered question regarding who would come out on top in a fistfight.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. I reached for it feeling almost glad for the interruption. I knew what Flo referred to, though. She, too, sensed something more than I let on transpired between Mary June and myself— something that scared the hell out of me.

  A little over an hour later, I watched the plant superintendent’s truck pull up out in front of the diner. He’d called earlier to see if I had sometime to talk with him about the developing situation over at the plant in Justice City. I’d said sure, halfway glad for something to turn my attention away from worrying about when the Judge would get back to us. The plant superintendent did not indicate one way or the other relating to whether or not the ESOP idea was a possibility. I’d also gone over in my mind what additional services I might be asked to provide, anticipating they might be looking for more help. I really couldn’t come up with a thing, apart from going to work at the plant in some engineering capacity. But that idea made little sense as I’d intentionally avoided keeping up-to-date with industry innovations. I lagged twenty years behind regarding the new technology as well as production processes. So we’ll just have to wait and see, I said to myself as the plant superintendent exited his truck to come inside.

  “Good morning…or rather, good afternoon, Will,” said the plant superintendent as he came through the door and advanced towards where I awaited his arrival.

  “Afternoon to you, Jack,” I said in reply. “Why don’t you take a seat over there while I get a couple cups of coffee?” I motioned to a table as I headed to the fresh pot I’d put on anticipating his arrival. Returning with two freshly brewed cups of coffee and a pint of real cream, I joined my visitor at the table.

  “I prefer real cream if I’m going to drink coffee,” I said as I poured both cups about three quarters full leaving room for cream and sugar.

  “Well, okay. How are things going over in Justice City?” I asked as I took a seat at the table.

  “Will, I’m happy to report to you that your idea may just end up saving our jobs. Nothing is certain yet, there are still several choke points, but the owner has indicated to the workers’ committee, which I’m chairman of, that he is willing to put the previous sale plan on hold until this new idea is checked out thoroughly. Right at this moment they are planning to meet with a large investment firm out of Kansas City to get things started. While that is happening, the employees are going to get together and vote on whether the majority want to invest their 401k funds to save their jobs. As far as I can tell, not more than a few will vote against the idea. So, it looks like if things come together in Kansas City, your idea is a go.” The plant superintendent’s excitement morphed into giddiness by the time he stopped talking.

  “Excellent, I’m real happy to hear that,” I replied. At the same time I wondered why my visitor didn’t say those same few words to me while he had me on the phone? Hopefully, he didn’t drive all the way over here only to see my relieved facial expression. My instincts, that by now held a sharp edge, told me something else occupied my visitor’s mind. I decided to keep quiet and wait.

  “With this plan of yours looking as if it has real possibilities, Will, we were wondering if you would consider hiring yourself out as our advisor or consultant during this process? If we need somebody we can trust to help us, there’s not another soul within a hundred miles of here that we trust more than you. How about it, Will? Can you see your way to walk with us this last mile if we need more help?” My visitor stopped talking awaiting my response. His earlier excitement was now replaced with one of anticipation.

  I couldn’t talk just then. The lump in my throat, feeling as big as a watermelon, wouldn’t let me. The plainspoken gentleman sitting across from me had no idea how much his words had affected me. A long time had passed since I’d been told by members of the manufacturing industry that I was important, trusted, and best of all, needed. I knew my answer immediately. I just needed time to regain control of my faculties so I could get words to come out of my mouth.

  “You can count on my help,” were the words I mustered in response to his deeply appreciated request.

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Will. A lot of other grateful employees and their families will be, too. I’ll also let the plant owner, Mr. Olson, know you’re going to help which I’m sure he will be pleased to hear. I think he’s pretty impressed with you, also.”

  Later I sat alone in the diner with a slightly different feeling emanating from my stomach. For the first time in a very long time, I felt as if I were a part of something— no longer a mere witness going through the motions. I woul
d have to think about this most unexpected development.

  Deciding to put off the paperwork part of my job until the following day when I planned to come back and get the pastry items prepared for baking Monday morning, I busied myself with the task of closing the diner down for the day. I’d overheard some of the locals mention that both of the state’s flagship universities’ football games were being telecast that afternoon. Although I never considered myself a dedicated fan, I did enjoy watching a game now and then. So that became my plan: to kick back and watch some football and put all the other stuff out of my mind for a while, at least.

  The plan seemed to be working until I turned off the lights in preparation for heading to my apartment. That’s when the phone rang as if timed to start making noise right when I thought I was done for the day. I considered not answering until I remembered it might be from the Judge.

  “Hello,” I said tentatively. By this time, I knew most of the bad news of late came over the phone.

  “Is this Will?” inquired a husky male voice on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, this is Will. Who is this?” I replied knowing full well I should have slammed the receiver down and headed out the door before someone else lassoed me into getting involved in another local issue looming over the town’s future like a sledge hammer.

  “Will, this is Wilbur Likens, the butcher down at the market. Do you remember me? I’m the one you talked to a few weeks back about getting you some less spicy sausage for the diner.”

  “Of course, Wilbur. How are you?” I replied, hopeful another crisis did not loom in the background.

  “I’m doing well, thank you. Listen Will, I got something I’m supposed to give you, and I’m hoping you can come by as soon as possible to get it. Would that be possible?”

  “What is it,” I asked, curious to know more about this surprise request.

  “I can’t say on the phone, Will. So if you could come by as soon as possible, I’d sure appreciate it.”

  “You mean right now?” I asked revealing my confusion at this strange request.

  “Yes, right now. I’ll be waiting for you at the back door.” As soon as my surprise caller finished speaking, the line went dead.

  My mind immediately started racing through the possible scenarios awaiting me if I acquiesced to this strange request. Maybe the guy belonged to the cabal? Or maybe this is the way the Judge intended to get in touch with me? I admitted I had no idea what to expect if I went to the store. Still, I realized I had to go, no matter what. Besides, what could happen to me in a supermarket storeroom with customers only yards away? I grabbed my key chain that included a key for Junior Junior’s truck and headed for the door.

  The front parking area looked half full as I drove an extra block past the market so I could see if anything looked strange. Everything looked normal, which simply meant the lot was half full of mostly unwashed older pickup trucks belonging to locals stopping by to pick up the essentials. You did not see local patrons wheeling multiple carts of grocery goods from this market. For the really big hauls, most everyone went to one of the giant discount food chains like the one over in Justice City or even to Salina where the super giant ‘Hog Mart’ store dispensed products at prices often lower than what the struggling local markets purchased wholesale.

  Turning on to a side street provided me access to the rear of the building. I was on high alert watching for anything looking suspicious. In this case, suspicious could be defined as trucks belonging to either Big Bob or the Judge. I saw neither so I proceeded to pull into the back lot where I parked my ride in a vacant space located close to the rear entrance. I did not exit my vehicle until I felt satisfied no other living soul was anywhere around. Five strides after exiting the truck placed me in front a heavy metal door where I immediately announced my presence by rapping loudly. I glanced around as I awaited entrance to the market’s loading area. The heavy metal door swung open exposing the presence of Wilbur, the butcher, who barely looked at me and instead gave the whole surrounding outside area a quick once over trying to see if anyone followed me.

  “Come on in. Thanks for coming so fast. Follow me,” he said while walking through the pallets of food stocks covering the greater part of the large, high-ceiling storeroom.

  “Right this way,” he said as he turned to me and pointed towards a metal door attached to what looked almost certainly to be a walk-in-freezer.

  I involuntarily halted as my mind tried to figure out what in the heck was going on. Did this guy expect me to simply walk inside a storage freezer? He saw my hesitation and looked around before he spoke, “Don’t worry. The Mayor is my brother-in-law. He’s in there waiting to talk to you. I won’t let anyone come back here until you are gone. Here’s a coat for you. It’s cold in there.”

  My guide walked away before I could respond. I had serious reservations about going inside a walk-in-freezer to have a private conversation with anyone and, especially, a seriously disturbed elected official displaying the aplomb of a Baptist Preacher caught jumping out of a burning bordello second floor window without his pants. In other words, the Mayor seemed to me to be on the verge of catching the next bus out of town. The last couple of times I’d caught sight of the man he skittered about like a mouse hunting for cheese in the night. When he caught sight of me, he would do a one-eighty. The man looked scared to death.

  Finally deciding I needed to get this silliness over with, I donned the winter coat given to me by the butcher and went inside the freezer. I closed the heavy door behind me, expecting to confront the Mayor, but not a soul appeared. I’d almost made up my mind to turn around and exit the freezer when out from behind a stack of boxes came the Mayor’s head. Not the entire body, only the head.

  “Hi, Will. Sorry about all this secrecy stuff,” the Mayor stepped out into the open as he finished his statement. “I’m scared, Will. Every time I see big Bob or his brother they stare at me as if they know what’s going on. And by the way, what is going on? When is this thing going to be over so we can get back to normal? This is killing my businesses. My insurance business requires me to be out at night, and there is no way I’m going out after dark right now.”

  All the while the Mayor spoke I watched his breath turn into a mist. It really was cold inside the locker. Turning back to the matter at hand, I realized nothing I said would help to allay the Mayor’s fears. The entire matter now was out of our hands. The Judge had told us to wait. He gave us explicit instructions regarding what not to do, and we either followed his instructions or we, too, might end up in jail.

  “Mr. Mayor,” I said, “we have to hold tight until we hear from the Judge. I don’t know anymore than you do. We might hear something tomorrow or six months from now. No matter. We have been instructed to keep our mouths shut and wait. And on that subject, how much does your brother-in-law know?”

  “He knows nothing,” answered the Mayor. “He thinks this is about me helping you come up with the money to buy Junior Junior’s diner. I had to tell him something and that’s the only plausible excuse that came to mind.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “Why would I want to do something that crazy?”

  “I’m sorry. I was desperate. I know you’re not crazy. He assured me he would keep it a secret.” The Mayor looked like a guilty ten-year-old. “But Will, I’m serious about being afraid.”

  “Look,” I said with more than a hint of exasperation in my voice, “if the Bufords are going to come after someone, I’m pretty certain they’ll come for me first, not you. So as long as I’m walking around the diner, doing my job, I don’t expect you have anything to worry about. Don’t you agree?”

  For the first time the Mayor’s face looked normal or, at least, not frozen in fear. I must have said the magic words because his whole demeanor changed. Not completely back to normal, but close to it.

  “You’re right. They will come for you first,” he said mostly to himself. “I don’t really have to worry as long as you’re walking around.”


  I watched him change from a cowering victim back to the insurance selling machine the whole town hid from. I found it difficult to share completely in his newfound relief over some other human being destined to meet their demise before him.

  “Well, okay then. What are we doing hiding in this freezing meat locker? I’ve got to get busy. I’ve lots of appointments and other important stuff to do. Thanks, Will! I knew this was a good idea, us meeting to talk things out, don’t you agree?”

  The Mayor was so busy refiguring his schedule in his mind that I didn’t bother to respond. In spite of the fact that his fears of imminent death were now allayed by the comforting knowledge that the Bufords would undoubtedly come for me before they came for him, my personal relief was negligible.

  “Hey, look at the time! I’ve got to get going. Lot’s of people to see. You keep in touch, Will, you hear.” And out the door he went.

  After the door slammed behind the reinvigorated Mayor, I went over in my mind what the hell had happened. I hope I never forget this moment. This is what happens when you allow yourself to be sucked into conversations with the asylum’s inmates.

  Once outside the freezer, I calmly extracted my person from the loaned parka, handed it to the waiting butcher/brother-in-law without saying a word, and departed the building through the same door I’d entered earlier.

  Chapter Twenty-Six