by Torsten Krol
“How’s business, Odell?”
“Business is good. That grass, it keeps right on growing.”
“Barbers say pretty much the same thing when you ask them,” he said, which is probably true, barbers have lawns just like other people.
“You’ve made the news,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Becoming quite a celebrity.”
“Uhuh.”
“But those lawns still need mowing.”
“Right.”
He looked at the mowers and the truck, then he says, “So you’ll be maintaining the business until further notice?”
“Until I get this other job.”
“What other job, Odell?”
“At the prison. Got an appointment to talk to them next week.”
“What kind of a job would they have for you there?”
“Guard. It’s easy work they say.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want after being out in the fresh air and sunshine?”
“Well, the lawnmowing is okay, I’m making money at it, but it isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a career.”
“What did you have in mind?” he wants to know.
“Well, I was thinking maybe the Army, then the lawn-mowing job kind of took over. The recruitment office in this town has got closed down so you have to go clear to Manhattan if you want to enlist. Manhattan, Kansas, not New York.”
“That’s a very risky profession, more risky even than being a prison guard. Are you sure that’s the right job for you, Odell?”
“Well, I was going to give her a try.”
“You know, Bob and I have been discussing you, kind of thinking how we might be able to help you, professionally speaking.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I wouldn’t make a good preacher.”
“We were thinking more along the lines of helping you in the lawnmowing trade.”
“Oh. Yeah?”
“We think we may have pinpointed the one thing you currently are lacking for good business practice.”
“A ride-on mower?”
“We were thinking a cell phone.”
“Uhuh.”
“You see, Odell, when new customers want to be added to your lawnmowing roster they’ll call, but there’s nobody at home to take that call, is there. With a cell phone and some advertising you can make bookings for new customers while you’re out on the job. That’d make a significant difference, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
“So Bob and I were thinking we’d like to get you a cell phone. For free.”
“Free?”
“We’d pay for it, yes. Cash money. This morning I was cruising downtown and noticed they’ve got a cell phone special going on at The Telephone Store there on Torrence Street. You can get a pretty good deal all this week but the sale ends tomorrow, so rather than coming all the way back into town on the weekend when you want to be enjoying your hard-earned rest and relaxation, it might be a good idea to go on down there right now before you start your next job and grab one of those nifty cells while they’re still there for the grabbing. Are you interested, Odell?”
“I . . . sure.”
He dug out his wallet and pulled out some money.
“This is four hundred dollars, enough to get you signed up on the payment schedule of your choice.”
He held out the money. It would’ve been rude to say no, so I took it.
“Are you sure, Chet?”
“Absolutely and positively certain this is the right way for you to go, Odell.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got some chores to attend to, so why don’t you go on down and choose a phone, they’ve got all different kinds, and when you’ve got yourself all set up I want you to make your first call on the new phone a call to me, okay? You still have my number, don’t you?”
“Got it right in my wallet.”
“Well, then, I won’t hold you up any longer. Enjoy that phone. Believe me, it’ll change your life.”
He gave a chuckle and got back in his car while I’m standing there with the money still in my hand, then he waved and drove away. I put the money in my pocket thinking him and Preacher Bob are looking after me like a pair of uncles, and Lorraine is looking after me like ...a sister, I guess. Well, I would not disappoint either one of them.
I did what Chet said and went direct to The Telephone Store, where inside they have got all these phones, executive desk phones that sit in a console kind of thing with buttons all over, and wall phones for hanging on the wall or you can set them down on a table if you want, which they come in all kinds of colors that I didn’t know a phone could come in – red and green and yellow, even a pink one but that would be for a woman.
A young guy come over. He’s got this short hair that’s been filled with grease to make it stand up in little spikes and he says, “What can I do for you today?”
“I want a phone,” I told him, “the carry-around kind.”
“Right over here,” he says. “We’ve got a special running all this week.”
There’s a counter with all kinds of cell phones under glass, dozens and dozens of them with all kinds of colors, even with pictures on them. The guy started in talking about X plan that gives you a certain number of calls per week for free, or Y plan that gives a different arrangement, or Z plan that’s a different setup again. It was hard to follow what he’s saying he’s gabbing so fast, but while he was doing that I’m selecting the right phone for me, which is a choice between two that I liked the look of. The first one has got a picture of Bart Simpson on it with Bart’s hand holding up the little screen there, and the other one was the prettiest shade of silver-green but it had no picture, just the green. I was tempted by the Bartster but knew people would think that’s the kind of phone you give a kid, so I had to make myself not want it and go for the green instead.
“That one.”
“The new Fumatsu nine-o-niner,” he says, “good choice, and we’re offering a new package – the First-Timer Streamliner, gets you mobilized pronto.”
He told me all about the phone, what it does, the text messaging and so forth which I could hardly figure out what he’s saying, but I bet there’ll be a little book inside the packaging that’ll tell me everything he’s saying only slower so I can follow it. But the best thing about it, this phone has got a tiny camera inside the flipout lid that can take moving pictures and send them direct to whoever you’re talking to! I have definitely made the right choice here with something like that inside of it. He took down a bunch of details about my name and address etcetera and says the number will be activated in around five to ten minutes, which will make the phone officially mine. I handed him my money and still had some change left over, so Chet had judged it all pretty close to perfect. The phone sat in my hand all smooth and sleek and I knew it was the right one for me.
Next thing the spike-haired guy did, he showed me how to choose the ring tone, how it sounds when someone calls, and you have got so much choice to choose from, all kinds of tunes and sound effects from Baytoven to a little voice that screams, “Answer the damn phone, stupid!” That one was funny but I didn’t like being called stupid, so I settled for a tune that I heard plenty of times which is Greensleeves that we sang in school when I was little – Come come come away with me, Where the grass grows wild and the wind blows free, Come come come away with me, And I’ll build you a home in the meadow ... but no mention of anyone wearing green sleeves there, so I don’t know why it’s called that.
“That’s nice,” said the spiky-haired salesman, but I can tell he doesn’t really think so. Most likely he thinks it isn’t cool to have a sweet sound like that. I bet his phone tells him, “Pick it up or I’ll rip your head off, moron!”
Soon as I got outside I rung up Chet. It was hard work touching those itty-bitty buttons one at a time with these big sausage fingers that I have got, but I got the hang of it and the numbers popped up on the screen while I’m pressing the buttons so I can be sure I’m
doing it right. Chet answered straight off.
“Hey, Chet, this is Odell.”
“Odell, that was fast.”
“Well, I wanted to grab one of those phones while they’re there for the grabbing. I got a green one, silver-green I guess you’d call it. These things are smaller than I thought.”
“You can carry a compact model in a shirt pocket and not even feel the weight,” he says. “I’m entering your number in my directory right now.”
“I didn’t give it to you yet.”
“It’s on my screen like all incoming calls,” he says. “Digital technology, Odell, it’s a wonderful thing.”
“It sure is.”
“You enjoy your new phone, Odell, and call me anytime you need to talk about anything at all.”
“Will do, Chet, and thank you for the phone, I really like it. And thank Preacher Bob for me too, would you?”
“I’ll do that. Bye now.”
I was halfway through the job at 9846 Siefert Street, feeling very up-to-date and modern with my new phone right there in my shirt pocket, when I heard this sweet sound coming from my chest area. My new phone was ringing! It must have been Chet calling me back, he’s the only one as knows my number so far. I took it out and pressed the little bar that lets you talk, but couldn’t hear Chet’s voice because of the racket from the mower, so I cut that off and now I can hear him.
“Odell?” he’s saying.
“Yeah?”
“Odell Deefus?”
It isn’t Chet’s voice, it’s someone else, some other guy.
“Uhuh.”
“Odell, let me introduce myself. Agent Jim Ricker, Homeland Security.”
“Uhuh.” My heart’s all of a sudden going budumbudumbudum because it’s Homeland Security calling! But I didn’t give them my number, so how come?
“How’s your day going?” he wants to know.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Been going through all the facts as we know them thus far on the Lowry case,” he says. “Anything to add to what you told Sharon Ziegler last night, any new insights into the mind of this bozo?”
“Uh, no.”
“Because we need to know before anyone else knows, Odell. From this moment on you talk to me and me only, not to TV news reporters and not to any local Chief of Police who you’ve already upset about the Senator Ketchum angle. You don’t share information with anyone but me, got it?”
“Okay. I better get your number, I guess . . .”
“It’s on your screen. Press hash to get the index and then enter it into your directory. That’ll be the most important number there, Odell. If Dean Lowry gets in touch with you I want you to tell me about it immediately, day or night it makes no difference. Got that, Odell?”
“Uhuh.”
“You haven’t entered the number in your directory yet.”
“I’m trying...I’ve got these big fingers . . .” It was real hard pressing the buttons and still holding the phone close enough to my face so I can still hear him. “Hash ...okay, there’s the directory.”
“Now scroll down to Enter.”
“Okay . . .”
“Go ahead and press it, Odell, damn thing won’t bite.”
“There ...I’ve done it.”
“Now type in J-I-M.”
“These buttons, they’re so small ... Okay, I did it.”
“Congratulations,” he says, but it’s sarcastic the way he says it.
“How come you’ve got my number?” I asked him. “I only just got the phone.”
“A little bird on a wire somewhere must’ve told me,” he says. “You should change your ring tone, Odell, my nine-year-old daughter’s got the same taste as you. Her it fits.” How the heck does he know about my ring tone? “Now remember,” he says, “you do not confide in anyone but me. Are we clear on that?”
“Uhuh . . .”
He rang off. I stared at the phone in my hand. I was in the Big League now for sure. Homeland Security had my number and I had theirs to call direct day or night and pass on further information that come to me about Dean, which there would not be any at all on account of his untimely death that occurred. This would be a problem if Agent Jim Ricker wanted further developments to be told about.
It made me feel bad knowing about Dean being dead like I did. That was almost worse than knowing I’m the one that killed him. Jim Ricker was going to be a disappointed man, all right. The little bird on the wire was not going to be telling him anything he didn’t already know, which was mostly lies anyway. This was turning out to be another one of those bad consequences that have been part of my life since forever, owing to bad planning and decisions I should maybe not have made, only it’s hard to know when you decide something if you made the right decision until later when the consequences happen from it.
All across America people are talking about Dean and his terrible plot to kill the senator. Everyone is getting all worried and concerned about that, especially Senator Ketchum, I bet. His wife probably told him, ‘Don’t go out the door today, Dean Lowry will get you!’ But he went out the door anyway because the business of the nation must go on regardless. That’s what people will be thinking and most likely they’ll vote for the senator because of his bravery about facing down a terrorist threat like that and going out the door every day no matter what. And there was no Dean Lowry anymore. And I’m the only one in the entire country that knows this. And if I get found out for lying I’m in serious trouble over it, any fool could see that. So I would have to sit on the Big Secret like a hen sits on her eggs, only the hen wants them to hatch out and I’ll be hoping they don’t, because what comes out won’t be chickens, they’ll be dragons.
I put the phone back in my pocket, where it weighed heavier than before somehow. I have got to keep my mouth shut and everything will be all right, I’m thinking. If I can just do that then time will pass and Dean Lowry will be as big a threat to the nation as Jesse James and John Dillinger who they are also dead and gone. Just keep quiet and everything will blow away like autumn leaves, by which time I’ll have a good job at the prison and maybe Lorraine would marry me. It’s true she’s an older woman but still very attractive and curvaceous that way so I wanted to marry her all right, and she’d want to marry me because of the reliability I’ve got with regard to a weekly paycheck coming in regular, which women are very concerned about in a man. No gottee money, no gettee datee. The prison job would pay a whole lot more dollars than the lawnmowing, I bet.
Getting back home at the end of the day on a Friday should’ve felt good with the weekend ahead to relax and enjoy myself. Only it didn’t feel that way as I parked the truck next to my dead Monte Carlo and took out the plastic bags of lawn clippings for adding to the pile over beyond the edge of the yard. What it was, the weekend is for being with people, friends and family, and these are what I did not have currently, not there at the house anyway. The only person there was myself, and Dean, I guess, although he didn’t count.
After I emptied the bags I went in the house and showered myself clean, then sat at the kitchen table awhile wishing I smoked because that was the perfect time to smoke a cigarette and have a beer, which I had none of also, only a quarter-bottle of the Captain that I was not in the mood for. When the phone rang – the kitchen phone not my sweet new cell – it was almost a relief, I had been sat staring at the wall for a long time by then.
“Hello?”
“Odell, Chief Webb.”
“Uh, hi, Chief.”
I’m thinking there’s bad news coming from this guy that doesn’t like me.
“Got anything planned for Saturday?” he asked, which was a surprise.
I’m thinking the Chief has been feeling bad about the chewing-out he gave me this morning and has decided to be nice to me, which means inviting me over to his place for barbecued ribs with his family.
“No, Chief, I’ve got the whole day wide open.”
“Good, because I’m sending an officer out to videotape
your yard.”
“Pardon?”
“He’ll be dropping by around ten.”
“Videotape?”
“The grave Dean dug up and filled again. There has to be a video record of that being dug out and finding nothing in there.”
“But ...you already did that ...and there’s still nothing there.”
“But we didn’t do the taping is what I’m saying. He’ll need to tape the layout of the house too, go from room to room with the recorder running till he’s taped the entire house top to bottom.”
“What for?”
“It’s Homeland Security, Odell, they’re insisting. They like to have video layout so if there’s a siege they know where to break in and how to get from room A to room B while the air’s filled with smoke from their stun grenades. It’s how they get trained nowadays.”
“But there won’t be any siege here. Do they think Dean’s gonna come on home and barricade himself in the place?”
“Who knows what they think, it’s Homeland Security. I can’t spare more than one man because we’ve got a high school baseball game Saturday that brings in folks from the whole county. Got to use my men for traffic control.”
“But then ... if there’s just one guy with the camera, who’s doing the digging?”
“That would be you, Odell. Got a problem with that?”
“Uh, no . . .”
“It’s a whole different ball game when Homeland Security gets brung into a situation like this. If you hadn’t said about Dean being a Muslim it’d just be plain old murder, but now that he’s a terrorist suspect it’s a whole different thing, that’s the difference between getting a video record and not having to. Well, it’s good to know you’ll be on hand to do the spade-work, Odell. The Callisto Police Department appreciates your assistance freely offered like this. Around ten.”
And he hung up, the son of a bitch. Maybe Homeland Security was on his case because of the Senator Ketchum thing, or maybe Chief Webb made it all up for revenge over the chewing-out he got from them. Either way I’m on Shit Street, Dean being where he is, and it was a real pity I went and wasted the shower I just had because now I’ve got to get filthy dirty all over again digging Dean out.