Banana Man (a Novella)

by Christian Blake

  Danny had just begun his trek into the alley when he stopped just as suddenly. The dog’s owner – the sleazy, skinny man with thinning hair – sat on a dirty lawn chair near the bushes. He held a can of beer in one hand, and in the other he swung something metallic that winked in the sunlight. He watched Danny from across the alley. He’d probably been staring at Danny the moment he came within view, and that was a little unsettling to the boy.

  Sitting in the chair the way he did, relaxed with a can of beer and his bare feet kicked out, it was almost like he was waiting for Danny to return. Even worse, Danny sensed the man was actually glad to see him. He had a wicked grin on his face, and he nodded at Danny when their eyes met, like greeting an old adversary across the battlefield.

  He made Danny nervous. The man was mean to Charlie the dog, and Danny didn’t want anything to do with him. Danny decided Banana Man wasn’t worth the risk, so he turned and started to walk away. But then he stopped again. Two streets over near the railroad tracks, a police car turned the corner. It was Officer Tibbs.

  Danny ducked behind a row of bushes and hid. If the officer spotted him, Tibbs would know Danny had cut across the tracks again and would give him a ticket for breaking the law. Tibbs might even take him to jail. Danny thought about his predicament and concluded the only solution was to follow through with his original plan. He had to make it through the alley.

  Danny crawled alongside the bushes, trying to stay hidden from Officer Tibbs as long as he could. Then he stood, and continued his journey to the other end of the alley, walking fast but not quite running. There was no point in running, at least not yet. He stayed on the edge of the mud where the ground was firm. He didn’t want to slip and fall like last time. If he could get close to the bushes and the block wall, he would start his sprint at that point, and run all the way home.

  The man kept his eyes on Danny, and kept grinning from ear to ear like he had a secret and couldn’t wait to share it. He tilted his head back and guzzled some beer. In his right hand he kept swinging that metal thing. Danny didn’t know what the object was but it couldn’t be worse than getting a ticket, or going to jail.

  As Danny neared the bushes, Charlie the dog growled, and Danny finally realized what the man was swinging in his hand: it was Charlie’s chain. Charlie the dog was loose, and he was nearby. Danny sprinted toward the block wall.

  The dog burst from the bushes, completely free of its chain.

  The chase was short and quick. Before the dog could bite Danny’s heels, the boy planted his palms on top of the block wall and scampered up in the nick of time. Charlie jumped at Danny and chomped at his feet, but Danny was safely atop the wall.

  Danny’s heart pounded and his hands were shaking. The dog would have bit him if he hadn’t got to the block wall as quick as he did. The whole idea of cutting through Tucker Street Alley one more time suddenly sounded like a stupid plan. Danny was stuck on the wall, and he had no idea what the man was going to do next.

  The man slapped his knee and laughed. “Get him Charlie! Get the kid!” The dog responded to its owner’s encouragement and tried harder to climb the wall, barking and snapping, its nails scratching the cinder block.

  As Danny clung to the block wall for his life, a police siren wailed for a brief moment, and then a patrol sped into the alley. It was Officer Tibbs. Danny knew he was busted. Tibbs would give him a ticket for trespassing on railroad property, and he would probably take him to jail.

  The patrol car slid to a stop. Faster than Danny could have imagined the big man could move, Officer Tibbs jumped clear of the car and whipped out a canister from his belt. He pointed it at the dog and fearlessly approached the animal.

  The dog charged Officer Tibbs.

  The sleazy man stood up from his chair, and slightly intoxicated, wavered on his skinny legs. He had a worried look on his face as he yelled at Tibbs, “Don’t you hurt my dog you pig!” Then he took a final drink from his beer, crinkled the can, and watched to see what happened when canine and police officer collided.

  The dog had almost reached Tibbs. Ears back and growling mean, it meant to hurt him.

  Tibbs calmly aimed the white canister. Then he sprayed a long stream of fluid that hit the dog in the face. White liquid splashed all over Charlie’s mug. The dog skidded to a halt, yelped once, and started rolling around in the mud and breathing harsh and loud.

  The man stomped over to Officer Tibbs and pointed angrily at his face. Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke. “You son of a bitch! Why’d you spray my dog?”

  Tibbs remained calm. He kept his eyes on the man and yelled at Danny. “You alright Danny?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get off that wall and get over here.”

  Danny carefully dropped off the cinderblock wall and walked over to stand beside Officer Tibbs. He cast a worried glance at the dog but Charlie wasn’t looking good. The dog panted heavily and whined. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth and he scratched at his eyes with both paws.

  The man pointed his finger at Danny next, and said, “That kid’s been teasing my dog all day!”

  Tibbs holstered the white canister. “I’m not here to talk about Danny. I’m here to talk about Peter.” Tibbs pointed to his patrol car. Peter Duncan sat in the front passenger seat, his head hung low.

  The man rolled his eyes in disgust when he saw Peter. “God damn kid. What’d he do now?”

  Tibbs asked the man, “Are you George Duncan? Peter’s dad?”

  The man nodded. “Sorry to say I am. That piece of crap is nothing but trouble.”

  Officer Tibbs gave a sharp whistle between his fingers, and Peter lifted his head. Tibbs waved him over. Peter got out of the police car and walked over to stand beside the officer.

  “What the hell did you do now Peter?” The man was not happy with Peter and Peter was not happy to be there. Peter stared at the ground and fidgeted with his hands.

  Tibbs placed one of his big hands on Peter’s shoulder. “Tell your dad what you did.”

  Peter didn’t answer. He glanced over at Danny, and Danny was looking back at him. Although both boys were nervous and didn’t know what to expect, Peter was terrified. Danny could see it in his eyes. He was either scared of Tibbs, or scared of his dad, or maybe both. However, Danny noted that Peter stood much closer to Officer Tibbs and kept his distance from his dad.

  After his glance to Danny, Peter stared at the ground and refused to look up.

  Mr. Duncan advanced toward his son and raised his hand as if to strike him. “Answer him or I swear to God I’ll knock your teeth out!”

  Tibbs stepped protectively in front of Peter and held his bandaged arm up to stop Mr. Duncan from coming any closer. “Mr. Duncan! Put your hand down. Don’t talk to him like that.” Tibbs pointed at the man’s lawn chair. “Why don’t you sit down while we sort this out.”

  Anger flashed in Mr. Duncan’s eyes, and he puffed out his chest. “I don’t have to listen to you! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  Tibbs kept his eyes on Mr. Duncan and said to Peter, “If you don’t tell him, Peter, I will.”

  Peter kept silent, staring at the ground.

  A long minute passed. Nobody talked, and nobody moved except for Mr. Duncan. He was clearly drunk. His movement was slight but Danny could see it: Mr. Duncan swayed back and forth, trying to keep his balance without anyone noticing.

  Tibbs finally spoke for Peter, “I saw him riding a muddy bicycle in the fields behind the post office, and he admitted to taking it. Your son stole Danny’s bike.”

  Peter squinted his eyes shut and tucked his chin down until it touched his chest. He knew what was coming.

  Quick and forceful, Mr. Duncan stepped forward and slapped Peter hard on the side of the head. “Damn kid!” The blow knocked Peter to the ground.

  The sound of the slap was very loud. It startled Danny.

  Yet again, the speed at which the officer could move was surprising. Officer Tibbs took a half step forward and
, like a blur, punched Peter’s dad square on the chin. He hit him with his right hand, the one that was bandaged up. Tibbs was a big man, and all the weight behind the punch rocked Mr. Duncan’s balance. He fell backward and landed on his butt in the mud.

  Danny couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never seen a kid get slapped before and he had never seen a man get punched in the face. Sure, men beat each other up on television, but not for real. Not in person.

  Tibbs stepped toward Mr. Duncan, and the officer’s shadow fell across the man. “You want to hit someone, Mr. Duncan, you hit me. Don’t you touch that boy.”

  Nobody said anything. Peter rubbed the side of his head, and Mr. Duncan rubbed his own jaw and dabbed blood from his busted lip.

  “I ain’t going to arrest your son Mr. Duncan. I figure he’s a chip off the old block and that’s probably not much his fault. But the three of us are going to have a little talk. You understand? I can haul you in right now if I want to, and I might just do that. But we’re going to talk first.”

  The attitude was gone from Mr. Duncan. His face softened and his body relaxed. He shrugged. Then he quietly said, “Okay.”

  Tibbs turned to Danny. “Go over to the trunk.”

  Danny walked over to the trunk of the police car.

  “Press the button.”

  Danny pressed it, and the trunk lid popped open. Inside was his bike.

  “Go ahead,” Tibbs said. “Get your bike.”

  Danny struggled with the bike but managed to drag it out. Then he slammed the trunk shut. He looked at Officer Tibbs.

  Tibbs said to Peter, “You got something you want to say to Danny?”

  Peter said, “Sorry for taking your bike. If I could take back what I did, I would. I’m sorry.”

  Danny didn’t respond. The Peter Duncan he knew would sooner give a kid a black eye than apologize to him. Peter sat in the mud and fumbled with his shoe lace, absently picking mud off it. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Danny.

  “Go home Danny,” Tibbs said. “You don’t need to be here.”

  Danny listened to Officer Tibbs and rode his bike home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Buying Banana Man

  For the last block of his journey home Danny was forced to walk his bike. The front tire had gone completely flat. Peter probably rode the bike through some bushes and got a thorn stuck in it. It was just another reminder of Danny’s terrible day.

  When he got home, Danny found his dad snoring on the recliner. His dad had showered and put on fresh clothes. The fire still burned. The piece of oak his dad put in was the only piece of wood left.

  Danny took care not to wake his dad, and he quietly set the backpack on the floor near the foot of the chair. Then he fed another piece of oak into the flames. Between those two logs, the fire would last the rest of the night.

  Danny went into the kitchen and hung the mail key back on the hook beside the refrigerator. In the center of the kitchen table, sitting all by its lonesome, was a weathered one dollar bill. His dad must have left it for Danny before he took his nap on the recliner. Danny didn’t hesitate; he swiped the dollar and dashed out the door. Full of renewed hope, the little boy covered in mud ran for several blocks to Cleary’s Market so he could finally buy Banana Man.

  Even though it was well past four o’clock, he ran as fast as he could to the small store, clutching the dollar bill the whole way there. Soon he could see the open front door. Nobody walked in or out. That was a good sign. He hoped he had beaten his friend Chris to the store after all, and maybe he would get the last copy of the comic and be able to frame it on his wall beside the first edition his mother bought him. Maybe Farmer Cleary had kept his promise.

  He ran through the open doorway and right up to the register. Mr. Cleary still sat on his barstool, and he still held The Valley Tribune in his hands. He smiled at the boy.

  Danny was out of breath, but he managed to say, “I got it! Here’s the dollar!” He slapped the bill onto the counter. “Where’s Banana Man?”

  Farmer Cleary shook his head slowly. “It’s gone. Your friend Chris came by a few minutes ago and he wanted it. So I sold it to him. Next time,” he said, “get here a little sooner. Sometimes a few minutes can make all the difference in the world.” Farmer Cleary stared at Danny with a puzzled look on his face. “Did you drag mud into my store?”

  Danny’s eyes started to water, not a lot, but enough that Farmer Cleary would have noticed if he wasn’t inspecting the floor around the boy’s feet. Danny sniffled, and quickly wiped away his tears. “But you were supposed to hold it for me. I asked you to hold it,” Danny said.

  “Cash is king,” Farmer Cleary said. “You’ll be fine. It’s just a comic. More will come in next month. Now get that broom again, and sweep out the floor. I can’t see it in this light, but you’ve been rolling around in the mud and I know you dragged some of it in here and made a mess of my floor.” Then an idea popped into the old man’s head. “If you want, I can take your dollar right now, and I’ll hold it for next month’s shipment. When your comic comes in, I’ll set aside a copy for you.” He winked at Danny. “Sort of like paying in advance.”

  “It’s a bi-monthly comic! It won’t be back for another two months.” After everything that happened that afternoon, after fighting in the mud with Charlie and getting in trouble with Officer Tibbs, his copy was as good as gone. The other boys had theirs, but not Danny. They wouldn’t be trading that issue for older comics either, not for a second edition.

  From the back office, Mrs. Cleary suddenly appeared. Her hair was white like Farmer Cleary’s except she had a lot more of it, and it was silky and long. She stormed into the front area, furious. Danny retreated a step. He had seen her get angry before. She whirled by Danny and immediately lashed out at her husband. “You are the meanest man in town! That boy asks you to hold a comic and you sell it from under his nose?”

  Mr. Cleary rolled his eyes. “Damn it Faye, this is a store. People want something, they got to pay. A bucks a buck!” He slapped the counter to finalize his statement. All the fuss and the old man’s rising blood pressure got his glasses rocking on the end of his nose. Despite being upset, Danny couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to fall off.

  Faye turned to Danny and her demeanor instantly softened; she went from mean old lady to nice as pie. Like a loving grandmother, she gently grasped Danny by the shoulders and, with a smile, brushed off some of the mud from his distraught face. Then she spoke to him very softly, “You go pick out a soda to take home with you. Take any one you want.”

  The old man stood up and pounded the countertop with a clenched fist. His white mustache twitched with anger, and his glasses slipped off the end of his nose. He barely caught them in time before they struck the floor. Farmer Cleary started to protest. He held his finger in the air and his mouth open, ready to fire off some angry words, but Faye turned and jabbed a finger in his direction, and stopped him cold before he could utter a sound. She said, “And you, Mr. a bucks a buck, you sit your wrinkly butt down. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”

  Farmer Cleary shut his mouth. He sat down on that wooden stool and scoffed. He was so angry that Danny thought he saw steam coming out his ears. He muttered to himself, loud enough so Faye could hear him but quiet enough so she couldn’t understand a word. Then he picked up the paper and pretended to read it.

  She turned back to Danny and became nice as pie again. “Pick a soda. Any soda.”

  Even though he was upset and hurt that Farmer Clearly had sold the last issue of Banana Man, the offer of free soda distracted Danny. He knew she was trying to make him feel better. Adults always gave kids stuff when they screwed up. The distraction worked, and Danny’s thoughts drifted toward an ice cold soda.

  He meandered his way over to the refrigerator. Her words echoed in his mind with each step: any soda. He planted his little hands on the cold glass doors and peered inside. A multitude of ice cold sodas stared back at him. Every fl
avor he had ever tasted was in there, and some new ones. How in the world could he choose one? There were so many. Overwhelmed at the array of soda pop before him, he glanced back toward Faye for encouragement, and she smiled. Behind her, Mr. Cleary peeked over his newspaper and watched Danny’s every move.

  Danny suddenly had the answer. He knew what kind he was going to get. He scanned through the sodas until he found it. Then he pulled open the glass door and wrapped his fingers around an ice cold bottle of cherry cola. Before he pulled it out of the fridge, he glanced back to make sure his choice was acceptable. Faye nodded, and Danny grabbed it and returned to the counter.