Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  “Your pop went straight to business with the Sheriff. Told him he had good reason to suspect the Ridley boy in the death of the carnival girl—he wanted to bring the kid in and talk to him. Sheriff Reaves told him no. Said we needed more evidence and the jersey wasn’t enough to bring the lad in—the real reason, Harvey Ridley. Old Harvey, a big name in town and a big contributor to the Sheriff and his cronies.

  “We left the Sheriff’s office, your dad’s fuming. Oatmeal was a dog with a bone on this jersey thing and one hundred percent convinced that Allen Ridley did it. Then your old man announces that he is going out to Harvey Ridley’s office. Talk to him face-to-face.

  “Jimmy, I need to tell you somethin’ here and I said it to you at his funeral. Your old man always treated me square and pulled me out of the fire more times than I can count. He looked out for me, protected me, that day was no exception.

  “Just as I objected to his hair-brained scheme he said, ‘Bud, I know you don’t agree with me and it’s a career-killing move. So I will drop you off at home, at the restaurant, anywhere you want to go. But I am going out to talk to Harvey and it’s best if you don’t go with me. It’s better for just one head on the Sheriff’s chopping block than two.’

  “Old Bud here is not a coward. I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun, but this was different. I damn sure had no plans to give up my career on your old man’s hunches, so I agreed. He dropped me off at my house and I called dispatch, told them I had a stomach bug and I was taking the rest of the day off sick. Your dad left. He returned in a few hours.

  “He walked into my house. I could tell something was bothering him. I could read him better than your mom, hell we spent more hours together than he and your mom did. He said he met with Harvey. That he confronted him with the jersey and Mrs. Ridley’s statement about their daughter’s death. He asked Harvey Ridley for his permission to question Allen, but Harvey refused.

  “I guess Harvey figured that we only had circumstantial evidence. He probably thought that the chance of anyone looking into his wife’s claims about Allen killing Dottie had no chance of ever being reopened. Too much time, too little evidence plus his wife was crazy. Your dad said he pulled on old Harvey’s heart strings though. I think deep down inside that Harvey may have believed Allen did it.

  “Harvey had plenty of money. He wanted to put ointment on his conscience and avoid losing face with his country club politician friends so he offered your dad a deal.

  “Your dad was not one to take a bribe and believe me we had plenty of them offered to us over our years together. He surprised me when he told me he was taking money from Harvey—but we both knew we didn’t have a case.

  “Besides, the deal wasn’t for him, and it wasn’t a bribe. It was for the little girl’s father. Your dad went with Ridley’s accountant a few months after the murder and delivered the payoff to him. I guess the bean counter went along to make sure your dad didn’t pull a fast one or something. Who knows?

  “And that was it. No evidence and nothing concrete ever showed up from the crime scene or from the crime lab in Macon. We filed it away. Your dad told me months later there was a second part of his arrangement with Harvey. Harvey had offered to help your dad in any way he could, but your dad wouldn’t take any money. Instead, he asked Harvey Ridley to give you a job one day if you ever came around asking.”

  Bud paused. He looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he lowered his head and looked at Jimmy. “Harvey Ridley. The things parents will do for their kids to keep them out of trouble.”

  Jimmy sat in silence.

  “Your pop loved you,” Bud said.

  Jimmy nodded.

  I wonder if Bud knows how much.

  * * *

  Jimmy left Bud Hammontree’s duplex and thanked him for a great evening. He promised to stay in touch and to come visit. Jimmy had no intentions of doing either. He went to Bud’s for information—mission accomplished.

  Jimmy drove back to his apartment. He couldn’t sleep. Marie’s story and then Bud’s recollection of things overloaded his brain. Watching television did not make him sleepy. It was not the murder or Allen Ridley which made his mind so agitated, but the memories of his dad—some good, others painful.

  Jimmy kept his promise to Marie and waited a few days before he called her. Jimmy wanted to see her, but he needed more time alone. He told her a relative in Pennsylvania had become ill and he needed to go visit. She believed him and asked no questions. Jimmy packed and drove to Atlanta.

  Jimmy’s plan—stay out of touch with everyone.

  The Seifferts enjoyed New Year’s dinner at Lewis Seiffert’s apartment in The Ashley. Shorty and Martha Maclendon joined them. Shorty was Martha’s ex-husband and manager of the carnival. He assumed this role after the Seiffert children’s father died.

  Everyone called him “Shorty” but standing at a full six foot eight inches he was anything but short. A few of the other carny folks had similar reversed-nicknames, a three-hundred-pound ride operator called “Slim” and a midget nicknamed “Stretch.”

  After the murder, the carnival never returned to Valdosta, but Shorty was making arrangements to bring it back. Shorty made several trips to Valdosta and met with the Chamber of Commerce and the American Legion encouraging them to sponsor the carnival’s return. Behind the scenes, Lewis Seiffert pushed for it. Seiffert desired to bring back the carnival. But this time in a big way. The conversation at dinner centered on the carnival and its return.

  Shorty and Martha—divorced but still in love—left the dinner first. They tolerated each other for short periods of time—Martha loved to argue and Shorty had a wandering eye. The distance was a problem too. Martha had moved with Seiffert, but Shorty remained in Tampa to manage the carnival. Seiffert paid her well as his secretary, two times more than she could make in Tampa or at the carnival. Martha and Shorty concluded it was easier on their long-distance love life to be single and in love than to be married and miserable.

  Seiffert told his niece and nephews to grab dessert and coffee and join him in the den. They smiled at each other. Everyone knew they would soon receive Uncle Lewis’s “State of the Family Speech”.

  “Okay kids,” he began, “we are starting a new year and with that I hope we will soon bring this whole nasty business to an end.

  “This past year has not been easy. We did things which violated our principles. But we all know the reason. I thank you for your help and I promise when the carnival leaves Valdosta in November, we will be finished and everything will be behind us.”

  Seiffert held up a glass and toasted them. “Now let’s get ready, the sky will soon fall on our own Chicken Little, Mr. Allen Ridley.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The delivery from Vietnam arrived at Ridley Specialties and Supply on time. Allen Ridley pushed his people to separate the cargo and ship everything to the Handy Lumber stores across the nation. Allen called Bill Berlage to report the locks’ arrival and to update him on the outgoing shipments—disaster averted.

  Marie waited for a few days until the east coast stores received their shipments. She then called her uncle to tell him that the locks were arriving in the stores. Seiffert’s plan was to send Dwain to the Valdosta store and buy six of the new locks. Then check them to make sure the “magnet trick” forced open the lock. Once they confirmed everything, Seiffert would send an anonymous email to Bill Berlage at Handy Lumber to tell him of the lock’s problem.

  This was “the plan.” But it went awry, and in a good way for Seiffert. He soon discovered that the industrial sabotage at the factory in Vietnam was not needed.

  Marie called him with the good news. “Customers are returning the locks. The electronic modules are failing. The locks work for two or three times, after that it goes dead. Customers can’t lock or unlock them with their phones. Bill Berlage is on the phone now with Allen and by the look on Allen’s face he’s reaming him a new one.”

  Seiffert sat back and la
ughed. This was better than his plan. Allen, defeated by his own arrogance and stupidity. Seiffert laughed. Karma did its job with no intervention from him.

  The sky is falling.

  Now for step two.

  * * *

  Bill Berlage was, as Marie said, “reaming Allen a new one.” He had been going at Allen for over ten minutes and was showing no signs of stopping. Allen tried several times to interrupt, but Berlage stopped him. Berlage slackened his verbal grip on Allen to ask questions, he demanded answers.

  “Why in the hell did you move your production from China to Vietnam?” Berlage asked.

  “Not going to lie, I was trying to make more profit,” Allen answered.

  “And what about Jimmy Miller? He’s supposed to be your guy in Asia. Why didn’t he check these locks before they left Vietnam?”

  “Jimmy is no longer with the company.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since November.”

  “You have got to be shitting me. The one guy who inspected your number one product and he’s gone. Plus you moved production to Vietnam. Who moved the production, you or Jimmy?”

  “Me.”

  “Ridiculous, Allen. Effin’ ridiculous. Let me give you a heads up on what’s gonna happen. Handy Lumber got lucky, lucky because part of the activation process includes online registration. Handy Lumber has the data—who bought, how many they bought, their addresses and phone numbers. Handy Lumber caught this in time and we’ve contacted the customers that bought these new, sorry-assed locks. We’ve told them to bring them back in for a full refund.

  “Handy Lumber has suspended the sales of the locks and every store is returning them to you today. Now Allen, let me be crystal clear, that is all locks. I don’t give a rat’s ass if they’re from Vietnam, China, or the Good Old USA. You might as well bend over and get ready because they are headed your way.

  “And Allen, chew on this. Harvey Ridley was a good guy, but he’s gone now and as far as I am concerned you are a worthless, little piece of silver-spoon shit. Take this as your informal notice, the relationship with your company and Handy Lumber is now terminated. Legal will send you something more formal in a few days.”

  Allen tried to respond, to beg for leniency and understanding, but Berlage slammed the phone and disconnected before Allen could croak a syllable.

  Allen folded his arms, placed them on his desk and lowered his head onto his arms.

  I paid the factory in advance.

  All that money—lost.

  Handy Lumber would never pay him for defective locks. If he returned the locks to the manufacturer to have them repaired it would take a month’s transit time going back to Vietnam. Repair time, plus a month to return. Allen calculated the total repair time to be four months, maybe five.

  Two new orders—the thirty percent deposit, paid in advance.

  More money—lost.

  It could take me years to find another customer as big as Handy Lumber.

  The company—lost.

  I’m finished.

  Allen accepted his fate. He would call a special meeting of the board and resign as president. Allen was not willing to fight a battle he was sure to lose.

  Allen wondered for a minute what he would do next, without a job.

  The choice was simple—practice law again.

  He raised his head and buzzed Marie. “Can you call the board members and ask them to attend a special board meeting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning?” Calling a board meeting was just a formality. They were board members in name only. They received a small salary for their participation on the board, but none of them had an ownership stake in the company.

  “Okay Allen,” she replied.

  Marie’s first call was not to a board member but to her uncle. “Allen has called a board meeting for tomorrow. I think he’s finished here. He walked out of his office and is roaming around the lobby staring at old pictures.”

  “Good. Can you find Jimmy for me?” Seiffert asked.

  “I’ll try to locate him.”

  “I want him here in my office at nine in the morning. Tell him his waiting is finished. It’s time for him to earn his money.”

  * * *

  That afternoon Allen called Steven Pruett.

  “I’ve got a big problem,” Allen said.

  “What’s up Allen?” Pruett asked.

  “I’ve lost Handy Lumber’s business. We are out tons of money on a product we ordered from Vietnam and it’s all defective. My best guess is it will take four months or longer to get this mess straightened out. I’m telling you there’s no way in hell the company will show a profit for the next two months, perhaps longer.”

  “Are you giving up or asking for advice? No chance you can turn this around?” Pruett asked.

  “Nope. It’s over, finished, done.”

  “What are you saying, Allen? Are you throwing in the towel?

  “Yes, I’ve spent the morning trying to figure out my options and I have none. I’ve called a special board meeting for tomorrow morning where I will announce my resignation. Tell that mysterious charity the company now belongs to them—at least what’s left of it.”

  “What are you going to do Allen? You gave up your practice when you went to help your dad, right?”

  “I’m not sure. My cases are settled and I’m without a case log. Guess I will try hanging out my shingle again—maybe chase a few ambulances until I can land some divorce cases again.” Allen hated discussing his future with Steven Pruett.

  “Well okay then. Sorry, Allen. If we had a place in our practice, I would love to welcome you here. But we’re a small firm and right now we don’t have any openings.”

  Pruett was attempting to be polite and consoling because of Harvey’s support through the years. Giving Allen a job at his firm was never going to happen—he was sure Allen knew it.

  “If you’re looking for an office there’s space available here in The Ashley—the rent is reasonable. Call me if you want me to hook you up with the landlord.”

  After the call from Allen, Pruett called the number in Tampa for the “Carnival and Circus Worker’s Benevolent Organization”. The phone in Tampa forwarded the call to a number in Valdosta. Pruett was not aware the phone was ringing three floors up in Dr. Seiffert’s office.

  “CCWBO,” Martha said, “how may I direct your call?” Seiffert had alerted her, after his call with Marie that the “Tampa line” might ring today. Pruett had called the number once before, on the day he read Myrtle’s will to Allen.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Maclendon. Is he in?” asked Pruett.

  “The director is out of town. Could Mr. Pritchard help you?”

  “Sure,” replied Pruett. He talked to Pritchard the last time he called. Pritchard had introduced himself as the “assistant director” of the organization.

  “Pritchard here,” said Seiffert as he came on the line.

  “Mr. Pritchard, Steven Pruett. You may remember me. I called you a few weeks earlier. I’m handling the estate of Myrtle Ridley.”

  “Oh yes, I remember. What may I help you with?” asked Seiffert.

  “Well, sir. Mrs. Ridley’s son, Allen, has estimated that the company will lose money for several months. I assume you know the conditions of the will. Allen will resign and surrender to the terms of the will tomorrow morning at an emergency board meeting. The ownership will pass to your non-profit.”

  “Oh, that is so sad,” lied Seiffert, “we were hoping that Allen’s successes would continue.”

  “Yes. It’s a shame” said Pruett. “I wanted to make you aware of this so you could make plans to either take control of the company’s management or close it and liquidate the assets. I am assuming you want to do the latter. In either case, it is advisable for a representative to be at the board meeting tomorrow.”

  Seiffert paused to make Pruett believe he was considering which course of action to take. “No liquidation. Mr. Maclendon runs a charitable organization—and that means char
ity and kindness for everyone. We don’t want to see people lose their jobs. CCWBO will take a stab at running the company.”

  Steven saw an opportunity to land a new client. “I can be present at the meeting if you wish.”

  Seiffert waited again before replying. “Excellent idea but present yourself as the estate’s executor—it’s best, for appearance’s sake. We will pay you for your time. I may have a representative there to go with you so please wait for my call before leaving for the meeting.”

  Seiffert hung up the phone and called Marie. “Okay, the lawyer called and it’s confirmed. Allen is resigning tomorrow and the company becomes ours. Did you find Jimmy?”

  “Yes, he said he’ll meet you in your office tomorrow morning at eight.”

  “Is he aware of what’s happening?” asked Seiffert.

  “He doesn’t have a clue.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jimmy Miller did not answer Marie’s phone call. His time in Atlanta convinced him to wait even longer before getting involved with Marie. They had not spoken since his call to her right after Christmas. And now, three weeks later, she was calling him. Jimmy let the phone ring and go to voicemail. He debated a long time on whether to check it but gave in to his curiosity.

  “Call me. Uncle Lewis needs to speak with you.”

  Jimmy called her back, and they exchanged a few pleasantries. Marie asked him if he was still in Pennsylvania and if it had snowed there. He lied and told her he had left Pennsylvania a few days earlier and was now in Atlanta visiting friends. Marie closed the call by telling him that her uncle wanted Jimmy in his office at eight the next morning. Jimmy agreed, and they both stumbled over unspoken words in trying to end the call.

  Jimmy packed his bags and pointed his car south to Valdosta—a four-and-a-half-hour trip—an hour more if he stopped to eat at The Cracker Barrel in Macon. He opted for the extra time and enjoyed an Oldtimer’s Breakfast. He arrived in Valdosta in the early afternoon and went straight to his apartment in The Ashley.