6/6/66

by JN Lenz

  Clyde was electric on the whole prospect of owning a Funeral Home; what a natural for the roll of the embalmer, bovine, swine, human. I had completely forgotten about the acid that night until Clyde pulled the foil from his pocket, carefully unfolding the creased aluminum to reveal the four purple hits of acid. Our minds already alight with our new found profession now infused with double hits of acid as we headed down to the Queens, ready to open up and scream out of our teens.

  Much later that night, after the bar had closed, we both spent the night planning our future, our vision, seen through a Technicolor acid trip. The best acid high of our lives, turned out to be the last acid high of our lives, we were about to become respectable citizens of society (who apparently don’t drop acid).

  After a full night with no sleep and twelve hours’ worth of acid induced entertainment left to experience, we decided to pack up and head for Largo. There was no chance of sleeping for the next half a day anyway; we would call our jobs to quit once we made it to Largo. Two hours after the last bar in town closed down, we had our clothes packed and said good bye to living in Parson’s for good. By that morning we had pulled the loaded up Ford one fifty onto the road, pointing it towards Largo, we would return later for our motor bikes, and the aluminum fishing boat.

  My mind had been racing with our new found potential in making our cash real, openly useable, push it all through the Funeral Home. Pay some tax and make it clean, the crops had already been planted for the year, what a perfect time it was for us to take this on.

  “We can so do this thing, this could be brilliant” I exclaimed, as I pulled the old Ford out onto the county road. The road was pitch black, all the cloud cover obscured the moon and stars; the rusty old thermometer that hung outside the kitchen window had read fifty six degrees Fahrenheit, I looked at it for the last time just before we left. I turned the heater on as Clyde finally responded.

  “They won’t look all pale and deathly, that you can be assured”

  “What the hell are you talking about?

  “Our clients, or is it patients? No can’t be a patient cause their dead right? Must be a client or maybe they just call them customers, regardless I’ll make them look alive. Like they are sleeping in that coffin instead of being all, you know, dead”

  ‘You’re really not normal are you? You’re starting to freak me out a bit on the whole dead thing, there’s more to this business than dead people” I replied before we both burst out laughing.

  Drunk and as high as a kite, we set off in the old Ford to a new beginning and a new life in Largo.

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  Chapter 3

  We arrived on the edge of the town shortly after six in the morning, still stoned and little less drunk, but just as excited. It had been little more than six hours since winning the Funeral Home from one hand of poker, and here we were. Our old Ford pick up truck crested the small hill on the edge of town; we would invade from the east, leaving a faint trailing cloud of unburnt oil in our wake.

  How unassuming bad and evil can appear at times.

  The truck puffed itself to the top of the large hill above Largo; the sign on the way into town listed the population at sixteen thousand. That was all the confirmation both of us needed, straight or stoned, this was our town, we knew it.

  It would be too early to go directly to the Funeral Home, so we would take a drive through the place. The structures and trees of the town basked in the early morning sun, the clouds had disappeared. A long shadow from the large hill to the east, cast a partial shadow across the town’s approaching border. Sleepy little Largo, we instantly felt like we owned the place, as we trundled slowly down the main street. Without a doubt, we would be the newest business owners in town.

  How would a tight little town like this accept us as the new proprietors of the local funeral home? The old pickup would slowly pass the stores and homes of the still sleeping town; they never saw anyone like us come to town, not in their worst dreams.

  “Best I park the old Ford behind whatever buildings Fred owns when we do head over there” I mentioned to Clyde as we putted through town in the beaten up old pickup truck.

  “What you don’t think the truck is going to instill much confidence from the town locals.”

  “Maybe not? A casket would fit in the box perfectly” I laughed. There was one thing that still worried me about all of this, all the debts Fred was blubbering about. He had already professed having numerous debts against the Funeral Home. How much debt did that small little man have, that was the million dollar question? I hoped not more than one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, but I feared the debts would be far higher than that.

  As I drove the old pickup by a small local diner located on the Main Street, we noticed it was open and decided to stop in to waste and hour. The both of us decided to have breakfast before heading to the Shackles Funeral Home. There was a handful of early bird locals seated in the Diner when Clyde opened the front door to enter. Every one of them turned to have a good look at the pair of us, as we entered the front door of the diner and had a seat at a booth beside the front window. We would eat a breakfast of bacon and eggs and several cups of coffee. All the while we watched out the front window, as the town’s Main Street streets became busier and the sun became more brilliant.

  The effects of the acid added to making the town and the whole event seem almost surreal. Had last night really happened the way we both still thought it had, or were we just tripping? Clyde and I were both getting anxious to see this bloody Funeral Home, we left the Diner with the clock behind the breakfast counter in the restaurant reading seven twenty three.

  “Fuck it, I’m sure Fred hasn’t slept all night” Clyde said as he started to get up from the booth throwing a twenty in the center of the table, the curiosity to see the Funeral Home was killing him.

  “Your right, let’s get out of here and drive down there. If he’s not up yet he will be soon.”

  The Shackles Funeral Home was located on the south west side of town; Brucker Ave south was what Fred had said last night. The drive would take only three minutes from the diner; the street was lined with hundred year old maple trees and some of the town’s oldest and grandest homes. Clyde and I both noticed the sign and yelled its address simultaneously

  “16 Brucker, no fucking way” slapping hands in another high five, which until half a day before I don’t think we had ever done. The place was a grand old Victorian manse, transformed along the way into the community’s sole funeral home. The base of the home was surrounded by old school house, red brick with limestone lintels and ledges, the second floor cedar side shake were badly faded, cracked and worn. The West corner had an additional square section; it was set out from remaining home, extended straight up a full height of three stories.

  The brick was capped in stone on this level and it had a flat roof, unlike the steep pitch of the main structures roof line. Directly below the steep roof in the center of the home, a series of tall lead glass windows allowed the natural light to illuminate the homes grand central staircase which. All the wood on the place needed work and paint, the windows were wood and the soffit and fascia needed to be replaced, but overall the structure was brilliant. I was about to comment on the place when Clyde crowed.

  “This place is amazing “

  “Tell me about it, some TLC and a good dose of that cash in the bag and this place will be brilliant”

  “We own a fucking business Jack, who the hell would have believed that would ever happen? I’m a fucking president, El Presidente.”

  “Fine you be El Presidente and I‘ll be Cie Presidente. This old place is just wicked Clyde, this is seriously gonna rock”

  “Welcome to the dark side my good neighbor; I’m here to drain your blood.”

  “Christ, this is your element, slaughterhouse rules”

  “Fucking right, leave the blood, guts and the glory to me”

  “My pleasure, you can have them. I’ll stick to
the pay up sucker, and keeping score of it all.”

  “Isn’t this just a match made in heaven then?”

  I would slowly pull the old Ford into the second entrance (there was two laneway’s which ran along the right and left side of the home itself) I pulled the old beater directly to the back parking lot. The lot sat behind the large home, a field stone garage and coach house was stationed near the back of the property. As we rolled to a stop, we saw Fred push open the screen door and walk out onto the covered porch, located on the second floor of the coach house.

  “I see you boys found the place.” Fred called out from the top step.

  “I’m sure you wish we hadn’t” I replied in an attempt to make the tense situation a little lighter.

  “Listen boys, you one that game fair and square. I might be a lousy gambler, but I’m not a sore looser or a liar. I gotta be honest, it’s not an all win situation here though boys. I think we will need to go over a few pending financial details that require immediate attention, let you can get a better understanding of what you exactly won and did not win here”

  I was not sure if he was trying to scare us off by blowing a pile of smoke up our ass, making the debts look worse than they are so we bail.

  “Pending financial details like what Fred” I asked. The excitement I had been feeling since last night was being replaced with anguish.

  “Well there is the matter of the mortgages that have not been paid in some months. Then there’s the hydro, taxes and phone are late as well.”

  Mortgages?” I asked “like there is more than one?

  “Yes there are two”

  “So like what’s the bloody total owed against this stiff mill” snorts Clyde, getting right to the point. He had not really said anything to Fred since we got out of the truck.

  “All in a little shy of six hundred grand”

  “Holly fuck Fred! You owe six hundred grand for this place! Plus you were floating the deed like it was worth the paper it was written on. Take this off my hands so you can go bankrupt instead of me?” I bristled back to Fred, who was now looking down at his shoes.

  “So what you’re telling us is that this place is worth shit, it’s worse than nothing Fred. The place is more of a head ache than it’s worth. ” Clyde was yelling now

  “The place is basically bust? Is that correct Fred?” I added, trying to be calm

  “Well it’s not totally bust. There is enough coming in for the payments on the mortgages, along with the utilities, usually. The total of that is about dead even with my current funeral revenue. There’s just nothing left for anything else, or to pay anything down. I’ve barely managed to pay the interest, let alone any principle.”

  “Great, we don’t have that kind of money to sink into this place Fred. I need to have a look at those books as soon possible. See if we pay for as many high interest debts as possible if this thing can work.”

  “Look guys, the business is not in decline. People are still dying, and they are still coming here for the services. So there is all that upside boys, it’s just a matter of getting that debt paid down and the place could make money again. I just gambled more away than I could pull out of the place. It’s really not the business; it’s me, I’ve been the problem all along.”

  “Don’t you start fucking blubbering Fred; it’s a little late for that. Jack is going to take over the books right away; we need to see if this place is even worth the trouble. Do you have a lawyer to complete the change in ownership if we decide to proceed?”

  “I sure do Clyde, Burt Lower the Lawyer”

  “Now there’s something worth crying about, lower the Lawyer, so how low can he go Fred?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll get the number from you Fred, so where did the forty grand you had to start the game on Tuesday night come from?”

  “It was my credit of last resort, the bottom of the well which is now dry.”

  “But that’s all included in the six hundred grand, right Fred?”

  “For sure it is guys, six hundred total. That’s it, really.”

  “I fucking hope so, but I want to know for myself, let’s see all your ledgers Fred.”

  “No problem Jack, I’ll get those together for you right away”

  The last of the high had disappeared into the new realization the high level of debt was about to change the plans Clyde and I had discussed about the place. The one hundred and sixty grand in cash would only put a dent in Fred’s debts. It would take some time to pay down the six hundred grand; Stan Bracken had told me he figured the place could be sold for maybe five or six hundred thousand dollars. Back in nineteen eighty six, the bank interest rates were sky high. To get top dollar, if we were to ever sell the place, meant we would require even further investment on a place that has more debt than worth. The place would need to shine for any hope in attracting a buyer; adding more investment and or debt.

  “I guess first we will have to see exactly what the place has owing against it, and what the sales have been Fred. From there I can compare it against what places like this are worth to see if it is worth our investment.” I knew Clyde wanted to keep the place I was just trying to instill a little fear in Fred.

  “Sure thing Jack, like I said I’ll get everything together. I will start getting everything together as soon as the tour is over”

  “Sounds good”

  “Well let’s see the place, where is the embalming room?” Clyde blurted out as he started across the back lawn, heading straight towards the back entrance to the funeral home.

  “To the bloodletting room James” Clyde calls out as he walks ahead of us

  “Can you show him you’re damn embalming room; he won’t shut up about the fucking thing. I will meet you guys back on the main floor when you are done.”

  I had no interest in these basement rooms; I had a weak stomach when it came to blood and guts. I could not care if I ever spent time in an embalming room. Blood and guts in the movies or on paper in a book was no problem, at times even finding it interesting. But confronted head on, I would feel my blood pressure drop and the pit of my stomach begins to churn, a surgeon I could never have been.

  “Sure I can show him, don’t you want to see it Jack?”

  “Another time, I’ll pass for now. Take the creeper instead”

  “Creeper, is that Clyde’s nick name?”

  “No Fred, just take him down. Meet you after”

  “Of course, hold up Clyde. I like to call the basement my wine cellar. My father was a bit of a collector, had hundreds of bottles when he died, none left now, sold the lot of them a few years back” explained Fred as his voice trailed off, as if the weight of all the losses drained the life from his voice.

  “You’ve got enough dandelions around here Freddie; we’ll start making our own wine and fill the cellar back up.” Clyde replied in a friendlier tone than he had been using on Fred, now happy to be seeing the embalming room. He happily throws his arm over Fred’s shoulder as they walked towards the rear of the funeral home.

  “Show me where we slice and dice, buddy” Clyde added as he reversed from being a prick to a buddy, as the two of them disappeared inside the large old Victorian Home.

  As I walked across the side lawn (which Clyde was right, had its fair share of dandelions), I headed towards the front of the grand home. A slow moving Pontiac honked as it passed by on the road in front of the Funeral Home, a couple in the front seat both smiling and waving. I waved back and thought the town seems to be friendly enough.

  Without question the whole town knew Fred, and soon enough they would know Clyde and I as well. Arriving at the front of the property, I looked up and down the street where the grand old funeral home and its impressive property were matched by the neighboring properties. Many of which consisted of similar grand old homes, several of which had also been converted to businesses, doctors and lawyers offices.

  Our new neighbors will be happy we are here for the aesthetics if nothing else, I th
ought as I examined the lack of grooming around the yard. This place would be our first home and business; we would make it look perfect. We knew nothing about this business, but I knew as I walked around we would make it look grand again. Tall maple trees lined the sides of the entire property, casting long shadows far into the side and back yard.

  The front of the home greeted its guests by a wide stone stairway of steps leading onto a large covered porch. The covered porch sat to the right side of the home on the opposite end as the three story square turret. The porch was deep and held half dozen chairs, a popular spot for those visiting the home no doubt. The entire face of the home behind the porch was covered in cut limestone block, as was the bottom tier of the turret. The remainder of the home was old school red brick, with cedar shake gable ends matching the top tiers of the turret. The shakes were badly cracked and had long since needing paint. The eves were half missing and damaged, the roof shingles curled and deteriorating badly.

  Bringing the place back to its past glory would be a pile of work, but I felt excited at all the work ahead of us. What could have been a depressing first walk around the tired looking place, having learnt of all its financial problems, was instead motivating me even more to turn this business around. I could hardly wait to get started on all the work. I walked towards the back of the property, stopping where we had pulled the truck up to beside the triple garage.

  “That’s where I live, up there” I hear Fred saying, as he and Clyde exited the back of the funeral home, Fred had wanted a smoke before continuing the tour.

  “There is a nice sized apartment for me. The place has one bedroom, a living room plus a eat in kitchen and bathroom, that’s all I need”. Thankfully the roof on the garage/coach house was in much better shape than the funeral home, the garage doors could use a coat of paint but other than that they looked to be in good shape.