by James Ross
“Impossible.”
“Faulty wiring?”
“Maybe.”
“Overloaded circuit?”
“Who knows?”
“But arson?”
“No way.” The passenger laughed as he exited the vehicle and slammed the door. An orange glow in the distance illuminated the nighttime darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
August’s stifling heat and humidity continued into September. The monthly meeting at city hall was scheduled for the first Wednesday of the month. The prime business of the night was the Neal Brownfield development that Harold Syms wanted to ramrod through the aldermen, mayor, and planning and zoning members. His politics had been played in the preceding weeks and it was expected that any opposition from the public would be squelched. That was if it was even allowed at all. Harold knew how these things went. He expected approval and it might come after a closed door session. Any voice from the public was going to fall on deaf ears. The deal had already been made.
With the cast of characters in the room it appeared that someone had left the barnyard gate open for all of the wild animals to enter the safe haven of the city hall meeting room. Bucky, with his two front teeth front and center, watched the exterior door. Festus, with his slouched-over posture, bobbed in and around the meeting room, only to plop into a seat near the front podium.
The aldermen representing the four wards in the city had positioned themselves at the front table. Tillie, the grandmother from Ward One whose distinguishing overbite caught everyone’s attention, assumed her seat on the far end of one of the tables. Her long neck craned into all of the conversations. Sitting in her shadow was the quiet and unassuming alderman of Ward Four. LaVerne listened and nervously twitched her mouth.
The alderman from Wards Two and Three sat on the other side of the mayor’s podium. Lamar had rolled his pear-shaped body into the chair closest to the mayor. The full beard on his pin-sized head suggested that he was a hermit from the backwoods. Hank sat on the other side of Lamar and was prepared to meekly follow the directions of the mayor.
Mayor Leavitt stood at the podium, his hollow eyes daring anyone to cross his path. Kenneth Ficke, the city attorney, worked his cheeks and gums over a handful of sunflower seeds while surveying the room and preparing to do what the mayor instructed.
R. W. Reeves, with his bad toupee and equally bad hygiene, sat next to Big Bertha. Occasionally he would force a smile and flash a yellowed porcelain crown like a caution light. Their roles in the affairs of the city had been clearly defined.
Harold Syms and Neal Brownfield were positioned in the front row. The agenda took on a special meaning for them because of the development plans that were to be presented on Neal’s farm. Monty stayed in the background, but his presence hovered like a swarm of killer bees.
In what had become custom at the monthly meetings, Festus watched the second hand of the clock on the wall. With his frog-like eyes looking out of the top of his head, he patiently waited until the time was exactly seven o’clock. “And now, would you all rise . . .” rolled up his throat and out of his mouth.
After the Pledge of Allegiance was recited, old business was briefly rehashed. Then the minutes of the prior meeting were read. Just when it appeared that comments from the public would come and pass uneventfully, Tuey O’Tweety entered the meeting room pulling what appeared to be a child’s red wagon. Standing with the bright lime green skull cap on his head he flashed a wide smile for all to see. Inside the wagon was a bunch of bananas, a pumpkin, a two-by-three-foot piece of poster board, several rolled up drawings, and an assortment of other items.
Instantly all eyes in the room turned toward him. Bucky was trying to restrain the visitor. “I’s has my rights ta da free speech!” Tuey shouted as he broke free of Bucky’s half-hearted grasp. The wheels of the wagon squealed from the worn-out ball bearings as it was pulled into the room, and dried up mud fell from its sides.
Festus lurched from his seat and loped across the room to confront the unexpected guest. Despite his physical shortcomings he took his job as Sergeant of Arms seriously. “You can’t come in here like that.”
Tuey quickly grabbed a seat and sat down. He didn’t want to cause a confrontation. “I’s jus’ did, dint I?” He wheeled the wagon around and parked it along side of his seat.
“But the meeting has started,” Festus said. “You are disrupting things.”
“I’s not hurtin’ anyting. I’s jus’ be arrivin’ late.”
R. W. Reeves had his head buried in the book or ordinances. “It’s against ordinance number 942.0759 (3) c.”
“Ta be arrivin’ late fo’ da meetin’?” Tuey questioned.
“No, to wear a hat on your head during a public meeting,” Reeves said as he cited one of the city’s regulations. He looked up from his rule book and forced a weak grin at Tuey as if to imply that Tuey was caught with no way out. His off-colored crown snickered at the culprit. Big Bertha grabbed her pad and had to rock forward to get her wide ass up from the seat.
“Dat’s nuttin’ fo’ me’s ta fix,” Tuey relented. He calmly reached up and pulled the skull cap off of his head. “My’s wife don’ts allows it in hers home eitha.” He flashed his toothy smile back at the group of stoic aldermen. Big Bertha headed over to Tuey, her thighs chafing all the way. “Now’s dere’s no needs fo’ dat Big Bertha. I’s took my’s hat off.” His smile flashed in her direction. Then in a confrontational tone he turned back to address the mayor who was standing at the podium. “Dat’s what’s I’s see as da problem Mista Mayor.”
“What is that Tuey?” Mayor Leavitt asked.
“Aw uh you’s fokes needs ta git off uh my bumpa uh li’l.”
“What do mean by that?”
“Aw’s you’s fokes be really interested in is tryin’ ta hassle me cuz I’s black an’ you’s wants aw uh my Benjamins.” Displaying cunningness he once again flashed an infectious smile for all in the room to see. Recognizing that he had the floor Tuey continued. “Well’s let me tells aw uh you’s sumptin’.” He paused as his mood shifted. “Dere’s ain’t no Benjamins left fo’ you’s fokes in dis room.” He stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled the cloth inside out. “You’s peoples be uh cold piece uh work.”
“We can discuss all of this during the public comment section of the meeting,” Mayor Leavitt countered.
“Aint’s dat’s what’s uh goin’ on?”
City attorney Ficke jumped into the conversation. “That’s why we ask people to register beforehand so that we can have an orderly meeting.”
“Aaaahhh, dat’s right,” Tuey lamented. “I’s dun forgots aws ’bout dat.” The gaps between his teeth reminded the officials that they were dealing with a loveable, impoverished grown man. “It’s aint’s ta late ta duse dat now, is it?”
Mayor Leavitt looked at city attorney Ficke. Together they glanced in the direction of the public works director. Pages in the ordinance book were flying as R. W. Reeves was thumbing through the rules for the answer. “Well, uh, it should have been done prior to the start of the meeting . . . you know . . . since by doing it now we are going against protocol and . . .”
“ . . . He’s here, let’s let him speak,” Mayor Leavitt interrupted. It was against his nature to give in, but to expedite the meeting he thought that it would be wiser to let Tuey address the city officials rather than argue about proper procedure. “In the future, remember to register before the meeting starts.”
Tuey closed his mouth and nodded in appreciation toward the mayor.
“You can even call in during the day and let us know that you want to speak. We can place you on the list then,” Reeves explained.
“Dat’s uh good ting fo’ me’s ta rememba,” Tuey said. “If you’s aws don’ts mine, I’s will jus’ waits my turn.” He flashed a smile at all of the officials and promptly crossed his right leg over his left. Tuey sat back in his chair and clasped his hands over his knee.
The city officials glanced
around the room at each other. Everyone appeared to be tongue-tied. Finally after an awkward moment Mayor Leavitt asked to no one in particular, “Are we still in the public comments section of the meeting?”
R. W. Reeves and city attorney Ficke shook their heads in agreement. “I believe so,” Reeves answered.
“Then let’s get the next resident up here to speak,” the mayor barked. He looked at his watch, glanced at the clock on the wall, and back down to his wristwatch. “We’ve already wasted enough time.”
“That would be Tuey O’Tweety,” Reeves answered.
“I’s wuz on time afta aws,” Tuey said as he rose to his feet. He pulled the wagon to the center of the room. “How’s much time duz I’s have?”
“We normally allow a maximum of five minutes per guest for a public comment,” the mayor answered. His patience was wearing thin but he felt the necessity to allow the resident to speak his mind in a public forum. “Please state the topic of your comment.”
“I’s here ta complain ’bout da po’ treatmen’ dat I’s bin gettin’ from aw uh you’s city peoples,” Tuey started. The mayor looked at the city attorney as well as Reeves and the rest of the aldermen. He rolled his eyes. “But’s befo’ I’s gits ta dat I’s likes da gives aws uh you’s peoples uh li’l gift.” Tuey reached into his wagon and grabbed a head of lettuce. He walked forward and handed it to LaVerne. “You’s bin one uh da nicest ladies dat I’s eva met,” Tuey started.
Nervously LaVerne accepted the gift. Her nose twitched repeatedly as Tuey returned to his wagon. “Well thank you Tuey. I’ll put this to good use tomorrow at lunch. That was so thoughtful.”
“Next, I’s like ta gives dis bag uh peanuts ta Mista Ficke. He looks like he likes da chew on tings.” Ficke glanced at the others and spit a mouthful of sunflower seeds into a plastic cup.
“Thank you Tuey,” Ficke said as he accepted the salted nuts. He placed the bag in the pocket of his coat.
“This is a nice gesture on your part Tuey,” the mayor intervened, “but we really should reserve this time for your comments.”
“I’s gonna git ta my comment Mista Mayor, but first let me’s hands outs aws uh dese li’l tokens uh my’s appre-she-ayshun.”
Once again the mayor rolled his eyes at no one in particular, took a deep breath, glanced at the clock, and took a seat. He raised his hand to wipe his brow. “Then make it fast.”
In the next few minutes Tuey produced a comb for Lamar’s beard. He followed that with a toothbrush and miniature bottle of mouthwash for R. W. Reeves and Bucky at the front door. Tillie received a coffee mug with a picture of a turtle glazed onto the exterior. Tuey even produced an old, worn out doll for Big Bertha. “You’s makes sho’ dat you’s gives dat ta yo’ li’l one,” he said as he remembered that she had a young daughter. He spread his contagious smile to everyone as he handed over his gifts.
“You’re not leaving yourself much time for a comment,” Mayor Leavitt reminded him as he glanced once again at his watch.
“Awwws, I’s won’ts needs much time fo’ dat.” He gave a bag of M&M’s to Hank, the silent alderman from Ward Three. Then he reached once again into his wagon and retrieved a five-pointed star that was a fake sheriff’s badge for Festus to wear.
“You’re just about out of time to make your public comment Tuey,” the mayor reminded him.
“I’s still gots uh gift fo’ you, mista mayor.” Tuey glanced at the easel. “Can I’s borrow dat fo’ uh sec?”
Impatiently Mayor Leavitt nodded his head up and down. “Can’t we get to your point and get on with the meeting?”
“I’s jus’ needs anudda minute,” Tuey said as he reach into the wagon and grabbed the poster board. It had been placed in a black plastic trash bag. He placed the board, still covered, onto the easel. “Now dis is what’s I’s tinks ’bout aws uh da stuff dat’s bin goin’ on ’round here.” He grabbed the trash bag and uncovered the poster. On it was a picture of Tuey’s black ass shooting a moon to all of the city officials. A black thong hid his genitalia. He was bent over far enough to be flashing his infectious grin through his legs at the viewers. “Now dis is what’s I’s tinks uh aw uh you’s peoples.”
Gasps went up from the Tillie and LaVerne. Festus quickly moved to take the poster off of the easel. “Tuey, you don’t need to raise this ruckus in here.”
“Well’s it’s my gift ta da city.” He reached down into the wagon and grabbed a couple of more items. “Now I’s gots anudda gift fo’ da mayor.”
“I think that we’ve have enough presents for the night,” Mayor Leavitt barked.
“Dere’s jus’ what’s left fo’ you’s,” Tuey said as he approached the podium. He handed the mayor a mask similar to what the Lone Ranger would wear. “Dis is cuz you’s is sum sorta bandit.” Then he handed the bunch of bananas to the mayor. “An’ dese is cuz you’s mus’ tink dat I’s sum sorta monkey.” Tuey turned and went back to his seat.
“Tuey, Tuey, Tuey. Must we have to be at odds with all of this?” Mayor Leavitt said, totally exasperated.
Tuey was quite prepared with his response. With conviction he announced to the entire room, “Dere comes uh time when you’s crackers has ta knows whens ta git off uh my bumpa!” He paused to let his words sink in. “I’s tired uh bein’ played! Aws uh you’s fokes been comin’ at me’s crooked.” He reached into the wagon and grabbed the pumpkin. “I’s had enough!” With that statement he defiantly threw the pumpkin onto the floor and watched as it smashed into tiny pieces. “Dat’s what’s you’s peoples be doin’ ta me an’ my family.”
Mayor Leavitt nodded his head to Festus. Bucky had run in from the exterior door. “Please escort this gentleman out of the meeting.” The two enforcers grabbed Tuey by the elbows. The mayor turned to Reeves. “R. W. is there anything to cite?”
“Disorderly conduct among other things.”
“Write it up,” Mayor Leavitt said. Reeves gave a head nod to Big Bertha. “And then we’ll have to think about banning him from future meetings.”
The men at the front table scurried to clean up the mess. They slipped and slid through the smashed pumpkin matter as Tuey was led out the door. Borrowing a phrase from Reverend Ostrahemial Puld, Tuey shouted over his shoulder. “Have mercy on you!”
“What are we going to do with the rest of the meeting?” city attorney Ficke asked the mayor.
“The question and answer period for Harold’s development proposal will last three seconds tonight. We’ll vote on the rezoning next month. Then we’ll have a motion for an adjournment.” Mayor Leavitt sat down in his chair, leaned back, and took a deep breath. “I think that everyone has had enough for one night.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Monsignor Alphonso Blair was the priest for Hands of Faith Parish . . . and the word around town was that faith was not the only thing that he had his hands on. He was a rotund, bear of a man standing six foot four and tipping the scales at a little over three hundred pounds. With his light-brown hair closely cropped and sprinkled with shades of gray he was starting to show signs of aging. His compassion for his fellow man was unparalleled and helped to explain why he had remained in his position for over two decades.
Alpha Bear, as he was affectionately called outside the walls of the church, was an active man around town and quite visible in the community. It was guessed that he had acquired his nickname from his considerable size. But it could have come from the affable personality that seemed to ooze from his soft, pudgy frame. However, eyebrows were on the rise after he became more and more public about his male friendships.
His “companion” was a good-looking, strapping younger man named Scottie P. Lampe. Scottie had owned an exotic car dealership named “Scottie P’s.” After living life in the fast lane and schmoozing with the rich and famous, Scottie P decided to sell his business as he turned fifty and moved into the middle part of his life. He had slowed down a little, had found love, and consequently became an item with the local Catholic priest.
&n
bsp; Scottie P reminded folks of a beach bum. With his free spirit and good looks he even looked the part. He stood six foot six and had obviously been a workout warrior at some point in his life. His broad shoulders and developed chest tapered into a thin waist. Scottie had instructed his hairdresser to feather his hair on top but let the blonde locks curl and flow to shoulder length. He constantly pinned the hair behind his ears which brought attention to the diamond stud in his right lobe and the penny-sized loop dangling from his left. With what looked like a continual two-day grow on his beard, he was quite a catch for the monsignor.
How in the world their relationship blatantly continued to flourish in front of all of the parishioners was anybody’s guess. But Alpha Bear and Scottie P were pleasant people and a true joy to be around. The monsignor was in demand and Scottie P had the retirement bucks that always made him socially available, not to mention the low golf handicap that went along with it.
On the golf course, foursomes come in all sizes, shapes, and eclectic backgrounds. So it didn’t raise too many eyebrows when Monsignor Alphonso Alpha Bear Blair, Scottie P. Lampe, First Cornstalk Bank President and owner Harold Syms, as well as Mayor Broderick Leavitt walked into the clubhouse at Prairie Winds one day in early September to tee it up. J Dub and Julie couldn’t help but chuckle when Captain Jer yelled, “Next one’s on me!” It was barely lunchtime and he had already belted down a twelve-pack. One look at that crew was a true indication to Jer that he would probably be out of danger adding to his liquor expense.
“Does that hold true for us?’ Monsignor Blair asked Julie pleasantly. Dressed in a double extra-large shirt that appeared to be from a casual store for large men, the monsignor let the shirt hang over his belt. He was more than ready to take Captain Jer up on his offer.
“We’ve got a least one taker!” Julie yelled over to the booth in the far corner that was the everyday parking spot for the regular group of guys. Paul, Paco, and Elia were busy playing backgammon with Captain Jer.