Tales from Stool 17; Finding Port St. Joe: The Nigel Logan Stories (Vol. 1) (Volume 1)

by Kirk Jockell

  “I try not to think about it, so I’d rather not say. It’s worth every penny though. I actually got a good deal on it.”

  He picked it back up to show me. It looked to be in excellent condition. I saw the original cover price in the corner.

  “I’m going to guess you paid a bit more than fifteen cents?”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said smiling. “That much I will let on. A little bit more than that.”

  He told me he had over one thousand comics, about two hundred fifty were of collector’s quality. The others would have to cook for a few years before there would be a market for them in the community. The Community, the comic book underground that covets such items.

  Some folks invest in stocks and bonds, others in gold and silver. Timmy puts his money in comic books. He’s probably a lot smarter than most people give him credit for.

  My phone bonged. A text message. It was from Candice. It had only two words: call me.

  I paid Timmy for my gas and tossed him an additional five dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but he appreciated it. He tried not to take it at first, but I insisted. I told him to put it towards his next comic auction. He smiled.

  I called Candice from the truck.

  “Nigel,” she said. “You need to get over here. I’m at work. There is something I need to show you.”

  “Kind of early to be offering libations, wouldn’t you say?” I asked.

  “I’m not open. I came in to get ahead of some paperwork. Please get over here.”

  “What’s wrong, Candice?”

  “It’s Luke, Nigel. Get over here.”

  I was only a couple blocks away, so I got there in no time.

  Except for Candice’s pink Jeep Wrangler, the stretch of Reid Avenue in front of the bar was empty. I parked right in front of the door. I hadn’t even put the truck into park when I saw it. It had to be what Candice called about.

  It was a poster taped to the front window right next to the door. I shook my head, got out of the truck, and walked up to the poster to get a better look. It had a big picture of Maxine on the front with the words, WANTED DEAD or ALIVE … $100.00 to the man or woman that brings me the vermin that kidnapped my precious Maxine. Underneath that Luke left his name and cell phone number.

  Candice opened the door. Her new hair color was a medium brown, sort of hazelnut with blond highlights. She looked good. It was much better than the almost pumpkin orange she sported last week.

  “Hey, Sweetheart,” she said. “That didn’t take long. Admit it. You missed me, didn’t you?”

  “Come on now, Candice. Knock it off and throw me a bone here. What’s this all about?”

  Hands on her waist, hips cocked off to one side, she said, “Throw you a bone? How about you throw me one?”

  “Candice!”

  She threw her hands up in the air and turned around. “Oh! You’re no fun. Come inside.”

  I ripped the poster off the window, wadded it up and went through the door. At the bar Candice said, “Yesterday, about an hour or so after you left, Luke got up and hurried to the door. I asked him where he was going and he said, ‘To get Maxine back. The old school way. Nigel was right. This has to be handled internally.’ Then he flew out the door. What did he mean by that, Nigel?”

  My words came back to me. This probably needs to be handled internally, without the authorities. Sometimes the legalities of things get in the way. “Oh, shit!” I said. “It was something I said. Something I told him yesterday, here at the bar. But this isn’t what I had in mind. Did you see him this morning?”

  “No. But I’m guessing he has a pretty big stack of posters. I’ve already seen others about town. I guess he’s going all around putting them up wherever he can.”

  “Crap! I got to go,” I said. “I need to find Luke. Will you do me a favor? Ride around. See if you can find any other posters. Take them down. Get rid of them for me. And if you see him before I do, tell him to knock it off and call me.”

  “I will, if you promise to have dinner with me one night,” she said.

  “Candice, we don’t have time for this kind of thing. We need to help Luke keep from embarrassing himself any more than he already has.”

  “Come on now, Nigel. One little dinner wouldn’t hurt anything. Promise me and I’m all yours.”

  “Candice…”

  “Promise, me.”

  “Okay … Okay. I promise, but get going. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  She cut me a wink and said, “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  Ever since my first night in town, Candice has been trying to secure a date night. I like her fine and she’s quite attractive. I’m not sure how an evening together would pan out. She is assertive and outspoken, and I’m not that interested. I’m not much interested in anybody to be honest. But what the hell, a little dinner doesn’t have to be anything more than that. She’s right; a little dinner wouldn’t hurt anything. Besides, I guess I owe her. Not for helping me find Luke and his posters, but for keeping my ass out of jail. On my first night in town, I got a little drunk--okay, a lot drunk--and beat up one of her ex-husbands. It wasn’t pretty. My head still hurts thinking about that night.

  I pulled out of my parking spot and continued down Reid towards First Street. It didn’t take long before I threw on the brakes. There was another poster in the window of Chico’s Taqueria. I checked my rearview mirror for oncoming traffic. I threw the truck in park, got out and ran to the window and tore it down. One of the waiters from inside watched me. My Spanish isn’t that good, but I was able to read his lips. Gracias Senor.

  I turned right on First Street, then an immediate right on Williams. I picked up my phone and tried to call Luke. He didn’t pick up. Damn. I cruised slow, keeping an eye out. I removed another poster from the hardware store window, another from Gloria’s Beauty Shop, and another that was taped over a speed limit sign. Damn, Luke.

  I rolled on and stopped in the middle of the road. I looked to my right to find another. I backed up a bit then pulled forward into a parking spot. There was a poster taped to another shop window. But it really wasn’t a shop anymore. It had been converted to an education center. I sat in my truck and ignored the poster for a bit, to watch the goings on of the establishment.

  Through the window I saw the profile of several desks, six or seven of them filled with individuals of all ages and walks of life. They looked less than interested in the material in front of them. In the front of the room facing the students was another much larger desk. Sitting behind it was a prominent pillar of society, a cornerstone of living well. He didn’t see me watching at first, but when he reached down into his left desk drawer and quietly recharged his coffee cup with a long pour of Jim Beam, his eyes wandered out the window to find me smiling from behind the windshield. My buddy Red was skillfully preparing another class of students to graduate from RIDD, Red’s Institute for Drunk Drivers. He grinned back and held up a finger. Hold on, I’ll be out in a second.

  I met him on the sidewalk outside the door. He had his coffee cup in hand.

  “A little early for that is it not?” I said, nodding towards the cup.

  “What?” Red replied in exasperation holding up the cup. “This? Don’t be ridiculous. Historically, an early morning bump and daylight indulging was always acceptable. It wasn’t until the damn temperance movement that nosey prudes like Susan B. Anthony and crazies like Carrie Nation decided to make such a big deal about it.”

  “I thought Susan B. Anthony was more noted for her work with the suffrage movement, getting women the right to vote,” I said.

  “That’s true, and she did great work in that arena. But it was her unsuccessful attempts in the temperance movement that drove her to embrace suffrage. They collected over 28,000 signatures in a petition demanding the limitation of liquor sales in the State of New York. The legislature rejected and dismissed it because most of the signatures were from women and children, voices that had absolutely no political impact. It was then she realized t
hat if women were going to make an impact on national issues, they needed the right to vote. She shifted gears to concentrate on suffrage.”

  “You mentioned Carrie Nation,” I said. “Who the hell was that?”

  “She was a real crazy bitch from Kansas, the original wicked witch of the mid-west. She used to storm into bars and saloons with a hatchet and raise hell at all the men. She would attack the whiskey, busting up bottles of booze. What a pain in the ass. I would never hit a woman, but with Carrie Nation, she was just ugly enough that … who knows what I would have done.”

  “Where do you get all this shit?” I asked. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I run a DUI school, Nigel. It’s imperative that I’m an authority on the historical aspects of spirits. Plus, I do a lot of reading when I haven’t been drinking.”

  “When the hell is that?” I asked.

  With a serious, shit-you-not look on his face, he said, “I’m a quick reader.”

  I looked at the ground and laughed. There is never a dull moment dealing with Red. He’s so damn smart, and he never takes himself too seriously. A quality we should all strive to achieve.

  Still laughing I said, “Listen, I dropped by because of this.” I pointed to Luke’s poster. “It’s wrong and needs to come down.”

  “I know,” said Red. “It’s terrible, an awful picture of Maxine.”

  “No, Red. The whole thing is wrong. It’s a bad idea getting worse with each one that goes up. I’m running around trying to find him. I’m afraid he’s putting them up faster than I can tear them down. Did you see him this morning? Were you here when he came by?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I was here. He told me about Maxine. You know that goat isn’t my favorite. On more than one occasion I’ve caught the damn thing drinking my beer. The little shit.” Then Red thought for a moment and said, “But I know how much she means to the old coot, so I guess I understand where he’s coming from. He told me you were helping him out. That’s mighty nice of you.”

  “Yeah, well it doesn’t help when he’s out pulling stupid shit like this. Did he say where he was going? What direction he might be headed?”

  “Nope. Just that he had a lot of posters and a lot of tape.”

  “Well that’s great,” I said. “I have to run. Do me a favor and take that down. And if you come across any others, take them down too.”

  As I was climbing back into my truck, Red said, “Not a problem. And by the way, are you coming to the raw bar tonight? If so, I’ll bring that little something-something I have for you. What I forgot yesterday.”

  Standing on the running board and looking over the open door, I said, “That’s fine. I’ll be out there at some point. See ya then.”

  I rolled up and down the rest of the streets of Port St. Joe, stopping on occasion to tear down more posters. I pulled into the library parking lot on Highway 71, stopped to think about where Luke might be. I tried to call his cell phone again: No answer.

  He could have gone in any of three directions, north up Highway 71 towards Wewa, west out Highway 98 towards Mexico Beach, or flip it east back towards Apalachicola. I decided to head up Highway 71. If he was headed towards Wewa, he would most likely stop in White City, just on the other side of the Inner Coastal Waterway and place a poster in the window of the general store. If I find a poster, I’d be on his trail. If not, I could be confident that he hadn’t gone in that direction.

  I rolled onto the gravel parking lot of the small filling station and general store. There was no poster in the window. I got out and checked with the folks inside. They all know Luke. Everybody does. But they hadn’t seen him all morning. I considered that good luck and could eliminate the long drive towards Wewa.

  As my truck crossed the railroad tracks coming back into town, my phone rang. I look at the phone. It was Luke McKenzie. I pressed talk.

  “Luke McKenzie. Where in the hell are you?” I said, a little aggravation showing through my tone. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

  “I’m calling you back, you grouchy bastard. I saw where I missed a couple of your calls.”

  I was quiet for a bit and went on to apologize. “I’m sorry, Luke. It’s been a long morning. Where are you?”

  “St. Joe Beach, if you have to know. I’m out putting up posters.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen them,” I said. “Listen, we need to talk about this approach you’ve come up with. I don’t think it is such a good idea. I recommend taking them all down before somebody else gets the wrong idea.”

  “The wrong idea? What in hell are you talking about? I think it’s pretty clear.”

  I listened to Luke explain all the reasons why it was a good idea. He went on and on. Then he mentioned putting one up in the window of the post office. He was proud of that idea since most wanted posters can be found there. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so smart. I should have thought about that as an obvious location already.

  Luckily, the post office is off Highway 71, so I was close. I did a quick turn around and whipped into the parking lot. I pulled into a spot directly in front of the poster, right next to a squad car. I sat and watched as two of Port St. Joe’s finest examined the poster. After writing notes on a pad, they took a picture of the poster before taking it down. Shit!

  “Yeah, I know. It was pretty cleaver,” I said rolling my eyes. “But it’s not the approach I think we should be taking. Just do me a favor and don’t put any more posters up and meet me at your house. We need to talk. Okay?”

  “Do you have some news?” Luke asked.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know when I see you. Just promise me, no more posters.”

  “Okay,” Luke conceded. “I’ll be at the house around noon. Meet me then.”

  I looked inside Luke’s truck as I walked up his drive. The passenger seat had a good stack of the posters scattered about. Perhaps that was a good sign. Maybe he hadn’t put too many up. I knocked hard on the door then walked over to take a seat on the front porch swing. It was too nice to be inside.

  “Come on in!”

  “I’m out on the porch, Luke. On the swing, you come on out!”

  “Beers!” The entire street had to hear that.

  “That would be great. Thanks!”

  He came outside with a couple Bud Lights. He looked stressed, tired, and undernourished. He probably hadn’t eaten much since the ordeal began. He popped the tops and took a seat on an old metal glider. It has to be at least forty years old, a classic. It squeaked something awful when it moved, one hell of a racket.

  “You know, a little oil on the hinges would take care of that,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “A little oil, maybe some grease. You know, to...” I could tell by the look on his face he was oblivious to what I was referring to. “Forget it.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “So, have you heard anything?” I asked. “They said they would contact you.”

  “No, dammit. That’s what has me worried. I haven’t heard a thing.”

  “That could be good,” I said.

  “Or it could be bad. That’s why I made the posters. I wanted to step up the game. Like we talked about, you know. Keep it all internal like. Handle it ourselves.”

  “Luke, listen. That poster thing was a bad idea and by doing so you took it outside. You opened it up to the public. Not good.”

  He sat there looking ahead, said nothing.

  “You can probably expect a call from the Port St. Joe PD. I know they have seen the poster. I watched them take the one down at the post office.”

  Luke started to raise his voice out of irritation. “Those bastards. They have no right. They already told me they weren’t going to help, that they didn’t have time to look for her. And why do they give a shit anyway?”

  “I don’t know, Luke. Maybe because your poster incites violence. That’s pretty much frowned upon in the world of law enforcement.”

  “To hell with them,” he shouted.
“I would gladly kill the bastards that did this.”

  I looked around the street to see if anyone was around. “Dammit, Luke. Would you please hold your voice down? It’s not smart to broadcast such things, even if it is a joke.”

  “But it’s not a joke, dammit.”

  “Stop talking crazy and listen. No more talk like that, do you hear me?”

  He said nothing.

  “Listen. I think I know where Maxine is.”

  That got his attention. “Where? Where is she? Let’s go get her right now.”

  “I don’t know for sure, yet, so I don’t want to say. But I’m pretty sure she is fine. Safe and sound. I need to look into a few other things, but my take is this is all a real bad joke. A few stupid, bored kids pulling a prank.”

  “Do you know who?” he asked.

  “I have some ideas, but I haven’t confirmed anything. You need to give me some more time. If it’s what I think it is, I need to find those responsible; so they can be held accountable.”

  “When you find out, you’ll tell me, right?”

  “Of course, Luke. Don’t be silly. But in the meantime I need for you to go around and take down all those posters.”

  Luke started to squirm. “But why? I just put them up and I still have more in the truck. I’m not done.”

  “Luke, you’re forgetting one small detail. Most “Wanted Posters” have the picture of the individual that is wanted. Your poster may actually backfire on you. Not everyone is going to read the fine print. I’m afraid others may only see the big details: Wanted ... Dead or Alive ... $100.00 ... and a picture of Maxine. Some may go goat hunting.”

  Luke sat there looking off the porch towards the street. Then he cut a look my way. “You don’t actually think that...”

  All I did was raise my eyebrows, a gesture that said, I don’t know.

  His eyes cut back to the street, then to his truck. He didn’t say another word. He darted off the glider and porch, right over his overgrown boxwoods and into the yard. He sprinted towards the truck as his empty glider squealed back and forth. He moves pretty well for an old fart.

  I hollered his way, “I’ll call you as soon as I know something. And get yourself something to eat, dammit.”