by Jason Deas
Claude ignored the question as he parked the old Dodge truck in front of a row of wheelbarrows. An older man heard the truck and came out of a shop area with a near toothless grin.
“Shoot boy. We ain’t gonna have nothing left if you keep making up a storm of art.”
Claude tossed him the keys to his truck and asked, “You ready to sell the caboose?”
“Shoot. You can’t afford it. I’d like to sell it to you though, just to see you try and get it home.”
“I told you that would be my problem. If companies can move houses, they surely can move a caboose.”
“I still ain’t ready. Had my first job on that railroad.”
“I know, I know. My friend here doesn’t want to hear the story about you bedding down that gal in the caboose. I swear I’ve heard it so many times I could tell it better than you anyway.”
Cam stuck out his hand and offered his name. “Snuff,” the old man said in return. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Claude instructed Cam to get a wheelbarrow as he himself chose one. The two walked out into the yard pushing the heavy-duty carriers as Snuff hollered, “Got a new load of scrap over by the green Beetle.”
Once they were out of earshot, Cam asked, “Snuff?”
“Cool name, huh?”
Cam didn’t answer. He followed Claude down a series of trails. The trail crossed a dirt road several times, which seemed to snake back and forth throughout the area. Once the shop looked like a small rectangle on the horizon, Claude spied an old golf club on the ground and set his wheelbarrow down. He picked up the two-iron, winked at Cam, and took a step closer to one of the old cars. Without a word, he cocked the club and swung. The back window of the vehicle shattered in an explosion of glass.
“Oh yeah! Back in balance! Sometimes when you create so much you have to destroy to get back in balance.”
Cam eyed him curiously.
“I told you I’m a man of symmetry.” He handed Cam the club. “Beat that. We can’t leave the front window intact.”
“It wouldn’t be symmetrical.”
Claude bobbed his head with pleasure.
Cam gripped the club and turned the face so it would strike the window correctly. Taking a slow practice swing, he brought the club to the window, touched the pane, and reared back. With a violent swing, Cam connected with the window and let go of the club immediately after impact. The glass shattered and the club’s momentum sucked it into the car’s interior.
“Damn. You got some pent up rage, brother.” He picked up his wheelbarrow and took off once again down the trail in search of the green VW Beetle. The hoodless car came into view around the next bend. The mountain of metal piled next to it stood at least two stories high. “First one to the top wins,” Claude hollered as he took off running.
Claude stood on the top of the pile with his hands in the air as Cam neared the halfway point. He felt lucky he had not broken his ankle as the random metal pieces shifted slightly under his weight.
Reaching the top, Cam asked, “How did you do that? I know it’s all too heavy to fall, but it moves.”
“Touch and go, touch and go. You don’t contact it long enough for it to move. Easier said than done, but I’ve been doing this for a long time.” He looked out across the junkyard and his face turned serious. “Beautiful isn’t it?”
“Looks like a bunch of junk to me.”
“I see endless possibilities. A million sculptures just waiting to happen. It’s all about the way you see things. And that’s what makes people so interesting. We all see things differently. Know what I mean?”
“Better than you know.”
Claude laughed. “Look who’s getting cryptic. I’ve got a challenge for you and me. I want you to fill your wheelbarrow with things you find interesting on this mound. If it’s near the top, just toss it down near your cart and load it when you get back down. I’ll make you a sculpture out of whatever you find. All of it on one piece. Cool?”
“Sounds like fun.”
As he began to survey the pile, he could not believe the vast array of things he saw. An old weather vane caught his eye first and to pull it out he had to move a few other pieces around it. Once successful, he pried it out and showed it to Claude. He puffed his chest out with his first pick and Claude’s reaction of two thumbs up. A rusted cam shaft caught is eye and he tugged at it with no success. He tried to shuffle the pile to retrieve it but eventually gave up and settled on a heavy triangle.
“What do you think this went to?”
“My God, that’s gorgeous,” Claude said. “I don’t know, but triangles are God’s favorite shape.” Cam tossed it down without asking questions.
Next he found a piece, once again rusted and from a bygone era, that he believed must have come from some sort of small heater. Afraid to damage the compact accordion of metal, he walked it to the bottom of the pile and set it in his wheelbarrow. Walking around the perimeter of the heap he scored two curved pipes about arm’s length, a small drain grate, several door knobs, and a few other unidentified objects that stirred his interest.
On the way back to the shop, Claude stopped to retrieve the golf club from the interior of the car with the two shattered windows. He snapped the shaft over his knee and tossed the head into Cam’s wheelbarrow.
“We need that on there too so we can remember what a Brutus you are.”
At the shop, Claude loaded the back of the truck with Cam’s help. Snuff came out and tossed the truck keys back to him.
“How many windows did you bust out today?”
“I am appalled by that accusation,” Claude said, as he got into the cab of the truck.
Snuff laughed and showed all seven or eight of his teeth. “Your friend still has glass in his hair.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“You forgot to pay him,” Cam said, as he picked glass out of his hair.
“I paid him. Didn’t you see me give him the keys to the truck and he gave them back? There’s a locked, hidden compartment under the hood. The key for it is on the ring. I can only carry four gallons at a time, but that’s worth at least ten wheelbarrow loads of scrap metal, depending on how heavy they are. Before I struck a deal with Snuff, I was spending a hundred dollars a week there.”
“A hundred dollars a week on trash?”
Claude slammed on the brakes.
“Trash? Have I not taught you anything?”
“I didn’t mean trash, but stuff that nobody else wants, except you.”
“Visionaries aren’t always understood or appreciated.”
“How hard is it to pull one of the tuners off those old car radios in the junkyard?”
“You just have to jerk it hard. Why?”
“The state crime lab found one in Billy’s mouth.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. I didn’t kill Billy,” Claude said, looking Cam directly in the eyes. Cam was so used to being buzzed he hadn’t thought of trying to see into Claude. He was also so conditioned to not making eye contact that it didn’t come naturally. Cam had been lost in a daze and when he tried to focus and lock eyes, Claude looked away. “Let’s get you a drink, you’re getting cranky.”
The gas station they stopped at was a far cry from normal. It seemed as though it had been abandoned when they walked inside. Not a soul was around. The shelves were not organized; baked beans sat next to dusty boxes of tissues. Nothing contained a price tag. Opening the cooler, Cam didn’t feel any cool air inside. His thoughts turned to a cooler and ice. He found a Styrofoam cooler with a cracked lid as a lady emerged from the back.
“Do you have any ice outside?” Cam asked.
“No. Electricity got cut off a few days ago.”
Claude set two gallons of a clear liquid on the counter.
“Sorry I’m late, Mabel. Been a lot of crazy stuff going on in town and the heat’s been on us.”
She grabbed the jugs off the counter.
“Maybe we can make enough off this to get the lights tu
rned back on. When are you coming back?”
“I can come back with twelve tomorrow. I’ll bring the van.”
“You better.”
Cam put the beer back in the cooler and stacked the cooler where he’d found it. Back in the car he asked, “What in the hell was that?”
“That was the ugly side of the shine business. Those folks started out selling a little on the side for extra money, became hopelessly hooked on drink, and pissed the rest away.”
“Then why do you keep selling to them?”
“You don’t want to make enemies in this business. If you do, they’ll sell you out and send you down the river. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it had gotten so bad there, or I would have never taken you inside. There’s another station up the road.”
At the next station, Cam bought a six-pack and quickly downed two as they made their way to Darren’s. As Claude had forewarned, he controlled the radio. He had eclectic taste. One minute it was R&B, the next country oldies, and then hip-hop.
By the time they reached Darren’s drive, Cam had finished four beers and they were listening to a backwoods preacher talking about fire and brimstone.
“I forgot to tell you one thing,” Claude said, as he turned the key, killing the truck engine.”
“What’s that?”
“Darren hates me. He’s not going to be happy to see me. Just promise me you won’t let him shoot me.”
Before Cam could ask how he was supposed to do that, Claude honked the horn and Darren emerged on the front stoop. The dogs ran out after him. When he recognized Claude’s truck he shouted to the dogs, “Get!” The dogs surrounded the truck and began barking wildly. He slowly walked over. Claude cracked the window.
“We come with tidings of great joy.”
“You’re a dumbass.” Darren spit on the ground. He spotted Cam. “Pen!” he screamed to the dogs. They ran to the side of the house and into the pen. Darren walked over and dropped the latch, securing the door. The two men exited the truck.
“I’ll take it from here,” Cam said to Claude under his breath. He had his last two beers in his hand. “Sorry, Darren. I didn’t know until just now that you didn’t like this character. Why don’t we all stay cool and go inside and talk about it. I’ve got news.”
“Fine. Ammo is hard to come by these days so I won’t go wasting it on your pissant friend.”
Darren walked into the house. As Cam and Claude neared the door, Cam asked, “What the hell did you do to tick him off?”
“I’m sure he’s about to bring it up. He always does.”
Inside, the house was a wreck, just as last time.
“Maid still hasn’t been,” Darren said. “I think she must have quit. I would offer you a drink, but I see you’ve brought your own,” he said to Cam. “Your friend can choke on his own spit as far as I care.”
“Why don’t you like Claude?”
“I don’t just not like him, I hate him.”
“I sort of gathered that, but why?”
Darren grabbed his mouth and pulled his lips away exposing all of his teeth. “See these teeth?”
“Yeah. Those are some nice choppers.”
“That’s because they’re all fake. My real ones were knocked out by a stupid clown with a tennis racket.”
Cam looked at Claude who was smiling.
“Long story,” Darren said.
“I’ve got all day,” Cam said, cracking his fifth beer.
“Well, back in the day when I was allowed in town, before I tried to burn my brother’s house down, I had a bit of a thing for Claude’s mother. Yes, I drank too much back then and made some bad decisions, but none that should have made me lose all my teeth.”
“He tried to screw my mom,” Claude said.
“We were just tickling each other,” Darren tried.
“Most people don’t tickle other people’s breasts, no matter how much both of them have had to drink.”
“I don’t remember the specifics of the situation,” Darren said, looking for his pipe. He found it on his side table and packed it as he collected his thoughts. “I’ll admit we were having a good time. I’ll even admit that as we were laughing and joking around her shirt slipped up a bit.”
“She was drunk out of her mind and you tried to take advantage of her.”
“No,” Darren said, lighting his pipe. “I thought we had been over this before. A bug had flown into her eye and I was using her shirt to wipe it out. While her shirt was up, I thought it would be funny to give her a little tickle. And that’s when Claude walked in.”
“All I saw were my mother’s breasts, Darren’s hands, and a tennis racket. I saw red, grabbed the racket …”
“And the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital with the news that they had to remove all my teeth. He says he only hit me once in the mouth, but the doctor suspected he was lying.”
Cam looked to Claude who shrugged his shoulders.
“Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” Claude asked.
“Sure,” Darren said, with a devious smile on his face.
He stood, walked across the room and the two men shook hands.
“Are you drunk?” Claude asked.
“No, I’m Catholic and a forgiving man.”
“Catholic?”
“Long story,” Darren said, puffing on his pipe. “I’m guessing you two didn’t come all this way to hash up old memories or to talk about my religious affiliation.”
“No,” Cam replied. “We came to tell you to get a phone.” Cam paused and waited for a reaction. When a reaction or an answer didn’t come he continued. “Officer Gomez said you could come to Billy’s funeral tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s great news,” he said looking at a clock on the wall. “What time?” Cam told him one o’clock. “Great, I hate to ask you guys to leave, but I have to feed the dogs and I’d hate for you all to get in the middle of that.” He stood. “Good to see you, Claude.”
“Are you feeling OK?” Claude tried to ask as Cam pushed him out the door.
In the truck, Claude said, “Something’s fishy.”
“He forgave you. You should forgive him and move on.”
“I know him better than that.”
Motoring out on Darren’s narrow driveway, they had to pull over to let a car pass. When the car had passed, Claude said, “Tell me I didn’t just see what I think I saw?”
“I saw two Japanese men in a car. Wasn’t a Japanese company trying to buy yours and Billy’s land for a ski slope?”
“Sure were. We need to find out who inherited Billy’s land.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Rowdy and Dell stopped at Taco Dixie for lunch. The fake evidence they had collected was in the trunk.
The sign at the front of the restaurant read, “Seat Yourself” so Rowdy walked over to a booth and sat down.
Dell followed and stood over Rowdy as he settled into the booth. “Are you being funny?”
“Oh,” Rowdy said, looking up. “I forgot you’re too fat to sit in a booth.”
“You did that on purpose, Rowdy. If Mom was still alive, I’d tell on you.”
“Sit down wherever you’d like,” Rowdy said, as Dell started to get animated. “Don’t cause a scene.”
“Then admit you were being mean or I’m going to scream.”
“I was being mean. Sit down.”
“Why do you do that, Rowdy? Why you gotta be mean?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t think I can help it.”
Before either of them had a chance to speculate on the reason, a waitress arrived at their table.
“Good afternoon, Señor Rowdy.” Rowdy tipped his head. “Hello Señor Dell.” He grinned. A Cheshire Cat. “Can I start you two with some salsa, cheese dip, and sweet tea?” They both nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you think she knows anything?”
“Oh, she probably knows a lot of things.”
“I’m talking about what we’ve been up t
o, stupid.”
“You’re being mean again. And suspi… para…parano…” Dell searched his small mind for a word he’d heard before.
“Paranoid?”
“Yeah. That. I hate it when you do paranoid.”
Their waitress arrived at the table and delivered a basket of warm chips and the promised salsa, cheese dip, and drinks.
“Do you know what you would like Señor?”
“I’ll have the Speedy 5,” Rowdy said.
The waitress looked to Dell.
“Si, Señor, I’ll have a hamburger meat changa.”
“A Speedy 5 for Señor Rowdy and a beef chimichanga for Señor Dell.”
Rowdy turned red as he tipped his head. When the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen he said, “She’s a Señora or a Señorita, dummy.”
“I was just trying to speak the Mexico language.”
Rowdy slapped his head and picked up a chip.
“Aren’t people going to ask why we didn’t find the stuff in your trunk earlier?” Dell asked.
“How do they know we didn’t? As far as anybody knows, we’ve had it all along.”
“You’re so smart, Rowdy.”
The two men looked up as a reporter for the Hayes Centennial walked in the door. He immediately spotted the brothers and walked over.
“We’re trying to have a little lunch here, Kyle. And if you don’t mind we’re talking business.”
“What? No hello? Maybe I was just coming by the table to say hi.”
“Hi,” Dell said.
“Hey, Dell. Your brother sometimes has the ability to be very rude.”
“Sometimes he’s mean too.”
Rowdy smiled as if what Dell said was a joke and kicked him under the table.
“I’m under a lot of stress right now, Kyle. I apologize. How are you?” he asked, sticking out his hand.
The newspaperman pumped his hand. “When do you think we might be able to have a little sit down? I need only about ten minutes of your time.”
“I thought you only wanted to say hi?”