“Why are you so hung up on helping the Parkinses? They’ll be fine, they always are.”
She looked at me in disbelief.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “Our best friend is in trouble and you don’t want to jump in and help?”
Well, now that made me a little mad.
“Our best friend?” I said. “Our best friend? He’s my best friend, plain and simple. You’ve got all your best friends lined up behind you, all them girls you hang out with and talk about boys and all that nonsense, but Willie’s all I got. The only other fellas that came close before him was Eddie, which ain’t saying much, and my brother. And he’s dead. So don’t go acting like you get to lay claims on Willie as your best friend. You have your girls, but he’s the only best friend I got.”
She looked hurt by that.
“Glad to know where we stand with each other,” she said, then she turned to storm off.
Well, at least I got her out of my way. I’d probably hate myself later, but it was effective in the moment. I started to head along to Mr. Thomassen’s.
She stopped and turned back around.
“You’re a pig, you know that?” she said.
She was either talking about how I smelled or how I ate, that was for sure.
“You and I, we’re friends,” she said as she came back over to me. “Willie and I are friends. The three of us are friends. But you don’t treat me the same as him. You treat me different.”
“That’s ’cause you are different,” I said. “I paid attention when we was studying the human body.”
“See, when you say ‘different’ and when I say ‘different,’ we’re meaning two different things,” she said. “Because, yeah, we’re different. Obviously. I’m a girl. We have different anatomy. I look at the world a little differently than you do. I have different issues you don’t have.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“But when I say you treat me different, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that you take all those differences we have and you decide that I’m weaker, dumber, more emotional, more manipulative, or less in touch with reality than you are. Like I’m some stupid china doll or a frail flower that you need to be delicate with and protect from the world.”
It’s funny, I’d actually written down once that she was like a china doll and I was her superhero. I didn’t see how that was insulting.
“What’s so bad about wanting to protect you and impress you? Thinking you need a little bit of special attention?”
“It’s not your job,” she said. “I never asked you to protect me. And to act like you and Willie aren’t just as fragile and frail and in need of special care as I am is what makes you a pig,” she said. Then she turned and stormed off.
I couldn’t believe she just said that. I had to blink back a few tears, and worried somebody’d call me a sissy or something. Once I got myself in order, I ran on over to Mr. Thomassen’s.
The door was locked when I got there, which wasn’t no surprise, ’cause Mr. Thomassen had been pretty fickle about working ever since he got his money back from Cuba. He still opened up shop most days, but there wasn’t no consistent time or nothing. I asked him once why he even bothered since he was rolling in cash, and he told me it was ’cause it was important to have a good work ethic so folks knew you wasn’t lazy. Then I asked him why he was making so many sideburns uneven, and he told me to go on home. So I stopped asking him.
I looked in through the window and Mr. Thomassen was leaning on his counter next to his cash register, talking to Short-Guy and the other Caballeros. And also a couple other fellas I wasn’t expecting to see with them. Bob Gorman and Bull Connor.
I knocked on the window and Carlos came to let me in.
“¿Por qué están aquí?” I asked him, which means “Why are they here?”
“Esperan información de Short-Guy que podría ayudarles,” he said. Which means, uh, well, I ain’t exactly sure what it means. Something about Short-Guy getting information that might help them, I reckon.
I walked over to stand next to Short-Guy. He had all the keys taken off a key ring and had them lined up between the shaving cream and the jar of razors. He was looking in his notebook and reading what it said.
“So, we traced this safety deposit key to a bank in Mobile,” he said. “And this is a house key. The etching here on the corner shows that it was made in a factory in Florida, and that factory only ships in-state, so it’s probably to some place there.”
“What about this one that says ‘Do Not Duplicate’?” Bull Connor said, pointing to a square one. “Looks like a government key to me.”
Short-Guy cleared his throat.
“That one’s a little unsettling,” he said. “It’s a key to a federal building in Texas.”
“Where in Texas?” Mr. Thomassen said. Short-Guy glanced at Bull and Bob.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said.
“I don’t care about that,” Bob said. “Will any of these keys help me find my boy? Every minute we ain’t looking is a minute he could get strung up by the Tiggers that’s out in the woods, or worse.”
Mr. Thomassen cleared his throat.
“I’ve told you not to use that language in here,” he said.
“My boy is gone,” Bob said. “And you read that letter the Tigger preacher wrote. So don’t you tell me I ought to act more civil to them.”
“And, in answer to your question,” Short-Guy said, “yes, this one.” He pointed to a silver key he had down at the end. “This key was made and cut in Birmingham. It’s an industrial lock. Based off the scratches and some of the etchings, it’s probably to a factory or a warehouse. So, if I had to guess, I’d say your son was taken down there.”
“If he’s in Birmingham,” Bull said, patting Bob on the back, “we’ll find him. I’ll get the police chief to start searching every blamed warehouse in the city limits.”
Bob sighed and nodded.
“Thank you,” he said. “It’s good to have friends with power.”
“And you’ll have it yourself, soon enough,” Bull said.
Short-Guy picked up the keys and stuck them all into an envelope, then he put them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Which was going to make it harder to steal them from him.
“Speaking of your impending power,” Mr. Thomassen said, “do you happen to know why Sheriff Tatum is retiring?”
“Why would I know that?” Bob said.
“You knew he was retiring before anyone else, didn’t you?” Mr. Thomassen said. “Did he mention any reason?”
“Before you start implying anything or suggesting you have suspicions,” Bob said, and his temple started showing a vein on it, “you might remember that I’ve got the support of the people right now. They all believe in me. And they’re all more concerned about my boy than about some old man who’s retiring from his position.”
“El pueblo quiere ser engañado,” Carlos said. Which meant “The people want to be deceived.”
“What’s that mean?” Bob said through gritted teeth.
“It means I wish you well,” Carlos said.
Bob let out a long huff. “Look, right now I just want my boy back. But tomorrow, I’ll go back to wanting that sheriff badge. So we need to find my boy so I can focus on what’s important.”
Pa grunted at that, but he held his tongue until Bull and Bob left out the door.
“Part of me hopes Eddie didn’t get taken, but that he ran away,” he said. “Seems like he’d have a better life away from Bob than with him.”
Short-Guy grunted like he reckoned he agreed and then he reached for his hat off of the coatrack.
“Better get these keys back to the office,” he said. “They want to look at this federal key and see what sort of funny business is going on.”
I watched him head to the door and all I could think of was the envelope that was hidden inside his coat, which had the keys Rudy and Eddie needed so they could get out of town, which
might finally make my life resemble normal. I had to come up with a way to stop him.
“You’re going to go see your people with that face?” I asked.
He stopped and turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Well, you got five-o’clock shadow so bad I think Peter Pan’s going to come and try to glue it to his face.”
He blinked at me like he didn’t get it.
“You know, ’cause he’s hunting his shadow and all?” I asked.
He looked over at Mr. Thomassen. “Does it look bad?” he asked, and he rubbed his cheek.
Mr. Thomassen shrugged. “It could be closer,” he said. Then he went over and sat down at his piano and started playing a jazzy tune. “But you’ll probably be fine.”
Short-Guy nodded and turned back to the door, still rubbing his cheek to feel his stubble.
“Unless you’re trying to impress some lady,” I said. Tommy once told me that, when in doubt, bank on the fact that fellas are always trying to impress girls. It worked, too, ’cause he stopped in his tracks and looked at me.
“How’d you know about that?” he asked.
“It’s pretty obvious,” I said.
He looked sheepishly at them other fellas.
“Marge is our secretary,” he said. “She’s so dainty and pretty. Like a china doll.” He went over and sat down in the barber’s chair. “I better get cleaned up.”
“Do you ever tell her she’s a china doll?” I asked.
“Oh no, you can’t tell them those things. Girls don’t like to hear the truth about themselves,” he said. Then he snapped his fingers at Mr. Thomassen. “Let’s get to it.”
Mr. Thomassen kept playing his piano.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Thomassen said, “but George Gershwin’s work deserves to be finished once it’s started.”
“Fine,” Short-Guy said, and he got back up. “I’ll hit a barbershop on the way.” He started back toward the door.
“I’ll do it,” I said. Couldn’t believe it myself when them words came out of my mouth. Mr. Thomassen hit a sour note. Short-Guy started laughing. Even my own pa giggled a little at that.
“What?” I asked. “I’ve watched Mr. Thomassen do it a thousand times. And y’all know he’s the best there is. Plus I’ll do it for free.”
“There’s a difference between watching and doing,” Carlos said. “I’ve watched the birds every day of my life, but I still haven’t learned how to fly.”
“That’s ’cause you ain’t got wings,” I said. “I’m a man—”
“A boy.”
“A man. And shaving comes naturally.”
“You got whiskers I don’t know about?” Pa said.
“Not yet, but still.”
Short-Guy went back to the chair.
“Free shave is nothing to sneeze at,” he said. “Besides, what’s the worst you could do to me?”
I hurried over to grab the equipment before he changed his mind. I got the shaving soap and the brush and the leather strap and the razor blade. The supersharp razor blade. So sharp it could probably slice through skin and maybe even bone.
I reckon you ain’t supposed to think like that when you’re fixing to shave a fella.
I took it all over on a tray and got started.
“You gonna take off your jacket?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “So don’t make a mess.”
I gulped so loud I figured they’d probably all heard it, and then I picked up the dish that had the shaving soap in it and used the brush to work up a pretty good lather.
“Ain’t you going to do the hot towels first?” Pa said. I looked over at him, he was hiding a smile behind the newspaper. And here I thought parents was supposed to support their kids.
“Uh, yeah, let me get them.”
Short-Guy grabbed my arm.
“No time for that, just shave my face,” he said. “But be mindful of this mole here under my cheek.” He pointed to a ripe bump under the jawline on the right side of his face. “Make it fast but not too fast.”
I nodded and started slapping shaving cream on his face. I got some in his eye.
“Ow!” he hollered. He reached up to rub his eye and his sleeve got into the lather.
“Oh, here, you got some on your coat. Go ahead and take it off and we’ll get it cleaned up,” I said.
“No,” he said. “It’s fine. Just shave me.”
There wasn’t going to be no getting him out of that jacket, not without drastic measures. But I wasn’t real sure yet of what those drastic measures was going to be.
After I got the lather all over his cheeks and such, I picked up the straight razor to start scraping his stubble off. I touched my fingertip to the edge. It was danged sharp.
I started working around his face just like I always saw Mr. Thomassen doing, scraping the lather off along with the whiskers. I got all the way done with the left side and started working on the right, and then I figured out exactly what my drastic measures was going to be.
I closed my eyes and asked the Good Lord to have mercy on me for what I was fixing to do, and then I moved the razor down right next to that mole on his jaw.
“Yeah, that’s where that mole is, so—” he started.
I flicked my hand and the razor sliced right through it. It went flying over his shoulder and then it was followed by a squirting stream of his blood.
He started screaming like I didn’t reckon CIA agents was supposed to and he grabbed at his face.
“Oh, dadgum,” I said. “Here, let me help you.” I squeezed on his cheek and directed the stream of blood so it got all over his jacket. He kept on screaming.
Mr. Thomassen jumped up from the piano and ran over, and so did Pa and Carlos.
“Here, I’ve got a first aid kit in the back, let’s go fix you,” Mr. Thomassen said.
“Better get this off of you,” Pa said, and took the jacket off. He threw it over onto the counter and they all went to the back.
I jumped over and grabbed the envelope out of the pocket. I emptied them keys into my hand and put them in my pocket. I looked around for something to put back in it so he might not notice that the keys was missing, and I landed on a stack of spare blades for the razor. I shoved about four into the envelope and put it back in his pocket.
“What were you doing?” Carlos said. He’d just walked back into the room right when I was doing that.
“I was looking for health insurance,” I said. “Just in case he needs surgery or something.”
Carlos didn’t say nothing else, but he grabbed the jacket and took it to the back with him.
My heart was racing as I left the building. Knowing that I’d just stolen from anybody would make me panic, but that I’d just robbed a CIA agent after I lopped off his favorite mole made me think I might die right there on the sidewalk. I looked over at the soda shop across the street to see if maybe Short-Guy had a band of other agents that was watching or something. The only person over there was Martha. She was sitting outside, sipping a root beer float through a straw. I reckoned she was the opposite of interested in whatever I was doing, so I hurried off toward Snake Pond. Of course, I had to find a way out there, but I reckoned I could borrow Molly Turner’s bike again. After all, if you’re going to be a thief, you might as well be a good one.
I went over to their house and grabbed the bike, and I’d already started riding it when I realized that Molly’s brother had left his bike out there too. Oh well, it was too late to be concerned about looking manly. Them tassels was sort of fun to look at while I went, anyway.
I rode out of town and started along the road to get to Snake Pond, and every once in a while, I felt like somebody was following me. But I didn’t hear no cars behind me and there weren’t very many people who could keep up with me on a bicycle, so I reckoned I was just being paranoid.
It took me a good twenty minutes of riding, but I finally got over to Snake Pond and Rudy and Eddie’s campground. I parked the bi
ke and hurried through the woods.
“I got them,” I said. “I got them keys for you.”
Rudy was smoking a cigar and as soon as he heard that, he tossed it into the fire and ran over to me.
“All of them?” he asked. “Did you get them all?” He held out his hand and I dropped them all in there.
“One’s missing,” he said. “A square one.”
I dug in my pocket and found the one Short-Guy had said went to a federal building. I put that one in his hand too.
“What’s that to?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” He went straight over and started packing his stuff into a backpack and was folding the tent up. He did it real fast, like it was a habit or something.
“Wow, you’re good at that,” I said.
“Not my first time packing on the run,” he said with a smile. “Now we just need to go get the car and then we’re home free. Let’s get a move on, Edward.”
“Edward?” I asked.
Eddie shrugged.
“New start, new name.”
“You should come too, Jonathan,” Rudy said. I shook my head.
“It’s Johnny,” I said. “There ain’t no amount of trouble that’d make me go by Jonathan. Besides, I ain’t got no reason to leave. And who’d watch out for Sora?”
Rudy acted a little funny when I said that, but he kept right on packing. Meanwhile, Eddie grabbed me for a great big hug.
“I ain’t never had no friends like you, Johnny,” he said. “You really got my back.”
“I reckon so,” I said, and tried to wiggle out of his grip. He smelled like wintergreen, just like Rudy, and I was beginning to think I was allergic.
They didn’t say no more, but they hurried and took their things and left. I sat down by what remained of their fire and took a breather. They was about to be out of my hair, and it felt good to see them go.
A twig snapped behind me. Did they forget something? I got up to see what they needed.
But it wasn’t them.
It was Martha.
And she was as mad as the devil himself. Or herself, I reckon.
My day was just getting better and better.
CHAPTER TEN
SNAKE POND
The Struggles of Johnny Cannon Page 15