by James Ross
“He can tell us what he knows,” Easy Earl prodded. “We can keep a secret.”
“Yeah, right,” Julie said sarcastically. “Asking you to keep a secret is like asking the baker not to put filling in the jelly doughnut.” She raised her right hand, wiped the corner of her mouth signaling him to clean up and handed him a napkin. The guys headed out the door.
J Dub walked out of the office, looked at the empty clubhouse and asked, “Where’s Opur?”
Julie looked out the window and motioned to the practice green. “J Dub, you need to go help him,” she pleaded. “He wouldn’t say hardly anything. I know he knows what happened.”
“He said he was working that night.”
“Yeah, but the way he’s acting I know he was right there when it happened.”
“The place was probably packed, like it is every night. Someone could have gotten shot and people on the other side of the bar wouldn’t even have known what happened.”
“Come on!” Julie screamed at her boss. “Somebody got killed. There had to be an ambulance and cops crawling all over the place.”
J Dub studied Opur through the window. “I’ll go out there and find out what happened.” He exited the door and headed for the practice green.
The guys had congregated on the first tee. Opur had found a quiet spot on one corner of the green. With his awkward looking left-handed grip and stroke he methodically drained putt after putt.
“Are you doing okay?” the pro asked.
Opur shook his head up and down keeping his concentration on putting.
“What happened?” J Dub pried.
Opur shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
The teen’s head stayed focused on the ball. Reluctantly he began, “What do you want to know?”
“Were you involved?”
“You mean did I shoot somebody?” Opur returned his focus to the ball on the practice green. “What do you think?”
“I didn’t mean that,” J Dub said to clear up the confusion. “Do you know how it happened?’
Opur stopped. “Yeah, I was right there.”
“Where?”
“Right there, in the upstairs apartment. They were playing cards. I was serving drinks. Two guys started arguing. Stub sent me into the kitchen. Then the guy in the wheelchair pulled out a gun and shot this guy in the head. The guy that got shot didn’t know what hit him. His blood splattered all over me.” Opur totally stopped putting and looked at J Dub. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “That guy didn’t have a chance. First it was mom,” he said, “and now this.” He broke down, “It’s too much. I can’t take it.”
“You were that close?” J Dub asked incredulously.
Opur wiped his nose on his forearm. “I thought he was going to shoot me next.”
J Dub paused for a second to digest what he just heard. “Okay, first off I’m sorry for putting you in that situation.”
“It’s not your fault,” Opur said. “I like working there.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want you to . . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” Opur said. “It’s just that it happened so fast. I didn’t expect it.”
“Well,” J Dub began, “I kind of feel responsible. This is a critical time for you right now.” He paused, feeling the weight of his words. “I want to make sure that you get the proper direction and guidance.” Heartfelt concern was etched in J Dub’s eyes. “You don’t have anybody to turn to.” The pro reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Look, it’s going to be tough for you right now. You’re going to have to reach out for every bit of strength that you can muster.” J Dub placed his hands on Opur’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “It’s going to take perseverance. When you look back on this years from now you’ll realize the strength it took to get through it.”
Opur took a deep breath and calmed down. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “I guess.”
“I’m here for you. I want you to know that,” J Dub said. “But just as important, I want you to realize that there are going to be situations like this all of your life and you’re going to have to make good decisions.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“I know that,” J Dub said. “What I meant was that things aren’t always going to go your way and you’re going to have to battle through some adversity in life. It’s going to get real lonely.” He pulled Opur closer and embraced him. “I want you to know that I’m going to be there for you.”
Julie watched the pair through the window. As the two embraced a tingling sensation swept through her body.
Chapter Fifty-One
After prompting from J Dub, Blue went out of his way to make sure that Opur got the proper supervision and guidance. Stub provided the details of what had happened. Blue, after reflecting, decided that the bar business might be a little too hard core for a kid that months earlier had gotten out of high school. He wanted to keep it fun, give him an education into real life, but also allow time for golf.
It was sunset. People were piling into the bar. “Opur, come here. I need you to help me out,” Blue said in a coarse voice.
“What do you need?”
Blue lit a cigarette and headed to the outside deck. “Follow me.” The two squeezed their way through a throng of customers. They stopped at the bandstand. “Can you play music?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” Blue said. He reached for his pack of Camels and then realized he had already lit up. The band crew was putting the finishing touches on their setup. “That’s not the answer I wanted. I’m going to need you to improvise.”
“What’s that?”
“Fake it,” Blue said.
Opur grinned. “I can probably do that.”
The pair approached a black man in the band. He was medium in stature, clean cut with a little goatee and thin mustache. Atop his head was a cowboy hat. “Opur, this is Daddy Mac.”
“Nice to meet you,” Daddy Mac said as he extended his hand. He turned to Blue. “Is this my stand-in?” Instantly Opur noticed the deep, rich texture of his voice. Daddy Mac’s eyes were gentle and had a friendly tone.
“Hi.” Opur extended his hand, just like J Dub had taught him years before.
“He’s never played before but he said he can fake it.”
“What happened?” Opur asked.
“My bass player had an emergency,” Daddy Mac explained. “We need somebody to get up on stage, strum a few chords and give the ladies a little show.” He stepped back, raised his arms in the air and in the process knocked the cowboy hat off his head. Daddy Mac bent over, picked it up, placed the hat back on his head and moved his hips around and around. “You know, give them a little to keep their interest.”
Opur smiled. “I can do that!” he stepped back and gave the move a practice try. His lanky look, flat belly and tight jeans were exactly what would cause the ladies to do a double take. The teen’s beard was starting to darken. His longer hair had been streaked by the sun. A noticeable feature was an elongated neck and pronounced Adam’s apple. “Just don’t ask me to play.”
“I’ll teach you a chord. We can pretty much use that on every song,” Daddy Mac clarified. The older man laughed. His teeth and wide grin against the dark skin were a charismatic contrast. “The main thing about getting on stage is having an attitude.”
Blue took a long drag on his cigarette. “Go up there and have some fun. Keep the ladies drinking.” He patted Opur on the back of the shoulder, turned and walked away.
“Come on up here,” Daddy Mac said. He walked to the back of the stage, grabbed the bass guitar and put the strap over Opur’s shoulder. “Let’s adjust it so it’s comfortable.” He made a few alterations, placed Opur’s left hand on the neck and his right hand on the strings. “There are only four strings on this here guitar. Now this is what I want you to do.” He repositioned Opur’s hand on the neck and placed his fingers on two strings. “Those two fingers
go on the strings in that fret. Now you take your right hand and hit these strings.” Daddy Mac demonstrated the action. “Do it over and over. One, two, three, four.”
Opur practiced the strumming action. “Like this?”
Daddy Mac nodded in approval. “We’ll turn the sound down on the mixing board so that the crowd won’t hear much. It’s my show. You just keep the ladies hollering and screaming.”
“This could turn out to be a fun job.”
Daddy Mac smiled from ear to ear. “You keep that attitude. It’s our little secret. You know and I know that you don’t know what you’re doing, but you keep the women interested and we’ll have a good ole time tonight. You’re going to be one of my Furkinators.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
The crowd at Stub’s Missing Digit was about as diverse as a person could ask for. Blue-collar workers used to the hourly grind mixed with the suits and ties. Tattooed bikers wearing sleeveless leather vests and bandanas bellied up to the bar with the country clubbers. Straights/gays, young/old, male/ female, fat/thin, black/white as well as the elderly with a set of choppers and those missing a tooth or two all mingled in the same environment. Even though Blue designated a night to special groups everyone felt comfortable in the place every night and the diverse blend was noticeable.
Its one-of-a-kind atmosphere earned it a national reputation. People flocked to Stub’s Missing Digit.
Daddy Mac and the Furkinators was the entertainment most every Friday and Saturday night especially in the summer months when the outside patio area was packed. Blue was their biggest fan. Daddy Mac had the pipes to deliver the songs, the charisma to drive the crowd into a frenzy and the ability to make the booze flow.
During a break between songs the polished performer reached up, took the cowboy hat off his head, raised it high in the air and then yelled, “Sociable!” before bringing the beverage to his lips. At that instant Blue pocketed about six hundred dollars in profits as everyone in the crowd took an energized gulp.
The background music kept a gentle rhythm and tempo. “Let me introduce you to my Furkinators,” Daddy Mac began. “On the keyboard is Allen ‘Nipple Twister’ Wilkes.” The throng went berserk as the electric organ player banged out a few chords.
“Playing lead guitar tonight is Jackson ‘Bad Ass’ Ward.” The guitar player reached for some catchy notes, bent over and mooned the patrons. The women hooted and hollered and whistles shrieked through the roar.
“Tonight on the drums is Jojo ‘Uncle Smoothie’ Thomas.” Daddy Mac turned as the drummer went into overdrive banging out a drum roll.
“And tonight on the bass guitar is Opur.”
“Is that it?” an inebriated young gal from the crowd shouted.
“He doesn’t have a nickname yet,” Daddy Mac drawled through the microphone.
The young women, obviously a few sheets to the wind, yelled out suggestions. Through the commotion the words “Stud Muffin” stuck out like a rookie on a bass guitar. An ear-to-ear grin spread across Daddy Mac’s face. “Is that what you think of my new bass player?”
The girls rushed the stage, pushing each other in an attempt to get Opur to notice them. One raised her tube top flashing her boobs. Another put her tongue in her jaw and worked it back and forth in her mouth. “Ain’t ya gonna do somethin’?” a third one slobbered.
Opur, with a snoot full of sociables under his belt could only grin. “I’m kind of shy,” he finally mumbled in a real deep voice. He was petrified to try to strum a note.
“Just my type!” a voice yelled from the trio of three women.
The second one looked to the heavens, placed her hands over her heart and said, “Finally one that will listen.”
The third one added a drunken twist. “One that thinks we’re smart.”
Daddy Mac was quick to come to the rescue. “Let me reintroduce someone.” He raised the hat off his head, swooshed it down toward the ground and bowed. “On the base guitar is Opur, my Furkinator Stud Muffin.”
The women went crazy. In the bedlam a young woman, about five-foot-eight, made her way to side of the bandstand. She wore cutoff jeans that were worn on the pockets and frayed so badly in the front that the interior pocket flaps were visible. She wore a faded denim vest. A dozen or more tattoos were strategically placed. Her shoulder-length hair hid the star on the left side of her neck, but visible were the rose on her shoulder blade, the black ring around her right bicep, the configuration on her right ankle and marking on her left calf.
Six sequined decorative ear studs were visible when she pulled her hair behind her ear. A trio of unbuttoned buttons on her vest revealed ample cleavage along with a red heart surrounded by four green shamrocks on her right breast. Her crazy look was fixed on Opur. And it stayed locked on the teen all night.
Her body moved to the music. A longneck bottle of beer was followed by a shot and chased by a beer and followed by another shot. With each drink her actions became more suggestive and her libido heightened. By the end of the night she leaned against a table, steadied herself with a pole and fell against a rail.
When the band wrapped up the final song twenty minutes after last call she could hardly stand up. After the band members had left the premises she approached Opur, “Yoush neva toldz me.”
Opur laughed. “Treyna, you’ve had too much to drink.” He chuckled again as she stumbled against another table as the crowd dispersed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you without the bandana. I didn’t know your hair was that long.”
“Whatcheva ya say dere rock star.”
“I don’t need to ask what you did on your night off.”
Treyna cocked her head downward and looked sheepishly out of the top of her eyes. She rocked front to back and side to side. “Fun,” she mumbled. She lost her balance and fell against him, her left hand falling onto his left thigh. As her face fell against his shoulder she raised her hand and squeezed his balls. “You’re,” she whispered as she raised her mouth to his ear, “sooo hot.”
“Treyna, who are you here with?”
She nuzzled her nose and lips against his neck. Then she pulled back and gave him another sheepish look. Out of nowhere she started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Who’s do ya tink?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t see you with anybody.”
Treyna started laughing again. “Crystal.”
“Where is she?”
Treyna laughed again. Once again she fell against him and soon fumbled with the top button on his shirt. “Ooooo,” she cooed, “chest hair.” She raised her mouth and tried slobbering over his lips.
“Treyna!” Opur said as he pulled away. “Where’s Crystal?”
The young woman backed away and reached for her purse, stumbling backwards. She fell abruptly on her rump, the contents of the purse scattering across the concrete floor. “Oooh. Dat hurt.” She rolled sideways and reached around to rub her butt. “My bad.” She groped the floor to gather loose items that had fallen out of her purse.
Opur crouched down to pick up some things that had spread out. “I hope she drove.” In an understatement he continued. “You’re in no shape to drive anywhere.”
Treyna started laughing again. She picked some odds and ends up and started stuffing things back into her purse. When she located one item she sighed. “Dere she is.”
Opur looked over his shoulder and didn’t see anyone. “Where?”
Treyna had a capsule between her fingers. She held it about three inches in front of her face so that her eyes were crossed as she gazed at it. “Ain’t she’s so boootiful?”
“Who?”
“Crystal.” Treyna stuck her tongue out, ready to ingest the capsule.
“No, no, no,” Opur said as he grabbed her hand. “Give me that.”
Treyna quickly yanked her arm away. “Ya goes and leave Crystal alone.” On her side she coiled up into the fetal position. She eyed the treasure and brought her hand toward her mouth.
; Opur pounced on her, grabbed her wrist and knocked the methamphetamine from her grasp. Treyna tried to smack him in the side of the face. He grabbed both of her wrists and she kicked both legs to break free. Opur spun around to position himself above her head as she laid kicking and flailing on the ground. “Treyna. Treyna! Calm down.”
“You’re a cop. Friggin’ pig!” Her breathing was rapid. Her eyes were glazed.
“Settle down,” Opur said. He had a firm grip on her wrists as she shook her head violently trying to free herself. “We’ve got to get you home.”
“No! No! There’s cockroaches!”
“What?”
“The bugs will eat me!” Treyna scrambled to her feet. “They’re on me. They’re on me!” She frantically scratched her forearms and thighs. “Can’t ya see dem?” Her hands slapped against her legs. She slapped her face then smacked her bicep.
Opur backed away wondering what to do next. He went to the bar and wet a towel. “Here,” he said, “this might help.”
Treyna took the towel and immediately applied it to her face. She threw her head back and wiped her throat with the damp rag. She next applied it to the back of her neck. After forty-five minutes Treyna cooled off. “Where are we?” She looked confused and disoriented.
“I’ve got to get you home.”
“Where’s Crystal?”
“She left,” Opur said as they exited the bar and headed for his car in the parking lot. He was tired. She staggered as they walked. It seemed like she was more cooperative. Opur started the car and pulled toward the exit of the lot.
“I’m not goin’ to da police station!” Treyna yelled as she lurched across the seat. The car sprang forward and nosed out into the street just as a passing car was driving by. The resulting collision took out Opur’s front quarter panel and wheel well.
“Damn you!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
“He doesn’t look like he’s hurt,” Julie said as she looked out the window and watched Opur putt on the practice green.
J Dub agreed with her assessment. “He’s fine. He was more ticked off that his car got wrecked.”