The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One

by Steeven R. Orr

  “That doesn’t mean I work for free,” he said.

  “Dear Lord, Bob. You weren’t cashing any of them checks anyway, even when I was paying you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s the principle.”

  “Well dern, Bob. If you want a paycheck I’ll write you out one right now.”

  Bob’s eyes widened and he gasped as if I’d just asked him to steal from the Pope. “I’m not taking a bad check from you, Norman.”

  “You ain’t gonna cash it anyway!”

  “Like I said.” He went back behind the book. “It’s the principle.”

  “Bob, you are a confounding man. I don’t understand your principles, but I surely do respect them.”

  10

  ABNER HATCHES A PLAN

  ABNER LEMONZEO COULDN’T STOP counting the money. No matter how many times he counted, it continued to come out the same.

  One hundred thousand dollars. Nearly five inches worth of hundred dollar bills.

  He sat in his booth in the back of the Pub and counted them again, a smile glued to his face.

  “How many times are you going to count those?” Jenner said as he entered from the back room.

  “Just let me enjoy this,” Lemonzeo said.

  Jenner sat across from him. He was an unassuming man. Average in almost every way. It was like he’d been designed to blend into a crowd, to go through life unnoticed by others, to be anonymous in all respects. His hair was brown, short and conservative. His suit, gray, not too expensive, but not cheap. He wasn’t tall, wasn’t short, wasn’t skinny or fat or athletic. He just was.

  His eyes, however. Sometimes when Jenner looked at him, Lemonzeo could see through them and into infinity. He’d always found it more than a little unsettling.

  “What’s your plan?” Jenner asked. “The vampires didn’t look too happy when they left.”

  “I’m not worried,” Lemonzeo said. “So Oklahoma survived. Had it really been an issue, they wouldn’t have left me the money. In fact, they probably would have killed us.”

  “You assume they knew I was in the back, watching.”

  “Oh they knew, I can guarantee you that.”

  Jenner cocked an eyebrow.

  Lemonzeo just laughed.

  “You remember the day we met?” Lemonzeo said as he shuffled the bills.

  “Of course,” Jenner said.

  Lemonzeo thought back. It had been in prison. Two days into his five year stretch, three large men, all of them covered in tattoos, had cornered Lemonzeo in the yard. It was the same old prison story. He was a new fish, fresh meat, and they’d wanted to take him for a test drive.

  But then Jenner had stepped in and that was it. He had calmly stepped between Lemonzeo and the three men and then looked at Lemonzeo’s would-be assailants. Just that, a look, and they had apologized and walked away. Ran, actually.

  “You were the expert then,” Lemonzeo said. “You knew how to get by and you took care of me. Now it’s your turn to trust me.”

  “I trust you,” Jenner said. “It’s those monsters I don’t trust.”

  “You know,” Lemonzeo said. “I never thanked you for saving me that day.”

  “Not necessary,” Jenner said. If the subject embarrassed him, he didn’t show it. “I was only repaying a debt.”

  “A debt you owed my father, not me.”

  “Same thing, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “One day you’re going to have to tell me what it was my father did for you,” said Lemonzeo.

  “That’s between your father and I.”

  It was the same thing he’d said that day. It was what he always said, so Lemonzeo didn’t bother pushing him. Whatever it had been his father had done for the man, these many years later, Jenner had proven time and again that he was true to his word.

  Jenner had even been released two years before Lemonzeo and had moved to Eudora to keep an eye on things.

  “Well, Dad’s dead, so he’s not talking,” Lemonzeo said.

  Jenner didn’t respond so he let it drop.

  “Okay,” Lemonzeo said. He stuffed the bills back into the envelope. “First thing’s first. I’m going to need some men if I’m going to go to war with Klein.”

  “You won’t get many with just a hundred thousand dollars,” Jenner said.

  “I don’t need many. Not yet. I want to take this money and use it to get more.”

  “How so?”

  “We can take our first shot at Klein and make some money in the bargain. We take out that gambling den of his in Desoto.”

  Jenner’s expression didn’t change. It rarely did.

  “The fight next weekend,” Jenner said. “There should be over a million dollars in that building after all the bets are placed.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. I figure between the two of us, maybe two other guys, we should be able to knock the place over without much effort. Security won’t be too tight, Klein’s reputation is security enough. What do you say? Feel like getting your hands dirty?”

  “Whatever you need, Mr. Lemonzeo. You got any guys in mind?”

  “I do, but I’ll need you to track them down. I haven’t spoken to them since before I was sent up.”

  “Give me the names and I’ll find them. Shouldn’t be too hard if they’re still in the life.”

  Lemonzeo took a small notebook and pen from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. He wrote the names down, tore the page out, and handed it over to Jenner.

  “What are we going to do about Norman Oklahoma?” Jenner asked after pocketing the paper.

  “I don’t know.” Lemonzeo pulled at his mustache. “I was so certain that the Walrus was a sure thing.”

  “I’ve heard stories about Oklahoma,” Jenner said. “I’ve stayed out of his way these past two years, but the rumors about him have always had me curious about the man.”

  “You mean the ones about how he can’t be killed?”

  “Those are the ones. I’ve always dismissed them, but…”

  “He’s a man, he can be killed,” Lemonzeo said. “He’s just been lucky.”

  “But the Walrus?”

  “The Walrus must have underestimated him. It’s the only explanation. He let his guard down. I’m sure if given the change he’d do it differently.”

  “Well,” Jenner said. “Maybe we give him that chance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oklahoma said he didn’t kill the Walrus, right?”

  “Right,” Lemonzeo said, still pulling at his mustache.

  “Then that means the cops have him.”

  “More than likely,” Lemonzeo said.

  “You think they have him up there at the station?” Jenner asked.

  “If they do, he won’t be there long. The Walrus’s strength is practically superhuman. I don’t think they have anything sturdy enough to hold him up there. No, if they have any brains among them, they’ll move him.”

  Lemonzeo continued to pull on his mustache as he thought it over.

  “In fact,” Lemonzeo said. “If it were me, I’d take him to Leavenworth just to get him out of my hair.”

  Jenner glanced at Lemonzeo’s bald head. It had been a quick look, but Lemonzeo caught it. Neither one of them said anything about it.

  “We could intercept them en-route,” Lemonzeo said. “Free the Walrus.”

  “Surely, if they were going to move him, then he would already be on his way.”

  “I know someone, he lives in Leavenworth. Or at least he used to. He’s more than capable. One call and providing they are still on the road he can take care of it.”

  “How much will that cost?”

  “Nothing,” Lemonzeo said. “Jack Dunn has always been my man. He’s one of the two on your list.”

  “We don’t know for sure where they’re taking the Walrus though,” Jenner said. “If they’re even taking him anywhere.”

  Lemonzeo looked around. “I think maybe it’s time I called the police.�
�

  “The police?”

  “A wild gunman shot up my bar. Don’t you think I should report that?” Lemonzeo smiled. “Depending on who they send, well, I’m sure we wouldn’t have to spend too much to get the information we need.”

  Jenner pulled out his phone.

  11

  INTO THE BASEMENT

  TODAY WAS NOT MY day for coffee.

  On the way to Clem’s I’d made a quick stop at the Happy Hamburger Drive-In. It wasn’t even close to lunchtime yet, but they served up a few of them breakfast sandwiches. You know, sausage and eggs on biscuits and such. Plus they poured a decent cup of coffee.

  The coffee rode in the cup holder I’d glued to the dashboard of my Scout. The biscuits I’d eaten during the drive. I arrived at Clem’s place and stepped out of the Scout. I leaned in to grab the coffee. Then, cup in hand, I backed away and turned. But I had misjudged the distance between the cup and the door so terribly that the cup struck the door, flew from my hand, and fell to the gravel below. The lid popped off, of course, and I watched in dismay as the coffee fled, soaking into the driveway.

  I’d yet to even take a sip. Before I knew it I had a pistol in each hand, cocked and ready to fire. I ain’t rightly sure exactly what I’d planned on doing at that moment, to tell you the truth. Shoot the cup, maybe? I can sometimes let my anger get the better of me over the most mundane of situations.

  So I took a breath, or twelve, eased the hammers down, and holstered both pistols. I took another few dozen breaths, eyes closed, head down, and got myself under control. Then I threw the empty cup into the Scout and slammed the door.

  Clem could see, the moment he opened the door, that I was in no mood for much of anything. I’d left my hat and coat back in the Scout, so I’m sure I must have been quite the sight standing there on his porch. Along with the Peacemakers at my hips, I cradled my rifle, the trusty Winchester, in my arms. There’s just nothing like a good old Winchester to make a man feel safe.

  I’d brought along more than my guns, however. I wore a backpack full of other items I felt might come in handy if I was to be dealing with what I suspected were the culprits behind the missing cats. Which were not, I want to make clear, aliens.

  Clem only nodded and took me directly into the kitchen.

  The basement lurked at the bottom of a rickety, wooden stair case. As I stood there at the top, looking down from the kitchen, I could see nothing but the inky gloom that comes from being underground.

  “There’s a string down there once you step off the stairs,” Clem said. “Give it a pull and you’ll get some light.”

  I didn’t wait to reach the bottom of the steps. Instead, I pulled off the backpack and retrieved a small lamp on an elastic band. I strapped the lamp to my head, switched it on and, rifle in hand, headed on down.

  I stepped on to the dirt floor of the basement and found the string right away. It hung from a light fixture in the ceiling that contained just one, dust-covered bulb. I pulled the string and light struggled to shine through the layer of grime on the bulb’s glass. The fixture hung from its own cord and now swung back and forth creating dull shadows that played about on the rock walls like a dance troupe with no sense of rhythm.

  Along the wall to the left perched a tall set of metal shelves which held various mason jars of differing sizes. The dust and grime covered each of the jars so that even by the light of my headlamp I wasn’t able to discern exactly what they held. Liquids in some, solids in others, even a bit a both in a couple.

  To my right was a coffin freezer. It too was caked in layers of dirt and grunge. So much so that I had no clue as to the thing’s original color.

  I got to thinking that Clem didn’t come down here too often, or if he did, it surely wasn’t to clean.

  I remained at the foot of the steps and scanned the floor leading to the back wall. There, in the dirt, as clear as the letters in a book, were two sets of foot prints.

  The first set was made by a pair of boots and they led in two directions. From the stairs to both the coffin freezer and the metal shelves, and then back. These prints were more like a well-worn track in the dirt, suggesting that when Clem did use the basement, it was to retrieve items from the freezer and shelves, or to places items in either.

  The second set of foot prints went from the back wall to the stairs and back. And they were made by something that was not at all human. The first clue was how each of the toes ended in small claws. The second clue were the toes themselves. There were only four per foot. The prints were also small, like a child.

  I walked to the back wall and tapped lightly on the rock. Not sure why. It sounded like rock, which is what I would have expected.

  I set the rifle aside, leaning it against freezer and took a handheld flashlight from the backpack. I switched in on and used it to scan each inch of the back wall. More specifically the area where the four-toed foot prints entered and exited.

  “You find my cats?” Clem said from directly behind me.

  I’d like to say that I wasn’t startled, that the sudden sound of Clem’s voice in my ear didn’t cause me to jump a bit, that I didn’t involuntarily put my left hand on one of the Peacemakers and had begun to clear leather before realizing who it was. I’d like to say all that... but I can’t.

  “Dang it, Clem,” I said, holstering the pistol. I turned to him. “I’m trying to investigate here. What do you want?”

  “You find my cats?” He asked again.

  “I’ve been down here for what, five minutes now?” I said.

  Clem only stared at me, a blank look on his face.

  “No, Clem, I haven’t found your cats,” I said.

  His face dropped.

  “Look,” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You go on back upstairs. This may take me a while, but once I find something I’ll let you know. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Clem said. “I can do that.”

  “Alright then,” I clapped him once on the shoulder. “You make sure you stay upstairs now, okay? No matter what you hear, you stay on up there.”

  “I’ll stay upstairs,” he said, then looked confused. “What might I hear from down here?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Clem,” I said. I tried not to let the frustration creep into my voice, but the man was making it difficult. “Just stay upstairs, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. Then turned and climbed the steps, closing the door at the top behind him.

  I returned to inspecting the back wall. I ran my hand along its craggy surface, moving from top to bottom. I found what I was looking for where the wall met the floor. A small section of rock that moved slightly under my hand.

  I pushed on the rock and nothing happened. I lifted up on the rock like a door handle and a section of the wall swung out into the basement on a set of hinges.

  A hidden door. I shone the light of both my flash light and my head lamp into what lay beyond. It was a tunnel that sloped downward at a slight angle. It was tall enough and wide enough that I could step inside comfortably. And so I did.

  The dirt walls were round and smooth like glass, as if a giant worm had born its way through, eating the dirt and excreting some sort of chemical that stabilized the walls around it. Which is exactly what had happened.

  Deep underground, a mile or so below your feet, lives the Colossal Slug. Though it shares more similarities with the common earthworm than it does a slug.

  They live off the earth, literally. Chewing up dirt and stone as they tunnel their way around beneath us. Most of what they eat goes back into the earth eventually, and there aren’t that many left alive at this point, so there’s no worry about the ground caving in beneath us. Especially when you consider the chemical that they produce, which coats the tunnel around them, is what is essentially solid stone. Only harder.

  It’s all very technical and biological and somewhat magical. I don’t know how it all works, but it works.

  But it wasn’t the slug that took Clem’s cats. Slugs don’t care for me
at. Nor do they make hidden doors. No, it was what used the slug to carve out the tunnels that had taken them. Something that was small like a child, has four toes ending in claws on each foot, can manage to coerce a colossal slug into creating a series of tunnels for it, and has a taste for cats.

  Goblins.

  I loathe goblins.

  12

  THE THING IN THE DARK

  GOBLINS ARE NASTY LITTLE creatures. They live underground, sometimes alone, sometimes in packs. Along with the claws on their toes they have them at the ends of their fingers as well. Plus the teeth, which are a bit like what you’d find in a shark. And whatever you do, never let one spit on you. It’s all over at that point.

  I put the flashlight away and retrieved the Winchester from where it leaned against the freezer. I levered a round into the chamber. I still wore the headlamp, which should be all the light I’d need. I would have liked the flashlight as well, but I only had two hands. I’d need both for the rifle. Besides, as much as I would’ve liked the extra light, I always felt better in the darker places of the world with a gun in my hand.

  I took myself one deep breath, loosened my tie, released the top button of my shirt, and then stepped into the tunnel. The stone door swung shut behind me, sealing me off from the rest of the world. I sighed.

  I hadn’t noticed the noise from outside earlier—the hum of the freezer, the clunk of Clem’s boots on the kitchen floor above as he paced—hadn’t noticed them at all. I surely noticed their absence now. There was nothing down here with me but the sound of my own breathing. That, and possibly a goblin or two. As many cats as had been taken, just from Clem’s house alone, much less his neighbors, I figured I was dealing with a pack of goblins. One alone couldn’t eat that many cats in such a time frame.

  I took a glow stick from the backpack, one of them chemical lights that glow green when you crack the tube inside and give it a shake. Which I did before dropping it on the floor behind me. I got moving, rifle pointed forward. I tried to take comfort in the fact that the tunnel, while dark and beneath the surface of the earth, was big enough that I didn’t have to bend or stoop. It was also dry, so that was something.