Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks

by Brenda Stewart

  “You OK? You look a mite peaked,” the shopkeeper said.

  “Fine. I need some special mix from back there.” He nodded toward the door on the backside of the counter. The left eyebrow was the only movement he made. The man at the counter nodded, looked around, reached under the counter and pushed a button. The customer picked up a card, left the money and walked in the direction his eyebrow signaled.

  The sheriff walked over to the tobacco shop after he had his little visit at Orv’s. He’d left the car in the county garage right under his office when he began his rounds earlier in the day. This was a special call after his executive conference at Orv’s.

  He had to pay a visit on the little gambling rooms behind the salons, filling stations and tobacco shops. This included Larry’s and Betty’s soda shop and stationary store that placed the bets with the bookies down in Indianapolis.

  “Boys is just playing a little five card or twenty-one, Sheriff Rawlins.”

  “Didn’t think they’d be doing otherwise.” He looked around. “Looks like you got both teams covered in here.” He was admiring the festoons of two colors of crepe paper hanging from the ceiling.

  “Well, it’s only fair to show respect for the opposite side, but I know our Fightin’ Bearcats are going to win. At least I hope so.”

  “Got any money on it?”

  “A little and don’t go bad mouthing me. I can’t afford to gamble big.”

  Sheriff Rawlins nodded and then said, “Don’t push that button and let them know I’m coming in there.”

  He spoke these words very soft. A whisper, but the look on his face and the hard stare in his eyes caused the shop owner to remove his hand from the button. “That’s what I intend to speak to the gentlemen in back about. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t send forth word to any other place in town that I am on a walk and talk mission.”

  Sheriff Rawlins walked to the back room. The “boys” as he called them because he had grown up with them, were playing blackjack and talking, until the dealer froze while dealing the last card to a man with a 16 of hearts showing who wanted a five of any suit which the dealer had just slipped under the deck.

  Rawlins said nothing and just flicked his eyes from the cards on the table to the deck, and the dealer managed to get the card back on top with no one the wiser.

  “Boys, tomorrow we got the big game. A whopper. We want to treat our visitors the best we can. If you choose to play some cards or bet on the game I want you to do so in an honest and fair way.” He looked at the dealer. “I also expect you not to get caught or be obvious as to what you are doing.”

  The boys nodded. The dealer nodded very fast and wiped the sweat off his face with a red bandana. Sheriff meant every word. He knew it was his responsibility to help keep the local games secret and honest.

  “Keep a low profile with the dice and cards. Bets on the game are forbidden. It’s a high school game. We’re the hosts. So keep the handling of money quiet and very local. ‘Know your companions’ as they tell you in Sunday school. So be real quiet like. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to hear about it from snitches or little old ladies, or pastors. I do not want to know about it one bit. And I do not want to be surprised by bodies, folks beaten up or crying women who have no grocery money. Is that clear?”

  They nodded again.

  “You leave a man money to feed the family. Pay the rent. Give to his church. Everyone keeps quiet and no trouble. Then I don’t have to arrest you. Play with matchsticks. Gather up money later. This is not big time gambling. Spread the word. Do I make myself clear?”

  They nodded a little faster this time.

  “And gentleman.” This was serious, when he said ‘gentleman.’ Trouble was ahead. “The Big Boys are in town, from Chicago. Black hats, black suits, big black cars. Big money guys.”

  They nodded with a lighting speed. Eyes getting wider as they listened.

  “Stay the hell away from them. Somehow they got interested in our game. As if there wasn’t enough money everywhere else. Don’t let any strangers in your games. Don’t let them goad you into making spread bets on the games. Report such illegal acts to me. The usual channels. In fact, anything or anyone strange.”

  He looked down at the cards on the table. “Remember anything strange whoever, and whatever it is. Check it out with me. Don’t place bets with out of towners because…”

  “Where they are, the Feds aren’t far behind.”

  “That’s true. Very true, but this game has become very high stakes and causing an interest in this town for them.”

  “Why are they interested in us, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff Rawlings closed his eyes and wondered how some people survived without thinking. Out loud he said, “I haven’t a clue.” Then whispered very softly, “It’s election year. And more important,” he paused, “Big money. Big, big, money. And a bit of a fix is in the air. Just be careful. We are in everyone’s crosshairs.” He turned and left, pointing his finger at them. His parting look could have frozen the drinks rock solid in their glasses.

  The bike shop began to light up as the night shift began to arrive, earlier than usual. A sure sign that events were building up.

  “Look guys, the cops want these bikes for the kid’s center by the end of the week. Sometime during or after the tournament to show we do more than play basketball for kids,” Joe said.

  There was a scramble as they tried to work faster. That lasted about seven seconds before they slowed down.

  There was a bang on the side door. Joe looked out the window.

  “It’s Paul.” He opened the door. Paul rode in on his bike, big saddlebags on each side of the bike. A huge basket was attached on the front handlebars. Rolled up newspapers were sticking out of the saddlebags like sentinels.

  “How did you ride with this overloaded mess down here?” one of the workers asked.

  “Sheriff said bring it down here. Unload it fast. I don’t know what it is. Why you need all these newspapers? Do you know I’m not supposed to know I was even here?”

  He rolled his eyes. ‘“Put it where you need it.’ That’s all he told me to say. Ever. I know nothing. You hear me?” He took a breath.

  “I wasn’t here.” He looked around the garage. It was the first time he had been allowed in. He was not supposed to look around or stay longer than it took to unload the bike.

  The head supervisor of the garage whistled and men came running and took the saddlebags off the bike, grabbed the basket’s contents and rushed back upstairs.

  Paul nodded. They opened the side door and he left.

  “I don’t like it. This whole venture was to be a secret operation to make money to help those kids that can’t afford bikes get them,” one of the men almost shouted. “Us, the sheriff and couple of cops. Now we got the whole police and sheriff’s department, a kid and God knows who else fixing bikes for the kids and doing that other thing which will get us life in prison. I know it will.”

  “It will not get us into prison. Sheriff Rawlins is in charge. It will work. We need this other deal to keep fixing bikes. That costs money. Besides, part of this operation is to get the bad guys. No, it will work. Just concentrate on that. Sheriff said if we do our part. Just shut up.” Joe began to work on another bike.

  The first complainer hung his head. “I’m just tired. I owe that man my life. My job as one of the deputies, like all of you. It will work if he says.”

  Everyone went back to work while the two senior deputies talked out. They figured it was better not to know everything those two knew.

  “We got tomorrow daytime, no more. We need those bikes for the day after the finals celebration. We need the bikes we got fixed for tomorrow night. Those so-called security guards are still holding that money in the Quad. Why they can’t put it in the bank where it’s safe I will never know,” he said.

  “Gambling money?”

  “Yep.”

  “From those out of town guys?”

  “Yep. Guess
it mustn’t see the light of day or banks.”

  “Well, I hope it’s marked or something so that they can keep track.”

  “It’s what they gather at the liquor stores on Friday and Saturday nights after the poker games. No markings. Plus this, my friend, is from the bets on the big game, Saturday.” He kept working on the bike as he explained this project to his fellow deputy.

  “How do you know so much if it’s a secret?”

  “Because once there was some kind of mix-up and I had to help collect. Sheriff asked me to. Could not mention the shop or us.”

  “I bet the Sheriff arranged for the mix-up for good reason. All that money goes to the treasurer’s office?”

  “All mixed up with tax money until they pay off the bets. That’s so as to confuse the public. Keep it secret-like. So nobody will know.”

  There was a silence. The room gathered energy that seemed to cause whirling blades of light and bright circling lights. Then each person went back to work with an intense concentration and no waste of energy. There was a run tomorrow, game night. And they could still get the boys’ bikes to them later and on time. Perfect cover.

  Sheriff walked back to his office smiling. His walk and talk went well and he learned a great deal from the street folks.

  He called his secretary.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m busy on reports. No visitors.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Inside his office he checked the blinds to make sure they were open. Then went into the bathroom, read the message he received from Paul. Then flushed it down the toilet.

  He doodled on a pad. Thought about Paul. He had to help that kid more. Had to have a walk and talk with him some day. A long one.

  He went back to the window to look out on his town. Everyone was getting ready for tomorrow’s game. Folks were buying party food at the Kroger’s. Booze at the liquor store. He watched people stopping; saw heads nod and money slipped from hand to hand. A good healthy town. Except for that last note that Paul handed him.

  A janitor having an accident? That intrigued him. It was time for another walk and talk if he had time. Need to connect with Ross. He’s probably still at school seeing that it’s ready for the game.

  That night he drove around the town, the back roads, the mean streets, and the alleys. He was in an unmarked car, his own that he kept hidden in a rented garage. Under a fake registration. He wore the clothes that he kept for such occasions as his secret drive and look missions. That’s what his deputies called them.

  The first real job he ever had was at a filling station. He still wore that uniform proudly on these secret missions. He drove around the town. Watched the people gathering and talking in little groups. He looked in parking lots. Checked the out of state licenses.

  Then he saw the janitor walking down the back alley behind the courthouse. Walking with a big man in a black suit. He smiled and headed back to his garage. Went to the wall phone and called The Muncie Press. “Give me the newsroom. Name’s John Doe.”

  “News room. Hello there, John Doe.”

  “Did you get that picture of the man I asked about? Lawrence Edward?”

  “Yes, sir. I sure did. And sir, Jesse is doing well. I took care of the bill like you said.”

  “Thank you. And any pictures of our guest in the city? A heavyset man in a black suit by chance?”

  “Yes, sir. I have several pictures. I have a new box of cigars for you. Meet you at The Spot Cigar Store and Bar in five minutes.”

  Sheriff Rawlins smiled. Walked out of the garage around the corner to the Spot, which was so full of smoke, no one could have recognized him even if he was in uniform. As a general rule, the Spot folks never ever recognized anyone that came in.

  He sat at the back table. Mac, his reporter friend, was already there. Pushed the cigars across the table to him. They both took one. Mac leaned across the table and lit the sheriff’s cigar.

  “They put prizes under cigars now like bubble gum cards,” he whispered.

  Rawlins smiled. He liked when things worked well. He walked out into the night carrying his box of cigars through a thicker haze of smoke. He went back into the garage. Changed clothes and headed back to his office.

  At his desk called a number, “It’s time. Tomorrow,” was all he said. Sheriff Rawlins went to sleep satisfied that everything was in place.

  When the deputy woke him up, he went to the window and looked out. It was time to get ready. It was important that he be in full dress uniform, standing beside the band, the flag, singing the “Star Spangled Banner,” hand over his heart, even if he was in uniform. Hand over his heart went down good with the voters. Him being a veteran and all. Made him seem more patriotic. Tonight he had to make sure everyone was ready.

  Just as the weatherman predicted the day started bright and clear. The town burst into activity. Cafes were serving breakfast, lunch and gallons of coffee. Bars were serving beer almost by the gallon, whisky by quarts. Radios in every home, business and car were playing loudly. Loud speakers hooked up to radios that blared out into the streets kept all the town folk, who lost in the draw for tickets, listening to the progress of the game. The announcer was giving the beginning statistics on WLBC.

  It was a carnival of open-air fun with no rides, hawkers selling crepe paper pompoms and flags and almost a prayer service for the teams. It was broken only after the afternoon games decided who would play in the final. Then it ramped up.

  The Congregationalist minister was inwardly praying for his team. Methodist chapel was open. The priest, a former Bearcat, was saying an extra mass for all departed Bearcats and adding all the boys playing today. He thought that was less sacrilegious. Quakers were sitting in silence, fingers crossed. The Baptists held altar calls.

  The afternoon game increased the odds. The Bearcats and Badgers played the night game. Bearcats at home.

  Orv’s was packed with the hamburgers and shakes piling up on trays being delivered by shaky waitresses and waiters. They needed plenty of food and drink to celebrate the afternoon and get ready for the night game.

  Future cheerleaders and future basketball players were practicing with all their might. Even got to stay up for the final game as night began to wrap around the city.

  In the bike shop, bikes and men stood at the ready. Faces blacked, trousers and shirts black, even sock and shoes black. Lights out. Silence. No smoking.

  Each of the field packs on their backs carried counterfeit money that Paul had delivered to them unknowingly. A small light blinked once. The first quarter had started. They pushed bikes back and forth, no squeaks.

  The packed field house held hope for a Bearcat State Championship. It held hopes of big money for the big time gamblers who cheered for the team.

  One man sat in his seat holding the warm cup of revenge laced with just enough booze to smell. He was pretending to work up a greater drunk to make sure he had been noticed. He cheered louder than anyone.

  “You watch it, Lawrence Edward. You’ll fall off the balcony. Then we’d have to get a new janitor.”

  He laughed and smiled. He had sailed close to the wind before, but not at full throttle. God, he wanted out of this town, to a paradise island somewhere with his “paramour.” He liked that word. Away from small town secrets and gossips. Rich, instead of scrimping and kowtowing to the big bosses. Anything instead of being a lowly janitor substitute. It had taken him long enough to get that far. He had cleaned the floors of the poor suckers and the rich to get to sub janitor. Them rich folks had cash money from the taxes in that safe. The town owed him.

  While he was dusting for the rich folk, he had saved every penny. Who did they think owned some of them gambling parlors? He’d fooled that stupid sheriff.

  Pay them all back for what they did to his dad. Not lettin’ him play just because they caught him trying to fix a game. And what about him? They never let him either because of his dad. This will show them. He smiled. The bell sounded again.

  B
odies tense, the bike shop riders eased onto streets with only a swish of noise, pedaled and then glided down the dark streets of Muncie. Down Liberty to Second.

  Second quarter up. Had to keep going until the final gun. Maybe since the fix was in they would have double money. Now they rode from Charles to Walnut to the courthouse. The whole town was as silent as Christmas Eve, right before Santa came.

  Each man thought, Santa is sure coming tonight. The buzzer sounded, an engulfing sound spread through the city like a dam bursting, spreading joy through the streets and alleys.

  Up the steps they pedaled. No moon, just clouds, big and dark passing across the town like dark curtains on a stage opening for actors. The eight men swishing by while the rest stood guard.

  One man kept saying, “Into the valley of death they rode.”

  Opening the old courthouse doors. Wheeling up more steps to the Treasurer’s office in the dark and silent courthouse. The safe combination expert spun the numbers on the locks. Listened as the tumbler fell into place, opened the door and started handing out the money.

  Almost as fast as one line of men passed it down and stuffed it into bags, the other line passed the “funny money” up to be placed in careful piles in the safe.

  It took half of a basketball quarter. They had practiced. They coasted down the steps and sped off in twenty directions.

  It was half time at the field house. The cheerleaders did their pyramid, shook their little bottoms and ponytails at the same time. Lawrence Edward went outside the field house, singing and making a scene.

  “Oh, Lawrence Edward is as drunk as a skunk tonight.”

  “He won’t last the night.”

  “Maybe he’s celebrating all those nights of dusting.”

  “Must be tired of that. All the schools and the courthouse.” The janitor glad-handed the whole town, beaming and singing and laughing.

  The bikers went into a tunnel a little way from the garage and entered the basement of the bike shop. Locked up the doors, took off and rolled up their clothes. Snow had started to fall. The temperature had dropped.