Game of the Blues

by Kenn C. Kincaid

  “What’s one more trouble in my life, ‘till I find a place for you?” he told the ferret.

  That place became the enclosed porch. This was Trouble’s play ground; plank floors, chicken wire. As time passed, the small cage expanded to a four by six foot complex with tunnels, cubbyholes and numerous ferret toys. Dan accessorized the ‘zoo’ by hanging an oak swing from the rafters. He paired it with a pine side table, now seriously gnawed, an Adirondack chair, and screwed a brass floor lamp to the floor. A week later he put a small shelf behind the table out of reach of the ferret, and added a small cabinet for storage.

  Stepping onto the porch, Dan instinctively opened the windows by the cage. He hardly noticed the musky armpit odor anymore. Emptying his pockets on one end of the swing’s cushion, he sat on the other nibbling the cookies and sipping milk. As the sky’s curtain opened it brightened, and with the coming light came the rattling in the cage. The rejuvenated ferret scampered from one toy to the next hunching its back to dance at the door. Trouble slept sixteen hours a day, but the other eight he came at you like a freight train at a tunnel.

  “Alright, I’ll let you out.”

  Sliding out of the swing, he made his way to the cage on his knees, and opened the door. The ferret ran up his body perching on his shoulder. As soon as Dan reclined in the swing, the critter jumped to the end table sniffing and twitching his head.

  “They’re all gone. I ate them,” he said grabbing the empty milk glass before it hit the floor.

  Trouble was the Energizer Bunny with zip. It’s the one thing all ferrets have in common; Attention Deficit Disorder. He jumped off the swing, poked his nose inside the crown of a decommissioned police hat. The white saucer tumbled across the floor as if blown by a strong wind. Watching brought memories of carefree childhood days.

  How innocent and unthreatening life used to be! Those fresh spring days. I pedaled my tricycle all around the block. My nose filled with the lemony scent of honeysuckle blossoms. Racing around the block with only one worry—how fast can I go! Later in the summer, I’d occasionally sidetrack to chase butterflies through the waist high grasses. The sun was never hot, the rain never cold. Those were the days when a mother was unafraid to let a child out of sight. I’d never suggest a mother do that today!

  Carefree, I skipped across the driveway of concrete ribbons to Mrs. Deem’s house on an errand to borrow eggs or sugar. I was always greeted with a smile and begged a cookie; chocolate chip. On the way back I’d pluck a carnation from beside the house to give Mom. It appeased my guilt. I didn’t know the treats weren’t a secret.

  Today, people don’t even know the names of their neighbors. Homes are burglarized. I interview neighbors and they don’t express concern the crime occurred, only that it happened close by. We used to be neighbors. Now we’re individuals living before a frozen tomorrow. Drawn inward…

  Dan was brought back to the present when Trouble nipped his big toe. “Ouch! That hurts!” He ran at Dan’s shout and hid in the folds of a towel. Dan raised his feet one at a time spraying the socks with Bitter-Apple. “My feet aren’t ferrets!”

  The ferret ignored his remark.

  “Oblivious like the rest of the world,” Dan said to Trouble whose head was now buried inside Dan’s shoe. “Oblivious, I said. We chase blindly after our treasure chests, and when captured—profitless Pyrite!”

  Trouble zig-zagged a random path, banging into everything en route, tumbling and jumping in glee. Stuck in a corner, the motionless shoe lost the ferret’s interest. Returning to his cage he pawed at the empty food dish through the bars barking with a hollow cough.

  “Food, food, food,” Dan said on his way to the cabinet which stored the pellets. The rustling sound caught Trouble’s ear. He scurried to Dan trying to climb up the back of his trousers leg.

  Dan gently shook him off. “Whoa there! Hold your horses!” He filled the dish, placed it in the cage. Returning to the swing, Dan chose a Parson’s pipe from the shelf. He began packing the vanilla Cavendish as he watched two neighbors simultaneously pulling out of their driveways. Neither acknowledged the other. He was reminded of Fred Morgan. People so numerous; yet, help so limited.

  Dan took a long draw on the pipe. Slowly exhaling, he watched the smoke whirling outward as questions swirled inward. Is my origin and fate an accident? Have I no purpose to fulfill, and my future a bleak death?What a worthless philosophy! There must be more?

  “Get out of your water dish and come here! I have questions for you.” The ferret came to Dan’s feet, tail wagging high speed, drawn by the clicking of the lighter as Dan refired the pipe.

  “What if man is purposely designed? We’d have purpose then? To be true it only requires a Creator.” I have denied it, but it is a possibility.

  Trouble’s tail stopped as if to consider, then attacked a wad of towels beside the table.

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss. Denying truth does not make it less true. Three years have passed since I pledged to study the scientific facts and carefully observe nature. The evidence favors a surprising verdict: we are NOT cosmic accidents!”

  Trouble continued exploring the wad of towels on the floor, pouncing on the folds.

  “Do you not care? I found complex intelligent design, and with it an itch I am impelled to scratch,” Dan said lifting his head and blowing a bluish donut toward the ceiling. A grinding noise interrupted. Trouble sat in his cage chewing a bottle cap. Dan rose and seized it habitually raking the sandbox smooth before returning to the swing. Trouble pawed the freshened sand. “It’s not in there.”

  The ferret ignored him vigorously digging.

  “I didn’t hide it. I kept it!” Dan said holding the cap out.

  Trouble kicked at the dirt undiscouraged.

  “Ignoring the truth will not make it falsehood.”

  Trouble began in a new spot.

  “The truth doesn’t matter? You throw dirt because you believe it and act accordingly.”

  Dan’s pipe went out. He knocked the ashes and reached for his keys to scrape the bowl. “I need those keys you thievin’ varmint!”

  Trouble pawed dirt giving no mind.

  “I know your stash holes.” Dan scolded going to the far corner and retrieving his keys from a large coffee can. “Busted! Same place every time. Tough luck, it’s off to jail with you.”

  He took Trouble to his cage, set him inside, and closed the door below a sign reading, “JAIL.” Leaving the access trap to the play area open he remarked, “You’re on probation.” Without closing the windows, Dan collected his shoes and went to the bedroom, undressed, and rolled onto the bed. His tired body reached out for sleep, but clasped a fist-full of reflections of his days with Charlotte. They were in their first apartment over the garage.

  It didn’t work out with me sleeping days, and engines roaring beneath. But cheap–saved money–bought her that washer and dryer for her birthday. She was so happy scratching ‘Laundromat’ off her calendar. No more rolls of quarters. She read the instruction pamphlet a dozen times, and the special care suggestions. Happy days they…

  Scenes of Charlotte in the hospital materialized, the cold loneliness returned Dan to the present. I gotta force them out of my mind! Engaging an eight-track in the player, Herb Albert began playing If I were a Rich Man and Dan stomped his way to the shower. When he came out he ejected the tape, rolled onto the bed, and closed his eyes. On the doorstep of sleep, thoughts of everyday men and women facing life together emerged.

  A woman faces life alone, and all for a measly forty-seven dollars. I would give a hundred fold to erase the images. Who would decline such a bargain? What price a man’s life?

  Dan tossed and turned, a fog of subdued light drifting behind his eyelids.

  What motivates a man to take another’s life? What reason could inflict such burden of suffering and grief? This was not the act of an empty stomach, but an empty soul. A depravity nourished from drinking from the dark pits of the damned.

  Anger seethed
through Dan’s torso waking him. Startled up-right and sweating, he wiped his brow and chest with a towel. Laying the towel on the dresser by a Bible, he wondered, Could it be? Dad called it the ‘Instruction Manual.’ picked the book up. It must be. There is no other. these years Dan knew the truth, but his ego smothered it with counterfeits. Holding the book open in his palms he wondered, God’s ‘Handbook for Life?’ I will put you to the test. I will see if you are the roadmap to my purpose.” down Dan opened it and read: “Do not rob the poor, because he is poor; or crush the afflicted at the gate; for the Lord will plead their case, and take the life of those who rob them…”2

  “I hold you to your word,” he shouted through the ceiling into the heavens. “I fear last night’s killer will never be caught.” Sweat dripped across his cheek—or was it a tear? whisked it away with the back of his hand and leaned back. His mind raced to make sense of it all, to find a peace, to open the portal of sleep.

  Violence makes victims of us all. Greed deceives us to chase recklessly after gain. We’re pushovers! In the end, we all return to dust. How profits the slaughtering scoundrel then? No one escapes! Everyone is called to account! The ‘Manufacturer’s Handbook’ declares it. If there is no Hell for such as these, then there can be no justice.

  The echoing of his father’s favorite quote, I know in whom I have believed and He is able to keep me until the end,3 dissipated the tension. The words comforted Dan. He yawned, his eyes closed and he slept.

  Evil would patiently wait for Dan’s return to the battlefield. The specifics of the debacle mattered not for the brotherhood of evil delights in variety.

  2 Proverbs 22:22

  3 2 Timothy 1:12 Paraphrased

  Chapter Four

  Preacher’s Nooses

  It was one-thirty in the afternoon when Dan’s phone rang. Still in his pajamas he lifted the receiver, “Go ahead. You called me.”

  “Yes, I did Officer Black,” said the unwelcome voice of Lieutenant Hess.

  Rest of the day’s gonna be a flush!

  “Officer Black, you’re under orders to report to the chief’s office at 1600 hours.”

  “IN TWO HOURS! It’s the middle of my day! Can’t it wait? I‘d rather go in at the end of my shift.”

  “You don’t pick your ‘rathers’ with the chief,” Hess shot back. Dan sensed a glee in the tone.

  “So, what’s it all about?”

  “It’s regarding your tie memo.”

  “Oh—that.”

  “Chief didn’t find it amusing an…”

  “Ties in this heat are stupid!”

  “I don’t care to hear your opinions. Chief Hartwelz doesn’t either. Report at 1600 hours. You’re officially notified.” Hess terminated his call.

  He enjoyed that way too much!

  A month ago Dan originated the movement for the Fraternal Order of Police [FOP] to petition the chief for elimination of ties. The Chief declined citing a need for a “professional look.” The decision frustrated Dan and he submitted a memo of “constructive criticism” to the Chief defining the “professional look.” If not valid, a vivid assessment: perspiration spotted creaseless uniforms, sweat blotches painted across the shoulders and underarms, sweat tickling down the crack of one’s backside, and a chili stained tie the final complement to a “professional” look.

  Dan called Ben at home. Alistia answered. “Hi Alistia, this is Dan. Ben up yet?”

  “With these kids? Up over an hour. I’ll get him.”

  “Hello Partner. Give me the bad news slowly.”

  “What makes you think it’s bad news?”

  “Called me at home, didn’t you?”

  “Hess called…”

  “That IS bad news.”

  “Have to report to the chief at 1600 over my tie memo.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Yep, how you think I ought t’ handle it?”

  “Why you askin’ me? I ain’t goin’ with you. Get the FOP to represent you.”

  “Not askin’. Just a heads up.”

  “Thanks.” Then Ben called a muffled, “Alistia,” out to his wife, “If work calls, I’M NOT HEAR. Take a message.” Then to Dan, “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Lookin’ back, I guess it was a bit imprudent.”

  “Bit? I remember you saying—uhh—what were your words? ‘I’m prepared to pay the piper’.”

  “Yeah, what d’ you pay a piper? Hail Mary’s?”

  “Pack your toothbrush. I’ll find out tonight how it went.”

  “Right,” Dan hung up. Doubt he’ll try an’ fire me. “Days and a ‘penalty box’ assignment for sure. Wonder which one: impound lot, dispatch center, telephone reporting? Oh well, might as well go down strong.

  Dan searched his closet. Found an undersized shirt, and a tie sporting chili stains to which he added a mustard splotch. Since no directives existed on tie tacks, he selected a one inch Mickey Mouse. Deciding the spray bottle he used to spit shin his shoes perfect to apply sweat stain, he sat it aside.

  Slovenly dressed and in the hallway outside the Chief’s Office at 1600, Dan knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Dan stepped briskly to the front of the desk, the door closing behind him. His untidy appearance an overstatement: shirt buttons bulged from a full vest, the tie’s knot pushed upward revealing the “clip” nature, and wet armpits. The spray bottle had darkened the arm pits, neckline, and back shoulders. Artificial brow sweat was added from the drinking fountain prior to entering. Hat under arm, he braced, and saluted. “Officer Daniel Black reporting as ordered, Sir!”

  “Holy mother of mercy!” Chief Hartwelz stared. In those moments Dan realized there were no witnesses in the room.

  OH BLAST! Just went from a butt chewing to serious suspension!

  “What DOES THAT represent!” the chief billowed.

  Gotta play it out now. “Don’t understand the nature of your question, Sir.”

  “I consider mockery of uniform dress insubordinate.”

  “Sir, best of my knowledge, my uniform is in full compliance with departmental policies.”

  “Officer Black, you’re fully aware the shirt’s too small. And, what’s that suppose to be hanging from your neck—a bib? As for those blotches—you haven’t begun to sweat. Unprofessional, totally unprofessional, and undoubtedly your objective. I’ll not be toyed with!”

  The chief left Dan standing rigid and walked out. Minutes later he returned with a Polaroid camera and snapped three shots dropping them on the desktop in front of Dan. Watching the images appear Dan wished he could press ‘rewind’.

  Chief Hartwelz returned behind his desk, shook his head, and spoke. “Officer Black, upset as I am by this ill-conceived drama, I am far more disappointed. My purpose in calling you here WAS to discuss this imaginative memo.”

  Hartwelz pulled a memo from an in-basket, waved it, and dropped it on top of the photos. “Your form is insubordinate enough, but I was willing to set it aside. I hoped you’d accept an assignment to an advisory panel on reducing patrol officer heat exertion. It’s obviously a matter of personal concern for you. We differ in the role the tie plays, but your imagination, willingness to pursue the unpopular, among other traits showed promise. Now this! You cut my hands off at the elbows. My whole staff’s seen this defiant waltz. Puts it out of the question. I left out of here fully intending to fire you. I’m still wondering if a suspension is sufficient. The paperwork will be forwarded to your District Captain immediately. You are dismissed!”

  Dan saluted, pivoted an about-face and exited. Sometimes I wake up stupid and never get over it. went to his car, removed the shirt and vest, and tossed them in the trunk. He drove home in the T-shirt with the top down. Arriving home Dan changed his pants and went to the porch.

  “Well Trouble, shot the bottom out of the boat this time.” He opened the cage door and let the ferret run. Smoking his pipe the vanilla aroma settled his nerves but not his regrets. “Well furry friend. The good
news is WE may spend some time together. Oh I deserve it. Went off half cocked.” His one-sided conversation with the ferret was interrupted by a light knock on the porch’s screen door.

  “Hi Peggy, come in.”

  “Can I take Trouble home for awhile,” the next door neighbor asked.

  Dan chuckled, “You don’t know how much I wished you could. Fur ball’s all yours. ‘Fraid I’ll have to keep my troubles.”

  “Sorry,” she said gathering the pet and leaving.

  Dan cleaned his golf clubs, ate supper, did some laundry, and then left for the district station. When he walked into the locker room he was greeted by cheers.

  “Way to go. Hung yourself on a clip tie!”

  “You certified what we’ve suspected – you’re nuts!”

  “What kind of jobs you got lined up? Bread truck or elevator jockey?”

  Dan shook his head and went to his locker. “Relax guys. Fat lady ain’t finished singing.”

  Ben arrived in the midst of it, “Word’s out already?”

  “Yep, hung myself.”

  “How bad?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “This darn thing’ turned into a ‘Preacher’s Noose’,” Ben said tugging at his tie. The name stuck.

  They attended to preparing their gear. In ten minutes the duty call sounded. Jansen’s hair was cut, and everybody’s shoes shined. Sergeant O’Toole took time to comment. They sat at the briefing table listening to the bulletins. A breeze stirred on the mid-August night having no impact on the mugginess. The forecast of a cold front dropping temperatures didn’t encourage. Nonetheless, having rotated off Day Relief two weeks ago, they were happy to be on nights. During this briefing, the officer’s ‘dangled’ their clip ties from the button hole of the open collar. O’Toole was in good spirits.