The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living

by Martin Clark

  “We’re almost through,” Ruth Esther said. “Thank you, though.”

  “Certainly. Push this buzzer when you’re ready to go, and I’ll be back here to get you.” He nodded and walked off.

  Evers looked at the letter. “What do you think, Pascal?”

  “Whatever. I’d give it to her. It’s none of our business. Pauletta’s right. Our money’s here, and the box is empty. Even if it’s a check for a million bucks, we’re just being nosy.”

  Evers held the envelope close to his face and moved it back and forth in front of the fluorescent light. The envelope was heavy and there was a row of stamps stuck across most of the top border, so Evers couldn’t tell what was inside. He took the envelope down from beneath the light and held it in both his hands. “Sorry,” he said, then took out four sheets of paper that were as yellow and stiff as the envelope. The letter was written in the same elaborate script that was on the envelope; the writing was so full of tails and slants and words on top of each other that it was difficult to read. The letter began “Dear Ruth” and, on the first page, mentioned that the writer hoped she was doing well and that he’d just gotten back from a trip. Artis began screaming to leave and shaking the bars in the door, and Evers quickly looked up and down the rest of the pages. Everyone except Artis was staring at him. Ruth Esther’s fingers were underneath her chin, church and steeple.

  “Oh well,” Evers said. “I’m sorry. Here.” He handed the letter and envelope back to Ruth Esther. She opened her purse and dropped them in without putting them back together.

  “No treasure map, Judge Wheeling?” Pauletta had finished placing three-quarters of the money into her briefcase. “No bearer bonds or gold coins?”

  “I’m sorry. I apologize. I just wondered if there was more to this than the cash.”

  “That’s not the point.” Pauletta shook her head. “That’s not the point at all. What were you going to do if you had found something valuable in the envelope?”

  “I wasn’t going to keep it. I told you that before I looked. I was just curious. I was going to … I would have given it to Ruth Esther. I would have.”

  “You had no right to look,” Paulettta scolded Evers. “It was a classless and offensive thing to do. Base. Just common.”

  Artis had his hands on the bars of the door and his face stuck into a narrow gap, looking out. “When are we going to get out of here?” he demanded. His back was turned to everyone when he spoke.

  “I’m sorry,” Evers said again. “But I’m not going to keep apologizing over and over. And I might point out that I’m not the thief in the room, okay? I’m not trying to be a prick—”

  “I accept your apology, Judge Wheeling.” Ruth Esther snapped her purse shut. “It was nice of you to say that you’re sorry.” She paused. “Are we ready to go?”

  “I certainly am,” Pascal said. He looked at Evers. “I’ve got our money.” He held up the gym bag. “Or at least we’re pretty close. It’s hard to be completely precise in here with so little time. Pauletta and I can finish when we get back.”

  “You’ll have to use the buzzer, Artis. Shaking the bars and looking out won’t open the door. Remember what the man told us?” Ruth Esther pointed at the button beside the door, and he crabbed over to it and pushed it in, held it for several seconds without letting go.

  The banker returned with another document for Ruth Esther to sign, then let everyone out of the room. When Evers walked out of the bank onto the street, it had gotten hotter, and a car and pickup had wrecked at an intersection a block away. Traffic was stopped, and two men were talking to the police. One of the men was holding his stomach, standing near an old Volkswagen Beetle with a broken windshield.

  “Let’s walk a couple streets over and catch a cab,” Pascal said. Everyone glanced at the police and the accident and kept moving, Pauletta in front, Artis behind her. The two women and Artis got into a cab together, and Pascal and Evers flagged another, jumped in before the car completely pulled to the curb. When he got inside, Evers rolled both of the back windows all the way down and undid his shirt until only the last button was still fastened. There was a song on the radio, and Pascal started humming and rocking his head even though he didn’t know the lyrics. “So far, so good,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “This was pretty entertaining, the way it worked out.”

  “So far,” Evers agreed.

  The cab pulled off and rushed in behind a small Chevrolet—drove right up to the rear of the car—before veering left to accelerate and speed by. Evers crossed his ankles in front of him and turned his face toward the wind blowing in through the window. He smelled exhaust, dry air and the city’s roasted exhalations, felt every dip and shake in the road. Pascal was bobbing and swaying, listening to a song he’d never heard before. The driver was a dark-skinned man who tried to talk to the brothers in broken English, questions about where they were from and did they like the Dallas Cowboys, but Pascal and Evers didn’t have much to say.

  As soon as Evers got out of the cab at the hotel, he saw Lester Jackson standing on the sidewalk, near the entrance to the lobby. He and Pascal walked past, and Jackson barely acknowledged them, just shifted his eyes in their direction when they got close. They stopped at the threshold of the lobby, held the doors open and looked out at Lester Jackson. Evers felt the cool hotel air and the heat from outside at the same time, cold and hot curling around each other, bumping and butting.

  “I trust that you recovered my property,” Jackson said to Ruth Esther when she started heading into the building, several yards behind Evers and Pascal. Artis was in front of her and Pauletta beside her, carrying their share of the money in her briefcase.

  Pascal pushed the door open a little farther, and caught it on his hip and shoulder so his hands were free.

  “Mr. Jackson, I have my property. Do you understand that? I cannot imagine why you decided to come here. You are an evil, greedy man.”

  “I would gladly settle for my currency, the letter and some other modest payment. That’s the very short end of the bargain; you may keep the rest.”

  “You’re a horrible man. You sell drugs. You gave Artis drugs and made him steal and turn on his family. You’ll never get anything from me. Never. Maybe this will teach you a lesson.”

  “I will get my money, Miss English.” Jackson took a step closer to Ruth Esther, and Evers noticed another man separate himself from a group across the street and begin walking toward them. The man had bright white skin and curly black hair, but he was behind Artis and the women, and Evers couldn’t really see his features. A boy a few yards down the street—skinny, without a shirt, wearing sunglasses—started up a motor scooter.

  Evers jammed his hand against his brother’s back and pressed, but Pascal had already started outside again, toward Ruth Esther, so Evers’ hand never touched much, just the tail of Pascal’s shirt and, for an instant, the small of his back. The shirt was wet with sweat. Lester Jackson had kept walking until he was in front of Ruth Esther and Pauletta, just a few feet away from them. The milky-white man crossed the street; Evers saw him wipe his forehead in the crook of his arm. He searched the street behind the man to see if anyone was along with him, and when he looked back, Jackson had crowded in as far as he could, was directly in front of Ruth Esther and Pauletta, blocking their way. “Certainly, we can reach some agreement.”

  “Mr. Jackson, fuck off.” Pauletta pointed at Lester Jackson. Artis glanced up at Jackson and moved closer to his sister. Artis’ head did not reach Ruth Esther’s shoulder.

  The man from across the street was right behind Pauletta now, and the skinny boy was up on his toes, striding the scooter, revving the engine, twisting the throttle, angling forward. Lester pointed back at Pauletta, and the white man took his last step and reached for her briefcase. She sensed him behind her, turned toward him just a little and moved her feet and twisted her shoulders. Pascal got his hand on the case at about the same time as the pale thief, and for an instan
t all three of them were holding on to Pauletta’s briefcase. Pascal put his other hand on the handle and pulled, and the case came out of Pauletta’s grip. Pascal had been crouched, bending down, stretching for the briefcase, and when it flew free, he tumbled backward, fell onto his rear.

  As soon as the men and Pauletta began wrestling with the briefcase, Artis had run away, bolting halfway down the block, where he stopped and looked back, his mouth opening and closing and his arms hanging down straight and flaccid. Evers stepped between Ruth Esther and Lester Jackson, put his hand on her shoulder and shoved her toward the door of the hotel. The bleached man turned right and disappeared into a gang of people who had come out of a store and restaurant; they all looked alike—black hair, colorless skin and white shirts. The group of men hurried off down the sidewalk, and the boy on the scooter rode by, watching everybody, his bike popping and sputtering when he took his hand off the throttle and stopped the gas. Pascal stood up and joined Evers in front of Lester Jackson.

  “Thieves and pickpockets are rarely a problem in this city. It’s certainly fortunate that you gentlemen were here to help these ladies,” Jackson said. He was standing so close that Evers really couldn’t see him, just some of his face and nose and eyebrows smeared together.

  “Right,” Evers said.

  The three men stood in a tense knot for a little while longer, then Pascal and Evers turned and walked off.

  “Be careful, gentlemen,” Jackson yelled when the brothers went into the lobby. He hadn’t moved, was still thin-lipped and stiff in the middle of the sidewalk, simmering under the hot sun, people walking around him on either side.

  “Thank you both. Thanks,” Ruth Esther said once everyone was inside the hotel, standing in the lobby. She was holding on to her purse with both hands.

  “You’re welcome,” Evers said. He was breathing hard.

  “You’re welcome,” Pascal echoed. He handed Pauletta her briefcase.

  “Yes, thank you.” Pauletta put her hand on Evers’ shoulder. “That was good of you. I had no idea what was happening.”

  “Maybe my positive deed will offset some of my earlier bad conduct and put me back in good standing with you.”

  “I had already forgiven you,” Ruth Esther said. “Remember?”

  “I guess Lester just waited for us to come back. Saved himself some cab fare.” One of Pascal’s shirtsleeves had rolled down during the scuffle, and he was pushing it back up while he spoke.

  “I guess so.” Ruth Esther was the only one who didn’t seem unsettled.

  Pauletta wiped something out of the corner of her eye. “I figured that he’d try to follow us. But he couldn’t have known for sure that we were bringing the money back here. I’m sorry; I should’ve thought this through a little more. He’s either lucky or shrewd—I’m not sure which.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pascal said. “Nothing bad came out of it. We still have the cash.”

  “So what’s so important about the letter?” Evers asked.

  “I told you it means a lot to me. It’s a big part of my family. Lester is just so spiteful and angry that he wants it. He’d probably tear it up or throw it away or somethin’. Lester just wants money; he doesn’t care about anything else. He’s just runnin’ his mouth.”

  “I believe that, don’t you, Pascal? For a while things weren’t making sense, but now I understand.” Evers frowned. “I really don’t see why you won’t tell us what’s going on. Especially now.”

  “You are a nosy man, Judge Wheeling, like an old apartment crone, all binoculars and police scanners, got your face stuck in the window all day. Damn.” Pauletta pushed her briefcase underneath her arm.

  “It would seem that you just emptied out the goodwill reservoir, Evers,” Pascal said.

  “So it seems, so it seems.”

  When evening came, Pascal wanted to celebrate. He’d smoked a joint, had a few drinks and called Rudy and Henry back in North Carolina. “The wombat is on the nest,” he told them, and they all cheered and laughed and hooted on the phone when Pascal mentioned the coded signal that things had worked out.

  Evers and Pauletta were concerned about leaving the money in their rooms, and finally they agreed that Pascal and Artis would stay behind with the cash while the others went to eat, and that Pascal could go out and drink and defile himself when everyone else had finished dinner and come back to the hotel.

  Evers ate some chicken and a salad in a small restaurant, but he was still jittery six hours after his standoff with Lester Jackson, and his food did not sit well in his stomach. It took about an hour to eat, and when Evers and Pauletta walked back into the hotel, they spotted Pascal sitting at a table in the hotel bar, drinking a beer.

  He saw them coming and stood up. “Evers, come here.” Pascal took several strides toward his brother and Pauletta, almost ran. “Hurry up.”

  “What? What’s up?” Evers walked into the bar in front of Pauletta.

  “I have bad news.”

  “Shit.”

  “What?” asked Pauletta. Pascal had her by the arm and was leading her back to his table, where he’d left an empty bottle, a napkin and a glass with a little beer in the bottom.

  “Shit,” Evers said again. “What is it?” He was following along, pacing his brother and Pauletta.

  “Our money’s gone, Evers.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “Yours is, too, Pauletta. I don’t know that for sure, but it’s a pretty good bet.”

  “Where is it?” Evers repeated. “Gone? What happened?” He reached for a chair and sat down without thinking about what he was doing.

  Pascal knelt down next to him and looked up at Pauletta; she sat down across from Evers. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Pascal’s knee was touching the floor. “Artis fucking took it. He—”

  “Artis? How could Artis take anything?” Pauletta demanded.

  Pascal put his hand on her leg. “Wait a minute. Let me finish. Let me tell you. He was with someone, another man.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.” Pascal’s voice was steady. He reached up and took his glass of beer off the table.

  “So it wasn’t Jackson, it wasn’t him? It wasn’t Lester Jackson?” Evers asked.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Maybe he was working for Lester,” Pauletta offered.

  “Whatever. I couldn’t tell you.”

  Evers winced. “Was it one of the guys from today? The guys on the street?”

  “No. This guy didn’t look like that.” Pascal had his glass in his hand but wasn’t drinking.

  “How did they get the money, Pascal? How?”

  “Artis came to the door and knocked and said he wanted to watch TV and that the one in his room wouldn’t work. To tell you the truth, the first thing that went through my mind was that he was too stupid to figure out how to turn it on. He’s completely worthless. So I looked through the peephole, I see Artis standing there in a pair of shorts, no shirt, no shoes, and I figured I’d let him in for a moment, but I sure as shit do not want to spend an hour with him in our room. Basically, I was just going to tell him how to use the remote and send him on his way.”

  “So Artis took our money, Pascal?” Evers’ mouth stayed open when he finished the sentence. “Unbelievable.”

  “Jesus, Evers. Let me finish.”

  A waiter came by the table. Pauletta ordered a beer, and Pascal stood up and sat down in a chair between her and his brother.

  “Go on,” Evers said before the waiter had finished writing on Pascal’s tab and was still standing at their table.

  “I opened the door to let him in and when I did, when I opened the door, another guy in a suit comes in right behind him. You know, you can see pretty well out into the hall through the peephole, and this guy wasn’t in the hall to begin with. He opened the door to the room across from ours and came running in behind Artis.” Pascal swished the beer in his glass. �
��I should’ve ordered another beer. When he comes back, tell him I want another beer.”

  “Fuck, Pascal, you were probably messed up when this happened,” Evers said. “That’s half the problem.”

  “There’s no need to get prissy about it, Evers. Or mad at me. What happened, happened. I can’t change it, get in the way-back machine or something. And I had smoked some dope, but so what? This would’ve happened regardless of what I was doing, and it was my money, too.”

  “He has a point,” Pauletta noted. “And if you hadn’t interrupted every five seconds, we would probably know what happened by now.”

  “I’m not sure it matters a lot how long it takes to get to the end of this story, Pauletta.”

  “Listen. Calm down, Evers. Okay? I’m sorry.”

  Evers shrugged. “What did the man with Artis look like? You’re sure it wasn’t Jackson? If you were stoned, you might not have recognized him. Remember the time Henry and I came to see you and you sat there for an hour thinking that Henry was our cousin? It could’ve been Lester, especially if it happened quickly.”

  “I had smoked a little, but, shit, Evers, it takes more than a few joints to bother me, you know that.” The waiter came back with a Budweiser for Pauletta, and Pascal asked for another beer and a clean glass. “This man was … weird-looking, really strange. Like a monkey. He looked like a monkey. A monkey with a beard. An Amish monkey. That’s it.”

  Evers’ mouth hung open again. “A monkey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The beard was just like his hair—same color, same length, a circle around his head?”

  “Right. Exactly.” The waiter brought Pascal his beer and set it on the table. Pascal twisted off the top and forgot about the glass he’d asked for, left it sitting on the table and never used it.

  “Someone you know, Judge Wheeling?” Pauletta asked.

  “Probably. I think.” Evers picked up his brother’s beer and took a drink out of the bottle. “Did he have a funny voice, really high, locust, cicada, cricket range?”

  “That’s him,” Pascal said.