A Fine Kettle of Fish

by Lou Bradshaw

  All in all, Mom thought I was quite the gentleman for staying and making sure that Mary Ellen had as good a time as possible, under the circumstances. I agreed and assured her that I was a regular Sir Walter Lancelot. Nan just looked at me side ways as she often did when she knew I was telling the truth, but not the whole story. But that was all the story she was going to get – unless of course she had a good piece of blackmail to use on me. Then maybe we’d negotiate.

  * * *

  Luther Bates kept coming through at least once a week almost like clockwork now. He came in last week and had a couple of other guys with him. One was a tough looking colored guy who didn’t say anything, but didn’t miss anything. His eyes were everywhere, not like Buck’s who was trying to case the place, but more like he was expecting me to attack him or something. I doubt that I would ever be crazy enough to attack that one. The other guy was white and was dressed like a businessman. I don’t know if that was a seersucker suite or not, but I’ll bet he didn’t get that sucker at Sears. He was without question the boss, and I saw an exchange between he and Luther, which told me that he approved of Luther’s choice of pit stop.

  I made a mental note to talk to someone about Luther and his weird set up. It was beginning to give me a funny feeling about Luther’s job. That tough looking guy had bodyguard written all over him. Now who would need a bodyguard? That sucker in the suit that he didn’t get at Sears looked important, but he didn’t look like Dwight David Eisenhower to me. Yes I would definitely talk to someone about that.

  * * *

  At some point, during the last 4 or 5 years, it became apparent that I was a pretty good hand with a brush and paint. I don’t even know where or when it started, but there was no end to the requests for posters, bulletin board things, sale signs at the station, things for church, and even pin striping a roadster.

  I got to work one day after school, and found that Brick’d had one of the day guys clean out the storage room in back and set up, of all things a sign shop – of sorts. I was flabbergasted and told him, “I don’t know how to paint signs, I just kinda do it. I’m not good enough to get paid for it!”

  With that he reached into one of the bags setting on the worktable and pulled out a large paperbacked book titled, So You want to be a Sign Painter. Seeing him standing there holding that stupid book and grinning like an ape, I knew I was cooked. So I figured what the hell, sign work was a lot easier than pumping gas and a lot more fun. Besides the world will always need sign painters, I guess for that matter they’ll always need gas jockeys. After all, can you imagine people pumping their own gas? I made up my mind to give it my best shot, and if it didn’t work out then it wasn’t supposed to.

  He showed me a copy of an ad that was supposed to run in the Doubling Press on June 9th, which proudly announced that; Brickey’s Sign Shop would be serving the sign needs of our community. That only gave me a couple of weeks (very busy weeks) to learn how to paint signs. Of course, that didn’t mean that I would be able to learn on company time.

  Brick had already gone through the book and had an idea what supplies and materials would be needed and ordered most of them from an art supply house in St. Louis. The rest he got from the local hardware store and lumberyard. The only thing left for him to do was to strike a deal with me for my services because I had no intention of painting signs for $0.75 per hour. To my surprise, he offered me a buck and a quarter on the pumps and two and a half for sign work. I said, “Okay!”

  With this newfound wealth, I could give up any lingering parts of my former life as a crook. I could at last be free of crime, unless of coarse something really good came along.

  * * *

  Graduation was scheduled for June 3rd, but the school picnic (K – 12) was held on the last actual day of school, which was the 2nd. The picnic consisted of pony rides and a few games for the younger ones and a record hop for the older ones. At noon all three schools; elementary, junior high, and high school let out and every one went to the park. There was plenty of food, drinks, and ice cream for everyone. The weather was great and school was out – life was good.

  The entertainment committee, which boasted of such prominent names as Elizabeth McCord, Mary Ellen Whitaker, and Nancy Brickey, decided that it would be nice to have one last crack at putting yours truly on the hot seat. So, in their wisdom, they nominated me to act as DJ for the hop, and of course, the rest of the committee thought it would be a hoot as well – the motion was duly passed.

  This wasn’t what I would have called a problem because I loved the sound of my own voice, and if I can have it coming out of loud speakers for everyone to enjoy then so much the better. Of course, there was a problem in that they didn’t see fit to tell me about it until that morning, and I had planned on slipping off as soon as the food was served, but my public must also be served.

  So there I was with a mike in hand and babbling like a fool. I was trying to sound like those guys on WLS in Chicago or Ron Lundy on WIL in St. Louis. I wasn’t too bad. The kids were boppin’ and stompin’. Everyone was having a ball, and I was having a ball until a shadow fell across my stack of records. I looked up and saw the Jones boys standing there.

  The Jones boys (not related to Mickey) were brothers who had moved into town a few years ago with their mother. They weren’t twins but they could have been. They looked identical even though one was a year older than the other, but I didn’t know if it was Jim or Joe. In fact, I had no idea, which was Jim and which, was Joe.

  They were each about 6’2” tall and muscled. I could have worked out with the Charles Atlas book for a thousand years and not have gotten that kind of body. Had Tarzan seen them in their gym clothes he would’ve just turned around and slunked off into the jungle. They were dark and had 5 o’clock shadows. Do you know how many high school boys would kill for a 5 o’clock shadow? They had one facial expression, the same one for both, it said, “Don’t get too close.” I had never seen either one of them smile or frown, nor had I ever heard either one speak. They were big, strong, and scary.

  The story was that they had come up from Arkansas, where they had killed their father for beating their mother. And then because they didn’t have any food for the winter, they ate him. Some of that story came from Mickey, so I wasn’t too sure about it. The one thing I was sure of was these guys had my attention – all of it. I smiled and asked, “What can I play for you guys?”

  Jim or Joe said, without any change of expression, “Can you play that Hound Dog song?”

  “You just bet I can. As soon as I can find it.” I told them with my best gas jockey-disk jockey public relations smile.

  The other one, Jim or Joe said, “Thanks,” equally with no change of facial expression. They both turned and walked back to where they had been sitting. I hadn’t noticed their gait before, but when they walked it was totally without effort and in unison. It was like watching a couple of deer. They were light on their feet but with strength. I wondered if our football coach had ever tried to get them on the team, if not then he was sure missing some of the best prospects he’d ever had.

  For myself, I couldn’t believe my luck. I had heard them both talk, and I was still alive. Maybe all they needed was someone to encourage them a little; someone to coax them out of their shells – eternal optimist that I was. I quickly located their record, and at the next change, I stuck it on. Then I picked up the mike and in my affected DJ patter I said, “And now, a special request by the Jones boys; here he is the king himself, Mister Elvis Presley, with Hound Dog.” Folks started dancing, and I looked over at the Jones boys. Jim or Joe was tapping his foot – well it was a start.

  The record ended, and I put on a stack thinking I’d go grab a Coke and get in a couple of dances, when I saw the Jones Boys coming my way. They stood fence post straight; without blinking (they never blinked) one of them said, “That ain’t it.”

  “It’s the song about dogs chasin’ ‘em through the bushes.” said the other one. I guessed that he took care
of the long speeches. “And cut out that Jones boys shit.”

  I think I said something like, huh or maybe just uh. I was rattled. “Oh Jeese,” I thought, “I’m dead. They’ll be eating me this winter. What the hell do they want?” I began feverishly searching through hundreds of records stacked on my table, just looking for a clue. I had no idea what they wanted. I was in a panic, my hands were sweating, and my pits were soaked. Talk about despair, I was awash with it. I was just about ready to give up, go down to the meatpacking house, and have myself processed when I picked up The Battle of New Orleans by Johnny Horton. “They ran so fast that the hounds couldn’t catch em.” Just maybe.

  I lifted the disks off except the one that was playing and slipped Johnny Horton in and waited. The music started, the kids were dancing, and I snuck a peek at the Brothers, Scary. The long speech Jim or Joe was staring at me looking even more menacing than ever, if such a thing was possible. Then he gave me a big toothy grin and thumbs up, the other Jim or Joe only nodded – hey, I’m not greedy.

  Some time later that afternoon Mary Ellen came over and sat with me awhile. She told me that old hard eyed Harley and Doc Millsap found James and Cynthia at James’ off campus room at about 7:00 Sunday morning. Cynthia’s old man ranted and raved and shoved James around. He threatened to have him charged with statutory rape. She said they got so loud that the building manager called the cops. It must have been a mess, I was sure sorry to have missed it.

  Cynthia was grounded for the summer, and Doc was so mad he took away James’ car and made him move into a dorm on campus. Poor James, he lost a pad, a really cool ’59 Impala, and a terrific ’57 T-Bird, all for a joy ride in an MG. I’ll never know for sure, but I’ll bet that Sweets wasn’t half as good as Moe. I decided to give James a nick name – Looser.

  * * *

  Graduation was about what I expected, a lot of fuss, a lot of relatives, and a lot of loot. The house was full of kinfolk that I hardly knew. There were cheek-pinching aunts, advice giving uncles, and fat little girl cousins that were driving poor Nan nuts. I must have been asked about my plans at least 500 times that day, and I gave at least 500 different answers. I claimed to be looking at everything from polar exploration to tattoo artistry. Mom spoiled it by telling them that I had been accepted at Southwest Missouri State. Accepted? No offense to the alumni, but they accepted Mickey; one would have to be a sub-moron to be rejected.

  I noticed the same process was going on across the street at Liz’s house. I saw her out in the yard being followed around by her own fat little girl cousins. So I walked out to the middle of the street and caught her eye, and she broke away from her entourage. She came out to the street and I asked her if she needed to take a walk.

  “If you’re packin’ your Lucky Strikes, big boy, then I’m walkin’.” I assured her that I was. Behind us, we could hear her little girl cousins exclaiming that Elizabeth’s got a boyfriend, and my little girl cousins across the street telling the world that LeeRoy’s got a girlfriend. When we got around the corner and out of sight, I gave her a cigarette and lit it for her. After a few puffs, I asked her how she was holding up.

  “Okay I guess, but if one more person asks me when I’m going to get married and start a family I’ll throw up.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m getting a lot of that too. Curtis thinks I should go to drafting school because I’m obviously not smart enough for accounting. And that fiancé of his – well they deserve each other.”

  “I saw them when they came in,” she said, “they actually look alike, and dressing in matching colors – nice touch.”

  “So you still planning on Southwest for 2 years then Mizzoo?” I asked.

  “Yep, “she said, “I’m going for Pre-Med.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. I got the idea when I was fixin your shot up rear. I thought if I can handle this at17, then I should do alright with some education.”

  “Well,“ I told her,” I’d be the last one to ever say you wouldn’t be any good at it, but don’t you think it’ll be kinda rough sledding for a woman doctor?”

  “Oh sure, but you just watch, Brickey boy the day will come when women will be doing al lot of things they don’t do now. I’ll be kinda like a pioneer.”

  “Maybe so…Doc Liz…I’ll be damned.” I said as we walked past Hickory Street to take in an extra block, and an extra cigarette.

  She chuckled a little and said, “I’ve got 2 grandmas in that house who would have strokes if they even suspected that I smoked, let alone that I’ve seen your naked butt.”

  “Yeah. I think it’s going to be harder overcoming the prejudices of your own sex than mine.”

  “Oh by the way,” I said, “I saw you talking to Sarah at the picnic yesterday. What’s going on there? I haven’t seen William all week.”

  “Not good,” she replied, “they’re sending her to an uncle in Indiana. She’s really bent out of shape over it – poor kid.”

  I asked her if William knew and she said, “ I don’t think so, Sarah just found out Wednesday night, and they’re watching her like a hawk. I think one or more of those Amish girls are rats, and they suspect me.” I was quiet for a few minutes sorting things out until Liz poked me in the forehead saying, “Hey what’s going on in there – what are you hatching up?”

  I told her that I wasn’t quite sure if there was anything hatching yet and asked what Sarah wanted. She told me, “All Sarah wants is William and fat babies.”

  “When does all this take place?”

  “Monday. Her father is taking her to Springfield on the Trailways Bus and putting her on a Greyhound with a one way ticket for some place the other side of Terra Haute, Indiana.” We walked in silence for a few minutes, then she said, “Brickey, you’re not thinking of kidnapping her are you? You idiot, you’ll wind up in jail…now why would that come as a shock to either of us?”

  “Hey, I got to work this out. I got to catch up with William before he leaves the job site. I’ll talk to you later, if you need another smoke, get a hold of Nan; there’s some in my room. Just don’t mess with my stuff, and stay out of my underwear drawer. Anyway, Nan needs to get away from that madhouse for a few minutes.” Fortunately, I had already stashed my binoculars because there would be so many kids running through the house.

  I went out to the job site and found that William only worked a half a day because they were pouring concrete or something. I went over to the trailer he was renting and found him beside himself with grief and frustration. He knew.

  “How can they do this? Lee, I’m going out there and get her and run away with her. I’ve got a car now they’ll never find us. I’ll…”

  “Hold on a minute, you can’t go out there in the state you’re in. Her old man and his friends would be all over you. I’ve got a plan – just listen to this and see what you think.” So I laid it all out for him and told him to get cleaned up and come on over to the house because there was so much food and he could scare up a meal. Besides, Mom just loved his sweet little Amish hide because he was so respectful and quiet, and she was always looking for good influences.

  Now, all I had to do was get through the ordeal of graduating and get the key ingredient to my plan in place. And like I’ve said before, she can be meaner than a copperhead.

  Chapter 12

  I wish that I had taken notes on what I said to Liz because she said, “Okay.” Either I had put forth a damned persuasive argument, or it was a good plan. If I was getting a handle on this persuasion thing, then I needed to know what I was doing right – it could come in handy.

  * * *

  The graduation ceremony was something that I’ll always forget. Everyone who had ever attended a school was there and gave a speech about the future and us being caretakers of it and such stuff. When Liz got up to give her speech as the Valedictorian I was floored. I didn’t even know that she was in the running. I didn’t know what her speech was about, but I was surely proud of her for being able to give it.<
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  During the hugging and crying session, which followed immediately, everyone was promising to stay in touch. Big old Millie Springer put me in a bear hug and told me that she would never forget all the good times, and that she’d always stay in touch. I thought, “Stay in touch? Hell, you’re going to stay right here in town and marry stupid Sam Patterson who will work at the ready mix plant. You’ll have a bunch of kids and grow an rear bigger than some Latin American countries.” That was what I thought, but what I said was, “I’ll never forget you, Millie, now you be good to ol’ Sam.”

  So it went, all tears and promises. Then as I was leaving through the side door about a half a dozen female voices sang out in unison, “Good bye, Little Prick”. They got me – I was had. All I could do was crack up – which I did. They loved me.

  When I got to the house, I found that the party had moved to the middle of the street joining the parties into one glorious bash. All the neighbors were invited anyway, so we just closed down the block to traffic. About half the graduates came by at one time or another (there were only 62 in our class). I caught up with Liz. She was looking about half blitzed with a beer in one hand and her square hat sitting crooked on her head. “Hey,” I said, “I didn’t know you were smart. You gotta let a guy know this stuff. If I’d known you were smart, I’d have treated you with more respect. Hell, if I’d known you were smart you would have been doing my homework these past 12 years.”

  “Girl’s gotta have some secrets don’t she?” then she gave me a crooked smile.