by Lou Bradshaw
“No, we cash them in to the oil company for credit – who is this Bardone anyway?”
“He’s a Memphis car dealer/hood with connections from New Orleans to St. Louis. A real Mississippi river rat. He’s sort of a regional manager for some pretty ugly stuff. Apparently, he’s trying to branch out into other cities, either on his own or for the organization. He’s been accused of every bad thing that ever happened on the Mississippi, including the New Madrid Earth Quake.” That earned him a smile.
“You have every right to be concerned about you safety. Here’s my card, call any time, and they’ll either get in touch with me or Sgt Milo, he’s heading up the investigation. If anyone you don’t know, asks you about the wreck, remember to play dumb. Then you call me. In fact, play dumb with everybody. You haven’t said anything yet have you?”
“No, I’ve been too scared because of the dope, and because Luther may be somehow connected. I’ve been pretty upset about it. He’s sort of a friend of mine.”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s tough when it’s someone you like, isn’t it?”
Chapter 18
The next 3 or 4 days were a blue, red and white blur; long hard hours bleeding into more long hard hours. It seemed that every merchant and organization in town suddenly realized that the 4th of July was only a week away. Everyone in town seemed to be in need of banners, sale signs, or parade placards. The banners and sales material took priority because they needed to be up before the weekend. The parade placards weren’t finished until Sunday night, but they were ready for the parade on Monday the 4th.
As I was leaving the shop Sunday night, I walked through the station where Jacky had been running ragged with all the folks traveling on a long weekend. Instead of going home to bed, I stayed to help out.
We finally got over the hump and things settled down, so I started for home. As I was going out of the bay door, somebody set off a string of firecrackers over by the storage tanks. I looked over and saw a blue Dodge station wagon with a woman in the passenger seat throwing out another string of firecrackers.
I started running toward her, shouting as I ran, “Jesus! Lady, there’s thousands of gallons of gasoline right under you! Quit throwing those things!”
She replied, “Go screw yourself, you stupid assed hillbilly – and I ain’t no lady.” Obviously she was right about that last part. As she was saying that she threw out another string, which I picked up and threw as far as I could.
That really turned up my heat and grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I couldn’t hit a woman even if she did talk like a man. When I got the door open I saw that it wasn’t a woman at all, just a skinny teenaged boy with a mop of hair – him I could hit. I reached in and got a fist full of that hair, and started to drag his ass out of that car. He must have had 50 packs of crackers in the floorboard. I could see crackers, cherry bombs, and Roman candles at a glance plus who knew what else.
He was screaming bloody murder and swinging both arms. I was just getting ready to loosen some of his teeth, when I got colecocked on the right side of my head. It nearly knocked me stupid. Then it was coming from 7 directions at once. One of those whacks must have knocked enough sense into me to start warding off those blows. That was when I came to realize that there was an incredibly fat woman there whacking the hell out of me with her purse, and that skinny kid was slapping at me for all he was worth.
I just smacked him with a good backhand across the mouth, and he was out of it, so I grabbed her wrists and yelled right into her face, “Look lady, I run this place, and if you don’t get out of here right now I’m callin the cops!”
That got her attention, and they started scrambling to get into that car before I could even start my next empty threat. Naturally, she flooded it, and I just stood there steaming mad and gasping for breath listening to her grind away. The more she ground the starter, the less anger I felt. I just didn’t have the mental make up to stay mad for very long. I was actually thinking what a scene from a movie that it would have made, I would much rather have watched it than been in it.
I walked up to the car to tell her that it was flooded and just leave it alone for a few minutes, when that mop-headed little bastard lit another string and flung it right at my face. The little jerk wasn’t smart enough to remember that he had just rolled up the window and locked the door. Those firecrackers had only one place to go, and that was into his lap.
He started slapping and swatting at ‘em, and managed to get them knocked into his ammo dump on the floorboard. Those little firecrackers were bad enough one pack at a time, but they all started and the cherry bombs really set up a noise, but the Roman candles were things of beauty. Chaos was upon us, and they came out of that car quicker than they got into it. They hit the asphalt screaming, yelling and hopping around like lunatics. When that fat lady jumped around, there was an awful lot of movement from places that shouldn’t have been all that moveable.
Jacky came running out with a fire extinguisher, which I started flooding into the front seat. We only use foam type because of the oil and gas. When I had the seats well foamed I was afraid that the dash and the windshield might burn, so I sprayed them too, and the headliner. When I was empty I told Jacky that I thought there was some smoke in the back seat, and that he’d better get the mop bucket from the grease bay. Now we have to use some pretty strong soap to get the grease off the floor. It usually doesn’t get changed until clean up time the following night – which was coming up soon. That water would be as rank as a sewer. Jacky held the back door open, and I sloshed it in there.
“There.” I told them, “The fire’s all out, and the car should start now if you don’t pump it. No charge for the fire fightin’.”
“Well, you just look at the mess!” she shouted, “I’m not getting in there until you clean it up!”
“We don’t wash cars on Sundays or holidays,” I said, “but we could store it till Tuesday, and that’s $25 a day or portion of a day. That would be $75 plus clean up cost. I believe there’s a motel in Rogersville that you could probably stay at. You could call from the pay phone inside. They may be able to send a car for you.”
She started cussin me real efficient like, meaning she didn’t waste words; she got right to the hard stuff. When she finished I just said, “Yes mam.” Again being a man of few words. She started cussin in again, but this time she was scraping foam off the windshield as she cussed. She was still cussin me when she got the car started.
I stood there at her window and just as she started to put the car in gear I said, “Mam.”
“What now?” she snapped.
“Stupid people shouldn’t have children.” I said.
She floored it, popped the clutch, and that wagon roared out onto the highway without any regard for traffic, slinging foam, nasty water, and cusses in its wake. We watched until there wasn’t anything to see but a foam trail on the pavement, then we both busted out laughing. We laughed so hard that we couldn’t catch our breaths. It almost made poor Jacky sick.
“Where the hell did she come from?” I asked when I was finally able to talk, “The first thing I knew was when she was whackin the crap out of me with that purse.”
“She was in the bathroom.” He said, “When that kid started yellin she come bustin out a there like Sunday dinner.”
Jacky was 16 or 17 and a good kid. He was a hard worker and a natural mechanic, but he was a dumb country boy from his toenails up; maybe that was why I liked him. It’s why Okies like Arkies because Arkies are folks that they can feel smarter than.
I said, “Oh Lord, I hope she didn’t leave anything in there, because I don’t want her coming back after it. I better go take a look.”
I went up to the Ladies restroom door, opened it, stepped in, spun around, and came right back out, saying, “Yessir, she left something behind.” I tilted my head toward the door for him to take a look. He took on a disgusted expression, and I knew what he was thinking.
We’ve all had to clean not-so-sanitary napkins out of the toilet or sink, and we all hated it.
He opened the door and said, “Jee-eez-zuz!” He turned back toward me, and his face was completely white. He sat down on a tire display and was silent. After about a minute he said, ”Lee, that’s awful. How could she do that? I don’t mean, how could she stand to do that, but how could she DO that?”
“I would have thought it was physically impossible for anybody to be able to do that.” I said. I knew that some women wouldn’t sit on a public toilet seat. They would cover it with toilet paper, or kind of squat over it. That was bad enough, but this gal must have bent over at the door, hiked her dress, dropped her drawers, and let it fly. She had to have had one of the worst cases of diarrhea on record because she sprayed the toilet and the sink. One wall was plastered and part of another. She really did a job on that little room.
“I guess she had the last laugh after all.” I said.
“Well I reckon.” He replied, and he was looking mighty low down.
I could’ve and should’ve said good night and gone on home, but I couldn’t do that to him, so I said, “I’ll flip you for it; the winner cleans the grease rack floor, and the loser gets out the hose and boots. Call it in the air.” I lost, but he never saw the coin. He was too good a worker to lose. Brick was going to owe me a big one for that.
I got out the high-pressure hose, cranked up the pump, and let her rip; it was about the only thing I could do. I just flushed it all out onto the drive, toilet paper, towels, and anything that wasn’t hooked to some plumbing. I got a shovel and threw the whole soggy mess into the trash barrel. Next, I washed down the drive really well.
I finished up about closing time and we went down the road a ways to Crockett’s for some coffee and pie. We may have been up to our ankles in fat lady shit an hour ago, but it didn’t seem to affect our appetites any.
“Jacky,” I said, “that’s about the funniest thing that ever happened to me, despite the bruises, but if you ever tell anyone about that fat lady beatin the hell out of me with her purse, you won’t live to see another sunset.” He swore that he’d die before he’d tell anyone, but I knew he would – I would and did.
Jacky finished off his second piece of pie and headed for home about the time Mack pulled in, so I waited for him to come in and set down. He ordered a cheeseburger, or as he called it a greaseburger with cheese. I could see that he had something on his mind, so I gave him a few minutes of small talk to work his way up to it.
Finally he said, “Brickey, as you may well know better than anyone in the world, I don’t have a lot of experience with girls.”
“Well,” says I, “from the way you’ve been attracting them since you’ve been home no one would ever guess. Dammit man, just toss me the non-keepers.”
“That’s part of the problem, I don’t seem to have any trouble meeting em, but they’re all a certain type. They’re all young, cute, and dippy – hell man you can’t even have a conversation with them about anything important. Can you believe it, Lilly doesn’t even know who Willie Mayes is?”
“Lilly?”
“Legs – I asked her if she thought Jack Kennedy was going to be a hit, and she wanted to know if he had any records out.”
“Not too smart huh?” I said. While I was saying that my mind was racing, and I was thinking, “ Kennedy…. Kennedy? Some kind of politician?”
“No, and that’s not all. She’s asking about my class ring like she wants me to give it to her. Isn’t that a little juvenile? I mean hell man, I’ll be starting college in a few months, and besides there are a lot of women out there waiting to be met. I guess my problem is how do you get rid of them.”
“Not a problem that has been a problem for me, but as I see it you’ve got several options. You could be a hard ass and just dump her, or you could try making yourself less charming – you rake. Pick your nose or something. Don’t call her, or don’t go see her, and when she tracks you down or calls you act like your mind is miles away. You don’t have to be mean or nasty – just disinterested. And if you’re not interested, don’t be doing any …naughty stuff, or you’ll never get rid of her.”
“Go out with someone else or hang out with me a while, that’s a sure fire way to keep the females off your back. Speaking of class rings, I think Sweets still has mine – to hell with it.”
“Sweets?” He asked.
So I told him about prom night and how Mary Ellen and I both got dumped, and how old hard eyed Harley came beating on the door the next morning, and how he and Doc Millsap found her and James later that morning.
“And…” he asked, “and.”
“And what?” I replied as my ears got hot and my smile was uncontrollable.
“And what about Moe Ellen and that luxury suite upstairs?”
I just sat back grinning like a fool and said, “All I’m going to tell you is that the tuxedo rental place charged me for 2 missing studs.”
“Why you sly fox.” He said around a bite of greaseburger with cheese. Mack still had a little trouble falling into easy low down man-to-man cussin’.
I went on to tell him about the fat lady and the firecrackers, and how she blew up the ladies john with her ass cannon. By the time we left he was in a much better frame of mind, and I was sore from laughing.
I slept like a rock that night. I had been putting in some long days and was dead tired, so the folks just let me sleep in, and besides it was a holiday. The longer I slept the more I seemed to dream, and the dreams were getting crazier by the minute. Around 9:30 I woke up drenched with sweat. I had been dreaming about a Dago hood with a southern accent, who had been trying to sell me a used car. It was a fine looking XKE Jaguar, and I really wanted it bad until he opened the trunk. When he did, Malcolm sat up, broken neck and all. He said to me, “Remember kid, never play with matches – it’ll make you pee in yo bed.”
That was when I woke up with the realization that I was 1/10th of a second away from making Malcolm’s warning a reality. I made a mad dash down the hall.
When I got downstairs everyone had already had breakfast and were just relaxing and killing time. Brick had gone down to the station to get the placards for the parade folks. He said that they had liked them, and I could see the dollar signs in his eyes. “What happened to the Women’s bathroom?” He asked, “No toilet paper or towels, the trash can’s outside, and everything is wet?”
I told him the story, and at first he was mad about the purse attack, until I told him about the firecrackers going off inside the car and the foam and dirty water. When I told him what she did in the restroom and how she must have done it and how I had to clean it up he roared. Mom thought I was very thoughtful of Jacky, and Nan thought I was crude and vulgar.
Yeah, Brick got a kick out of that story, but he wasn’t the one with the boots and hose. I think though, he might have been just a little bit proud of the way I took charge and didn’t dump on Jacky. I wasn’t stupid; if Jacky had quit, then I would have had to fill in until he found a replacement.
About noon we went down to watch the parade. I have to admit that I still got a thrill out of parades and bands and flags. I was feeling good all over by the time we got to the park. There they had all the booths and rides and kids running all over, and when our high school band played the Star Spangled Banner I got all goosebumply. It was a good day.
* * *
Tuesday morning I went down to the city police department to file a complaint against the fat woman. Brick thought it would be a good idea in case she wanted to cause trouble over her ruined upholstery. As I told the story, the clerk kept cracking up. I knew that the story would be all over town in the blink of an eye. Actually, it was getting funnier each time I told it.
Some city guy in a suit was coming out of the chief’s office with the chief and Junior Bradley just as I was leaving. The chief called out to me, “Hey, hold on there a minute, litter Brick.” I turned around to face them.
The chief was a
tobacco chewer and was in the habit of constantly shifting his quid. He pushed that plug into his jaw and said, “This here genterman was just comin’ to see you. LeeRoy Brickey, this is Mr. Tom Fletcher, Special Agent with the F-B-I.”
Chapter 19
I didn’t know what I looked like on the outside, but there was a major earthquake happening on the inside. My heart was in my throat and my liver was in my shorts. What was I to do now?
He stuck out his hand and I shook it; I think. Then he showed me his I.D., and I looked at like I had seen a lot of them, and was checking it to see if it was real. I didn’t know what I was doing; someone showed me something and I looked at it, what an idiot.
“Is there some place I can have a few minutes with Mr. Brickey?” He asked the chief.
The chief went behind the counter and looked into Chuck’s broom closet and said, “Yeah, Deputy Dumb-Ass ain’t here,” he shifted his plug, “he must be out in the sticks lookin’ for rustlers or somethin’.” So, everyone called him Deputy Dumb-Ass. Maybe he should have his name changed to Chuck Dumb-Ass. That struck me funny, and I chuckled and felt stupid.
Then the chief showed us into Chuck’s office. Special Agent Fletcher took Chuck’s chair, and I sat across the desk from him. He was about my height (5’10”), maybe 15 pounds heavier, about 35 years old, with a square face, and an Ivy League haircut. His suit was dark, but light weight, with a black tie and white button down collar shirt. He looked the part.
The FBI man pulled some papers out of a brief case he was carrying and leafed through them for a few minutes. I guessed that was part of the act to un-nerve me – it worked. Finally, he looked up from his papers and said, “They call you LeeRoy, do they?”
“Lee.” I said.
“Well Lee, I’ve read your statement, and it looks okay on the surface.”
What did he mean ‘on the surface’, hell, it looked good all the way through? I didn’t lie about much, just some differences in time was all; maybe my watch had stopped. And they never even asked me about the $4500, so I didn’t even have to lie about that.