by Lou Bradshaw
The guy with the hood up turned out to be Stanley Miller, last year’s class, and the guy crawling through the window was his brother Bruce of next year’s class. I could see Mack greeting them, and he must have been giving Liz some crap because she took a swing at him.
By the time we got down the hill, everybody had kicked off their shoes and whatever else and gotten into the water. Hell, it was 90 degrees – why not? Nan ambushed me before I got to the river and said, “Mom and Daddy are coming out later so keep the beer out of sight – okay?”
“Yes darlin’ sister. What are they coming out for – any idea?”
“Probably to make sure you’re not wrecking the place or polluting the river. Who knows what you’re likely to do out here. And no wise cracks about Bruce, or I’ll be feeding you ground glass for breakfast, and don’t embarrass me. Got it?”
“But dear sweet precious sister, you’re so easy to embarrass, and Bruce boy is such an inviting target. You know that you’re ruining my Sunday.”
“Lump it!” was her reply…such a sweet sensitive little thing she was.
As I waded into the water, Liz called me, “Oh Brickey, Nan and I ran into Stanley and Bruce after church and arranged for a swim…hope you don’t mind?” Then with a grin she said, “We didn’t see you at church or we would have said something then.”
“Don’t mind a bit, besides this place is as much hers as it is mine. And I went to the early sunrise service.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the brothers Miller looking at each other and mouthing the words, “Early sunrise service?”
No one asked and I didn’t offer – I just let it hang there. Soon everyone was splashing and floating in the cool James. As it turned out, Bruce was more interested in my car than he was my sister, but he wasn’t going to get to drive either one. We kept the beer out of sight and an eye on the lane watching for Mom and Brick.
They showed up about 2:30 with a cooler full of soda and some hot dogs. While the guys got a fire started out on the gravel bar Brick and I took walk up to the cabin. “Oh oh.” I thought, “He’s got something on his mind.”
As it turned out, he was just worried about the path down the bluff. I showed him how I had nailed 2 x 4s to some trees at the trailhead to create sort of a barricade. A person would have to really want to go down that path to use it. With the thick growth of briars and sticker bushes on either side, it was no bargain.
That trail was overgrown and steep for the first 15 to 20 feet, and then there was an outcrop, which formed a ledge of about 20 feet out and 30 feet across. From there on it was a limestone wall straight down for another 50 feet. That doesn’t sound like much, but think of landing on jagged broken boulders from a 5th story window. From the ledge on down you needed strong hands and sure feet to work your way through the rocks to the bottom.
He seemed satisfied, and I was relieved that he hadn’t planned some kind of father and son talk. We walked upstream a ways to the hill where I had watched the hawk and the blackbirds earlier. I told him about it and about my early morning walks. He seemed pleased that I was getting some use out of the place.
I told him what Will had said about what it would take to fix it up a little. Then I asked him if he ever considered selling it, to let me have a crack at raising the money. He said that he wasn’t thinking about selling, but we might be able to work something out if I wanted to fix it up enough to live in down the road.
“Well, I’ve given it a lot of thought and imagination.” I told him, “If I could get electricity in here, I could deal with an outhouse and hauled in water.”
“You’ve got a pretty good income now for a kid. Start saving for some lumber and such; maybe we can work something out.” he said, rubbing his chin with thumb and forefinger as he did when he was in deep thought.
The folks stayed for a couple of hours then left. I figured they were pretty well satisfied that everything was okay. Will and Sarah left shortly after they did. Mack left about the same time, but said that he’d be back later. I left the river to Nan, Liz, and the Miller boys, and went up to the cabin. I just wanted to get an idea of what I could do, and was it possible to actually live in it. Maybe I could go Amish, for a while anyway. I had the money to fix it up and get power in, but I couldn’t show that money yet.
About a half hour later, I was standing in the middle of the room, just looking, when Liz knocked on the door frame and said, “Hey, you day dreamin, or are you asleep standing up?”
“I can do that you know, but a little of both, I guess.”
“Watch that stuff,” she said, “it’s habit forming.”
“Lizard, I’m seriously thinking about buying this place from Brick and moving in.”
“You are dreaming aren’t you?’ She said as she got real mellow and took my arm in hers and said, “You haven’t called me Lizard since the 3rd grade…creep.” Her eyes were glistening and I tried to act like I didn’t notice.
“Nope.” I said, “I’m dead serious. I think we can work out something where I can make payments. I like being here more than anywhere else. Of course, I’d miss the neighbors a little.”
“Oh, Lee,” she said, “that would be just too unreal. To have a place of your own. I can’t believe it. Can you swing it?”
“God, I don’t know. I’m a lousy cook, and I can’t iron a shirt worth a damn. I can probably swing it financially, but there’s a lot to do just to get it ready to live in. What if I don’t like living alone – what if I get scared of the boogie man?”
“You could always take a room mate. Maybe Mack could move in with you.”
“No way in hell, Mack’s my best friend, but we’re really rather opposite from each other. He’s a slob, he’s spoiled, he’s moody, and he sleeps late. I’m a slob and I’m spoiled, but I’m not moody and I’m up early. Plus, what would I do with him when I get lucky?”
“Spare me.” she said, with a roll of her eyes. The females in my life seemed to roll their eyes a lot; I’d have to think about that sometime.
“Besides, one of the reasons I want it is to be on my own. I’m just not sure how much on my own I want to be.”
“It’s a big step,” she said, “I don’t know if I’d be ready for it.”
“Yeah.” I said with a sigh.
“The reason I came up here was to drag you back to the river, it’s a little uncomfortable down there. Their idea of showing a girl a good time is to see how far they can squirt water out of their cupped hands, or see who can make the biggest splash – a couple of real sophisticates.”
“Ah,” I said, the bold and daring knight rides forth to the rescue, to save the …umm-presumed maidens from an afternoon of boredom. Armed only with my sword of wit and my shield of spirit, I sally forth.”
“Right, something like that, big boy, only go easy on Bruce. Nan kinda likes him. Understand?”
“Message received, you can count on me. Oh by the way, keep it quiet about my plans to buy this place. I don’t know how Nan will take it, and it may not happen anyway.” She nodded and that was good enough for me.
By 6 o’clock, they were headed back to town, and I was on the gravel bar warming up some chicken and roasting a couple of hotdogs over a small fire. I sat there quite a while with the sun sinking low and the cool breeze picking up. It was nice just sitting there listening to the birds and the bugs. Mack never showed up, so I figured he found another pair of legs somewhere or had gotten a better offer. And that was just fine.
Chapter 25
I called Peggy Thursday evening, and asked her out for Saturday night. She accepted, and asked how I found her number. I told her that I had always had that number, but I just didn't know that it belonged to her. That left her a little unsettled, but I liked it that way. I had the feeling that Miss Peggy Maxwell and I were going to spend a lot of time keeping each other unsettled. I didn’t doubt that she could hold up her end of a conversation.
Later that evening Junior Bradley came in for gas. I was wo
rking on a banner for the Ford dealer, and Earl was pumpin gas. He left the patrol car at the Ethyl pump and came into the shop.
He told me that he had done some checking on the connection between Lloyd and the chief. What he learned was that about 19 or 20 years ago the chief was a jailer for the county. Lloyd’s mother was serving 30 days for bad checks at the time. Rumor has it that she had mysteriously gotten pregnant during her incarceration, moved to Kansas City, the chief got drafted, and she got the allotment checks. After the war he went to work as a Springfield cop and eventually came back to Doubling as chief.
“When Dickey’s mother was given 6 months for rolling a john,” Bradley went on, “mom got in touch with the chief. The chief said he’d be responsible for the kid, unofficially of course. Lloyd was already a known face with KC juvenile officers, so they couldn’t do the paper work fast enough.”
“That explains a lot.” I said.
“It might be a problem because Dickey’s disappeared. We think the chief might have hustled him out of town after he was hauled in drunk last weekend. At least that’s how we see it.”
“So what do I do now?” I asked.
“Just wait, there’s still a shipment of heroin that somebody wants back, and they’ll be wanting it back with, or without Dickey. Just keep in touch, even if nothing’s happening, call me at least once a week. Okay?” I told him that I’d be on the phone more than that, and he left.
* * *
The sign business was growing so fast and steadily that I almost never worked at the pumps anymore. The one important thing we learned was that we needed a better facility, so Brick went to work on it. He was drawing up plans and at the same time, checking to see if there was any thing suitable available for rent. He finally decided to add another bay to the station with a garage door with the expectation of truck lettering.
It was to have plenty of flat storage shelves for paper, card, and fabric – with built in worktables and plenty of light. Before I knew it, a 20 x 30 concrete slab was poured, and the frame was half finished. By the 3rd week of August, the walls were up and it was under roof, we even had a name – Brickey’s Signs. It wasn’t too creative, but it said all that needed to be said.
The station sat on the northeast corner where Lincoln Avenue (north and south) and Highway 60 (east and west) cross. It was on a 2-acre lot, most of which was behind the station and vacant. The front entrance faced the apex of the intersection. Inside the front door, was a small food and necessity area and cash register. The restrooms were just outside the door; one on either side. To the left of the food shop was the wash bay and storage area (sign shop). To the right of the food shop was the grease bay and beyond that the area for tune-ups and mechanical work. All three bays met in a common area in back of the food shop, which was used for tire repair and a small walled in office. The new addition was to the left beyond the wash bay.
Brick and I were looking over the construction on one of the rare occasions when he came back after supper, and I said to him, “You know, this is a pretty expensive project you’ve got going here?”
“Yes,” he said, “I believe you’re right.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your shirt on this thing? What if it doesn’t pan out?”
“There’s always a risk, but I’m not too worried about it. It’ll be fine. For one thing, we’re not using borrowed money we’re just pouring money back into the business. So far, the only expenses have been labor and supplies. We were at breakeven almost from the beginning, and we’ve been in the black since the 4th of July. The only risk is you,” he said, “as long as you keep working the business will be there.”
“Well, I’ll eventually move on, but for now I’m sticken around. Sign work is nervous work but a lot easier than pumpin gas at 5 degrees above zero. Besides, I got a good deal of school ahead of me, then probably get drafted, and after that who knows.”
“That’s about the way I figured it or at least hoped. Course, I wasn’t hopin’ for the drafted part, but that’s inevitable I guess. And if you decide to go into something else after school, then I can always use another bay, so don’t worry about it.”
We poked around for a bit, then he went on home, and I went back to work. I didn’t know how to feel about Brick investing so much in me, and the fact that I was the business. That was a lot to carry, especially with the FBI hanging around my neck.
Would I have been better off had I not found that stuff – probably not. I had the feeling that the Feds would have put the pressure on me to get involved either way. After all, they didn’t even know about the money, which I may never get to spend.
* * *
I made my usual stop at Crockett’s before going home. Junior Bradley was there, but he gave no more than a casual howdy and was gone. I ate my pie and drank some coffee then left. After checking out Dog-N-Suds and a little bull with some of the guys hangin’ out, I went on home.
It was about 11:30 when I pulled into the alley, and I’ll be damned if old Vince Simons wasn’t standing there peeing on the side of his garage. That old creep was in his 50s and lived across the alley about 3 doors down. He’d lived there alone since his mother died about 4 years ago, and to my knowledge had never been married. He worked at the ready mix plant and was well known in all the taverns in town. He had an old car but walked nearly everywhere except to work.
I didn’t like him much and avoided him when I could. He had plenty of family around; in fact there were 2 or 3 Simons on his block. To me he was just a big pile of garbage in bib overalls.
When my lights hit him fully, I could see that he was…oh shit! He was doing himself – lopin’ his mule. I turned off my lights as soon as I could find the switch and drove on past. I parked and sat there for a few seconds. I didn’t know why, but that was about the sickest thing I’d ever seen. That piece of pie sat like a boat anchor in my stomach. I thought I was going to throw up. I got out of the car because I didn’t want to throw up in it.
I was leaning over the rear fin trying to get my stomach back in place when Simons came around the corner of our garage. “Little Brick?” He whispered.
“What…Get away from me! You sick bastard.”
“Aw come on little Brick, just want to touch it. Bet it’s real big now.” He said as he staggered closer.
“You What?” I rasped, not believing what I was hearing.
Then it came like a flash flood smashing into my brain, hot and sticky and at the same time cold and slimy. A fishing trip – a family outing. Billy Simons, Mack, and I were going with the Simons clan to their fishing cabin for the weekend. Mack came down with the mumps on Thursday, so it was just Billy and me. We went down on Friday afternoon with Vince, his uncle. The rest of them were coming down later that evening.
Billy was 7 and I must have been 8 and excited about the adventure. The 30 or so miles were filled with laughing and kidding and horseplay of all sorts, but when we got inside the cabin things changed. They both acted strange until the gear was unloaded, then the horseplay started again. Before I knew it, Billy had most of his clothes off and Vince was playing with him and rubbing him. Vince wanted me to take my clothes off, but I wouldn’t. Then he got rough. I was just a little boy then. I remember Billy laughing.
Vince touched my crotch, and I snapped out of my nightmare. I shoved him back with all my strength, which was much more than I needed to bounce him off the garage wall. He fell to the ground and started to get up. “You son of a bitch!” I growled, not recognizing my own voice, “You filthy son of a bitch. I aught to kill you, you stinking filthy bastard.” Then I kicked him in the side.
He grunted and groaned, so, I kicked him again; this time I went for his face, but in the dark, I think I got the side of his head. I kicked his chest, his back, his genitals, in fact, I kicked and stomped everything that I could. He tried to scramble away, but I kept on kicking and cussing. He finally rolled up into a ball covering his head with his arms. The fat little bastard was crying and pleading like
an 8-year-old boy. Did crying and pleading stop him 10 years ago? No, and it didn’t stop me either.
He was practically in the alley, all rolled up with his back exposed, so I gave a couple of good kicks to his kidney area and a nice one to the ribs. I needed to do more. I needed something to smash his brains in with. I needed to kill the bastard, and I was ready to do it. That’s when I remembered my Louisville Slugger in the garage.
In a voice that was strangely matter of fact I told him, “Vince? Listen to me, pig shit. I’ve got to go into the garage and get a ball bat, so don’t you move. I’ll be right back and finish killing you. Stay right there now.” I had no idea why I said that.
I fumbled around in the dark garage until I pulled out my lighter and found the bat. After giving it a couple of shakes for the feel of it, I went back outside to kill him. He was gone!
The fat bastard was gone, and I was shaking with rage. He was gone, and I was sick, I was shamed, and I wanted to run away all at the same time. I went back into the dark garage, sat down on the cool concrete floor, and cried.
After a while I took control of myself and let cold vengeance take over. Rage is like a brush fire; it burns extremely hot for a short time then cools off. The embers of cold hard hatred and revenge can last a long time. I knew that I wasn’t going to get much sleep, but I had to go in anyway. If Mom didn’t hear me come in, she would only half sleep, so I went up to my room.
I lay there for hours making plans for how I was going to kill Vince Simons. I kept going back to that weekend at the lake. I didn’t want to relive it, but it kept popping up in flashes like a slide show. Mercifully, most of it was long gone, driven so deep that it would have to be pulled out by a hypnotist or something. I couldn’t remember the rest of the Simons coming that night or the trip home. I could only remember crying and being scared and Billy laughing. I remember Vince telling me that if I told anybody there would be big trouble, and anyway, it was all my fault.