A Fine Kettle of Fish

by Lou Bradshaw

  Old Valerie screamed bloody murder and tossed about 400 books straight up. All of a sudden there were girls screaming in every corner of the library, chairs scraping, guys yelling, and I’m sure that Valerie stained herself. Nick Drago woke up and started yelling – that boy could yell even at that tender age. Books started coming down all around Valerie, and she started screaming again. Some people were crawling under tables figuring that the Russians had cut one loose on us. After all Doubling was a major strategic target what with the ready mix plant and all.

  Piggy Hoggs, (Mr. Hoggs) the principal, came running in from his office across the hall, and of course, that just added to the bedlam because he was known to be a panicky sort. In the middle of all that, Little Richard was screaming, “A whopp bop alooma a whopp bam boom,” into my crackling earplug.

  I for one was never so proud of Mickey – it was his shining moment. Naturally, he ran true to form, and wouldn’t take the heat alone and sold both Stan and Clyde down the river. So, within a few short minutes, he went from the King of Beasts to a rat. I can still hear those snapping towels.

  Chapter 30

  High school had been easy for me. I didn’t have to study much, but I did turn in the assignments, mostly, and in some sort of completed state. I was a good note taker, I didn’t miss too many classes, and I paid attention – except in civics class. I knew full well that my time in college would be precious; I would have to budget it well. I couldn’t afford to lose any of it playing cards in the lounge. Fortunately, I knew how to take tests and didn’t get panicked at the thought of them. Some people worried so much about the test, that they were half defeated before they ever started. My biggest problem was the shear volume of material, plus, that stuff was hard.

  Since I was only working at the shop half as much as before, (I wanted to try full time, but Brick wouldn’t have it) work was piling up on me. That meant that I would have to learn to be more efficient and cut time out of a project without rushing through it. I had to get it right the first time, and that meant paying attention to what I was doing.

  About 3 weeks into the semester, I was still flopping around like a fish in the bottom of a boat trying to figure it all out and make it all work. I was working Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights plus all day Saturday, so that left me precious little social life. If I was lucky, I'd have a Saturday night, date and Sunday at the cabin either studying or doing some repairs. I hoped to get a generator and a supply of wood cut before cold weather set in. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to move in for a while yet, but I’d like to be able to spend an occasional weekend there.

  * * *

  As usual, I was been working late Friday night about the third week in September, when Junior came into the shop. He asked, ”How can you do that? How do you keep everything from being all wiggly?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly; “I just sort of know what it’s supposed to look like, and do it. The hardest part is the spelling. Instead of spelling word by word, it’s letter by letter. So, I have to really concentrate and keep checking.”

  “I was talking to one of your competitors the other day from up the road. He said that you weren’t very good, and that your prices were too low. So I told him that you must be doing something right, because you were expanding your building and working all the time.” I just shrugged and thanked him for the good words.

  “The reason I came by was to give you an update. Dickey has gone underground, and the word is that Bordone wants him real bad. They are saying that he’ll pay a thousand bucks to anyone who can produce him. It sounds like they think he has the stuff, and is on the run.”

  “We don’t know yet if they have a line to you or not. We’re not sure who Bates was working for or if he was operating on his own. He’s gone back to being invisible. They probably won’t get in contact with you until they find Dickey.”

  “So, if they don’t find Lloyd, will they come lookin’ for me?” I asked.

  “I doubt it.” he said. “They will most likely just raise the price and try to recoup their losses that way. But, the Lloyd Dickeys of this world seem to show up. He’ll walk into a joint somewhere, and someone will recognize him.”

  “This could go on for a long time then?”

  “6 months, no longer. If they don’t contact you within 6 months, I’d say that they won’t. They’ll figure that if you had it you’d have unloaded it by then, and if you did in this area, they’d hear about it. A load that size just doesn’t show up in a town like Springfield without making a lot of noise. Just hang in there, kid, and if we hear anything more we’ll keep you updated.”

  With that he left, and I felt a little better. Six months or sooner and I’d have the monkey off my back.

  * * *

  Saturday morning around 11 o’clock, Mack came in carrying a paper cup of coffee and a doughnut in a napkin. I figured he had just gotten up. “Hey, Sign Painter, what do you think about old Vince Simons?”

  My heart stopped for a split second and then took off like a jackhammer. “What about him?” I asked.

  “They found the old pervert dead this morning – that’s what. They think he must have fallen down the basement stairs and laid there all busted up and died.”

  “You said he was a ‘pervert’. I knew he was a weird old bastard, but pervert?”

  “Yeah.” he said. “It seems the old creep had all kinds of child pornography in his basement and an 8mm projector and dirty movies with little kids – supposed to be some really bad shit.” It struck me that Mack was starting to talk as rough as the rest of us.

  “He been down there long?”

  “The Chief says anywhere from 2 weeks to a month. Fuzzy Shefford was probably the last one to see him alive. Says he owed Vince some money and has been avoiding him since he got his disability check on the first of the month. Well, you know how Fuzzy is, well kinda fuzzy. The Chief figures that Vince came in drunk and wanted some entertainment, so he started down the stairs and… “

  “You talked to the Chief?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, he came by to see me about an hour ago, actually he woke me up. It seems that Vince had a bunch of school pictures of little kids, all boys. He had my picture – you know those 2nd and 3rd grade school pictures. Yours was there and Donuts Mickey’s and some others including a bunch of Billy Simons. That’s probably where he got the pictures – from Billy. It’s kinda creepy, don’t you think, old Vince lusting after us, and we didn’t even know it?”

  “Yeah – we never even knew it.” I said.

  “Can you just imagine what that place smelled like, Brickey? He must have stunk to high heaven. That’s probably as close as he’ll get to Heaven. He-he… I bet they never get the stink out of the place – may as well just burn it down.”

  “You think someone maybe helped him down those stairs a little?” I asked. “Maybe another pervert, a potential victim, or even a former victim?”

  “Na, you know how he drank and stumbled around. Chief said that they’d probably not spend much time on it, just call it ‘a good riddance accident’. Devine intervention, if you will.”

  That Mack, even with all that I’ve done to do to bring down his vocabulary, he could still talk real pretty when he put his mind to it. ”Devine intervention, if you will,” damn; I wished that I’d said that.

  After Mack had gone, I took out a calendar and went back 3 weeks and then a month, trying to put things into the proper time frame. It had been a month and 3 days since I kicked the crap out of Vince in the alley. There was a good chance that I either caused or indirectly caused his death. I wasn’t sure how to handle it when the Chief came to talk to me, and he would come because of my grade school picture. What would be the charge murder or manslaughter? I hadn’t planned to kill him, but I’ve wanted to kill him ever since… I even planned it. Could I possibly live with my conscience knowing that I had actually killed another human being? You’re damned right I could.

  The Chief came by later that day and
asked me some stupid questions like, “Did Vince ever approach you sexually?” Now, what the hell did that mean – maybe like walking up to me wearing a see through negligee?

  “When was the last time you saw him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a couple of months ago. He was peeing in the alley, but I didn’t take it as sexual.”

  As the Chief was getting ready to leave, he stopped and shifted his chaw and asked if I had seen or heard from Lloyd Dickey lately.

  “Not since before Labor Day; he came by when I was working late one night. You know – the lights are on – let’s go pester Brickey for a while – lots of guys do it. Let me think…nope, I haven’t seen him since. But that doesn’t mean muc; he comes and he goes.”

  The whole town was buzzing about Vince Simons and his hobby. I’ll tell you for certain I would have been a lot happier if he had been interested in model trains or stamp collecting. Mickey came by and displayed a great deal of pleasure in the fact that he had been one of Vince’s chosen ones. Whatever makes you special Mick.

  Mom said that 2 of the Simons sisters were trying to convince the ladies at the church auxiliary meeting that Vince wasn’t like that at all, but no one believed them. Most of the clan were keeping low profiles.

  * * *

  October was upon us, and the nights were getting cooler. A light jacket or sweatshirt were okay during the day, but you needed both after the sun went down. I was able to get a small generator and did some crude but passable wiring, so I had lights at the cabin. Peggy helped me hook it all up. She knew more about it than I did, but she cheated… she checked out a wiring book from the library. I’d never have thought of that.

  We got some insulation and started putting up plasterboard. Will went out on a Saturday and chinked up all the places where cold air could sneak in, and made sure the roof was okay and that the chimney was clear. Amish folks know about using wood for fuel.

  The elections were about a month off, and Mack was going nuts. He was really excited about that Kennedy guy. I didn’t see the point to it, but he was having fun. After all, we couldn’t vote so what difference did it make? He was going to rallies on campus and wearing buttons and the like. When he started to put a bumper sticker on my car, I threatened his manhood with a church key.

  I was coming out of history class on a Wednesday in mid October, when something grabbed me by the collar, and nearly jerked me off my feet; books, papers, and pencils went everywhere. I turned, ready to swing because I was sure that the Mafia had me. Instead, it was Mack tugging at my jacket trying to drag me down the hall.

  “Come on, Brickey, dammit! He’ll be here in an hour – I just heard it on the radio – he changed his schedule – and he’s comin’ here!”

  “Who? Where? What the Sam hell are you talking about, and let go!” I yelled.

  “Jack’s comiin’! Jack Kennedy, he’s comin’ to Springfield, and he’s gonna speak at Park Central Square at 2 o’clock. They’re having a motorcade and everything!”

  “I can’t go, man. I got a 2 o’clock, and I can’t afford to miss anything – you know that. Go ahead without me, or take Mickey, he won’t know what’s going on anyway.”

  “You drove, you moron. I don’t have a car here or I’d go by myself. This is really important to me Lee. What class will you miss – college algebra? I had it this morning. I’ll go over it with you, and you can copy my notes.”

  I had a decision to make, take him, turn him down, or let him use my car, and I wasn’t ready for that one yet. Hell, I only had one best friend, so I said, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot, help me pick up my books, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  We weren’t able to get anywhere near the square, so we parked on a side street off Boonville Avenue, almost to Chestnut Street, which was about 4 blocks north of Park Central. We got to Boonville in time to hear the motorcycles and the noise. My God, from all the cheering and screaming, you’d have thought it was Elvis Presley and Stan Musual riding on white horses.

  We came out of the side street in between the crowds. There were about a million people at Chestnut and about two million at the square. But where we were there was no one, just Mack and me.

  As the motorcade approached and that black Cadillac drew nearer, I started getting excited. It dawned on me that this guy could become the president, probably not, but it was possible. All of a sudden I was waving like a regular Democrat.

  They looked good – he and his wife. I’d seen pictures of them, but that’s not like the real thing – I got a chill. At the point when they were directly in front of us, not 15 feet away, he looked at us, raised his right hand, and said, “Hi fellas.”

  I thought Mack was going to have a heart attack right there on Boonville. He just stood there with his mouth open and his hand waving until the car was a hundred feet away. He finally dropped his hand, and just stood for a long few seconds, then turned and said, “He spoke to us, Lee. Not to a crowd, not to a TV camera, but to us – you and me, Brickey, you and me.”

  I’ve got to admit that I was pretty impressed and shaken. In fact, as we walked up to Park Central, I kept thinking, “John Kennedy actually said ‘Hi fellas’ to us. I wished him luck. We were able to worm our way into the square, which was packed, and people were leaning out of office and shop windows. They had built a platform in front of Heer’s Department Store and had loud speakers everywhere.

  It was a short speech, and I suppose he said the same thing in St. Louis and Chicago yesterday and the day before, but it was a thrill to hear it anyway. I couldn’t tell you anything that he said, but that’s okay. Actually, what I kept thinking was, “Now that’s a classy woman.”

  Mrs. Kennedy was a knockout! She had poise and grace, but most of all she had class. Now, Mrs. Nixon was no slouch, considering her age, but Jackie Kennedy was a champion – a real thoroughbred. I wouldn’t have wanted to be married to her, but I sure didn’t mind looking at her.

  When we finally got back to campus I found out that my class had been cancelled so that the professor could go see Jackie… eh…Jack Kennedy. We collected Mickey, and headed home early. Mack hardly said anything all the way home, except every once in a while he’d mutter, “Hi fellas.”

  * * *

  That evening, around 8:30, Junior and Tom Fletcher came into the shop. They weren’t looking too chipper. In fact, they were looking like they’d just found out that there wasn’t really a Santy Clause. I didn’t like the way this conversation was shaping up, and no one had even said anything yet.

  Chapter 31

  “We found Dickey.” Fletcher said, matter or factly.

  I didn’t say anything; I just nodded and kept on working. I was sure that I didn’t want to hear any more.

  “Or at least most of him.” he went on, “There was enough to make an ID from dental records. He apparently had some work done in the reform school.”

  “Easy, Tom,” Bradley interrupted the agent, “he’s just a kid. You don’t need to overwhelm him with the details.”

  “Oh… sorry, Brickey. Sometimes I forget.” I asked him what that would mean to me. He said, “It means that they know he didn’t have the stuff. He would have surely given it up if he’d had it. Instead, he probably gave you up, I’m bettin’, so you can expect a contact soon.”

  “Where was he?” I asked, even though I didn’t care and it made no difference.

  “Little Rock.” Fletcher answered, and then continued, “Stuffed into two separate trash cans.” That Fletcher could be a real cold son of a bitch without even trying. He wasn’t helping my nerves any.

  I stood up and lit a cigarette, walked over to the radio, and turned it off. My back was to them, but I could feel their eyes staring at me. I knew what they were thinking. They were both wondering if I was going to bolt and run. I already knew that I couldn’t back out now. If the bad guys already had me pegged, they wouldn’t believe I didn’t have their stuff until they went all the way. By then it would be too late for me. The o
nly chance I had was in what little protection the law could offer.

  I braced myself, squared my shoulders, and turned and asked, “What happens now? What do I need to do?”

  “The same things you do every day.” This was Fletcher talking. The only difference is now you’ll have company at all times – 24 hours a day.”

  “I can’t have somebody hangin’ around, it’ll give my mother a coronary.”

  “No. No you won’t even know they’re around. They’ll be 2 cars back at a traffic light, or at the next table in the cafeteria – that sort of thing. We’ll need to put a tracker on your car, so we can stay close.”

  “But I carpool with 2 other guys and only drive every third week.”

  Bradley and Fletcher were silent for a half a minute then Junior suggested, “Tell them you’re testing a new high mileage oil additive for your Dad, and you need to rack up some miles. I guarantee they won’t mind.”

  “Yeah, that might work. We just got in a new long distance synthetic oil.”

  “We’ll need to bug this place.” Fletcher went on. “Do you think your old man would care if we set up a communications van out back during the times you’re working in here, especially at night?”

  “No, he’ll be okay with it if Ted asks him. But be sure to tell him it’s for evidence or something. If he thinks I need protection, he’ll blow a gasket. And for God’s, sake don’t let him know about Lloyd. Just keep all this away from the family. I don’t want them scared to death.”

  “Sure, sure, I understand.” Fletcher stated. “There’s no need in getting them involved at all. We’ll be discrete, and you can go about your business as usual. There was that word again “discrete.” I made a mental note to look that up some day.

  “Which also means you don’t go to any under age watering holes,” Bradley put in, “because it will be on the record. If you show up where you’re not supposed to be, then people like Mona can get into a lot of trouble.”