by Lou Bradshaw
“Did I say Turdie?” She giggled, and giggled some more and some more. She was trying to get herself under control, and had just about made it, and her breathing was coming back to normal and I couldn’t allow that.
So I leaned across the table and said, “Poor old Turdie.”
That was when all hell broke loose – she giggled, she snorted, she hiccupped, and she farted. That’s when she really got tickled and really got gassy. Those weren’t little princess toots; those were world championship knock-a-tin-can-over-at-10-feet; fully loaded gas bombs.
“Oh dear, oh my, hic-hic!” Was what she said along with some other noises as she got up and headed for the front door. She was getting a jet-propelled boost with every step, until she was almost running.
Mack stubbed out his cigarette and said, “Well, I guess I’d better go make sure she didn’t’ crap on the front steps.” We got outside in time to see her disappear into a yellow cab, which was blue, and take off. That was one more thing that I didn’t understand; the Springfield taxis all had Yellow Cab on the side, but none of them were.
“Does that mean we’re not going to the movies?” He yelled as the taxi blended into the traffic on Sunshine Street. We all exploded with laughter.We were laughing so hard that I was afraid that someone would start farting, and there wasn’t a yellow or blue taxi in sight.
“I sure can pick em, can’t I?” He moaned. “With the exception of this one here, I’ve dated nothing but ding-bats ever since I got home.” He put his arm around Peggy and pulled her to him, “Can I have her back?”
“No bloody way, Bub. This one’s a keeper, and I plan to keep her.” She took my arm and pulled me to them, and off we went across the parking lot Dorothy, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow.
* * *
Peggy was supposed to come out for Sunday dinner, and I was expecting her around noon, but when I got up at 8:30 she was having coffee with Mom in our kitchen. She said that she woke up early and came on out. That was fine with me, but it made me think that she was worried and upset, although, you’d never know it by the way they were chattering away and leafing through a J.C. Penney catalogue.
We had breakfast and talked a bit with Mom, who felt sorry for poor Stephanie, and even sorrier for Mack. She wished he’d find himself a nice girl and settle down. “What about Elizabeth?” she asked referring to Liz.
“Mom, Liz wouldn’t have any part of Mack, or me for that matter. She’s known us far too long, and she’s convinced that we’re both a couple of boneheads.”
“Well, I think they’d make a fine couple.” Which meant, “Don’t argue with me; let me have my opinions.” Actually, I think she was secretly saving Mack for Nan – I’d send him back to the Monks before I’d subject him to that.
We left the house a little after 10 with the promise to be back by 2 o’clock for dinner. I wanted to tinker with that generator a bit. It came second hand from a friend of Mickey’s, and that, in its self, was enough to run up a red flag. After all, who would consciously become Mickey’s friend? Mack and I were, but we were only 5 years old when he glommed onto us.
All the way out to the cabin Peggy was quiet, not at all like she had been in the kitchen. When we got there I unlocked the door for her, and then I went around to the side to start the generator. It was in a large wooden crate with a lid to keep the weather off it. I lifted the lid and placed that gun inside under some rags. Then I flipped the switch, pulled the choke, and gave a couple of tugs on the starting rope. It caught, died, caught again; I set the throttle and went inside. I planned to let it warm up a bit and then tinker with it.
When I got inside the light was on and the radio was playing. That little engine put out just enough power to light a couple of 75 watt bulbs, a radio, and a hotplate – if you turned off one of lights and the radio.
I asked her if she’d like a fire, and she said that she would rather take a walk along the hill overlooking the river. That was okay with me since the trees were in their full glory. The Ozarks could sure put on a show for a couple of weeks in October. We walked the short way up what I call Hawks Hill and sat on the straw colored grass.
We sat without talking for several minutes. I knew she was trying to find some sort of answer, so I let her think it through. Finally, she leaned her head on my shoulder in a way that I couldn’t see her face, and to be honest. I don’t think I wanted to see what was written there, so I just looked across the river to the valley beyond – and waited.
“Lee,” she said at last, “I’m scared. Scared for you; I mean, dammit, you could get seriously hurt – or worse. And there’s not a thing I can do about it. If I thought you’d come with me I’d grab you and run away to someplace where they’d never find you. But I know you wouldn’t go.”
I watched a buzzard soar across the sky and tried to sound more confident than I truly was. “I won’t lie to you Peggy, there will be some degree of risk, but I’ll be covered the whole time. There’ll be someone just a few feet away covering my butt every minute. I’m nervous and, yes, a little scared. They want this guy in a compromising position so that they can build a case against his bosses.” I hoped that she was believing me more than I was, because I wasn’t buying much of it. “I’ll have about an hour of contact, and then I’m out of it. I probably won’t even have to testify, just make a statement.”
“Can’t they use an FBI Agent to impersonate you?”
“They thought of that, but too many people know me. What if Luther points me out, or if Lloyd did? The guy’s already talked to Earl and who knows who else – that’s the trouble with small towns – you get to be too well known.”
“I told you that first night at the truck stop that you were trouble for me. I had my life in order, and I saw you as a major disruption – a star spangled distraction. And now you’re in real danger, and I don’t know if I can handle it. I want to run away and hide and not know about it.”
“Look, Peggy, you can run away if you want, but don’t you dare sell yourself short.” I was suddenly mad. You’ve set yourself up with a well-ordered life, which is admirable, but you’ve used this organization to cover up what you consider weaknesses. Well, let me tell you that you’re a lot tougher than you think you are.”
I took a breath and started in on her again, “You work 40 hours a week, and carry almost a full academic load year round, not just for 9 months of it like most of us. And that’s not underwater basket weaving you’re taking, that’s some heavy math, econ, and business law. How many people are tough enough for all that, and still work in a little time for romance?”
“Okay, but… “ she started to say.
“But nothin’,” I didn’t miss a beat, “and look at what your goal is – Stock Broker, for God’s sake. You talk about needing nerves of steel, lady, that’s a job for the tough – not for the cream puff. You can go home tonight and put me out of your mind until next week if I mess up your world, and that will be okay with me. Or you can dump me for good, which I would hate, if I’m too much trouble, but don’t hide behind that wall of order. You don’t need it. You’re as tough as they come.”
I must have said the right thing because she was all over me and we were rolling all over that hillside. When we came up for air she said, “I needed to hear that. I know I’m pretty strong, but sometimes I just need a shot of confidence. I found myself more concerned about what you were doing to my life than the threat to your life, and I’m really sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted; let’s wrestle.”
* * *
We had dinner with the folks, and spent the bulk of the afternoon with a pile of books scattered around the dining room table. She was working on some economic formula, and I was trying to memorize the valence values, while wondering if I could get her alone in my room.
I had told her that I might not be contacted again for another week or so. If she had known that it was going to happen the next evening, she would have been a wreck. I was enough of a wreck for both of us.
<
br /> She went home just before dark and made me promise to call Tuesday night, since I would be working on Monday and she had class. I nearly got the life squeezed out of me when I walked her to her car, and I could tell that she was a bundle of nerves. After she had gone, the nerves really set in. I was like a caged cat. Finally, I called Mack and we went up to Mona’s - the guys tailing me needed to take a ride.
* * *
I must have slept some that night, but it couldn’t have been much. I went through several mid-term exams like a zombie the next morning. All I could think of was some faceless used car salesman who wanted to get a half million dollars worth of dope from me and shoot me without regret or remorse, because he didn’t have a conscience.
Things weren’t much better at work. I was moving around the shop on autopilot, and surprisingly, enough, I was doing some pretty good work, except for my concentration. The sign for the “Moonlight Cock & Tail Lounge” would have raised some Bible belt eyebrows if I hadn’t caught it. Every time the phone rang or someone came in, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
About 6:30, Nolen sauntered in to let me know that the van was picking up every sound and that the sheriff’s men were in place. There were two cars staked out in route to the cabin and would start closing in after I went by. Everybody was in radio contact, and Special Agent Fletcher would bring the van out after I left the shop as sort of a mobile command post. Ted Bradley was in one of the stake out cars, and that made me feel better. In fact, I felt better just knowing that so many troops were out there covering my scrawny hide. That didn’t stop me from making 15 trips to the bathroom that evening, and there was still that nagging doubt about the sheriff’s boys and their abilities.
* * *
About 7:15, a man came in, and he didn’t have to tell me he was Joe Smith, because I knew exactly who he was.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“If you’re Lee Brickey you can.” he replied, and I told him that I was.
“Then let’s cut through the bullshit and get down to business.”
“I don’t understand.” I said. “You need to talk about some signs or something?”
“I don’t want no signs – I want what you took from that wreck last summer – the one where that colored boy got killed. Your friend Dickey didn’t have it, so you’re elected.”
“Lloyd told you I had it?”
“That’s right. He said, ‘Brickey’s got it – he’s the tow truck driver.’ and that was right after I worked on his knee with a .22. You see, I stick a pistol into the back of the knee and pull the trigger. It must hurt somthin’ awful, cause folks will tell you anything you want to know after that. I just knee capped him to make sure he wasn’t lying about you – he didn’t change his story.”
“Where’s Lloyd now?” I asked, although, I already knew, but for some reason I wanted to draw him out. As strange as it seems to me now, I was on some kind of thrill ride, more excited than scared.
“I’d say he’s in the Little Rock City Dump under a couple hunnerd tons of garbage.”
“You mean he’s dead?”
“Yeah, deader’n Hogan’s goat.” he said. “I was lookin’ in his eyes when he took it, he was kinda ready to go – if you know what I mean. But he was jackin’ us around, you play it straight, and you’ll be all right.”
“Okay, let’s say I got it, and I just been waitin’ for the rightful owner to come and claim it. Is there some kind of reward for me not turning it over to the cops?”
“Rightful owner, I like that kid.” he said with a genuine smile. “Now, what did you have in mind for a reward, besides flexible knees?”
“How about ten thousand dollars?” I could hear myself, and I was shocked a how smoothly my request just rolled out. I was thinking that maybe I was cut out for this kind of work – as long as nobody got mean or anything.
He gave a little ‘you gotta be kiddin’ sort of laugh, and flatly said, “Twenty five hunnerd.”
“Okay,” I said, “that sounds fair.”
“I like your style, kid. Damned if I don’t. You quit messin’ around in things that don’t concern you, and you’ll be okay. So, let’s have it.”
“Oh it’s not here It’s at my cabin out in the country. I’ll go get it and meet you anywhere you want.”
“No” he hesitated, and then said, “I’ll go with you – better yet, I’ll follow you. How far is it?”
“Not far, about 12 miles.”
That guy was something else. He was a real piece of art right out of a gangster movie. Tall, thin, almost lanky, wearing a dark iridescent suit, a dark blue shirt, and a pink Slim Jim tie. He had gold everywhere; gold chains, gold rings, gold stickpin, and a big gaudy gold watch. All through the threats and boasts, he never stopped smiling that car salesman smile and never stopped chewing his gum.
I went over to get my jacket; he took it and gave it a quick going over, and then he patted me down around my waist and ankles. When he was satisfied that I wasn’t armed we went out to my car, which he went through in a well-practiced routine. “Can’t be too careful, kid.” he said.
“Hey,” I said, “ I’m not gonna cross you. I don’t want that stuff; I can’t sell it around here. I’d rather have the cash in hand. Money, I understand. That other stuff, I don’t.”
“Just keep thinking that way, and you’ll get along.” I hoped he was right.
Chapter 33
We took off with him following me a few lengths back in his Bonneville – nice car. All the way out, I kept thinking that this guy had some kind of brass ones. Always smiling and chomping gum, and at the same time telling me how he shot up Lloyd’s knee. He as much as admitted he killed Lloyd, or at least, he was there when it happened. I was sure hoping that Fletcher got all of that.
The trip seemed to last forever, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to get there too quick, but I wanted to get it over, but, but, but… I didn’t know just what I wanted, but I knew that I wanted that little gun, and I wanted to see those deputies come bustin’ through the door. My plan was to hit the floor as soon as the door flew open.
It was pitch dark when we pulled up, so I left my lights on and got out of the car. Joe Smith/Phil Matlock pulled up behind me and cut his lights. I started to go around the side of the building to start the generator. “Hold it! Where you goin’?” he snapped as he climbed out of the car.
“I got to get the generator started. It’s just around the corner here. Otherwise we won’t have any lights – you can come along if you want.”
“No.” he said flatly. “I’ll stay here in the light, there’s probably snakes and stuff in those weeds. You just get it goin’, and let’s have some light.”
I knew it was too cold for snakes, but I was sure hoping that there was a sheriff’s posse in those weeds. I fumbled with the lid, got it open, pulled out that gun, and stuck it down the front of my jockey shorts. Damn, it was cold, but I was counting on him not frisking me there.
A couple of pulls on the rope got the generator started just long enough to cough, sputter, and die. A few more pulls got it started again; I set the throttle and cursed myself for not working on it the day before when I had the chance. I lowered the lid and went back to the front of the building. A single light was coming from a window when I got to where the cars were, I turned out my headlights and unlocked the front door. I figured the sheriff’s boys wouldn’t want to come sneaking up to the door and windows with lights shining on them.
“Okay,” he said as soon as we crossed the threshold, “where is it?”
“What about the money?” I surprised myself by saying that, either I was greedy or cocky, but I liked the way it came out spontaneously. He seemed to expect it, and impatiently pulled out a mule-chocking roll of bills, from which he counted out 25 one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the table.
I drooled on them for a second until he said, “Give.”
I went to the refrigerator and started to open it when he told me to stop, which I most ce
rtainly did. I stepped back and motioned to the upper part of the box, and said, “It’s in the freezer.”
He moved to his right but kept looking at me. First, he opened the door, then the freezer compartment, reached in, and pulled out one package, then another. He set the packs on the table as he took them out, but never took his eyes off me. Then he stuck his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a small switchblade knife, which he snapped open. Piercing the first pack with the blade he touched the tip to his tongue and spat, and then did the same with the second pack, all the while showing off those great teeth.
“Good boy.” he said and nodded to the stack of money.
I reached for it, folded it, and stuck it in my jacket pocket. I was expecting to see my front door come flying open about then. It wasn’t flying open; it wasn’t even creeping open. Where the hell was the cavalry – they were supposed to be there. I looked up at the gangster and saw that he was still smiling and chomping, but he was also holding a big old automatic pistol. That son-of-a-bitch must have been at least a .45. “Oh – crap!”
“Sorry, kid,” he said, “but I told you some stuff that you really don’t need to know. You know – about Dickey and all.”
Why didn’t that door bust open, what were they waiting for? Did they want to witness a murder, so they could really nail him good? Come on Sheriff Cook – kick down my door!
It’s funny what runs through one’s mind at a time like that. I was weighing my chances of pulling that gun out of my shorts, and all I could think of was being too slow, and getting shot with my hand in my pants. I was fairly sweating bullets trying to decide if, or when to try. Dive, roll, and hope to get it out clean before he killed me, which was all I had to do –simple enough – right? But he was going to kill me anyway, so what did I have to loose?