by Lou Bradshaw
“Nope!” I said. “I ain’t goin’ after the Dalton Gang, Al Capone, not Jesse James, or none of those guys. You’re gonna have to catch ‘em on your own this time”
“Don’t worry. I think we’ve already got most of ‘em.” he said with a grin.
“Well, okay then, shoot.” I replied, wincing at my own bad choice of words.
“Here’s the deal; by rights Brick, and or you, have claims against the government for damages to your property. The lowest estimate I’ve had so far has been $12,000 to repair the cabin back to a livable state as it was before the fire.”
“Holy crap!” I exploded.
“The accountants are going to pass little green apples if we put that through for a building that wasn’t worth half of that. They’ll pay, but it may take a court order, which you won’t have too much trouble getting, or…. I’ve been checking with some of my contacts, and it seems that they’re moving in a new training command at Ft. Leonard Wood, and somehow they got a budget for new NCO housing. That means they are taking down and disposing of about 25 existing houses.”
“They’re pre-fab and complete with plumbing, wiring, floors, walls, etc… They are about 1100 square feet, 2 bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and bath. I can requisition one; the accounting office has already given it a happy okay. Everything will be done by Army Engineers, and will take about 3 days to finish. Of course, it will take about 3 weeks to get things started.”
I looked at Brick, and he was grinning and nodding like one of those little plaster dogs people put in the rear windows of cars.
“Kid, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet!” Fletcher went on. “I told you once that we knew how to put pressure on folks. Well, we put some pressure on the power company and they’re willing to hook you up if the Army will sink about 10 of the power company’s poles, which they will. If we ever need to use the place again, we don’t want to depend on that cranky old generator.”
“We had a little difficulty with the phone company at first, so I suggested that we bring in a team of FCC auditors and engineers to give the company a good look see. These independent phone companies really burn my butt. They flaunt the fact that they’ve got a franchised area and nobody can touch em, except maybe the FCC. They’re probably completely legit, but nobody wants a bunch of bureaucrats snoopin’ around, so they finally agreed that if the poles are up they’ll run the wire at no charge.”
Man, talk about falling in it and coming out smelling like a petunia. I certainly did. I had pretty much resolved myself that it would take a couple of years before I’d even have the cabin back to the shape it had been. I’d been pretty depressed about it, but now things were a lot brighter. Having the cabin replaced so quickly could make persevering a lot more agreeable. I considered pressing him for a well, but decided not to push my luck.
“We got a deal, kid, or not?” he asked.
I looked at the head bobbing rear window pooch and said, “We got a deal for sure.”
He went on to tell us that Matlock was a regular Tweety Bird – a big mouthed canary. They played the tape back for him, the part about what he did to Lloyd, and he just naturally assumed that they had everything on tape. He and his lawyer were working on a deal. They were trying to get a suspended sentence and a new identity in North Dakota, or somewhere like that. I didn’t really care what happened to him; I just didn’t ever want to see him again. It was over and that was what I cared about.
Chapter 36
My life had finally reached some sort of normalcy by the first month of 1961. The semester had ended – I survived. The election was over – Richard Nixon didn’t, and neither did Sheriff Dave Pearl Handled 6 Shooter Cook. The only votes he got were from his deputies. Mack was ecstatic; he was thinking of giving up engineering and going into politics. He even started wearing his hair like JFK; he looked like a wirehaired terrier with bangs.
Christmas had come and gone along with all the good cheer and good feelings that come with it, although, the pre holiday rush for signage nearly did me in. Brick found an old itinerant sign painter who needed some work, so he took him on part time. The guy was really quite good except that he tended to drink a little; actually, he drank a lot. Be that as it may, I’d learned quite a lot from him and hoped to keep him on for a while, but as I suspected he would do, he just moved on.
The cabin went a way, and in its place there appeared a nice little 2-bedroom bungalow, with electricity, and soon to have water and phone. Brick co-signed a loan for things like a septic system, water tank, and some used furniture and appliances. I still couldn’t show any money around. Things were slow in the construction business, so I hired Will to build me a fireplace and chimney; it turned out bigger and better than the old one. I was planning to move in at the end of the spring semester. I could’ve moved in sooner, but Nan wanted my room, and I thought she needed a lesson in patience.
For some highly unexplainable reason, Mickey’s grades didn’t measure up to the college’s standards, so they suggested that he not return right away. It seemed they were afraid that he might break a record if he came back for a second semester. There was some concern that he could somehow flunk a course that he wasn’t enrolled in and show a negative GPA. That sort of thing doesn’t look good when they get an accreditation review. So old Mick decided to take an island vacation – Paris Island - yep, Mickey the Marine.
Mickey’s departure was coming up the following week, so we all got together and took him to Rockies for a bash. It was the first Saturday in January, 1961, and the party was a ripper, despite the fact that it was plenty cold out. Mack was there with Legs # XXI or XXII, Mickey was with a Hell’s Angels chick, and Liz was with some pre-law frat guy who couldn’t hold his liquor any better than he could hold her. Peggy and I were there as well as a number of others who just happened to be there and joined us.
The band was poor, but loud, so you could dance to their product without too much effort, and no one really cared anyway; we were giving Mickey a good-time send off. He had had just about enough to start his eyes glazing and his tongue loosening, so he started recalling, “good old dammed times.” I kept hoping that he wouldn’t start crying on us.
“Hey! Little Brick!” he blurted out. “You member that time when that ol som a bitch started shootin’ at us jus for stealin’ his gas?”
“Yeah, Mick,” I said, “whatever you say.” I was doing my best to downplay it and give the impression that he was just bullshittin’, because everyone started looking at me.
“No, no, no really.” he went on. “It was ol man Woodderker’s brother – you member – don’t you?”
Nick Drago, who was a joinee at the party, pulled his nose out of the Harley Davidson queen’s cleavage and roared, “Hey, you worms! They tried to hang me with that one, just because I had the only black Studerbaker in town.”
“Donuts,” I said, “you were playing basketball that night in front of a couple of hundred people; including the Whitakers. Remember?”
“Oh yeah.” he said, and returned to examining cleavage; only this time it was Legs’ chest that was being scrutinized at close range. She pushed him away – she probably never learned to share.
Mack was cracking up; he had missed all of that stuff, because he had been away at priest school. He knew dammed well whose idea it had been, and he also knew that it would have been him at the wheel if he’d been there. Legs was looking confused and uncomfortable. I was hoping that she would start farting and get the attention off me, but lightening didn’t strike again. Maybe I should’ve ordered some mock Champaign.
I held up my hands in surrender and told them all, “For the sake of argument, let’s say that Mickey’s drunk and doesn’t have any idea what he’s saying. And besides that, full restitution has been made to everyone - anonymously. I have it on good authority that the Whitakers are satisfied.”
“How long ago was that?” Mickey asked. “Like a couple of years?’
“It was exactly one year ago yesterday. Don�
��t ask – I just know stuff like that.”
Peggy was looking at me funny again, and I was in no shape to use my silver tongue and rapier sharp wit to head off any problems. I knew that look. It came just ahead of, ”Brickey, you’re messing up my well ordered life.”
“Stealing gas?” she said as she burst out laughing. “Stealing gas? Oh, Lord, what next?”
“Hey,” I said in my own defense, “you gotta start somewhere, Whitaker’s crazy brother one day and Mafia hit man the next.”
She spun me around, wrapped her arms around me, and planted a kiss on me that caused the frat boy’s glasses to steam up, and he was asleep at the time. “I love you.” She whispered. I started to speak, but she pressed her finger to my lips and said, “That doesn’t require an answer. Just leave it there for now.”
By that time, Mickey’s eyes had become completely glazed over, and he was non-responsive, so I became the target of their needling. I knew what was coming next, and Mack started the ball rolling with, “When are you going to declare a major, Brickey?” So far my major was Undecided, and it was about to become Seriously Undecided. There I sat in the midst of a future doctor, lawyer, engineer, stockbroker, possible model, Marine warrior, and a Hell’s Angel, so I had to come up with something good – and quick.
“As you all know,” I said, “I’ve been giving this subject a lot of thought lately (about 12 seconds). I think I might like to study for the bar.” The frat boy raised his head off Liz’s shoulder and tried to speak, but put it back where it was in silence. Peggy’s eyes got wide. “And apply to the FBI.” She flinched like someone eating grapes, and gets one that not quite ripe.
“…. Or I might become a teakettle. But until I finally decide about the teakettle thing. I’m going to declare a business major and fine arts minor.” They all looked at me expecting another bit of nonsense, until I told them I was dead serious. There it was; out in the open after so many months of pondering. I had decided my future in a matter of seconds.
They could understand the business major, but they had a problem with the fine arts minor. It made perfect sense to me; I’d need the business for my livelihood and art for my soul. I just let them ponder it. I’d explain it to Peggy later, Mack just accepted it, Mickey and Nick would never get it, Legs would just give me a blank stare, but as I looked into Liz’s eyes – I knew she understood.
When we left, everyone was laughing and in a festive mood, some a little more festive than others. Nick and Legs were supporting Mickey between them. About a dozen paces outside the front door, they bumped into a couple of fellas on their way in. It wasn’t much of a collision, but both Mickey and one of the incomers yelled, “Hey, watch it!”
The bigger of the 2 gents stepped back and said, “No, you watch it, shit face!”
Mickey tried to lunge at him, but Nick had a good grip on him. By that time, I was around Drago and in front of Mickey with my hands on his chest. My back was to the sweet talker. “It’s okay, Mick,” I told him, “you don’t want any trouble – okay?” He was still straining to get at the other guy.
The smaller of the pair must have recognized Nick, because he piped up and said, “Hey, Nick, we’re cool – no problemo here man.”
All the while I had my hands on Mickey and trying to get his attention long enough to calm him down. I was saying things like, “Just cool it, Mick, the Marines won’t want you coming in there all busted up – they want to do the bustin.”
“Maaaarines!” I heard the guy behind me say. Then he started cussin’ loud and strong with things like – “I hate Marines, dumb assed jarheads”, and “I’m in the U. S. Navy” all mixed in with the foul four letter barrage.
I spun around with the intent of telling him to watch his mouth, and turned right into a little .32 pistol, which I suppose he thought was pointing at Mickey. The only trouble was that he would have had a hard time getting any bullets into Mickey – they would’ve all gotten hung up in me.
He stood there poking me in the belly with that thing and glaring at Mickey over my shoulder. His pal was clearing out, as he backed away he was saying. “Hey look at the time. I gotta be going now. See you later, Gary. Hey, Nick boy, you take it easy now, I’ll see you around…” He was a hotfootin’ it.
Old Gary kept punching that damned thing into my stomach, and he kept glaring at Mickey, and Nick had all he could do to keep Mickey from climbing over me to get at old Gary. I heard Peggy gasp and Liz say, “Oh shit!”
Mack wasn’t able to see what was going on and kept saying, “What?”
That made 6 times in 12 months that someone had pointed a gun at me, and I was pissed, steamed, and in a high state of honked off-id-ness. Without thinking, I just reached down with my right hand, and with fingers over the barrel and thumb under it, I lifted up and away. Since a thumb is the weakest part of a grip, he lost his hold. I had his gun, and he had a stupid look on his face.
While he was staring stupidly at his pistol in my right hand, I broke his nose with my left fist. He grabbed at his face and staggered back into a car, then slumped to the ground making some awful noises. I flipped open the cylinder and dumped the cartridges in my hand, then checked to make sure it was empty and asked, “Does anybody have any Vaseline?”
After a few seconds, Legs produced a small tube of petroleum jelly – maybe she does share after all. “You always carry Vaseline?” I asked.
“If I have to smile a lot,” she replied, “my teeth get dry and my lips stick to them.”
I didn’t want to know what that was all about, so I just smiled and thanked her. The Vaseline, I smeared all over the barrel of the gun. Then I said, “Mack, you want to give me a hand with this guy?”
“You’re not really going to – are you?” he was crackin’ up. ‘Naaa, Lee, you wouldn’t - would you?”
“You’re never going to know unless you help me get him up, old sport.”
I held the gun up in the light so I could check the size of the front sight and told the gun boy, “Sailor, this is your lucky day.”
We got him to his feet and half drug him around the corner of the building, where we draped him over an Oldsmobile hood and dropped his pants. One look at that ugly hairy butt changed my mind, so we pulled up his skivvies. I stuck the gun down the back of his shorts and asked, “Close enough?”
“Close enough!” Mack replied.
All the while old Gary was spread eagle on that hood; he was whining and begging. I guess he thought we were going to shoot him in the hienie.
Mack leaned over and spoke softly to him, “Friend, there is something you need to remember. Never think you’re the cock of the walk until you know how tough the other cocks are, so before you start up with a guy you’d better reach down and grab a handful, just to see how big they are.”
- END -
Epilogue
That was many years ago, and my life has settled down considerably since then. People hardly ever point guns at me now. I’d like to say that everything in my life worked out just the way I’d planned it, but since I never really did much planning I can’t say that. Some of the others in this tale did better jobs of planning and some of them actually worked out.
Liz never became a doctor, but she married one. She became a lawyer and then a judge, but what she is most proud of are the titles Mother and Grandmother. They are all fat and happy in South Carolina, or so the Christmas cards say.
Mickey found a home in the Marine Corps, and apparently, he liked his home, because he stayed. He became what he called a lifer; unfortunately, it was much too short. He was killed in Viet Nam in 1968. He got his picture in the Springfield and Doubling papers with a real nice bio, I think he would have liked that. Oh, by the way; he died because he refused to leave a buddy behind – he didn’t let him down. Rest with God, Mickey.
I can’t say Nick Drago’s plans went astray because he never made any. Somewhere between the basic training and honorable discharge Nick got a call – from God! Oh, it wasn’t the call, it was more
like the calling. Nick says that God didn’t give him that roaring voice so he could yell across a bar room. He gave it to him to yell Satin out of those back row sinners down at the Babtist Church. That’s Rev. Nick Drago to you.
Mack got his engineering degree and spent about 6 years going from one project to another all over the world. He finally found what he was looking for, and married her. His dream girl had it all; beauty, brains, and great legs. But most importantly she loved him because he was Mack, not because he looked good and had a lot of charm. They live in St. Louis, where he plays lousy golf and gets written up in trade journals – he must be pretty good. Did I mention that he has 3 daughters? I’ll bet he’s played hell getting his share of bathroom time.
We lost Brick in ’72; he just fell over at the station and was gone in minutes. Oh, he wasn’t working; he was semi retired, Chuck (Deputy Dumb-Ass) was managing it for him. No, Brick was in there gassing up his bass boat. Mom took it pretty hard, but she finally came around, and got on with her life. She’s still in good health, but doesn’t get around well.
“What about Peggy?” you ask. “Did she marry the hillbilly country boy? Did she become a stockbroker? Did perseverance pay?” No, she didn’t marry me – we drifted apart after a few years. I don’t think I fit into her well-ordered life, but I damn sure put a little excitement into it. Yes, she became a stockbroker, and quite a successful one; in fact, she’s my broker. Back in the mid ’70s, she gave me a tip on a fella named Sam Walton, who had a few stores he called Wal-Mart. So I took that money out of the safe deposit box and said, “Let her ride.” Springfield wasn’t an easy place for a female stockbroker, so she took a job in St. Louis, married a guy in the business, and lived happily ever after. And about perseverance, there are just some things you just don’t need to know.
Nan, my second worst pain in the rear (the worst was an ounce of lead) turned out pretty fair. Actually, she turned out pretty and fair. She became a teacher, and is charged with shaping young minds in a California school district. She found and married one of the great rarities of nature – a jock with brains. He was able to parley a baseball scholarship into a Ph.D. in Chemistry. They seem to like it out there, but I keep waiting to hear that the whole state has broken loose and is drifting out to sea, and that no one has noticed it.