Call Me Kid

by Billy Sharpe

  “Sure, wait a sec.” To keep anyone from hearing, he stepped around the corner of the building. “I need R.W. Slaughter’s cell number in Keeling, Virginia, to determine if he holds information about a missing girl named Gretchen. Bye, for a while.”

  He snapped the phone shut, walked back to Jim, and stuck out his hand. “How are you, Jim? Still driving the blue-and-white pickup and dying your hair?”

  “Never better. Yep, same old truck. ‘The ‘worst,’ huh? Would you likes to try deer hunting again’ me?”

  “I don’t think so—not today, anyway. Jim, you’re as dashing as ever—the gold necklace, the one earring, the stylish clothes, the hair—dyed blond now—brown eyes and handsome face. I speculate your skills with the women show no decline in the last few years.”

  “Right on, Kid. I looks for either the deer or the d-e-a-r, ‘cept for today. Gimme two minutes.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Kid, do ‘ya still hunts the area in Keeling, Virginia, above Ross’s property called, ‘the mountain’?”

  “Yeah, going downhill, Billy Goat Rock is on the boundary line.”

  Jim told a story about a huge gobbler, which ranged on or around the Slaughter woods. The creature weighed perhaps twenty-five pounds. A bird of those proportions represented a Virginia record, he said. Jim gave a brief description of hallucinations he witnessed in the past, but this animal stepped out into the open not fifty feet from where he sat. It was a vivid picture, not a tangle of bushes, which had played on his fatigue or overworked eyes since he’d spotted the gobbler three hours after dawn, from a tree climber.

  “Remember. I’m a lefty— No way to twist that far to the back left and shoot.”

  The Kid winked. “End of story?”

  “Not quite. You comes into the picture. I hears of your idea to hep the young girl and I makes a decision to join the fun. The next trip back to Keeling, I asked around concerning the mystery turkey. Everybody’s quiet. I finds out who stalks the gobbler in the area better than anyone else. I screws his wife. She says she’s aware of nothing. I tell her to notice what she can. I’ll make love to her for the information.”

  “Ah, so much good dwells in you. I’m all warm inside. Your compassion overwhelms me to learn you prostitute yourself for a worthy cause.”

  At the sarcasm, both smiled.

  “Kid, I bust her again, and she says the rumor regarding the turkey’s correct. Her husband calls the tom to the end of a rough cutover where the old boy stopped ‘bout seventy yards out. The creature halts before approaching the jake and hen decoys. But instead of coming to the calls, he vanishes into the brush. The guy’s wife also tells the monster walks within fifty feet of another man, but this happens in the summer and not during hunting season. They are shut-mouth since they each want the trophy for themselves. The turkey hunters near the mountain develop an unspoken rule about the giant bird. In other words, they know the facts, but they ain’t talkin’.”

  “Thanks, Jim, I cherish your friendship.”

  “Same here— heard about your plans for the girl, seen her and Spiffy at the door. Ain’t she purdy, too. I turkey hunt very little, but I’ll join in to hep. Oh, they call the giant gobbler Goliath.”

  “Come with us, Jim. I’ll buy you dinner.” The Kid never remembered Jim’s eyes cooperating with the rest of his body, and his feet, most of the time, pointed away.

  At the entrance, thirty people lounged by the door. The scene pleased the Kid, since some were strangers. The scene pleased the Kid, since some were not. The scene pleased the Kid because each waited for his turn to show their friendship.

  The Kid showed his friendship in several ways: chats, handshakes, smiles, or pats on the arms. On entering, he stopped a waiter, threw his arm across the young man’s shoulder, walked him to the window, made conversation, shook hands, and then departed to another group.

  An idea struck him. He remembered the supports around the chimney used for repairing the brick works. Of course. Yes. Mean Man with the metal framework, you will not only become the fool, but also suffer defeat.

  The dining arrangements consisted of five rows of tables. Each row held one hundred chairs. The Kid spotted Mean Man and led his little group away from him to four seats near the back. Moving while chatting with dozens took ten minutes before they arrived at their table. He sat between Jim and Spiffy. Samantha maneuvered to Jim’s right. Swampy Joe came last and perched on the edge of his chair like a bird, opposite from the others. With discomfort, he eyed Jim. “Dern, Jim, why’d you mess me up in South Carolina?”

  “What ‘chu talking about?”

  “You said you’d meet me at the Cypress Loop, but you ain’t done that.”

  “You got sumpin’ wrong. I ain’t never hunted with you in South Carolina.”

  “You tellin’ a lie, Jim. As much as we talked about a girl named Gretchen disappearing, too and how bad it were.”

  “Callin’ me a liar, huh?”

  The Kid glanced from one to the other. “You two stop now.”

  To foster tranquility, Samantha supplemented the Kid’s manifestation with a deflection. “Must you talk to and entertain everybody here?”

  “Suppose you enlighten me about those turkey feathers Clarisse mentioned.”

  “Poor judgment. We plan to leave one souvenir in each envelope with a poem and sell them for ten dollars, to raise money for an orphanage for homeless children.”

  “For children without homes, isn’t that as good a use to help orphans as anything?”

  “Stop trying to be sarcastic. This business means a lot, into the millions.”

  “Sam—”

  “You mean ‘Samantha’ don’t you?”

  “Samantha, don’t let money corrupt you. Something tells me you will harvest a nice long beard. Nevertheless, these stakes keep escalating.”

  “Stay cool. We’ll jerk through this thing.”

  “Okay, no more interviews or deals without consulting me.”

  She leaned back, reached around Jim, shook his red ponytail, smiled, and winked. “Okay.”

  A self-appointed leader, Billy Forbes, issued opening comments while insisting the Kid’s party dine with him at a speaker’s table.

  The Kid held up his fist with the thumb pointed down. Shunning the spotlight for the short term would accomplish something. Why be pretentious? In those pictures of championship baseball teams, who stood on the last row? A humble approach among the little people might steer them to a quiet foundation to build support to make a leap toward the million-dollar idea. At the same time, he would demonstrate to the group that those who show superiority do not give the Kid orders.

  Mean Man rose and invaded the Kid’s area. He poked the shoulder of a patron seated beside Samantha. Like a frightened puppy, the patron scampered away. Mean Man captured the seat, and no one made a comment.

  The Kid popped his hands to draw attention. He thought: Make the timing perfect. Extend your arms palms up to get the people on their feet. The crowd followed his lead, which upstaged Billy.

  A preacher in the audience said grace. Billy nodded and all took their seats. The waiters in white aprons, light blue shirts, and paper caps made the rounds with loads of barbecue, fried chicken, cold slaw, potatoes, corn sticks, and hush puppies—an Eastern North Carolina meal.

  Billy seized his belt buckle to jack up his pants. “Boys, keep digging in. Try not to get any on the walls or ceiling. Listen up. This year something special happens with a certain turkey hunter. We all comprehend the challenge if he accepts. He has not learned the details of a situation. Therefore, allow me to tell him.” Billy patted the right side of his chest. “Kid, my coat pocket contains checks totaling ninety thousand dollars.”

  A murmur floated through the crowd, while Billy sucked in a deep breath and smiled.

  The Kid cut his eyes toward Jim. “Ya heard about this?”

  Jim finished eating. While he spoke, he wiped clean his knife and fork which he had brought and returned them
to a black case. “Naw, you my man, Kid. Anything I discover, you’ll find out in minutes.”

  Billy looked upward. “This money comes from all across America, some from outside the U.S. These people lay a wager you cannot help Samantha Hawk harvest a gobbler by the end of this coming spring’s turkey season. In other words, we mean a tom with a beard of seven inches or better. Kid, all these people put up their money to compel you to try harder. Will you match the bet of ninety thousand plus whatever we raise here tonight?”

  With a screech, the Kid slid his wooden chair back over the oak hardwood floor. He stood. “Well, now, let’s hold a little chat among friends. I might. First, though, I demand conditions.”

  Billy shrugged. “What?”

  “As a number of you are aware, my daughter, Elizabeth, has a law degree. She works with a firm in New York City. The money has to travel to her. She will place the formal transactions through some sort of clearinghouse in an area where gambling of this type breaks no laws. In addition, we can’t take gentleman’s bets. All wagers must be in the form of cash, recognized credit card, or a good check. Everything goes into the bank of our choice. The funds must be in my name only. Billy, call Spiffy next week to receive the necessary phone numbers and addresses. Elizabeth will set up a website which you can access with little trouble. Most assuredly, when you lose, I become even richer than I am now.”

  The Kid’s final comment drew a howl of laughter from the crowd. Many summoned Billy to collect further bets. One spectator asked for the floor.

  “Excuse me, Kid, do you take odds?”

  “I assume you mean on an individual basis. Talk with Elizabeth. Tell her what you require. She may be able to accommodate you. Waiting for the website may be a good idea. Many things must be determined. The site might have to be set up in another state, country, or in an island nation. Nevertheless, spending the money will be a joy. Do any of you contemplate additional questions?”

  Mean Man stood. “I’m not rich. I’ve done okay in the sales field. I saved twenty-five grand for my twin daughters, Cara and Calla, to go to nursing school. I must double the amounts. So, I’ll wager all to say he can’t help her score a gobbler. Yeah, Kid, I’ll be glad to take twenty- five later, plus a little of your hide after this supper.” From his buckskin jacket pocket, he yanked a pen and checkbook, scribbled out a check, and passed it forward.

  The Kid thought: He has that kind of money? “You might acquire some hide since I’ve lost strength, but believe me, Buddy, you’ll never get the cash. Take note, dear friends. Samantha Hawk is going to shoot a mature gobbler. He will weigh over eighteen pounds with a seven-inch beard. I give you my word.”

  A hush descended. No one believed the boldness of the Kid. His promise constituted his bond; now he ran the risk of giving his honor on something he might not deliver. The only sound for two minutes came from the waiters rattling dishes.

  Later, the group filed out, expecting to see a fight.

  With both hands, Samantha tugged at his sleeve.

  “What’s bothering you, Samantha? Tell me.”

  “I ran into a whiff of English Sparrow aftershave lotion.”

  “You did! Tell me if you strike the scent again. Samantha, you and Spiffy mosey to the car. While you go, see if you smell the fragrance again. Perhaps we’ll be able to put a face on the Chameleon. The info might come in handy. My brain has hatched a plan to defeat Mean Man. Jim, leave in your truck. Get back with me later. Spiffy, Samantha, when we depart, be ready for a real ride.”

  He marched to the door while his enemy followed a step behind. They walked past the staring spectators.

  The Kid ran and leaped from the steps to the ground. Circling to the left, with his chimpanzee body, he climbed three stories while the metal framework responded with squeaks. At the top, the cross-boards became a dance floor as he performed a jig. “Come on up. The weather’s fine.”

  Mean Man said, “Bring your tail down Kid, or let everybody learn what a coward you are.”

  “Calling me yellow, huh? These good folks surmise the booze has sapped some power. So here I dwell to even the odds.”

  “Stay by the chimney, Kid. We’ll settle things sometime later.”

  Mean Man sauntered away. When the Kid observed his advancement stretched to a safe distance, he descended. “Make your move, you ugly, pig-faced, shaved-head sucker. I stand on solid ground waiting for an arrogant bully such as you to come feed upon a knuckle sandwich for a midnight snack.”

  Mean Man ran to the scaffold, but lacked speed because of his bulk. The Kid scampered back up while the crowd roared approval.

  Mean Man stayed at the bottom. “The trick earned you some real laughs. Take care. We’ll get to it another day.”

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “You’ll scamper right back up. You can’t fool me.”

  “Let’s cut a deal.”

  Mean Man’s hands went to his hips. “What?”

  “You realize some vigor’s gone.”

  “So?”

  “Give me a handicap.”

  “You already have one.” Laughter burst from Mean Man. Three others chuckled.

  “Grant me a request, and I’ll come down.”

  “What, Kid?”

  “Okay, listen. You must fold arms across the chest, close your eyes, and allow me the first punch.”

  He marched near the chimney works. “Your word.”

  “Yes.”

  He complied.

  Without hesitation, he dropped from the scaffold, programming the touch of his monkey feet and legs for contact— this timing insured the use of his knees as shock absorbers, creating, not only a soft, but also a quiet landing. With three steps, he drew within striking distance. He lifted his right leg until his knee reached belt buckle height. With his toes pointed, he swung his foot into Mean Man’s crotch.

  Amid the cheers and howls of supporters, the Kid bounded to his ride and jumped into the passenger’s side. “Gun it, Spiffy!”

  The limo raced onto the interstate.

  The Kid nodded. “Sheesh! Let’s reflect a moment. We start on this hunt to aid you to get a gobbler, which we will do. Easy enough, huh? Mean Man, among others, steps into the act to gain money, notoriety, turkey call sales, a talk show, or most of the above. From the Witch of the North, I learn about the sale of the feathers. Yeah, Samantha, did you note her face? All she needs to sport on top of her widow’s peak is a black pointed hat. Anyway, the governor’s aid wishes to use you as a ticket to send somebody to Washington. Hmm, yeah, the people are beginning to see through him, so he needs to boost his popularity. Oh, how could I forget? The betting at the meeting sent the total to over one hundred thousand. Of course, the problem with the money lingers with what to do with the cash. I’ll lose sleep later. Samantha, are you aware of any further stakes in this game? Samantha, do you hear me talking to you?”

  “Sure, Kid.”

  “Answer me.”

  “Real Dad is lining up some talk show deals.”

  “What else?”

  “My congressman in Washington plans to introduce me to ‘The Man’.”

  “‘The Man’, huh?”

  Chapter 18

  Ten days remained before the opening of turkey season in Virginia.

  The Kid discontinued her strength training. The girl had worked since the dinner at La Comida. She had gained two pounds of muscle, though she faded when he added additional minutes plus weight to the schedule. Neither he nor Spiffy mentioned it, but her good looks grew fainter.

  These last ten days would consist of gun mount drills. Samantha practiced on the patio, while he and Spiffy sat behind the glass doors.

  “Aw, yeah, you’re kinda quiet. Whatcha’ thinkin’?”

  “That meal at La Comida. Didja notice Jim had his own knife and fork?”

  “No.”

  “When he finished eating, he wiped them clean and stowed the utensils in a black pouch. Maybe he shows his woodsman instincts. I’m not sure
. He has no record, so no fingerprints as evidence would be any good. Betcha’ he wears latex gloves when he’s in uncomfortable situations.”

  “Aw yeah, where ya’ going with this?”

  “We need a DNA specimen. At least, that would tell if he murdered Wong Lee, but he never spits, takes a leak, craps, or cuts himself where we can get an example. Let’s both of us keep carrying latex gloves and plastic bags. Maybe we’ll get a break. Enough of all that. What’s she doing wrong?”

  “Aw, yeah, she has her left foot pointed too far out— the mounts are mechanical, but she’s smoother, more effortless— deep concentration— the sweetie works hard.”

  Noting Samantha’s progress, the Kid’s jaw set and a look came to his face. “Dr. Watson, we can win this entire shooting match. Samantha gets the turkey. We catch the killer.

  The Kid’s cell rang. Spiffy answered, and held the device to his chest. “Allotta.” He handed the phone to him.

  He clutched the phone with both hands. “Spiffy, do you mind helping with her foot placement?”

  “Alotta, what’s up?”

  “Plenty, all bad. We need to talk. Can you come to my place?”

  ***

  Wearing black pumps, slacks, a red blouse, and a smile, she opened the door. “Hi, Kid, let’s get the worst over first.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Six months ago, a little girl vanished from her backyard swing set in South Carolina. Everyone assumed a kidnapping. The grandparents had adopted her after her parents died in an auto accident. Her grandmother passed away, and at present, her granddad is in a home with Alzheimer’s. DNA from him corresponded with samples from Gretchen’s old clothes. To date, she is missing. This brings me to why I called you here. Those two men that came to your house when I was there for an interview. I took their car license tag numbers. With a few favors, I learned they are detectives. Being at your house means they asked for your help. Come on Kid. For the benefit of the public, let’s put everything on the table.”

  The Kid rubbed his forehead. “Oh my, now, for gosh sakes, don’t you dare tell what I’m going to say. I’m working with those two sheriff’s departments, one on each side of the Dan River. The code name is Johnny. Did you learn about the hair found in Wong Lee’s right hand?”