Call Me Kid

by Billy Sharpe

  She climbed on his back and looked from the Kid to Spiffy. “Where’s Jim?”

  The Kid said, “Let’s go. Tell ‘ya later. Betcha’ old Spiffy’s smooth walking will put you right to sleep.”

  It did.

  Twenty-five minutes later, they arrived at the vehicles. The Kid, Spiffy, and Samantha drove to Carson’s General Store in order to register the turkeys according to state law. Little Archie left for home with his chauffeur and Alotta followed the pickup. A steady all-night rain began.

  Thirteen patrons occupied the business. Eight consisted of old-timers having supper. Two younger men played checkers. Three teenage boys ogled a girly picture. When the group observed the exhausted hunters with the sleeping girl, they showed their respect with silence. The Kid rearranged several bags of seed corn. He made a pillow with his camouflage jacket., he slipped her like a piece of fine china from Spiffy to place her on the sacks. She squirmed. Her eyes cracked open. She smiled. She wriggled. Closing her eyelids, she fell asleep once more.

  The store clerk, dressed in khakis with a white shirt, adjusted his eyeglasses. “Hep you folks?”

  Swinging his thumb toward the car, he nodded at Spiffy. “Mister, this young lady bagged a tom. We’d appreciate the courtesy. Will you weigh him?”

  “Heard about you. Ya’ did the job, huh?”

  “If she were awake, she’d say, ‘yup.’”

  All in the store gathered behind the Kid at the cash register. None spoke. Alotta took pictures.

  Owing to the bulk, the weighing preparation took two minutes, but with a tug and a nudge, Goliath’s head hung off the white scale one foot from the counter. With boldness, Mr. Carson removed his hand; to deter falling, he kept his palm above Goliath’s breastbone. The pointer steadied at twenty-seven pounds fifteen ounces, while the creature’s beard extended to sixteen inches and his spurs to two.

  At the conclusion, everyone sagged, from the balls of their feet to their heels, and a murmur drifted through the group. With a wry smile, the owner listed the smaller turkey in the Kid’s name, since Virginia allowed a one-a-day bag limit and three per season.

  Someone in the back spoke. “Mister Kid, you’re everything people say you is.”

  His base voice rattled the walls. “Call me ‘Kid’.”

  ***

  The Kid, Spiffy, and Samantha stopped at a fast food restaurant. Afterwards, Spiffy drove them to a motel, while he visited a taxidermist to leave Goliath.

  He rented a room with twin beds. On entering, he drew hot water into the shower, handed her fresh clothes, and switched on the television. She showered. Afterwards, in less than five minutes, she fell asleep with her clown doll.

  A knock at the door, which sounded more like a mouse scratch, seized the Kid’s attention. He answered. Pricilla giggled past him to jump into the other bed.

  He moved in with Spiffy.

  ***

  At ten before eight in the morning, Spiffy knocked with the toe of his boot. He entered and plopped three plastic plates on the chest of drawers, along with coffee and drinks. While they ate, the Kid snapped on Alotta’s news program. They caught the last of a shampoo commercial and at eight sharp, she appeared.

  “Folks, talk about the story of a century— you’ll learn what took place here on WROT at twelve noon. Until then, just a bit. We’ll make public the video section. For now, the Tobacco Land Kid beat the odds, and more importantly, the road ended for a serial killer. A tape exists concerning the perp’s last minutes alive, but the D.A. refuses to release the clip. Not to worry, WROT seeks a resolve of the issue. Also, Senator Little Archie joined the expedition as a witness. A woodsman of distinction, a huge asset in the forest, and a fine gentleman, he saved this reporter from the deadly bite of a copperhead.”

  The Kid choked on his coffee.

  Alotta took a step and pointed her left hand palm up toward the wussies.

  They played a four-second measure.

  Alotta winked and shook her breasts.

  ***

  A secret arrival required timing and execution.

  With his cell phone, the Kid began. He sucked in a deep breath when the highway patrol informed him his road needed to close to all local traffic unless he granted permission for various individuals to enter. He thanked them, asking them to allow a stretch limousine through at 11:00 a.m., sharp. With one last call, he spoke with an old shut-mouth friend who lived a half mile from his home. The individual agreed to hide their vehicle behind his pack house. From the building, a half-mile walk through the woods took them to the Kid’s back door. His manipulations accomplished two things. People would make note of the limo, enhancing his mystique. Also, Samantha, exhausted, escaped the tension.

  ***

  Jennifer invited fifty friends and all attended.

  They swarmed around the new celebrities. With gentle elbowing, Elizabeth made contact with the Kid. He hoisted Samantha so she could hug Elizabeth. Using this opportunity, he placed his mouth near Elizabeth’s ear. He whispered, “Get her out of here. Put her to bed. Tell Ervin to check her, now.” He carried her to the banister and plopped her on the second step, pinched her cheek, and kissed her on top of her head. She craned her neck at him until she’d ascended to the next floor.

  The Kid excused himself to go upstairs to change into a suit. Leaving the room to look for Samantha, he found Elizabeth waiting for him.

  “She’s asleep—Ervin’s with her. She bruised her shoulder. ASAP meet me in the library. We need to talk.”

  With encouragement, a receiving line formed and the guests filed past. Elizabeth stood first, since she knew most of the names. A woman dressed in black approached. She showed a printed note by Jennifer, which made her attendance possible. With a sweaty palm, she shook the Kid’s hand. Standing at his side, Jennifer whispered that he would need to speak with her and Billy. At two p.m., the last guest departed except for Mr. Forbes and the mysterious lady in black.

  Elizabeth tugged the Kid’s coat, pulling him into the library. He collapsed into his leather chair. His right elbow fell to the armrest as his chin sunk into his palm.

  “Kid, stay focused for a few minutes. We have commerce items to manage. Jennifer says you must speak with three people.”

  “Business first.”

  Elizabeth stunned him with the figure—twenty-three million dollars with more to come. He sat erect and shook his head. She assured him her law firm had locked up the loose ends, everyone had put up their cash in advance, and money came from all over the world. The mechanics of the process grew complicated. Even ships in international waters played a role to keep everything legal. Nevertheless, with affairs in a whirl, she’d failed to check with her office in the last forty-eight hours. The figure could double. At six p.m. tonight, one mouse click would put twenty-three millions into his checking account.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth, sounds simple enough. Send those three people in.”

  Elizabeth admitted the woman in black. The Kid rose to his feet, and they shook hands.

  “Kid, I’m Richard Hardy’s wife. Well, maybe his widow, anyway I’ve come to apologize for his behavior to you over the years.”

  “Mrs. Hardy, yes, we were rivals, but if Richard stood here now, he would agree that no bitterness existed between us.

  Her jaw quivered. “He had syphilis, and the disease went to his brain.” She broke eye contact and looked at the floor. With a clumsy smile, she looked up. “He took measures not to infect me.”

  The Kid thought. That infection likely ran him nuts. Poor guy. We went to the same whorehouses, too.

  She gathered herself to express the purpose of her visit. He left her penniless. Their twin daughters Cara and Calla couldn’t afford nursing school. The Kid admitted that what college cost these days gave all students a bath. He urged her to set her mind at ease. For their education, checks drawn on his personal account constituted no issue. When Richard returned, a meeting to discuss a payback scale would occur.

  With a sm
ile of satisfaction, she disappeared.

  In walked Billy Forbes; however, before he could say a word, Elizabeth stepped ahead of him with a phone in her hand. She nodded at the Kid. “You want this one.”

  “Hi, this is Allotta,” she blubbered. “Oh, Kid, you’ve made me very rich. We’re leaving for New York. We’re buying tons of clothes.” She couldn’t stop sniffling.”We’re heading for the big time. First, we’ll spend a day or two in D.C. to get my nose fixed. Please come. Mee wants you to come, too. Remember the yellow duck.”

  “Stay cool. I’ll call soon.”

  He handed the phone back to Elizabeth. She nodded for Billy to enter, and he settled in a chair. The old Billy Forbes, the witty master of ceremonies, faded into obscurity. Before him slumped an unshaven, nervous, rye whiskey-soaked bum. This derelict was like Icarus melted and hurtled to the bottom.

  Though slurring his words, he attempted to open the conversation with small talk.

  “Nice farmland around here. What do they cultivate?”

  “Sometimes the land grows men and women. Sometimes the land grows fools.”

  With his assertion, Billy wasted no time in his quest to beseech the Kid to return everyone’s money and call the whole deal off. With all tact, courtesy, and a touch of humility, he explained to him the impossibilities of untying the knot. Although few in number, other winners anticipated their rewards too, but the most outstanding reason lay in the fact that several millions in legal fees could not go unnoticed.

  He stood and placed five thousand dollars in Billy’s shirt pocket, told him to make a new start in life, and sent him away.

  He flopped into his chair, telling Elizabeth to allow him a five-minute breather before sending in Spiffy.

  He swiveled his seat one-hundred and eighty degrees to face a mirror. He looked. You are history, Wolfgang. I am a different person now.

  With a knock, Elizabeth pushed the door open to admit Spiffy.

  The Kid stared at Elizabeth. “I can’t read the expression on your face.”

  She shook her head. Spiffy touched her shoulder. “Aw, can me and the Kid talk a little in private?”

  Pausing, she smiled, “Something I don’t understand—some establishment in Danville, Virginia bet over twenty-five thousand on Samantha.”

  He leaned back. “Name of the place?”

  “Marylyn’s.”

  “Marylyn’s? Must be a restaurant. Comment, Spiffy?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  With a shrug, she left.

  “Oh Spiffy, let me apologize for putting you last, but I wanted to be done with those two as soon as possible.”

  “Kid, listen. I won’t be coming around anymore.”

  The Kid rose. “Spiffy?”

  Tears welled in Spiffy’s eyes. He carried a copy of Don Quixote, which his nervous fingers rubbed. “I found a girl, Kid. She’s a nurse. She won’t marry me unless I track down a full-time job. Her cousin works for the fire department in Rocky Mount. He says he can get me on.”

  He sat. “Spiffy, let’s examine some old facts. Seven years ago one morning, you knocked on my door.”

  “Aw, yeah, a week or so after I finished college. Heard stories about you for a long time. Didn’t want money.”

  “Spiffy, some say Albert Schweitzer never asked a question. Anyway, let’s forget him for a moment. I’ve often wondered. How have you lived from before college until now?”

  “Mom and Dad died when I was a freshman in high school. An uncle passed away my senior year. He left an estate, which sends me eight hundred a month for life. I got by. With a football scholarship, managed to finish college, too.”

  “I understand. Your lady friend, I hope she won’t object to you coming back for a visit.”

  “No, Kid, I’ll bring her, also. How about twice in the Christmas season, and a couple of times during the year?”

  “Sounds good. Now, as a reward, I owe you an automobile. I’ll make it five hundred thousand for the works—a car, a house, a wedding gift, college for the future children.”

  “Kid, you shouldn’t.”

  “I should. We’d never been successful but for your brains and brawn.”

  “One more thing, Kid. I’m through with the whores.”

  “Same here. Remember. We used to talk about finding two ten-thousand-dollar-a-night hookers in New York City.” The Kid broke into hysterics. “Let’s just call those prostitutes a ‘might have been’.”

  “Sure, Kid, what a ride, huh?” He walked to the door, turned, looked, and departed.

  Elizabeth entered. “Kid, you show manners now. Where did you learn them?”

  “Mother and Grandmom.”

  Elizabeth took a long look at him and left the room.

  He wiped a tear. A wave of fatigue swept him. He ambled to a couch. He stretched out and glanced at the grandfather clock. Two-thirty. Sleep ‘til three. Tomorrow, make a call to Boston to buy fifteen or twenty suits. The shelter for the homeless will receive the blue shirts and khakis.

  Chapter 27

  Moonlight lit the room. The grandfather clock rang one.

  Without a sound, he climbed the shadowy stairs and entered her bedroom, but her bed held rumpled pillows and the sad clown doll. He ran to Elizabeth’s room. Empty. He swung into the hall. “Jennifer! Jennifer!”

  “Easy, Kid, easy, couldn’t sleep, so I sat beside the pool,”

  “Where’s everybody?”

  “About twelve thirty, Ervin and Elizabeth took her to the emergency room. With your exhaustion, we didn’t want to wake you.”

  ***

  With a lump in his throat, he entered the hospital. The odor struck him. His stomach clinched. His hands sweated. One of the desk nurses, with a pallid face, recognized him. Rising from her chair, she motioned for him to follow her down the corridor. Striding off-tempo, her softer clicks differed from his steps on the waxed linoleum floors. At Samantha’s door, the nurse stepped back and disappeared. Ervin gazed up from a tan plastic hospital chair. Recognizing his dad, he rose and, shaking his head, he walked out. Warren Hawk, with his sons, stood by the bed. With flooded eyes, Warren approached the Kid, nodded, and touched his arm. With his boys behind him, they departed.

  “Hi, Kid.”

  “Hi, Samantha. You rest up for a few days. We’ll go scout for fall turkey hunting. The season starts in November.”

  “Nope, Kid, my train’s here. I’m leaving. Your heart beats with mine—no games.”

  “Okay, Sam, talk to me.”

  “Samantha.”

  “Sure, Samantha, what do you want to discuss?”

  “Let’s finish up.” She leaned forward. “Thanks for putting two where they belong.” She sank back into the bed. “Strange—my wish for a turkey took those men off the streets. On the way here, Elizabeth told me the good news.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Gosh, all sorts of offers come in— talk shows, movies, maybe a visit to the White House. Kid, one man spoke about a contract for you. The famous weekday program, Sunrise Surprise, wants us on tomorrow even if they must film in the hospital.”

  “Samantha, come to the ready position like I taught you. Keep your eye on the target. Shoot.”

  “No, the train’s coming. Nobody sees me ...these tubes... Other stuff… Let them...Let them...”

  “Listen to a request. Can I tell our story?”

  “Nope. Take this letter. May I touch your face?”

  With one step, his waist touched the bed. His chin quivered. He leaned over the rising and falling chest. He showed her the nine of hearts, placed the memento in her palm, and curled her fingers over the card.

  She winked. “I understood all along. The Rocky Mountain goat trick never fooled me. Thank you.”

  Her bone-thin right arm rose. She stroked his left cheek. Her hand lingered. Her pinkie slipped away. One after another the other fingers followed, until her limb collapsed at her side. She smiled. “Take care, Kid.”

  “Bye, Samantha.” />
  ***

  He took a seat in an empty waiting area. The television did not play. Ten minutes passed, and a woman carrying a baby wrapped in a pink blanket stepped inside. “Mister, I’ve seen you on TV. Please excuse me, but you can be trusted with anything. I need to step into the ladies’ room for a minute or so. Will you hold Barbara for five minutes?”

  “Sure, lady.”

  He bounced the laughing infant on his knee. She returned, took the baby, thanked him, and strolled away.

  An hour passed. A doctor walked in. “You’re the Tobacco Land Kid, correct?”

  “Call me ‘Kid.’”

  “She’s gone. Can I share something confidential with you?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “She said her final words— Kid, Kid, Kid. Her hands started moving. She smiled. Her eyes rolled back. She left.”

  “You’re saying she boarded her train.”

  The doctor rubbed the Kid’s shoulder, wiped a tear, and departed.

  The Kid read the letter concerning her funeral arrangements.

  ***

  Some days later, they held a memorial service. The minister handed the Kid her ashes in a glass jar; taking the container, he headed for Keeling, Virginia, a parked his red truck, and walked to the rocky outcrop. Spiffy, wearing a tuxedo, waited for him while leaning against a shagbark hickory tree. They did not speak, but Spiffy approached and gave the Kid a hug. With tears running down his cheeks, he left.

  From the left, at the forest curtain, a mirror reflected the sun into the Kid’s eyes. The Chameleon made three.

  Removing the lid, he sprinkled the ashes —they included the burned nine of hearts— around and under the ridge.

  He went home.

  CHRISTMAS EVE

  After a better diet, along with days in the gym, a trimmer Jennifer, with every hair in place, showing legs returning to their old size and shape and a rear no longer the size of a number three washtub, unlocked the front door. “Kid, I thought you’d never get back. Today’s Christmas Eve. My list says we need twenty more gifts.”

  “You buy them. I have to make dozens of calls about the talk show, which comes up New Year’s Eve. The guests run from top football players to a famous psychologist. Time runs out. I’ll fly to New York on the twenty-sixth.”