Call Me Kid
Page 18
“Oh, Kid. Well, fiddlesticks. Why do people use such a term?”
“Figure out the meaning yourself.”
“What’s wrong, Kid?”
He wiped tears. “The first Christmas after... seven months ago... I think of her... The wound remains open. She wouldn’t let me tell our story... Our journey would make my dream of a million-dollar idea come true.” He shook his head. A smile came to his face. “But, heck, life has its disappointments. Me, her, and Spiffy— boy, we traveled a road.”
“Open your package. The contents might make you feel better.”
He whirled and faced her. “What package?”
“My word, don’t have a hissy fit!”
“Jennifer, remember— policies keep us safe. All containers come through a clearing channel.”
“I forgot. Take on a hissy fit.”
“Be calm. How did the parcel get here?”
“After you left, this man came to the door. He claimed he found this on the road. He said the box has this house address, and he wanted to do a good deed at the Yule season.”
“Describe him.”
“He wo’ a ski mask. I told him the weatherman gave the temperature as seventy-five, but he rubbed his neck, saying he was incubating a sore throat.”
“Hmm, so he used the word incubate, huh?”
She nodded.
“What did he drive?”
“Nothing. He walked down the road when he left.”
“Jennifer, I’ll take a small chance. Go stand out front.”
“No, Kid.”
“Jennifer.”
“Yes, Kid.”
His instincts informed him not to worry. He examined all four sides. He picked up the carton and found a card taped to the bottom.
“Jennifer, come in! This sweetie’s from a friend!”
“Kid, who was that veiled man?”
“A loner, the Chameleon.”
“Open the item.”
The Kid stripped away the brown wrapping to view what must be some trite or corny Christmas gift; however, he brought forth several sheets of notebook paper. He sat and read the note from Samantha. “Who’s your daddy? I’m back. Got a little story to tell you. At one a.m. before you arrived at the hospital, a doctor, accompanied by a specialist from out of town, entered. The consultant asked to visit in private. The resident physician assured him no one would enter here for twenty minutes. He left. When he did, the man walked to the bed, pulled out a card, smiled, and dropped it on my pillow. Yup, Kid, the Chameleon. Boy, what a hunk. Believe me. He pushes you. Oh, I love the fragrance of English Sparrow. On with the story—we talk. I change my plans. All this I dictate to him. Kid, I used to be your puppy. I’m getting...
I trust the door opens and I see you standing there before I catch the train. After our pleasant visit, I believed you would carry out the instructions. Got my instincts from you, huh? The Chameleon then said seven minutes remain. Here’s a list.
1. The gold necklace I wore lies in the small box. The jewelry is only a piece of metal. You taught me where to put my faith. Give this to Elizabeth. The .410 I bequeath to Spiffy, and I bestow the empty shell Spiffy saved for me on Ervin.
2. Long ago, I decided not to trash myself. I’m happy I’m going to die a virgin.
3. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings by turning you down on our story, but the tale is all I possess to give you for Christmas. Write the account! Tell the yarn! Whatever!
4. I must hurry. The Chameleon’s time runs out, too. Bye, Kid, I love you— the voice, and the twinkle in your eye, so charismatic. You took care of the murderer. I got the turkey.
When we meet on the other side, please say—”Hi Sam.”
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Thank you so very much for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer.
This story is fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
Billy Sharpe (bsharpe4@nc.rr.com)