Editors Note : Sept, 7, 2017, Leslie Van Houten was granted parole at her 20th parole hearing. Governor Brown has not made a decision yet. She has been in the California penal system longer than any other woman in California history.
Update: Jan. 29, 2018, Governor Jerry Brown overturned the decision of the parole board and denied Miss Van Houten release. In June, 2018, A Los Angeles Superior Court Judge upheld Governor Browns denial.
Leslie Van Houten has spent 47 1/2 years within the California penal system.
I started this tale on 9/8/17, the day after leslie was granted parole. Some stories sit on the shelf longer than others.
Leslie Van Houten at 66. Recently granted parole by the California State Parole Board. Jeyy Brown had not made a decision yet. MSCNC.com
By Daniel H. McCarty
Chapter 1 – Coffee and a Chorizo Scramble with the Prince of Darkness
“It is as inhuman to be totally good as it is to be totally evil.” -Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange
His right thumb and forefinger twirled his mustache. He was sitting alone in the back booth of ‘Poppy’s Place’, reading The Lost Coast Journal.
He smiled at The waitress when she refilled his coffee then turned and stared straight into my eyes. I was 12 feet away. Suddenly it felt like twelve inches.
Life Magazine December 19, 1969
“First time away from home? I left when I was 12. They didn’t even come looking for me. I was 6 blocks away.
Never knew my old man.”
Dancing eyes scanned the room. He was leaning forward on the table, surrounding his plate and coffee cup with his arms.
“You spend a lot of time alone, you learn about yourself. I found out I was quick.”
“Are you trying to outrun something?”
“Not anymore. I’ve settled in. Attached myself to something steady.
What’s your Daddy do? Some kind of authority? Cop? Preacher?”
I smiled.
“Pastor at the Church of the Nazarene in Crescent City.”
“You’ve been holding it in for a long time. It’s in your posture. ”
He looked down at his coffee.
“I’m here Tuesday through Saturday at 10:00. I start my week slow.”
I looked out the window then turned to smile at him. He put $10 on the table, a drivers cap on his head and then tipped the brim.
. . .
I was 18 years old the second daughter of an evangelical Minister. I was careful, I kept my emotions in check.
We lived in the most northwestern city of consequence in California. Last chance for California coastline. My neighbors had just enough money to make a reasonable stab at California cool. They aimed to maintain that.
My Dad encouraged me to attend a state college instead of a Christian school. He was confident my faith would prevail as my worldview expanded.
He overplayed his hand. Fathers see what they choose.
Though I love my Father, it was time to take control of my life. It was 1976. I had a 68 Beetle and a license to fly.
I was Alice in the Redwoods.
Tuesday morning I stopped into Poppy’s for breakfast before my 10:00 a.m., Cultural Anthropology class. He was in his booth.
“Sit with me? It’s Charmin’s station.”
A brunette with hair past her shoulders and nervous eyes, appeared at his shoulder holding a coffee pot in a hand covered with a blue anchor tattoo.
“This is Charmin. She hustles food. I’m Manny Bredeteau. I hustle smiles.”
Charmin’s eyes jumped from Manny to me.
“You gonna sit here Honey? Poppy’s got a nice Hashbrown and Chorizo Scramble for $2.39.”
20 at most and calling me Honey.
“Where are you from Charmin? You got a sweet Southern accent.”
“Sugar Mountain, North Carolina. I got out as soon as I could see over the wheel of a stolen car.” She laughed, ” I came from a very close and loving family. That’s how Daddy and my brothers would describe it.
I ditched my brothers Dodge when I hit Asheville. Caught a Greyhound all the way to Ft. Bragg. I met Manny at a pizza place off Glass Beach. He bought me a calzone.”
Manny smiled as he laid his hands flat on the table, a blue anchor tattooed to the back of his left hand.
“What’s the blue anchor Manny?”
“Something steady.”
“My name’s Alice Page.”
Chapter 2 – Something Steady
” The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive” Carlos Casteneda
My Daddy’s name is John Page. He’s pastor at a Northern California church with an educated congregation. People in Crescent City read Vonnegut, Vidal, and Judy Blume They’re escaping the economic pace of L.A. and San Francisco.
Daddy’s fairly progressive. He came from Fire and Brimstone, Iowa, but he’s perceptive enough to realize that isn’t going to play on the Northern California coast. His sermons were more conversational, a lot of analogy, a lot of humor. Stories.
There are expectations for a preachers daughter. My sister Ginny went to Wheaton College and ended up the wife of a Pastor in Springfield, Illinois. Her daughters look like the ‘Children of the Corn’.
Daddy was aware but never voiced it aloud. That’s why he encouraged me to attend Humboldt. He knew I didn’t have the academics for Stanford or Berkley. Humboldt was two hours away and turned out insurance agents, social workers and teachers in Duluth flannel.
. . .
Manny is a distributor. He’ll buy 500 kilos of Kush in Fortuna or a kilo of coke in Palo Alto and deliver it to Oakland in a bread truck, then ship out in containers full of Japanese tractor parts to Henager, Alabama. Never more than 200 kilos per container. Manny played the odds, only one in every 150 shipping containers ever gets searched. He worked from September until January and made enough to support a tribe of hedonists.
His energy level was off the charts. People in Arcata thought he was wily, crazy, and highly entertaining. Every party at the Holy Redeemer had a punch bowl laced with windowpane. Manny believed in better living through chemistry though he never indulged himself.
He was the demented Ringmaster.
He was 5’7″ with a hot-wired persona that illuminated him. He took over rooms. He lived in an abandoned church with a rotating cast of characters all sporting blue anchor tattoos on their left hands. When Manny moved the tide would shift.
Arcata is a college town that attracts iconoclasts. The local police condone most anything that doesn’t involve violence or attract the attention of the Federales.
He wore a red silk scarf when he held court. He saw himself a spirit guide, or a rabbit in a foxhole. Those living at the church were runaways from abuse or looking for love behind dancing eyes. Manny wasn’t interested in those looking for truth. He provided refuge with a condition. Allegiance to him without question. Manny was base control.
Chapter 3 – Bent Not Broken
“The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What’s left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.’ Bertolt Brecht
His Mother was 15 when he was born. The details were sketchy. There was never anyone around who really gave a shit.
He lived in an alternative universe, no souls, just flesh and bone.
Love is learned behavior. It is nurtured.
Want to understand behavior? Follow the trail. Those that abuse will abuse. Those that were never loved have none to give.
He learned to live by his wits. He had no choice. By the time he was 24, he had spent more than half his life in the Criminal Justice System.
Justice had not been served.
By the time he was 25, he was making a quarter million a year selling illegal pharmaceuticals. He wasn’t a user, he already lived in that peculiar Hell.
Manny was no fan of jails but he didn’t fear them either. It was better than living in a cardboard box.
They say that the most dangerous creature in the world is the one with no fear, the one not afraid to die.
Manny had died a hundred times, his own blood on his hands.
. . .
I stayed at Poppy’s after Manny collected his paper, dropped $10 on the table and floated out the door.
Poppy was at the hostess stand writing lunch specials on the chalkboard. There was a counter waitress with ‘Clare’ spelled out on a white plastic name tag. She was wearing a pink ruffles rayon apron over a short denim skirt.
Clare was standing on a step stool writing specials onto the board over the coffee station. She adjusted the hem of her skirt every thirty seconds.
Poppy looked at her every 30 seconds and smiled.
Charmin slid into the booth next to me. She was wearing a ‘canyoubelievethisshit’ grin and drumming out a private tune on the tabletop with eight of her fingers. Occasionally she would slap down the sides of her thumbs as an accented beat. I couldn’t make out the tune.
She saw me zoning in.
“Expresso. Not the tune, the buzz. I have two double expressos before my shift. In a tall glass of milk. Slam it. Poppy calls it Rocket Fuel. Same recipe in every trattoria in the USA.”
“You’re wired Charmin. How long does it last?”
“About three and a half hours. Gets me through until the afternoon girl comes on at three. It’s better than speed, you can sleep at night.
I like it here. It’s California but rural and isolated, a lot of farming. That’s why Manny moved us here. Close to the source and out of sight.”
“Not to be naive Charmin, but aren’t you speaking pretty freely about the family business.”
“This is Arcata Alice. Manny donates to the Benevolence League and conducts all business outside the county. He’s never had a shipment stopped. He’ll tell you every time, “They search one in 150.” He never worries about it. He deals with things as they happen. He’s dealt with a lot of shit in his time. Manny’s a genius.”
“You know what they say about geniuses? They either end up at Harvard, 6 feet under or in prison.”
“Well, he’s been there already. ”
I’d been surprised to hear Charmin mention her Father and brothers behavior so openly. I had a feeling Manny was behind that.
I noticed Charmin kept her eye on Manny’s body language, constantly searching for clues to the mystery.
“Why don’t you come over to the church Thursday night. ‘Friday Night in Fortuna’ is practicing on the stage. They’re a Country/Alt Rock band from South Humboldt, friends of Manny’s. If they don’t have a gig they practice in front of the crowd at The Redeemer.
People from Humboldt State show up to party before the weekend starts. They even have a bouncer. Big Samoan guy named Sami. He stands at the door and riffs on the guests until he counts out 60, flashes a peace sign and shuts the door. Nobody argues with him. He’s really big.”
Manny paid the rent at The Redeemer, kept the freezers full and windowpane in the Punch. He drank sealed bottles of green tea.
If you lived at the Church, you lived in full surrender. Complete faith in Manny or you were gone. Manny handed out a lot of favors. Occasionally he called them in.
When they lived in Hayward one of the sisters said no to Manny in front of the Family. She was gone the next day. No one heard from her again.
No one said her name again.
Chapter 4 – On Thursday I Danced To ‘Friday Night In Fortuna’
” Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public. That’s what the poet does” Allen Ginsberg
Thursday night I showed up at the Church at 8:00. I recognized Sami from town. He really stood out, built like an NFL Offensive Tackle, tall with massive shoulders. He wore it well. He had an ear to ear smile at all times.
I stood outside with my new best friend and shot the bull for an hour until he held up his index finger, flashed a peace sign and nudged me through the door.
“Go ahead circulate, make your way around the Parish. A lot of folks you need to meet. They may not know you’re coming. Have a couple glasses of punch first, it will make it easier to understand them.
What city you say you grew up in?”
“Crescent City.”
“Just one glass of punch then.
I see one of my boys. He’s not someone you need to meet.”
the band was either mellow or trippy. i never did determine. a lot of partiers danced alone in front of the stage. some of them were naked though they may have just been dancing fast.
half the pews had been removed to open up the dance floor. there were stained glass windows that could not be opened. i was bleeding sweat.
i was so thirsty i downed a second glass of punch. i vaguely remembered sami reminding me to stick to one glass. too late.
i tried to focus on a stain glass window. jesus was behind me singing along with the band. he was holding a couple of dead fish and a loaf of wonder bread.
he couldn’t carry a tune, his hands were full so he left the tune on the floor where it leaked through the cracks until there was nothing left but ‘chopsticks’.
i decided to give up the conversation. jesus wasn’t saying anything new. i was a preachers daughter. i’d heard it all before.
it’s hotter than hades in here. dad wouldn’t mind that.
daddy wasn’t fond of hell. he may have lived there years back and just didn’t fit in. could have been a cop but he chose an entry-level job with the holy trinity.
concentration was overrated.
manny was handing me a red freeze pop. he had a red scarf on. the same color. he had a whole wicker basket of pops.
he said he’d be back.
and then he was.
i wasn’t sure he’d left.
i wasn’t doing well with time. i tried tracing a few things back to the temporal and occipital.
“what color are your eyes?”
“grey.”
“what color would they be if I wasn’t asking you?”
“dandelion blue. like cornsilk . . . . in the rain.
you’re playing me manny. i’ve been played before.
that’s ok.
i’ll let you.
alice will come out and play.
if she doesn’t like it, i’ll cut her off.”
in five minutes time, i went from failure to focus to total clarity. i took a seat at the first pew and spread my arms. i was about to observe.
who says you need a control group?
manny slid away when he saw my eyes come into focus. i let him control the flow for a while.
i was totally submissive.
it was mind control and i gave him a free pass.
whatever he surmised hadn’t pleased him.
i saw a guy opening a wine bottle with a corkscrew and held up my glass for him to see.
Chapter 5 – Scrambled Eggs At Poppy’s
“If I don’t know I don’t know, I think I know. If I don’t know I know, I think I don’t know. R. D. Laing
Eleven p.m. on Saturday I was awakened at Aunt Shell’s house by the signal from the Emergency Broadcast System.
48 hours ago, I’d finished my second glass of Crescent City Punch.
It was just a test.
48 hours in Manny’s world and I was ready to come home.
I climbed out of the recliner, turned off the TV and slipped into Aunt Shell’s room and pulled the covers up to her chin, kissed her forehead and closed her door behind me. I went to the kitchen and sat down with a tall glass of orange juice.
I grew up on the coast. I could walk down the shore, sit on a rock and watch the sun go down over the Pacific. The waves sweep you right into your own dreams.
I didn’t need electric punch. The constant sensory bombardment had left my body weary, every synapse of my brain on vibrate. I had my own kind of escapism and it didn’t deprive me of two nights sleep.
Manny was playing everyone in the Bredeteau clan. He fluctuated between sensory overload and sensory deprivation. Most were just fine with that as long as someone was maintaining control. Some struggle for so long, they just surrender.
. . . . .
Tuesday, 10:30 a.m. Poppy’s Place
“You gotta try this Andouille scramble today.
Poppy grinds his own sausage, his own ground beef too. He orders beef and pork by the side and then butchers his own. He ends up with a lot of scraps and tailends that might have been a steak elsewhere.
He has this meat grinder in the kitchen. Long handle with a razor-sharp blade. Grinds up everything then mixes it with whatever’s on hand, carefully selected spices and minced onion to make the tube steak of your dreams. Poppy’s a genius when it comes to portable pork and beef.
But that grinder? That’s the kind of tool you see in your dreams.”
His eyes were dancing all over ‘Poppy’s Place’. From the view through the window to the hostess stand and then to the kitchen door. I have no idea what else he took in as his eyes slid. He was carrying on a monologue interspersed with a direct glance, raised eyebrows and a shrug. I think the pause was to suggest an opening but his body language continued to hold the floor.
He wanted that grinder. For whatever use, I couldn’t imagine. I deferred to his manic eyes and obvious relish of the Andouille.
Manny was sizing me.
He liked to dance on quicksand.
. . . . .
Charmin slid into the booth next to me with a tall glass of rocket fuel.
“I just have to make it to 3:00, then I’m gonna pull in my claws and hibernate for two days. Between reds, tequila and tranqs, I feel like hard scrambled eggs. Weeblo was shooting tin cans half the night. He’s like one of those idiot savants. The part of his brain that sights down the barrel of a .38 is the only part that hasn’t turned to mush. He carries a flask of tequila in his back pocket. If Manny told him to blow your head off, he’d put one right between your eyes then sit down and chew his fingernails. He’s a walking eggplant.”
“Doesn’t he scare the crap out of you?”
“He’s Manny’s puppy dog. Him and Miss Gladys. She’s so addicted to the Devils that you could buy her for a weeks supply and a quart of Boones Farm.”
“Charmin, your face looks like it said, ‘screw it’ and called in sick.”
“My whole nervous system feels like it’s been vibrated into submission. I need a day at the beach.”
“Come to Crescent City with me. I don’t have any classes tomorrow. If we leave at 7:00, we can take 101 through Klamath, kiss the balls on Babe the Blue Ox and still be there by 9:30. I’ll show you my favorite place on the beach and have Mom serve dinner at 4:00 so we can be back before the sun goes down.
Trees Of Mystery – Klamath Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox
“Girlfriend, you got a deal. Not so sure about the blue balls but sitting on the Dock of the Bay sounds righteous.”
“Righteous? Wait till you meet my Daddy.”
Chapter 6 – Cool As Hell
When Charmin said she needed a day at the shore, she was thinking Myrtle Beach. Alice’s Mom Ada bundled Charmin in a Thermal Hoodie and sat her down with a cup of cocoa.
“Alice, you should have told Charmin about the Northern Coast, she’s a Southern girl. It’s hot and steamy in Carolina. Aunt Shell used to say that’s why Southerners don’t fear Hell. How much worse could it be?”
“But they do love dressing up on Sundays, don’t they Charmin?”
Rev. Page took a seat at the kitchen table next to their guest. He had a new Shakespeare casting reel in a wooden box in his hand.
“That’s a beauty, Mr. Page.”
“You like to fish?”
“Been fishing since I was 6. That brand new?”
“It is. The mailman just delivered it today. Haven’t even threaded in the line yet.”
“I’ll help you, I can hold the spool while you turn the handle. My Uncle Lou took me fishing all the time when I was growing up. Soon as we got around the corner of Lake Shiawassee he’d be pulling me on his lap and tugging out his worm. I’d get that over quick so that we could get to the real fishing.
I love to fish.”
Ada Page choked on her cocoa and quickly raised her napkin to her lips.
John Page dropped his smile and his eyes to the table top for maybe 2 – 3 seconds and then looked up to Charmin as he patted her hand.
“Maybe you could go out on the Pacific with Alice and me some time. She’s not a fisherman but she likes to go out on the boat.”
“That would be cool as Hell Rev. Page.”
John Page smiled, “Oh cooler than that Charmin. Much cooler.”
. . .
“Your Daddy is nice. I’ll bet he’s nice to everybody. Never met a man that was nice to me without putting a price on it. He didn’t even try to preach to me.”
“He won’t, doesn’t believe in guilt or threats. He tells a lot of stories and practices what he believes. He’s a preacher by example.”
The ocean was calm, waves lapping, the sky full of clouds with blue poking through sporadically.
“You warm enough Charmin? That’s Mama’s hoodie. She’s had it about 20 years.”
“It’s nice. Like your family, warm and comforting. Makes me wonder why you hang around us. Your life is so Ozzie and Harriet.”
I reached down, picked a shell up and flipped it into the water.
“I’ve always asked a lot of questions. I always wanted to know why. Why people accept things without proof. Daddy says it’s about faith and either you have it or you don’t. It’s a tough congregation in Crescent City. The more questions people ask, the more aware they become, the less likely they will have faith. Daddy even has a few atheists in his flock. They like his stories.
Are you feeling a little more relaxed Charmin?”
“Better than I was. My nervous system has been in shock. Manny has Weeblo shooting that pistol every day. He picked up a side of beef in Ft. Bragg for Poppy. He brought it back to the church first and hung it up in the baptismal and had Miss Gladys practice stabbing it about a hundred times. He had her so cranked up she was laughing hysterically.
I slipped out the back door into the field before he could round me up too. He’s manic as hell lately. He paces for hours. Something is up and it’s making me nervous.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No, but he’ll find out. He always finds out. I don’t think he’ll mind because I’m with you.”
“Don’t be so sure about him not minding. He tried to feel me out the night of the party. He would leave for a few minutes and then come back like he had never been gone. He was trying to mess with my perception. He didn’t like what he saw. Watch out for Manny.”
“He’s my family Alice. He takes care of me.”
“There’s family everywhere Charmin. It doesn’t always have a price.”
We got back to Poppy’s Place at 8:45 that night. Manny was at his table reading the Lost Coast Journal. When we walked in, he put his cap on, walked up to Charmin and took her arm. He looked right through me without saying a word as he steered her out the door.
Chapter 7 – Unleash The Heathens
Manny grew up thinking he was invisible.
He was.
He slipped through cracks, slid in to back alleys, through open windows, down fire escapes and into the streets slipping through crowds. No one paid attention. Manny turned inward and set up shop.
Everyone he knew was named Manny or some derivative thereof. None of them possessed a soul or carried ID.
Manny Bredeteau wrote a biographical screenplay.
He and his friends wrote the script in a solitary confinement cell at Lompoc. It was chock full of painful truths. Six feet by eight feet of space leaves little room to hide.
The dialogue was a breeze. They wrote it down like the diary it was.
Not everyone appreciated it like Manny.
. . .
Robert Downing closed the cover on page 10.
This freak is manic. How did he ever get close enough to hand him a screenplay?`
“Shit. Pettis. ”
Bobby Pettis ran the canteen on Downing’s productions. He handed Robert the screenplay when he was getting breakfast.
“Friend of mine. I think he’s a genius. Should be pretty deep.”
“Did you read this shit?”
“Uh, no Mr. Downing. He just handed it to me the night before.”
“Well, your buddy is a psycho who can’t write worth a shit. I’m all into eclectic cinema but there has to be an audience and the only audience I can come up with is Psychos Inc. and I doubt they’re organized enough to get the word out. Crazies tend to exist in their own little world.”
. . .
Manny Bredeteau set down his fork and stared into Bobby Pettis eyes.
“So that’s the words he used? He thinks I’m crazy? A psycho? I can’t write for shit?”
“Manny, he threw it at me when he was getting a cup of coffee, I stock that Louisiana coffee just for him. So I brew a pot in a French Press. Takes about 3 minutes. That’s when we talk.”
“I thought you said you were close? That isn’t close. It’s fetch me a cup of coffee Dipshit.”
Bobby Pettis was resourceful but stupid. He made deliveries for Manny. Anything California, from San Diego to Arcata, at $2000 a trip. No questions asked. Tomorrow morning Bobby would return to Santa Monica,.Back to being a dipshit making Louisiana coffee in a french press.
. . .
Wednesday afternoon Manny canceled the Thursday night party at the Church. His mind was on Robert Downing and his hot new starlet, Jessica Loren. The LA Times had a photo of Downing, Ms. Loren, and Jack Ham at the Willits ranch Robert rented from Clive Benton.
Manny spent a month hiding out in Willits in 64. He sold coke to Clive Benton.
Robert had to finance the movie. Friday morning he flew out of Willits to Santa Rosa and caught a private flight to LA. He would be there four days, meeting with potential co-producers and financiers.
Sunday morning the LA Times held their morning edition for the first time in 11 years. At 4:15 the presses rolled with the headline. “Hollywood Murder In Mendocino County”
Chapter 8 – Dancing With The Devil
It was a three-hour drive from Arcata to Willits. Duke Cassell was driving the Galaxie with Sonny Bell riding shotgun. Sonny had the window down and tapping his barefoot on the right-hand mirror in time with The Stones ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’
“Git your goddamn foot back in the car. You’re blocking my view of the road. Bad enough I gotta deal with the two morons without having to smell your feet as well.”
Charmin was wedged into the backseat between Weeblo and Miss Gladys. Weeblo was spinning the cylinder on a 4″ Colt Trooper. He pointed it at the back of Duke’s head and then Sonny’s.
“Pop – Pop.”
Duke slammed on the brakes and pulled over on the side of 101. He whipped around to face Weeblo.
“You better not have any bullets in that damn thing. Point it at me one more time and I’ll shove it up your ass so far you’ll be farting gunpowder. Charmin, slap Miss Gladys. She looks like she’s about to have an epileptic fit. Stick a sock in her mouth before she swallows her tongue.”
Gladys was rocking back and forth in her seat and drumming her fingers on her knees.
“I gotta pee. I gotta pee. I gotta pee.”
“Shut the hell up Gladys. Willits is 20 miles away. You can pee when we stop for gas. God damn. This car already smells like piss.”
Charmin looked down at her boots to avoid Duke’s gaze. She felt the wet spot spread. Her hands were wedged between her legs. It wasn’t urgency.
She was scared to death.
. . .
Duke Cassel was sitting on the steps of the Church when Manny and Charmin returned from Poppy’s. He was tossing a baseball bat from one hand to the other, hands adorned with self-inflicted prison tattoos. There was no blue anchor.
“How long you been waiting Duke?”
“I got here about 30 minutes ago. Nobody knew where you were. I left Fresno as soon as I got your call. This one of your crazies?”
Manny had a firm grip on Charmin’s elbow.
“She’s just someone that doesn’t know her place. When I get through with her she won’t give you any trouble.”
“Makes no fucking difference to me Manny. Just so I get my money. I’m not carrying a piece in case anything goes wrong. They’ll throw me back in Lompoc for another 20 years.
I’m just the driver and trail boss. You understand?”
“Come on inside. I’ll talk it over with you. Sonny knows the script. He’ll take over when you get to the ranch. Weeblo is a deadeye. He never misses. Miss Gladys will be so cranked up she’ll be on automatic. I’m sending Charmin along because she needs to understand what family means.
You leave tomorrow at 5:00. It’s three hours to Willits. The ranch is three miles outside of town. You just get them there and back.”
. . .
When Duke pulled into the Sinclair gas station in Willits, Gladys bolted from the backseat. She was clutching her groin all the way across the parking lot. The cashier handed her the key to the restroom on the side of the building.
Weeblo was flipping through a copy of ‘Guns and Ammo’ in the store as Sonny filled the tank. Duke was standing at the front of the car watching traffic pass as he smoked a Camel.
Charmin was waiting on the side of the building rocking back and forth and biting her lip. Her nerves were frayed.
What was taking Gladys so long?
She looked to the back of the gas station, saw a field of overgrown weeds and glanced back at Sonny and Duke. They had their backs to her. She slipped into the weeds and lowered her jeans.
It wasn’t much of a relief. Her stomach was churning like a cement mixer full of bile. She convulsed and spewed a mouthful of vile and putrid detritus into fiddleneck and wild oats. She collapsed backwards, her jeans around her knees.
. . .
“Where is that bitch? We got a timetable here. I’m paid to deliver you lunatics, not babysit.”
Duke dug a $20 out of his watch pocket and thrust it into Sonny’s hand.
“Put your fucking shoes on Sonny. No shirt, no shoes , no service, dumbass. Look around the store after you pay the cashier. That moron Gladys still has the key in her hand. Check the restroom and get your ass back here. We got a party to crash and no time to waste. If we’re lucky, those Hollywood queers will still be asleep. A lot quicker and cleaner that way.”
Five minutes later, Sonny stepped out through the restroom door, turned to Duke and shrugged.
Duke climbed in and started the Galaxie and laid on the horn twice as Sonny skittered out the door of the convenience store.
“We ain’t waiting. Manny is going to skin that bitch alive. She’ll piss herself again when Manny gets sight of her. She’s 150 miles from home and too damn stupid to fend for herself. She’ll call. If I have to drive back for her, it’s gonna cost him another $5,000. This is turning into a clusterfuck.”
Chapter 9 – Thelma and Enos
Charmin felt a wet tongue licking her cheek. She opened her eyes to the face of a grey pittie with a head the size of a basketball.
“Enos don’t bite. Might slobber all over you though. He was barking his fool head off. Thought he smelled a rattler out here in the weeds. He may be fearless but he a little too old to tussle with a rattler.”
Charmin turned her head to knee high rubber muck boots and baggy dungarees rolled to the knee. Thelma tucked a few errant and whispy grey strands behind her ear. She was leaning on a garden hoe.
“Missy, why you got your trousers around your knees? Some man been messing’ with you? Left you out here in the weeds?
You ain’t from around here, is you? I know everybody in this town. Might not talk to em’ but I know’s em. If Enos don’t like em, then I don’t talk to em. That old dog know more about people then you and me both.”
Charmin sat up, wiped the sleeve of her jacket under her nose and collapsed in sobs. Enos climbed into her lap and licked at her tears.
“My boy likes you. Whatever happened to you wun’t your doing. Enos can sniff out bad in a heartbeat. Now lets get you up and over to my house. It ain’t much but its clean and got a good roof. I just picked some fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers from my garden. I’ll fix you up a feast and you can tell me your story. What your name chile?’
“Charmin Ma’am. Fresh tomatoes sounds right fine.”
“Now I know you ain’t from round here. You grow up in a Georgia shotgun shack Charmin?”
“Well, kinda.”
. . .
Charmin was curled up on a small settee in Thelma’s house sipping a pungent green tea. A fire burned in the old wood stove.
“That tea will settle your stomach. Got ganja, mint and chicory in it. I grow about 200 plants out back of the shed. Enos do a good job of keeping out any interlopers that be lurking around. I made $26,000 last year selling that weed. Taking care of my crops about the only thing I do these days. Only men keeping me company is Arther Itis and Jim Beam. Thass my love life.
Not really much work until harvest season. I work harder in my vegetable garden then I do growing ganja. The money pay my property taxes and allow me this life of leisure.”
She laughed, “Yes ma’am, living’ the high life.”
“The police don’t mess with you none?”
“Oh chile, this Mendocino County. If you ain’t a rich rancher, there no money to be made here. Police know that. After harvest, I make a little bonfire with the leftover stalks, stems and roots and Police Chief Hardin bring over a bottle of Jim Beam and a folding chair. We sit around telling lies and breathing wootie. Chief tell me that Harvest Moon is his favorite holiday. He ain’t smoking’, he just breathing.”
Thelma laughed and laughed until Enos got to his feet and did a little jig.
“My pup love to dance.
Now tell me your story chile. We got to figure you a way out your mess.”
. . .
The next morning, Charmin called me in Arcata and filled me in. A chill ran through my bones.
“I didn’t know who else to call Alice. You and Poppy the only people that I know outside of the family. Manny will kill me if he figures out where I am. I can’t stay with Thelma because Sonny and Duke will retrace their steps. They’ll find me for sure.”
“Charmin, did you watch the news, read a newspaper? There was a mass murder at a ranch just outside of Willits. One of the women had a 60 stab wounds to her body. I thought of what you told me about Weeblo and Gladys immediately. It’s not a coincidence is it?”
The phone was silent save for a gasp from Charmin.
“Tell me where you are. I’m going to call Daddy. I’ll be down to get you tomorrow around noon. Be ready.”
Chapter 10 – Crescent City Salvation
“I need some advice Daddy. I’m sure you’ve heard the news about the murders in Willits. I have every reason to believe they were committed by the group that Charmin was living with. She slipped away when they stopped for gas in Willits. She’s scared to death. She is staying with an elderly woman that befriended her. But the woman lives close to where they last saw Charmin. I’m afraid they are going to retrace . . .”
“Bring her here Alice. Now! Are they familiar with your Beetle?”
“Well, they . . . . yeah.”
“I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“No Daddy, I’m going to do this myself. I appreciate your offer, but I should never have let Manny take her away that day. She knew something was coming.”
The line was silent for seconds.
“Then take Aunt Shell’s station wagon. In fact, take Shell with you. Wear a hat and sunglasses. Put Shell on the phone with me. As hard headed as she may be, she would never abandon a child in need. When are you leaving?”
“I told her tomorrow morning.”
“No, leave now. Call Charmin back. You can’t waste time. Now get Shell on the phone. I’m afraid she’ll bring heavy artillery.”
Chapter 11- Manny
“What do you mean you left her?”
“You paid me to get the loonies to the ranch. Charmin was along for the ride, she had no role once we got there. I was tired of babysitting. We couldn’t find her after we stopped for gas. I wasn’t about to attract attention and she was a waste of fucking flesh.”
“She’s the one that can tie us to all of this you fucking moron”
“Watch yourself Manny. $5000 doesn’t buy you immunity from the wrath of God. One more word and I’ll waste you. Your crazy schtick doesn’t work on me. I’ll end your scrawny ass.”
“Weeblo could put one right between your eyes. He’ll drop you like a sack of shit.”
“Then you got one more dead body to worry about and this one is too close to home. Try covering that one up,”
Manny was pacing the floor. This was no time to lose composure.
“You want me to drive back to Willits, it’ll cost you 10 grand. With a triple murder just three miles outside of town, that town is on high alert. Just me and Sonny. Weeblo and Gladys will stick out like your runty little ass. That town ain’t that big. Where she gonna hide?”
Manny stood with fists clenched, staring down Duke.
“We aren’t going back to Willits. She don’t know anybody there and she’s scared shitless. She only knows two people outside the family and Poppy knows better then to cross me. I know where she’s going. Take your money and disappear. Sonny and Weeblo will take care of this.”
Chapter 12 – Aunt Shell and Thelma
Aunt Shell was sitting in the passenger seat of her 66 Ford Country Squire. She took riding shotgun literally.
She pulled her oversized slouch purse onto her lap.
I glanced her way and chuckled, “Aunt Shell, it looks like you’re going on vacation hauling that big old thing around. You must have a lot of necessaries.”
“You just pay attention to the road Alice. I’ll take care of business.”
Shell reached into that bag and hauled out a pistol the length of my arm.
“Holy cow Shell. I thought you told Daddy that you weren’t bringing heavy artillery.”
“Did nothing of the sort. Uh huh, uh huh does not signify consent. Just means I hear you little brother. You don’t walk into the OK Corral with a .22cal plinker. This nickel plated beauty is a .45cal Smith and Wesson with an 8 1/2” barrel. 8 1/2 inches for accuracy and 45 calibers to drop them in their tracks. That brouhaha in Willits is all over the news. That burg will be crawling with sheriffs deputies and State Police.
That isn’t security, it’s a clusterfuck. Cops will be tripping over their own shoelaces.”
“Cluster WHAT?”
“Oh hush child. I’m your aunt, not some pious preacher.”
. . .
I pulled into Thelma’s driveway just as the sun was starting to set. There was a pit bull the size of a baby elephant standing guard on the porch. An elderly woman leaning heavy on a cane appeared in the screen door.
“That old girl isn’t showing any signs of caution and that dog is off the leash. But wait in the car for a moment until I introduce myself.”
When Aunt Shell took that first step that old dog stood up on his hind legs and laid beefy paws on each of her shoulders. A shiver ran through me.
Not Shell.
Aunt Shell reached up, held that oversized head between her palms and licked Enos face. The woman standing behind the screen broke out in a hearty laugh.
Enos started dancing.
. . .
Shell was sitting in an ancient overstuffed chair while Enos rested his head on her knees. The leg of Shells trousers was soaked in drool, Enos was blissed out on a little scratch between the ears.
Thelma was preparing 4 cups of ganja tea. Well three cups anyway. She only had 3 coffee mugs so the 4th was steeping in a small mason jar.
“I know that smell Thelma. Living up there in Humboldt is no different then Mendocino County. What’s your recipe?”
“Ain’t no mystery Shelly. I throw in a little chicory weed to smooth it out and a sprig of mint just before I serve it up.”
“Well I’m glad that Alice is driving back. Weed relaxes me too much. I’d be asleep 20 miles down the road.”
“Aunt Shell, we have a four and a half hour drive to Daddy’s place I need you awake in case we get pulled over by a police roadblock or something. We need to get our story straight just in case. we don’t know how much information the police may have gathered.”
“Don’t you worry none Alice. I’ll do the talking. I’m not going to fall asleep. I’m just your fat old Auntie that come down to Willits to get her nieces back to the safety of family. Too many crazies in this town. I’m more worried about that Bredeteau family then I am the cops. My eyes will be wide open.”
I glanced Charmin’s way, “We need to be on the road.”
Thelma was standing behind Charmin’s chair, her hand resting on her shoulder. She was chewing her lip.
“Charmin, I know you got no family. but Enos, he loves you and I been thinking about this next harvest and my arthritis. You probably best up there in Crescent City with Alice’ family but if you ever get to thinking about me and Enos . . . . . well you know where we live.”
. . .
When we loaded up the Country Squire, Thelma hobbled down the stairs with a threadbare army blanket in her grasp. She opened the back door of the station wagon, reached in and spread it around Charmin’s lap.
“Enos usually sleep on that so it may smell a little doggy but it will keep you warm. I’ don’t think our boy will mind you taking his blanket. I think he’ll understand.”
Charmin held the blanket to her face and smiled..
“Smells like love. Maybe I can bring it back.”
Chapter 13 – Highway 101
“Aunt Shell, do you know how to shoot that big old pistol?”
She chuckled;
“I’ve been dealing with that all my life. During the war, they were trying to shuffle every able bodied man into the infantry. They were sending them off to both Asia and Europe to fight Hitler and Hirohito. I was in the WAC’s. When an opening came up at the artillery range as an instructor, I put in for it. Now that was unheard of to have a woman teaching male recruits. but I made a bet with the range officer at the EMS club one night that if I could outscore him at the range, that he would talk to the CO about slotting me for the position. That Sargent was 6 beers into a sloppy drunk and feeling his oats.
Big mistake.
I shot a 98 and he scored a 67. The only way he could salvage his fragile male ego was to build me up to the CO as the reincarnation of Annie Oakley. I got the job. First female range officer in Army history.
Your Grandpop taught me to shoot before I was 8 years old. We were living in Georgia back then and your Daddy was still in diapers. Pop wasn’t sure he would have a boy to pass things along to. That was OK with me. I’ve always been a big girl and never had a doll in my life. I could dress a buck and skin a rabbit before I was 10.
Don’t you worry none child. I can hit a fly between the eyes at 50 yards.”
Shell looked back over the seat at Charmin curled up asleep- under the army blanket.
“Why do you think your Daddy didn’t hesitate to have me along for the ride? I was the one that taught him to shoot. Taught him to fish too.
That girl was lucky she met you. I think your Daddy sees a bit of me in you.
A .45 cal Smith and Wesson and a friend that don’t back down in the face of evil will accomplish more than a million thoughts and prayers. Deep down your father understands that.
You OK driving?
“Oh gawd yes, Aunt Shell. I never felt so awake in my life.”
“You’re a warrior Alice.”
. . .
“Sonny, we got a loose end to tie up. You should have never left Charmin behind in Willits. If that girl starts talking, it blows the lid clean off this gig. Duke fucked up but you listened to him. He ain’t family. You shoulda known better. I oughta skin you like a grape.
I’m going to give you a chance to make this right. I know where she is. If she isn’t there yet, she will be by tomorrow. I’m sending you up there with Weeblo. Don’t fuck this up. Last man standing. Understand?”
Manny’s eyes pierced right though the fog behind Sonny’s eyes.
Sonny nodded.
“I’m going to Red Bluff and see some people. I need to establish an alibi. You take 2 boxes of shells and the Dodge pickup and leave tomorrow. Don’t hand that moron his pistol until you get to Crescent City. He’d probably blow the balls off that Blue Ox before you get halfway there. You don’t need to be attracting attention.”
Chapter 14 – Grey Skys Over Crescent Bay
We pulled up to the garage in Crescent City at 11:20 at night. My dog Bubbles was all over the place, welcoming Charmin, Shelly and myself back to the fold. Daddy stood on the porch with a 12 gauge shotgun cradled in his arms. Aunt Shell remained on the passenger side of the station wagon until Charmin was into the house. She had the Smith and Wesson braced against the roof of the car.
Mom wrapped Charmin up in her Eddie Bauer hoodie and settled her into an easy chair with a mug of hot chocolate.
There was a whining and scratching sound coming from the kitchen. I looked towards Dad.
Daddy gestured toward Aunt Shell, “Shelly, make sure that front door is secure.”
Dad opened the kitchen door and a huge German Shephard came bounding out.
“Why is Trigger here?”
“Bubbles is a Welcome Wagon. Trigger is all business. When I called Chief Cage this afternoon, he was only too happy to loan him out. If anyone gets within 500 yards of the house, Trigger will let us know.”
Trigger cased the house in 30 seconds then propped his nose up on Charmin’s thigh.
Enos proved to be a good judge of character. Trigger settled in at Charmin’s feet. He knew immediately why he was there.
Aunt Shell grinned and shook her head, “Can’t beat a German Shepard for smarts. I’ll take one shepherd over 6 cops any day.
So what are your thoughts John? Do you think they’re coming?
“Oh they’re coming all right. Eddie Cage has deputies in plain clothes spread through the woods. He wants to get something solid on them so he isn’t showing his hand. Right now it’s still just speculation with no names and faces attached. Charmin is the key.”
“What about her safety. Y’all seem to be playing a little loose with that equation.”
“There is no element of surprise here Shelly. We have one extremely capable police dog, that cannon in your purse, a 12 gauge Remington and a dozen officers spread through the woods and eating donuts in the barn. We got it covered.”
“Well, nevertheless, Trigger and I are going to be sharing her bedroom tonight.”
. . .
The next morning John Page got up early and called Chief Cage.
“I’m headed to the church to work on Sunday’s sermon. I contemplated staying at the house but all my reference books are in the church office. I shouldn’t be more the 4 hours.”
“You’re cutting your home security force in half if you do that. Not a good idea. I suggest you take Shelly, the girl and your Remington with you. I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes. Keep your eyes peeled. I’ll arrange for two deputies to camp out with Ada.”
. . .
Shelly Page pulled two chairs and a collection of seat cushions into the baptismal. There were no windows behind her and the elevation provided good sightlines. She pulled the curtains out one foot to provide a little cover. Charmin was bedded down against the wall and reading ‘Huckleberry Finn’. Reading was a chore, she was nervous as a cat.
She was conflicted. ever since Alice brought her to Crescent City, the family had seen to her every need. And now she had brought this turmoil into their lives. Her actions had put this loving family in danger. She couldn’t live with herself if anything were to happen.
“Aunt Shelly, I really have to pee. I don’t know if it’s just nerves or the coffee this morning. I really have to go.”
“Wait here just a second.”
Shelly descended the short stairway and whistled for Trigger.
She motioned to Charmin, “Stay with the dog. Take him into the restroom with you. Keep the hoodie up over your head.”
. . .
Shelly noticed a shadow slip through the door to the sanctuary and tuck behind a statue of the Blessed Virgin. When he stuck his head out to scan the room, Shelly took in hollow eyes..
The door to the restroom opened and Trigger trotted out with Charmin right behind.
Hollow eyes raised a pistol to eye level and pulled back on the hammer with his thumb.
“CHARMIN, DIVE. On the ground!”
A pistol exploded.
Skull fragments and brain matter desecrated the statue of the Blessed Virgin. The impact of the bullet spun Weeblo’s body 180 degrees before he collapsed in a pool of blood.
Another man wearing a cowboy shirt and a bolo tie rushed forward holding a revolver at arms length. He rotated slightly scanning the auditorium for Charmin. As he pivoted he came face to face with a middle aged man with a 12 gauge Remington shotgun leveled at his mid section. Behind him stood a police officer with a service revolver pointed right at his head.
“Drop it! You have three weapons pointed at you and one of them is a shotgun at 10 paces. Drop it now!”
Sonny’s eyes scanned the row of pews.
Another blast blew the cowboy flat on his back and clutching his right shoulder.
“Damn it Shelly, why did you shoot him?”
“I’m surprised at you John. Profanity in the Lord’s house?
I shot him in the shoulder. I didn’t kill him. If you had pulled the trigger on that 12 gauge, there wouldn’t have been a body to link this to them doings in Willits. That cowpoke is going to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison with a bum shoulder. Now I suggest you tend to the child. She’s scared to death.
Cheif Cage, You best corral Trigger before he takes that evil bastards head off. You’re gonna need a body to present to the judge.”
. . .
Manny Bredeteau was pulled over by a vigilant CHP’s officer for driving an old bread truck with a broken tail light. After perusing a rap sheet that ran a half dozen pages, Red Bluff police held him over night in the City Jail. A message came across the interagency teletype at 0630 in the morning. A routine traffic stop captured the number one most wanted criminal in the state of California.
It took 6 months for the state to prepare their case. After a 5 day trial, the jury sequestered for 45 minutes. Manny Bredeteau and Sonny Bell were sentenced to life in prison on three counts. Adeline ‘Gladys’ Burrows was sentenced to life at the California Institute for Women in Chino.
Charmin McFeigh was granted immunity as a states witness. She was released to the custody of John and Ada Page in Crescent City. The court recognized that she was not present at the murder scene and that an 18 year old runaway from familial abuse had already endured enough trauma in her life. All charges were wiped clean from her record.
Chapter 15 – If You Needed Me
Charmin was weeding around the tomato plants in Ada and John’s garden. Ada brought her a tall glass of lemonade.
“You like digging in the dirt, don’t you?”
“My Grandma had a little farm in North Carolina. I loved going there. I think I got a little farmer in my blood.”
Charmin finished off the lemonade and stood with her eyes cast downward.
“Mrs. Page . . . I feel like, well . . .”
“What’s the matter child? Just talk to me. Everything will be all right.”
“Well, you and Rev. Page have been so good to me . . . .and I just”
“Charmin, both of our girls are gone. I fell like an empty nester. You bring such joy to us.”
“I know, but you do every thing for me and I feel that I do nothing for you,after I brought so much trouble into your life.”
“Oh Charmin, no, you . . . .”
“Let me finish before I run out of nerve, I been rehearsing this is my head. You know that letter I got last week?
It was from Thelma. She had a little stroke. She’s not doing well and I think she needs me. Nobody has ever needed me before. And I feel ungrateful to you for saying this.”
Ada stepped forward and wrapped Charmin in a tight hug as the tears started to flow.
“Sweetheart, it’s a wonderful thing to be needed . It might just be the best thing to happen to you. I’ll call Alice and see when she has the time to jitterbug on down to Willits. I believe you’re doing the right thing Charmin. Don’t worry about John. He’ll understand.”
. . .
“Shelly, you come all of this way just to see me?”
“Well, that and a cup of tea.”
Thelma laughed until her belly shook and Enos got up and jitterbugged around the room shaking his hindend to Nina Simone.
“That dog will keep you young.”
“Well Shelly, it ain’t working so well anymore. I had me a little stroke a while back. Got me to thinking. I had Charmin drive me to Ukiah and I signed over the deed to her.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yep, I got no family and when I die the county just takes over the property. That don’t make sense. The girl has been good to me. I never did have a daughter and I guess it’s never too late. After what that child been through in life, she deserves it. Besides I’m worried about Enos if I pass before he do. Charmin love that dog and he love her.
You going to head back to Eureka tonight? If you don’t mind, you can just leave in the morning. You have to share my bed, but I don’t snore.”
“Sounds like a plan sister. By the way, who’s the young man out back putting in fence posts with Charmin and Alice?”
Thelma chuckled.
“That’s Miguel. Works at the service station on 20. Keeps my old pickup running like a top and all I have to pay him is a bag. He was out here last week tuning up that old Ford and Charmin was peeking round corners and twirling her hair round her finger. He’s a nice boy. Truck was running fine so I asked him to come put in a couple of fence posts for me.”
“What’s the fence for?”
“No fence. Just fenceposts and a smile on Charmin’s face.”
Shelly broke out in a belly laugh.
“Since we’re spending the night, how about you brew up some more tea?”
“I got a better idea Shell. Let me load up the pipe, put some Benny Goodman on the box and we can sit out on the porch and watch the sun go down.”
“If you knew How lonely my life has been And how low I’ve felt for so long If you knew How I wanted someone to come along And change my world the way you’ve done
Feels like home to me Feels like home to me.” ‘Feels Like Home’ by Randy Newman
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Editors note: I began this story during Monsoon Season in the Pisgah Rain Forest in Western North Carolina in 2016. It rained for 18 straight days until the creek overflowed. I typed away under a tin roof in a mountain cabin. I had no internet so I would drive to Cashiers and cop the internet at the Ingles Grocery whenever I needed to send out a post.
It was a rather productive period. But I could not come up with a hook for this tale. And then my world came crashing in. So it sat on the shelf for 4 years. Until now.
I agonized over a song for this one. It took me three days and over 150 listens. Evil, hopeful, sad . . . . . Randy Newman.
One thing that changed about this tale was the focus on the Sisterhood (Alice, Charmin, Thelma and Shell). Once I decided on that, the words flowed. Enos just showed up for the dance. So thank you ladies.
Editors Note: . This is but a teaser for ‘Furman LeBeq’. An introduction to the 2 lead characters in a murder mystery in the light noir style. New Orleans, 2019.
Furry’s eyes fluttered open as daybreak filtered through the hurricane shutters. Oblique fragments shifted across curves the color of warm honey.
Chantel Laveau was not a morning person. She tucked the pillow snug against her bosom and rolled to her left side.
Furry smiled, shifted his feet to the floor and pulled on his boxers. He was tempted to turn on the hallway overhead so he could watch the rerun.
He padded to the kitchen and started a pot of water, coffee with chicory, in the 6 cup French press. 9 months in NOLA and it was already a tradition. Furman made it a point to listen to wise women. Especially one with Botticelli curves and a Mona Lisa smile.
Never ignore culture Mr LeBeq.
He pulled a short knife from the drawer and sliced and sectioned 2 grapefruit. There was a half loaf of La Boulangerie french on top of the refrigerator. He gave it a squeeze, poked his finger in the open end and grinned.
“It’ll be all right toasted but it’s going to smell like warm pussy.”
“Who you talking to Fuzzy Face?”
Chantel, standing in the kitchen pass, wearing a sheet and a grin.
“What are you doing up? It’s not even 6:00 yet.”
“I caught a chill. Some fool pulled the sheets down over my bottom. I swear by Great Grandma’s grave, men are a product of arrested development. You’re all stuck on 14. How in the hell do they run the show.”
“It’s a matter of equipment.”
Chantel dropped her chin to her ample chest and shot him the look. She unloosed the sheet and let it drift to the floor. Furry choked back a mouthful of savory French.
Chantel started back down the hall, turning toward Furry when she reached the bedroom door.
“Come on back to bed, mon chere. We’ll make a wet spot.”
“You gave me the look. That’s the first time I was a witness.”
“Black woman’s curse, ‘Talk to the hand’, a defense against the shit in life. I swore I’d never let it define me and I was lucky enough that I was not obliged. But it’s in all of us. It was how our mothers survived. It’s not my MO.
You can call me Sugar.
But you, you had it coming.”
“It’s cultural readjustment. I expected Alabama accents and docile colored folk, keeping their place.”
Chantel grinned, “docile colored folk?”
“I grew up around Acadians. 40 miles north of Montreal. Not a black face in miles.”
“Your loss.”
“J’ai vu la lumière.For 9 moths I ‘ve been trying to check the pulse of this town. It beats in 4/4 time. You walk around in awe of the architecture, the oaks, Spanish Moss, cracked pavement, the food, the smell in the air. You know you’re near water. You smell jasmine, peat moss, salt air, and magnolia. An olfactory seduction that creeps up on you like good perfume.
And more colors than Crayola.
You start picking up on the people. They take care of each other. Buddy meets the UPS driver at the gate and then delivers to your door. He looks after his neighbors.
I don’t think it’s any one thing other then culture and that’s a gumbo. Throw it all in the pot and season it just right.”
Furman ran his fingertips around her hip and drew her back against him.
“Don’t overthink it Furman. You break it down like a detective. Writer’s, poets and musicians have been trying to define this city for decades. There are times it’s best to just go with emotion. Smile, move your hips, fall in love.”
“Fall in love?”
“Yes, It’s a good place to fall in love. Isn’t that what it’s really all about?”
Chantel rolled to her back and reached up to grasp the brass headboard.
“Mr LeBeq, I could wrap myself around you all day and into the night, but It’s 8:30 and i have to be at my desk in 30 minutes. You’re going to have to reheat that coffee.”
‘You won’t have time for a shower.”
“Pas de probleme. I’m the only straight woman in the office. They’ll love it.”
he would pass his house on her way to the corner store. He was usually in his yard building something or working his garden. And he took notice of her. Not enough to be rude but long enough. She didn’t mind. He had a kind face. She started giving a brief wave and a slight smile the way you would to an old friend. Yet she didn’t even know his name.
“Peter. My name is Peter. I see you walking by here.”
“Yes, you do. I walk my dog to the corner store and back every day. I think he smells the bacon.”
“You used to walk on the other side.”
“Well, I’m a curious person. I saw you looking and realized it wasn’t probing, just curious. My curiousity got the best of me. I’m Sandrine. Nice to meet you Peter.”
“And your dogs name? Springer Spaniel? I’d guess Cedric or Abernathy, something mildly formal yet capricious.”
Chuckle. “No, Bunny. My granddaughter insisted. He was such a cute puppy. It just stuck. And your dogs?”
“I love the name. My boys are probably back in the woods chasing up rabbits.”
“Do you mind if I ask what it is you’re building on the trailer? It looks like a small office or guest house.”
“Tiny house on wheels. My nephew Abe is a senior at Western and wants to head West and write and shoot the desert when he graduates. He’s got a story in his head. It’s a good one. His dad told him if he could manage to save up 20 grand he would give him a trailer, his Dodge Ram and donate the wood from Getty’s saw mill. He had a couple of oaks on his farm that were in the way so he had Getty mill them. The woodgrains are gorgeous. And I’m donating the framing from my woodpile, so Abe gets two years to follow his dream and I get to do what I love more than anything.”
“Building?”
“I stand back and look at what I did each day and I feel real. On weekends when Abe is here we throw a brisket in the smoker and work eight straight. We get a couple of Growlers at New World and kick back at 1800. His Dad, my big brother Sam gets himself free some weekends and then we make huge progress. And Abe has school friends that drop by some days and then its like an Amish barn raining.”
“It’s beautiful. Have you completed much on the inside?”
“Not really. Neither Abe, Sam or myself are finish guys. Good solid construction but finesse……No.”
“May I see sometime?”
“Well, I end my day at 5:00 in the afternoon, take a shower and change and then I kick back.”
“How kicked back do you get.” She ended it with a lilt and raised eyebrows. Big smile.
“I relax. To a degree. I have an active life as you’ve seen. I like being fresh in the morning and never hung over.”
He was so calm. It wouldn’t take long to wind down in his neighborhood.
“I’m having dinner and zinfandel at 6:00 at the picnic table. Bring Bunny and I’ll introduce him to my sheriff. We can look in the lil house and you can share a vision with me,”
“A vision?”
“Yes. There is a price to my friendship. You tell me your story. You’ll hear lots of mine but it’s yours that opens you. I like to know my friends and hope they want to know me.”
He looked up to catch her staring directly at his eyes and a not quite brief smile to her lips. And then it broke slow. . . .real slow.
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“Those are heavy terms. Do we need to sign a contract tonight? hmmm. I’ll bring by some pie. A neighbor come to visit.”
“I have to tell you that I am not a wine person. I drink two varieties. Both red and brewed by a gentleman that entertained myself and my best friend for three hours one Saturday. The wine is very good and furthermore I have the satisfaction of placing faith in an individual. My individual is a very human vinter. My faith is intact.”
He was grinning and barefoot. He wore a very worn, once rose colored T -Shirt a size too big. it looked . . . .comfortable.
He was playing Lyle Lovett doing white boy blues so very. . . .comfortably.
His levi’s were well washed. Slightly wispy at the heel and just starting to part at the knee. They were . . . . Comfortable.
So. . . . .what do you do. The easy thing would be to submit. that would be comfortable. But.
Comfortable was something that she grew into. She liked to scout the perimeter, find the soft spots. She had no problem at all giving in. She craved it……….but she gave in to well considered possibilities. She thought long term.
The conversation was general life. Getting to know you, Just hit the high points.
And he was so aware of that. She could tell. Not in an arrogant dismissal but just itching……to learn you.
Did he do it with everybody? She was sure he did, but. There is always a difference in the eyes. The eyes tell what one is feeling. She kept her eyes on his. Not staring. Active. Watching the change in expression, reading a chord change.
He saw it.
“I am pretty direct. I don’t collect friends on Facebook. I like most people and if they have a story, so much the better. But I like to do face to face, sit out under the streetlights and talk. Where I can see your eyes and your facial changes. Sandrine, you couldn’t be a liar if you wanted to. Your face gives you away. How fresh is that? It was the first thing I noticed in you. And that you don’t feed on guilt. You do weigh how things will affect those nearby and I believe that dictates your decision. You are very human. I enjoy being with humans.”
“And you get that from knowing me this one day?”
“No, from watching you for three weeks. The way you look at things you pass, your easy stride. You didn’t change the way you walked after we made contact. When you looked at me your gaze may have been low but it always slid directly to my eyes. How you interact with ‘Bunny’ and my boys. They liked you immediately.”
Well, she ..hadn’t… thought of it quite like…..hmmm.
“Sandrine, I like hearing how people decide. What experience comes into that. You keep the sadness down low. You don’t consult it constantly but the awareness peeks out occaisionally and whispers.
“Now lets not get too carried away with this happy thing.”.
“OK. But my terms now. Give me your email. I’m not interested in your response yet. Right now I have things to say. At my pace. And I have a vision about Abe’s lil’ home.”
And she did. In her very unique way.
And I hung on every missive. Staring at the computer screen awaiting the next chapter. She untied the bows, folded them neatly into the desk drawer, sliced the tape with a scalpel, folded back the paper and opened the lid.
Look at me.
. . . . . . . . .
Little Lyle, a little Ricky Lee. How good is that?
“The Chairman bequeathes the floor to the glaireous Senatuh Grahmquackery of the malodorous state of discontent.”
“Tis a travesty. naught but cocksuckery and gallimaufery. If Justice Kavanauseous is to be digitally admonished for a mere peccadillo of adolescent debauchery than Senator Kamelass can pick a peck of pickled peppers off my lily white ass.”
“My curiosity has gotten the best of me Senator Grahmcracker. Speaking of your lily white ass, how much does it go for these days on the Charleston Battery?”
“Senator Kamelass, the $130,000 in question was merely a donation from our deipotent proselytizer for the hectorment of the gobemouche. There was no houghmagandry nor scullyishishness. Such claims are the gormless ramblings of a product of your mazopathian mythomania. Mere grimgribberishness out of the mouth of the Senator from the deluded State of Californication. Mr. Chairman, I submit.”
“Well Senator Grahmcrackery, the term is yield. Though you may be more familiar with submission we must practice decorum in these hallowed halls. The chair now calls on the honorable Senator Creamcheese. Suzie the boys have decided to hear the ladies point of view. The floor is yours.”
“That’s enough”
Senator Creamcheese looks about in befuddlement and fear.
The Chairman looks toward Senator Ornate Hatchback in confusion and then leans over and whispers in his ear.
“Is she awake?
Suzie, Suzie Creamcheese. Have you been drinking the Kool Aid?”
“Oh you boys. I didn’t realize you were talking to me. I was just so impressed with Grahamcrackers thespianic indignation. You boys do get excited.
Now
I think she was just lovely. I do believe her. Whatever happened to her at Woodstock or whereever must have been traumatic. And that traumatic experience must have had a profound impact on her sweet little mollycoddled brain. Probably related to those endomorphins or endorphins or whatever it was she was ingesting while she was running around naked hallucinating. I truly do believe her. But she has no one to corroborate.
You have to corroborate you know.
I just think its horrible the way that the Demagogues and the evil media have been sliming Justice Kavanauseous with their grandiloquent claims. Boys will be boys and sluts will be sluts. Right boys?
Thank you for letting me come to your clubhouse.”
“Senator Creamcheese, you don’t have to thank us for coming to the clubhouse everytime you speak.
Now, the chair yields the floor to the Master of Disaster, the Bard of SLC, the silver haired orater and God’s own Latter Day Saint, the Honorable Ornate Hatchback.”
Senator Hatchback smoothed his perfectly coifed silver locks, snapped his lapels and adjusted his cufflinks. An undertakers grin spread from east to west. He leans into the microphone.
“E-flat walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve minors.”
The boys club chuckles.
“Somehow things got lost in the shuffle. A 15 year old streetwalker was drinking beer in the bedroom of a loyal party donor. Where is the accountability? 35 years later we are presented with flimflammery and galbanum. Well, its time for the Demagogues to beat feet. This little act of consentsatory back seat bingo is not going to bring down one of Gods chosen. He told me so himself.
This whole hearing has been a bonafide bummer. Haver from the hobbish. Nothing but morphean interjecture.
E-Flat is going down. This one is in the bag.
Are you ready for a vote brothers?’
He scans the room then leans into the microphone and yells.
“I said, are you ready for a vote?”
Senator Creamcheese shimmies out from behind her desk shaking pom poms and busting her bootie for all its worth and confetti and red balloons drop from the ceiling.
And so it was. The vote came in strictly along party lines with the exception of a backroom deal between Senators Munchkin and Senator Murkywaters to trade allegiance for proprieties sake.
Wedged into the seat of ‘Wooly Bully’, encased from head to toe in a fireproof suit and Bell carbon fiber helmet, Jimmy Richards counted down the lights. He rocked his right foot heel to toe on the gas pedal as his hand tightened on the T-bar.
A funny car is a 200 mile an hour coffin on 4 wheels. Jimmy was ever aware. He had the fastest reflexes in the business and 6080 horse’s to back him up. As the lights hit yellow, Jimmy extended his index and lifted the cover to the nitro ignite.
Fearless Jimmy Richards
As the lights flashed green, Jimmy rocked his foot back on the clutch, flipped the nitro switch and mashed the accelerator. All in perfect synch.
He passed 100 MPH in 1.1 seconds, the blacktop aflame in scorched rubber, acrid air burning his nostrils, in spite of his gear.
Time stood still.
Suddenly ‘The Beast’ blew by him in a millionth of a second, flames spewing from the blower. The engine exploded spewing white hot aluminum.
Shrapnel ripped through ‘Wooly Bully’s left rear tire. The steering wheel jerked to the left as the car went airborne.
Jimmy’s entire life flashed before him in a blink.
Chapter 1
“To live fully, one must be free, but to be free one must give up security. Therefore, to live one must be ready to die. How’s that for a paradox?” ― Tom Robbins
“She’s just going to break his heart again Charlie. Mark my word. I knew it as soon as she breezed back into town.”
“Uh-huh.”
Charlie Richards glanced toward Christine as he was reaching for the torque wrench.
“I saw her down at the IGA mauling all the peppers. I’ll bet she squeezed every darn one of them. Soon as Jimmy realizes she’s back he is going to tumble right back down that rabbit hole.”
Charlie spun the right front wheel of Christine’s Chevy until the lug nut set. Most of the time he just nodded when his sister Christine started in. She wasn’t really expecting a response.
“She must have Ju Ju or something. One look at Shelly and he just goes to mush. There are a dozen women in this town would drop their drawers if he just smiled at them. Always been that way. I don’t understand why he didn’t just stay with Raynelle. She was a good cook and she kept the house decent.”
“Christine, are you in love with Robert?”
“What kind of question is that Charlie. We have been married for 42 years. Of course, I’m in love with him.”
Christine got pregnant in the back seat of Roberts Road Runner. Married one month after graduation and still together. Robert manages the Advance Auto Parts, smokes 2 packs of Marlboro’s a day, drinks a case of Natural Light in 3 days and has an opinion about everything. Just don’t ask him to defend his point of view.
“I didn’t ask how long you’d been married Christine, I asked if you were in love. Do you think about him when he’s at work? Do you get squishy when you look at him across the table? Do you smile when he comes through the door?”
“He’s the father of my children. I don’t get squishy anymore Charlie. Sex is highly overrated. Just a way to get through a bad second feature at the Starlight.”
Charlie hit the lever to lower the Chevy, scooped out a glob of GoJo and looked Christine’s way.
“I always liked Shelly. She makes Jimmy laugh and he always smiles when he watches her walk away. Jimmy’s been walking around with a big empty spot in his heart.
She’s a good soul Christine, not a perfect one. Jimmy had his heart broke. Now he knows how that feels.”
Charlie had his head buried under the hood of Sam the Sham’s Ford pickup. The old Ford should have been put out of its misery years ago. It would have died a respectable death were it not for Charlie’s resuscitative efforts.
Sam was a junk picker. He couldn’t afford preventative maintenance so he bartered with Charlie whenever the F-100 broke down. He did odd jobs around the shop and drove the wrecker when Milky was too hungover.
“Think you might suh-save those puh plugs Chuh-Charlie? Mebbee fuh file em down a little and re- guh gap em?”
“They’ve been filed too many times Sammy. Tell you what, take that wrench and socket and pull the plugs from that green Galaxie out back. We’ll swap em out. You can haul the Galaxie down to Sonny’s Salvage lot and collect the $50. That will pay for the used tires and the oil change.”
Sam Shamford stood behind Charlie shifting from one foot to the other. When he got nervous, he would start stuttering.
“Chuh Chuh Charlie. I pree pree she ate whuh whuh . . .”
Charley turned and put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder.
“Sammy if this old pickup isn’t running than I have to take time out from my day to haul trash to the dump. Who’s going to watch the shop while I’m gone?
I’d have no one coming by to show me the treasures he’s collected from the streets. Half the cars in this town are running with old tires and parts you scrounged up. I’m just doing my civic duty keeping this old classic running.
Wooly Bully Sammy. Wooly Bully.”
Chapter 2
“The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplaceable being.” ― Tom Robbins
She was sitting in her Saab, nose up to bay 2 when Charlie drove up in the morning. He waved at her, opened the office door and set about turning on the lights and the ancient compressor. By the time he opened the bay door, she was next to the 900 with her hands deep in her pockets, standing pigeon-toed in Anne Kalso’s shoes.
Charlie tied off the rope that raised the bay door and turned to Shelley with open arms.
Shelley filled them, her head resting against his sternum.
“When did you get back Shelley? Christine was in here yesterday and said she ran into you down at the IGA.”
“I don’t know if ‘ran into’ is the correct term. I noticed her eyeing me when I was in the produce section but she didn’t communicate. She gave me that Church Lady look.”
“That’s Christine. She subsists on prunes and moral indignation. It’s her atonement for a tryst in the back seat of a Road Runner in the ’70s. 42 years of atonement will set you in your ways. Don’t let it get you down.
Does Jimmy know you’re here Shelley? He took it pretty hard when you left.”
Shelley looked down at her shoes for a moment then raised her eyes to Charlie. Her fingers were twisting a few strands of hair that had escaped from her beanie cap.
“No, Evelyn Smoak and Sammy are the only ones I talked to. Evelyn doesn’t tell tales and Sammy is too embarrassed.”
“Sammy was in here yesterday and never mentioned it. Christine was my source, you know, telephone, telegraph, tell a Christine.
So, what’s going on with your Saab?”
Shelley explained the symptoms and Charlie promised he’d check out the fuel line, fuel pump, and filter.
“Charlie, make sure you write me out a bill. I know how you are. I didn’t come here because you’re my friend. I came here because you’re the best mechanic in Shady Creek. I sold 14 articles last year. My name has been on the cover of both ‘The Ladies Home Journal’ and ‘Redbook’. I’m doing OK.
You do have to put food on your table.”
Charlie laughed.
“Yes, ma’am will do.”
“I’m going over to Peanuts for some breakfast and then City Hall to meet with Franklin. Evelyn recommended me and they didn’t advertise the position. It’s pretty much a done deal.”
“So, she is retiring from the library after all?”
“Yes, moving to Saugatuck to paint pictures on the beach.
Jimmy pulled his 1952 Chevrolet pickup into the parking lot of Charlies Auto repair. He noticed a flash of silver through the open door of bay 2. Was that. .? He glanced through the office window and saw Charlie replacing the receiver of the old rotary dial phone. Charlie was looking right at him as he rose from his desk.
Jimmy circled the pickup and stood stock-still staring at the silver Saab.
Charlie was standing outside the door, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his Dickies.
“When did you get back into town?”
“About two minutes ago. This is my first stop.”
He cocked his right thumb over his shoulder and nodded toward bay 2.
“Shelly’s?”
“Yup. Fuel flow problem. I was ordering a fuel filter from Robert when you pulled up. I figured you’d have some questions.”
“She’s back?”
“Evelyn Smoak is retiring and moving to Saugatuck. She recommended Shelly for the job. You know how Franklin hangs on Evelyn’s every word. She’s over at City Hall interviewing right now.
She’s staying at her Dad’s place with Sammy. She said it will take her a month to get the place cleaned up. She’s a little worried about Sammy, says she’s seen a real downturn since she left. He can’t live on his own anymore.
You know it was only a matter of time Jimmy. She could never turn her back on Sammy.”
“Why not? Turned her back on me.”
Charlie ran his hand over the hood of the Chevy then wiped his hand on his trousers.
“First time I’ve ever seen it dirty. You not sleeping with it anymore?”
Jimmy grinned.
“Let’s just say my mind has been occupied. I got lost in the woods up there in Alpena.
I went fishing once. I stayed drunk and high as a kite for the first two months until I got tired of being hungover and listless. Face it, I was never meant to be a drinking man. It messes with the lightning reflexes.”
“Been doing any racing?”
“Haven’t been behind the wheel of The Beast since last Summer’s ‘Strip Tease’ at Lapeer International. Cedric may have given up on me. His boy Matthew has been driving the car. He hasn’t won a race yet.”
The two of them stood looking at the blacktop for a few moments.”
“Jimmy, she didn’t turn her back on you. I may not be the smartest man in town but I do know what a woman in love looks like. She stopped in to say goodbye before she went to Traverse City. She was a ghost. She did what she had to do to preserve some semblance of Shelly.
All the pain that you’ve been dealing with, weighed on her like an anvil. I may not know much but I know the real deal when I see it. The best thing you ever did in your life was fall in love with that woman. Look what you learned from it.”
“Yeah, well . . . that’s a tough learning experience.”
“She’s coming by for the car at 4:00. Or you can stop off at City Hall and catch her after Franklin is done talking to her.”
“No, I think I’m going to stop by and say hi to Christine and the kids. Shes left a dozen messages on my cell in the last few months and I never returned a single one. I’ll pop a couple of Tums and go see her.”
“You’re going to run into Shelly sooner or later. It’s a small town.”
Jimmy stood holding the open door of the Chevy and staring at his keys.
“Charlie, I didn’t mean what I said about her.
I tried being mad at her and it just wouldn’t stick. Truth is I’m scared. Scared she won’t want to talk to me.
Imagine that. Fearless Jimmy Richards, scared of a little redhead wearing Earth shoes. What will that do to my reputation?
The ‘Quarter-Mile King’ turned to mush by Emily Dickinson.”
Chapter 3
“We are our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.” ― Tom Robbins
“The guy’s a legend in this town. He averaged 7.2 yards per carry over his Junior and Senior season. The team went 17-1.”
Gunnar Nilsson chuckled
“What, you’ve got his stats memorized? Did you get that off his Topps card.?”
“We all played under Sammie’s legend. I was on the team years later and he was still the example everyone in town brought up. But that was 40 years ago. Time is fickle.
Charlie blocked for Sammie. A school of 211 students. Guys played two ways so Sammie never came off the field. On defense he was a run stuffer, roaming the middle until teams stopped running on him. He forced the game into the air.
Do you know how many schools in Middle Michigan can field an adequate passer? Kids in this area grow up chasing stoats through a cornfield, not tossing rocks through a window.
He had curly black hair that hung to his shoulder blades and a beard like a pirate. Everyone called him Wooly Bully. “
“Sam the Sham.”
“You got it. I think he grew into the name. He was always physical. A rhino.”
Jimmy was stirring his beer with his finger than licking the hops from his index.
“Jimmy, you don’t have to order a beer. You never finish half of it. I’ll set you up a glass of water or a coke if you like.”
“I just don’t have a taste for it anymore. Dulls the reflexes.”
“Still racing?”
“Haven’t even sat in the car since May. Cecil has been trying to break in his son Matthew.”
“Whatever happened to Sammy?”
“Viet Nam. He didn’t get a single offer from a college program. He didn’t have the speed for the NCAA. He barely carried a C- average and that was because his mama scrutinized everything he did in school.
His Mom died of lung cancer his senior year. The first two ball games that she ever missed were Sammy’s last 2. His little sister Shelly was only 4 years old. She stopped talking for two years, it was a devastating blow.
He took his dad’s advice and enlisted in the Marine Corps a week after graduation. He was 17. Ten months later he caught a grenade at knee level and tossed it back the way it came. It exploded twenty feet out of Sammy’s hand resulting in extensive neuro damage. It got him an Honorable Discharge and a 3-month stint at Walter Reed before they transferred him to the Saginaw VA for 6 months of rehab.
At 19 and a half years old he was released to the streets of Shady Creek. Reflexes shot and 30 pounds lighter, he was a shadow of the bull.”
“You know a lot about the guy.”
“Twelve years later I was the best quarterback that Arenac County had seen in twenty years. Nobody remembers that. We all played in Sammy’s shadow. It was an honor.
“I heard Shelly is back in town. Have you seen her?”
“No, It’ll happen. Franklin Jefferson hired her for Evelyn Smoak’s job. She moved in with Sammie. You know Shelly. She worries about the world.”
Gunnar smiled and tapped out a tune on the oak bar with his fingertips.
“Well, I can’t think of anyone more qualified for the job.”
.
Little Shelly was late to speech. She observed the world around her with wide eyes and an animated face. She processed everything internally.
Her Father Darren would take her for walks in the country several times a week. She stopped every five feet to pick up a leaf or a rock. She would linger to feel the texture of moss on trees or dangle her fingers in a stream. She would smile at Darren and say “Hard” or “Wet” or “Cold’ or”Soft” or “Pretty.”
Darren would puff on his meerschaum and add in an adjective or two to every object she displayed. Stones were hard, round and black. The stream was cold, wet and turbulent. A 1/2 mile walk would take them two hours.
Darren didn’t mind, it was his favorite downtime. When they walked through town, Shelly would stand close and hold tightly to his hand pointing at what she saw. Her conversation would remain monosyllabic.
Every night, Darren or Sonya would curl up on the sofa with Shelly to read her a book. Their fingers would point to every word that they pronounced. Shelly would follow along with dancing eyes. Those eyes never danced away from the page.
Sonya was diagnosed with Ductal Carcinoma of the breast when Shelly was three and a half. Her bout with cancer did not go well. Each round of chemo and radiation left her more depleted. Shelly watched the rapid deterioration of her Mother with increasing horror. The smile faded from her innocent face. She could find no word to describe the change in her Mama.
One night while Sonya was reading to her daughter, Shelly reached up to stroke her Mama’s hair and recoiled when she came away with a handful of limp hair. She fled the room, curling up in the covers of her bed. Darren walked into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He reached down and gathered Shelly in his arms where she clung to his chest, her tiny body shaking in convulsions.
“Shelly, you didn’t do anything wrong to Mama. It’s the medicine that she’s taking that makes her hair fall out. The medicine isn’t working anymore. You need to know that. It’s hard to be a big girl when you are only three and a half but right now Mama is more scared than you are because she can’t make it better.”
Shelly slowed her breathing until the convulsions stopped and the tears abated. She scooched her bottom to the edge of the bed and dropped her pudgy feet to the carpet. She toddled out to the living room dragging her Snow White blanket behind her.
Sonya was lying on the couch with her right forearm across her eyes. Tears streaked her face. Shelly climbed up the couch and straddled her mama’s waist. Sonya opened her eyes and wrapped her arms around Shelly, pulling her to her tortured breast.
Darren covered his girls with Snow White, dimmed the lights and slipped into his room.
That night he stared at the ceiling until his alarm went off at 6:15. He would never share his bed with Sonya again.
Chapter 4
Charlie was the oldest and the biggest of Riley Richard’s three children. He was big even when he was little.
By the time he was 14, he could sling two bales of hay at a time onto the trailer. The problem was his cousin couldn’t keep up. Tony was Stacking bales with two hands and a knee-up to center them. Once the pile went over two-high, Tony couldn’t use the knee anymore and the bales would pile up on the outer edge of the trailer until they started falling back off.
Riley would shut down the tractor and climb up on the trailer to assist Tony while Charlie re-tossed.
“Damn Charlie. You’re like an orangutang. Ain’t no man alive can keep up with you.”
Tony dropped into a crouch and started swinging his arms like an ape. Charlie looked down at his boots.
Riley glanced at his son. Charlie had always been the sensitive sort. As the oldest, he was eager to please.
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Charlie had a habit of squatching down when he talked to others so that they wouldn’t have to look up at him. Susanna Richards was always placing a hand in Charlie’s back and pulling back on her son’s shoulder to straighten him.
“Charlie, you’re going to have problems with your posture if you keep doing that. There isn’t anything wrong with people looking up to you. Just make sure your behavior warrants it.’
Charlie hung on his mama’s every word.
Sammy and Charlie were best friends, yin to yang, sweet to sour, Laurel to Hardy. Sammy attacked life and Charlie stemmed the consequences. Charlie was cerebral, Sammy was physical.
As Sonya regressed, Sammy took out his anger and frustrations on the football field. Charlie, ever the Empath cleared the way. He observed the despondence at arm’s length, helpless to intervene.
A mother can not be replaced.
Sonya continued to attend Sammy’s games right up until the end. Darren tied to talk her out of attending the league championship against Bay City. She was too weak and he feared she would not be able to cope with the excitement.
Sonya would hear none of it. Darren wrapped her fading locks in a crimson and gold turban and Sammy’s letter jacket. She was determined to fly her son’s colors. She had never missed one of Sammy’s games.
Halfway through the 3rd quarter, Sonya’s eyes closed and she pitched forward into Darren’s arms. Tears streaked Shelly’s face as she gripped her mama’s arm.
The crowd went silent. Coach Perkin’s turned around to the crowd and then quickly summoned the ambulance onto the field. Sammy stood looking up at his mother until Charlie came up behind him and wrapped him in a bear hug.
Two hours later Sonya passed away at Hartnett Memorial. Sammy stood in the doorway as the monitor flatlined. He turned and walked out of the hospital. Charlie glanced toward Sammy and then Darren. Darren shook his head no.
Sammy went on a tirade that night, busting shop windows in downtown stores. Not a single shopkeeper pressed charges.
That night at 0100, Charlie rose from his bed and climbed into his father’s pickup. he drove the mile and a half to Sammy’s house, walked in the front door and down the hall to Sammy’s room. Sammy was curled into a fetal position, sobbing.
Charlie wrapped him in his arms and carried him to the living room. He cradled Sammy in his lap and rocked him through the night.
When Darren entered his living room in the morning Sammy was fast asleep. Charlie stared straight ahead. Darren reached out and squeezed Charlie’s shoulder.
“Son. I fear what Sammy would have done without you. You fill a space in my boy that even his family could not touch.”
Shelly stood at the end of the sofa staring silently into Charlie’s eyes.
Chapter 5 –
Jimmy Richards lived a childhood without restraint. He had a habit of releasing stoats from the pen just for the thrill of chasing them through the cornfield. He never lost one.
He drew three one-foot diameter circles on the barn at 3′ high, 5′ high and 7′ foot high. He practiced throwing apples at the circles, in order, while dropping back or on the run. Riley observed from a distance.
“Son, if you want to make cider, I would advise you to utilize the press. Now you’ve got a pulpy mess all over the side of the barn and you wasted about 20 bushels of apples.”
“But Pop, I’m hitting right around 95% when I’m moving to my right. I need to work on my left lateral movement.”
“Well son, when you’re moving left, you have to plant and dig your cleats into the turf on the balls of your right foot. I’ll take you to Strom’s in Bay City tomorrow to get some cleats. Start wearing them when you practice so that you can get used to the mechanics.
Meanwhile, you need to sort through those apples. Make sure you leave the good ones so your mom can make a few pies. She can’t scrape them off the barn you know.”
By the time Jimmy reached high School, he owned the place. He took over the starting quarterback position in the second game of his sophomore year. The team put together a 14 game winning streak. He was a natural athlete but he didn’t take it for granted. He was the first on the field and the last to leave. He even threw balls to the equipment manager.
Anyone that would run a route.
Jimmy made first-team Class D All-State his Junior year.
Jimmy rounded the corner of the Humanities wing just as Harlan Caldwell and his brother Ziplock slapped Shelly’s books from her hand.
“Little Miss Smartass Duckfeet got some slippery hands?’ Harlan crowed.
“Shelly. Evelyn Smoak is sitting out front in her Volvo. I think she’s waiting for you. Ziplock, pick up those books for Shelly.”
Ziplock picked up the textbooks and handed them to Shelly. Harlan’s shifty eyes darted down the hall and back to Jimmy as Shelly departed. Ziplock took two steps backward.
Jimmy watched as Shelly rounded the corner and then turned his attention to the Caldwell Brothers.
“You know Harlan, I can approach this two ways. I could break your skinny-ass neck, rip off your balls and stuff them down Ziplocks throat. But that would bother Shelly a great deal. This is all about respecting a young woman who doesn’t deserve your bullshit.
Or I could reason with you. I believe Shelly would opt for that approach.
So here’s the deal scumbags. No one in this school will ever turn an evil eye toward that girl again or I will resort to plan one.
Nobody. Do you hear me?”
“But Jimmy, we can’t control what someone else does.”
“Oh, I think you can Ziplock. Maybe you need to get the word out. Anything happens to Shelly and it’s your neck on the line.”
Auntie Betta used to give me a caramel when I would be frettin’. Soft, sweet, warm, and chewy, all at the same time.
I fold up the wrappers and store them in my pocket. That way they don’t wrinkle.
I got 6 of them in there.
Auntie B say. “Thank the good lord for something as comforting as caramels.”
I say, if you want to thank someone, maybe you should thank Mr. Brach.
Auntie Betta give me those caramels to keep me quiet.
“Violet, you don’t wanna call attention to yourself. When things ain’t going right for the men’s, they start in drinkin’. Whiskey brings out the Devil. An’ that Devil go lookin’ for little girls.”
Messie stays in the barn. She don’t never come out except in the morning when she know Mr. Roy off to work. She knows because Slider comes crawling up that ladder.
Slider, he’s smart. He don’t go near the barn when Mr. Roy is around. He can hear that old truck coming from a mile away.
I was hanging out on the end of the porch, sitting under the window and snapping a bowl of beans for Auntie Betta. I heard that old truck drive away. I lean forward on the porch and take a peek under. Sure enough, that old dog pop his head out and trots off toward the barn.
I took them beans in and set em’ on the table.
Auntie Betta turn around with her sad face and wipe her hands on her apron.
Auntie Betta always got a sad face
“Here baby. You take these caramels out to the barn. , Make sure you share with Messie.”
I found Messie up in the loft surrounded by hay bales. She hide out in there with her kittens. She was crouched down in the corner, holding her crooked shoulder.
That bone never did heal right.
I unwrapped one of the caramels and put the other three in my pocket with the wrappers. I split it in two with my snappin’ nail. Beans or caramels, all work the same.
Messie looked at me with those sad eyes. She don’t say a word. All she do is purr to them kittens. Auntie Betta say Messie ain’t talked in 7 years.
Ever since her shoulder got broke.
Slider lay in the corner licking one of her kittens.
Suddenly that old dog leapt from the loft onto Mr. Roy’s old flatbed, his ears straight up and scooting for under the porch.
I snuck down from the loft and peered out that barn window. Mr. Roy’s old pickup skidded to a stop against the fence. He stumbled out the front seat with an empty bottle in his hand. He raised it to his lips then looked down at it and threw it against the house where it smashed into a hundred pieces.
When he went inside, I snuck out the barn and hid on the side of the house. Anybody see me, I could slip under the porch with Slider.
I heard banging and screaming coming from the kitchen. Mr. Roy hollerin’ at the top of his lungs.
“You call that girl. She don’t do nuthin’ round here. She got to earn her keep. Where is she?”
The screen door slammed open. Mr. Roy come out on the porch and leaned against the post. He had his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes, looking across the yard and into the fields.
When he looked to the edge of the porch, I slipped back farther into the shadows. I couldn’t scurry under the porch, he was too close.
I stepped on that broken bottle and let out a yelp. My foot was oozing blood.
I look up to see Mr. Roy looking down at me. He was looking at me from my head to my feet and the back up.
“When your mama gonna come get you? We don’t need no orphans around here. Specially ones that don’t earn their keep.”
I was froze for a minute. Couldn’t move, couldn’t answer.
“Betty, what’s this child’s name. She mute like the other one?”
“LEAVE her alone!”
When Auntie Betta, scream out, I took off running for the barn.
I shouldn’t of but I was scared to death and I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted someplace safe.
Just as I got to the top of the ladder to the loft, the barn door slammed open and Mr. Roy was standing in the doorway with fire in his eyes.
Last thing I remember was Mr. Roy grabbing my ankle and yanking, as he headed up that ladder.
When I came to, I found Messie lying on the bed of Mr. Roy’s flatbed, all twisted up. She was crying but no sound coming out. I was so frightened.
I ran straight for the tall weeds behind the coop. That’s where the snakes and Black Widows lived but I was more scared of Mr. Roy than any copperhead.
Next morning Slider was nosing me under my chin and licking my face. I should have gone and checked on Messie but I was too scared of what I might find. I headed for the house and Auntie Betta.
Auntie Betta thrust a cloth bag into my hand and pushed me toward the door. She was bleeding from above her eye.
“You got to go. Now! There’s two sandwiches in there and some clothes. You can’t stay. Yoh’ mama in Biloxi. She dance at a club there. You go find her. You stay, you gonna end up like Messie. I got to shoot that man before he kill my chile. He’ll come after you next.
Take my shoes. You got to go.You follow 15 south till you get to Biloxi. Can’t be too many dance clubs. Find your mama. Now go.”
I was standing on Hwy. 15 holding the bag in my hand when an old car with faded paint pulled over beside me. An old woman rolled down the window and just looked at me. She looked as sad as Auntie Betta.
She drive me all the way to Biloxi. When the car stopped, that old woman reached in her purse and gave me two wrinkled up dollar bills. There was a tear in her eye.
“I hope you find your mama child. There ain’t but four dance clubs in Biloxi and two of them are for the colored folk. You might want to check Pass Rd. Theres a place there called The Pink Pony. It ain’t fancy like the one down near the Gulf. Something tell me that if your mama is dancing at a club, that’s where you find her.
Now you be careful. Don’t trust no one, specially no men’s. I wish I could give you more money, but that’s all I got. If you don’t find your mama, you go find the police. They put a roof over your head.”
I walked for miles looking for that club. I finally saw a faded sign with a picture of a pink pony wearing cowboy boots and a swim suit. The sign read 300 yards and a big red arrow pointing down the road. My foot was hurting so bad I could hardly walk.
Auntie Betta’s shoes flopping on my feet, but it was better then being barefoot.
I waited behind a car until there was no one in that parking lot and then I snuck up to the doorway. There was a big man covered in tattoos sitting on a stool just inside the doorway. He was talking to a policeman that was smoking a cigarette. The two of them was laughing and drinking beer.
They looked as scary as Mr. Roy.
I snuck around to the back and hid out by a dumpster. After a while an old colored man came out the back door and leaned against the rail smoking a cigarette.
I came out from behind that dumpster and stood holding my bag. I reached down into my pocket to check those three caramels were still there.
“What you doing chile? This ain’t no place for children. You got to move on.”
His voice was soft. He looked me right in the eye, not up and down like Mr. Roy.
“I’m looking for my mama. I think she dance here.”
He looked at me for a moment.
“She got yellow hair like you? Yellow with curls?”
“Yes sir.”
“You wait right there chile. Might take a minute.”
I sat down with my back against that dumpster and reached into my pocket and pulled out one of them caramels. I unwrapped it and then folded that wrapper two times until it was a neat little square.
I split the caramel with my snap nail.
My foot was hurting so bad. The blood had turned Auntie Betta’s shoe an ugly brown color.
The door opened.
Mama was standing against the rail wearing scuffed up high heel shoes. a swimsuit, and stockings with holes in them. Her eyes was all sunken and grey. She was smoking a cigarette and chewing on her lip.
“Violet, that you? What you doing here? This ain’t no place for a child. What happened to your foot?”
I told her all bout what happened. With Messie, with Auntie Betta, with Mr. Roy and that broken bottle. About Auntie Betta sending me away. Mama was chewing her lip so bad it was bleeding.
“Baby, I live with Tommy, in his trailer, just up the road. I don’t have no place of my own. I don’t know what he gonna say.”
The door opened and that big man that was sitting on the stool came out. He had a big mustache that drooped down his chin. He tilt his head back and spat a wad of chew over my head. He was looking me up and down just like Mr. Roy did.
“Tommy, this my daughter Violet. She’s in town for awhile. I was wondering if she could stay with us?”
“Can she dance? If I gotta feed her, she gotta make keep.
You up at the end of this song. Get your ass inside.”
Mama was crying and the makeup was running in black streaks down her face.
“You can’t stay. It ain’t safe. You can sleep in that old white car over in the corner of the parking lot. Back door is open and there a blanket inside. Keep the door locked. Tomorrow you’ll have to go.”
It wasn’t quite light out when mama pulled up in a pickup truck. She come and knocked on the window, crawled inside and wrapped her arms around me. We were rocking and rocking and the tears were just streaming down her face. I didn’t have no tears. I wanted to but I think they all dried up.
“Come on, I got to get back before he wakes up.”
Mama drove me in that pickup truck into town. She pulled into a gas station and turned off the truck. Her lip was bleeding again. She just sit there looking at me and holding my hand. She reached in her jeans pocket and pulled out some money. It was a $10 bill.
“There’s a Taco Bell just up this road. That money will last a couple of days, if you don’t waste it. You look for a police lady or an old colored lady. They’ll help you. Don’t go with no police man. I know the police men in this town. Don’t get in their car. Remember, watch for a police lady. Don’t tell them about me. Just say you couldn’t find me.”
Three days later I was sitting on a bench down by the water watching children laughing and splashing in the waves. They seemed so far away.
I reached into my pocket for a caramel but they was all gone. Just 12 wrappers folded twice into neat little squares, just as smooth as could be.
Editors Note: Just another pleasant memory of a Christmas Day. Thumbs was my nickname in the Marines. Can’t imagine why.
I spent the Christmas of 1970 at MCRD San Diego in the barracks. It was the Vietnam era Marine Corps, There was a sense of purpose. There was little time for celebration and frivolity. SSgt Pickles had barracks duty that day. In Good Cop/Bad Cop terms, he was the good Cop to GSgt Newlin’s pure Asshole with a capital A.
We had a quick PT in the morning followed by a two mile run in combat boots and then back to the barracks.. Everyone hit the showers and then a trip to the Mess hall for a hearty Christmas lunch of Glazed Ham with sweet Potatoes and Apple pie with whipped cream. After Christmas dinner, SSgt Pickles had us fall into position on the tarmack.
“All right Recruits, when I dismiss you, you’ve got 10 minutes to get into Tennis shoes, Utes and T shirts. We’re going to hold Mail call and then you’ve got the day off until Dinner Call.
Dismissed.”
SSgt Pickles had withheld Mail Call for the previous three days. He treated it as a punishment for substandard performance in PT. But there was no malice in his voice during those announcements.
When I saw the volume of mail on Christmas Day, I saw through his ruse. Well, that and he was smiling, an emotion seldom visible in Boot Camp. Everyone got mail. Some, a dozen letters or more. Those with no family were treated to the annual Christmas cards from the Honorable Richard Nixon and The Commandant of the USMC, Gen. Leonard F. Chapman jr.
I spent the afternoon staring out the window at seagulls, riding the air currents and circling the dumpsters, and dreaming about a lemon coke in a tall glass of crushed ice, sitting at HoJo’s counter at 13 Mile and Woodward.
It was my first Christmas away from home.
. . . . .
I spent September of 1971 through March of 1972 aboard the USS Inchon Helicopter Assault Carrier. It was a pretty good gig. We were afforded two months of liberty on the six month cruise. From 12/21/71 until 1/3/72 the USS inchon sat just off the coast of Antibes, French Riviera. Marines have very little to do on naval ships, we’re basically just along for the ride. So during that two week hiatus, I was ashore for all but two days.
“So, what you got planned for Christmas Thumbs? Roast Ham and sweet potatoes with the family?”
Cpl. Jerome Patrick Christopher Denning was choking a fat cigar and staring aimlessly at a Playboy. It wasn’t holding his interest.
“Sure Jerry, dinner starts at three. You’re welcome to join the family. My folks might even ask you to give the benediction. I won’t tell them you’re Catholic or expose your IRA proclivities.”
“Whoa, I forgot you were a fookin’ Protestant. I’ll pass on the sweet potatoes. How about tequila, soft hips and soft lips, in a bar on the docks. Gunderson gave me the lowdown. Just ask a cabby for ‘le front de mer’. Or we could go to Cannes and look for movie stars. Maybe we’ll meet Hanoi Jane Fonda. I could have a good talk with her in a back alley, get something straight between us.”
“Tequila at 9:00 a.m. doesn’t appeal to me at all and besides it brings out the devil in you. I don’t want to carry your ass back to the docks with a diaper wrapped around your bleeding head.”
Jerry reached into his locker and pulled out his Nikon and two rolls of film, his cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Mom will love it. Cannes the way the locals see it.”
We took the launch to the docks and caught a cab to Cannes, 13 miles away. Traffic was almost non existent. Jet setters didn’t rise before 10:00 and most cafes were closed for Christmas Day. We stood on the Promenade de la Pantiero and gazed at the grand hotels lining the Promenade.
“This isn’t what I came for. Too cold for movie stars in bikinis and too expensive for your pay grade. You up to a hike? Look up the hill. See that clock tower. I got a feeling that’s where the views are.”
It was a leisurely stroll through a town that I had read about in books and drooled over in the movies. I was a huge film fan, especially foreign movies, and here I was walking the same streets as Yves Montand, Jeanne Moreau and Catherine Deneuve. We passed a few cafes but most were closed. I wanted to sit at a sidewalk table and drink hot chocolate on this brisk Christmas morning.
As we walked further up the hill we entered a residential area. We passed only a few Frenchmen but everyone was friendly, everyone gave us a greeting. we cut through an alleyway and walked past an attractive young matron carrying a wicker basket of baguettes and vegetables in paper bags. She smiled at us and wished us ‘Joyeux Noël’.
I stopped and turned to greet her.
“Excusez moi Madame. Où pouvons-nous trouver un cafe . . .est ouvert?”
She laughed and set down the basket.
“It’s OK, I speak English. Your French will get you a beer and that is about all. Go this way to Rue du Priè. When you see Rue des Frères go to your right. Madeline is always open on Christmas. It is about a hundred meters on the left. Order Le Chocolate Chaud. Au revoir and Joyeux Noël.”
We found the cafe easily. The proprietor was a robust woman of a certain age with flaming red hair. She introduced herself as Madeline and brought a glass bottle of Spring water to the table. There were only three other patrons in the cafe. Madeline leaned over us with a smile and her right hand crossed over her heart.
“You are soldiers Non? And you came to spend Christmas with me. I am touched. What are your names?”
“We’re Marines actually. I am Daniel and this is Jerome. Is it possible to have Chocolate Chaud?”
She Laughed, “But of course. And I will bring you a basket of bread and a hearty soup. My husband died in the Indochina war in 1954. I have a soft spot for soldiers. Especially for handsome young ones.”
The soup was more of a stew and the bread was crusty, crispy and chewy all at the same time. Madeline brought by a bottle of Martell Cognac to toast the holidays. The cognac was exceptional, a taste of grapes and just the right amount of burn. After two or three toasts I was feeling quite mellow and Madeline was looking twenty years younger. She was enjoying the attention of her two young soldiers.
Madeline glanced toward the clock. It was 1:55. She leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“My daughter has dinner at quatre heures today. I always open the cafe on Christmas for the ones that are alone for the holidays. So at this time I will bid you adieu and lock the doors.”
She leaned over and kissed both of my cheeks and then Jerry’s. I reached for my wallet to pay the bill. Madeline waved me away.
“I was a teenager when the Americans liberated us from the Nazis. I kissed a handsome young American soldier. You made my Christmas and I hope I made yours a little sweeter.”
Madeline wrapped me in a hug, wished me a Joyeux Noël and planted a big wet kiss right on my lips and then turned to Jerry who was standing with open arms and a drunken grin, not quite felonious.
She locked the door behind us and waved goodby through the window. The cobblestones of Rue des Frères curved down the hill offering a beautiful view of the harbor.
The Cannes clock tower of the Church of Notre Dames de L’Esperance
The tower clock struck 2:00. Jerry turned to me with a smile.
Editors Note: These two chapters are from the story ‘White Jesus’. It is a tale of an 18 year old boy whose father was killed in Afghanistan. He takes the $75,000 payout from the insurance policy and hits the road in a Greyhound bus, an attempt to come to grips with his grief and disillusion with life. Sort of a ‘Then Came Bronson’ without the Harley. It is the story of Dewitt (Dewey) Piddle and the impact he has on those he meets in his travels. I have been working on this story for about 4 years now, trying to tie the ends together. I decided to break it up and post it this way.
Chapter 13 – Rafael Thibault
“My Grandfather, ‘Flea’ Thibault owned a fishing boat when I was a kid. He showed me how to help man the nets when I was about 6 years old. I never had no Father, least no Father with a face. My Mama, Christine kept his house. Mama told me her Mama had left when she was 8 years old. Just wasn’t there when she came home from school one day. That was the last day Mama ever went to school. Phillipe told her that now that his wife was gone, she would have to take over. I used to think Flea was my Daddy. Maybe he was. It was years before I got the gist of things. Some of it I didn’t want to know.
Hurricane Betsy came through in ’65’ and put all of Grand Isle under water and left Flea’s boat in shards. Wasn’t no money as it was, so no boat complicated things. Flea started working on Leo Gatteau’s boat. Flea wasn’t used to having somebody tell him what to do. Just made him take up drinking more. He’d come home spitting’ on the floor and cursing’ Mama. If I said anything he’d whip out his belt and slash the back of my legs. I learned to anticipate his wrath.
I started hanging out down by the beach with my friends Billy and Teo trying to hustle tourists. I had a hanger in my hand trying to gain access to a ’63’ Chevy when I saw the rear doors of an Econoline open and watched Christine crawl out of the back with two men. Teo nudged me with his elbow,
“Yo Raffie, isn’t that your Mama?”
She heard him. Her eyes locked briefly with mine. She had two $20.00 bills in her hand. She stuffed the money into her back pocket and walked out to Hwy. 1 and stuck out her thumb. That was the last I ever saw of her.
A week later I stuffed some clothes in one of Flea’s wet bags and hitched a ride to New Orleans. I had a Hasselblad camera that I lifted from the ’63’ Chevy. A street hustler pawned it for me. He got $20.00, I got $60.00.
I was 13.”
“Don’t even know how to respond to a story like that Rafael. I grew up in Disney World. Graduated from High School in Kissimmee last June. I left home on a Trailways Bus with $75,000.00 in a bank account and an ATM card.”
“Ain’t no Hobos and hitch hikers anymore Dewey. No wagon trains, no underground railroad, no Route 66. Kids run away from home on a 737 or an air-conditioned Greyhound. Half the time they end up meeting some internet pervert from Mobile at a Days Inn. That’s when they realize that maybe being grounded wasn’t as bad as they thought. You get out on the street at 13 or 14 and your life ain’t never gonna get better. My case it turned out about even up. I was hustling for garbage back home so New Orleans was not a shock for me.”
I was sitting on an upside down 5 gallon plastic bucket so I could be eye to eye with Rafael. I pulled a chameleon off the side of his cart and slipped it into my shirt pocket. Every kid that grew up in Florida is fond of those little lizards. Geico soon popped his head out so he could observe the passers-by on the street.
“You like them little bastards, huh?”
“God’s creatures, what can I say?”
“Well. too bad he stopped there.”
whistledownthewinddotorg1.wordpress.com
“How did you lose your legs Rafael.”
“Bad luck at cards and a bulldozer. I got a regular gig at the Full Moon Show Bar down the street from Tipitina’s. I was 14. I stacked chairs at night, cleaned floors and unloaded trucks during the day. The owner let me sleep in a storeroom he had out back of the alley. After Katrina they renovated that place and now they rent it out for $1300.00 a month. That’s another story though.
I did favors for the bands that passed through. Hustled weed and networked the ladies of Bourbon street. High times and Hot pants. The musicians showed me how to play drums and pick out chords. By the time I was 15 I was sitting in on a zydeco band. Band members figured out they could pay me half what they were paying their regular drummers and not lose a beat. Partying with the players got me hooked on poker and cocaine. Music was riding high back then. A guitarist with a record deal could afford to drop $500.00 in a game. I couldn’t.
By the time I was 23 I was $15,000.00 in debt and looking down the barrel of a .38. Edzio Marcello gave me 1 week to come up with the cash. Where was I gonna come up with $15,000.00?
A week later Eddie showed up with 2 big Samoan fellows that threw me into the back of a Dodge Caravan. Less than an hour later they pulled up to the Swamp Tours lot and unlocked the gate. They drove around back to the maintenance area and tied my hands to the gate, then stretched out my legs with ropes tied to the back of the Dodge. One of the Samoans climbed onto a bulldozer, started it and drove over my legs. The other Samoan untied me and threw me into the back of the van. Edzio smoked a cigar.
They swung by the Medical Center and rolled me out of the back of the van. Ten minutes later two EMT guys showed up with a stretcher.
Infection spread to my knees. I had no money and no insurance to pay for antibiotics, The doctors amputated bilateral ATK. I was discharged 8 days after surgery. I wheeled my chair 2 1/2 miles back to the alley storehouse. The landlord had a bright yellow note inquiring to the whereabouts of his rent taped to the stairway door. I went up the stairs backward, placing my hands behind my back one step up at a time. I don’t know if I made it to the top or if I was carried or magically levitated. I came to, prone on the top stair landing, soaked in my own urine and oozing blood through the stump dressings.
If I had a gun I would have shot myself. It made sense. I was alone in the world and nobody gave a damn. I was 23 and dancing on bleeding stumps. What was the point?
You tell me, and I don’t want to hear no shit about redemption. You can believe what you taught yourself to believe. I never took those lessons. I never wore a Sunday Suit.”
“That was pretty straightforward and absolutely devoid of emotion.”
“Sometimes you have no choice but to face facts. I knew if I was going to eat I had to move. Or I could just lay here and die. It would be a slow death.
I heard some one knock on the door. No way I was going to make it down those stairs to answer the knock. I yelled as loud as I could,
“Come on in. I can’t make it to the door.
The door swung open and up the stairs bounded worn Levis and a pale blue silk shirt.
It was Mr. Smooth, Boz Scaggs himselfhttps://www.youtube.com/embed/I-hKBmTAADo?version=3&rel=1&showsearch=0&showinfo=1&iv_load_policy=1&fs=1&hl=en&autohide=2&wmode=transparent
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Chapter 14 – “How Much For The Pignose In The Window?”
“In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume.” ― Anne Rice
“People on the streets and in the clubs knew about your incident the next day. New Orleans isn’t that big.”
Jaco Candide grabbed my belt above both the pants pockets as Boz lifted me by the arms. They managed to get me situated on the couch and propped up with pillows. Jaco ran down the stairs and across the alley to ‘Louies’ and called his brother Mace who was an EMT. Mace and Jaco were on their way up the stairs with Lizzie Betts, 40 minutes later. Mace was carrying a box full of Kerlix, ABD’s, silk tape and a half bottle of Percocet.
Boz turned from the stove where he was heating water for tea.
“Why didn’t you call somebody before you left that hospital? You bout killed yourself wheeling that chair through the city. Theres a trail of blood from the Medical Center all the way to your door. When Jimmy Bellamy found out I was playing ‘The Torch Club’ this weekend, he called me in Atlanta and told me about your sorry ass. I got to town yesterday. You could have ridden from the hospital in the front seat of Jaco’s Eldorado.”
“I didn’t know anybody. I got no family. Now I got no legs and I can’t even play drums anymore. Shoulda left me to die at the top of the stairs you Son of a Bitch.”
Boz circled around Lizzie and Mace who were redressing my stumps. He set the cup of tea down on the corner table and leaned in toward my face until he connected with his eyes and then hauled off and slapped my face as hard as he could. I screamed in pain and my body jerked, slamming Lizzie in the face with a bloody stump. She dropped her Kerlix and bandage scissors.
“You Dumbass. Every musician that plays this city is family. Rosie G. has been on the phones for the last week. Now what hurts worse? Your legs or your face?”
“Right now my damn face is screaming you Son of a Bitch.”
“Good. Got your mind off your legs didn’t it? You haven’t got any legs now so stop whining about them. Me and Jaco got a show tonight. We have to get ready.”
Boz went over to the alley window and opened it all the way.
“Lizzie, if he’s still whining when you and Mace have to leave, dump him out the window. Too many people showed their heart for this little pissant cokehead to be bitching. We’ll save you two a table on the dance floor. Think you could sing a little backup for me tonight Lizzie. Wear black.”
Bayou Burger sports bar. Bourbon Street – sportsnews247.com
Rose Gaudio had an ear for the street. She was part owner of ‘The Cat’s Meow’. People in the bar, club and restaurant trade had an understanding with the Marcello family. Show respect but keep your distance. The Marcello’s had their hand in waste removal, liquor distribution, restaurant supplies and the local street hostess union. Never get in over your head or Eddie would set an example.
I thought I had nothing to lose. I was wrong.
Rose heard straight from Edzio himself what had happened. He walked in to the Cat’s Meow and pulled up a chair to Rose corner booth and lit a cigar. The big Samoan stood by the door.
“That little Cajun drummer boy . “Puh Rumpah Pumm Pumm’. He’s in the hospital. He got 15 grand in debt to me and couldn’t get out-of-the-way of Sammies bulldozer. Think he might lose his legs. They don’t look so good.”
Rose made some calls. That Saturday there was a benefit concert at The Torch Club. The Meters, Art Neville and Leon Russell rocked the joint until 3:00 am when Sheriff Bobby Chenier wiped the Johnny Walker from his lips with the back of his sleeve and nodded toward the clock. Bobby dropped a $50.00 in the jar on his way out the door.
Envelopes arrived from Jacksonville, Atlanta, Miami, Chicago, Detroit and Los Angeles. By Tuesday morning Rose had $38,000.00 in her pocketbook. She had her bartender Christy run $15,000.00 in cash to the office at Marcello’s Distribution. Debt paid.
Rose called Jaco to drive her to see me. She grabbed her pocketbook and leopard skin pillbox hat. She turned to look at the bandstand.
“Jaco, whose bass and amplifier is that?”
“It’s my practice kit Rose.”
“How much you want for it?”
“You know Rose, Nudie has got a short scale bass and a Pignose amp in his pawn shop window. Bet he’ll trade me straight up.”
“Good, Rafael can’t play drums with no legs.”
. . . . . .
“People don’t live in New Orleans because it is easy. They live here because they are incapable of living anywhere else in the just same way.” ― Ian McNulty
Rose had pulled up a ladder back chair next to the couch. Jaco was smoking a Camel as he pulled notes out of a short scale Danelectro bass that was plugged into a Pignose amp. It was the opening lines to Lowdown.
Rose wiped my forehead with a damp washcloth.
“You aren’t going to stuff any more of that powder up your nose. That’s a drug for a rich man, not some Motherless street hustler. I got a .22 in my purse if you are of a mind to finish what Eddie started. Because its a .22, probably take two head shots to finish the job so I’ll help you out with the second one.
Good Lord child. You need to find some purpose. We collected enough money to get you through the first 6 months and pay for someone to stop in and help you out for a month or so, feed you, tend to your dressings. Jaco got you a bass. Start practicing as soon as you can sit up.”
“Damn Rose, I like this little Danelectro. Don’t have to tighten the nut so much so the strings got a looser, funkier sound.”
“Don’t get any ideas Jaco. We got that bass for Rafael. You got three days to rise from the dead you little pissant or we’re going to start looking for a new Jesus. I heard Boz slapped the shit out of you. Did it wake you up? You sat in on his band once, just once. What’s that tell you?
I hired a guy to convert the garage behind The Cat’s Meow’s to an apartment for you. You need street level, you can’t stay here. He’ll put in a commode, a seated shower and one of those little refrigerators and a stove top at chair level. All the players in this town opened their hearts for you. Don’t let them down.”
. . . . . .
“That’s a story Rafael. You know Rose is the one that sent me to see you. Said if I wanted the flavor of the street to seek you out. Did you ever find that purpose?”
“Took a while. It was about 3 months before I could get out and about in my chair with any measure of comfort. Once I was mobile, Rose would hook me up with a couple of gigs playing bass in the clubs. But it was just too awkward. Bandstands are too small and there was no room to negotiate the chair. Rose stood in front of the bandstand at Louies one night. They had me stuck back behind the amps. No body could see me but it was the only place with room for the chair. After the first set, she wheeled me down to a corner table, pulled my head forward and kissed me on the forehead.”
“Sweetie, we have to come up with a new plan. How comfortable are you on the streets Baby?”
“I grew up on the streets Rose. I was hustling tourists in Grand Isle when I was 10. I lived in an alley my first 6 months in New Orleans.”
“Well we don’t need you hustling. You can’t run fast enough anymore. You play guitar?”
‘Not bad, but I could get better. Why?”
“Street musicians can make $500.00 a week if they have a good location. I got a place right out front of The Cat’s Meow’. Just have to move those two big planters out-of-the-way. Flowers are always dieing on me anyway. That way I’ll be able to keep my eye on you.”
“How long you been here Rafael?”
“Thirty years now.”
“Thirty years playing guitar in front of a French Quarter watering hole! That’s a heck of a gig.”
“More than that Dewey. I know everybody on these streets. I know the ones that belong, I know the ones just passing through and I know the ones desperate for a meal. Streets are no place for a child. I know. It’s where I started. Back before I cultivated a soul.
This city is a magnet for the dispossessed. Innocent souls hoping that a little of that Voo-Doo hoodoo will rub off on them. . . .I was the one in a Billion. But I had no guilt . . .saw no point to it, no soft spot, no open arms. I didn’t trust anybody until their essence washed over me. You see, there’s soul in every brick of this town. They got warehouses hidden down in the bowels of Front Street stashed to the roof with 50 gallon whiskey barrels full of soul. Funky soul. It seeps up between the cracks in the pavement. Resistance is futile.
This city saved me. They had to find my soul first. Musicians are a breed. They got timing in their DNA.
Rose booked Allen Toussaint for a weekend gig. He was in town to see his daughter. He had arranged the use of the upright in the back dining area. His daughter did not have a piano.
Rose arranged to have the piano tuned the week before Allen came to town. He was there from 8:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. for practice Monday until Friday. The room had sliding doors to provide privacy. June in New Orleans is unbearably muggy. Allen opened the row of windows that fronted the alley.
I heard that piano and it was magic. He played the same lines again and again but I didn’t tire of it. I rolled out to the front of The Cat and took my place. It was a short lunch crowd. I took a break early and wheeled back to the alley. He was still playing the same lines. I backed the chair into the shade.
About 3:00 he lowered the backboard and came through the alley door. He stood in the doorway and lit a cigar. He was wearing a suit that had been cut to his body, perfectly draped. His posture was erect and he possessed surprisingly wide shoulders. He reminded me of a very dignified George Jefferson.
He nodded at me, clipped the burning ash from his cigar and turned back into the room as he locked the door. I watched each of the six windows come down in turn.
At 8:00 the next morning, I was sitting in the alley as I watched each of the windows rise on its hinge. As he began to play, I sensed a change. He would play the line and then a micro millimeter of a pause would appear between notes 4 and 5. Then he would repeat with the same pacing. The pace would alternate but the underlying rhythm would not. The rhythm started ticking at the back of my skull.
So he wasn’t playing the same lines over and over. The same notes but the timing changed just slightly every time. One million two hundred and forty-two thousand different possible combinations laced into a twenty note opera.
I rolled into The Cat and got my Gibson from the Bandstand. I was taking the day off. I rolled back to the alley and found a good shady spot. I played the first line of Crazy on You. Then that micro millimeter between 4 and 5. Then 5 and 6. The piano had stopped playing. Toussaint was standing in the doorway and lighting his cigar. He glanced my way,
“Don’t stop. I’m figuring how to fill your voids. Maybe I won’t.”
He turned and closed the door.
I hadn’t taken a break since I had started my sidewalk gig. I wheeled over to Rose’s corner booth to let her know I was taking off until Saturday.”
“Taking a vacation in my back alley Rafael. Just remember that Allen shouldn’t be disturbed any more than necessary. He was listening to your guitar instead of his own piano yesterday. Allen meditates on all music. But that isn’t what he’s here for. Listen but show respect.”
Rose smiled at me and went back to her paperwork.
“At 8:00 a.m. I was in the alley with a pair of drumsticks. When Allen started playing, I kept time on my thighs. At 1:00 the door swung open. ”
“Rafael. why don’t you go and get your guitar and come in here and play with me. I need to play off someone. I need to feel a different energy.”
“Ever seen a wheelchair move like a water snake Dewey? I was in that back dining room faster than Usain Bolt. He’d have me play and he was doing fills. Allen Toussaint filling’ in on Rafael Thibault. That’s when I realized that there just may be a God after all. Allen finished about 3:30 and lowered the backboard. He turned and looked right at me for a while.”
“What did you learn Rafael?”
“To hear between the spaces. to let the sound flow out through my fingertips.”
He smiled.
“What did you learn with your eyes Rafael?”
“My eyes? I was concentrating with my ears Mr. Toussaint.”
“Rafael. People are like lines of music. You watch them closely enough and you start to see those subtle pauses. Those micro millimeter differences in personality and carriage. You start to see peoples soul.”
There were no words at that moment.
“Rafael, I won’t be here tomorrow so you should probably resume your place in front of The Cat. Your audience has probably missed you. I’m going to stop in and see a friend play tomorrow. I’ll be playing the Main Room on Friday and Saturday Night, maybe I’ll see you then. It was good to meet you.”
Allen Toussaint passed away-abyssjazz-com.jp
At 9:30 the next morning I wheeled my chair out to my spot between Rose’s planters. I picked out a few notes and then watched the sprinkling of tourists walking by. I saw Cajuns from Abbeville and vacationers from Ohio. And a couple of young girls hiding behind false bravado.
I went back to my song. The front door opened and Allen Toussaint walked out wearing a pale linen suit over a Cuban shirt. He was carrying a 5 gallon plastic pail. He sat the pail down next to me and settled in on the bottom. He smiled, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of drum sticks.
“You take the lead and I’ll fill in. I want to know what you see.”
“I already started doing that Allen. I saw 2 young girls with fear in their eyes and a swagger in their hips.”
‘How’d you feel about that?”
“Made me remember. Made me wonder if there might be a way to change the future.”
He nodded his head.
“What did you see Allen?”
“If I was to make a guess Rafael, I’d say I saw a soul taking it’s first steps.”
“Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.” ― José Saramago
Who knew? It was just a phone call away.
goose.jpg – whistledownthewiddotorg1.wordpress.com
Whistle Down The Wind 