Tag: veterans

Poodie James

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excerpt

This was bound to be about the Poodie James story. Sonny’s face
was reddening. That meant they had a problem, but Sonny ran the
newsroom. She would not jump in. She reached for the pile of budget
sheets on her desk and got back to work, envying the editor and
reporter wrestling with a story. My god, would the price of newsprint
ever stabilize? She sank into the pages of figures, enjoying the whir
and the rhythm as she cranked the handle of the adding machine.
“Got a minute?” Winifred looked up at Sonny standing in her
doorway, with Pease a step behind him. “Ned has something you
ought to know about.” She pushed the budget aside.
“Well, Ned,” she said after she had heard Pease’s story, “nice
work, I must say. Poor George Pearson, carrying that around all
these years. But we can’t go with it. Sonny is right, it’s hearsay. The
hobo, Clarkson, thinks he saw Torgerson that night. You say
Clarkson told you Torgerson denied it. This certainly could
explain the mayor’s hatred of Poodie James, but we need the other
man to confirm Pearson’s story. Even then, Torgerson may not
confess. Have you gone back to Pearson to try to get the name?”
“Yes. He’s terrified,” Pease said. He won’t tell me any more. I
think he has visions of prison. He probably doesn’t know the statute
of limitations on assault.“
“More likely he has visions of his reputation and his business
going to hell,” Sonny said. “And he has a point.”
“I don’t know any other way to find out who was with
Torgerson and Pearson that night,” Pease said.
Winifred straightened up and fixed her gaze on the middle distance.
“I think I might,” she said after a few seconds. She pulled a
scrap of paper from a desk drawer, reached for the telephone,
propped the handset on her shoulder, started dialing and shooed
the men out of her office. They watched from Sonny’s desk. After
she hung up, she waved them back in.
“Ned,” she said, “you’re about to meet your first madam.” She
gave him a look of appraisal. “I hope she’s your first.”

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

A widower, Dwayne Levine was the recipient of a disabled
worker’s pension. Those who had observed him flinging heavy
engine parts around his yard or stumbling home from the Kingsway
Pub most nights viewed with suspicion his claim of an irreparable
lower disc. Few car club members knew—as my pal O’Donnell did,
living across the alley from Ed’s garage—that Mr. Levine routinely
took the Dodge out after midnight. He also disappeared with it on
those occasions when a member was ill and the car at rest. He was
something of a philanthropist with the housewives, Mr. Levine was,
often loitering in the Shop Eazy parking lot offering free deliveries.
– Boys everywhere love two things, Dwayne Levine philosophized:
girls and cars. His sobs had been reduced to a snivel with a
second complimentary wedge of pie.
– If we had what these young fellas have today, he said, the war
never would have happened!
Back on patrol, Mahoney aired another possibility.
– I say the club’s a front for some kind of gangland activity.
Maybe one of us should go undercover. Whaddya think?
– Spit it all out, Mahoney! barked the senior policeman. The Huns
are scaling the walls!
– One of us — me, I guess — could pose as a potential buyer. I
could ask to see the vehicle up close. Maybe get inside the garage
without a search warrant.
The sergeant feared for the future knowing the likes of Mahoney
represented the next generation of law enforcement, although he
agreed the need for a search warrant was the most damaging invention
since the right to silence.
– People in this part of town, McManus reminded his young partner,
distrust strangers with crewcuts and the physique of a footballer.
Besides, he added, perhaps you hadn’t noticed? The Dodge
isn’t for sale!
McManus allowed himself a moment to despair.
– An Indian shaman said the Creator gave us two eyes, two ears
and one mouth, Mahoney. He reminds you of this so that you might
observe and listen twice as much as you talk.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

– I guess we better get going, I said. We don’t wanna miss our rendezvous.
Burt didn’t budge. Finally he said, Ain’t gonna be no rendezvous.
He loosened the flaps of his pack and spilled its contents.
River rock. I dumped mine — the same.
– What’s going on, Burt?
– Ain’t no satellite receiver, little brother. Those two buggered off
long ago. And look, he said, fingering the napkin map and peering
over the edge into the ravine. They were hoping we’d have ourselves
a little accident.
– But this cable! And the TV store!
Burt chuckled. The van was leased, he said. The TV store was
rented by the month.
I still wasn’t convinced.
– I was checking on my stash one night when I overheard the two
of them talking. It was all Swanson’s idea. He’s done this before.
Bud’s his stooge.
– And?
– I told the cops everything. Those two are probably in cuffs by
now.
Burt removed a nylon bag from his pack.
– Open it, he said.
It was stuffed with paper money, and plenty of it.
– Explain, Burt . . .
– While Bud was trying to find mine, I was looking for his. A couple
of times we almost bumped into each other. With a little help
from a friend, I found his first. All the share money, his cut of the TV
sales.
My brother separated the money into three piles and pointed to
the tallest. The bills were stacked like a column of Chinese characters.
– I figure we’d turn this in, he said. It belongs to Aunt Peggy and
the others. But this one—he stuffed the second pile into the pack—
is ours. After all, folks have their TVs.
– And the third?
– That’s for cousin Mark. A reward. He’s the one found a couple
of Bud’s chewed-up toothpicks down by the river and suggested we
start digging.

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Poodie James

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excerpt

“I’m glad to see you’re not hiding, Mr. Clarkson,” Pease said.
Fred hoisted himself up on an elbow and regarded the young
man. “Not hiding and still not talking about myself,” he said.
“I thought perhaps you’d be willing to confirm what I found out
about your background before we go with the story. It was fairly
simple to trace you through the state bar association. You had an
impressive career in the law.”
“Now, why would anyone care about that, Mr. Pease? It’s
ancient history.”
“I suppose no one would care if you hadn’t made yourself a hero
in the train rescue and come so eloquently to the defense of Poodie
James at the council hearing.”
Engine Fred indicated the captain’s chair. “Have a seat. I’ve been
thinking of something that might interest your readers far more than
anything you could write about this old hobo. Want to hear about it?”
“Do I sense the offer of a deal?” Pease said.
Fred’s eyebrows went up. “Does that offend your journalistic
sensibilities?”
“It depends on the nature of the deal and the quality of the
information,” Pease said.
Fred fell silent while he studied Pease’s schoolboy face, its earnestness,
its shock of hair over the forehead, the glasses losing their
struggle to stay in place. Pease returned his gaze without moving
his eyes, without a flicker of expression.
“Do you know the story of Poodie James being attacked and
beaten shortly after he moved to this valley?” Fred said.
“As of two days ago, I do,” Pease told him. “Winifred Stone told
me about it shortly before the council hearing. She directed me to
the clipping in our morgue. Sketchy story. Not much to go on. It’s
interesting that someone was attacking hobos around the same
time. 1927, a long time ago.”
“Matter of perspective,” Engine Fred said. “Seems like yesterday.
Still, it’s been sketchy for me, too, until recently.”
Pease looked at Fred, saying nothing, waiting.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Every couple of days Swanson visited Aunt Peggy’s. He and Bud held
court at the kitchen table. They fell silent if any of us came too close.
Most evenings Burt retreated to a spot on the river and helped
Mark with his knots. A fear of cougars prevented me from joining
them.
One night Swanson and Bud asked to talk with us. They waited
until our cousin was asleep.
– We’re gonna hook up the receiver on Sunday, Bud said.
– What of it? Burt said. We’ve got a TV back home.
– We’ll need assistants.
– Paying top dollar, Bud said. Up to it?
– Why tell us? Burt sparred. We’re students. On vacation.
–We’ve had dozens of applications, Swanson said.He removed his
cowboy hat. There was a wart above one eye looked like a ladybug.
– We don’t know nothing about receivers, I said. We don’t even
know what one looks like.
– You boys ever heard of the Sherpas? Swanson asked. They help
climbers in the Himalayas.
– Think it over, boys, Bud said. It’s a great opportunity.
After Swanson had left, our aunt scouring dishes, Bud leaned into
Burt and said, Jails are full of punks like you.
He slid a fresh toothpick into his cheek, then quickly removed it
again.
– One night changes their whole outlook. Get my meaning?
– I was 14. I didn’t.
Burt wedged one of Bud’s toothpicks between his lips.
– That the reason, Uncle Bud, you walk like a girl?
Pork Chop Hill seemed considerably steeper standing in a pasture at
its base than it did from downtown Coppermine. Its flanks were
dressed in dense old growth, the highest point smothered in cloud.
A hundred people must have turned up to see us off. A photographer
from the Gazette snapped photos; the school band did its best.
Flatulent cows grazed lazily amongst the muddy pickups.
Swanson reiterated our tasks. He and Bud, carrying sensitive…

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Poodie James

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excerpt

“There’s no mistaking it, Mr. Mayor. I saw your face for fully
half a minute before you bucked me off and made your escape. I
have never forgotten your eyes, your distinctive eyes. I thought I
recognized you from the back of the hall when you spoke, but I had
to be certain. You know, indeed you know, what I’m talking
about.”
Torgerson glared across his desk at Engine Fred. “You expect
people to believe something dredged up from twenty years ago?”
Fred smiled. “I didn’t say how long ago it was, but your memory
is fairly accurate. It has been twenty-one years. Poodie James and I
were discussing it just this morning. As for people believing it, I
hope that it won’t be necessary for anyone to know. That includes
Poodie.”
“What do you mean?” Torgerson said.
“Poodie doesn’t know who beat him up. He doesn’t know who
attacked Old Sam, and he doesn’t know, as he puts it so simply,
why you don’t like him.”
Glowering at Engine Fred, Torgerson said, “I could have you
thrown out of here.”
“Yes, you could.”
Torgerson got up, turned around and stood looking at cars passing
on the street below. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know why you beat Poodie James when you were a
young man. I don’t know why you are persecuting him now. It
doesn’t matter. I want you to leave him alone, Mr. Torgerson. Just
leave him alone.”
Torgerson spun around and leaned across the desk. “I’ll tell you
why, mister. Because he’s a freak, an unclean little freak. He contaminates
the town. He should have left after he got his warning, but he
stayed here, dragging that wagon around, rummaging through peoples’
garbage, bothering children. All those things you said in the
hearing, all those things Gritzinger said, that’s crap. Poodie James is
nothing but a bum and a beggar. He’s bad for the town.”

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Dennis was a top student, the school rep at the Science Fair.
Afternoons he skinned cats.
– Whatcha watching?
– Show about bugs, replied young Ronnie. Fucking stupid.
Dennis whispered, Got any smoke?
Mrs. Stinson appeared, a towel around her head. Beads of hair
colouring sluiced across her forehead.
– Burt still not going to Aunt Peggy’s? she asked.
The only way the Stinsons could have known about Burt’s recalcitrance
was if someone had told them. Someone like Mom.
Times like that I’d get these pictures in my head. I could see Al
Stinson disguising his voice and mumbling threats into a telephone,
the three conspirators having a good laugh afterwards. My brother
knew about my visions. He figured I had psychic powers.
Aunt Peggy was waiting for us at the bus station. With her was Bud,
the latest boyfriend, and Mark, our cousin.
Bud walked bull-legged and sucked on a toothpick. Mark was an
awkward 12-year-old with eyes the colour of blue marbles. Aunt
Peggy said he wore his cub uniform everywhere.
– Are you a Sixer yet? asked Burt. Before developing other interests,
my brother had been a pack leader himself.
– I need one more badge, Mark said. Knots.
The five of us squeezed into the cab of Bud’s pickup. Mark and his
dripping Popsicle sat on my lap.
Bud said, Don’t blink, fellas, you’ll miss the highlights.
The town of Coppermine was divided by the Similkameen River,
a marauding deluge of glacier-cold aqua roaring through a steep
gorge. Mountains loomed on all sides, leaving the few thousand residents
in shade for all but a couple of hours a day. The mountains
also blocked TV reception.
A bridge joined the wealthier west side of town with the poorer
east. The narrow wooden span was a popular meeting spot for teens.
A resentful congregation dissolved at our crossing.
– That road there, said Aunt Peggy, indicating a gap in the trees,
leads to the Cherry Creek Indian Reserve. They say all this land
belongs to them.

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Poodie James

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excerpt

“I came here to say what I know about hobos.You have been
told that we mean no harm. I believe that we cause none.”
Engine Fred paused to look at Stout. “No more harm than most
people do, and less than some.” He turned toward Torgerson and
halted again.
The room was suspended in silence.
“But now, this hearing about hobos turns into an attack on the
best, the bravest man I have known. He came to help after the train
ran off the tracks near the hobo jungle. If he hadn’t, I could not
have got the engineer out of the cab. I probably would have been
blown up trying. Mr. Stout says that Poodie James is my accomplice.
He says that Mr. James and I caused the train wreck so that
we could make ourselves look good. That is offensive, Mr. Stout. It
is also slanderous.”
The fat on Stout’s face quivered as he ratcheted his head in
Torgerson’s directon and back to Engine Fred.
“’If,’ I said. That’s what I said, ‘If.’ I was only raising a possibility.”
Stout’s voice had lost some of its vigor.
Engine Fred took a step in Stout’s direction. “That is the
defense of a bully and a coward. You made an accusation, Mr.
Stout.” He looked at Torgerson. “It did not occur to you that the
hobo or his accomplice would defend against it.”
He’s even better than I remembered, Sam Winter thought.
“Mr. Clarkson,” Spear’s voice cut through the tension, “under
the hearing rules, you may make a statement and answer questions.
You may not engage in debate.”
“Mr. Spear,” Engine Fred said, with the trace of a smile, “you’re
trying to be fair, of course. I’ll observe the rule.” He stepped back to
the lectern.
“I told the council that Poodie James is the bravest man I have
known. That is so not because he risked his life to save someone. It is
so because under circumstances that would defeat most of us, he lives
his life with independence, dignity and joy. He does not accept charity
and he does not seek institutional help. He makes his own way, gathering
and selling discarded newspapers and bottles.

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Small Change

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excerpt

As he comes up off the beach road and turns into Andrews
Street,
he is surprised by voices. To his right, the spacious
yard of the Simone
place is crowded with people. Strings of lights from the trees to the
outdoor kitchen swing in the light breeze. He feels a twinge of discomfort.
If they should see him they will insist that he come in, and the moment
he has timed his return for will be lost… But no, they are surrounded by
lights, food, music; they are having a good time; they will not notice his
brief shape in the night.
As soon as he enters the house he knows it is empty.
There is a note on the kitchen table.
Dearest Rico,
We are all at the Simone’s across the street. Please come.
Your loving mother,
Andrea
He returns to the darkened living room and sits in the big, soft
chair. Should he go over and ask Marianna to come back with him? They
will want to know why. They will smile and wonder and tease and he will
have to admit… he will have to say… and they will make fun of him, they
will think he is a crazy kid.
He remembers that his aunt always practises
her piano just after
dark and as he consoles himself
with that thought he hears footsteps on
the gravel walk outside.
The door opens and Marianna stands for a moment looking
puzzled. “Rico!” she says, “What are you doing sitting here in the dark.
Didn’t you see the note? Oh, I’m so sorry. You must have thought we all
abandoned you.”
He gets down out of the chair. She comes to where he is standing
and gives him a hug. Without meaning to, he stiffens.
She backs away and
looks down at him, her head tilted to one side.
“What’s wrong, caro? Are you all right?”
He doesn’t know what to say at first, then he goes to the piano
bench and opens it. He takes out the papers he has worked on and holds
them up to her. Suddenly he feels very small, and scared and shy.
She reaches down and smoothes his hair.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

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She was waiting for a table in a Nassau restaurant, a frumpy, frazzled
woman with a peeling snout, saying to him, Haven’t I seen you
on the Sunrise?
They’d returned from the shore excursion together, he lugging
her shopping bags while she propelled her wheel-chaired mother
along the island’s potted beach road. Later that night she turned
up at the piano bar, drained a Mint Julep, then exited. Buddy
sought her out the following day. She invited him along to a lecture
on seabirds.
– Remember what the boss say, Sam cautioned.
The cruise line had always been ambiguous about the help fraternizing
with guests. Inappropriate friendships, as such romances were
called, could be cause for dismissal. But if shipboard dalliances
resulted in the booking of additional holidays— if a passenger went
home with a smile on her face—who’d complain?
This woman wore unfashionable clothes, sensible shoes and little
makeup. While others took elaborate measures to conceal
their weight, she flaunted hers. Had he passed her on the street
Buddy wouldn’t have afforded her a second look. Yet in her presence,
that sunburned nose, the nectar breath, she wielded the
power of a sorceress. For the first time in his life the piano player
was beguiled.
– This one, he confided in Sam, is different.
One morning over coffee he was doodling on a coaster. As though
in a trance, he wrote, Her eyes look inside my head and see everything.
He underlined the last word.
At the card table behind the engine room they had a diagnosis for
Buddy’s affliction: Man Overboard. It’s what they called it when a
player fell for a passenger. So named since a despondent Filipino
waiter, having been rebuked by a flirtatious diner, jumped from …

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