The Hoosegow

September, 1987

Henry Deacon sits in the interrogation room in the police station, staring at the tiles. About five minutes ago he had a palm on his forehead, but that didn’t accomplish anything either. 

Nick has sighed a few times. 

Oh to be anywhere but here right now. Such a perfect fall day. Sun broke through the clouds early to take some sting out of the chill, the Bears were coming on at noon, then the phone rang. His one call. 

“They, um...they treatin’ you ok?”

Nick eventually nods. They had picked him up about five blocks from the church, with the other two, just strolling along in a daze.

“Have your folks been by yet?”

Deep breath. Shakes head.

Deke turns and faces him squarely. “You know I’ll do whatever I can, my bar is still good, but you realize you really fucked the pooch with both balls this time, doncha?”

Nick tears up and begins to sob. Deke reaches out and grips his arm with a huge reassuring hand.

Deke II

 Fall, 1986

"Thanks for taking on these leaves for me, getting so my knee doesn't enjoy the great outdoors like it used to."

"Not a problem Mr. Deacon"

"We're much obliged, Mr. Swanson - call me Deke or you're fired," he winks.

"Yes sir, Deke"

"And if you call me sir again i'll haul you into court, I'm still in the bar you know."

Nick just grins.

"That's more like it. Care to sit on the porch a while and rest up? How 'bout some ice tea?"

*****

"So what was the navy like?"

"Pssh, paperwork...I never set foot on a ship, if that's what you were thinking, it was just like being a very junior in a law firm, i did my stint then it was pretty clear to us all that I wasn't cut out for career military, no harm done. I couldn't be more thankful for it though, you can't ask for a better start. still i never even hung up my commission in an office, was just shy of making first lieutenant, it's in there somewhere, i should dig it out sometime. Kid, feel free to interrupt now and then, don't let an old man ramble on like this."

"No, it's interesting, the only professions i get to see revolve around electricity."

"So your dad works at the plant? I think your folks came by the firm once or twice for some routine stuff, can't remember they're names but they seemed super nice."

"Yeah they are. Ned and Irene, he's head of the lab. Mom has her hands full with us boys. And church."

"Ahh I see."

*****

 “So this Polanski, he teaches your Sunday school?”

“Sometimes, well, he used to, he just kinda fills in now when no one else can teach.”

“What does he do?”

“Works for the railroad i think, he’s out of town most of the week and sometimes on weekends”

"Railroad men. I know they have some of the best pensions you can get anywhere, put in your time and you're all set. So what's the deal, does he make you uncomfortable - if you don't mind me asking?"

“Yea, it’s weird, it’s, I dunno, less tense when he’s not there.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, he’s always looking out for blastphemy...

“Hold on a minute, did you say ‘BLAST-phemy’?”

“Yea, it’s when you speak badly of God”

“Right, Nick, I got that part, but I am almost certain that word has no T in it, it’s straight from Greek, blasS-phemy - you should really read more philosophy,” Deke grins.

“Oh. that’s how I've always heard it said. is there a T in Greek?”

“Yes there is a T, or tau, in the Greek alphabet but - hang on, let me look it up...” and he heads inside and comes out with a couple books.

"Don't the Greek letters have a number?"

"I believe so, yeah, in those days they didn't have separate numerals like we do."

"Our pastor mentioned that the Number of the Beast will be told in the name of whoever it turns out to be, the Antichrist. But then some people believe that stuff will only happen in Europe."

"I'm sure they both are correct, Nick. Here it is, the verb, βλασφημέω, 'I blaspheme', no tau to be found in there I'm afraid. But we're diving into the deep end here. Do you play any sports?"

"I ran track the past couple years."

"Any trophies?"

"Got a couple ribbons for invitationals."

"Which events?"

"Last year, seventh grade I just ran 100 meter dash and sucked at it, I mean -"

"I gotcha, go on."

"Well this past spring we had different coaches and they had me doing relays, so I got those ribbons. Tried some field events but it seems the practice was just standing around telling jokes."

"You are looking at the pole vault champion of my high school, which is not there any more. Was too damn busy in college, plus, what chance was there I'd top what I'd did when I's younger?"

They both laugh.

"I was going to do cross country but I couldn't keep up with the practice, they wanted 7 miles a day 4 times a week, I ain't got the poop."

"Yeah endurance is a different matter than the track runs. What was your 100 yard time?"

"This past year I hit twelve-eight, it was a fast heat, we were all booking it."

"Not bad, ever tried hurdles?"

"No, I would just rack myself."

Deke laughs till he coughs.

"Then i get this cramp when I sprint, in the front of this thigh, they told me to stretch it out but it doesn't help, so who knows."

"What's your best subject?"

"Probably science."

"Which kind are you doing this year?"

"Physical science, right now it's weights and measures."

"You got Heineman?"

"Every day."

"He's a great man, tell him I said so and he might go easy on ya."

"He's the best teacher ever, has a lot of rules but makes these little jokes here, during a test you just have to laugh and he looks up and grins."

"Love that guy, his humor kinda sneaks up on ya. He's a big dude, too, built like a tree trunk. I wonder if he still puffs those old cigars..."

"He would while watching track meets, his son is in my class."

"Good old Donnie."

 "Well, I think I'd better head home now, thanks for the tea."

"My pleasure, good talk, lemme get you some foldin' money before you go."

The Pitch

August, 1964

Outside, in Chicago, it’s humid and partly cloudy, and just inside the window Henry Deacon sits in a leather-backed armchair staring at the bubbly islands in his coffee. It’s damn good coffee. He shakes the cup a little, the bubbles hiss. The girl had just brewed a fresh pot when he arrived and he’s about halfway through, trying to stretch it out, too much makes for a trip down the hall and it’s kinda hard, this here’s some fine brew. 

It’s all part of the setup.

“So will you think about it, Deke?”

Henry looks up at Lew Meyer, who is probably just a year or two shy of getting his name on the building. “Oh I’m already thinking about it Lew”.

“It’ll do us both good.”

Deke looks up at him, then to the window. “So have you talked to the people there?”

“Sure I have, they’re really nice, they need us, Henry.”

“They need a wise-ass and an old fart to come solve their problems? Lew, we’re not talking city folk here, either -"

“Hey now I resent that remark...I’m not old, Henry.”

They exchange wry grins.

"And I've never been that far out of town, can they handle...different?"

"Henry...look, I've been there a few times and didn't see any white hoods, if that's what you mean -"

"Well -"

"Just, you don't have to unpack right away if you're that concerned, but I did casually mention your race, I hope that's OK, and people seemed intrigued actually-"

"So I'll be a novelty."

"Is that so bad?"

Deke looks at his mug for a few moments. “Is the coffee this good there, Lew?”

“If you want it to be, we’ll just have to make it ourselves.”

Deke smiles. “Is Deborah on board with this?”

“She’s....curious, I’d say. Not excited but I get the feeling she wouldn’t mind a change, an adventure. How about you, any reason to stick around? Any...two-legged reason in particular?”

“Oh no, Lew, c’mon...” He laughs, “Naw, nothing goin on like that, just, you know, all I’ve known is the city and the navy, hell, even stuck around here for school.”

“And from what I hear they did a good job.”

Deke smiled and slipped down the last of the coffee. “How soon do you need an up or down?”

“Give me a call in a couple days, we’ll have you over for supper later in the week.”

“Sounds good, Lew, will do,” as he leans in for a handshake.

Makes His Own Gravy

April, 1985

His bike had really brought him this far, to her house, out on a country lane. Jennifer was two years older but she didn’t seem to mind. He was fun to look at, she told him once, after they held a gaze as she walked along a log at a youth event. 

Today he had a log alright, beneath those thin black shorts everyone wore these days. Once they walked back toward the barn, not a sound to be heard, cars rarely passed, she’s tall blond and buxom, her mom wasn’t home. He didn’t feel right disappearing into the old structure, maybe it wasn’t safe, or he wasn’t ready, so he stood guard by the window, which had never held glass. They were talking about something and suddenly he feels a hand on it.

She keeps talking and he tries to, she reaches beneath and he jumps, she giggles, it’s okay, she knows what to do. So much pent up inside but still too shocked to let it out. She kneels down and takes it into her mouth, it’s indescribable, is this happening, he loses bearings then that feeling settles in, it was over so quickly.

She leads him into the barn and strips down, and he stares into the nebula, hairs and limbs surrounding the galactic core, just like in those magazines you find alongside the road, so intriguing and frightening at once, and he feels her hands pulling his face closer and closer, but he feels smothered, then his mother’s voice rings clear,

“NICK THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING, we are NOT going to be late for church!”

He turns his head sideways in the pillow and resumes breathing, heart racing, head muddy as adrenaline had begun to battle the inevitable drowsiness. He has absolutely no idea how to deal with the mess that glued him to the mattress.

Bain II

 THINK YOU CAN ROCK N ROLL 

YOUR WAY INTO HEAVEN? 

THINK AGAIN! 

SPECIAL SPEAKER THIS SUN

The marquee sign outside Cavalry Bible Church had caught Everett’s eye each time he passed it on the way to his Radio Shack store, “his” as in franchisee. While a hard worker at heart, he has developed a reverence for his accomplishments, an investment born and nurtured, takes its first steps and before long just needs occasional attention. Jameson is just one of a dozen he started or inherited over the years, first as a side hobby until it started holding it’s own, enough for Bain to a less time at the realtor’s and more time roaming around to visit the fruit of his loins, as it were.

Sometimes it’s in obedience to some corporate mandate, although he tries to stay ahead of that game. Usually he just wants in on the action, be subdued by the aroma of fresh blister-packaged merchandise and treat his managers to some free labor. Bain’s not really one to second guess them unless his nose and gut coincide, and so far that’s only been once. 

At one of his early stores he brought in some hotshot on a strong referral, able to start on short notice, so Bain figured he’d fill the hole and ask questions later. After a couple of visits he snuck a peek at the books, which led him to the unthinkable, actually popping in unannounced at closing time one night while the assistant locked up. Turns out his quick hire had been shaving profits in an attempt at a short-term loan and would have pulled it off had he not been such a dumbass about it. To boot, such a feat could have secretly won Bain’s heartfelt admiration in the process.

Everett assigns respect for his fellow man to the degree that he can satisfy the Eleventh Commandment: Don’t Get Caught. Not that one should have to operate above the law to conduct his business, but if you’re gonna fuck around, at least do us all a favor and finish well. And quietly, at that. His nose and gut have a running bet that there’s someone, at least one tired soul, on any given day, who wishes their life that a certain headline would be excused from the evening paper.

In the hotel room that Saturday night he’s on the phone with a lady friend as she corrals her kids a few counties over. She gives him a hard time when he mentions going to church, but that’s about it. Bain rarely feels the need to explain his reasons, there was just something about that sign, the implied conflict of interest between a form of expression and one’s eternal security. And the more he thinks about it the more hilarious it becomes.

The next morning, on the opposite end of the back pew he could swear one of the high school punks looks familiar. How he envies their potential.

On the way out he’s treated to a heaping earful from Dan Aldwin and responds with a polite sneer.

Paps

 “Good morning Mr. Swanson, and we seem to have the wrong birthday on here, you look great for 74.”

“Are you kidding?  He’s only 28, he looks like hell.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth boy, I shoulda thrown you in a bucket of water when you were small enough.”

“It was nice for you to bring him in, Nick, is he always this pleasant?”

“Oh we have our fun don’t we Nicky?”

“Yeah, he ain’t that bad for such an old fart,” Nick says with a wry grin.

“I’ll drink to that!”

“Mr. Swanson, have you been drinking?” the doc asks knowingly.

“Sure I drink water, milk, juice...” he responds knowingly.

“anything...else?”

“Howbout a beer now and then?”

“I’d prefer a glass of wine, but one or two brews at a time should be fine, as long as your blood pressure can take it.”

“Doc, the real question whether the world can handle my blood pressure.”

“Ba-dum CRASSSHHHH” says Nick.

“Hear that?  Twenty THOUSAND comedians outta work...”

“Thank yewww thank yewww, I’ll be here all week...”

“God, please, my blood pressure can’t take it”

“Well let’s get your vitals - have you had your prostate checked in a while?”

“What prostate?”

“Ahh, here it is, ten years ago, damn you’re doin my job for me!”

“Well I don’t stick my finger up there if that’s what you mean.”

“Alright gimme time, I’ll find something wrong with you”

“Better get my wife in here and save some time.”

“Alright Nick you mind stepping outside, I need to have a te ta tet with your granddad.”

Nick looks over as if to get approval, and notes a bit of concern in the old salt’s eyes, then says, “Sure, doc” and steps out into the waiting room.

Feesus

 Nick spent most of the evening raking leaves for Edith Harnesveger as he had done the past couple of autumns, a ancient but kind soul who’s mud-gray hair his mom would sometimes put into curlers on Saturday afternoon. And so, it turned out she paid handsomely for a strong young man to line the front of her yard with Hefty bags for pickup on Tuesdays. But it was good thinking time with few distractions, even as some of the jock-types drove around in their Cutlasses and kids played in the neighbor's yard to the tune of teeny bop on a boombox. All that and twenty bucks a week.

He still chuckles at his first such encounter with Mrs. H back in eighth grade, standing just outside the patio door in a dark blue shawl, scarf, black skirt, knee-highs and clunky black shoes she cast the vision of clearing the lawn each week as the enormous maples shed their foliage, pretty much what he expected until at some point there was brief mention of feesus.   

“Be sure to watch for the feesus under the leaves, I don’t want your poor mother to have to deal with that.”  

Rather than asking what she meant he just nodded, then for the proceeding hours looked under every single leaf for the mysterious substance - or was it a life form? - only to find the occasional twig or, ironically, a dry dog turd. He finally gets home near 9 on a Friday night and asks his parents “what’s feesus”.  It would be ten minutes, literally, and several trips back into the living room after changing into house clothes before they could regain composure enough to even attempt a reply.

So, in the past couple of years he tries to preempt her by saying “and I’ll watch out for the feesus,” although, so far it’s only triggered an approving grunt before she hobbles back inside to watch Pat Sajak through a scratched-up acrylic magnifier.