By: Sandra McDow Jimmy awoke to the cacophony of terrified turkeys. He opened one sleep-crusted eye and peered out the window. They were unloading crates of turkeys from an old Ford flatbed onto the receiving dock at the turkey plant across the highway from the bar. Damn! So much for sleeping late the first day of summer vacation. Damn, damn, damn! He didn't mind having no school. Although he liked learning new things, words and the like, he hated always being the butt-smallest boy in the sixth-grade class, crummy clothes, single- mom jokes, derision, mockery and shoving served up daily along with spelling and geography. He used to tell kids that his dad had joined up and got killed fighting the Japs in the war. But everyone knew different-knew everything. Ma always said everyone knew everyone else's business in Elkton, that's just how is in a small town, get used to it. He hated it. Jimmy stuffed his sheets and blankets into the space beneath and folded the davenport back up into a couch before he tiptoed to the refrigerator across the room. Opening the door, he was assaulted by the odor of sour milk and rancid butter. Closing the door, he turned to the single cupboard beside the three-burner stove, very quietly opening it, pausing and frowning when the hinge squeaked. Listened. "Gotta be quiet! She needs her beauty sleep," he muttered in a parody of his mother's whiny morning voice, "yeah, right! Beauty sleep." He found a box of stale Kix in the cupboard, grabbed a handful and munched from one hand as he sorted through his pile of dirty clothes with the other. Needed something light to wear-looks like it's gonna' be a scorcher. ## He descended the outside steps on the highway side of the old redbrick building, yawning, tucking in his shirt, and perusing the highway, first to the south and then the north. Not much happening this time of day: A few trucks headed south to the California border and north to Portland and Seattle, a couple of pickups groaning with crates of turkeys pulling in to unload, a Greyhound loading at the depot it shared with the train across the highway from Main Street. Folks rode the dog a lot, since gas rationing, tire shortages, those kinds of things. Still had to have coupons for lots of things. ## The bell tinkled as Jimmy entered the Steens' drugstore. Blinking slightly to adjust to the dim interior he saw ol' man Steens and Fred Hand huddled over a checkerboard at the end of the counter. Turk stood watching the game, looming over them like a blue-uniformed monolith. They looked at the door in unison at the sound of the bell. "It's Belle's no-'count son," murmured Fred, "wonder what he's up to now." "Have to watch that kid all the time," snorted Turk softly, "he's always just one step ahead of trouble." The other two nodded their agreement as Mr. Steens arose and approached the front of the store. Jimmy sauntered along the wall displaying men's grooming products, nonchalantly fingering some Old Spice and Vitalis before he wandered over and seated himself at the fountain. He wistfully eyed the round, paper barrels of ice cream in the long freezer behind the counter. Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Mr. Steens was good for a free cone. "Help you?" Mr. Steens approached Jimmy skeptically, deeming him to have no money. "Just came in to get out of the heat." Jimmy grinned his appealing little boy grin and turned on the stool to look out at Main Street. "Not much going on today. Too hot." Mr. Steens grunted his agreement and returned to the checkerboard sitting down with his back to Jimmy. "Belle never has time to keep that boy busy. Someday he's going to find himself some real trouble," he observed softly. "Yeah. She's always busy tending to her customers. Kid's pretty much on his own," Turk opined. "Humph," Fred chimed in a little louder, "got round heels, that one. What d'ya expect? Your move." Jimmy turned his back to the group, seeming not to listen, staring out at the heat waves rising off the street. Too hot to get mad. Then he looked again. A bright red convertible, top down, turned east onto Main Street from the highway. Strange cars rarely turned off into town, and never ever a new, red convertible. Too soon after the war for anything new around here, let alone a convertible. As it proceeded slowly east, his eyes widened. "See you guys later," his words rang over his shoulder to the checker players and he was out the door. He walked fast, half trotting, up the street trailing behind the convertible, watching carefully to see where it would stop. It pulled over and parked at Miz Campbell's place. The driver, who looked vaguely familiar, went up to her front door and knocked. Ol' Miz Campbell stood behind the screen door using it like a shield. She frowned at the sight of the driver. "What're you doing around here? Thought we'd seen the last of you! Whatd'ya want?" The driver, smiling winningly, replied, "Howdy do to you too, Ma'am. You still letting rooms? Me and my partner gonna' be in town a couple days-sure could use a nice place to stay." She reluctantly allowed as how she did still rent rooms. "I only got one. It's got a double bed. You'd have to bunk together-twenty dollars for the week-cash, in advance!" "Done!" The driver, smiling broadly and turning back to the convertible, beckoned to his partner, "Bring the suitcases." Jimmy, making himself an unobtrusive shadow, got close enough to witness this transaction and then backtracked, cutting through the alley that bordered Miz Campbell's back yard. He crept through the yard to the back door, peering cautiously through the screen into the hall. Yes! She had rented them the back south room, the one with the two high, small windows. Jimmy carefully moved the water barrel that she kept under the downspout to capture rainwater for the garden just a little to the right, grabbed the windowsill and eased himself up to the barrel rim. He teetered and balanced himself on the edge of the barrel and checked the left-hand window. All Right! While open to catch any errant breeze, it provided a perfect vantage point. He could just peek over the windowsill and hear everything that went on. Just like other times. He had learned a lot about people from that room. Inside the room, the driver was making a satisfied smile as he removed a long, extra-heavy duty extension cord from one of the suitcases and coiled it around his arm and then gathered up extra drill bits with his other hand. "I been planning this heist for a long time. Got a score to settle with the chief." Jimmy's eyes got wider--he knew that voice from a long time ago! He sucked in his breath and listened harder. "You really sure this is gonna' work," the bearded young sidekick fretted. "Yea, 'sa piece a cake! Small little burg, only one cop, and he closes up shop around eight. He rings that stupid curfew bell, stops by Belle's for a nightcap with the boys and heads home. Regular as clockwork. It would probably take an earthquake to wake him up after he's knocked back a few and crawled into the sack." "You mean he's kinda' easy - dumb like?" "Not exactly. He's a big, mean sumbitch, used to wrestle on the circuit. Played baseball here'bouts. Called 'Turk.' Ain't too dumb--he busted me, my first time around. Time he gets his!" "We can get in and out without him knowin'? You sure? Sounds kinda' like he could be a problem." "Like I said, piece a' cake. The dough gets delivered Friday afternoon, sits in the bank all weekend. Gets picked up Monday by the turkey plant boss. That dude's in for a surprise-- so are all those turkey-pickin' hicks when they line up for their pay," the driver sneered. ## Wow! Jimmy jumped off the barrel, centered it carefully back under the downspout and headed for the alley, breaking into a run as he turned into it, heading toward the bar. Bursting in through the rear door he called out, "Mom, Ma! Guess what? I saw a fella' looks like Pa-think it was Pa! Yeah, it was Pa, for sure! He's back in town an' he's got a plan! He's gonna' do something called a "haste," or something!" Belle looked up, balancing a tray of clean glasses with one hand, pausing before placing them one at a time on the shelf behind the bar with the other. "You saw WHO? You sure? Not likely your Pa would come back here-and if he is back in town he's up to no good! You stay the hell away from him," her response came in an angry staccato. Then she snorted, "you wouldn't know him if he hit you up 'side the head. What makes you think it's really him?" "I know," Jimmy stated with a little less certainty. Eight years ago, when Pa left, he took his guns and Butch, his Coon Hound. He left overdue bills, deadbeat friends, Ma and Jimmy, his four-year old son. Afterward, Jimmy was pretty lonesome. He had wished his dad was still around and spent a lot of time looking for him, watching for him, wondering what he had done wrong, how he had been so bad as to make Pa leave. Since that time he thought about Pa a lot, trying to remember him, his gruff voice, smells of tobacco, stale beer, and sometimes the outdoors. "For sure, it's him. He's got this guy with him- youngish, got a pointy little beard. Was wearing dark glasses. They got a "47 Studie Commander-a convertible! Just like the one I saw in the Post, 'cept it's red. Saw them take a room over at ol' Miz Campbell's-least it looked like they were gonna'." "Well, if it is your Pa, you just steer clear. Don't want you having anything to do with him or one of his plans!" Ma look-the one that meant business-no backtalk! |
"Yeah, OK, Ma," Jimmy reluctantly acquiesced. Dropping his head and hunching his shoulders he headed up the inner stairs to their rooms above the bar.
## Safely in the small apartment, he picked up a tattered copy of "Captain Marvel" tearfully flipping through it; when he came to the torn page he tossed it back on the pile of pulps and grabbed one of Ma's well-thumbed True Stories, flopped on her bed and began to leaf through mostly looking at the pictures. The pictures were best-lots of women with clotty looking eyelashes like Ma's when she brushed on Maybelline before she went to work and big boobs-big boobs were supposed to be good-better to look at than his funny books. One story mentioned Robert Mitchum, "The Truth About Reefers." Puzzling title. What's a "reefer"? The words were kind of hard to read, his eyes were still blurry-like from his unshed tears. He rubbed them while pondering the story. Better. Tried to read more in the fading afternoon light, "Before the war you could buy two cigarettes for a quarter. Today they usually cost fifty cents each, sometimes a dollar . . .." Looked like the war had changed a lot of things. Even Camels were up. Periodically he glanced out the window, watching the slow progress of the sun sinking behind the hills west of town. He heard the farmers and truckers begin to wander in for their after-work beer. They were all old guys. None of the young men had returned from the war, except for those in caskets. He heard Ma jollying them along, taking orders, giving as good as she got. When his stomach began to growl he got up and checked the fridge. Nothing much to eat. The six-pack of Lucky Lager was verboten-a word Ma used when she was saying "no." The butter was gone, replaced by a lone boiled egg. He settled for the egg, bypassing a lump of greenish cheese that had migrated up from the bar sometime during the day and the sour-smelling milk, and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the table. One thing about the bar, it had good peanuts. ## Later Jimmy crouched at the head of the stairs above the bar. Belle was below, busy pouring drinks, kibitzing with the farmers, truckers and locals. "What's so damned funny about that," he muttered, puzzling over a comment that had elicited a roar of laughter below. He cocked his head and listened harder to the snatches of laughter and banter drifting up from downstairs. The air was filled with raucous exchanges and innuendoes. He sat there very still until he heard the curfew bell. Ol' Turk had found the bell at an auction, bought it, installed it over the police station, and unilaterally declared a curfew for the town's kids. They loved that! Not that there was much to do after dark in Elkton anyway-just the idea of the thing! After it rang, he returned to the room and looked out the window at the dark street, dimly lit by streetlights and the night-light in the bank. "Yeah," he nodded, "now for some action." Standing on a chair, Jimmy retrieved his mother's old twenty-two rifle from the top shelf of the closet. He chambered a shell, then leaned out the apartment window above the bar and started trying to pick off a streetlight. One shot. Missed. Two shots, missed again. He stopped, cocked his head again to listen. The sounds wafting upward from the bar were louder, words more indistinguishable--slurred. No sounds of alarm. Pa was right. It probably would take an earthquake to alert Turk. He carefully aimed again. Just as he got off a good shot, taking out a streetlight, the door burst open hitting the wall with a loud bang, shaking the whole room. He whirled around, shoving the gun behind the curtain and facing the doorway. "Oh, god--Turk! HI TURK," Jimmy said in his practiced innocent-little-boy voice. He smiled tentatively, a little fearfully. In two steps Turk crossed the room, grabbed the gun from behind the curtain, took it by the stock and the end of the barrel and broke the gun in half over his massive knee. "Here," Turk thrust the broken rifle pieces toward him. "You be at the station in the morning. We'll take care of this," he growled, glaring. Then he turned and stomped off down the stairs back to his beer. Jimmy's smile disappeared and he looked down at the street defiantly, waiting to see Turk leave the bar and head for his house cater-corner across Main Street. Then he slipped silently across the room to his mother's bureau, fished around inside her purse, and filched a Camel from a flattened pack. He quietly descended the stairs to the street and glancing from side to side, walked furtively up the street, east past Turk's house heading toward the high school. Reaching the alley separating the bank and Handy's Frozen Food Lockers Jimmy ducked in off the street and lit up, wondering what it would taste like if it was that stuff he read about--marijuana. The dim flicker of the match flame revealed a thick orange extension cord spanning the alley, running from a high open window on the side of the lockers down to the alley and across into the basement window of the bank. "What the…?" Jimmy scratched his head and nursed the Camel hard as he considered the scene in front of him, Pa's voice echoing in his head, the dough gets delivered Friday afternoon, sits in the bank all weekend. Gets picked up Monday by the turkey plant boss; this was kind of like that word he missed on the spelling test--an enigma. Suddenly, as if deciding, he dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his toe. Jimmy glanced over his shoulder and all around, then turned and tiptoed quietly out of the alley and retraced his steps back past the front of the bank. According to Pa, what they really needed was an earthquake; but he would have to do. Once clear of the bank he began to run. ## The two blocks back toward Turk's house stretched into seeming infinity as he ran, puffing from the exertion, excitement and fear. Finally . . .! He paused in front of Turk's white bungalow, weighing his options, kind of afraid to tell, definitely afraid not to tell. From the corner of his eye he saw a lace window curtain seem to move in the house next door. Probably old Granny Wilson, Turk's aged mother-everyone knew she sat there in that little house Turk built for her and saw everything that went on-didn't matter what time of day. Guess he'd have to do it. She'd tell if he didn't. Jimmy walked gingerly up the step and onto the porch. he listened for any sound from inside. Oh, yeah! Turks's snores came through loud and clear-'bout shook the house. Taking a deep breath, like before jumping into the river in April when it was still running cold from the mountain run-off, he knocked tentatively on the front door. Cocked his head, listened. Nothing but a gurgling snore. Jimmy took another deep breath, tried to steady his racing heart, doubled his fingers into a fist and pounded on the door. Didn't want to yell, be too loud, might scare them off. "Yeah, yeah, a minute," Turk's sleep-stunned voice finally responded. Jimmy could hear movement inside, someone finally coming toward the door. Turk opened the door a crack and looked out. "You! What in the hell are you doing here? Out? Past curfew?" He stepped out onto the porch and disgustedly looked down at Jimmy. Jimmy stammered, couldn't get the words out. Even standing there bare-footed, hurriedly put together in his blue serge uniform pants, baggy BVD T-shirt and wearing his police hat, Turk was still pretty intimidating. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" He towered over Jimmy, glaring down at him. Jimmy ducked his head and mumbled, "Sorry, Turk-um, Chief Wilson-sorry." Mustering his courage he looked up at Turk, "But up at the bank there's something goin' on!" There, he got it out. Turk stepping backward to avoid the pungent odors emanating from Jimmy's stale clothing and cigarette breath didn't catch the message. "I told you, see me in the morning. Get on home now before I lock you up right now." Turk turned, stepped back inside and moved to close the door. "No, wait. Turk! This is important." Jimmy's stressed voice cracked, ranging between the sweet soprano of childhood and the emerging basso of adolescence. "You gotta come see. There's bank robbers." And more quietly, "I think maybe it's my dad." Turk stepped out onto the porch again. "What? What the hell are you talking about? Jimmy had Turk's full attention. For once it was a good thing. ## The next morning when Jimmy showed up at the station Turk was too busy to deal with him, having to talk to reporters and such. Elkton had never had a bank robbery before. Invisible again, Jimmy did what he did best-listened and learned. Ol' Turk was a hero! "Hey, Turk. Get the phone. You got a call from Governor Snell," the mayor had answered the telephone and relayed the message. Wow! Turk got a call from the Governor in Salem. That had never happened before--not in Elkton. "Yes, sir, I did discover the crooks before they had a chance to get away. Yes, sir--be glad to see you. Thanks. Looking forward to it." Turk grinned broadly as he turned to the folks crowded around in the office. "Governor Snell's comin' to Elkton. Gonna present me with an award for bravery, or some such thing. Don't that beat all?" Jimmy caught his own reflection in the door window, straightened up some, then smiled with satisfaction. He hadn't been really sure about waking Turk and foiling Pa's plan--foiling--a good word-been waiting for a chance to use it--but he figured Pa deserved as much and things had worked out just fine! The streetlight was forgotten for the moment, Turk, the hero, owed him one and he'd earned himself a second chance--Pa blew his. |