Chapter 20

I hung up the phone and started my truck, I had to get home and make sure my mother was okay.

“What’s wrong?” Chief Arnold asked, right before another snort bellowed out.

There was a noise that almost sounded like an explosion. I jumped and hit my head on the roof of the truck.

“Hee, hee,” the cop laughed. “It’s only the train a switchin.”

I figured that out, but it still scared the crap out of me, not in a figurative sense, more of a literal one, mind you. I had forgotten how loud the trains can be when they are switching cars. I used to be familiar with the loud noises, but years away had changed that.

“Something’s wrong at my mom’s house,” I told him. “She says somebody’s looking in the window.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Why would I make something like that up?”

He started rubbing his chin and looking around.

“Well, what should we do?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to go check on her.”

“Yeah, right, good idea!”

Police Chief Arnold scurried around the truck and tried the passenger door. It was locked. I rolled down the window and he stuck his head in.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“I was gonna ride with you,” he replied.

“Shouldn’t you take your patrol car? That way you can get the lights going.”

He nodded for a second, then took off for his car. The little guy could move pretty good, but ran without bending his legs. He looked rather humorous.

Chief Arnold got in his car, squealed his tires and made a u-turn. I followed behind him, wishing for a good rubber burn, but failed. The old Ranger must want to protect its tires, I guess. He had his lights flashing brightly and the siren wailing loudly.

I was worried about my mother, of course, but was enjoying this. Total freedom. I could drive as fast as he was without having to worry about getting stopped. This was easily the fastest I had ever driven in Langford.

We were making great time until we got to the Sonic. He slammed on his brakes and I almost plowed into him. He slowed to almost granny speed while looking over at the Sonic. A young female employee was walking across the parking lot, wearing shorts that were way too short. He honked at her and she tried to ignore him. I switched lanes and pulled up beside him.

I was starting to worry our police chief was rather perverted. He saw me pull up beside him.

“We gotta go!” I hollered. “Stop drooling over the high-school girls.”

“That’s my daughter,” he replied, and I felt almost as embarrassed as his daughter was to have him slow down and honk at her.

He apparently held no grudge and floored it again. I pulled in behind him and again enjoyed driving like a maniac. We approached one of Langford’s two stoplights, a source of pride for our residents since it was installed five years before. Prior to that, it was a four-way stop, announced by unusually large stop signs, which were ran over routinely by the drunks on their way home or to Langford's only motel. Everybody had to stop, wait their turn, then go.

It put a damper on flying through town. That wasn’t the case now. He caught a green light and flew through. The light started changing as I approached, not that it bothered me. I flew through the intersection going at least 70. This was just too cool.

There were a few cars in the way that pulled to the side to let us pass. I really needed one of these lights and sirens, I decided. We passed the deerpen. A Hispanic man and wife were standing at the corner, trying to cross. They were pushing a baby carriage. Most of the time, I would have let them cross, but not now, I was on a roll.

They hollered something at me in Spanish. I don’t think they were wishing me a happy day. I turned off the highway and slowed a little while going through the residential areas. There was a stop sign at every block. I slowed just enough to make sure nobody was coming and blew through the intersection.

As I approached Sandy’s house, I slowed down, wondering if I might see her outside. She was safely inside. I did see her car, another that I assumed belonged to her parents, and a truck that must have been Trevor’s. I thought I saw a figure scatter away from the truck, but decided my eyes must be playing tricks on me.

There were lights turning on in all the houses as we blew past. Now was not a good time to be a light sleeper. His sirens could wake the dead. The nosey people looked outside, wondering what the excitement was about.

I turned the final corner, actually spun a little gravel that was rather enjoyable, then flew down the final stretch before my mom’s house. Chief Arnold had parked sideways in the road, basically blocking all traffic. I wondered if this was something he was taught at the academy, assuming the chief actually had some training.

He was waiting for me by his cruiser as I skidded to a stop, almost running into his car. He had to sidestep to make sure my truck did not run him over. The chief was struggling to get his massive gun out of the holster.

I hoped it was a Barney Fife thing where he kept one bullet in his shirt pocket. I did not want to be around if the Chief started blasting away. The hand gun was a .44 magnum and was almost as big as him. I jumped out of the truck and ran up to him.

He had unleashed the mighty weapon. The chief chambered a round and pointed it skyward.

“Is that thing loaded?” I asked.

“Hoo boy!” he answered, enjoying this too much. He might have a chance to use his weapon tonight, some target practice on a real criminal.

“So you don’t just carry one bullet in your pocket?”

“Course not.”

“I’ll just stay behind you then.”

“Good, let the professionals lead the way.”

That did not make me feel any better. I suspected that it was Mom’s neighbor, Judd Perkins, looking in the window. He’s pretty helpless but even weirder than I expected if he got a kick out of seeing her naked.

A light was on at Judd’s, just like there were in all the neighborhood houses. Some of the neighbors were coming outside, wearing some clothes that I personally would never venture outside in. Marvin Thomas, the neighbor to the south in the large place that has been remodeled so many times it no longer resembles a normal house, actually comes outside wearing only a pair of boxers. He’s at least seventy years old and has a really bad case of man-breasts jiggling badly as he walks up the sidewalk.

His wife is bringing up the rear, wearing some kind of negligee that an old woman should avoid. Her hair is up in rollers and she has some kind of stuff on her face that makes her look like an alien. It looks like Marvin has a bigger set than his wife.

Leroy Brown, definitely not the Bad, Bad Leroy Brown variety, lives next to Judd. He’s the neighborhood snoop, always getting in everybody’s business. He would actually be a good reporter. Leroy stands on his porch, wearing a robe and dark socks. He looks like somebody who wouldn’t mind if the robe flew open.

I see he has some kind of gun in his hands. Somebody might be invading the neighborhood, after all. Seeing Leroy standing on his porch with a gun in his hands is not the least bit comforting.

"Hey Marv, you forgot yor bra!" Leroy hollers, then giggles loudly.

"Can I wear one of your's?" Marvin shouts back. Leroy is no longer so jolly.

Mom is standing on the porch, trying to act like she’s not enjoying all this attention. I can just imagine her relaying all this to her friends later. The telephone will get a serious workout after this. She sees Leroy standing on his porch. Mom and Leroy have had their differences over the years.

“Put that gun up, you idiot!” she hollers. Leroy looks around to see who my mother is hollering at.

Chief Arnold is running ahead of me toward my mother. He’s still chugging along with the stiff-legged effort, the momentous belly crashing up and down. I start laughing so hard, I almost double over.

“What’s so funny?” he stops and asks.

“The way you run,” I answer. “Your knees don’t bend. You look like a penguin.”

Actually, he looks like a really fat penguin, but I leave that part off.

“I could still smoke your butt any day of the week, old man.”

A challenge! I doubt that, plus I’m offended that he calls me “old man”. We have to be about the same age.

“My mom has a hip replacement and she could beat you,” I reply.

Chief Arnold is breathing heavily. His face is now redder than a tomato and he’s sweating profusely. He has sprinted a good twenty yards.

He leans over and puts his hands on his knees. I’m afraid he’s about to stroke out on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that about my mom.

“You okay?” I ask.

He’s wheezing even louder.

“Call an ambulance,” he requests. “I can’t breathe!”

I start to ask if he’s kidding, but it’s easy to see the chief isn’t.

“Mom, call 911!” I holler.

“Why?” she asks. “The cop’s already here!”

“I think he’s having a heart attack.”

“Really?” she asks. “What was that number?”

“Hit the nine, then the one and the one again.”

“Oh, isn’t that just for emergencies?”

“Mom, our police chief might be having a heart attack! I’d consider that an emergency.”

“I guess you’re right. Is that a long-distance call?”

I’d had enough. I grabbed my phone and placed the call. The attendance was fairly professional. I told her the address and the situation. They promised to send help.

I helped Chief Arnold over to the porch. His eyes looked rather dazed now. He sat down on the steps.

“Are you hungry, Chief?” she asked.

“Mom, he doesn’t need anything to eat.”

“It might be his blood sugar, you know. Middle-aged, overweight men frequently have problems with Diabetes.”

Chief Arnold looks insulted, despite the pain.

“Drink,” he requested.

“What?” she asked.

“He needs something to drink, Mom.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know what to get somebody who’s having a stroke, do you?”

“Anything will work, Mom.”

She walked back into the house, then stopped at the door.

“Just stay there, Chief,” she requested, like he would be going anywhere. “I’ll be right back.”

I decided it was time to investigate. I walked around the house, looking for any signs of intruders. Another officer had arrived and parked in front of Marvin Thomas’ house. The policeman, the young man Squiggy insulted the day before by questioning his sexual preference, got out of the car and came running toward me.

“Get that thing off my grass!” Marvin yelled.

The police officer ignored him. I watched as Marvin walked toward the police car and inspected the damage to his yard. It appeared to be minimal, at best.

“Where’s the big guy?” the officer asked.

“Wheezing on the front porch,” I replied. He didn’t seem too worried.

“Was somebody trying to get in?”

“I don’t know. Mom said somebody was looking in.”

We walked around and inspected the windows. None of them were open, but there was some evidence one of the rear windows had been tinkered with. There was also a footprint in a flower bed. We completed our walk around the house. Whoever had been there was gone.

I still thought it was probably our neighbor.

“I bet it was Judd,” I suggested.

“That wouldn't surprise me none,” the young officer responded. “He does fit the type.”

“What type?”

“The, uh, type of person who would, uh, crap, I don’t know.”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

I used to always be scared of Judd when I was younger, always worried he would snatch me and do horrible things. All the other children felt the same way. He was always too interested in our activities, watching us in a way that was really creepy. As we got older, the fear lessened and many of the teenagers in the neighborhood used to egg his house and try to irritate him as much as possible.

His yard was a mess. I really didn’t want to walk through the jungle, fearing all kinds of snakes and spiders that were probably lurking in there, just waiting to see what a bite of Michael Hunt tasted like.

Old Judd was sitting in his rocker, wearing a pair of old overalls that had been cut off just above his knees. He didn’t bother with a shirt and only one strap of the overalls was over his shoulder. Judd was wearing a pair of cheap sandals, minus the dark socks. While walking toward him, I made the mistake of looking at his feet. His toenails were a good inch long, curled along the same lines as his toe.

Judd’s beagle was in the same cage, next to the porch. He is barking in the annoying way only a beagle can. Judd doesn’t seem to mind or care. He’s got a bottle of cheap whiskey perched between his legs. His eyes are closed and he snores loudly.

“I don’t think this is the perp,” the officer informs me.

“What’s a perp?” I ask. The front door is open. I can’t resist and look inside. The house is a mess. The roof looks like it is caving in. The furniture is worse than what you see dumped on the side of the road. I feel a little sorry for the man.

“I was referring to what we in the law enforcement call a ‘perpetrator’. Sorry for the confusion. I was using the cop's term.”

The ambulance was pulling up. The two attendants jumped out and started putting on the white gloves. I heard the snapping noise of a glove, one of the worst sounds for a man of my age. I had my first prostate examination last year. My doctor visited uncharted territories that day, a place I hope he does not plan to visit again for several years. The sound of the glove snapping gives me a chill.

I walk across the road, followed by the officer. Half the neighborhood has gathered around my mother’s front porch, at least the white people. The Mexicans are hiding, fearing the immigration department will soon be arriving.

“Hey Syliva,” Marvin says. “You got any of that lemonaide?”

“I sure do,” Mom answers. “Anybody else want some?”

It’s almost unanimous. Even the ambulance crew say they would like to give it a try. Mom’s lemonaide must be getting pretty famous. It should be, she’s been tinkering with the ingredients for years.

Mom smiles like I haven’t seen her since I got here. Chief Arnold snorts loudly and the women gasp.

“That was truly disgusting!” Belinda Thomas informs the crowd. I notice Leroy Brown trying to look down the front of her negligee.

The chief repeats the act, then hacks up a huge wad of tobacco that had been lodged in his throat.

“I feel ill,” Belinda adds. She has a look of somebody who has seen a decayed corpse.

“That should take care of it,” one of the ambulance guys says.

“He was choking on his chew?” I ask.

“Looks that way.”

And we all thought he was having a heart attack. Everybody stayed and had some of Mom’s lemonaide. I needed to go see how Dad was doing, but nature was calling first. I could have followed Squiggy’s lead and just done my business in the flower bed, but Mom has indoor plumbing and I decided to take advantage of it.

I walk in the house and finish my business. I check out the fridge, disappointed to see that there isn’t any more lemonaide in the fridge. Her pitcher was quickly emptied outside and I didn’t get any there, either.

There is a can of Coke. I grab it, pop the tab and take a drink. It hits the spot and I rip off a burp that would impress Squiggy. I close the door of the refrigerator and jump backwards. Staring at me in the shadows of the kitchen is a face that looks like my worst nightmare.

Chapter 21