Chapter 48

When somebody entrusts their child with another person, they naturally expect the child to stay safe and sound under the watchful eyes of the guardian.

What we had was a five-year-old boy who clung so close to my mother that if either one of them passed gas, they would both get a good whiff. Now, I don’t know if mothers actually pass gas. I can’t recall hearing one. I have suspected a few of trying to sneak by with one, but not my mother. As far as I know, Mom has never cut the cheese in her life.

But M.J. had gone AWOL. Whether it was by his own doing or if somebody helped, we did not know. M.J. is not the type to wander off. He won’t even hang out with me. I can understand him coming up missing if I was watching him, but not my mother. She knows where everything is in our house at all moments of every day.

Something was not right here. We had some lunatic trying to shoot me, which I realized would help sell lots of newspapers, but still had me a little nervous. If they try once, what’s to keep them from trying to put a bullet in me again? Personally, I like my body as it is. Yeah, I could stand to lose some weight, but I’m not real big on having a bullet enter my body, especially around major organs or arteries.

After the idiot shot at me, he or somebody else, called and told me to “leave it alone”. Then, the little fellow winds up missing.

Naturally, I was worried that whoever was angry enough at me to try and shoot me, might have decided to take the boy to drive in the whole “leave it alone” point. The only thing I could think of that they might be mad about was our coverage of the whole “Beef Critter” incident. Somebody was willing to put a bullet in the large woman’s head, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap some kid or try to shoot me again.

Something else struck me as worrisome. If the bad guys were after me and my family, what would keep them from going after Mule? He might be in deep fecal material, also.

The law enforcement contingent knew something was wrong. Chief Arnold walked away from the group right in the middle of discussing the attributes of the Sonic carhops. He had to stop a couple of times and pull up his belt. Sadly, it appeared like our police chief had been enjoying too many double cheeseburgers from the Sonic.

“What’s going on?” he asked. The police chief crossed his arms for the first part of the story, then pulled a pocketknife out of his pocket and started using it to knock the food chunks out of his teeth. I kept expecting him to take a chunk out of his gums, but he seemed very talented at this. It would save a lot of wear and tear on toothpicks.

The sheriff also listened to my story. I have to admit that I like Chief Arnold and the sheriff. They generally seem to care.

“How’s your mother doing?” Chief Arnold asked, even before I could finish my story! “She’s such a dear lady.”

He looked at the sheriff for confirmation or comment. The sheriff just shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know the widow Hunt,” he declared.

“Nice woman,” Chief Arnold said, nodding his head for extra emphasis. “Really good cook.”

“You can’t beat that,” the sheriff added. “They just don’t hardly make them like that anymore.”

“Uh, excuse me,” I said. “Don’t you want to hear what I was saying about the missing boy?”

They both nodded. I realized that I was telling them the whole story and had lost their attention. Much like a teacher loses a class while talking about some boring subject the kids will never hear again.

I shortened the story and kept their attention this time. Probably cut out several minutes also.

“Bummer,” Chief Arnold said.

“Man, that stinks,” the sheriff agreed. They both looked at each other, wondering what they should do.

“Don’t you think we should go over there?” I suggested.

They both nodded their heads and smiled. That was a really good idea.

“I’ll meet you there,” I said and started walking toward the back door. One of Langford’s finest was blocking the door.

He was a shorter version of the chief. A rather large guy with a belly that looked like somebody had inserted a beach ball. The officer was wearing a black tee-shirt with the word POLISE on the front in white. I wondered if he even knew it was misspelled. His pants were also black, tucked in the bottom to what looked like army jump boots. He was wearing cheap sunglasses and had his hand poised too close to his weapon.

“Just where do you think yer goin?” he asked, then pulled his shades down to get a better look at me.

“To my mother’s house,” I said.

“Not so fast there, hot rod! I got my orders!”

He reminded me of the late actor Chris Farley, except the cop was serious.

“What are your orders?”

“To secure this door!”

“The door looks secured. Let me by.”

“I’ll have to clear it with the big guy!”

“That’s fine. I’m meeting him.”

The cop raised his walkey talkey and started fiddling with it.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep people out, not in?”

He frowned. That actually seemed to make sense to him. There was hope for us all.

“You know, I think yer right!” he said and let me by.

I walked outside shaking my head and realized that one Michael Hunt would not be going anywhere. All four tires on the Ranger were flat. I came closer and saw where somebody had stuck a knife in each tire. Okay, this was going too far. You could shoot at me, just as long as you miss, and even kidnap some kid in our possession, but by gosh, you don’t mess with a man’s ride!

After realizing that sounded like something Squiggy would say, I tried to calm down. As I started walking toward the office, I heard a truck coming down the alley that runs behind the buildings. The City of Langford has not taken great care of this alley and there are potholes big enough to lose a grandmother in. The lights from the truck were going up and down and sideways. The truck was going way too fast.

Whoever was driving the truck drove straight up to me and skidded to a stop inches away. I was blinded by the lights and covered my face while walking around the truck. This couldn’t be the bad guy, I was positive because this vehicle would cause people to notice. You didn’t sneak around in this baby.

The truck was a monster truck wanna be. It had big tires and wheels, set up on shocks or whatever that made it look silly. I noticed the truck was painted in camouflage, not that it surprised me. None of the big automakers ever came out with a truck in this paint design, which surprised me. It would be a big seller around these parts.

No body shop had done this work. It was pure spray paint. While it was designed to fit in out in the woods, I thought the shiny wheels and chrome would probably alert whatever wildlife the owner was trying to kill out of season.

Squiggy stuck his head out the window, not that it surprised me. There was a step at the bottom of the door. It was not there for looks. No normal person could get in this thing without some help.

“Hey, you ain’t shot!” Squiggy shouted.

“No, they missed.”

“Dang, we heard you was plugged.”

Squiggy almost seemed disappointed that I wasn’t shot. I noticed three huge rifles on the rack in the rear window.

I got on the step and raised myself up. Squiggy had some guy in the truck with him that I didn’t know. Hopefully, Mule would not get jealous. The man was older, probably in his fifties. He was wearing a white under shirt, the sleeveless kind many people wore under dress shirts. There were food stains smeared all over the front of the shirt that looked like it had been worn for several days.

His face was wrinkled, the mark of somebody who had spent too many years working out in the sun. The hat was a cheap cowboy hat that had been stepped on and sat on too many times. On the back of the hat, I noticed what looked like a crow’s feather sticking out of the band.

The man appeared to be skinny other than a large beer belly that covered his lap. He had a whiskey bottle in his hands and was drinking it straight. His face was rather stoic until he got a drink, then the man would smile for a couple of seconds.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Ya don’t know old Chili Dog?”

Obviously I didn’t, otherwise I would not have enquired. That seemed to slip by the Squigster.

“Chili Dog’s his name?”

“Naw, it’s more like one of dem nicknames.”

I nodded. Man, I was glad nobody had ever given me a nickname after a junk food. With my luck, I’m afraid my name would have been Ding Dong or Twinky.

“How’s it going…Chili Dog?”

He grunted. Ah, a man of few words. Rather rare in these parts. Chili Dog leaned over and tried to spit out the window. Sadly, somebody forgot to tell him the window was up. I noticed it was tobacco spit, splattered all over the window. Chili Dog didn’t seem to mind.

Squiggy laughed. “He’s drunk!”

“Really? I would have never figured that out.”

“Yep, that’s why I’m a drivin his truck.”

“Aren’t you drunk?”

“Well yeah, what’s that gotta do wif anything?”

“Nothing.” It pained me to say it, but I had no choice. “I need a ride.”

“You think I’m yer dadgummed choie, er choker…uh…”

“Are you trying to say chaueffer?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Not really, I just need a ride. Where’s Mule?”

“We’s gotta go by and git im. He got his fridge back outta the pawn shop today, ya know, the one he keeps on his porch?”

“He pawned a refrigerator?”

Squiggy nodded. “Yep, got twenty five bucks for it.”

One question begged to be asked, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. Finally, I had to do it.

“Why does he keep a fridge on his porch?”

Squiggy shook his head. I had clearly disappointed him.

“So’s he don’t gotta go inside to git a beer, dummy!”

“Is it one of those small ones?”

“Heck no, this is a big un. Mule told me he can get six cases in there at a time.”

“How about that ride?”

“Yep, but ya probably need to git in the back. Chili Dog yacked up one while ago.”

“One of what?”

“A chili dog, man, gittin shot at robbed you of yer brains or somethin. There’s like chewed up weenie and beans scattered everwhere. I think it was dat der last bump that got im. Didn’t seem to phase im, though. He got a dip and went right back to a drinkin. You gotta admire that in a person.”

I know I do. Chili Dog vomited up a chili dog. Somehow, that was rather appropriate.

This was a little embarrassing, but I hoped nobody would see me. I climbed in the back of the truck with all the food sacks and beer cans. There were also a few tools and a spare tire right in the middle. It stunk, like really bad. A smell I didn’t want to find out where it was coming from.

Squiggy had a little problem shifting on the way out. He grinded the gears something bad while going in reverse and driving down the alley. Naturally, since I didn’t want to be seen in the back of Chili Dog’s truck, Squiggy saw a carful of girls and stopped them.

There were four girls in some little foreign car. They were blonde and young.

“Y’all girls wanna go ride around?” he asked.

There was a look of horror on the faces of the girls like I had seldom seen before. The one in the back poked her head out the driver’s window.

“Yeah, but not with you!” she shouted, then started laughing along with the other girls.

The driver got up her courage. “We prefer dating guys who don’t gotta take pills!”

I buried my head. I had this bad feeling about what was going to happen next.

“Y’all are just a bunch of lezbos!” Squiggy shouted and peeled out. Chili Dog’s head was thrown back into the window. It almost flattened his feather.

Squiggy drove way too fast through town en route to Mule’s. After arriving in Little Tijuana, we found Mule sitting on the porch, right next to his fridge. He was sitting in a recliner, close enough to open the door and get a beer without even having to get up. Talk about your modern conveniences!

Since my last visit, they had added a mattress to the front yard. A lady who I figured his mother was sleeping on it. I heard her snore and Squiggy laugh. Chili Dog staggered out of the truck and walked toward the mattress and Mule’s mother.

The back window was sliding glass and opened. I leaned forward to get Squiggy’s take on this.

“You don’t think he’ll try to take advantage of her, do you?” I asked.

“Naw, dat’s his sister.”

“Would that matter to him?”

“Probably, she’s too ugly,” Squiggy said.

“Who’s too ugly?” Mule asked.

We let that one slide as Mule climbed into the back with me, without being asked. He was rather drunk and somber.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as we left. Chili Dog had laid down next to his sister on the mattress. Squiggy was grinding the gears again as we drove down the road.

“I need some lovin,” he said. “Old Beef Critter was always good when I’s desperate.”

“Yeah, but she’s dead now.”

“Ya figger she’s still down at the funeral home?”

“No, Mule. That’s beyond even you.”

“Naw, I was just gonna git you to sign the book for me.”

That was a relief. I filled him in on all the details as we sped toward my mother’s house. Squiggy swerved once and about threw us out of the truck. I poked my head in the window.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“There’s a cat in the road,” he answered.

“Did you miss it?”

“Yeah, darned thing was too quick.”

We drove by Sandy’s house. Her car was there. The light in her bedroom upstairs was turned on.

“She’s nice,” Mule mentioned. “I think she oughta be yer woman.”

I nodded and wondered what she was doing.

Squiggy got us to my mother’s house. There were several official cars parked nearby. The neighbors had gathered together in the lawn again. They weren’t all that happy.

Mule dropped the tailgate and sat on it. Squiggy came back to join him and gave him a beer.

“It’ll be okay,” Squiggy said and patted Mule on the back.

I was walking toward the house and almost found this touching, until Squiggy had to open his mouth again.

“I’m sure we can find some skanky chick at the bar fer you.”

Mom was standing on the porch, talking to Chief Arnold and the sheriff, who were in the swing, slowly swinging back and forth. I didn’t find that very touching.

Behind her, in the shadow, I could see M.J. I breathed a sigh of relief. I barely knew the little guy, but didn’t want anything to happen to him.

Several of Mom’s friends were gathered together in the front yard. Many of them had a paper plate with food on it. I saw that all the cops were also eating. This was a good way to get rid of all the leftovers.

They almost seemed to be having a party. One the neighbors weren’t all that crazy about. It was always okay if they had company, but if any of the other neighbors did, it was time to gather and complain.

M.J. saw me coming and for once, did not hide behind my mother. He actually almost smiled. My charm can do that to a person.

“What happened?” I asked. Mom was talking to Greta Yale, an old woman with thick glasses and thinning grey hair. You could actually see her scalp in many places, not that Greta seemed to care. She was adorned in her nightgown, one that was cut a little low in front for me. I could see several wrinkles running down her chest.

“Where are your manners, Michael?” Mom said. “Can’t you see that I’m talking with Greta?”

Well, excuse me! I just wanted to find out what happened to M.J. Mom and Greta were in the midst of an important conference concerning the right time to plant pansies. Greta would say her piece, shove a handful of food in her mouth, then repeat the process.

I actually liked Greta, one of the only friends of my mother I could say that about. She was natural, not all fake like so many others.

Mom finally finished up her important conversation with Greta.

“Would you like something to eat, dear?” she asked me. I was starving, but wanted to find out what happened first.

“Later.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get weak.”

“I’m fine, Mom, just tell me what happened.”

Mom relayed the story. She also felt the need to say everything that went on, just like I did earlier. Basically, what it boiled down to was that she was watching television with M.J., some Bob the Builder show. Mom had to take a leak (my words, not Mom’s), and when she came back into the family room, M.J. was gone. The front door was left open.

She thought he might have just gone out to play and went out to look for him. M.J. wasn’t anywhere in the yard. She went back through the house and couldn’t find him. That was when she called me. While Squiggy was wasting time trying to pick up young chicks and get Mule, Greta found the little boy wandering around on the next block and brought him home.

“Did he go on his own?” I asked. That seemed a little much for M.J. The boy was scared of his own shadow.

“We don’t know,” Mom said. “He won’t talk about it.”

I kneeled down beside M.J. He did step back just a little this time.

“Did somebody come get you?” I asked.

He buried his head in Mom’s dress. M.J. didn’t want to talk to me.

“We have to know, M.J.”

He stepped back and looked at Mom. M.J. cupped his hand to tell her a secret. Mom leaned down and listened. Whatever he told her, it frightened my mother.

“The man told M.J. to tell you that this was a warning,” she said. “Next time, he won’t miss and we won’t see M.J. again.”

The blow from R.D. the other night didn’t have the impact as my mother’s words. M.J. tugged on Mom’s skirt again. She leaned down and listened. This time, it was worse. Whatever M.J. said was scaring her even worse.

“What is it?” I asked.

She relayed the information, words I never expected to hear out of my mother’s mouth.

Chapter 49