The Underdog Parade

by Michael Mihaley

  Herb chose to let it pass.

  The sound of a hammer broke the quiet, and Nick looked out the window. “That nut job just doesn’t give up.”

  Herb smiled. Josh.

  “It sure as hell would never float,” Nick added.

  Herb had no desire to engage in this conversation, but Nick never needed someone to engage with.

  “Abby will have a fit if he’s out there when she shows the house. He’s drinking a friggin’ beer, for chrissakes! It’s ten in the morning!”

  Herb was glad his back faced Nick. He smiled at the television as though the burning of a natural preserve was the funniest sight he’d ever seen.

  “That kid is ridiculous,” Nick added.

  I think you’re wrong, Herb thought.

  “He’s hanging a painting now. What, is he planning on moving in there once he’s thrown out? Jesus.”

  Wrong again, dear brother-in-law, Herb thought. That’s the door to the ark that your own daughter painted.

  Herb was enjoying the secret volley he was holding with Nick. His words came out faster in the arena of his mind.

  “Ah owen house eyed,” Herb said, and pointed his chair in the direction of the front door.

  “Have a good time,” Nick said automatically.

  Herb nudged the screen door open and rolled out onto the walkway. Josh was indeed installing the door onto his ark. Herb couldn’t make out the details of CJ’s painting, but he was surprised by the lack of color—lots of gray and black. It was different than her past work.

  Herb stayed close to the house, as still as the potted plant at his side. He could hear sirens in the distance. He thought he could smell smoke in the air but didn’t know if that was his imagination.

  He missed Peter and CJ and hoped to see their faces appear soon from down the street, with CJ’s little tiara bobbing in the air. He was slightly disappointed that the kids weren’t with him on his last day, but he understood. A forest fire was a lot more exciting than him.

  Abby pulled up to the curb in Nick’s sporty Mazda. She stopped between her house and Josh’s. A black Cadillac Escalade that was following her parked inches behind her car.

  Uncle Herb watched as Abby, sharply dressed in a silky blouse and skirt, walked over and met the man stepping out of his fancy SUV. He was probably around Herb’s age, fit, and wore the style of sunglasses you’d see on a race car driver. From the tip of his visor to his khaki shorts, this guy was ready for a round of golf. All he needed was a golf tee behind the ear. He’ll fit right in, Herb thought.

  They took a wide turn around Josh’s driveway, as if they were walking the perimeter of an invisible fence which contained Josh and his ark. Abby had her head tilted down and toward the man, whispering something. The man seemed curious and slightly perturbed, listening while casting quick glances Josh’s way. In this moment, Josh looked to Herb like a zoo lion. Josh stopped working and watched the visitors walk near him with a look of indifference and superiority despite the circumstances. A beer bottle dangled from his fingertips. Once Abby and the man entered the door and fell out of sight, Josh finally moved. He finished his beer and went to his cooler to retrieve another.

  Herb watched Josh intently, looking for a sign that revealed what Josh was feeling, but there was none. Only a small smile when Josh stepped back to see how the painting looked on the ark.

  He’s finished, Herb thought. The ark is complete.

  Abby and the man were only in the house for a short time. Herb thought that was a bad sign but Abby had a smile on her face even after the Escalade drove off. Herb could tell by the way she walked that she was happy inside. It was a sibling thing.

  “I think I have a sale,” she told Herb in a singsongy voice and with a shimmy of her shoulders.

  Herb forced a smile, trying to be supportive. Hopefully she’d have a different approach when she told the kids, one with a little more consideration for their feelings.

  “I didn’t think I had a chance when we pulled up, but Josh actually did a decent job of cleaning up the inside. And when the guy saw the golf course out back—forget about it! He called it an oasis for a thirsty and tired man.”

  Herb nodded. What else could he do?

  “He wants to get in as soon as possible, but he kept bringing up the ark. I assured him it would be gone by Monday. I don’t think he believed me. I don’t think it’s a deal breaker, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  Abby pulled her phone from her purse and hit a button. She put her hand lightly on Herb’s shoulder as she passed.

  “Hello, Kenneth,” she said, as she entered the house.

  Herb remained outside. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, but it annoyed him that Abby had the father of her son’s nemesis on speed dial. He told himself he was being a baby.

  Herb wished he had a good feeling about leaving, but he didn’t. Hopefully things would improve once summer ended and school started. But with Herb leaving and Josh on the way out, his niece and nephew were losing two of the small handful of people who had spent any time with them in the last two weeks.

  Life is hard, Herb thought. Sometimes the only thing you can do is give it up to God, which Herb planned to do.

  He stayed outside, waiting for Peter and CJ to come home. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice the wind had changed directions and was blowing his way.

  A Golfin Rally

  When Abby saw Kenneth Kassel Sr. pull up in a golf cart to Josh’s driveway later that afternoon accompanied by one of the Creek’s security team, it had yet to dawn on her that the phone call she placed to Kenneth had authorized him to act like the adult version of his son, a role he quickly jumped at. Abby had handed Josh over to him gift wrapped.

  Of course, like Chipper, Kenneth didn’t want to bully on his own. The Keeme boy was unpredictable and did not possess that inherent fear of an authority figure. Bringing one of the mild-mannered security guys, who had one foot in retirement and the other in the grave, wouldn’t work either. So Kenneth enlisted Brutus, the quiet caveman. He knew the man with the shaved head, goatee, and tattooed bicep was a source of many conversations around the Creek. Of course, the actual subject was never a part of these or any other conversations.

  “Oh, no,” Abby said from her view out the kitchen window. Deep down, she knew Kenneth very well might resort to this behavior, but her drive for that personal victory and that partial commission check had won.

  There was a big difference, though, between hearing after the fact about unfortunate things happening and seeing them take place in real time; these sins were harder to absolve, especially if you played a part. When they’re in the past, you can convince your brain that you might have acted in an honorable way.

  Abby went into the living room and sat next to Nick on the couch, fidgeting in her place. He looked up for only a second and then turned his body slightly, shielding the laptop screen from Abby.

  “Do you do work all this time you’re on that thing?” Abby asked, trying not to sound too accusatory or exasperated. He’d been home for a little more than twenty-four hours.

  “I’m researching,” Nick said, not a complete lie. He was searching for his high school crushes on Facebook.

  “Can you go out there? Kenneth brought Brutus with him to confront Josh. It’s overkill and unnecessary.”

  “You called him,” Nick reminded her.

  “I know, Nick.”

  “Scare tactics work. Nothing wrong with a threat as long as you can back it up. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Here we go again, Abby thought. The subtle, underhanded jabs are starting.

  “I’ll go,” Abby said, not wanting to pursue the conversation any further.

  Nick watched her to the front door. He clicked out of Facebook and moaned, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  * * *

  Abby stepped around Herb, who was in the same place on the walkway that she’d last seen him. His wheelchair was aimed at Josh’s house. She didn’t sa
y anything as she passed, preoccupied with the tactic she planned on using when she reached Josh, Kenneth, and the henchman. She didn’t want to look like the bad guy to Josh. She knew he had been good to the kids over the last couple of weeks. But she also didn’t want to send mixed signals to Kenneth. As Nick had reminded her, she had started the ball rolling with her phone call. She noticed the Willow Creek truck had an empty boat trailer attached.

  Kenneth smiled confidently as Abby and Nick approached. Brutus stood statuesque a step behind Kenneth, his eyes covered behind his dark rectangular sunglasses. Kenneth patted the air in front of him as he turned to Abby. “Everything is under control, we were just reminding him that tomorrow—”

  “Everything was always under control,” Josh interrupted, calmly. “Just not by who you might think.”

  Abby had to give Josh credit. He didn’t get intimidated easily.

  Kenneth Kassel Sr. continued, “We were just reminding him that sheriff deputies will be here tomorrow morning, and anything or any person still on the premises will be physically removed.”

  “I’m well aware,” Josh said.

  Kenneth was determined to finish his speech. “And we’re very willing to help here. We had offered the community’s truck and trailer when the eviction notice was posted, and since we didn’t receive a response, we thought it would be in everyone’s best interest to ask again. It won’t be easy to get back once the sheriff steps in.”

  A passing golf cart holding two seniors slowed to a stop. The passenger leaned out and shouted in a creaky voice, “It’s about time you did something about that, Kassel. We’re tired of looking at it.”

  Nick smirked. A quick snort escaped through his nose.

  “Is there anything we can do to help, Josh?” Abby asked.

  Josh gave her a look that could only be called disdain.

  The street suddenly became knotted with residents, many returning from the golf course hills where they’d watched the fire’s smoke paint the sky gray. Abby hoped Peter and CJ weren’t part of this cluster. She would definitely be grouped in with the dark side in this situation.

  The two seniors in the golf cart, sensing the situation, decided to park at the curb: this was a lot more entertaining than having drinks before dinner with their wives.

  “They’re finally getting that eyesore outta here,” the driver said to a middle-aged couple who were rubbernecking as they strolled by and came to a halt when they noticed Brutus, the chairman of the board, and the crazy, long-haired kid who thought he was the twenty-first century Noah in a stare down. Plus, standing on the outskirts was the bald guy who lived in the clubhouse for two weeks while his wife and kids lived down the block. On one driveway stood four of the most talked about figures in Willow Creek Landing.

  “The hippie kid was the one who was skinny dipping at hole eleven, scaring all the geese,” said the golf cart driver, Karl, who as the first eyewitness on the scene felt like an authority on the situation.

  More people stopped. They watched and spoke together in the street and were comfortable enough with their standing in the community to throw out questions and suggestions to the parties involved.

  “How they gonna lift that hunk of junk on the trailer, Karl? A pulley system?”

  “I knew from the framework it would turn out like that. He never worked from a blueprint. No experience.”

  “Unprofessional.”

  “Amateur hour.”

  “What a waste of time and materials.”

  “Why don’t they let Brutus give it a nudge with his shoulder? It’ll collapse into a heap. We can use the scrap wood to build a walking bridge over the stream at hole fourteen.”

  Some members thought this was a great idea.

  It was around this time that Peter and CJ were walking home, talking about the different animal shapes the smoke made in the sky. As they passed the pavilion, people were pouring out the doors heading toward Ranch Street, and they overheard a lady talking on her phone, advising her friend to rush down to “that house with wood art in the driveway.”

  Peter and CJ broke into a sprint.

  The cluster was now two or three deep in front of Josh’s house, so Peter grabbed CJ by the wrist as they weaved through the people.

  “What’s going on?” CJ said.

  Peter felt her hot breath on his arm but didn’t answer.

  When they reached the front, Peter’s heart sank as he saw Mr. Kassel and the scary-looking Brutus standing an arm’s length away from the stoic face of Josh, ignoring the large collection of residents now gathering at the bottom of his driveway. Peter’s heart sank further when he noticed his parents to the side of Mr. Kassel. Their nearness to Chipper’s dad made their allegiance known.

  CJ whispered into Peter’s ear, “What are Mom and Dad doing there?”

  Peter couldn’t take his eyes off Josh. Josh stood straight and still, his stare slightly above the heads of the crowd.

  “Do something, Kenneth!” a faceless voice shouted from the crowd.

  “We have enough men here, we can lift that piece of crap on the trailer ourselves!” another shouted.

  “He can get it from the dumps when the flood comes!” someone shouted, earning some snickers from the crowd.

  Peter had a bad feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. He could practically feel the pulse of the crowd, and the negative tide aimed at Josh and his ark. He turned to see the faces of the golfins: men and women, parents and grandparents, looking on with varying degrees of aggravation. Some of the less interested residents huddled in the back, chatting away yet still a part of the pack. It had turned into a Creek social event.

  Peter’s eyes fell on Chipper right as Chipper yelled, “Let’s burn it!” then hid in the crowd as his goons elbowed and grabbed at him, laughing.

  Above the crowd, the sun sank into the sky. Gray clouds collected around its descent.

  Kenneth Kassel Sr. wasn’t facing the crowd, but he felt his back tighten with each shout of his name and demand for action. For the first time ever, he told himself he was too old for this garbage—the job of chairman wasn’t worth the small pittance, power, and prestige. The nonsense wasn’t worth the choice dinner reservations and tee times. But who could have predicted he’d have to deal with a mob mentality in this place, filled with the elites and one percenters? The only reason he undertook this stupid battle with this stupid kid in the first place was because he had thought the kid would be a pushover. He had assumed that the intimidation tactics learned from thirty years as a power broker would make this an easy play. Obviously, with this kid staring down the crowd like he was Wyatt Earp or someone, Kenneth realized that the best he could hope for here was a draw, and hopefully not of the Western cowboy kind.

  “Why don’t you just let us take it?” he said softly to Josh with his head lowered, out of earshot of everyone except Brutus.

  Josh’s eyes left the crowd and met Kenneth Kassel Sr.’s. His inexpressive face then revealed only the slightest crooked smile.

  Kenneth felt rage flare within himself; his moment of compromise disintegrated. Who is this punk to smirk at me? I’ve earned this life, this exclusive community. He turned to the crowd and was surprised by how many residents had gathered since he’d last looked. They were people of new money and old money, people who expected and demanded the best this world has to offer, from the dinner plate placed in front of them to the cars they chose to drive. And as he raised his hands to address them, he couldn’t help but be impressed with himself. They were waiting for his word.

  The Stand

  Peter didn’t like the weird look in Kenneth Kassel Sr.’s eyes when he lifted his hands to speak. He looked like some crazy cult leader you’d see in a scary movie.

  “Let’s put it on the trailer!” he said, in his deepest, most presidential, chairman of the board voice.

  Some people cheered, others complained about the unnecessary time taken to make a decision that seemed so obvious. Bureaucracy.

  Pe
ter looked down at CJ, unsure of their next step, or if there even was a next step. Every grown-up in attendance was in agreement.

  No one noticed Josh walk calmly over to his work table and lift a hammer. “I’m tired of you golfins,” he said, matter-of-factly, but his eyes showed defiance.

  The crowd had started to move forward in a semicircle mass but stopped at seeing a sign of resistance. Some of the residents were surprised, having believed they were doing Josh a favor, a Good Samaritan deed.

  The ones who were expecting Josh’s opposition ordered him to drop the hammer and step aside. They called him a loser and worse. They said he should seek help (once he left Willow Creek Landing was implied). Once they saw this was getting nowhere, they insisted Kenneth Kassel Sr. do something. Kenneth, not liking the look of the hammer dangling at Josh’s side, nodded to Brutus.

  Brutus didn’t respond immediately to the request. It was hard to tell what or who he was even looking at behind the dark sunglasses. His facial expression was as unreadable as Josh’s.

  “Drop the hammer,” Brutus said.

  Peter was actually thankful for that initial push from the crowd. His entire body, starting with his feet, had started to deep-freeze again. The problem with freezing during such a tense development was that you couldn’t fight or flee. Freezing isn’t listed as the third survival instinct, and it’s not hard to figure out why: most species that chose the action were probably extinct by now. But now his feet were moving, though he had no idea if he was fighting or fleeing.

  “Where are you going, Peter?” CJ said from behind him.

  Peter kept walking. He had no idea what he was doing. Maybe that was the trick all along, to turn off the brain and not worry about the consequences, the possibility of doom, and just let another body part navigate for you, somewhere between your heart and the gut of your stomach.