by Mike Faricy
With that, a woman stepped out of the crowd and handed Doctor Death a black leather vest. He grinned and held the vest up, displaying the logo Taylor had designed stitched onto the back. The words Alley Katz across the top. What looked like an orange moon and a black cat peering out.
“This is our first vest with your logo. It’s only fitting it should belong to you, Taylor. I might also mention Inkredible is offering the image at a discount.” Everyone clapped and cheered as Doctor Death held the vest out for Taylor to slip on. They shook hands and suddenly, the lights came on, and the candles were blown out. Taylor shook hands and butted fists with people for the next ten minutes.
Two guys I recognized approached me, Mike Casey and Buster Brown, both cops. “Hey, Dev, good to see you.”
“What are you guys doing here?”
“What are you talking about?” Buster said. “We’re members, you idiot.”
“But I thought—”
“What? You thought the club was some kind of criminal enterprise? Wrong again.”
“What Doctor Death said is correct, a lot of bright folks who didn’t fit in as kids. Some of us still don’t fit in,” Casey said and they both laughed.
“Yeah, but Doctor Death, what does he do?”
“You kidding? He teaches mortuary science. You wouldn’t want to cross him, but he’s a brain.”
We didn’t make it home until late. Taylor said he was sore after shaking hands with so many people. He headed up to his room while I got things ready for the morning. I went up to bed maybe a half-hour later. Taylor was sound asleep and still wearing his vest. Morton was sacked out next to him.
Chapter 47
I was up early the next morning. I woke Taylor and Morton at seven and let Morton out while Taylor hit the shower. I made pancakes for breakfast, and Taylor wolfed them down.
While I cleaned up, Taylor went back upstairs. I grabbed my car keys and called upstairs to Taylor. He came downstairs wearing his Alley Katz vest.
“Maybe you shouldn’t wear that to school today. You don’t want someone stealing it and trying to wreck it.”
“I have to wear it, Dev. The Alley Katz are giving me a ride to school.”
“The Alley Katz? Hey look, Taylor, last night was great, and they’re a nice bunch of folks, but don’t you think—” I was cut off by the rumble out in the street.
Taylor glanced out the window and said, “Oh good, they’re here. Dev, they came here to give me a ride to school. I want to go with them. I earned this.”
There was a knock on the door, and Taylor opened it. Biggy smiled and said, “You all set for your victory ride?”
Behind him stood Buster Brown and Mike Casey, the cops I knew. Buster smiled and said,” Doc is over at the school now. He wanted to meet with them just to tell them we’d be giving Taylor a ride to school, so they know what’s going on.”
I was outnumbered by about twenty to one. “Okay, Taylor. Enjoy your ride. Have a good day at school. Call me if you need a ride home.”
“Thanks, Dev,” he said, gave me a hug, and headed out the door.
Buster looked at me and said, “Relax Dev. He’ll be fine. We’ve done this before. It’s a real win for the kid.”
I watched them fire up their bikes. Fortunately, Taylor climbed on behind someone larger than Biggy. I counted twenty-three motorcycles as they drove down the street.
I put Morton in the car, and we headed to the office. Louie wasn’t in, so I made a fresh pot of coffee. I had just filled my mug when my phone rang. Barbara Wright.
“Hello Barbara, how are you this morning?”
“I’m fine. More importantly, how are you?”
“Good. Things seemed to have calmed down somewhat.”
“How is Taylor?”
“He’s doing very well.” I went on to tell her about the Alley Katz.
“A motorcycle gang?”
“Not a gang. A club. They’ve got two cops I know who are members. The head of the club is a doctor who teaches. Very nice people, plus, they really like Taylor’s artwork. We all need a win from time to time.”
“We certainly do. Are you coming to detention this evening?”
I’d completely forgotten about it. “Yeah, I was planning on it. It’s not canceled, is it?” I asked, crossing my fingers.
“No, it’s not canceled, Dev. We would love to see you there.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, and we disconnected.
Louie sent me a text after the noon hour, telling me he was going to be tied up in court for the rest of the day. I was just about to take Morton for our walk when a black SUV pulled up across the street. I watched as Fat Freddy and Tubby Gustafson hurried across the street and into the building. A moment later, the stairs began to creak and groan.
Fat Freddy opened the door and then stepped aside as Tubby waddled in. Freddy pulled out the chair for Tubby, who immediately collapsed in it. Freddy took a seat, and I watched both of them gasping for breath.
Eventually, Tubby said, “Once again, Haskell, you’ve been keeping something from me.”
“No, Mr. Gustafson, I swear, I have not kept anything from you. I—”
“I understand a dear young man is staying with you, and he has just been made a member of the Alley Katz motorcycle club.”
I was about to correct Tubby and say honorary member but decided against it.
“These are the sort of things I need to know about, Haskell. Never enough time in the world to be congratulated for our accomplishments. Would the young man happen to be around?” Tubby asked and glanced over at Louie’s picnic table.
“No sir. He’s at school, as a matter of fact, escorted by about two-dozen Alley Katz bikers. After the incident with Lyle a few days back, they’ve taken a very protective stance with Taylor. Actually, on both of us,” I said, hoping Tubby got the message.
“Well, we just wanted to stop by and give him our congratulations,” Tubby said. “Such a promising young man.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him you were here, sir.”
“Yes, and you needn’t be concerned about Lyle. He’s— well, let’s just say he won’t be inserting himself again. Frederick,” Tubby said. Fat Freddy jumped to his feet and pulled the chair back.
I watched out the window as they waddled across the street. Fat Freddy held the car door open for Tubby. For the first time ever, Fat Freddy didn’t look up at me and give me the finger. He simply climbed in behind the wheel, and they drove up the street.
Taylor sent me a text to say he was waiting outside school for a ride whenever I could pick him up. I texted him back, telling him I was on my way. I saw him leaning against the building as I pulled into the parking lot. Morton was in the back seat, pacing back and forth by the time I pulled over. He began licking Taylor as soon as he climbed into the passenger seat.
“Hey, how was the ride over this morning?” I asked.
“Oh, it was a lot of fun. It was really cool when we got here. They lined up along the edge of the parking lot, and everyone was just watching and checking me out as I went into school. I really liked it. The school let me wear the vest all day but said it would probably be a good idea to leave it at home in the future.”
“I’m glad everything worked out. Hey, I’m going to serve dinner a little early today. I forgot I have to do detention tonight from six to eight.”
“Not a problem. Oh, I got an A on my paper. I wrote about Vincent Van Gogh.”
“Way to go. Well done.”
We ate an early dinner, and I headed off to detention. Everyone was chatting about the Alley Katz delivering a kid to school that morning. It was a positive-sounding conversation, and I didn’t mention anything. Barbara smiled and gave me a wink but never mentioned Taylor to the others. Even Harold Kennedy was mildly pleasant. I had a steady stream of students at my table. All of them eventually asked about the Alley Katz and, in one way or another, hinted that they’d like to get a ride to school. Ramona Williams stopped in and gave me the pape
r on To Kill A Mockingbird.
When we were finally finished, I chatted for a couple of minutes with the adults. I checked to make sure Barbara had her phone and handed her ‘my’ paper on To Kill A Mockingbird.
“Oh, Dev, this is wonderful.”
“I loved the book, Barbara,” I lied.
“Well, I have to be honest. I really didn’t think you’d do it. Thank you. I’ll go over it tomorrow.”
I begged off meeting at Tiffany’s Sports Lounge and headed home.
I called Taylor’s name once I stepped into the house, and he answered from upstairs. I climbed the stairs and stepped into the guest room. He was working at the desk, and Morton was stretched out on the bed. There were a number of rough landscape sketches scattered across the desk.
“Oh, working on landscapes now?” I asked and leaned against the doorframe.
Taylor looked up at me and smiled. “Annette called tonight.”
“Annette, were you able to score us dinner at her place?”
“That’s not why she called,” he said, staring at the floor.
“What’s up? What’s wrong, Taylor?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Good news, actually. I ummm, I guess I got that scholarship. I can move in there this coming weekend.”
“You did? Oh, that’s great, man. Congratulations,” I said and then felt the lump in my throat. “I’m really happy, and I’m so proud of you, Taylor. You’ve overcome a lot to get to this,” I said as my eyes began to water. “You gotta do this. It’s the ticket to a whole new world, man.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m really happy, but I couldn’t have done this without you giving me a place to—”
“Taylor, you’ve always got a place here. That’s never going to change. Congratulations! You earned it with that magnificent portrait of me.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll do another one of you now that your nose is more or less back to normal.”
We stayed up and chatted until after midnight. Largely Taylor opening up about his life. His parents were killed in a car crash when he was an infant. His uncle Eli gambled, had a history of bad decisions, and, as it turned out, was a mediocre painter. Taylor was the one with the painting gene. I drove him to school for the next few days. I spent the better part of an hour on Friday arranging for his records to be transferred to the Art Academy. We had Annette and Barbara over for dinner on Friday night. I served prime rib with all the trimmings and an apple pie for dessert. When our guests left, I cleaned up the kitchen, and Taylor grabbed a couple of paper grocery bags to pack his clothes.
I went upstairs ten minutes later, pulled my suitcase from the bedroom closet, and took it into the guest room. “Here, Taylor. You’re not launching yourself into the world with your clothes packed in grocery bags. Take this suitcase.”
“Are you sure, Dev?”
“Very sure. You earned it. You just remember you’ve been accepted to the Art Academy because of the work you’ve done and the talent you have.”
“Well, and because of Annette and—”
“Hey, Taylor, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’ll admit Annette was a good contact. But at the end of the day, it isn’t someone pulling strings. It’s your talent and what you do with it. You did the work. They were impressed enough to want you there and offer a scholarship in the hope you would take them up on their offer. Don’t sell yourself short. There’s enough people in the world waiting to do that. Your job is to prove them wrong.”
We were at the Art Academy at 10:00 Saturday morning. There were maybe a dozen kids in various stages of moving in. Taylor just had the one suitcase to unpack, so it didn’t take very long. He had just placed his Alley Katz vest in the closet when the door opened, and a guy stepped into the room.
“You must be Taylor,” he said and held out his hand. “I’m David. Looks like we’re going to be roomies for a bit. I’m from Chicago. Where are you from?”
“Kind of all over.”
“Mmm-mmm, we all really dig your portrait. Great piece.” He glanced over at me. “Are you the guy with the black eyes and nose?”
“Yeah, that was me, David. Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, I’m meeting some of the gang in the lab building. Why don’t you come with me, Taylor? Be a great chance to meet a bunch of us. Everyone will want to ask you about the portrait. We all thought it was really cool.”
“I don’t know. Dev, did you want to—”
“Go on, Taylor. That sounds a lot better than having to waste your time with a senior citizen like me. David, nice to meet you. Taylor, now don’t be a stranger. The door is always open,” I said and held out my hand.
He took my hand, wrapped his arms around me, and we hugged for a long moment. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, Dev. Never.” We had watery eyes and sniffles as we pulled apart.
“I’ll leave you guys to it. Enjoy and stay in touch,” I said. I walked out to my car and then sat behind the wheel for five minutes. I had Taylor for a couple of weeks. How the hell did parents do this after raising a kid for seventeen years?
Epilogue
I drove home, took Morton for a walk, and made a sandwich with leftover prime rib for dinner. I watched a movie on Netflix and headed up to bed. Morton wandered into the guest room, looked around for Taylor, and then whined. “Yeah, he’s a good guy, Morton. We’re both going to miss him.”
I glanced at the desk, and there was an envelope with my name on it. I opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper folded in half. On one side was a lovely sketch of flowers, roses and daisies, and on the inside was a simple note.
Thank you, Dev.
I hope I’ll be able to help someone like you’ve helped me.
Taylor
I continued attending the detention meetings and had a steady stream of students. Barbara handed back the paper Ramona Williams wrote for me. She gave me an ‘F’ with an exclamation point. It was written in red marker and circled.
“An ‘F’? Why? I spent a lot of time on this.”
She shook her head and said, “Oh please, some things never change. You copied it word for word from the Cliff Notes, Dev.” She gave an audible exhale and said, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Annette called me about a week and a half later, and I invited her over for dinner. We were having a dessert wine in the den, talking about Taylor.
“Have you heard from him?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, a couple of phone calls. He sent me a text yesterday. He’s getting on, very busy, and more importantly, he has friends. Maybe the school is a version of the Alley Katz.”
“I’m not following.”
“You know, the kids at the Academy are all talented. Maybe not everyone, but certainly a number of them were probably social outcasts in schools. Now they’re in a school where that’s a common bond. Just like his roommate, David. He gave Taylor more social interaction in ten minutes than he would have gotten in a month in high school.”
“And his artwork. Think what he’ll be able to create.”
“Yeah, truly talented. He sketched roses and daises on a card he left for me.”
“Mmm-mmm, speaking of which, did I tell you I had some work done on one of his sketches?”
“Work done? No, you didn’t.”
“Let me show you,” she said, stood, and unzipped her skirt. She let it fall to the floor and then turned around. There, across the lower portion of her back were the two blue hummingbirds facing one another that she had designed. Below them was a chain of roses and daises, just like the one he’d sketched on my card, only running all the way across her lower back.
“What do you think?” she said.
“What’s not to like Annette? They’re gorgeous.”
“I think they’d look even better up in your bedroom…”
The End
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Don’t miss the following sample of Welcome, the first work of genius in the Jack Dillon Dublin Tales series.
I can resist everything except temptation.
~Oscar Wilde
Mike Faricy
Welcome
Jack Dillon Dublin Tale 1
Chapter One
Dillon woke just after six in the morning. He did a quick check with his eyes still closed, trying to remember the latter part of the evening. His mind suddenly jumped forward with the newsflash. He forgot to pack. He slowly opened his eyes, and his next thought was related to the leopard print sheets and a hint of perfume. The perfume seemed heavy, maybe lilacs in spring, a lot of lilacs. Close by. Where was he and whose bed was he in?
He cautiously rolled over and stared. She probably wasn’t too unattractive, even asleep, drooling and giving off a soft, continuous snore. The black eye mask sporting sequined blue eyes and covering half her face made it difficult to tell.
She was blonde, apparently a natural blonde if he remembered correctly. He was trying to recall her name while at the same time appraising her figure. He gradually recalled the shoulder tattoos, the pierced nipples, and the blue stone the size of a quarter piercing her navel. He glanced down, and his eyes rested on the tattoo about four inches below her navel, a long-stemmed cherry and then in perfect penmanship the words ‘Jimmy’s Playhouse.’ Unfortunately, his name was Jack. Jack Dillon. US Marshal Jack Dillon.
