by R. J. Blacks
“They promised us jobs,” he says.
“You could wait another ten years for those jobs. Isn’t it time to do what the commander said, make some options?”
Will thinks for a moment.
“You know, you’ve been really good to me, and I knows why you’re asking me, on account you’re feeling sorry for me. But it’s better you went yourself. I’d just be a burden to you anyway.”
“No, not at all. I assure you my intentions are entirely selfish. I’m a city girl, born and bred in Philadelphia. The farthest I’ve been is the Jersey Shore, and even that scares me a little. The thought of driving to Florida, a thousand miles, alone, terrifies me. I hardly drive as it is. What if I broke down? What if I met some crazy?”
“Oh, it’ll work out,” he says.
“Will, you’re a world traveler. You have experience doing these things. I would feel safe traveling with you.”
“You have a plan, a goal. What would I do in Florida?”
“You have a brother. I’m sure he would help you?”
“I haven’t seen him in years.”
“And that’s the best possible reason to give him a call.”
Will ponders again. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Of course, what’s the number? We’ll call right here.”
Will rolls up his sleeve revealing a phone number tattooed on his inner wrist, including the area code and a name “Fargo”.
“Interesting idea, you’ll never lose it,” I say.
“I had it tattooed there so if I was to die in my sleep they’d know who to call to claim the body.”
I realized at that moment, in spite of his shabby, uneducated appearance, Will was a realist. He had no illusions he would live forever. And he was prepared for the worst, probably better than most people.
What’s the number?” I say, holding up my cellphone. Will rattles it off and I punch it in on the keyboard. The call goes through and I hear it ringing. Then a man answers. I hand the phone to Will.
“Hello, Fargo, it’s me.”
I can hear the other party say something, but can’t quite make it out.
“It’s Will. You know, your brother.”
I wander away just out of earshot giving Will the privacy he deserves. Will isn’t talking much, but I can see him bobbing his head in agreement to something. Finally, Will strolls over to me, hands me the phone.
“He thought it was my phone,” he says. “Thought I had a job. I told him I just borrowed it.”
“Well?”
“Oh, he was glad to hear from me.”
“Does he know you’re coming to visit?”
“He’s fine with that. Says I can stay as long as I want. When we was kids, he talked about starting a business with me. Then I joined the military. That put an end to that.”
“So now you have a second chance.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
This was all too perfect. We had both made our plans, and it was all coming together. In just over a week we would be on our way. All I had to do first was sell my furniture and buy a car.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” I ask.
“Not anymore.”
“What happened.”
“I just never renewed it. What good would it do me without a car?”
“You don’t mind driving some, do you?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Then we have to get you a license?”
“Sure, except I’m gonna pay you back.”
“Forget it, it’s on me. Let’s meet here, tomorrow, 8:00 AM, okay?”
“8:00 AM’s fine, I’ll be waiting, he says.
CHAPTER 6
Next morning, Will is waiting for me, just like he promised. He stands there, fidgeting, looking all around, like he’s excited about the trip. He’s changed his clothes, into clothes I didn’t even know he had. He’s even trimmed his hair and actually looks quite respectable.
We set out immediately for the center city branch of the driver’s license bureau. Fortunately it’s an easy walk from the university. Will proves to be in far better physical shape than I had imagined. After ten blocks, I’m huffing and puffing and he isn’t even breathing hard. I suppose living in the street has its advantages.
We arrive at the Driver’s Bureau at about 10:00 AM, and immediately sign in. Within thirty minutes our number is called. Will hands the clerk his application; she glances at it then asks, “Do you have your expired license?”
Will fumbles through his bag, hands her the license.
“Military,” she says, then looks at his eye patch. “We need to get an eye test. Please look into the eyepiece and read me the three middle lines.”
Will stares into the eye test machine.
“A-P-E-O-R-T-D-E-X,” he says, rattling off all the letters he was told to read.
“Perfect. Now stand in front of the camera please.”
Will accommodates her, breaks into a smile as she takes his picture.
“Good. Now I need a second form of ID.”
Will gropes through his bag, retrieves a tattered, folded up piece of faded paper, hands it to her. She unfolds the paper, studies it.
“These are your military discharge papers. Anything else?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head side to side.
“I’m not sure about this. I’ll be right back.”
Will and I watch the lady disappear into the back office area. Will turns to me, shrugs. I can sense his feeling of helplessness. The lady returns.
“I’ve discussed this with the supervisor, and he approved it.”
Will’s eyes light up and he breaks into a smile.
“Furthermore,” she adds, “he waived the driving test since you’re already approved to drive several types of military vehicles including trucks. I think that’s enough experience for anyone.”
The clerk processes the paperwork, then hands Will his license complete with picture ID.
“Congratulations,” she says, breaking out in a smile.
Will studies it closely and then shows it to me, beaming from ear to ear. I gaze at it in admiration, but then something jumps out at me.
“William Dane? The hospital records said Franklin.”
“Oh that. It’s like this; the hospital always does a background check. If I use my real name, they will see I was in the military and send me to the VA.”
“What’s wrong with the VA?”
“The VA Hospital is far away... and they keep you there a long time... and I would have to beg for bus fare to get back and I don’t like to beg.”
“Don’t they check ‘Franklin’?”
“They do, but they come up empty, so they let me stay figuring I got no other options.”
To any other person, his logic would appear to be flawed. But it made perfect sense to him so I just let it pass.
“Let’s celebrate,” I say. “Lunch is on me.”
“Well okay. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“Don’t even think about it. Come on, let’s go.”
We exit the license bureau and find a nice little center city cafe. Will and I find some empty seats amongst a crowd of office workers and last minute Christmas shoppers. I order two coffees and some croissants. Will looks around in awe. It’s probably been ages since he was a paying guest in a restaurant and the smile on his face and twinkle in his eye tell me he is clearly enjoying himself.
“Now that you have your license, I need to get a car. Will you help me find a good one?”
“Of course, I’ll just cancel my afternoon appointments,” he jokes, acting like some important executive.
We finish lunch then take a bus to a used car lot just outside of town. The car lot is plastered with banners and signs all over, “Great Deals”, “Lowest Prices”, and “Zero Money Down”. We stroll down the first line of cars checking out prices marked in white paint on the windshield. A lanky man, dressed in an oversized suit coat and a colorful tie
that doesn’t match, shuffles up to us.
“Hi I’m Carl. What you all looking for,” he says, with a hint of a southern accent.
“We’re taking a long trip, and we need something comfortable,” I say.
“How much you looking to spend?”
“I don’t know, a couple thousand maybe.”
“Don’t have much in that price range.”
He looks around, then points to a 70’s era Cadillac.
How about that one?”
“Too big and too old’” I say.
“So you want something newer.”
He shuffles over to a tiny Fiat.
“This is like owning an oil well. I hope you both have big bladders ‘cause you’ll almost never have to stop for gas,” he says, guffawing at his own joke.
“Too small,” I say.
He takes us over to a late model SUV.
“How about this one?”
I notice the sign says $10,000. He sees me grimace.
“Today’s your lucky day. I can cut you a special deal on this. Some guy put a deposit on it, never picked it up. How about, say, $5,000?”
“Our budget is two thousand,” I say.
He flinches, then scans the lot.
“Mmmm. It’s going to be tough to get you something for two thousand.”
Carl walks to the garage, motions us to follow, and then opens the door.
“This just came in. It’s a PT Cruiser, late model, good condition. You can have it for... four grand.”
He looks at us with a gleam in his eye.
The car is lime green with a sign painted on the side, “Bug-Off Exterminating”. Black cartoon bugs are painted all over the hood and tailgate as if they’re about to devour the occupants.
Carl notices me frown then quickly adds: “Blue Book on this is $4,500... after we clean it up and all. It’s a tremendous deal.”
“What’s blue book?” I whisper to Will.
Carl overhears me, jumps right in. “Blue Book is the fair market value of the vehicle,” he says, as if reciting it from a recent class in car salesmanship. “It’s what dealers go by when pricing used cars.”
“No... I don’t think so. It’s over budget,” I say.
“This is a great car, strong motor, good transmission; we checked it out and everything is fine,” he insists. “How about three thousand?”
“Well, maybe if you remove the bugs and sign,” I say.
Carl frowns. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. It would cost fifteen-hundred to clean this up and repaint.” He paces the floor then turns to me: “Tell you what; give me cash and it’s yours for two grand.”
Will opens the hood, checks the oil and a few other things, then starts the engine. He revs it up a few times then asks me to check for blue smoke in the exhaust.
“What does blue smoke mean?” I ask.
“It means the rings are shot. Don’t ever buy a car with bad rings.”
I look, see no smoke, and give him the OK sign.
“Let’s take it for a test drive,” he says.
“Can we?” I ask Carl.
“Of course, like I said we checked it all out. May I see your license?”
Will hands Carl the newly printed license.
“Just need a copy,” he says, and then disappears into the office. A moment later he is back and hands the license to Will.
Will closes the hood, climbs into the driver’s seat. I slip into the passenger seat. Will maneuvers the Cruiser out of the lot and onto the street then proceeds to drive onto a freeway. He gets the car up to seventy.
“Handles good,” he says. “It’s got my blessing.”
“Will it get us to Florida?”
“The engine is strong, and the tires are pretty new. Probably got well serviced if it’s from a business. I say go for it.”
We return to the car lot; Carl greets us.
“So... is it a deal?”
“Take a check?” I ask.
“We take everything. Let’s go inside.”
We follow him into the office and thirty minutes later I’m driving home in my new “Bug-Mobile”.
I turn to Will. “I hope we did the right thing.”
“It’s exactly what you need for a trip like this,” he says. “And when you get your PhD, there’ll be money for better things.”
Yes, of course. When I get my PhD there will be money, lots of money, for all the things I’ve always wanted but could not afford. I peer at the streets lined with Christmas decorations, the hordes of people hustling from store to store seeking out that special gift, and the piles of snow that give the inner city a real holiday feel and think to myself: yes indeed, when I get my PhD, life will be good.
CHAPTER 7
I drop Will off at the black-iron gates and make my way to my apartment. Fortunately, parking is a breeze since many of the students had already left for winter break. I manage to find a spot only two blocks away, a miracle any other time of the school year.
It’s five o’clock so I pull out some ingredients for dinner. My cellphone rings. It’s Logan; what could he possibly want? I don’t want to talk to him, but then I think, maybe he’s got good news. Maybe he convinced Dean Haas to give me another chance. I answer the phone.
“Hi Logan. What’s up?”
“Can you meet me at Ricky Stinks?” he says.
“When?”
“At 5:30. Dinner’s on me.”
“You have news?”
“Sort of.”
“Can’t you tell me now?”
“No, it’s better we talk over dinner.”
My curiosity is piqued, and maybe he does have good news, so I agree.
“Okay, 5:30’s fine.”
“Good,” he says, and then hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else.
I freshen up a bit, redo my makeup, then dash out the door. The sidewalks are clear now so it’s an easy thirty minute walk to Ricky’s. I follow a group of students through the front door and into the pub. Logan’s all the way in the back, in the quiet area, where students pull all-nighter’s. I sit down on the opposite side of the table, facing him.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say.
“Let’s order dinner first. Then we can talk.”
He hands me a menu and a few minutes later a waitress stops at our table with a pen and scratchpad in hand.
“What are you having,” she asks.
“A flounder sandwich and hot chocolate.”
“Instead of the hot chocolate, make that two Bailey’s Coffees,” Logan interjects. “And go heavy on the Irish Cream.”
The waitress notes it on her pad, and then, turns to Logan.
“And for dinner?”
“I’ll take the T-Bone with a baked potato.”
The waitress scribbles it down, then heads to the kitchen.
“What’s with the Irish Cream?” I ask.
“Just want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve been through a lot lately.”
“So you have news?”
“You’re moving?” he asks.
“How do you know?”
“When there are ads all over campus with your name and number on them, and you’re selling off furniture, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
“Yes, I’m moving,” I say.
“So you got admitted to another university. How did you manage that without a referral?” he says with a sneer.
“I’m just taking some time off.”
“You should be trying to get back into Dean Haas’ favor. Not screwing off.”
“I know, I know. I need a change of scenery. There’s nothing for me here right now.”
“Never say never. There’s always a way.”
The waitress places our Baileys on the table. I take a sip; it’s strong as usual. They don’t hold back on the liquor at Ricky’s.
“What should I do,” I ask.
“It’s complicated, but I have a plan.”
“Tell me.”
“Not now. Let’s just enjoy the moment and talk business later,” he says.
I take another sip. I can feel the alcohol go right to my head. I need some food to sop it up.
“I wish she’d hurry with the food,” I say.
“It’ll be here soon.”
Logan takes a gulp of his Baileys; I do the same.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Florida.”
“Vacation?”
“Just to clear my head. And I got a hunch something might pan out for me there.”
“A hunch?”
“New places, new faces, you never know.”
“You’re making a big mistake.”
“Mistake?”
“Your place is here. And with the right influence, you can be back in the lab,” he says.
“Influence? Isn’t it too late for that?”
“Not necessarily. Dean Haas and I go back a long time. She trusts me. If I work on her a bit, tell her what a good candidate you are, she’ll eventually come around.”
“You already tried that and she blew you off.”
“She did. But it takes time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it takes. I’ll prod her a little, do what I can, but there are no guarantees of course.”
“So you want me to hang around here indefinitely while you whisper in her ear what a great candidate I am hoping she changes her mind, but she might not?” I say.
“No need to get upset. Let’s enjoy the evening. Lay back, have a few drinks. We’ll go over it later, at my place.”
At my place? He has never invited me to his place before. We couldn’t, that is, under university rules. Normally I would have jumped at the chance to spend an evening with him, but something didn’t smell right here. Was he offering to trade influence for... sex?
“Can’t we just go over it now?” I ask.
“This is not the place to discuss business, this type of business.” he says forcefully.
“But your apartment is?”
“Look, you’re in a bind and I’m offering to go out on a limb for you. Be realistic, I’m the only option you have.”
“So you’re offering to help me... if you get something in return. Is that what you’re saying?”
Logan softens his tone.
