Ransom of Brownie

by Bevill, C. L.

  “Who?”

  “Tom,” Mary Lou said. She spread her hands wide as if expressing surprise that they didn’t already know the answer. “Tom Bledsoe got the other bag. I think he traded his boots for a pack of cigarettes.”

  “I liked them boots,” Newt said. He stared at his dirty bare feet. “I think I lost them in the garbage dumpster.”

  “Tom Bledsoe is staying with Laz,” Bubba said slowly. “And they live with Laz’s mother at the junkyard.” Bubba knew both Tom Bledsoe and Lazarus Berryhill. Occasionally the pair stayed out of trouble, too. He also knew the junkyard. He’d been there scrounging for old Chevy parts more than once but mostly the yard had import parts.

  “Bubba,” Willodean said warningly.

  “It might not be Tom,” Bubba said. “I’ll just go to the junkyard and take a looksee.”

  “Can you wait for me?” Willodean asked. “I’ll just book Newt and we can—”

  Bubba shook his head, gave Willodean a quick kiss, and said, “Dang, you smell bad, but I don’t reckon Brownie can wait no more.”

  Willodean, Newt, and Mary Lou watched Bubba leave. Bubba heard Mary Lou tell Willodean, “I get to be one of your bridesmaids,” causing him to wince and speed up his gait until he was almost running.

  * * *

  Brownie had himself situated on top of the hill that overlooked the junkyard. He could see everything from his position. He had a camp chair and a bottle of Gatorade. He had a bag of microwaved popcorn (movie theater butter style) and some weenies for Oscar. Oscar sat next to the camp chair and watched Brownie with avid eyes.

  Brownie put his smart phone in the cup holder on the left side of his chair while the Gatorade took up the right side position. His phone was fully charged thanks to finding a drawer in Tayla’s kitchen with chargers in it. (She had five different kinds and three for the car, too. Brownie was impressed by her ability to compartmentalize her possessions.)

  Brownie stuffed his mouth full of popcorn and relaxed in the chair. He fed Oscar a weenie and watched as Oscar swallowed it in two gulps.

  “There’s goin’ to be some noise coming up,” Brownie advised Oscar. “Not a huge amount, but that’s why you’re on the leash, boy. I don’t want you to run away and hurt yourself.”

  Oscar whined hopefully.

  “I figure Laz and Tom should be headed here just as soon as they get Miz Tayla admitted into Doc Goodjoint’s care. And don’t you fret, Oscar. Miz Tayla will be fine once they give her a shot of some kind of epinephrine or such. I read about that a few weeks ago because Scout Leader Marlon Tarterhouse was discussing poison ivy reactions. Most folks don’t get that severe reaction to poison ivy, but ifin they ingest it, they might. Anyway, she’ll been right proper once she accepts she cain’t eat no more seafood.”

  Oscar whined again.

  Brownie gave the dog another hot dog. “No more of them for you. I don’t want you bein’ sick and all. I’d give you popcorn, but I don’t know if popcorn is good for a dog.”

  Oscar swallowed the second dog in three convulsive gulps.

  Brownie looked up and saw a truck coming down the road. He picked up his smart phone and unlocked the screen. “There they are. Ready for fireworks, Oscar?”

  Oscar laid down on the grass beside the camp chair and burped vociferously.

  “Well, not really fireworks,” Brownie said. “I couldn’t get my hands on real fireworks. But I can always hope for the future.” Brownie pushed the button on his camera app, and it began to record.

  “Okay, it’s Friday, November the 15th and I think it’s about 10 a.m. I don’t want to put the camera down to look, so just take my word for it. The two victims have just come to a complete stop in front of the gate of the junkyard. Victim One is getting out to punch in the code and— ”

  Another truck roared to a stop behind the first one. It was old and green and belonged to his second cousin, Bubba. Bubba got out of the truck and snarled something at Laz who was still sitting inside the truck.

  “And things might get more interesting,” Brownie said. “Victim One is standing there struck dumb. He doesn’t know what to say to Bubba Snoddy because he knows that he is wrong. Victim One knows he is wrong, not Bubba, that is.”

  Then Laz got out of the truck and yelled something at Bubba. Tom cringed by the gate, his finger still over the control pad.

  Bubba yelled back at Laz. He reached inside the green truck and withdrew what looked like a torn up shoe. Brownie nodded. Bubba had been tracking him down. That was interesting. It almost made Brownie want to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye. Almost. It was nice to know a boy was really needed.

  Brownie held the phone up so that he could see the screen as it recorded everything for posterity and also for YouTube. “Victim One is wavering about opening the gate. He isn’t sure ifin he should or ifin he should run. Come on. Push the button.” Oscar yipped encouragingly.

  Bubba yelled at Laz again and then yelled at Tom.

  Tom apparently decided he would be safer inside the junkyard. He completed the code and determinedly jabbed the large red button.

  Brownie sighed with joy. “Let it begin.”

  The gate swung open as a counterweight went down. The counterweight was a rear axle of a 2001 Hyundai Elantra and was activated by the control box. Brownie had simply used the button to complete the circuit, which released a clamp on the counterweight, and the counterweight sank. The cord attached to the counterweight pulled the gate open.

  All three men went silent. “Victims One and Two are aware that something is not right. They’ve been sensitized to the pranking and are expecting something to happen. They didn’t expect it right there, but…ah, there we go.”

  The right hand gate hit the edge of a broad board set up next to the opening. A small brake ring rolled down the inclined board and hit a larger ring. The larger ring rolled two feet and hit the largest O-ring Brownie could find.

  Brownie centered the screen on the action caused by other actions. Briefly he went back to the three men. Laz and Tom had frozen in place, their eyes following the rolling rings and Bubba had frozen because their sudden inaction had startled him. Brownie made the screen go back to the rolling rings.

  The huge O-ring fell off the end of the board and hit a MacPherson strut. The strut rolled in a 360 degree circle and in the last five degrees hit a muffler that was balanced on a block of compacted metal.

  “Com-pac-tor,” Brownie said approvingly.

  The muffler did a slow and lazy spin to the side, easily coming around in a round circle. The very end of the muffler hit a rusted stake on the top of a car hood.

  “That’s the hood of ‘65 Mustang,” Brownie said informatively. “It said so on a sticker on the underside.”

  The rusted stake spun around and hit another rusted stake, which in turn hit a third rusted stake. Each went in a neat little circle as it rolled down the inclined hood. The third stake rolled off the hood and hit a thick bolt on the ground. The bolt rolled to one side and released a spring. The spring bounced away and hit a precariously balanced screen door. The screen door fell over forward and hit a rubber tire on another board. The rubber tire began to roll down the slight incline.

  “Tires from a John Deere tractor,” Brownie said to Oscar.

  Oscar whined.

  The first tire hit a second tire. The second tire hit a third tire and rolled off the board onto the ground. It went about two feet before it hit a metal rim.

  “Those are from a ’75 Datsun.”

  The rim rolled over and hit another rim. The second rim went up a little incline of another board and hit a third rim. The distant clunk was like music in Brownie’s ears. The third rim hit a fourth rim and the fourth rim hit some kind of heavy flywheel. (No sticker on that one.) The flywheel went off the board and was immediately caught by a distributor wire strung in between two bricks. The flywheel’s weight depressed the wire, and the weight caused the next item to be pulled back. More wires yanked on the back of a
seat from a 2003 Mitsubishi SUV. The seat pulled all the way back, and the motion of the seat rising caused the headrest of the seat to hit a windshield wiper. The windshield wiper was mounted on another wire and immediately began to spin as it moved across six feet of wire.

  Brownie took another moment to pan back to the three men.

  “Yes, Victims One and Two are still struck numb with fear of expectation. I don’t know about Bubba.”

  Tom yelled, “What’s happening? Hawww-hawww-hawww! Is it the apocalypse?”

  Brownie put the focus back on the wiper. It spun lazily all the way across the wire and hit a large can propped on a car door. The can fell over onto its side and started pouring out liquid (water in this case) onto a glass window that was balanced on a stack of compacted metal blocks.

  “Com-pac-tor,” Brownie added gleefully.

  The water upset the balance of the window and the window began to tilt to one side. The ball bearings on the window rolled to the lower end and fell one by one into an engine manifold. The engine manifold was positioned on one side of a teeter-totter which then dropped to the ground. The other side of the teeter-totter came up. There was a battery mounted on the opposite side, and as soon as it came up to its full height, the connections on the battery made contact with two leads that were mounted strategically on an engine block (2008 Honda Accord). The electricity crackled loudly, and he panned the camera to the side where the two leads led to a radiator fan mounted on caster wheels.

  Brownie smiled and sighed again.

  The fan was momentarily powered by the car battery and pushed itself across a long section of plywood. The fan hit a pole and made it jiggle. The pole had a large nut mounted on top. The hit from the fan dislodged the nut, and it clattered down a wire until it knocked against a gasoline tank (2004 Mazda Miata). The gasoline tank rolled twice and hit another bolt that released a strip of metal which sprang up as it was freed from its tension. The little piece on the top launched a distributor cap that hit a wheel on top of a car trunk (2007 BMW M6). The tire rolled off the trunk and hit a wire strung between two flywheels. The pressure of the tire pulled the first of a series of precariously balanced crescent wrenches. These were the largest wrenches he could find. They knocked each other over like dominoes as they proceeded down a long board.

  Brownie let the viewer of the smart phone go back to the three men. Laz had his hand over his mouth, and Tom was gasping like a fish out of water. Bubba was saying something, but Brownie couldn’t tell what it was.

  The viewer on the screen went back to the wrenches. Like clockwork, they went down the line (click, click, clunk) until they reached the very last one and that one teetered back and forth.

  “Come on,” Brownie said. Four sets of human eyes watched the jittering movement, waiting for it. One set of canine eyes looked for another errant weenie.

  The wrench teetered left. It teetered right. It looked like it was going to stay in place.

  “Dang it,” Brownie muttered. He blew out a breath as if that would help blow it over and continue the series of actions that culminate in a really big blowout.

  Then the wrench fell. It caused a metal pipe to roll down another incline and fall into a cradle on top of another battery, which closed another circuit. The two leads caused a pump reserve for a 2010 Buick LaCrosse to spray water for a few moments. The water shot across a short expanse and hit a giant mobile he’d created by hanging mud flaps from big rigs and two pieces of intersected wrought iron. The mud flaps twisted tiredly around and caused the whole deal to slide down a wire until one of the mud flaps hit a counterweight made from a carburetor (’74 Datsun 260Z). The counterweight fell down and triggered a rear axle (1996 Ford F-150) to spin as it was balanced on another block of black material.

  “Com-pac-tor,” Brownie said again. It was such a nice word to say.

  The rear axle spun to one side and hit a weight made from a ring gear and pinion (not marked) move to one side, releasing a lever made from a steering arm (60 series Chevy truck). The lever pulled down on a set of ropes connected to five porta-potties.

  Brownie had the camera follow the ropes’ movement as they jerked toward the top of the porta-potties. As soon as the movements reached the top, they fell away, releasing…

  “Chemical composition made from potassium iodide,” Brownie said. “I used plastic baggies that would break open as soon as they…”

  There was a distant whump as the bags hit the toilets below. In each of the toilets was a bowl duct taped to the seat so that it wouldn’t fall in. Inside the bowls were another set of chemicals.

  “A little hydrogen peroxide, well, a lot of it, some dish detergent,” Brownie said, “in the proper proportions can…”

  The chemical reaction went according to plan. There was another distant thump as things combined and exploded. The porta-potties shook, and then the doors burst open and pink foam squirted out in great gouts. It was a rainbow of pink foam that caught the sunlight in just the right way.

  In a moment of sheer awe for his artistic contraption, Brownie almost put the smart phone down but caught himself just in time. He hadn’t been sure of the right measurements to get the proper effect, but the pink foam thrust itself into the air and came down directly on the three men standing.

  Bubba stepped back immediately and missed most of it.

  “IT’S HOT! HAWWW!” Tom screeched and ran. He stopped, dropped, and rolled in the grass.

  Laz brushed the foam off his arms and stared at the mess. There was pink foam everywhere. It oozed from the porta-potties and glided into every pile of junk and cars within a radius of twenty feet.

  Brownie nodded firmly and said, “Dang. It worked the first time.” He paused and added triumphantly, “And that’s the way they do it down South. Bwahaha.”

  Epilogue

  Friday, November 15th

  The Triumphant Return of Brownie

  Just as Brownie made the turn down the Snoddy Estate’s long drive, Bubba drove up behind him in his 1954 Chevy truck. (Brownie hadn’t seen a single part for a 1954 Chevy Truck in the junkyard. Not even a windshield wiper, and there had been a very large pile of those in the back.)

  Brownie got his very best aw-shucks expression on his face before he turned to look at Bubba again.

  Bubba stopped the truck and got out in a flash. Rapidly, he was standing before Brownie with his hands on Brownie’s narrow shoulders. “You hurt, boy?” Bubba asked. “All of a piece?”

  “No, I’m not hurt,” Brownie said. “How’s Ma?”

  “She’s in the hospital and doing all right,” Bubba said. “Worried sick about you.”

  “She’ll be better after I talk to her,” Brownie said.

  “You look tired, boy.”

  “I’m a little exhausted,” Brownie said. “And fuzzy. Definitely fuzzy. I remember peeling off duct tape and running. A lot of running. Everything else is a blur.”

  Bubba gave Brownie’s shoulders a little shake, and then he released him. Bubba abruptly changed his mind and swiftly grasped the boy in a tight rib-breaking hug. Brownie gave a little humph of surprise and secretly smiled.

  After a long minute, Bubba said, “We’ll get you down to the mansion, clean you up, and drive you over to the hospital so your mama can see you. Your pa, too.”

  Bubba let Brownie go with a grim smile. “Fuzzy, huh?”

  “Them kidnappers might have had drugs,” Brownie said.

  “Who’s that?” Bubba asked and nodded his head at Oscar.

  Oscar whined hopefully.

  “Oscar,” Brownie said. “Oscar Meyer. He needs a new home. I believe that he and Bogie will get along tremendously.”

  Bubba bent to give Oscar a smell of his fingers. Oscar sniffed and presented his head for scratches. “Someone wasn’t taking care of this here fella?” Bubba asked as he scratched.

  “No, sir.”

  “I reckon you’ll have to take it up with your parents,” Bubba said, “but I don’t think it’ll be a proble
m. Get in the truck. Dog, too.”

  Bubba climbed into the truck after Brownie and Oscar and said, “Good to have you back, boy.”

  Brownie sighed and thought of the footage on his smart phone. “It’s good to be back.”

  “I just spent the better part of an hour looking for you at a junkyard,” Bubba said as he started the Chevy.

  “A junkyard,” Brownie said thoughtfully. “I love junkyards. Say, Bubba, you’ve got someone wandering out in the estate with another metal detector. That lady’s got a cast on her leg, and she don’t look too good neither.”

  “Don’t mind her; she’s a federal agent,” Bubba said smoothly and then added, “Ain’t never seen two grown men so relieved that I dint find any sign of a child there.”

  “How about that?”

  They drove down the lane in companionable silence until Bubba brought the truck to a stop beside the mansion. He turned the ignition off, and they climbed out of the truck. Oscar trailed along.

  Miz Demetrice and Miz Adelia rushed out onto the veranda yelling and hooting. Precious and Bogie came bounding out. After they hugged and smooched upon Brownie until he blushed, they watched as Bogie, Oscar, and Precious all made friends. Of course, Precious made it clear that she was in charge of all things canine. Bogie already knew the score, and Oscar was happy to fall into line.

  Miz Adelia said she would make a lemon icebox pie for him, and Miz Demetrice said something about someone leaving an envelope of money on the front veranda not two hours before.

  “$532 and 83¢,” Miz Demetrice said. “Imagine that. I think it was every single cent they could put their hands upon. There was also a coupon for 2-for-1 drinks at Grubbo’s Tavern and a genuine arrowhead. I think they might have felt guilty or something like that.”

  “Something like that,” Bubba murmured. “I need to call Willodean and let her know.”

  Miz Demetrice rushed inside to make a few phone calls of her own. “I’ll call the hospital and tell them Brownie’s all right and that we’re on our way.”