by James Ross
“I’m helping someone and they owe me a favor,” Harold started. “It’s a lock, solid winner.”
“There are no sure things in life.”
“This is,” Harold insisted. “We’re on the inside making it happen.”
“Making what happen?”
“Fixing college football games,” Harold blurted out.
“I don’t want anything to do with something like that,” Alpha Bear answered.
Harold grabbed a legal scratch pad. “It’s better if I draw out the scenario. I’ve got everything all figured out.”
“That’s what concerns me,” the priest admitted.
Harold started to doodle. “Look, I have a college football referee in my hip pocket that is going to see to it that the team we’re betting on is going to take the money. We can start off placing small bets of five or ten thousand. I can use my casino host down at the Aqua Mermaid to get the bets down for us.”
Alpha Bear had a private life outside the public persona that he projected in and around town. He loved going to Las Vegas as an unknown private citizen and was a large player on the strip. “I can’t be involved with anything like that.”
“Hey, you know and I know that you can’t get caught doing that stuff around here, but when you’re out in Vegas who’s going to know and who’s going to care.” Harold was chomping at the bit to get some action down and see if D. Wayne was going to be a good mark.
“You’ve got to be out of your mind,” the priest suggested.
“Not at all. I’m dead serious.” Harold started to doodle on the pad again. “Look, we’re working with a four million dollar budget with the church money. You know as well as I that at least a half million of that is slush fund money.”
“I know that the appropriation for miscellaneous construction is what we’ve tapped in the past,” Alpha Bear confessed. “There’s only two hundred and fifty thousand appropriated for that. What’s the other one?”
“The NIG Fund,” Harold blurted.
“The what?”
“The NIG Fund.”
The priest was lost. “Which fund is that?”
“The one that we set up for charitable contributions over to Africa,” Harold reminded Alpha Bear.
“Oh,” Father Blair exclaimed. “The Namibia Impoverished Guardian Fund. Don’t call it what you called it. That sounds terrible.”
“It’s easier for me. I’m better with one syllable stuff,” the banker said. “My tongue gets all tied up with those big words.”
“Then call it the Namibia fund. Don’t call it what you called it . . . or at least say in-eye-gee.”
“Whatever,” Harold relented as he borrowed a chic phrase from his teenagers. “But we can tap those line items for a lot of cash and make a major score here.”
“I don’t know about all this,” the priest conceded.
“Look, we can have a trial run for a couple of games and if he delivers for us, then we can send you out to Vegas to get some big plays in for us. You can hit all of the sports books on the strip,” Harold stated persuasively. “And the beauty of all this is that we can tap the church’s money for the bets!”
Alpha Bear contemplated what had just been dumped in his lap. He stared into the empty space around the office with a smug, tight-lipped grin. “Scottie’s been dying to go on a vacation with me.”
“Take him to Vegas!” Harold persisted. “You two can get the honeymoon suite or something real nice and romantic!”
“That sounds so sacrilegious.”
“Don’t flaunt it here in town. Who’s going to know out there?” Harold said as he tried to plead his case.
Father Blair was smitten with Scottie P. The more he imagined a few days’ vacation in the honeymoon suite the more the idea appealed to him. “Well I guess I could . . .”
Harold was quick to interrupt. “ . . . And the best part about it is that we can’t lose! It’s the church’s money!” Harold was licking his lips with anticipation as his money-hungry mind was working in full gear. “When we win, we’ll put the money in our personal accounts!”
“Are you sure we can get away with all this?” Alpha Bear asked as his mind was being swayed.
“There’s no problem,” Harold persevered. “I can turn in the vouchers for the fictitious expenses and issue checks from the N-I-G fund at the church or out of the miscellaneous expense account and turn it into cash out of the bank. We’ll get our hands on the money, like we’ve done before, and who’s going to miss it?” Big Al tickled his chin. Harold continued, “It’s going to get paid back anyway after we win.”
“You are terrible,” the priest surrendered.
“No, I’m a businessman,” Harold barked. “I know money.” He stared into Alpha Bear’s eyes. “Stick with me and you’ll have enough money to do anything that you’ll want the rest of your life.”
“Scottie will be so thrilled.” Alpha Bear was almost giddy.
Harold got up and walked to the window. He peered outside. With his tongue in his cheek the banker feigned tears. “That is so compassionate for you to be thinking of Scottie at a time like this Al.”
Overwhelmed by the thought of pleasing his companion the priest said. “He wants to go out of town so badly. Especially to a warm weather spot to play golf.”
Harold walked over to the priest and patted him on the shoulder. “It will be okay. We’ll make a trial run over the next couple of weekends and then we’ll let you two go on a much needed vacation.” Alpha Bear, in his fragile state of mind, became teary-eyed at the thought of pleasing Scottie P. “It’ll be okay,” Harold said as he bit his lip and consoled the priest. This guy is love-struck. Now I’ve got to hold his hand. Behind Alpha Bear’s back he rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. “Everything will be fine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tuey stopped by the Suds, Slugs, & Sinkers store on the way home from work. He had been doing work as a subcontractor on a trench that needed to be dug for some sewer repair work. The day had been hot; he had gotten sweaty and much of his body was caked in mud. So he thought that he might do a little fishing when he got home to relax and forget about all the problems that seemed to be entering his life on a more frequent basis.
He was dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt. Tuey had put on a little weight that seemed to hit most American men that approached middle age. His body and face had filled out, but one look at him said that he was a former athlete. His biceps were still well-defined, his chest was like a bulldog, and his shoulders were broad like a linebacker. On top of his head was the recognizable lime green skull cap.
“Need any help?” the female clerk asked as Tuey roamed the aisles looking for bait.
“I’s gonna do some fishin’ fo’ dem catfish,” Tuey said. “Duz ya have any bait fo’ dat?”
“Gitcha some a dat sticky channel cat bait,” the clerk yelled across the store. “Dat stuff will attract dem.”
“Evens if I’s don’t fish da riva?” Tuey asked.
“Nah, dat stuff works everywhere.” She sounded like she knew what she was talking about. “Where’s you be goin’?”
“Jus’ ta da drainage ditch behines my backyard,” Tuey said.
“Go down one mo’ aisle an’ its on da end,” the clerk directed.
Tuey noticed a section of the shelf that was reserved for catfish bait. He read the label on the one that the clerk recommended. “Is dis da stuff dat you’s wuz talkin’ ’bout?”
“Yeah, dat’s da one dat everyone sez gits da fish to bite,” the clerk indicated. “You’s catch you’s self some dinner wit’ dat bait.”
“You’s mind if I’s axt you’s anudda question?”
“No’s, go right ahead.”
“Where’s da ya keep da cottonseed cake?” Tuey asked as he took the package of sticky channel cat bait off of the shelf.
“What’s you be doin’ wit’ dat?”
“I’s tinkin’ dat I’s put some lines in da wata an’ see what’s on da line da n
ext day,” Tuey revealed.
“Do you’s know what fish dat cottonseed cake catches?”
Tuey shook his head up and down. “Oh yeah. It’s my’s favorite afta dat catfish.”
“What’s dat be?”
“Carp. Now dere’s some big fish.” He shook his head up and down again. “An’ some real good eatin’ too.”
“Dat’s a junk fish wit’ a lot a bones,” the clerk said.
“Dat’s why’s dey be so big,” Tuey explained. “Gimme some uh dat cottonseed cake.”
“I gotsta git dat outta da back,” she locked up the register and walked off. “Don’t ya be stealin’ nuttin’.”
“I’s won’t,” Tuey replied. “I’s uh frien’ uh D. Wayne.”
“My man bring dat fish home an’ we’s jus’ throw it away,” she mumbled as she disappeared into the back room. Tuey looked at the various hooks and bait. He peered into the glass aquarium that was home to several dozen minnows. He marveled about how peaceful they looked swimming around in the water. “Here’s some a dat cottonseed cake,” the clerk said as she returned to the store and handed him a large square. “Anyting else?”
“Nah. Dis sho’ will do me good,” Tuey replied as he grabbed the square slab.
“No beer? It’s a hot day, ya know.”
“I’s don’t drink any uh dat alcohol,” Tuey said.
“Any chips? Or maybe some a dat tobaccy fo’ you’s pipe?”
“Nope. I’s watchin’ my waists an’ I’s don’t do da udda.” He placed the bait and cake on the counter. “Dis is it.” He checked out and headed for the door. “Have mercy on you,” he turned and said to the clerk.
In a couple of minutes Tuey was getting back into his pickup truck for the ride home. As he pulled down the state highway the buzz of the cicadas roared louder than the rubber tires on the asphalt pavement. It was hard to determine if they were the seventeen-year variety or the thirteen-year type. Tuey’s memory had failed him on that matter. But for all he knew the sound may have been coming from a swarm of locusts. It seemed as if all the summers ran together in the middle part of his life and it was difficult to tell what insects were making the mating call. But it was noticeable.
As he pulled onto his street the parking dilemma slapped his daydreams back into reality. Is dat Big Bertha gonna be out here agin tonight? What had started out as a simple violation a couple of years before had turned into an evening nuisance. It seemed as if he had to plan his entire night around staying on the lookout for her.
Tuey noticed that LeVournique had beaten him home from her job in the cashier’s cage at the Aqua Mermaid. Her car was already in the driveway. He parked his pickup on the street with EE Excavating blazoned on the driver’s side door. As he had done so many times in the past he removed his lime green skull cap and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Da heck wit’ dat Big Bertha. I’s gonna go fishin’. Tuey grabbed the sticky channel cat bait and cottonseed cake before heading into his carport that was loaded with what seemed to be every engine part known to man.
“Is dat you Tuey?” LeVournique yelled out the screen door that led into the kitchen.
“Yeah, Sweet Chile, I’s home.” He proceeded to the outside shed, grabbed his key ring, and unlocked the padlock that was protecting his possessions. As the door flew open, cockroaches scurried in the invading light. A swarm of mosquitoes buzzed at his face. Wildly, Tuey swung his arms up to protect his head from the pesky intruders.
“What’s dat you be doin?” LeVournique yelled out the window.
“I’s lookin’ fo’ my fishin’ poles.” Tuey scooted a box away so that he could step further into the shed. More bugs squirmed as their privacy was disturbed.
“What’s you be doin’ dat fo’?” LeVournique questioned her husband. She opened the screen door and poked her head outside. Standing there in her casino suit and gold loop earrings, she batted her fake eyelashes against the beams of sunshine that reached her face. “You’s hasn’t done dat awl summa.”
“It’s jus’ what I’s feels like doin’ right now,” Tuey answered. “I jus’ wanna go down to da ditch aw by myselves an’ do some tinkin’.” He saw the fishing poles in the shed and reached for them. “Maybe I’s can catch us uh big catfish or one uh dem dere carps.” He shook his head back and forth and smiled from ear to ear. “Dose is some good eatin’.”
“Don’t you’s want me ta cook you’s dinna?”
“Why sho’ Sweet Chile. Why’s you axt me uh question like dat?” Tuey exited the shed with the poles and swung the door shut. “You knows dat I’s be hungry.”
“Wells, I jus’ thought dat if you’s be catchin’ us some dinna den we be eatin’ dat.”
“If dat happens den we can have dem tomorrow night. ’Sides I be fishin’ wit dat cottonseed cake. Dem carp won’t be on dere ’til tomorrow.” He walked over to the picnic table in the back yard that had been hauled in from a neighborhood park. Weathered wooden two-by-eights formed the table and seat. “Aws, shucks, I’s forgots my tackle box,” Tuey said. He turned and headed back to the outside shed.
LeVournique flipped through the mail that she had gotten before Tuey arrived home. “If it wuzn’t fo’ aw uh dis junk mail, den we wouldn’t git no mail at aw!” she yelled as Tuey re-opened the shed door.
“Is we still gittin’ aw dat junk mail from dat casino?” Tuey asked as a daddy long legs spider scurried to safety.
“Yes! An’ I’s even tole dem not ta sen’ any uh dat stuff to us!”
Tuey noticed his tackle box underneath a bench that had been overloaded with tools and pieces of junk that had accumulated over the years. He bent over and reached for the tackle box. His head swooped into a spider web that had been hidden from view. “Aaahhh! Dammit!” Surprised by the movement of the web a large black spider crawled up the web, continued onto Tuey’s forehead, and across the top of his head. “Git it off me! Git it off me!” he yelled as his hands and arms were flailing about his head. In a flash Tuey made it out of the shed and back to the picnic table.
LeVournique started laughing. “What’s uh big strong man like you runnin’ so fast fo’?”
“Dat damn spida wuz uh crawlin’ on my head!”
LeVournique had come out of the house. She laid the mail on the picnic table and said, “Let me look at you’s.”
Tuey bent over, still brushing his hands through his scalp. “Duz ya see it anywhere?”
LeVournique picked away at his hair trying to see the spider as Tuey was bent at the waist before her. “No, it looks like ya musta knocked it outta dere.”
A second later Tuey yelled again. “Aaahhh! Dere he is!” The spider had gotten under his shirt and was slinking along his back.
“Where?”
“Hit me’s on da back!” Tuey was moving faster than a break dancer on one of the sidewalks around the hood. His arms were moving but he couldn’t reach the center of his back. The spider was inching under his shirt and giving him the creeps.
“Git on ova here,” LeVournique instructed him as she continued to laugh.
“It’s not funny!” Tuey made his way to his wife, his shoulders moving side to side as he wiggled to get the spider to stop.
He bent over and LeVournique started to swat her hands on his back. “Did I’s git ’em?”
Tuey stood still for a second. “I’s don’t feels ’em movin’ any mo’. I’s tinks dat ya got ’em.” He straightened up and LeVournique moved back to the mail. A couple of seconds had elapsed. “Aaahhh!” Tuey jumped a foot and a half into the air. “Dere he is agin!” He smashed his hand against his waist. The spider had traveled to the bottom of his shirt and was crawling along his beltline. As quick as lightning Tuey reached up behind his neck and pulled his sleeveless t-shirt over his head. The wadded shirt went flying to the ground. He looked down to the right side of his waist and saw the remnants of a spider crushed against his side. With his thumb and middle finger he flicked the remains off of his body. “Dat l’il booga scared me half ta death.”
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LeVournique was rolling with laughter. “I’s hasn’t seen you’s move dat fas’ since you wuz in college.” She rubbed her hand across his head and kissed him on the forehead.
Tuey was sweating from all of the movement. He took a deep breath and tried to hyperventilate. After flicking some leaves off of the seat, he sat down at the picnic table. “I’s could feel ’em, but I’s couldn’t git ’em off uh me.” Tuey took another deep breath. He picked up the mail and sorted through it. He noticed one of the letters and turned to his wife. “You’s dint tell me ’bout dis one.”
Tuey held a letter with a return address from city hall. “Which one?” LeVournique asked.
“Dis one,” Tuey said as he waved the letter in the air. He ripped into it, took the letter out of the envelope, and read the message. A forlorn look enveloped his face as he laid it down on the picnic table.
“What’s it say?” LeVournique asked.
“Dem fokes down dere at dat dere city hall has kicked me out of aw uh da meetin’s.”
“Duz ya tink it might have anyting ta do wit’ ya smashin’ dat punkin?” LeVournique advanced to her husband and put her arm around his shoulders.
A saddened look overcame Tuey’s face. He shook his head from side to side and gnawed at his lower lip. “Dey’s jus’ don’t know when’s ta git off uh my bumpa.”
LeVournique tenderly rubbed her hand with its press-on nails over his head. “Everyting will turn out awright,” she said quietly. She knew that what had been going on with the city was extremely stressful for her husband. LeVournique bent over and laid a smooch on the top of his head. “I’s still loves ya Tuey.”
Tuey bowed his head, then raised it slightly and tilted it toward his wife. He looked out of the top of his eyes as LeVournique batted her fake eyelashes. “Dat is so needed, Sweet Chile. Have mercy on you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ricki Sandstoner looked out the window of First Cornstalk Bank and immediately noticed that something was amiss. A mini-caravan of cars pulled into the parking lot and filled the three spots adjacent to handicap parking. Upon closer examination she noticed that two of the cars had license plates that indicated that they were official vehicles for the great state of Illinois.
