by James Ross
“If da tree falls in da woods duz da tree makes any noise when it hits da ground?” Tuey was convinced that it made a sound regardless if anyone heard it. “It happened right here’s in fron’ uh us so’s now’s we’s knows dat’s its true.”
“I think that the question is if there is no one around,” Curt corrected, “does it make a sound?”
“But now’s we’s knows dat it duz,” Tuey said. His logic and reasoning from the inner city was in stark contrast to the golfing brothers.
Curt looked out of the side of his eye at his brother. “To me it’s simple.”
“You’s quit pullin’ my leg. You’s two crackers ain’t no gutta rats now is ya?”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Tuey,” J Dub said.
“Yes, you’s do. You’s don’t have ta play stupid wit’ me.”
J Dub and Curt looked at each other in total confusion. “I knew that I should have taken that course in college,” Curt whispered to his brother.
“What course?” J Dub asked. He offered a guess. “Tuey’s course?” He chuckled at the inner joke.
Curt laughed and shook his head back and forth. “No, that strange language course that would give me a better understanding of life on the streets . . . Ebonics.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“I’m back,” Scottie P announced as he unlocked the door and tiptoed into the darkened hotel suite. Alpha Bear, at six foot four and a little over three hundred pounds, had fallen asleep with a towel wrapped around his waist. A pair of white sport slide sandals was on the floor alongside the bed.
The Catholic priest stirred slightly at the sound of Scottie P’s voice. He had been sleeping soundly thanks to the positioning of a mask on his face and a flexible tube that was connected to a continuous positive airway pressure machine. The opal-colored CPAP, about the size of a shoebox, had been prescribed to him by his personal physician as therapy for sleep apnea.
A band was wrapped around Alpha Bear’s forehead to hold the mask in place. The ventilator tubing forced air into the surgical mask that covered the priest’s nose and mouth and helped him sleep more comfortably. Startled, he blurted, “Scottie, is that you?”
“How do you get these curtains to open?” Scottie P asked as he struggled with the drapes in the suite. The maid at The High Heel had pulled the curtains shut after cleaning the honeymoon suite.
Temporarily disoriented the priest muttered, “Where’s Fluffy?” Ever since he had been using the machine Alpha Bear would fall off into a deep sleep and dream. The CPAP device corrected the sleep apnea disorder that caused the interruption in his breathing. Instead of experiencing pauses in breathing the therapy forced air into his body and allowed for him to experience uninterrupted sleep. This cured his daytime fatigue but increased his disorientation if he was awakened suddenly. “Where is she?”
“Fluffy’s at home. I took her to the kennel before we left,” Scottie P answered. The priest had become attached to the apricot colored Shih Tzu lap dog that Scottie P had given him a year earlier.
“Where are we?”
“We’re in Vegas,” Scottie P said. “You must have been worn out.” The pseudo surfer dude continued to fiddle with the curtains. “How do you open these?”
Father Blair got out of bed and unhooked the breathing device. He walked to the wall next to the new plasma television screen that was mounted on the wall and pressed a button. The curtains slid open. “Pretty neat, huh?”
Scottie P walked to the side of the window and searched for a chord. He wore sweat pants with a draw string hanging from the waist. He had taken his shirt off to reveal a hairy chest and a well-defined upper body. “Are you awake now so that we can open the blinds?”
Alpha Bear pressed another button and the Levelors rose to the ceiling. The view through the tinted windows was majestic. Straight down was a manicured golf course that looked out to a towering mountain range in the distance. To the side several hotel skyscrapers could be seen. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
“That’s the course I want to play,” Scottie P said as he peered below. “But it’s like a thousand dollars a round.”
“So what?” Alpha Bear answered. “We’re on vacation. If you want to play it, then I’ll pay for it.” He walked over to the top-floor window, stood next to Scottie P, and marveled at the view. “Unbelievably gorgeous.”
Scottie P sighed. “I can’t wait to play it. I’ll go over there and get a tee time then,” Scottie P said. “What are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”
“Have you seen the bathroom?” Alpha Bear asked. The tone in his voice hinted at excitement.
“No.”
“It’s got a Jacuzzi tub with dozens of jets,” Alpha Bear gushed. “I think that I’ll climb in and soak.” He rubbed his partner’s shoulders.
“Do you need me to draw the water?” Scottie P offered.
Alpha Bear nuzzled the side of his face against Scottie P’s shoulder, his breath warming the side of his partner’s neck. “You’re so thoughtful. You always think of me first.”
Scottie P made a move toward the bathroom. “I know just the temperature you like.” He stopped at the base of the king size bed. An elegant bed spread and eight pillows covered the mattress. Mirrors were positioned on the ceiling, above the headboard, and on the wall to the side of the bed. “I’ll put some bath oils in there so you can sit in the bubbles.”
“Let me get cleaned up for you,” the priest agreed as he chased after Scottie P. “After my bath I’ll let you rub some lotion on me.” He tapped the ice bucket that was chilling a bottle of champagne. “We got such a big night ahead of us.”
“The sports books, the shows . . . I can’t wait.” Scottie P disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later the water roared out of the spicket.
Father Blair stopped at the credenza and gazed at the complimentary dish of fruit that the hotel had prepared. Three bananas, four oranges, two apples, a bunch of grapes, as well as assorted cheeses and crackers were sprinkled in the container alongside blueberries, strawberries and pineapple chunks. He reached for an apple and promptly took a bite. “Aaaaaaargh!” the priest yelled.
“What’s wrong?” Scottie P said as he hurried to the door of the bathroom.
Alpha Bear’s upper bridge was stuck in the apple. “My trip is ruined!” he shouted. His cheeks, gums, and upper lips were flapping out of control as the words spewed out of his mouth.
“You took out six teeth,” Scottie P said as he examined the apple.
“It feels like all of them,” the priest mumbled as the garbled words flapped out of his gums. He took his finger and rubbed it underneath his upper lip to confirm his worst suspicion.
“It will be alright,” Scottie P said as he consoled his partner the best that he could.
“No. it won’t,” Father Blair gummed. Tears were starting to stream down the priest’s cheeks. “What am I going to do?
“We’ll rush you to the dentist for a temporary fix,” Scottie P suggested.
The absence of the bridge had caved in the upper part of the priest’s oral cavity. Amid tears and grimaces he laid his head on Scottie P’s chest. “My vacation is all messed up now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tuey got his two-man work crew going and then explained that he would be gone for several hours for an extended lunch hour. He indicated that he had some business to take care of downtown. He hopped into his pickup, adjusted his skull cap, and drove off.
City hall was located in the town square. Since Tuey couldn’t legally attend the monthly meetings anymore he thought that he would take the opportunity to express his views in a different public forum. He pulled into one of the diagonal parking spaces and after plugging the meter promptly set up shop. In the rear window of his pickup he posted a sign that read: Lincoln Freed The Slaves. He chained a sign to the parking meter that read: City Officials Discriminate. On an extended handle he raised poster board above his head that read: Harassment is Un-American.
It took twenty minutes but the attention that Tuey wanted came in the form of Kenneth Ficke, the city attorney. The phones had been ringing off the hook at city hall so Mayor Leavitt looked out the window, got in touch with Ficke, and sent him out to the sidewalk to do the dirty work for the municipality. “Tuey, what are you trying to accomplish?” the city attorney said sounding exasperated.
“I’s jus’ expressin’ my personal feelin’s.”
“There have to be better ways,” Ficke suggested.
“You’s fokes don’t want anyting ta do wit’ me so you’s jus’ bin harassin’ me ta no end.” Tuey turned and walked away from the attorney. He looked over his shoulder and yelled back at the city official. “You’s knows dat’s I’s tired uh dis treatment!”
“What can we do about it?”
“Git rid uh aw uh dem tickets an’ leaves me alone!”
“There are a lot of ordinances that you’ve violated, Tuey.”
“You’s knows an’ I’s knows dat you’s fokes have bin lookin’ fo’ tings ta ticket me wit’.”
“If I can get the city fathers to drop the charges will you pack up and leave?”
“Nuttin’ is goin’ ta happen dat quick an’ I’s knows dat you’s is jus’ sayin’ dat ta git me ta leave.”
Ficke’s brown eyes looked scared as he confronted Tuey calling his bluff. He needed to take some time and rethink his method of reacting to Tuey’s acts. Ficke reached into his pocket and grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds. One by one he popped them into his mouth and spit the shells on the ground. “I can make a call and tell them not to issue a ticket today.”
“What’s would I’s git uh ticket fo’ today?”
“Picketing on public property without a permit,” the city attorney responded. “It’s another ordinance violation.”
“What diff’ence duz one mo’ make?” Tuey wondered out loud. “I’s awready got’s at least two hunnerd uh dem.”
Ficke fidgeted some more. He was at a loss for what to do. He spit some more sunflower seeds on the ground. “Hold on.”
“I’s ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Tuey stared at the attorney. “You’s oughta be gettin’ uh ticket fo’ litterin’.”
Ficke looked at Tuey and shook his head in frustration. “These are biodegradable.”
“I’s don’t cares what dey is. Dey’s makin’ uh mess.”
“Never mind.” He walked toward city hall. “I’ll be right back.”
“Have mercy on you, frien’.”
Before Ficke got inside the door, council members Lamar Dalton and Hank Hardin approached Tuey as they returned from lunch. Lamar was especially confrontational. He could be outright nasty. “Why don’t you pack up and get out of here?” he challenged.
“I’s exercisin’ my’s right ta free speech.” Tuey said as he kept marching down the sidewalk.
“That’s not going to do you a bit of good,” Lamar said.
“It wills git some uh dis stuff off uh my chest.”
“Then let me get something off of my chest. Follow the law. Pay your fines. And conform to the rules of society,” Lamar said sternly.
Tuey glared at the councilman. “Why’s don’t ya come uh li’l closa an’ say dat ta me.” He took a step toward Lamar. “Or is ya afraid uh what might happen ta ya?”
Lamar firmly stood his ground. The old codger would be no match for Tuey in a physical confrontation. Hank grabbed his arm and whispered, “Save it for another day. Let him go. This will pass.”
It turned out that Lamar’s bark was worse than his bite. His mind took control of his emotions. “You’re going about it all wrong, Tuey.”
“I’s goin’ ’bout it da only ways dat I’s knows how.”
The two men turned and continued toward city hall. “Let me talk to the mayor and get some help dropping all the fines,” Hank suggested.
“I’s heard dat befo’ from aw uh you’s crackers.” Tuey waved his sign at the two men. “An’ nuttin’ ne’er happens.”
As the pair walked away Hank said, “We’ll try.”
“If you’s really wants ta help den make sho’ dat I’s can come ta da meetin’s an’ git my’s permit approved.” Tuey shook his fist at the men. “If I’s can git dat special use permit den I’s can park my trucks ova dere at da udda spot.”
“We’ll do our best, Tuey,” Lamar shouted as the pair disappeared into the building.
Tuey mumbled to himself. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’s heard dat befo’. Have mercy on you’s too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Winter was around the corner. A brisk wind blew from the gray sky causing the gang to bundle up for their weekend round of golf. On the following Saturday the boys finished right after lunch and started peeling off their stocking hats, ear muffs, rain suits, and insulated mittens the moment they entered the warmth of the clubhouse.
Elia had grown up in the desert sand of Beirut. He trembled as he marched through the front door and returned the plastic cart cover that he had borrowed from J Dub. At the back table he was busy boxing up the portable heater that he had used in the golf cart. “Hey Julie, do you have any chili made for us today?”
“I was caught unprepared. This cold front came in too quickly,” she replied. “Don’t hold it against me. I know the quickest way to a man’s heart is food.”
One look at BowTye, bundled up in the corner with a blanket wrapped over his shoulders, described how cold it had gotten. Every time the front door opened he shivered.
Scottie P walked up to the counter. “How about a cup of coffee? One cream, one sugar.”
“That’s something I have in stock,” Julie quipped as she turned to the coffee pot. “How was Las Vegas?”
“We had such a wonderful time.”
“We? Who’d you go with?” Julie asked.
“Father Blair.”
“The priest?” Julie looked confused. “Does he gamble?”
“We went out for the shows,” Scottie P replied. “He’s a big fan of the theater and all the entertainers.”
“Oh, okay,” she said as she placed the Styrofoam cup of coffee on the counter. “I was worried there. I can’t imagine a priest playing the slot machines.”
“He’ll gamble a little,” Scottie P said as he defended his friend, “but it’s just for entertainment. Nothing serious.”
Pork Chop switched the channel to the football game that was being broadcast on cable. “Yeah, I gave a few bucks to Scottie P to gamble for me, but he didn’t do any good. I just love that moo-cow machine.”
Scottie P smiled and turned back to Julie. “I did play a golf course out there that was a thousand dollars a round.”
“What?” Julie was flabbergasted. “Two foursomes would make our weekend!”
“It has to be for their guests,” Scottie P said. “After they pass out the comps I’m sure that they get it back on the tables.”
Tuey walked in through the front door. “Ooooooooo, weeeeeee. It’s cold out dere.”
“How’s that course of yours coming along?” Julie asked.
“Slow today. Dat cold weatha be freezin’ up my oil.”
“You’re just slow and lazy,” Captain Jer murmured over his shoulder. His voice was not within earshot of Tuey. The shot of whiskey alongside his can of beer was certain to illicit a response.
“I’s ’fraid dat cold might break uh tooth.” Tuey paused. “You know on dat backhoe.”
Captain Jer turned to Fred and asked, “What’s he talking about now? Does he have some whores out back?” Captain Jer was in rare form. The boys couldn’t help but chuckle.
Paco walked up to the counter. “Can I get a sandwich?”
“Where are your Vienna sausages and crackers?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know. I had six cans in my bag and now there all gone.”
“Did you eat them?” Julie asked.
Paco shook his head from side to side. “No. They’re gone.”
“Isn’t that just great,” Julie yell
ed out. “Now we’ve got a Vienna sausage thief around here.”
“Maybe it’s the construction crew,” Captain Jer snapped back loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
A feeling of guilt overwhelmed Tuey as a lot of eyes turned in his direction. “I’s got’s my own lunch.”
“Then where is it?” Captain Jer asked. He slugged down another large sip.
“My’s lunch be in my’s truck.”
“Then let’s see it,” Captain Jer said. Tuey turned and left the clubhouse. He returned in a few seconds with a brown paper sack. “Go check your golf bag, Paco. I bet those cans of Vienna sausages are back in there.”
Tuey opened his lunch bag on the counter. In the sack were a banana, can of spam, and two hard boiled eggs. “Dis is what I’s always eats. ’Cept da times when I’s thaws out da carp.”
Captain Jer turned to the excavator and said, “Do you have any gar in that freezer of yours too?” The boys snickered at the back table. Between the gin game, lunch, football on TV and Fred figuring out the bets, a lot was happening in the back booth.
Julie turned to Scottie P and asked, “Did you have a nice flight?”
“We had some turbulence when we flew over the Rockies,” Scottie P answered, “and the wind really whips around the mountain range when you fly into and out of Vegas.”
“Tell me about it,” Captain Jer said as his kibitzing had reached the front counter.
“Did you have any close calls in all your years of flying?” Julie asked.
“Are you kidding me?” the retired pilot responded. “What do you think?”
“What was the most memorable one?” Julie asked as the pilot was quick to reminisce.
“It had to be the time I got caught in that storm near the Iowa, Minnesota line.”
“What happened?”
“I tried to get out of it and maintain visual contact with the ground, but I ran out of fuel.”
“You did what?” YouWho said. Now his interest was piqued.
“I ran out of fuel.”
“And you live to tell it?”
“Sure,” Captain Jer explained. “I was in a single engine Beechcraft. Those things are made to glide for a while.”
