by James Ross
“You must have been scared out of your mind,” Julie said in amazement.
“I had to think fast,” the pilot assured all in the room. “I just kept the nose up and started looking for a place to set it down once I got down out of the clouds.”
“You were in the crowds? What did you do?” YouWho asked.
“The same thing that you people did at Pearl Harbor,” Captain Jerry said. “Look for a place to take it down.”
“Jerry!” Julie yelled. “There you go with all that hatefulness!”
The expression on Yuuto’s face broadcast the hurt. “Me didn’t know anyone that did that.”
“Apologize to him!” Julie yelled.
Captain Jer opened both of his palms to the ceiling and simply shrugged. “Anyway, I was pretty low when the visibility got better. All I could see were some country roads and wheat fields.” Scottie P sauntered over to the back booth as the story continued. The pilot raised an empty beer can in the air signaling his favorite bartender. Julie got a full can out of the cooler and walked it over to the booth.
“Then what happened?” Julie said as she swapped out the cans. She was quick to forgive him for his lewd comment.
“I went with the wind and kept the horizon in view,” Captain Jer said nonchalantly. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it wasn’t any big deal.
“No twees?” YouWho asked.
Captain Jer swiveled his head and snapped, “There weren’t any in the ocean!”
“Jerry! Cut it out!” Julie reprimanded.
The retired pilot started laughing and took a drink out of his newly opened can. “Ahhhhh, just the way I like them. Ice cold.” He grinned at Julie, winked, and returned to his story. “Nope. Just a wheat field. I was hoping that I stayed up long enough to get over the fence.”
“And you didn’t flip over when you landed?” Julie asked not knowing whether or not the pilot was pulling her leg.
“Nah, I had wheel pants over the tires. It was a smooth landing on top of the wheat.” Captain Jer raised the can to his lips, took a supple sip, and ran his tongue around the side of his mouth. “But you should have seen the farmer’s face when I asked him for some gas.” He roared with laughter.
“Was it raining?” Julie asked.
“In the distance, but not where I put her down.” A wry grin covered Captain Jer’s face. “That was when I made the real stupid move.” Tuey walked over to the counter nearest the back booth. He was all ears and enjoying every minute of Captain Jer’s dissertation.
“You were on da ground,” YouWho said. “How you be stupid now?”
“I offered to buy some fuel from him and pay for his crop damage,” Captain Jer explained, “but all he had was regular gas.”
“So?” Julie said.
“It doesn’t have a high enough octane level to fly a plane,” Captain Jer continued. “So I took a chance.”
“You use anyway?” YouWho surmised.
“Yeah, I wanted to get to the nearest airport. Maybe fifteen minutes away,” Captain Jer said. “By the time we put gas in the tank the storm had blown over.”
“Did the plane fly okay?” Julie asked.
Captain Jer nodded his head up and down. “We put in a couple of gallons, I slipped him fifty bucks, and took off.” He slugged down another sip of beer and looked strangely at Scottie P.
“Is dat awe?” YouWho asked. “End of stowy?”
“Well, yeah . . . I guess,” Captain Jer stammered. “I flew a few miles to the airport, refueled, and continued on my flight plan.”
“You a lucky guy,” YouWho said.
Captain Jer had a dazed glare in his eyes from the alcohol. Once again he shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose, but it still doesn’t answer the question.”
“What question?” Julie asked.
“What that stuff is on Scottie P’s face.” He chuckled as all the eyes in the room turned to Scottie P. Overhead light was shining on his head. Glittering gold flecks twinkled.
“Those are cherry blossom gold sparkles,” Scottie P said as he flipped the curly blonde locks off the back of his neck. A diamond stud earring glistened as he raised his chin in the air. “My hairdresser suggested them.”
“Dose be neat,” Tuey said. He was in awe of the sparkling flecks on Scottie P’s face. “Can I’s have some?”
“I don’t see why not,” Scottie P said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic container of sparkles. He grabbed a napkin and poured some into the middle of the square.
“What duz ya calls dem agin?” Tuey asked as he was fascinated by the glistening flakes. He folded the napkin over several times to not let the golden flecks fall to the ground.
Captain Jer looked at Scottie P, creased his lips, and shook his head back and forth. “For him it’s more like fairy dust.”
The boys chuckled mildly. “Oh, for crying out loud!” Pork Chop shouted.
“What now?” Fred asked.
“Watch the call in this game!”
The boys shifted their attention to the cable television set. The replay showed that the referee clearly missed a critical call. “That’s the same ref that’s been involved in all of those other calls this season,” Fred said. Scottie P slowly clenched his fist and pumped it in agreement with the call.
“Yeah, Tuey’s friend,” Pork Chop said.
All the focus shifted to Tuey. He was preoccupied with the folded up napkin. It appeared that he had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “You’s jus’ like uh fo’ leaf clova Scottie P.” He placed the folded napkin into his pocket. “I’s gonna keep dese wit’ me aw uh da time fo’ good luck.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The final days of 2007 were speeding into the holidays. The gloomy weather seemed to be the norm rather than the exception. Low lying clouds, howling wind, and gray sky were prevalent as Tuey, Asia, and Fanbelt toiled to install the sewer line.
The cool nights and cold mornings had turned the soft, muddy soil of the creek bank into crusty, semi-frozen ground. With the layer of permafrost the dirt was better suited for the teeth of the excavating equipment than the dull blade of a shovel. And with the broken-down history of Tuey’s unreliable machinery it seemed like the trio spent more time in the maintenance shed than on the job.
Tuey didn’t mind. He was working at his own pace. The warmth of the maintenance shed felt better than the heat provided by his insulated camouflage suit in an open field and his pulled-over skull cap. Plus it allowed for him to bond with his new friend. Puddles had taken a liking to Tuey’s gentle caresses. The rubs on the jawbone next to the ears caused the cat’s motor to purr continuously.
“You can wake the dead with that stuff blaring,” J Dub said as he entered the shed. Tuey had his boom box turned up a few notches.
“Dat’s sum good stuff, ain’t it?”
J Dub shrugged. “Not really. I guess it’s a matter of taste.” He wasn’t too fond of the gangster rap music.
“Dat’s my good frien’ D. Wayne singin’ dat song.”
“You told me that once before.”
“Yeah,” Tuey answered. “His rappa name is Shriek Caramel U-Hop. Da lady in dat song be MiSSuS KuLe BReeZe SiSTa JaNeLLe.”
“He’s got his hand in a lot of stuff,” J Dub said.
Tuey’s eyes got real wide. “Oh yeah, he’s uh big success.”
J Dub went to the boom box and turned the volume down significantly. “Whew. Now I can hear myself think.” He noticed the rolled up set of plans on the work bench. “How’s the job going today?” Traffic on the golf course was limited due to the cooler and damper weather.
“Da darn hydraulic system be actin’ up agin,” Tuey said. Puddles squirmed loose from his arms, sprang onto the old couch, and jumped to the gravel floor to nestle against J Dub’s leg.
“What’s wrong?”
“We be waitin’ fo’ uh part,” Tuey said.
“It’s a part and not a hose?” J Dub questioned.
Tue
y nodded his head up and down. “Da arm wit’ da bucket won’t move to da left or to da right.” He scratched the top of his skull cap. “I’s tinks dat dere be sumptin’ wrong wit’ da kingpost.”
J Dub thought that it was better to not get into the specifics. “You’re on top of things though, right?”
Tuey shook his head up and down. “It jus’ makes fo’ mo’ delays.” He reached into the inner pocket of his camouflage suit and pulled out a letter. “You’s don’t knows any lawyas duz ya?”
J Dub was puzzled as to why Tuey would need a lawyer. He looked at the envelope and asked, “What do you have there?”
“Dis city uh ours jus’ won’t leaves me alone.” He handed the letter over to J Dub. “I’s needs sum help takin’ care uh awe dis.”
J Dub read the letter and was appalled. “Tuey, you owe more than twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of fines!”
“I’s knows! An’ dem peoples down at da city hall won’t leaves me alone.”
“Well, that’s probably because they want their money.”
“Dey’s been hasslin’ me.”
J Dub studied the specifics that were mentioned in the correspondence. The fines went back over seven years. “Some of this stuff has been there for a long time.”
“Dat’s why I’s needs uh lawya,” Tuey carried on. “An’ now dey’s won’t evens let me go into da meetin’s every month.”
J Dub had an afternoon meeting scheduled with Dennis K. Sneed. He was the attorney that handled the civil lawsuit that he had filed to get the golf course back. “Come on and hop in,” J Dub said as he made a move out the door of the maintenance shed and headed for his pickup. “If nothing else I can introduce you to a lawyer that I’ve used in the past.” Tuey followed him to the pickup. “He’ll let you know about your civil rights.”
The trip to Sneed’s office was uneventful. The showcase structure in the middle of the town square was city hall. The surrounding streets seemed to be crammed with lawyer offices. Sneed’s place of work was located on the second floor of a remodeled brick store front. It was one of those buildings that housed a retail business on the lower level and had business offices on the second floor. After climbing a flight of stairs, J Dub knocked on the frosted window that had Dennis K. Sneed, Attorney at Law stenciled on the glass.
Sneed was on the phone, but motioned for them to come in and have a seat in his office. He ran a one-man show and seemed to be receptionist, secretary, and lawyer all wrapped into one. The looks of his office suggested that a cyclone had gone through his filing cabinet and law library. Papers were strewn everywhere.
J Dub was used to the lawyer’s mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, but Tuey was astonished that an attorney could do business in such an unorganized fashion. He always thought that lawyers operated out of offices in skyscrapers with leather furniture. At least in his mind that was the way it should be. Television made it seem like that.
But Sneed was not your typical lawyer. He was liberal and believed that every citizen should be allowed their civil rights. The pictures on his wall suggested that he had an Indian wife and had adopted two foreign children. He was the product of a wealthy landowner and had supported himself in college by playing in a rock band. Even though his hair was short now, the photos showed that he had hair down to the middle of his back during his teenage years.
The attorney wrapped up the phone call and hung up shortly after the two sat down. J Dub introduced his friend. “Denny, this is Tuey O’Tweety. He’s doing some work for us on the golf course, but has been having some problems with the powers-to-be down at city hall.”
Tuey proceeded to repeat his troubles to the lawyer. After listening to the contractor for the better part of ten minutes, Sneed digested the information. The pregnant pause that he took reminded J Dub of a guy that was bound up by eating too much cheese. He threw out a hypothesis. “Do you think that you’ve been wronged by the color of your skin?”
Tuey’s tongue got in the way of his lips at the mere suggestion. “I’s sho’ do.”
“If we can prove that you’ve been ticketed strictly because you’re black, then we may have a case,” Sneed said. “Have you not been breaking the law?”
“I’s don’t knows ’bout awe uh dat,” Tuey said as he backpedaled a little, “but it sho’ seems ta me dat udder peoples have been breakin’ da law an’ dey’s not bin gittin’ no tickets.”
“If we can show that then maybe we can put together a case,” Sneed said.
“It jus’ seems ta me dat dey’s been pickin’ on me cuz dey’s don’t want me ta be doin’ bizness in deir city.”
Dollar signs could be seen floating in Sneed’s eyeballs. His attorney blood flowed to his head and the color of his face reddened. “We could file a civil rights discrimination lawsuit against the city and, who knows, maybe they’ll want to settle out of court to avoid the negative publicity.”
“Dat be fine by me,” Tuey said. “I’s needs fo’ aw uh dis ticketin’ ta stop.”
Then the vulture circled. “Do you have any money for me?” Sneed asked.
Tuey leaned back in his chair as his eyes got as wide as egg yolks. “No, I’s sho’ don’t. I’s can’t even pays aw uh my fines.”
“Then I’ll have to work the case on a contingent basis,” Sneed suggested, “and that will cost you a pretty penny when it’s all said and done.”
“Dat’s okay wit’ me,” Tuey agreed. “Jus’ git dose peoples off uh my bumpa.” He got up to leave. “Say, Mista Sneed, could you’s do me anudda fava?”
“I can try.”
“I’s got dis piece uh property unda contract an’ I’s needs ta git uh permit ta park my stuff on it or I’s can’t buy da property.”
“I can try, but I might be too late in the game to help you there.”
“Jus’ sees what you’s can do. Dey’s won’t let me in ta da meetin’s no mo’.”
Sneed looked at his new client and said, “Let me make a few phone calls and see what’s up with that.” That wasn’t going to put any bucks in the lawyer’s pocket. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to help much with that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Look what the cat drug in!” Ricki Sandstoner said as Yuuto approached her desk.
Yuuto stopped, had a puzzled look on his face, and turned to look behind himself. “What cat?”
Ricki started laughing. “It’s a figure of speech. Where have you been?”
The Japanese businessman, short in stature, shrugged his shoulders. “Searching for answers,” he hinted.
“They’re not under the Christmas tree,” Ricki mused recognizing that the holidays were quickly approaching, “are they?”
“No, no way,” Yuuto said as he bent at the waist and bowed slightly toward Harold’s secretary. “Not that easy.”
Minutes later Yuuto was sitting in the presence of a man that had chased him out of the bank several weeks earlier. “Am I ever going to get my money back?” Harold’s ire at getting the short end of the stick on the Japanese stock trade returned the minute Yuuto walked into the room.
“Doubtful,” Yuuto said. He puckered his lips and shook his head slightly back and forth. The government had halted all trading on the stock until an investigation was completed. “It might be years away.”
Time had soothed the banker’s wounds a bit, but he still had the problem of getting the money back into the account of Mrs. Richard Harris. “It’s my own fault,” Harold lamented. Giving Yuuto a piece of his mind wasn’t going to change the outcome. He had gambled and lost . . . big time. “Lesson learned. We made a buck while it lasted.” The meeting was brief. “Let me know if things change over there . . . especially if they start nosing around into the trades coming from over here.”
“That might be next,” Yuuto said as he followed Harold to the door.
“We’ll deal with that if something happens. Since we lost on the trade they might stay away.” The fact that he was in the process of recovering much of the loss
on the football bets eased his pain, but Yuuto wasn’t privy to that.
On his way through the lobby Yuuto passed Father Blair. Ricki had prepared expresso for the priest. The bank tried to be equipped for their best customers. “What happened to your face?’ she asked as she handed the hot drink to the priest.
Father Blair’s upper lip wasn’t as full with the temporary bridge. “I can’t have anything warm,” he begged off. When he spoke odd, uncontrollable facial movements occurred.
Ricki had to take a step ahead of the priest so that he wouldn’t see her giggle. She led him to Harold’s office door. “What happened?”
“I broke my bridge.” He was ashamed of his makeshift look and turned away.
“I’m so sorry. How was everything else?”
“Better than you could even believe,” the massive man said with a slight wave of his wrist. His gentle smile and compassionate eyes seemed sincere.
Harold quickly closed his door after Father Blair entered. His glee couldn’t be contained as he reached up to give the priest a high-five. “How’s that for a big score?”
Father Blair reached into his pocket and handed over the ticket receipts for the bets. “Your man delivered. Scottie said that he was watching the game and a flag went out to save our bet.” Harold’s eyes nearly crossed as he totaled the amount in his head.
The banker started laughing. “They called back a touchdown so that our side covered the spread.” He examined the tickets again. “We’ll have them wire the money into our ARM account in the Caymans.”
“How quick will the funds be available?” Alpha Bear asked. He was new to the process but was ecstatic about the monetary success.
Harold stopped and stared at the priest. “What’s wrong with your mouth? You look different.”
“I lost my uppers biting into an apple.” The priest quickly changed back to the most immediate topic. “When can I have my money?”
“I’ll overnight the tickets to the casinos and keep a photo copy and shipping receipt for myself,” Harold explained. “We’ve got nearly three hundred thousand coming our way!”
