Short & Tall Tales in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

“She’s getting more steady on her feet. That worries me.”

  “Well, Nurse Betty will just up her happy pills.” Betty checked on Ima Jean and helped her back to bed.

  Chester turned on the TV and changed the channel to Wheel of Fortune, which they watched while she ate. When she was finished, he asked if she’d like some ice cream, but she declined. That was fine with him. He’d put the dose of Xanax in the applesauce. She wouldn’t be awake much longer.

  He shot a look at Betty before addressing Ima Jean. “Say, beautiful, we’re in need of some more cash so’s I can take proper care of you.”

  “Call 1-800-CASH-NOW.” She didn’t take her eyes off the TV show, so he turned her face to look at him.

  “You funnin’ me?” He looked suspiciously into her eyes, but she swatted his hand away and resumed watching the show.

  Taking out her checkbook and a pen from his back pocket, he said, “Just put your John Hancock right here, sugar,” he cooed, pointing to the signature line, “and we’ll be good to go.”

  She signed her name quickly, so he thought he’d press his luck.

  “And sign one more just in case. Then I’ll reward you with your favorite candy.” He shoved another check in front of her and unwrapped a peppermint candy while she signed her name.

  “In case what?”

  “Say! You can talk other than in commercials.” Not for long, he thought. You’ll be off in dreamland soon. Chester looked around and then at the TV and shouted, “Buy a vowel, you fool.” It worked. Ima Jean forgot all about what they were saying. He waited until the show was over and had another idea.

  “Ima Jean, would you do me a big favor, hon?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Would you sign your name right here?” He put another check down in front of her and handed her the pen. “And right here. There you go. Okay, how about a few more? This is good practice to get your fine motor skills back up, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged and continued to sign her name. After the sixth one, she put the pen down and laid her head back on the pillow. “I’m tired.”

  “You did real good, sugar. Now you just rest. Stay right here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Choosy mother’s choose Jif,” she said with her eyes closed and head still on the pillow.

  “Yes, they sure do, sugar.” He took the tray away and went to the kitchen. Betty followed.

  Slumping into a chair and propping his elbows on the table, he said, “If only I knew her PIN, I wouldn’t have to worry about the bank tellers. But she didn’t know what I was talking about when I asked her.”

  “No matter. Your bright idea will produce the same results.” Betty plopped into a kitchen chair. “But either one of us is gonna have trouble showing our faces out in public, don’t you know. I’m sure they’ve got one of them BOGOs out on us.”

  He looked at her as if corn were growing from her ears. “BOGO? Don’t you know it’s BOLO? Be On The Lookout, not Buy One Get One free. Sheesh. Women.” Chester rubbed his chin, thinking. Then he pounded his palm against his forehead. “I shoulda thought of this before now.” He stood up, excited, and headed for the basement door.

  “Thought of what?” Betty asked, following him.

  “I need to convince them she’s not here with me so I’ll have time to cash these checks.”

  “How’re you gonna do that?” They stepped into the dark, dank basement. Cobwebs hung down here and there. It smelled musty and felt creepy. Betty crossed her arms in front of her but followed Chester. He led her to a wall of bricks.

  “This here is the answer to our problems.” He patted the wall.

  “A brick wall?” She shot him a look that said he was dumb as a fence post.

  “Not just a brick wall.” He began removing bricks until he had taken out enough for Betty to look inside.

  “I’ll be darned. It’s a room.” She leaned in and looked carefully at the secret room.

  “It sure is. When I bought this old place, I had some remodeling done, see. One day one of the workers called me up, and it was obvious he pretty nearly was shaking like a leaf. I could hear it in his voice. He said he thought they’d found a room down in the basement, but nobody wanted to look on account of what they might find. Well, I talked him into looking. Nobody and nothing was in it, but I later found out that it was prolly used in the underground railroad.”

  Betty looked confused.

  “See, there’s prolly a tunnel that runs right up to this brick wall. They’d have people crawl through, and they’d take down this brick wall to get them in there. Then they’d brick it back up without mortar to hide them in the room while the authorities searched the house.”

  “It can’t be more than seven or eight feet long. Maybe four feet wide.” Betty was still looking through the hole Chester had made.

  “Just big enough to hide someone. Which is exactly what we’re gonna do.”

  Wide-eyed, she clapped him on the back. “You’re a genius.”

  “Go out and buy me a cot. Here. Take Imy’s credit card. She won’t mind.” He gave her the card as his face morphed into a Grinch-like grin. “But go a couple counties over just to be safe. And if you get pulled over, just say I forced you to leave your house and then gave you the slip.”

  After Betty returned with the cot and they got it set up with blankets and a pillow, she turned to Chester. “Let’s go out and celebrate.” She looked at her watch. “It’s almost ten-thirty. We can sneak up to Check’s for a bit. Lord knows, this town rolls up the sidewalks at ten.”

  Chester nodded and led the way up the steps. He went to check on Ima Jean. Sure enough, she was lying with her mouth slightly open, softly snoring. He clicked off the TV and watched to see if she awoke. She didn’t, so they closed the door and headed for Check’s bar.

  Sitting at the bar instead of a table, he ordered a Colt 45 and Betty ordered a screwdriver. He looked over each shoulder. The bartender brought their drinks.

  “There’s been some folks in here looking for you.” He wiped off the countertop as he spoke.

  “Oh, yeah? Who? And what did you tell them?”

  “GPJ police. Told ‘em I ain’t never laid eyes on you.” He nodded toward the beer bottle. “That bottle will cost you extra tonight.”

  “Okay, okay.” Chester laid a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “That about cover it?”

  The bartender shrugged. “For now.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you.” Chester took a pull from the beer. “You know of any lawyer types ‘round here? You know what I’m looking for. Someone discreet.”

  “Think I do.” He rubbed a spot out of a glass. “There’s a lady comes in here every now and again.”

  “I’d be obliged if you’d introduce me.” Chester brought the bottle almost to his lips and looked the bartender in the eye. The man nodded and walked away.

  It was forty-five minutes later that a dowdy woman wearing glasses and a Dutch-boy hairstyle sat down next to Chester at the bar. “You looking for an attorney at law?”

  Chester leaned back and looked the woman up and down. He figured her for mid-sixties. She wore a seersucker blazer, periwinkle blue pants with an elastic waistband, and Hush Puppy shoes. He nodded and said, “Matter of fact, I am.” He stuck his hand out. “Chester Hale.”

  “Delores D. Petty. Folks call me D. D.” They shook hands and she added, “And who might this be?” She nodded toward Betty, and Chester introduced them.

  “What can I do for y’all?”

  “Well, Ms. Petty, I need someone to draw up some power of attorney papers and file them for me.”

  “Do I want to know the details?”

  “I doubt it.” Chester signaled the bartender for another beer. “What’re you having?”

  D.D. told the man a bourbon, straight up, then turned to Chester. “My fee will be $2,500 plus traveling expenses.”

  Chester nodded, thinking he’d just get Ima Jean to sign another check for the lawyer.

  “Wh
en and where?”

  Chester gave the woman the address, and they decided to meet tomorrow at 10 a.m. He gave the attorney a few more details to put in the document and answered her questions. Downing the last of the bottle, he held up a finger to the bartender. “I believe I’ll have a bourbon now, my good man. Since I’m about to be a man of means, I might as well start acting like one.”

  D.D. looked at Chester out of the corner of her eyes. “I’m not going to be sorry I got involved in this, am I?”

  “I’m assuming this isn’t the first shady deal you’ve ever done.” The slight didn’t register a reaction from the attorney, so Chester continued. “Even if someone questions it, the woman trusts me completely and remembers hardly anything. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  That lawyer’s ugly as a wart hog and half as smart.

  ~Chester Hale

  The next morning, Chester let Ms. Petty into the house and asked to see the document before he led her back to the bedroom. He’d just given Ima Jean another dose of Xanax, this time hiding it in some instant pudding. She was still licking the chocolate off her lips when they walked in.

  “Ima Jean, this here’s Delores D. Petty.”

  She tried to sit up, saying, “Who?”

  Ms. Petty walked up to her and took her hand. “Please call me D.D.”

  Ima Jean looked questioningly at Chester.

  “Delores D. here’s whatchacall a counselor. She came for a visit, peanut.”

  Ima Jean looked annoyed.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Chester said, pulling a pen out of his pocket.

  “Ford’s got a better idea.” Ima Jean frowned.

  Chester and D.D. looked at each other and then at Ima Jean. “What?” she said grumpily, crinkling her brow.

  “I got to thinking about you and your health, and frankly, sugar, it’s got me worried sick. What if something happened and you couldn’t give the doctors permission to treat you? You’ve had one stroke. God forbid you have another, but I think we should be prepared.”

  The lawyer produced the power of attorney document, putting it on the tray in front of Ima Jean.

  Chester pointed to the line at the bottom. “Sign your name right here, pumpkin.”

  She looked suspiciously at him. “What is this? It looks official to me. What am I signing?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, you’re signing power of attorney papers.”

  “What for?” She tried to sit up straighter, but Chester put a hand on her shoulder and she settled back down to a reclining position.

  “Just as a precaution. You’ve been so sick, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of in your time of need. It’s mostly for health care. I’ll be able to say yay or nay to any procedures they might need to perform. You do trust me, don’tcha?”

  “Louetta ought to be my power of attorney. She’s kin.”

  He leaned toward her and took her hand. “Yes, but do you see Louetta anywhere around in your time of need?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “So . . . see? My motto is be prepared.” He gave her a dazzling smile.

  “I thought that was the Boy Scouts’ motto.” Ima Jean took the pen that Chester thrust at her.

  Chester mumbled, “I thought it was the villain’s in Lion King” while at the same time pointing to the line at the bottom of the document. “Right here, sugar britches.”

  “You’re too good to me, Chester.”

  “I’d do anything for you.” He tried his best to look sincere. He glanced at the attorney, who pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up over her ugly black eyes.

  While Chester was arranging Ima Jean in her new “room,” Betty got in her car and drove around until a cop recognized the car and plates and pulled her over. Johnny got the call mid-morning.

  “What you want us to do with her, Chief? Far’s I can tell, she ain’t broke any laws.”

  “She impersonated the victim. But I know, I know . . . we can’t prove that just yet. Tell her she’s wanted for some questioning. I’m on my way there. Get her to take you to Chester and then question both of them. He’s got to have her. He’s going to too much trouble to throw us off.”

  “Will do, Chief. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Johnny told Bernadette where he was going and went out to his personal car, a blue Ford Taurus, and got in.

  Reports of an officer stopping cars and giving out warnings had continued. The Goose Pimple Gazette ran an article alerting people to the imposter’s hoax, and the town buzzed with talk of it, yet, when stopped, most folks were too scared to do anything but listen to the stern lecture and then report it to the police when they got home. The imposter was always gone by the time real GPJ officers got to the area where the latest offense had occurred. A few brave souls gave him a real talking to, but that just made the man more aggressive, and they always backed down. Clearly the charlatan was crazy enough to be impersonating a police officer; nobody wanted to escalate his craziness.

  Johnny was zipping down Clyde Bird Road on the way to find Ima Jean when he saw a familiar person up ahead, and the sights got considerably better. She was alternating jogging and walking, and he slowed the car so that he could watch her for a bit. When he started feeling like a stalker, he sped up and drove alongside her.

  “Morning, Martha Maye.” He silently chided himself for not being able to think of anything more clever to say.

  She slowed to a walking pace and puffed out, “Good morning to you, Chief. Any news on Aunt Imy?”

  His car crept alongside of her. “Possibly. Local police called. They’ve apprehended Chester’s accomplice. I’m heading over there now.”

  “Then you should get on. I know that man’s got her. You gotta go find her.”

  Johnny looked out the front windshield at the tree-lined, sun-dappled road. It was beautiful out here. And in his view, Martha Maye was even more beautiful. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a thing more to say. And he did need to find Ima Jean. He turned back to her. “All right. I got criminals to catch, and I expect you want to get on with your run.”

  She let out a short burst of air, suggesting his statement was ridiculous. “Walk is more like it. But yeah, these pounds won’t disappear with me just moseying.” She patted her thighs.

  “You look awful good to me.” It just popped out. He hadn’t planned on saying that, but his tongue was faster than his brain. He hoped his sunglasses hid his mortification.

  She blushed and said, “Thank you. It’s not true, but I appreciate you saying it.”

  Johnny accelerated the car and then let up a bit and leaned out the window, looking back at Martha Maye. “It is too true!” Then he sped off, smiling.

  He’s so stupid, mind readers charge him half price.

  ~Johnny Butterfield

  Johnny stepped on the accelerator. He was singing along with Garth Brooks to “American Honky-Tonk Bar Association” when he looked in his rear view mirror and saw a car with a red light flashing on top. He whistled and said aloud, “Well, well, well. Would you looka here.”

  Pulling over to the side of the road, he turned the Taurus off and waited. His windows were already down on account of the beautiful weather. He took off his GPJPD cap and sat it upside down on the passenger seat. A man in a police uniform walked up to him, but it wasn’t one of his officers. He could tell right away that the man had attitude oozing from every pore of his body. This is gonna be fun. He smiled and looked up at the man.

  “Sir, are you aware you were speeding?”

  Johnny kept a straight face. “No, sir, I’m not. How fast was I going?”

  “You were driving fifty-seven in a forty-five. Can I see your license and registration, please?”

  “Well, Officer, I sure am sorry. I didn’t realize I was going that fast. Garth and I were just lost in song, I guess.”

  The man bent down to look in the passenger seat. Seeing it empty, he looked questioningly at Johnny.

  “Garth Brooks,” Johnny explained
.

  The man looked blankly at Johnny.

  “On CD.” Johnny smiled, but one was not returned.

  He reached for his registration and then turned back toward the man.

  “You know, I don’t believe I know you. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Why not what?”

  “Why haven’t you told me your name? Is it a secret?”

  “Sir, don’t get cute with me. I’ll do the questioning if you don’t mind. License and registration.”

  “It’s just that—”

  The man interrupted him. “Sir, do not try my patience. You’ve been pulled over for exceeding the speed limit. That is a careless and reckless violation. I ought to take you into the station, but since it’s the first time I’ve stopped you, I’m gonna let you off with a ticket and a promise to mind the law from now on. This isn’t something to be taken lightly, sir. You’re old enough to know better.”

  “You know my age?” Johnny looked incredulous.

  The man looked put out. He took a deep breath and said through his teeth, “I might, if you’d produce your license.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He leaned toward the glove compartment again and then straightened back up to address the impostor. “How long you worked for the GPJPD?”

  “Sir. I’m not going to ask again. License. And. Registration.” He enunciated each word slowly, expressing his displeasure.

  “Okay, okay. You don’t have to get all huffy. Most folks around here are friendly. Who put a burr in your saddle today?”

  “Sir. Step out of the car.”

  “Why? I’m getting the registration just like you asked. I’m just saying — ”

  “Sir. Step out, please. Now.”

  Johnny peered up at him, trying to look intimidated. “What’re you going to do to me?”

  The man reached for the handle and opened the car door. “Out.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Okay, okay. Geez.” Johnny stepped out, holding his hands in the air. Pointing to the man’s car, he said, “Why aren’t you driving a cruiser?”