At Dewitt's End

by Doc Henderson

  David pulls his wallet out and asks, “Forty-seventy-six even?”

  The checkout girl reviews the printout.

  “Uh, yes,” she says. “Forty-seventy-six, uh, even.”

  David produces his wallet and prepares to pay. But then he stops, remembering something.

  “Oops, sorry,” he says. “I almost forgot dessert. Could you tell me which aisle I’ll find chocolate cake on?”

  The checkout girl replies.

  “Ch- chocolate cake and turkey,” she says, as she nods slowly. “Yes, sir. Try our bakery,” she points, “right over there.”

  “Gee, thanks,” David beams. “Can’t have a holiday without chocolate cake, without good old, delicious chocolate cake!”

  He heads for the bakery. The two employees look at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Oh-mi-god!” they both exclaim, wide-eyed and shaking their heads.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The pink neon sign above Honest Injun’s casino flashes on and off as tourists and locals enter for some nighttime fun. In the back, behind a closed door guarded by a couple of Gofers, there is the voice of Mister Nickels.

  “Okay. If that’s the way he wants it, hit him again!”

  There is the slap of a hand and a few “Oohs” and “Aahs.” The Gofers outside the door look at each other in wonder, while inside the room, Mister Nickels makes another pronouncement, this time louder and more belligerent.

  “One more time, eh? Are you sure you haven’t had enough? Okay, Running Fever, hit him again!”

  Inside the back room, Running Fever’s hand comes down hard – and slaps a sixth playing card on the table in a game of Blackjack. The card is a “five” and one of the Gofers now has drawn to ‘21’ against Nickels ‘20,’ making him a winner. A few more “Oohs” and “Aahs” go up as Mister Nickels shakes his head in dejection. He has lost a pile of quarters. He turns his attention toward the outside door.

  “Where are those two?” he wonders. “They should be here with the Colonel by now.”

  Outside, the sound of a Harley engine is heard and grows louder, then dies out. An Underling looks through a small “speakeasy” door before opening the back door. There stands Willie, disheveled and somewhat distraught.

  Nickels speaks to Willie roughly.

  “Well, it’s about time you got here! Where’s Houston? Where’s T. P.?”

  Willie replies, head down.

  “Uh, uh. T. P.’s asleep in the sidecar. And Houston, uh. – Well, uh, well, uh.”

  “Come on!” snorts Nickels. “Spit it out!”

  Willie sheepishly replies.

  “He’s on the bike. Sort of on the bike. There’s a Houston on the bike.”

  Nickels is incensed.

  “What the heck do you mean by ‘sort-of-a-Houston-on-the-bike?”

  Nickels motions for one of the Gofers to go out back and check.

  “Well,” says Willie, “uh, his last name’s the same. He looked like the Colonel. And...”

  Willie throws up his hands, mea culpa style.

  “... anybody can make a mistake!”

  Nickels, Running Fever and the Gofers look at Willie and at each other, letting this comment sink in.

  “They screwed up again, Boss,” says Running Fever to Nickels.

  Willie hangs his head.

  “Stick a fork in me, Mister Nickels,” he says. “I’m done.”

  The Gofer who has gone outside returns.

  “Boss,” he says, “he says he’s not Colonel Houston. He says he’s Dewitt Houston. He says he’s actually a doctor and nothin’ to do with all that C.I.A. secrets and stuff. It’s his brother who’s a big cheese in the Air Force and works with the C.I.A. That’s what he says, Mister Nickels.”

  Nickels ponders this.

  “C.I.A.? I didn’t kn-. C.I.A.? Oh, boy.”

  He looks at Willie.

  “Now I don’t know whether to be thankful you and that idiot partner of yours are so inept or to keep my intention of kicking your butts all the way to the Canada border!”

  Willie remains crestfallen. Nickels just shakes his head. The Gofers, too, shake their heads, mimicking the Boss.

  Nickels speaks to Running Fever.

  “Go out and see how he’s doing. Apologize. Get him some food. Put ‘em up for the night, then have them get him to the ranch.”

  He sighs.

  “And they talk about ‘long holiday weekends.’ Boy, this one... ”

  The returning Gofer asks, “What shall we do about his wheelchair, Mister Nickels?”

  “Wheelchair?” wonders Nickels.

  “Yes, sir. The Doc, uh, looks like he’s confined to sitting.”

  Nickels looks at Running Fever. Running Fever glowers at Willie. Willie, head still bowed, peeks up at Nickels, who looks up at the ceiling and begins counting to ten.

  “One... Two... ”

  From the back doorway comes a high-pitched little voice.

  “... Buckle my shoe?”

  Everyone looks around. In the doorway stands T. P., still a little hung over from the injection, oblivious to all of the goings on.

  Willie and T. P. begin their transportation of Dewitt to the ranch early the next morning, as ordered by Nickels. In the sidecar, Dewitt is quiet, but surveys the roadway, the spacious western terrain and the signposts along the way.

  “Hey, fellas,” he shouts, “what say the next gas station we make a ‘pit stop?’”

  “I could use a break, too, Willie,” notes T. P. “I need to go ‘Number One’ real bad, Willie. I can’t wait ‘til the ranch.”

  Dewitt makes a mental note of this destination.

  “Okay, okay,” says Willie. “Me, I got a bladder the size of that ‘Hindenburg’ dura-gerbil. You know, that blimp.”

  “Oh, the humanity,” says Dewitt, dramatically.

  T. P. soon spots a filling station. He points excitedly.

  “There. There, Willie!”

  The big motorcycle pulls into a small convenience store. It’s closed. Willie adroitly jimmies the lock on the cut-off valve for the gas pumps. He then begins filling the gas tank while T. P. accompanies Dewitt to the restroom. Willie calls out:

  “T. P., make sure he don’t go writing messages on the mirror or anything. Check real careful.”

  T. P. is ‘holding’ himself, needing to ‘go’ right away. Dewitt tries to appear casual, wheeling along easily.

  “Okay, Willie. You can count on me, Willie,” shouts out T. P.

  “Yeah,” says Willie to himself. “But apparently I can only count to two,” he laughs. “Buckle my shoe.”

  Then he yells out, “Don’t fall in!”

  T. P. relieves himself, then quickly checks the facilities before allowing Dewitt to enter.

  Dewitt enters the restroom as Willie finishes pumping gas. When he exits, T. P. again checks the stalls and basin. All appears in order: No messages. Willie arrives and goes into the restroom and pulls tissue paper from the holder.

  He says to T. P., “Oldest trick in the book. Stick a note on the ‘TP.’ Uh, I mean the ‘TP’ as in toilet paper, not... ”

  “That’s okay, Willie,” says T. P. “I understand.”

  Soon the motorcycle is heading on up the highway again.

  Shortly afterward, with the station now open, an automobile pulls up to one of the pumps. A portly driver gets out and fills his tank, then heads for the restroom.

  Inside the restroom, the gentleman washes his hands thoroughly. He grabs some paper towels, then some more. Suddenly, he stops wiping his hands. There is a message on the final paper towel he has pulled.

  D. HOUSTON. KIDNAP VICTIM. NOTIFY FBI. HEADED NORTH TO ‘RANCH.’ SAFE SO FAR.

  The man lets this sink in for a moment. Then, note in hand, he rushes out of th
e restroom and hails the manager.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Also out West, at a small and secluded airport, the military jet that has whisked Jesse, Carl, the cabinet member and the deep operative to the desert sits idle, its landing parachute still hanging from the tail. Nearby are several civilian light airplanes and a fuel truck. Parked prominently next to them is an Air Force fighter jet. Civilian and military folks work and walk around, while inside a large hanger a strategy session is taking place.

  Jesse is addressing a team of Army and Air Force officers and staff, including the base’s commanding officer. In the back of the hanger sits a Lear-type jet, but its size is only about two-thirds normal. Several men are working on it.

  “As you know, Major,” says Jesse to the C. O., “we have instructed the F.B.I. not to say publicly that who these guys really have kidnapped is Dewitt. We don’t know if they know that yet, although it would seem likely. We need to find out, one, who they are and, two, what their demands might be.”

  The Major nods his head.

  “Yeah,” says the Major, “it’s probably a bunch of sophisticated foreign intelligence officers.”

  Jesse continues, saying, “And, I believe we’re all agreed that we’ll use ‘The Bird’ over there,” nodding toward the small jet, “to scour the area and compare what’s out there now with what your computers say has been out there.”

  Jesse nods toward a bank of blinking computer modules.

  “That’s right, Colonel Houston,” agrees the Major, as he looks around the group with confidential pride. “Essentially, if a mare foals out there, we can just about tell you if she’s borne a he or a she, if you know what I mean. The trouble is, I know your brother’s note mentioned a ranch, but, Colonel, there are a lot of ranches out there and a lot of range to ride.”

  Carl purses his lips, adding, “Yeah. It sure would help if we could narrow the search more.”

  “Well, you have our thanks,” says Jesse. “Let’s just start looking.”

  The Major replies, “We’re just glad to be of help.”

  The subordinates, too, acknowledge their willingness.

  Now Jesse glances over at Traveler before again addressing the Major and the group.

  “One more thing, though, Major. None of us wants to jeopardize out ‘Empty Can’ operation. Please make sure ‘The Bird’ has a real-looking pilot and navigator. We don’t need the locals or reporters or certainly these bad guys to know we got pilot-less capability.”

  “Roger, that, Colonel,” nods the Major. “I’ll have my technicians use the models of me and my wing commander. We normally only use ‘us’ when we want to slip away from our wives for a little golf.”

  Everyone laughs a little nervous laugh.

  “Orderly!” barks the Major. “Get these gentlemen some lunch. – And more coffee!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  David’s new place is nicely furnished but strewn with empty boxes, medical jackets and textbooks. Dressed in pajamas and eating cereal, David stands staring at the television set. He listens as a male newscaster wraps up the national news.

  “And that’s our nine a. m. national roundup for Turkey Day. – Marsha.”

  A woman newscaster talks as a picture of Jesse, in his dress blue Air Force uniform, fills the screen.

  “Thanks, John. Locally, there remains no new word on the fate of kidnap victim Colonel Jesse Houston, whose brother lives here in Atlanta. So far, we have been unable to contact Colonel Houston’s brother and the F.B.I. has no comment. – Now for our weath-.”

  David turns off the TV. He sighs and absentmindedly straightens a few belongings as he heads for the kitchen, where he gets a second wind and turns on his telephone answering machine. A message awaits.

  “David, this is Mom. Now, David, clean out the innards of that turkey, then clean the bird thoroughly, and I mean thoroughly. Josiah’s mother’s aunt told her that she knew a family who all got, well, some kind of, I guess, turkey poisoning from not having– ”

  David turns off the machine. He looks at a large wall clock that reads 9:10 A.M.

  David says to himself, “... and miles to go before I sleep.”

  He opens a pantry, retrieving the potatoes, along with some aluminum foil. He takes the turkey from the fridge and starts to place it in the sink. But the sink is full of pots and dishes. David finally puts the bird on the counter and begins loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Looking at the time, he begins to hurry.

  “O, Lordy. O, Lordy. Four o’clock is gonna come real soon. I’d better get started.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The big Harley-Davidson with its sidecar thunders into a sprawling ranch, replete with barn and fences. An Oriental young man, who has appeared in the driveway at the sound, greets the two Indian men enthusiastically. Willie introduces Dewitt and instructs the houseboy about the wheelchair, the luggage and taking care of Dewitt. Then off they all go into the house.

  Once inside, Willie relaxes by playing solitaire, while T. P. watches TV, flicking between the channels. He bypasses many channels until the familiar opening tune of The Woody Woodpecker Show causes him to stop.

  “Keep checking, I say,” shouts Willie to T. P.

  “Ahhh, I like Woody. Oh, alright.”

  The flicking begins again.

  The houseboy, Michael, enters the room and approaches Willie.

  “Mister Willie,” he says, “I have made Mister Doctor comfortable. He is having tub bath. He says he is happy.”

  Willie continues his card playing but is genuine in his appreciation.

  “Gee, thanks, Michael. You’re a good man, Michael. Mister Nickels is lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you, Mister Willie. I just wish Mister Nickels was honest man. Would rather work for honest man. But I try do job well. – I get you more coffee, Mister Willie. And for Mister T. P., too.”

  Willie stops playing cards and looks up as Michael exits. He calls after him, “Thank you, Michael.”

  Now, T. P.’s voice rings out with excitement.

  “Willie! Willie! Come here!” he yells. “They think it’s still the Colonel!”

  Willie moves toward the TV set, as Michael brings the coffee and stands nearby, watching with interest. On the TV screen the local newscaster is speaking.

  “... any updates on this kidnapping story. And we’ll be bringing you all of your top local and national news tonight at six. For Channel Two TV news Newsbreak, I’m Ben Dover.”

  T. P. switches the television set off. Excitedly, he says, “They said he was still missing. That’s all, Willie. We wasn’t mentioned or nothin’.”

  “That’s good,” notes Willie.

  “But I wanted to be on TV sometime,” pouts T. P.

  “Trust me,” says Willie, “not under these circumstances. Not so as they put your face and then your profile on, no. You want to be on Wheel Of Fortune or something.”

  T. P. goes starry-eyed.

  “Wow,” he says, “I could meet Vanna!”

  The sounds of The Woody Woodpecker Show soon fill the air.

  Chapter Twenty

  Back at David’s new digs, the Thanksgiving dinner is progressing, though not according to plan. David is rushing, trying to ready the food before his guests arrive at four o’clock. The clock in the kitchen looms: 12:15 P.M.

  A pot of water boils on the stove. A dozen uncooked rolls sit in a pan. A cookbook lies open near the stove.

  David removes the last of the now clean dishes from the dishwasher. He quickly takes four dinner plates and some cutlery to the dining room table, then returns to deal with the turkey. David picks up the turkey and glances over at a plastic bag on the counter, confirming he has taken out all the “innards.” He tries to place the turkey into the sink, but it is too large. He turns it on end. Too tall. He picks the turkey up and spies the
dishwasher, its door open. Of course. Perfect!

  David removes the dishwasher’s top shelf and places the turkey into the machine. He pauses again and strokes his chin. Looking around, he spots some dishwasher detergent. He reaches for the box, but then thinks better of it: No, no detergent.

  With a nod of his head at this decision, David closes the machine’s door and turns the dishwasher on. He strikes both hands together, satisfied, and looks around for what he needs to do next.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Willie and Dewitt sit in the den of the big ranch house, watching TV. A sports announcer is enthusiastically going over some of the western U. S. holiday football schedule. Then he continues:

  “... And back East, it’s Penn State versus the elements in their big game this weekend. For an update, we go live to-”

  Dewitt turns off the television set. He looks very thoughtful. Shortly afterward, in his bedroom Dewitt puts the finishing touches on a final draft of writing. Pleased, he wheels out the bedroom door, note in hand, and scoots into the living room, capturing Willie’s attention.

  “Oh, hi, Doc. Michael’s fixing us all some dinner. I hope you like, um, steak, Doc. Delicious, uh, delicious steak.”

  Dewitt tries to make sure he appears nonchalant.

  “Sure. – Hey, Willie,” he says, “I got an idea. You know, if I were to leave a friend of mine, say a student, a voice mail message, then no one would suspect that I’m in harm’s way.”

  “Right, ‘In Harm’s Way.’ John Wayne. Yeah.”

  Dewitt knows what’s coming next and mouths it along with Willie.

  “Good movie.”

  “Anyway,” continues Dewitt, “I wrote out this paper, and I wanted to get you and T. P.’s opinion on it. You know, to see if it’s a good idea to, as I said, make people think things are, you know, normal.”

  Dewitt looks to see how this ‘plays’ with Willie. Willie is nodding in agreement.

  “Yeah, good idea. So long’s of course you don’t go telling ‘em... ”