Beast of a Feast

by Melanie Jackson

  Beast of a Feast

  by

  Melanie Jackson

  Version 1.1 – October, 2011

  Published by Brian Jackson at PubIt

  Copyright © 2011 by Melanie Jackson

  Discover other titles by Melanie Jackson at www.melaniejackson.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Chapter 1

  It was a Friday morning, a week before Thanksgiving, and I was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a steaming mug of café mocha. Alex had bought me a Keurig coffee maker for my birthday, which meant that I got to enjoy hot beverages whenever I wanted in only minutes. And I was taking full advantage of every opportunity to do so this chilly autumn. Meanwhile, Alex was sipping a hot cup of Orange Indulgence white tea while reading the morning paper. Blue lay on her side in front of the sliding glass door soaking up the early morning rays of sunshine. It wasn’t raining nor was it snowing. All was right with the world. In fact, things were so lovely and tranquil that I wished I didn’t have to go to work that day.

  “You realize that it’s only a week before Thanksgiving,” I mentioned.

  “Yes. So?”

  “And no one has called to invite themselves to dinner,” I pointed out. “That means that it’s just the two of us this year.”

  At this realization we shared a shamefully conspiratorial smile. Although I had been expecting to have to host yet another Thanksgiving at our place this year, the fact that no one had called indicated, at least to me, that I was off the hook. This left me feeling shamelessly relieved. Halloween had ended up being too much together time with my extended family.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Alex acknowledged. “What do you say we go out and have the full nine course turkey dinner spread at Arturo’s?”

  “That sounds heavenly,” I said, breathing in the steam from my hot brew. “Soup to nuts and I don’t have to cook it or do the dishes.”

  Finishing my coffee, I rose and wrapped my arms around my lovely husband’s shoulders, giving him a loud peck on the cheek. Then I padded softly in my fuzzy slippers back to the bedroom to shower and get dressed. Minutes later I had applied my makeup, brushed my hair, and donned my blue meter maid’s uniform. I returned to the kitchen to find Alex still reading the paper. Ah, the luxuries of being self-employed, I mused. I was roused from my envious musings when Alex suddenly burst out into a bout of unexpected laughter.

  “What is it?” I prompted.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I just read a story that reminded me of something from my misspent youth.”

  “Tell me,” I urged eagerly, taking a seat beside him.

  I was always anxious to hear about Alex’s childhood since it was a time he rarely talked about. I was especially anxious this time of year when thoughts of family and the holidays were in the air.

  “You really want to hear this?” he asked.

  “You bet.”

  “Well, this happened when I was in my early teens…”

  The Story of the Melted Shoes

  I was thirteen, maybe fourteen, and Gwen, my sister, had just turned seventeen. My sister was quite good looking at the time and probably could have had any boy in her high school class. Instead, she had a boyfriend named Rufus who was as solid, and dumb, as a pile of bricks. I think the only reason she went out with him was because he owned a car, even though his car was a lemon.

  Rufus owned a 1974 Ford Pinto. A real piece of junk. Rust was the only thing holding the thing together, that and the ropes holding on the front and rear bumpers. The floor of the car had rusted through to the point that it allowed water and rocks to fly up from the roadway into the passenger compartment. Rufus bought floor mats not to protect the carpeting from his feet but to protect his feet from road debris. One of the holes in the backseat was directly over the exhaust system, which let in warm air that tended to roast the floor mat covering the hole. I have no idea to this day what kept that car from bursting into flames.

  Anyway, one day we were all driving to the beach when we came upon this surfer thumbing a ride. Gwen insisted we pull over and let him in. Rufus argued against it, but Gwen was going through one of her humanitarian phases at the time. She won out in the end. The guy was really appreciative when Gwen got out of the passenger seat to allow him to climb into the backseat beside me, into the seat above the exhaust system.

  We continued on our merry way to the beach, all of us feeling warm and cozy with the windows rolled up, the surfer dude no doubt feeling warmer than the rest of us, especially from the knees down. When we arrived at our destination, the surfer dude asked to be let off on the corner. He thanked us effusively for the ride, that is until he noticed that the rubber soles of his shoes were sticking to the sidewalk.

  “Dude, you melted my shoes,” the surfer complained.

  As he walked around, lifting his shoes one after the other to inspect the damage, long strings of melted rubber stretched from the soles to the sidewalk.

  Rufus found this whole state of affairs to be hilarious. While Rufus laughed his ass off Gwen tried to pay the dude for a new pair of shoes but found that she didn’t have enough money. Rufus finally forced her to get back in the car. Meanwhile, the surfer continued to complain.

  “Dude, you melted my shoes.”

  Rufus drove away laughing uproariously. Arriving at the beach, we grabbed our towels and the cooler and staked our claim to a few square yards of sand. We had a pleasant time that day at the beach, occasionally pointing to our feet and wailing, “Dude, you melted my shoes.”

  * * *

  “So, what did you read that brought this terrible story to mind?” I asked.

  “A frozen yogurt ad.”

  “You are a sick man, Alex Lincoln.”

  Rising, I gave Alex a short but passionate kiss that succeeded in making him uncomfortable before gathering Blue and heading out to my tricycle for my morning ride to work. Since my father had worked on my trike, it was much lighter and cornered better. However, it was now so jerry-rigged that my constant fear while riding it was that it would fall into fifty pieces. Regardless of my concerns, we once more made it to work without incident, and I left Blue tied to her favorite tree outside, under protection from any possible threat of rain with her bowl of water, while I went in to attend the morning meeting.

  Jeffrey and I spent our time playing Angry Birds on his iPad during the majority of the morning meeting. Today featured a lengthy discussion regarding the filling of potholes and placement of painted limit lines, as did most morning meetings. When it came time for us to give the status for parking enforcement, it was Jeffrey’s turn to rise and say that there were no issues. Meanwhile, I racked up an impressive score on his iPad that he would have to spend weeks trying to overcome.

  Handing him his iPad with a smirk and a chuckle, I was about to leave and get going on my rounds when the Chief swept into the room and placed an opened folder on the lectern.

  “I’d appreciate it if Officers Boston and Little remained in the room during the initial phases of the law enforcement meeting,” the Chief said to our surprise.

  While scowling at my quite impressive score, Jeffrey resumed his seat. I retook my own seat and was instantly attentive. Jeffrey ignored everything going on around him as he lamented his current Angry Bird dilemma. Meanwhile Keith Regan sashayed by, flashing me a broad smirk.

  “Well la-de-dah, a lady is among us,” he said in passing.

  I flipped him the finger, which I hid
by ultimately scratching my forehead with the proffered appendage. Regan glared at me but dutifully left the room so I didn’t have to see his ugly mug anymore.

  “Please have a seat,” the Chief said to the room full of milling officers.

  From the confusion that we’d caused, it was obvious that Jeffrey and I were occupying seats commonly reserved by other officers. This sent a ripple effect throughout the room as people exchanged seats until everyone was shifted. The Chief watched this with some irritation, which he directed at me. I simply raised my shoulders and hands to show that I wasn’t in control of the situation.

  “We have a lot to go over this morning, so if everyone would please take a seat,” the Chief added as some of the officers continued to mill around the room. “Any seat will do. For heaven’s sake, this isn’t rocket science—just take any chair!”

  Eventually, everyone found a seat to their liking and the meeting began.

  “This morning I have a special announcement to make. I’ve asked parking enforcement to remain so they can be brought in on the investigation. We have a missing boy. His name is Daniel. He’s eight years old and he’s been missing since yesterday morning. He was last seen at Memorial Park at the Falls where he was playing with his father. The father lost track of the boy at the jungle gym. Daniel has blond hair and blue eyes. He was wearing blue denim pants and a yellow T-shirt the last time he was seen.”

  The Chief handed out color pictures of the boy, which were passed from hand to hand. When I got my first look at the child I instantly fell in love. He was a real cutie. My heart ached at the thought of what his family must be going through and for his own terror.

  “I’d like everyone to keep a special eye out for this child, and maybe even go the extra mile to check out some areas of town where he may be hiding or have gotten lost. Are there any questions?”

  I raised my hand enthusiastically.

  “Yes, Boston?”

  “What’s the boy’s last name?”

  The Chief looked blank for a moment, and then he consulted his file.

  “Evans. Why do you ask?”

  “I just thought it might be a good thing to know.” Then belatedly I added, “When I find him.”

  There were chuckles around the room.

  “I see. Any more questions?”

  My hand instantly shot up.

  “Yes, Boston?”

  “What kind of shoes was he wearing?”

  The Chief shot me a how the heck should I know look, and then consulted his file.

  “The file doesn’t say. Look, is this really an important issue?”

  “I just thought the type of shoes he was wearing might restrict the areas he’d go into.”

  Again there were chuckles and snickers around the room.

  “Well, I assume he was wearing tennis shoes, like all kids do,” the Chief replied in exasperation.

  I shot him a not a safe assumption look.

  “Maybe he was wearing high heels,” I heard Gordon quip.

  “Enough of that,” the Chief warned. “Any more questions?”

  I waved my hand. The Chief looked around the room, trying to ignore me.

  “Anybody,” he pleaded, but eventually pointed my way. “Yes, Boston?”

  “What about his mother? You didn’t mention a mother.”

  “The boy’s parents are apparently estranged. There’s currently a custody battle going on over the child. Any other questions?”

  Again I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Boston?” the Chief asked with a heavy sigh.

  “Have we ruled out the possibility that the mother kidnapped the child?”

  “Nothing has been ruled out. While the investigation continues, we’d also like to conduct a thorough search of the area. Now, are there any questions from anyone other than Boston?”

  I kept my hand down this time, though I had plenty more questions I wanted to ask.

  “In that case, I’d now ask traffic enforcement to leave the room so that we can begin our regular meeting.”

  There were sighs of relief and even some scattered applause as Jeffrey and I rose from our seats and left the room.

  “I can’t believe the score you just posted on my game,” Jeffrey exclaimed as we walked down the hall back to my desk to get some tape to hang Daniel’s picture in my patrol cart. “So, Chloe. What do you have planned for Thanksgiving?”

  “Alex and I are spending it alone,” I explained, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected question. “What about you?”

  “I guess I’ll be doing the same,” he admitted resignedly. “My daughter and granddaughter are spending it with her aunt in Eugene.”

  “Oh, Jeffrey, you can’t have Thanksgiving all alone. Why don’t you spend it with Alex and me? We’re going to go to Arturo’s for their roast turkey feast. You should come along. It will be fun.”

  “Alright, I will. Thanks,” Jeffrey said, instantly brightening up. “You know, Thanksgiving used to be a very important holiday when I was a kid. Seems like families don’t appreciate the holidays the way they used to.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So, what special memories do you have of Thanksgiving?”

  “Well, one year I had a contest with my brother, Ben, to see who got to chew on the turkey back.”

  Jeffrey’s statement stopped me in my tracks.

  “The turkey back?”

  “You heard right.”

  “So, tell me about it.”

  And he did…

  The Story of the Chicken Back Eating Contest

  When I was a boy, still living at home, we used to eat a lot of chicken. A lot. Fried, roasted, or boiled to make soup, it didn’t matter; everyone in the house loved chicken. Dad used to be a dark meat man while Mom loved the breast. You might find this odd, ’cause no one eats them anymore, but my brother Ben and I loved chicken backs. When there was only one we used to fight over it, so Mom took to buying extra backs, usually sold at the butchers to make chicken stock, so that we could each have one. All was fine at the homestead as long as everyone had their favorite chicken parts.

  Then Thanksgiving would roll around. Ben and I would begin fighting over who got to eat the most coveted prize of all, the turkey back. In the beginning, we alternated years, but this only led to arguments over who had had the back the previous year and even when one of us admitted defeat, we were still blue during the entire week leading up to Thanksgiving dinner.

  One year, Dad had finally had enough of all the whining and sulking. Rather than giving the turkey back to one of us arbitrarily, he decided we would have to fight for it. I envisioned a pitched battle between the two of us using knife and fork, but Dad’s idea proved to be less gladiator-inspired. With obvious pride in his decision, he announced that we would have a chicken back eating contest to see who won the honor of eating the turkey back come Thanksgiving. Ben and I eagerly supported his plan. Mom remained leery, but Dad used to be a boy and he figured he knew best.

  The idea was to set out plates for Ben and me containing a single chicken back each. At the go-ahead from my dad, we would each start eating. The winner was the one who laid a cleanly stripped chicken back on their plate first. Mom shook her head, but she got to frying up the backs while Ben and I waited at the table. Dad smiled at us, obviously as anxious as we were to begin the race. Once they were set before us, I pointed out that my chicken back was a little larger than Ben’s. Dad said it was fair because I was bigger.

  Before giving the signal to start, Dad reminded us that he wanted to see clean bones with no meat at all left on the winning chicken back. Ben and I nodded our heads in agreement, snarled at each other, and poised ourselves to dig in.

  Dad said “Go” and we began eating.

  First I stripped the skin off the back and sent it down my gullet in one piece to grease the way for the rest of the fare. Then I dug my thumbs into the two pockets of meat at the hips and sent them down with relish. Next the tail was off and in my mouth so that I could suck t
he end vertebrae clean. I spit those bones out and was already prepared to swallow the thigh connective meat from the inside and outside of the back. A thumbnail sent up each side of the spine removed what little meat was there before chewing the neck clean. The majority of the thin covering of the rib cage came off in two pieces, one for each side, and went down fast.

  Now all I was left with were the ribs. I knew the ribs would be a problem. To lay down a clean back I would have to remove the thin layer of meat from in between each rib. Looking over at Ben I saw that he was still working on the tail. I was way in the lead. I opted to remove and suck clean each rib individually.

  In the end, I had only finished one side of the ribcage when Ben called time. I was shocked. How had I lost my lead so quickly? Then I looked over and saw that Ben had removed and eaten both sides of the ribcage, and the neck as well, bones and all. Big cheater. Ben was still trying to swallow those bones, some of which must have gotten stuck in his craw, when I dropped my chicken back to the plate in defeat. Either due to too much fatty food consumed too quickly or the incomplete consumption of those rib and neck bones, Ben soon jumped up from the table to upchuck his gorge in the bathroom. I was declared the de facto winner just because I’d kept my food down.

  Funny thing is that Ben never ate another chicken back after that day, which pleased me just fine, and Mom too since she didn’t have to buy extra anymore. There were no longer any fights over the turkey back either. That year at Thanksgiving I sat like a king at the end of the meal consuming my prize, the turkey back. Ben asked to be excused before I began my gluttonous display. He always was a lightweight.

  * * *

  “Ugh!” I said and made Jeffrey promise me that he wouldn’t order the turkey back if Alex and I went out to dinner with him on Thanksgiving, since I could see him and Alex getting into an eating duel. Then I went outside to gather Blue and begin my rounds.