The parade eventually culminated at Doc’s place as planned. As soon as the floats stopped moving, the mayor jumped up on the lead float and crowned Doc and Dottie as King and Queen of the Possum Gras. This honor came with not only lovely handcrafted tinfoil crowns, but the mayor also presented Doc with the Key to the City – which was attached with a wire to a short length of lumber and looked suspiciously like the restroom key from the Sunoco gas station down the street. Doc grinned while holding the key and board triumphantly over his head and the crowd went wild.
Over the years Doc had come to be more of a part of Possum Row than even he knew. He’d been so busy with his work, he hadn’t realized how much he’d grown to know the town and its occupants. And Doc also wasn’t aware that the diverse community of oddballs and malcontents had one thing in common – they were all nearly consumed with the desire to do something nice for him. And after the parade, they were all in Doc’s yard, ready to party.
There was all manner of carnival rides, food stalls, game tables, and souvenir stands set up on the spacious grounds surrounding Doc’s house. Hundreds of people, many of them in costume, had come from far and wide to join in the festivities celebrating the meek and unassuming marsupial. The air began to fill with a pleasing assortment of food smells while kids and dogs chased each other through the happy throng. The perfect weather held, and everyone was looking forward to having a great time.
Surprisingly, the only non bull-related business for the paramedics at that point was one dentist – knocked unconscious by a large molar returned with a slingshot – and several teen-aged girls who’d fainted.
The only real damage to the town was from Widowmaker’s short but destructive rampage. The firecrackers caused the giant bull to quickly dispense with the rope around his neck and several of Buck Kracker’s cowboys before jumping off the cattleman’s float and running through the town china shop.
As the floats were parked around back, Mayor Burke slithered up on the stage in front of Doc’s house and stepped up to the podium. After some microphone static and screeching feedback, the mayor started in. He held his speech in one hand as the other hand dropped down behind the podium.
“I want to welcome y’all to Possum Row, the Dust Capital of Texas!” A mighty cheer erupted from the assembled celebrants. “Once again we’re gathered here to pay homage to the humble possum, and I’m mighty proud to announce that the theme of this year’s Possum Gras is ‘We Love Doc!’” An even bigger cheer sprang up from the crowd as Doc blushed and waved. “And, as most folks know, this is the perfect opportunity for me to make a nice, long political speech.” A collective groan issued itself from the head-shaking multitude. “But, as residents of Possum Row are well aware, there’s a town ordinance against political speeches.” Another rousing cheer sprang up. “So, instead, I’m just going to encourage y’all to enjoy the contests, shows, rides, and especially the food!”
This got the crowd cheering and waving their arms in the air once again. The mayor turned over the paper he clutched tightly in one hand.
“This year we got fried, baked, boiled, broiled, barbecued, steamed, and sautéed possum. There’s possum chili, possum loaf, possum stew, possum casserole, possum salad, possum-on-a-stick, possum jerky, possum fondue, possum flambé, possum sandwiches, possum newberg, possum tacos, and possum an’ dumplings. And if you still got room after all that, there’s possum pie, possum shortcake, and even fresh-churned possum ice cream!”
And with that everyone cheered heartily one last time before breaking ranks for the booths and tables set up in Doc’s yard.
Doc himself was beaming. He strolled the grounds of his home enjoying the delicious smells of gourmet delights wafting through the air while friends and strangers alike greeted him warmly and wished him well. With Dottie radiant, and by his side, Doc couldn’t have been happier.
“Dot, this is so cool! I may have to pinch myself or at least count my fingers to make sure this isn’t just a dream.” Dottie, resplendent in her crinkly, cleavage-conscious angel costume, took Doc by the hand in front of a booth selling beer milkshakes and gave him the kind of kiss that could make a man’s knees go weak. Doc steadied himself and grinned big.
“Well, if I am dreaming, it’s fine with me!”
Doc then gave Dot the kind of smooth, enveloping hug that could easily get out of control, just as a group of eye-rolling, gum-popping teen-aged girls walked by. All had cell phones to their ears, some with one on each ear. The alpha of the group glanced over. “Oh. My. Gawd. I mean, like, get a room, you two!” The girls giggled off, and after a brief blush the happy couple headed for the food tables. A swaggering Buck Kracker intercepted them.
“Welcome back, Doc.” Doc got a knuckle-popping handshake from the big cattleman, who then tipped his hat to the angelic realtor. “You got those papers ready like you said, so we can close the deal on this place?”
Dottie looked at her watch. “Mr. Bean from the title company should be at my office any minute. If you two gentleman are ready we can walk over there now. It should only take a few minutes to close.”
Buck produced an envelope. “I got the cashier’s check right here.”
Fifteen minutes later Doc and Dottie were back at the Gras watching Buck Kracker strutting towards his truck with the closing papers for Doc’s house still in his hand and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Doc had become hesitant at the last minute. After all, he was selling his home of several years, and to a man he didn’t at all care for. But he’d looked at the check in his hand several times on the way back to the party and started doing some big-time smiling of his own.
“Sure are a lot of zeros on that check, Dot. This is more than enough to build the house I told you about.”
She gave his arm a little squeeze and showed off a big smile of her own.
“Well, you got the full listed price plus Buck picked up most of the closing fees. I’d say you came out just fine.”
“And you got your commission.”
That got him a big wink. “I’d say we both did just fine.” She took Doc’s hand and gave it a squeeze while looking towards the parking area. Kracker was talking on his cell phone and walking back from locking the papers in his truck. The big man snapped his phone shut and grinned hard.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Dottie. I’m sure I’m really going to like my new place here.” He gave the lady a lewd wink and strutted off. A cloud of concern passed over Doc’s face, and Dot shook her head.
“I’m sure curious about what Buck thinks he’s going to do with the place. From what I’ve heard about Humberto – ”
Just then Pedro’s nephew signaled for his Kiss tribute band to start in on their signature rendition of ‘Rock and Roll All Night’. The crowd cheered wildly and the party was underway.
∨ Possum Surprise ∧
40
Possum Gras
Taco Bob was standing next to the stage with One-Eyed Pete and sipping a beer when Pedrito’s band started to play. The two men stepped away from the stage so they might still have some of their hearing left for their golden years.
“Damn, Pete, them boys sure are loud.”
“No doubt. Got the costumes down pretty good, though I don’t remember the original Kiss having a saxophone and three trumpets.”
“Me neither. That fella dressed like Dracula spitting blood on the crowd sure can belt out a tune on those castanets though.”
Taco Bob took a contented sip on his cold beer.
“Parade went well, and Doc sure looked happy as a clam up on that float.”
“No doubt, T.B. Except for that one li’l incident, things are going just fine so far.”
“You know, I didn’t even know Possum Row had a china shop.”
“Well, it don’t anymore.”
Before the two men could get any further along on their running commentary, a gunshot rang out, then another. Within seconds nearly every person at the Possum Gras was taking cover and holding a gun. There would have been e
ven more armed revelers except for a long-standing and highly controversial town ordinance against anyone under six years old carrying a firearm in public.
After a few seconds the two men slowly stood up and looked around cautiously.
“Pete, you seen Deputy Raddick?”
“I heard he had to go pick someone up at the airport.”
Taco Bob was about to go around back to see what the shooting was about when he saw Buck Kracker swaggering his way. The possum rancher slipped his pistol back under his belt when he noticed Kracker’s swagger included a limp.
“Buck, someone shoot you?”
“Me? Shit no. Some crazy bastard in a possum costume came up to me mumbling some kind of wild-ass stuff, then grabbed my leg. I got off a couple of shots.”
Pete tensed up, and Taco Bob managed a tight-lipped smile as his hand slowly worked back towards his own gun.
“Did you hit the fella dressed like a possum?”
“Nah, missed. He was biting my foot something fierce and it threw off my aim. Last I seen he was running flat-out through the tall scrub and laughing like crazy.”
The two possum ranchers relaxed a couple of notches. Taco Bob started to say something else, but just then a pudgy, half-drunk cowboy stumbled up to Kracker.
“Bossman! You got to haul ass over to the food court right now! That damn French chef you hired for the cooking contest done got his panties in a bunch over something and you better get over there pronto!”
Buck Kracker had a pained look, then a strained smile for his employee.
“Chuck, you must mean Anatole? The ranch cook who’s been with us for a while now, right?”
“Uh, yeah, Mr. Kracker. That one.”
Kracker headed off, leaving the two possum ranchers to watch him swaggering and limping towards the cooking contest while yelling at his cowboy and giving him a couple of pops in the head. Pete spit some tobacco on the ground.
“That’s one mean sumbitch. I’d sure like to – ”
“Now, Pete, remember what I said. I’m sure things will work out on their own with that man without us having to stoop to his level.”
One-Eyed Pete looked far from convinced, but shrugged and suggested they cruise the food stalls. They eased through the crowd and found Skunk standing by the salad booths, finishing off a beer milkshake. Taco Bob had to ask.
“Skunk, them things any good?”
“Damn sure are! Doc’s the one turned me onto ‘em. He swears by ‘em.” Skunk issued a long, contented belch. “You wanna try something damn sure enough good, you should try that possum loaf flambé. It’s so good I started speed-eating an’ about beat my brains out with my tongue!”
“I’ll take your recommendations under advisement. However, I was thinking of a light salad to start with.”
Pete noticed a good-looking young woman buying a possum t-shirt and wandered off in that direction while Taco Bob and Skunk eased towards Trapper Tom’s organic salad booth. The ant farmer pointed to a big jar half-filled with green crinkly things.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
The old trapper lit up a grin for his prospective customers, pulled the top off the jar, and stuck his hand in.
“Them’s worms from Tequila bottles. Save ‘em up all year.” He popped a couple of big ones in his mouth. Though crusty by any comparison, Old Tom was generally a decent-mannered person who only talked with his mouth full on certain occasions – unfortunately, this was one of them. “Go great with salad.” He held the jar out to the two men who both declined. “Hey, don’t knock it if you ain’t tried it.”
Taco Bob was looking a little green himself. “Don’t worry, I won’t do either.” He looked up at the sign on the booth.
“Says here smoked South Texas squirrel heads on a bed of Romaine lettuce liberally garnished with green onions, mushrooms, and little blue rubber bands.”
The possum rancher tried to position himself upwind from the still chewing old trapper while peering at the salads on display. Taco Bob motioned to Skunk.
“This looks interesting. What kind of mushrooms you reckon those are?”
Skunk stepped over for a closer look as the old trapper served up a couple of salads to a soccer mom from Armadillo.
“Taco, them ain’t mushrooms.”
∨ Possum Surprise ∧
41
Kracker
After Buck got his prissy ringer-cook calmed down over at the cooking contest, he found a place to sit down. He peeled his sock back to inspect the set of perfect tooth prints deep in his Achilles tendon.
“Jumping Jesus, but that little fella bit me a good one.”
Buck checked and reloaded his .45 automatic. The big cattleman didn’t like being bit, and he didn’t like mysteries either. “Whoever that was, I get me another chance I won’t miss!”
And that wasn’t the only mystery he had to deal with. Just a couple of days earlier he’d been off to Armadillo to meet the head limo guy and return the first pearl. When he got back to the ranch, one of his housemaids told him two men from the gas company had been there to fix a problem with the water heater. Buck didn’t like that one bit – especially when he found out they’d checked the whole house before they left to make sure there weren’t any other problems. His domestic help were all illegals and mighty cheap, but dumber than dirt at times. They didn’t realize Buck’s ranch house was all electric – it didn’t have gas.
A shadow came over his sore foot just as he gave it a test probe with a finger. Buck looked up to find Chuck again.
“Bossman, Frenchy says for you to come taste his vittles now. Looks like the judges are about to start their rounds.”
Buck’s cellphone rang. He checked the number, hoping it was Mr. Blackstone. He’d done the deal the day before to get the man’s other pearl. He didn’t like the swarthy cab driver he’d had to meet out by the airport, and he damn sure didn’t like the amount of cash he’d had to hand over for the second pearl. He did like the pearl though. As far as he could tell it was an exact match of the first one, and Mr. Blackstone hadn’t even flinched when Buck told him what it was going to cost him.
But it wasn’t Blackstone – it was Buck’s lawyer. Buck liked his lawyer about as much as he liked de-worming cattle, but the over-priced bastard had managed to keep the IRS off his back. Whatever it was, Buck was sure it could wait. He’d call him back later.
Buck called Mr. Blackstone and left another message, he was anxious to tell the man he not only had the other pearl, but Doc’s place as well. Buck had used money from his Cayman accounts to buy the second pearl and Doc’s place, but he didn’t want to take any more out. He had both the ranch and his South American scheme leveraged to the max and the offshore money was his ace in the hole. He liked having the Cayman accounts no lower than a nice even five mil. Money like that could go a long way to take care of anything or anyone that gave him problems. And after him and Mr. Blackstone took care of business, Buck would be making another nice fat deposit in the Cayman account. He was so preoccupied with thinking about money while walking over to the cooking-contest area that he bumped into one of the locals and almost knocked him down. The man came around angry.
“Hey! What the –?”
It was just the smelly guy called Skunk – the one who dug holes and called himself an ant farmer. Buck just ignored him and kept going, but there was a break in the loud music just as Skunk yelled. “Hey, watch where you’re going, Butt Crack!”
Buck froze in his tracks. No one had ever dared to call him that before – not out loud, and certainly not in public. When he turned around, several anxious faces were looking his way, and the damn ant farmer was grinning.
“Care to make a little wager this afternoon, Mr. Crack?”
Buck decided there were too many witnesses for him to just shoot the annoying little bastard. Then he remembered the card game and all the money he’d won from the wiry little shit.
“What you got in mind, Skunk?” Buck couldn’t come up with a sui
table abusive name for someone already known as ‘Skunk’, so he just added a sneer each time he said the man’s name. “Care to play a little poker, Skunk?”
“Nope, got something a lot easier – and it won’t take long neither.” Skunk gave the big cattleman a sideways look as he pulled out a cigarette. The crowd around them grew.
“I’ll bet I can light this here cigarette, take three good puffs, and it won’t be no shorter than it is right now.” Buck looked at the cigarette, then at the scroungy ant digger, then at Chuck standing off to the side and circling a finger around his ear to show his boss what he thought of Skunk’s state of mind. Buck thought again about how easily he’d cheated the fool at cards, and allowed himself the start of a smile.
“What kinda bet we taking about here, partner?”
Skunk walked over to where Pedro was talking to a tall person wearing about the poorest excuse for a possum costume Buck had ever seen. Pedro whispered something to Skunk and the little man marched back over to within a few feet of Buck and thrust the hand holding the cigarette into the air.
“Ten thousand dollars!” There was a collective gasp from the still growing crowd. “I got me a backer!” Skunk pointed to Pedro. The Gras had gone quiet as even the band was now anxiously looking on from the stage.
Buck huddled with several of his cowboys who were still sober enough to stand. They all agreed with their boss – the man was nuts.
“Show me the money and you’re on, ant-digger!”
Pedro adjusted the bandoleers across his chest and dug into a money belt. He didn’t put the money in Skunk’s outstretched hand, though, instead he gave it to Taco Bob for safekeeping. Skunk shrugged and started grinning again.
“Let’s see some money, Crack.” Buck didn’t have that kind of money on him, or anywhere else handy at the moment, but he did have something. He pulled out the plastic bag from his front pocket.
“How about a genuine Malaysian Black Pearl?” There was another, even bigger, gasp from the crowd. Buck had paid a hellava lot more than ten Gs for the pearl, but this was a sure thing.
Possum Surprise Page 13
