Always a Kicker

by Jeff Zwagerman

  Jasper was good at keeping the small talk to a minimum. He knew most people enjoyed the quiet. The two sat with their feet on the railing smoking, drinking and looking.

  There was a boat pulling two young children on a big orange tube called Big Mable. Zander couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls. It looked like they were having a fine time.

  “What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Jasper asked.

  “Heading back early.”

  “Why don’t you stay a few days? The boys at the bar would get a kick out of seeing you again.”

  “I really can’t. I need to get back to work.”

  “Everybody’s in a hurry and nobody seems to be going anywhere,” Jasper said looking right at Zander.

  The little bit of irony wasn’t wasted on Zander. He knew exactly was Jasper was saying.

  “Something has been puzzling me about today,” Jasper continued.

  “Really? What could be more puzzling than the words that come out of your mouth?”

  “I was wondering why you took that bat today,” Jasper said ignoring Zander’s comment, “You never seemed to be that interested in baseball.”

  Zander thought about it for a while.

  “I don’t know why I took it. Maybe I didn’t want him to use it on us if he came around or maybe I just liked the Mickey Mantle signature.”

  Jasper seemed satisfied. But that same question had been bothering Zander as well. He didn’t really follow professional baseball so why the fascination with the bat? He thought that maybe he knew why but he didn’t like to think about that stuff. It was a long time ago and he had forgotten about all that. But that wasn’t true. Even now he was thinking about the past.

  Jasper might be right. Zander wasn’t going anywhere because he couldn’t get rid of the past. He might be doomed to be this drifter he had become if he couldn’t get a handle on it. The more he thought about it, the less he liked thinking about it. Life was such puzzlement.

  There was finally a time-out called when Sandy came to join them. Zander was grateful. Sandy sat down and poured herself a glass of brandy and then surprised Zander by reaching into Jasper’s humidor and pulling out a cigar.

  As she was lighting up Zander said, “ Sandy, I didn’t know you smoked cigars.”

  She spit out a piece of tobacco, “What’d you expect? After living with this smokestack all these years? He smells like a chimney so if I smoke too, I can’t smell it.”

  “Makes sense,” Zander said and smiled.

  “Only one rule.” She smiled back. “No smoking in the house.”

  “Sometimes we do some smoking in the bedroom.” Jasper winked at Zander.

  “Oh don’t you wish,” Sandy teased back.

  “Why yes, I believe I do,” was all Jasper replied.

  That’s the way it went for the rest of the evening, a little good- natured ribbing but mostly just looking out at the lake smoking cigars and sipping Remy Martin. Once and a while it was good to slow down and take a rest from life for a bit. That night was really good for Zander and it went by entirely too fast.

  Soon it was dark and they were heading for the house. Good times with his friends sometimes made Zander melancholy and he didn’t understand why.

  *****

  Zander decided not to go back to Frisco on Monday. He spent the day fishing with Jasper on the little lake. Jasper had it stocked with all kinds of fish but today they would try for Walleye. They had a marvelous time but didn’t catch a fish. There was plenty of beer and more cigars; to keep away the bugs as Jasper liked to pretend. Sandy packed them a picnic lunch and they didn’t get back to the house until almost dark. It was a fine day and Sandy had a fried chicken dinner waiting for them when they returned. Zander was in bed before 10:00

  *****

  Tuesday morning Zander got up a little before six. He wanted to get on the road by seven. He figured nine hours would get him back to Frisco. He would stop in Paxton for lunch and check in with Jo at the Branchwater from Ole’s Big Game Bar.

  By the time he had showered and shaved, he could smell bacon coming from the kitchen. He had tried to be quiet so he could sneak out without disturbing Jasper and Sandy. That hadn’t worked.

  Sandy was busy with breakfast.

  “Where’s Jasper?” Zander asked.

  “Oh you know how he is. He goes to that bar before the sun is up.”

  “Yeah. I guess I forgot that. I certainly didn’t want you to go to any trouble. I don’t need you to make me breakfast.”

  “Shut up and sit down. I made bacon, wheat toast, cheesy hash browns and eggs over easy just the way you like.”

  “You spoil me.”

  “Of course I do. If I didn’t, you’d slip out of here and I’d never see you until who knows when.”

  Zander ate until he couldn’t down another bite. Each time his plate looked like it was almost empty, Sandy would fill it up again. Zander figured he’d eaten more than three adult men.

  “Enough! How much food did you make?”

  “Just enough for you,” Sandy replied.

  “And everyone at the bar on a Friday night,” Zander added.

  “I have a box made up with Jasper’s breakfast. Would you be a dear and take it to him at the Onion?”

  “I really wasn’t planning on stopping there today. I want to get going. It’s a long drive and with all this food I’ll probably fall asleep on the road.”

  “I’m sorry Zander, but you have to go. Jasper gave me strict orders. He called all the boys and they are waiting to see you. He will never forgive you if you don’t stop in and shake a few hands.”

  “Man, my plans don’t seem to be working out very well this trip.”

  “Maybe it’s what supposed to be,” Sandy said as she cleared the dishes.

  “I thank you for last night, Sandy. It was something I needed. I just don’t seem to be able to just sit and relax like that anymore.”

  “It’s because you don’t take time,” she said, “If you don’t slow down, you won’t be long for this world.”

  “Thanks for the uplifting thought for the day,” Zander joked.

  “Somebody’s got to say it. Now you better get going. You don’t have to stay long but you do have to say goodbye to everyone.”

  Sandy came over and put her two hands on his chin and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

  “Zander, I know you have parents somewhere but you always have a home here if ever you need it. Jasper thinks of you as the son he never had,” she paused, “So do I and it pains us to see you go.”

  Zander didn’t know what to say so he kept his mouth shut. He gave Sandy a huge hug and held her for longer than what he thought was appropriate. Then he just went out the door.

  The drive to the Glass Onion wasn’t long. He was in the parking lot in fifteen minutes. All the regulars were there and Zander had a cup of coffee and survived a few back slaps and a number of finger breaking handshakes.

  These guys were all a lot older than Zander. Most of them were Jasper’s age but they liked Zander and he liked them as well.

  Donna was there and came over and gave him a hug. She had tears welling in her eyes. She liked Zander too.

  Everyone was giving Donna the business about crying and being such a girlie. Jasper was even smiling.

  “Enough of this. I’ve got work to do.” He went into his office and shut the door with a slam.

  Zander knew he was giving him his chance to make his getaway. So he said goodbye and made a quick exit out the front door. He made a mental note to give Jasper a call later just to say hello.

  10

  Paxton, Nebraska--Tuesday, August 27,1985

  The trip back to Frisco was uneventful. Just the way Zander liked it. He was able to play some music on his cassette player. Someone once asked him if he were on a desert island and allowed only one performer of music, who would it be? He didn’t miss a beat and said the Eagles. They had such a huge songbook and so much diversity that he knew he would never get ti
red of listening to them.

  No such luck on this trip. He had a cassette of Gordon Lightfoot. Lightfoot was more of a folk artist, a traveling troubadour. What attracted Zander were his words. Each song was a ballad that told a complete story and it made the time go by so much faster. He knew all the words and he always sang along.

  Zander had tried a book-on-tape once and almost fell asleep. He needed to be involved and that monotone sound of the reader wasn’t for him.

  After five hours and a few rest stops to get rid of some of the early morning coffee, he pulled off I-80 at the Paxton exit. He liked the little Nebraska town and he liked the bar.

  It was just after noon when he arrived. The locals were eating and it looked like a fair share of travelers had found the place as well.

  Most of the tables were full so Zander sat at the bar. That suited him better anyway. He saw the bartender was busy calling numbers for the Keno game so he thought he’d use the phone. He had a sock full of quarters he kept in his pocket as a secondary line of defense so he emptied out a handful and went back to the phone.

  It was an old phone booth with a rotary dial phone. The door was gone but it still gave the caller a little sense of privacy.

  Zander called his answering service but there were no new calls. He made his second call to the Branchwater. The phone rang six…seven…eight times and he was ready to hang up when an out of breath voice answered.

  “Branchwater.” It was Jo’s voice.

  “Hey beautiful.”

  “Zander! Where the hell are you? I expected you back today.”

  “I’ll be there in four or five hours. I’m in Paxton right now. I’ll get something to eat and be on my way.”

  “I need you as quick as you can get here.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I have no idea. I’m here by myself and getting slammed,” Jo said, “Must be some convention or something up in Breckenridge.”

  “So they found your bar and now you’re making money.”

  “I won’t be making anything unless I get some help. I even have Bert serving. What a disaster!”

  Zander could hear Bert speaking in the background, “I can hear you Jo.”

  Zander smiled to himself.

  “You better get here, Zander. I don’t know what kind of convention it is but there are mostly beautiful women. Just the kind you like.”

  “Too bad I don’t have the T-Bird. I could cut an hour off my time,” Zander said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I thought that might speed you up,” Jo said laughing.

  He was ready to hang up when he heard Jo say something else.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “You had three calls here since Saturday.”

  “My answering service?”

  “No some woman. She wouldn’t leave her name but I have her number.”

  Zander wondered if it was someone from the Glass Onion.

  “Just a minute,” he said and took out a pen and small note pad, “Okay, shoot.”

  She gave him the number. Zander recognized the prefix right away. It was a western Iowa number, 712.

  “I can’t deal with this now. I’ll call it when I get back to Frisco.”

  “Okay, love. Just hurry some,” Jo said and hung up.

  Zander went back to his bar stool. He wondered what this phone call was all about. He didn’t like it. When people didn’t use the answering service, it meant he already had dealings with them or someone had given out the number to the bar. He thought about calling his father but he didn’t want to bother him if he didn’t know anything. It would just make him nervous.

  The bartender was on break from the Keno machine. He took Zander’s order for a burger and onion rings and drew a Bud from the tap.

  “Nice to see you again, Zander.”

  “Good to be seen again, Fats.”

  His nickname was Fats and Zander had never seen anyone skinnier. He looked like one of those guys that got liberated from a prison camp. He really wasn’t a bad looking, just way too thin.

  “What brings you back through here?” Fats asked.

  “Had a job in Omaha over the weekend and I’m just heading back.”

  “Been giving out some of your cards. You might have some business coming your way soon.”

  “I can always use more business.” Zander smiled and he thought Fats was probably bullshitting just to keep the conversation going.

  “Hey you know, I’ve been thinking a lot about moving on lately. It’s getting pretty stale around here. Do you know of anything your way?”

  “Well yeah. Breckenridge is always looking for bartenders and so is Frisco. But you could probably go to any ski area and find something. It all depends on where you want to land,” Zander explained.

  Bartenders all have their own little fraternity. They all help each other out whenever needed. Vagabonds can always use a little help.

  “Could you give me a little boost in Breckenridge?” Fats asked.

  “Sure. Give me one of my cards.”

  Fats reached under the bar and handed it to Zander. Zander wrote the address of the Branchwater and The Bridge on the back with the phone numbers.

  “When you decide to make the move, show up or give me a call. We’ll make something happen. What’s your name, I mean besides Fats.”

  “Roland Sinning. But if you tell anyone I’ll have to kill you. I go by Fats and that’s it. Only my employers’ use my name and that’s only on my paychecks.”

  “Doesn’t really matter to me but I thought that if I was going to be of any help at all, I should probably know your name.”

  “Okay, you’re probably right. Thanks, man. It probably won’t be for a few weeks or more. I’ve got to give notice.”

  “The pay will be better I’m sure. But just remember, it’s damn cold up there, even in the summer,” Zander said.

  “Can’t be any worse than the wind we get here. A buffalo farts in South Dakota and it blows a gale down here.”

  “I guess change is good,” Zander said.

  His burger and rings showed up and he ate in silence as Fats went back to the Keno machine. Zander finished the beer and left enough for the food, beer and tip. He waved at Fats on the way out and Fats gave him the peace sign.

  Old hippies, who needed them, Zander thought.

  *****

  When Zander reached Ogallala, he thought he could actually begin to smell Colorado. When I-80 split off toward Sidney, Zander exited to I-76 and six miles later he passed Julesburg. It wasn’t the mountains but it was starting to feel like home.

  Things were going fine when suddenly he felt a shudder of the front right side of the van. It kept getting worse and Zander decided to pull over and check it out. He saw exit 149 that led to Crook. He took the exit and got to the side of the road pointing north toward Crook. It was getting hard to steer.

  At first he thought he had lucked out when he saw a gas station on the left side of the exit. When he looked closer he saw it was boarded up. It looked like it had been built in the 60s when the interstate was being built. The owners probably thought they were going to cash in with all the travelers going by. Likely, that hadn’t been the case.

  Zander jumped out and went around the front of the van looking for the problem. He noticed the front tire was almost flat. That pissed him off. The rubber was good so he must have picked up something on the road or in Paxton. It looked like it was a slow leaker.

  He opened the back doors with his keys and found the spare. He took it out and bounced it on the ground. It had enough air. The jack was screwed down behind the spare and he took it out and carried the jack and spare around to the front of the van. He noticed that he had forgotten the tire iron but when he went back to get it, it was not to be found. He looked everywhere but it was nowhere in the van.

  He tried to remember where he had seen it last. Did Jasper have it when they went after the prick? Damn it all. If he did, he must have dropped it somewhere
. Without it he couldn’t raise the jack or take off the lug nuts.

  Zander didn’t carry tools so he had one option. He could hike to Crook to see if he could get some help. The map showed three miles. He could do that but it was hot and he was not looking forward to losing more time. He didn’t even know if there was a service station there. The town couldn’t be more than a hundred souls. He would much rather ring Jasper’s neck if truth were told.

  Just as Zander made the decision to take the hike, he saw an old Chevy station wagon coming from the exit. It pulled next to Zander and the passenger window rolled down.

  “Having some trouble, mister?”

  Zander looked over and noticed there were four in the station wagon. They were probably in their early twenties. Zander didn’t like the look of them. He could usually tell when people were itching for trouble. But maybe he was reading these kids wrong. He decided to play it out.

  “Yeah. Can’t find my tire iron,” Zander said and he shrugged.

  “Well hell. Maybe we can help,” one guy said.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Zander replied.

  The car moved up and pulled over right in front of the van. All four bailed out of the wagon and stood near the front of Zander’s van. The guy who was doing the talking opened the tailgate and was looking for something. Finally he came up with a tire iron and held it up.

  “This should do the trick,” he said and smiled.

  Zander didn’t like his smile.

  “That’s for a Chevy. This is a Ford. It won’t fit,” Zander said.

  “No shit, Dick Tracy,” someone said.

  Zander was feeling claustrophobic. The other three had circled around him. One of them was slowly pounding his fist into the palm of his hand.

  “Maybe we could find something else that would work,” the talker said, “But first we should get something for our trouble.”

  “How much do you want?” Zander asked.

  “Everything you got, asshole.” he talker took a short swing at Zander with the tire iron.

  It was a swing meant to get Zander’s attention. They had it.