Pitmaster Crowe

By C.L. Bunnell

Gary Crowe, a special needs child, who is now an adult; was born and raised in a small farming community in northeast Indiana. A village that's managed to hold onto the best decade the United States has ever seen: the nineteen fifties. And since it's coming up on the end of summer, it's time for the annual cooking festival of which Gary has won three times in a row. He's going for fourth ... His secret? A black man named Leon Noone who knows how to cook southern style, soul food, something the all white, conservative towns’ people are unaccustomed too, and not certain they approve of. I mean—the reigning champ is not only a mentally challenged chef, but he’s schooled by a black drifter, who not long ago jumped off the West bound, Fifty-three train, coming from South Fork, Nevada.
Gary’s mother, a beautiful woman who was forced to use her looks to make a living for her and Gary; is also shunned by the community. At least the female side. But there are plenty of lonely men around Lincoln. The married men pay to use her, while the single men pay for her company. And although this is kept discrete, it’s hardly a secret, creating a divide between those who want her to stay, and those who want her ran out of town.
There is the Reverend James P. Townsend who is also the mortician. A man, who prepares the dead down in the Church’s basement, in between Church services. Townsend is a greedy man who believes the weak are just that. Weak. And he’s pretty sure they won’t inherit the Earth while he’s still alive.
There’s Glenda Gant, a sexy, half black woman who runs the old folks home. Glenda can’t pay the bills because the families won’t pay the home. So it looks like she’s going to have to close. This means all the residents will have to live with their families who receive and keep their social security and pension checks.
Then there’s the Sheriff who spends most of his time in bed with Gary’s mom. An easy going fella who is fair, and one of few with common sense. But that doesn’t play well in a town that lacks such things.
The Deputy, a Priest want-to-be, who later learned he was better suited for the Arian nation. Spends his time doing whatever he can to make his enemies miserable. An attempt to cleanse the area and bring the Local white people closer to God. All the while the manager at the local market keeps hiring black people because they will work.
In the end, the town becomes a melting pot, that is comical, and unfortunately, somewhat believable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Bunnell
• Release date: Mar 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370262144

C.L. Bunnell

I was born in South Bend Indiana where at the age of twenty-three, I moved to Ocala Florida where I remain to this day. During the nineties, I worked for a Firetruck manufacture where I became a factory service representative which took me around the world. It was during this period I discovered the tranquility that comes from the lack of news or hearing news that didn't affect me or my family. Now, I'm a contractor and write for fun. I wrote this story in hopes that it will bring some enlightenment to those who desire such things. I hope you enjoy.

Book preview

Pitmaster Crowe

By Chris Bunnell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 C.L. Bunnell

Gary Crowe opened his eyes to find he was lying in freshly mowed grass. In his right hand was his jaw. And he was rolling back and forth because although the pain was fading, it was still throbbing, and he could taste the coppery flavor of blood which he assumed was his.

He could feel the spiked bones that made up the knuckles of his attacker's fist. It was as though they had left an indentation on the side of his skull. And even though his mind was hazy, it was clear enough to know he wasn't going to let this stranger steal the woman he loved. A pretty little thing who went by the name: Cindy Houser.

But this wasn’t going to be easy because this violent brute who towered over Gary was tall, strong and young. His massive arms were bent, his hands were folded into fists. He was a viper who had struck and was about to strike again. But that didn’t matter to Gary, what did was this creature wasn’t anything to look at which meant he would have to take what he wanted. There was no way anyone would go freely. And it appeared he wanted Cindy who stood on the sidewalk not far away.

Gary glanced over at her; she was scared, her hands covered her mouth. She feared the outcome.

Gary looked back at his attacker and shouted: You better leave her alone! His face was as red as a rose. He was angry, and tears welled up in his eyes, but that didn’t matter. He would fight for Cindy Houser, and if he shed some tears then so be it. Those tears would be for her. Everything was for her and Gary had worked so hard to get this far; he held no plans of surrender. So if this beast couldn’t see that, then he’d best take another look!

Gary slowly turned sideways so he could use his arms to get back on his feet. But he felt a sharp pain in his side as the big man kicked him, sending him rolling back to the ground. Now, he held his ribs.

Get up! The swine yelled, and his voice was deep; the roar of a giant.

I'm tryin’! Gary yelled back.

This no sooner left his mouth when he heard Cindy shout: If you had left me alone, this wouldn't have happened, Gary!

Gary—positive he heard this wrong shouted back: Don’t ya worry ‘bout me! I’ve been hit by three cars. All of ‘em movin, so this here ain’t nothin’!

Cindy turned away and her face was now as red as Gary’s. She stomped the ground with her right foot and shouted: Uuugh! You’re impossible!

I'm willin’ ta marry ya! Gary pleaded.

The bully turned to Cindy, How far do you want me to go with this? He asked. I don't want to kill him!

Cindy stormed over to where Gary lie on his side, spitting blood, Promise you’ll leave me alone? she asked.

Gary wiped the tears from his eyes, If that’s what ya want, but not if that’s what he wants. ‘Cause I don’t care what he wants!

Gary! Cindy shook her head in disbelief. You know that's what I want; that's what I've always wanted!

The brute leaned down and grabbed Gary by the arm. He helped him to his feet, So, we're in agreement? he asked.

Gary, a heartbroken man, replied: I guess she's yer’s now.

Dude—she's my sister! And all she wants is for you to stop stalking her!

Gary said nothing. His mind’s eye showed a woman who had found another, and that happens. A story that’s been told a million times, with the end always the same. You have to let her go. ‘Here’s lookin’ at you kid!’ ‘Frankly my dear—I don’t give a damn!’ On and on and the movies told it best, and Gary had seen plenty of them. Down at the Lincoln ‘Ole Tyme’ Cinema House. And it was time to come up with one of those timeless lines. Something that would sting. Something she wouldn’t forget!

Bye Cindy, he said … Burn…! He then turned and walked away. Let her stare at his back because she wouldn’t see his face. No—he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Bye Cindy, he thought. Perfect. He then heard the bully say: Cindy, you know damn well he's not all there ... I won’t do this again!

Gary wiped the tears from his eyes. Obviously, she had made a mistake. It sounded as though her new man was about to raise his hand to her. Something Gary never would have done. Didn’t matter, he wouldn’t help her. Not after he did battle for her. After he drew blood for her.

Loose-lipped, he thought. That’s what momma had said. She was a loose-lipped heart eater!

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Walking in the front door of his small A-frame country home, Gary found he was face to face with his mother. A woman who went by the name: Tammy Crowe. Tammy was tall, close to six feet. She was stunning with long auburn hair. Deep blue eyes and pouty full lips. She

was curvy, built like a porn star. She dressed like one as well. A sex hungry cougar who was close to forty but looked ten years younger. She was every man’s dream, young and old and for a price, she would allow those dreams to become a reality. But only for a little while.

For most, that was fine because she did come along with some baggage. A mentally challenged child who was now an adult: Gary.

What happened to you? She asked as her hands instinctively went for the bruises on his cheek.

Gary pulled away, Nothin’ Momma, he said and went down the hall to his room.

This better not have anything to do with that girl! Tammy yelled. I told you to stay clear of her!

Gary listened then closed his door; he always listened to his mother. All good boys did, and he was a good boy. Always respectful, never cursed, and always helped the elderly.

Four days a week he spent time down at the Lawrence Avenue old-folks-home. He played checkers with them. He sang songs, ran to the store and bought them cigarettes, whiskey, sometimes fancy expensive tobacco. The kind you smoke in pipes. The kind that smells funny and can only be purchased from some guy named: Ox … Yeah—he took care of them all right, and in return, they were his friends.

But his biggest contribution was that he was excellent behind the barbecue grill. Winner of not one, but three consecutive first place ribbons for the best cook in the ‘Lincoln Town Cook Off.’ A contest held once a year.

His secret? He used a grill that burned real wood instead of charcoal. A grill that was made out of a large propane tank. So large, it had its own wheels and a hitch so it could be pulled by a truck. This grill was built down in Louisiana where they specialize in southern cooking. Yeah, it was the grill, and it was a gift given by one of his mother’s many suitors. Why it was given, Gary hadn’t a clue. But it was, and there wasn’t another grill like it in the entire state of Indiana.

The interior was seasoned as they say. Like a well-used cast-iron-skillet, there had been so much meat cooked in it, you could smoke tree bark, and it would taste like a porterhouse. But Gary didn’t stop there. He chose his own meat. He cut it, he trimmed the excess fat. He seasoned it with a special blend of spices. And the rest is history. And when it came time to accept his ribbons, he always thanked the people at the Lawrence Avenue old-folk’s-home for taste testing his creations. From the residents to the caregivers, they all had a hand in Gary’s once a year success. Oh, and of course, Leon Noone: the black butcher who worked at the ‘Pig’s ‘n’ Chicken’ food store.

In Gary’s room, there was a large mirror attached to his dresser. He looked at his reflection as he often did. He ran his hands through his tightly curled, coal black hair. He looked at this eyes which looked strangely close together. He raised his lips to show teeth which were crooked, gapped and yellow.

Teeth are like girls, his mother told him. If you don’t take care of them, you’ll lose them. So Gary took care of them. But they turned color anyhow. And he took care of Cindy Houser, and she was gone. So Gary thought his mother was correct, teeth are like girls.

Why do I look like this? He wondered as he took in his reflection. He knew he was a rare individual, he was different, but he hadn’t a clue just how different. Most likely never would. But ask anyone who lives in the small town of Lincoln Indiana about Gary Crowe. Watch their facial expression as they mumble out the words: ‘The Pit Master!’

Gary wasn’t educated, never attended school. And although he was old enough to buy alcohol, he couldn’t drive a car. But he did have a bicycle purchased by another one of his mother’s suitors. A nice man who no longer had a name. And that’s the way it was for Gary. When they left, he would first forget their face and then the rest. They would disappear from his memory.

Not even his father had a name or face.