The Ben Harper Stories

By RC Monson

By the time Ben Harper turns thirty, he is sick to death of living in rented apartments. He wants a little piece of the rock that he can call his own. But he can hardly afford to pay his current monthly rent, and the only way he can swing a deal is to purchase a low-grade triplex and use rental income to cover two thirds of the mortgage. Shortly after signing the paperwork, Ben's world starts turning upside down as unstoppable forces encounter immovable objects with disturbing regularity and sometimes devastating effect for the next twenty-years. These stories chronicle the around-the-house adventures of a modern-day Everyman (mid-1980s to early 2000s) and feature a cast of rascals and misfits who can always be counted on to make a bad situation worse. Over the years, Ben steadily cultivates and refines a unique absurdist perspective on life while struggling to maintain his sense of justice and decency in the rough-and-tumble backstreets of America’s New World Order. These stories are presented in chronological order, but they may be read in any random fashion without losing much of the overall nonsensical effect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RC Monson
• Release date: May 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463557556

RC Monson

RC Monson spent his youth on a high ridge between the Sandia Mountains and the Rio Grande during the 50s and 60s. In the early 70s he moved to California and studied art and creative writing at San Francisco State. After ten years of big city life, he stepped off the treadmill and returned to a more laid back lifestyle in New Mexico. He had at least twenty-five different jobs over the years, ranging from bike mechanic to sales clerk to garageman, from typographer to proofreader to editor, from sales work and public relations to high school English teacher.Having begun his quiet venture into the literary world by writing a series of angst riddled, adolescent poems, he later penned a dark, explosive little yarn that caught the attention of the editors at the college literary review. After graduation he published only on a rare occasion and spent most of his free time blundering around, trying to figure out how to put a novel together. For a number of years he read his poems at the open mic shows at coffee shops and bars around town. Then he went back to school at the Albuquerque branch of the College of Santa Fe and acquired a teaching credential, and for nearly a decade his creative energies were completely devoted to that craft.Next thing you know he took an early retirement and jetted off to Costa Rica for a few months, then off to Colorado and Florida and California by car. He piddled around for a while on a couple of useless websites, and settled eventually into a writing routine for the first time in about ten years. Starting with short pieces about his time in the apartment rental business, he gradually built up the confidence to tackle another full length manuscript.She Didn’t Say is his first and only published novel to date. In recent months he has been toying with the notion of attempting another one, but right now he has a website to build and maintain as well as a slew of other marketing chores to attend to. And, lord knows, he certainly wouldn’t want to get in a big hurry about it—not anymore!

Book preview

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The Ben Harper Stories

RC Monson

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Copyright 2018 RC Monson

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9780463557556

Cover Design: Livewire Productions

Cover photo by bonappetit

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Contents

4th of July Resolutions

A Bullet Hole in Jack’s Couch

Rough Trade

Sins of the Father

Three Intruders

The Road to Lake Mirage

Prize Pets

The Gatekeeper

Harlequins

The Happy Hedonist

A Shade Too Dark

Border Wars

Freeloaders

Outside the Box

Gangbusters

Measure Twice

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4th of July Resolutions

Watch it! said Randy as he attempted to back through the doorway, lugging one end of a hide-a-bed couch.

Lance pushed a tad too hard from the other end, and the couch bumped the doorframe with a thump.

A little more to the left.

Thunk.

Your other left, Randy instructed.

Thump. Bump.

Youch! cried Randy. That’s my fingers you just crushed, dude.

Sorry, Lance replied to his brother in a voice devoid of emotion. Just angle that top corner in and the rest will follow.

Like this?

There you go, Lance answered as he lifted his end about six or eight inches, but watch that bottom cor—

Bam! Scraaaaape!

We’re in! Randy cried out in triumph.

Halfway home, Lance blandly corrected him.

Meanwhile, Ben Harper stood by helplessly holding open the screen door. At the rate you’re going, you guys will knock the walls down before you get moved in.

Ignoring his elder brother’s commentary, Lance instructed Randy to move to the left and, Lift, a little higher. There we go. Now we’re in.

Ben was just about to follow them inside, carrying a shade-less lamp and rickety kitchen chair, when Spike and Drew hauled in a worn-but-sturdy kitchen table. Bang into a wall. Bang into the front door.

Over there, in front of the big window, Randy instructed.

In the living room? asked Drew.

It’s too damn big to fit in the kitchen, Randy replied.

Just then, Pat came up huffing and puffing toward Ben with a bear-hug grasp on a great big Sanyo. Where do you want the TV? he said, passing through the doorway.

Put it on the far end of the table over there.

On the kitchen table? said Pat.

It’ll have to do for now.

Ben propped the chair against the screen door to hold it open and stepped inside, looking around for a good spot to put a lamp, and knowing anyplace would do, as long as it was well beyond the reach of Randy’s wrecking crew.

Where’d the TV come from? asked Lance.

Spike’s mom contributed it to the cause, Randy answered.

There hadn’t been a stick of furniture in the place till the band showed up this afternoon with a borrowed pickup truck. Up till now it had just been a place to store boxes full of everything Ben had brought with him from California. The last apartment he had rented was furnished and, for the most part, went unused because Ben mostly stayed at Amber’s house the whole time he lived there.

Where’s the cooler? I need a beer, said Lance. He was a year older than Randy and ten years younger than Ben. Lance was old enough to drink legally, Randy wasn’t, but of course that never deterred him at all.

Randy kicked aside an empty camping cooler and strutted over to the fridge, saying, We’ve moved up a notch in the world, gents. And he opened the refrigerator door, revealing shelves full of nothing but cheap beer.

As everyone cracked open brew pops, Spike went looking for something in the cabinets. He opened a cabinet door and found the shelves filled with reference books and a small collection of Ben’s favorite fiction writers. He looked Ben up and down as though examining a freak show oddity. He grinned, shook his head.

I got tired of having to dig them out of boxes, Ben explained. As the band mates slugged down their beers and clowned around, he was beginning to think it might not have been such a great idea to turn his unused apartment over to his youngest brother and his clumsy band mates—no matter how much he would like to help them out.

He had acted on an impulse when Randy mentioned that they’d been living in a motel. The invitation had come rolling off his tongue before he could give it a second thought: You guys oughta just crash at my place and save yourselves a few hundred bucks a month. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Go figure.

When the band mates started hauling in the instruments and sound gear, Ben reminded them it was only for safekeeping. Don’t think for a minute, Ben cautioned them, about turning this place into a practice space. The minute you start bothering the neighbors or causing me any grief, you’re out of here.

Over the next two weeks, Ben would stop in after work to check the mail and attend to chores. As the days went by, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes and junk food wrappers started piling up on every available surface in the place. Each day the pile grew taller and more precarious. But what else could one expect from a bunch of young rockers who had only finished high school a couple of years before?

One afternoon Ben was running much later than usual. It was nearly five thirty in the afternoon and he found the band just beginning to stir from their slumbers, nursing hangovers from the night before. Looks like you guys had a helluva night.

Randy was still half asleep, his normally glamorous hair style a lopsided tangle of dark clashing waves. He answered for the group with a groan followed by a pained grimace. Would you mind toning it down a notch? I’ve got a killer headache.

Pat came out of the kitchen carrying two Styrofoam coffee cups and handed one to Randy. Took us till three to tear down and stash the equipment, said Pat, his voice a tad raspy after last night’s performance, then we went out and partied till dawn.

Sorry I missed it, Ben replied in a softer voice.

Ben browsed through the mail as Pat and Randy sipped coffee and Spike came lurching out of the bathroom preceded by a wave of noxious fumes that emanated from the same source as the sound of waterworks in the background.

Randy winced and buried his face in his hands. Pat pinched his nose and whined, For Pete’s sake, Spikey, turn on the fan. Meanwhile, Ben was thinking: Holy shit! They’ve been here two weeks, and the place is already a flophouse. And it was too. Evidently Randy had been sleeping on the couch, and the others had all bedded down on heaps of blankets spread out on the bare linoleum floor.

Someone had tacked a cheap head shop tapestry on the wall, lending the room an exotic Persian atmosphere, enhanced by pillows and a huge bong, a stray set of bongos and a tambourine. Ben kind of half-expected a troupe of belly dancers to come whirling and prancing out of the bedroom at any moment.

Instead, his other brother, Lance, came storming in through the front door, shaking a wrinkled paper document in one fist. Fit to be tied, he tore into Randy the moment he came through the door. I went down to the MVD today to renew my license.

Uh oh! Randy didn’t actually say it, but it was written all over his face as he replied, And?

They told me my license has already been renewed, that somebody came in six months ago for a duplicate. Lance yelled, still waving the now-rumpled paper at Randy in an accusatory manner.

With another cringe, Randy suggested mildly, Let me explain.

You don’t have to explain a thing. I know exactly what you’ve been up to and how you managed to get them to give you a goddamn fake ID with my goddamn name on it. He stopped waving the document and started making gimme signals with his free hand. Hand it over, he demanded sharply, all four fingers flicking back and forth like a huge moth with only one wing.

Randy took out his wallet and fished the driver’s license out, accidentally dropping several business cards in the process. Ben reached down and picked up the cards as Randy begged his older-by-one-year brother to, "Please, please, please!!! Let me use it for another three months." All he needed was three more months until he turned twenty-one and could start playing the clubs legally.

But Lance wasn’t having any of that. He snatched the license out of Randy’s hand and folded it into the crumpled document, which he then stuffed into his back pocket and headed for the door. Randy called after him, You’re not in trouble are you?

I don’t know yet. I don’t think so, but YOU might be in a shithole up to your ears.

Well, that’s a drag, said Randy with an odd combination of smiling eyes and frowning mouth, Looks like we won’t be doing any club dates for a while.

Ben glanced at the top card as he handed the stack to Randy. On the left side of the card’s face his name and phone number were written out in a familiar hand. On the right side of the card, a happy face and the following words were machine printed: Smile, if you’d like to suck my dick.

Ben couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. You don’t actually pass those out, do you? he asked.

Oh, you bet I do, Randy answered proudly. And I usually find a taker about half the time.

No kidding? Fifty percent? That’s not a bad return.

Randy laughed and pounded his chest with one fist like a boastful gorilla. He wasn’t one to let things trouble him much, always tried to be philosophical about troublesome matters. Ever since he was a child, he had had this wonderful Zenlike, live-for-today perspective on the world.

Too bad, you’re not scoring as well with the neighbors, Ben informed him. I got a call today.

Sorry. We must’ve gotten a little out of control this morning when we loaded in.

Yeah, well, out of control don’t cut it. You’re putting me in a compromising position, and I don’t like it.

It won’t happen again.

Uh huh. We’ll see about that.

The following weekend was 4th of July. Amber went away for the holiday to visit her sister, so Ben was left to his own devices. He and Randy stuck a few spuds in the oven and fired up the barbecue. Joined by a couple of band mates, they gorged themselves and drank too much and sat around the picnic table shooting the shit for a while before Pat broke out a guitar and they all started singing.

The neighbor who had been complaining, Tad Winslow, was a grumpy kind of guy who came outside to gripe about the noise. You guys should hear yourselves. You’d set the wolves to howling.

Ben reminded him, It’s the 4th of July! Take a chill pill. All hell is about to break loose in about fifteen minutes when they start up the fireworks.

Tad backed off, went back inside grumbling, but not before suggesting that Ben Harper was just as bad, just as immature, just as obnoxious as his rude little brother and his freakish friends.

Lance and his date for the evening showed up with a fresh case of beer, and then a bunch of the band’s favorite groupies joined the party. Whatever conflict he and Randy had had over his driver’s license must have been resolved, because the two brothers were just as chummy as ever. Ben asked Lance about it. Lance told him that the judge had revoked Randy’s driver’s license as punishment for his fraudulent activities.

But he’s still driving around like nothing happened, Ben observed.

Yup, said Lance.

Go figure.

First they heard fizzles and pops in the distance, then the first big BANG! A couple of blocks away, on the State Fair Grounds, the annual fireworks display pocked the sky with dazzling colorful flower-shaped explosions followed by puffs of smoke that gently trailed away on a soft violet breeze.

Before you knew it, every dog in the neighborhood was barking, gunshots rang out all around, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Ben had already dragged the ladder out of the shed and set it up against the lowest spot of the gable, so everyone scurried up to the rooftop for a better view.

Clambering across the shingles they roosted like giant condors along the crown of the roof to enjoy the show. They sipped their brew pops, burned a reefer or two, and exchanged excited childlike comments regarding this year’s pyrotechnics display.

Mind if we join you folks? It was Tracy’s voice, her face poking up from the top of the ladder. Come on up. The celebration’s just beginning, Ben called back to her.

Apparently Tracy had convinced her uptight husband to lighten up and try to have a little bit of fun for a change. Ben credited the man for at least giving it his best shot. Tad even tried to be friendly with Randy in spite of a couple of petty altercations they had had in the past few weeks.

The fireworks were so beautiful and mesmerizing that Ben soon forgot all his worldly woes as he took in the display with childlike wonder. Ten minutes later the firing of shells reached a crescendo of sparks and bangs and streaks of brilliant light overlapping overhead: red white blue green silver yellow, an explosion of crayon colors illuminating the heavens. And then it was over. Just like that. As the last plumes of smoke faded into darkness, Ben snapped back into reality—a cruel reality that currently featured troubles with his youngest brother and friends.

Everyone lingered a few minutes on the rooftop after the show ended. They chatted among themselves until someone noticed he’d run out of beer, which prompted the whole group to head for the ladder. Along the way Spike stumbled on a shingle and fell on his ass, sliding several feet down the slope towards the roof’s edge. Which sent such a shock through Ben that he nearly swallowed his tongue. Randy and Lance both leaped to the downed musician’s side. Each extended a hand and pulled him to his feet. For a minute there I almost forgot where we are, said Spike.

It’s all good, said Lance. We’ll help you the rest of the way.

Ben held the ladder steady and reminded everyone, Be careful, repeatedly, as they took turns clambering down. Tracy and Tad were persuaded to stay awhile and have a drink. Everything went splendidly as we all sang along to a few popular tunes, but then Tad started nudging his wife and gesturing toward their apartment. When she finally relented they excused themselves and headed toward the door.

Ten o’clock, right? Tad said to Ben in passing. You’ll be winding down this little gathering by then, I hope.

Tell you what, Ben gruffly replied, rising from his seat, at ten we’ll take the party inside.

I have to work in the morning and I’m not going to have you party animals keeping me up all night.

Tad’s wife grabbed his elbow and tried to get him to hush, but he was going to have his say one way or another. No! Goddamnit. I’m fed up with this shit.

Maybe we’d better take this shindig down to the park, Randy suggested. No need to hassle. We’ll just take our beer and go.

But then again, Ben persisted, as he often did when he had a good buzz going, maybe Tad could try to compromise a little on the curfew. How about eleven?

Fine, Tad harshly agreed, but if it’s not quiet enough to hear a pin drop by eleven sharp, I’m going to call the police.

Ben might have punched the guy right then and there, but Lance stepped in between them. Hey, no big deal. Just let it go.

Ben’s thundering heart gradually settled down and the venom in his throat drained back down into his belly, and he gave Tad a hard look but kept his mouth clamped shut. It occurred to him that both he and his little brother were capable of behaving like adults, but only if they had no alternative.

Go figure.

Tracy and her husband went inside and Pat struck up a lively sing-along tune that everyone recognized immediately: Against the Wind.

When they finished singing, Ben asked Randy, What’s this I hear about you losing your driver’s license?

My lawyer tells me I’m lucky I didn’t get my ass thrown in jail.

So, what the fuck are you doing still driving around?

What am I supposed to do? Rollerblade everywhere I go?

If that’s what you have to do to stay out of prison, yes!

You’re probably right, Randy replied noncommittally. Then he gave Ben an affectionate little punch on the shoulder and changed the subject: Bet you’ll think twice before you ever let a bunch of crazed maniacs like us move into your place again.

I don’t know about that, Ben replied with a side-glance over at Spike who was even more shitfaced now than when he nearly took a header off the building. But I’ll tell you one thing for sure: Next year there won’t be anybody climbing on the roof to watch the fireworks. I doubt I have enough insurance to cover the potential liability.

Tell you what, said Randy. We’ll take a hotel room tonight. At eleven sharp, we’re outta here.

Does that mean we have to move again? whined Pat, which stirred up a bit of commotion among the groupies.

Knuckleheads, said Lance, shaking his head in disbelief, you guys have been doomed since the day you moved in. It was just a matter of time.

Where will you go? Ben asked.

Back to the same motel we were at when you invited us here.

But they charge an arm and a leg at that place, you told me so yourself.

It’s not so much when we split it four ways, said Randy. Besides, they also have maid service to clean up the mess.

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A Bullet Hole in Jack’s Couch

Jack’s couch was a fine piece of craftsmanship that he had designed and built himself. Framed in oak and walnut, it was very long and low and modern, with leather-clad cushions, and very heavy. He and Ben had just finished carrying it in from the U-Haul and set it down near the window in the front room of the freshly remodeled cottage, when Ben noticed a perfectly round hole in the top rail that went clean through it at a slight angle. Is that a bullet hole? he asked.

Glancing at the hole in the walnut rail of his couch, Jack gave Ben a sly grin and nodded. Ben waited for his old high-school pal