Panhandlers

By Nic Schuck

A gritty and violent tale of family drama set mostly in the fictional lumber town of Sullivan, Florida, a sleepy forgotten place on the Florida-Alabama border. Panhandlers: a novel in stories, follows Hank Ack

• Language: English
• Publisher: Panhandle Books
• Release date: Oct 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781087952161

Nic Schuck

Nic Schuck of Pensacola, Florida teaches high school English and leads historic tours of Downtown Pensacola with Emerald Coast Tours, a company he started in 2012.

Book preview

Panhandlers

A Novel in Stories

Nic Schuck

ISBN: 978-1-63795-353-2

Copyright © 2018

Panhandle Books

Panhandlers

A Novel in Stories

ISBN: 978-1-63795-353-2

Copyright © 2018

I now must change those notes to tragic; foul distrust, and breach disloyal on the part of Man, revolt, and disobedience …

— John Milton, Paradise Lost

Wisdom came to live among men and found no dwelling place.

— Book of Enoch

To Zoe

Can’t Take Nothing with You

Boy, take care of your brother today. You hear me?

Teddy Ackerman had plans already and babysitting wasn’t one of them. Hank liked it though. He would go to the pool hall with his older brother and play pinball while Teddy hustled the older boys. Teddy would buy Hank a pack of baseball cards with some of the winnings. He always did. When Teddy chopped wood for burger money, Hank collected rocks. Or they could find a yard to rake leaves and earn money for ammunition to go shooting. Whatever money Teddy earned, Hank knew some of it would be spent on a good time. Teddy always said, Can’t take nothing with you when you go.

Teddy recently started doing something different, which earned him more money than any of his other jobs, and this new endeavor was something he didn’t want little Hank to see.

Teddy was seventeen and didn’t know much, but what he did know was that he didn’t want to clean pools like his old man. At season’s end, his dad had to find other work. That was what his dad was supposed to be doing today, looking for work to get him and his boys through the winter. Teddy knew how it would probably go, though. After about two hours of talking to different people, he would stop at the gas station for a beer and then maybe find a poker game or dice game and he would continue drinking until late at night or the early morning hours. After a few weeks, he would ride into town to the unemployment office and live off the little bit the government gave him. He received just enough to keep the pantry filled with Ramen noodles and the refrigerator filled with Milwaukee’s Best beer, or as he called it, The Beast.

Teddy saved enough to buy a pick-up truck, an ’86 Ford F-150 with the gear shift on the steering column and 156,000 miles on it. He found it in Auto Trader for two hundred and fifty dollars. To get it running, he gave it what he called a quick tune up—replaced the spark plugs, changed out the radiator with one he pulled from a junk yard, new belts, and rebuilt the carburetor. He worked on it for nearly six months and was pleased when he finished. Then he worked on the body, hammering out dints and sanding off most of the rust. He figured it would take about another three weeks before it would look somewhat presentable to the ladies in the Cosmetology Department of the vocational school just fifty miles south in Pensacola. He planned on attending there one day to learn to fix air-conditioners. He heard there was good money in heating and air.

After Teddy Sr. left, Hank complained he was hungry. Teddy looked in the pantry—can of baked beans with bacon, some creamed corn, and a bag of rice. The fridge wasn’t any better—some chunky milk, two eggs, a potato, a tomato, and a coffee cup of solid bacon fat. He rinsed out the iron skillet that was still dirty from three or four days ago when he cooked sloppy joes. He cut the potato into thin slices and fried the slices in the bacon grease. He cracked the eggs over the fried potato and then added the diced tomato in with it. He seasoned it with salt and pepper packets from Whataburger before serving it to Hank. Teddy ate beans straight from the can that he opened with his pocket knife.

It took three tries before the exhaust spit out a cloud of black smoke and the engine came alive. He spun his tires as he left the gravel driveway and smiled when his little brother giggled. Hank called it doing a Dukes of Hazzard. Teddy, from his rearview mirror, watched the dog come from underneath the trailer. He couldn’t believe that his dad was sixty-four years old and never owned his own house.

The trailer wasn’t really a trailer but an old wooden camp car from the 1920s that was left over from the lumber industry in Sullivan, Florida, a small town just below the Alabama line. The camp car sat on a piece of land that had been cleared of all the virgin longleaf pines and was sold for farming and was now owned by Teddy’s dad’s one-time employer at the sand company and very little farming happened anymore. Teddy’s dad hadn’t worked for Rafferty’s Sand Company for years. They couldn’t let him drive the trucks after his second DUI. But when Teddy Sr.’s wife died of breast cancer and Mr. Rafferty saw those two little boys and the life they were destined to live, he didn’t have the heart to evict them when rent payments started coming in less and less. He was lucky if he saw six payments a year. He figured it wasn’t hurting anything. The trailer didn’t really cost him much to keep there.

Where we going today, Teddy?

We can go to Rodney’s and ride his go-karts later. But I gotta get some money first.

Cutting grass today?

Teddy shook his head.

Playing pool?

Teddy shook his head.

Painting?

Teddy shook his head. I got something else. Look kid, when we get to this place just stay in the truck, all right? You can’t come in.

Why?

I gotta do something that you shouldn’t see.

Why?

It just isn’t good for a kid your age to see. But it makes me a lot of money, sometimes.

That’s how you bought the truck?

Yeah.

What is it?

Chicken fights.

Like we do at the lake?

Teddy laughed.

No, we use real chickens. You bet on which one wins.

Hank looked at his brother. How do you get the chickens to stay on your shoulders?

Not like that, stupid. The chickens are on the ground and they fight each other.

After a while, Hank said, Oh and then asked, Why can’t I see it?

Maybe when you’re older.

Okay. Hank stuck his hand out the window, moving his hand up and down like a snake flying in the wind.

They pulled up to a barn that looked like if someone were to lean on it too hard it would fall over. There were twenty or so cars, trucks, tractors, and even a lawnmower parked alongside of it.

Remember just stay here. You hear me?

Hank nodded.

Inside, men hollered and shouted and pushed each other to get a better look. Teddy went to the makeshift ticket counter where he could place his bets.

Hold your money, boy. We got something better coming up. Trust me, Lenny Jr. said. He was a lanky man with a graying beard that nearly reached his belly and a gray, braided ponytail that nearly reached his ass and most people never saw him in anything except a black Stetson, black boots, and a black vest.

Teddy watched four cock fights, itching to get in on the action. But when Lenny Jr. gave advice, he took it. The last of the cock fights took place and the losers went home. The winners stuck around to see Lenny Jr.’s surprise.

Lenny Jr. put a megaphone to his mouth and said, Bring ‘em out, boys.

Four men left the barn and came back with growling, slobbering, muzzled dogs. There were two Pit-bulls, a Rottweiler, and a German Sheppard. The gamblers shouted in excitement. Lenny Jr. hosted dog fights a few years back, but when people started reporting their dogs missing, he laid low a while. Some of the county police knew about the dog fights, even participated, but when people started to steal dogs for blood sport, it was time for Lenny Jr. to stop. He switched to cock fights. Now the time was right when they could go back to the big money games.

Lenny Jr.’s dog fights weren’t the kind of dog fights you read about in the papers. His fights were just people’s dogs that were mean and would fight. Sure, people would do things to make their dogs more aggressive, but it wasn’t to the point of sport where they would run them on a tread mill with a chain around their neck. It was just dogs fighting. Sometimes they wouldn’t fight, but most times they did.

Lenny Jr. put a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. Your daddy still got that old mean sumbitch around? he asked. You know, if you bring a dog, you get a ten-percent cut from the house. Fifteen if your dog wins.

Teddy looked up at him.

That means whether your dog wins or loses, you still win. You don’t even have to bet if you don’t wanna.

He’s pretty old, Teddy said.

Don’t matter. We just need dogs.

The first two matches were over. Teddy lost one-hundred dollars, fifty on each fight. Lenny Jr. allowed the dogs’ owners to throw in the towel whenever they wanted. That didn’t always sit too well with the betters. Sometimes the dog fights led to fist fights. Lenny Jr. made them take it outside. But he still took bets, on the dogs and the men.

After the dogs, the cock fights resumed. The men wanted more dogs, though. Cocks just weren’t the same. Not as much blood. Not as much noise. Lenny Jr. wanted more dogs, too. Cocks weren’t as much money.

He went back to Teddy, What do you say?

I’ll be back.

Hank was asleep in the truck bed. Get up. We gotta go back to the house.

We gonna ride go-karts?

Not yet.

What’re we gonna do?

Get Shithead.

Taking him to the lake?

Nah.

Shithead was a mix of German Sheppard and Black Lab with paws like a bear and years ago he was a fierce creature.

Teddy crawled under the trailer and grabbed Shithead by the collar and dragged him out. Shithead growled and barked, but he knew better than to bite Teddy. Hank got out of the truck to pet the old dog. The dog snapped at him and Teddy popped him across the snout. Then he lifted him into the bed.

Can I ride back here with him? Hank asked.

If you want. He probably stinks.

I don’t care none if he stinks.

Shithead circled around before lying down. Hank remembered after his momma died, he used to lay with his head on the dog’s belly. As Shithead got older, he got meaner and Hank didn’t remember the last time Shithead was out from under the house.

Stay in the truck, Teddy said when they got back to the barn. Shithead barked when he saw the barn.

What are you gonna do with Shithead?

Nothing.

Then why did you bring him here?

Shut up. Stay in the truck like I said. You want to ride go-karts or what? I gotta buy some gas if we do. Rodney ain’t gonna let us use his.

Hank had a vague memory of when he was younger and his dad would go for a ride with Shithead, and the dog would come back bloodied and lame. It usually took a couple weeks before he was back to his old self. Hank didn’t like that and was glad when his dad stopped doing it. He was never given an explanation as to what happened.

It’ll be all right, boy, Hank told the dog.

The dog looked up at him. He knew better and lunged at Hank. Teddy yanked on the choke chain around Shithead’s neck and stopped the dog from mauling his little brother.

Good boy, Lenny Jr. said walking out to the truck.

Shithead snapped at Lenny Jr. Teddy didn’t swat him this time.

Still vicious, huh? Lenny Jr. said.

Teddy nodded. But he knew better. It was all show. The damn dog was too old.

This one used to be a killer. I seen him this one time bite a big ol’ Chow on the back of the neck, plop his paws down on him, and snap it like a matchstick. Your old man won a lot of money with this one. Hope he still gots it in him.

How much I get?

I give it to ya at the end of the day.

Lenny Jr. looked at Hank. The kid can’t come in.

He’s gonna stay here. Ain’t ya?

Hank nodded.

Hank sat in the truck trying to hold back tears as he watched Teddy struggling with Shithead on the walk to the barn.

Shithead’s opponent was the Rottweiler from earlier, one that lost. The pit-bulls only fought other pit-bulls. Teddy walked Shithead to the ring. The crowd was loud and Teddy could feel the pulse of the crowd mixed with his own heartbeat. He felt as if he were the one about to step into the ring. The Rottweiler was muzzled, but when the muzzle was taken off, the dog went ape-shit.

Just remember, you can stop this whenever you want, Lenny Jr. told him.

Teddy nodded.

Let’s fight, Lenny Jr. shouted into the megaphone.

The two owners unhooked the leashes. The dogs sprinted to mid-ring. It was a good battle for the first minute, but then Shithead began to tire. The two dogs separated under their own terms. Shithead didn’t have all of one of his ears anymore. The two animals stood in a stare-down. Shithead lowered his head and licked the blood that streamed down into his mouth from his ear.

You wanna stop it? Lenny Jr. asked. He ain’t looking too good.

Teddy shook his head. He wanted to paint the truck. I think he can do it, he said. The dog didn’t have many days ahead of him anyway.

In an instant, the Rottweiler leapt at Shithead. Shithead lunged for a counter-attack, but the Rottweiler was too quick. His mouth clamped shut just under Shithead’s jowls and sunk his teeth into Shithead’s throat. The two owners rushed to the center. The other owner wedged a short, but thick, solid ax handle between Shithead’s neck and his dog’s mouth. After the third yank, he pried the dogs apart. Shithead lay motionless. Teddy stood over him.

Get him outta here, Lenny Jr. said.

Teddy picked him up and walked him through the murmuring crowd. Lenny Jr. stopped him and placed a hundred-dollar bill into his shirt pocket and said something to him, but Teddy wasn’t listening.

He stepped out into the early autumn afternoon and felt the first bit of chill in the air in nearly seven months. The sky remained overcast throughout the day and reminded everyone that the long Florida summer was over. The end of the week even called for a freeze warning.

Teddy looked out at the truck and saw that Hank wasn’t waiting in the bed of the truck. He sat on top of two crates underneath a window, looking in the barn.

Get over here, Teddy shouted.

Hank did as he was told.

What’d I tell you?

Hank didn’t answer. He looked at Shithead. The hair around the dog’s neck matted with blood. A couple holes looked big enough to stick his fingers in, kind of like a bowling ball. The rest looked like raw hamburger meat. Shithead tried to look up, but he struggled to open his eyes. The dog’s head hung over Teddy’s arms and he barely showed signs of breathing. Hank looked down at his feet and followed Teddy to the truck.

Teddy put the dog in the bed of the truck and then turned and smacked Hank in the back of the head when his hands were free. I told you not to leave here.

Hank lifted a hand to rub the back of his head, but didn’t say anything. He stood looking at the blood on his brother’s shirt and then rubbed the back of his hand into his eye.

None of that crying bullshit, ya hear me? He’ll be all right.

No, he won’t, Hank said.

You’re probably right, but he was old anyway.

Did you at least make any money?

Nah. Broke even. But sometimes that’s just as good as winning.

Hank said nothing. He climbed into the bed with Shithead and laid his head on the animal’s slow-breathing stomach.

Hey, when pop comes home, don’t say a word. All right? He can’t know about this. He’ll have both our asses.

Hank nodded.

On the drive home, Hank’s head stopped rising and falling on the dog’s stomach, but he lay like that until they made it to the house. Teddy looked at his little brother lying with the dead dog and allowed him to stay like that a little longer. His dad wouldn’t be home for a few more hours and that left them with plenty of time to put the dog back underneath the house.

Puerto Rico, Revised

I went to Puerto Rico and all I got was this fucked-up hand. That was what Teddy Ackerman said to Rodney Helms as he leaned over and