Fallen Petals in the City of Roses

By Don Jenkins

The story begins with the protagonist, a business man in downtown Portland Oregon, rescuing a runaway black ten year old from the streets and alleys of the city. The story involves the hero taking the boy under his wings. The hero is divorced and has a ten year old son of his own. The son lives with the ex-wife. He visits DHS to report his find. He eventually dates and falls in love with the lady from DHS

The mother of the boy,35 years of age is just at this same period of time being released from womens prison south of Portland. She is intent on re-establishing custody of her son from DHS. Her incarceration was on a drug dealing bust. She is out on three years parole.

Her past involvement with the local drug lord brings conflict which eventually touches the main character as well as the law enforcement agencies both local and regional.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524514211

Don Jenkins

The author is a latecomer to the game of book writing. His name is Donald Jenkins, and he is retired at the age of seventy-six. He lives with his wife, Sharon, in Eugene, Oregon. At the age of fourteen, Donald left the family home and was basically homeless. Back then, it was called being a hobo. It was just too crowded and noisy at the family den. There was some animosity between him and his parents. Many years later, that animosity would be resolved, and there would be friendly relations until their deaths. At the age of seventeen, Donald joined the United States Air Force. He was honorably discharged four years later. It was a growing-up experience for him. Some may say he never did completely grow up. Donald met and married Sharon Streeter in Havre, Montana, while on duty there. They have been married for forty-eight years. They have three sons and two grandchildren. Donald spent most of his life in the billboard business. In the very beginning, he was that guy up on a billboard with a brush, pasting the paper to the sign. In short, he was a bill poster. This was for a short period of one year. He moved on to sales and advertising to local merchants. After ten years of sales and management for others, he started his own company. This adventure included leasing land to build structures on. It also involved getting the sign structures built. This was a job where he was personally involved in the role of general contractor. Once the sign was built, it was his duty to find advertisers for the new space. Over the years, he interacted with hundreds of people. In 2012 Donald sold his billboard interests to other billboard companies. He now spends his time bike riding, getting his weekly massage, and visiting with his now-grown grandchildren, Christina and Anthony. When completely free from writing, visiting, biking, he can be found in his garden backyard, smoking his favorite cigar, Cuesta-Rey Aristocrat. He is a man of few ambitions.

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CHAPTER 1

The Package

I looked out my office window and could see it was another April day of overcast and drear. It was just now 4:00 PM, and nothing was going on in the insurance world today. There had not been much going on for the past several weeks. Marge, my secretary, would needle me every day one way or another to get off my ass and get some business. So far, 2016 was not looking to be a banner year.

Marge is the type of woman in her early thirties that is hard to cast set. She is usually in command. If she were in the army or marines, she would, without a doubt, be a drill sergeant. She is a woman that would be comfortable and fit in any setting, whether it is a boxing match front row, a convention of any ilk, a mud-wrestling contest, or a governor’s ball.

Here in the office, she was to be listened to. I had to be careful when giving directives, being the boss that I was. I learned early on it was wise to preface the orders with please and, in some cases, pretty please. I learned this necessity by being asked Who died and made you king? Or maybe Sure, right after you get down on your knees and kiss my right cheek. Even when I applied the proper Please will you, I might get Right after you stand on your head, clap your hands, and bark like a seal. This was tolerable as it was more or less perfunctory, and she would proceed to obey the request. I would pity Don Rickles if he tried to match her in an insulting match.

Marge, I am calling it a day.

Marge was my secretary for the past five years. Very efficient was she. This calls to question why in the world she stayed on with me. Don’t get me wrong; she received her salary, such as it was, every two weeks without delay. Our working relationship was good. She was so efficient that sometimes—hell, most of the time—she was too superior to me. I think nature made a wrong turn. I should be working for her instead of the other way around. What I am saying is I am sure she could easily better herself in a more thriving background. I think she just liked the ability to needle and humiliate me.

Okay, Jeff. I will lock up. I’ll be here to catch you as you stumble in in the morning.

If business did not pick up—and soon—I might just end up working for her. I always thought insurance would be a great profession. I mean, most everybody needs some type of insurance. There is need for either their home, automobile, health care, or yes, even general life. I had the pipeline to it all, as a general agent. I had started out in the advertising business but became disillusioned after six years of backstabbing and egomania. There seemed to be something terribly superfluous about it all. I began to drink too much, and Helen left me, taking Douglas, our three-year-old (at the time) with her.

It was four o’clock, and I had had enough phone pitches and file rumbling for one day. I figured on taking a stool over at Barney’s. It was an ordinary run-of-the-mill joint. I am not saying it was a dive, mind you. It had good atmosphere, the glasses were clean, and hardly ever any loud arguments or mischief.

Barney bid me hello as I slid onto a stool about mid-counter.

Without asking, he came over and poured me a shot of Chivas Regal. How’s the insurance racket these days?

The same question every time I came in. He always referred to my noble business as the insurance racket.

I answered as per our running script, Holding my own.

We both know, of course, I was not.

I had my daily double, bid Barney farewell, and sauntered down the street to Judy’s Best Chicken. I figured on eating in tonight and picked up a six-piece to go.

As I began walking up the street and passing an alleyway, a sobbing caught my attention. It was obviously coming from a youngster. I took a few steps into the alley. More sobbing and sniffling. I walked toward the sounds, and there was this young boy huddled up against some broken cardboard. I asked if he was okay.

Fuck you.

He suddenly sounded very brave and was definitely harboring an attitude. I was only a few feet away as I knelt down, tried my beat smile, and said, Okay, fuck me. Look, kid, you must be having some kind of problem, and just maybe I can help.

This kid looked to be about a nine or ten years old. He was a black kid. He was wearing jeans and a shirt that had seen better days.

What are you, some kind of pervert? You like to mess with kids?

No, I do not like to mess with kids—or anybody else for that matter. I hear crying, and I see a very young man. And what the hell, I thought maybe there might be something I could do. Tell me one thing. Are you hungry? I mean, I just picked up a six-piece of Judy’s chicken. That is a little more than I need.

I set the bucket in front of him and said, Why don’t you have a piece or two and help me out.

My wondering if the kid was hungry quickly dissipated as he lifted off the lid, grabbed a breast piece, and tore right in.

After demolishing three pieces and wiping his mouth with a napkin from the box, he seemed a little more at ease. I queried, Look, you have eaten my chicken, so is it too much to ask what your name is?

"My name is Jonnie without a h."

"Well, Jonnie without an h, my name is Jeff with two f’s."

I continued, So, Jonnie, what now? You plan on sleeping in this alley all night? I mean it is going to get mighty cold out here tonight.

I don’t got no plans. I didn’t plan on being here. I don’t plan on anything.

Well, here is a thought. I live just a couple of miles from here, and my car is just down the street. I live in an apartment with an extra bedroom. It more or less belongs to my son, who is just about your age. He uses it when he stays with me every other weekend. It is yours for the taking—at least temporarily. You can sleep in a warm bed, and you don’t have to worry about anybody bothering you. There is a lock on the inside. Besides that, you are definitely not my type.

If I do that, can I go anytime I like? Tell me one thing. Why doesn’t your son live with you all the time?

That is a short story. I am divorced, and Doug—that’s short for Douglas—lives with my ex. Legally, that is referred to as custody.

So y’all fucked up and now you been dumped.

Yes, you could put it that way. So how about it? You want to bed down at my pad or not? You can take a bath, and I think some of Doug’s clothes might fit you. We can get you out of these rags you are wearing.

Okay, man, but you start acting funny and I’m outta here.

I drove us on over to my apartment complex. Jonnie seemed to have settled down some.

Probably, it was the effect of a full belly of chicken. I led him in and flicked on the lights.

Your room is right here. I opened the door to Doug’s room, turned on the wall switch, and pointed to the bed. That will be your bunk. The bathroom is just down the hall. I will get you some clean towels, and you can take a dunk. There are pajamas in the top drawer there and clean underclothes. Use whatever you need. In the bathroom, you will find a new toothbrush. I think you should give your teeth a good going-over.

Hey, this Douglas has a lot of stuff in here, he said, pointing around the room at all the electronic gizmos. How come he doesn’t take it to his mom’s place where he lives most of the time?

I’m going to ask you to please don’t mess with the computers and this other stuff. You can use the TV. The remote is there on the nightstand.

I wandered on down to my room, thinking what in the hell was I doing.

The next morning, I was up and cooking bacon when Jonnie came into the kitchen. He was wearing a pair of jeans from the bedroom and a clean T-shirt.

Hey, good morning. Did you sleep okay?

Yeah, I’m good. It’s kind of strange. I kinda forgot what a bed is like.

Well, I am glad. Now tell me what you want for breakfast. I’ve got cereal, eggs, bacon, and even pancakes when requested. So name your poison.

I could go for scrambled eggs and bacon.

Your order will be right up.

He sat down at the table, and I retrieved some orange juice from the fridge and poured him a glass.

He wolfed down the bacon and eggs and two pieces of toast with jelly. He was not nearly as aggressive with this meal as the night before with the chicken. He was somewhat more deliberate and relaxed.

Jonnie, I have to go to work now. You can stay here today and tonight until we figure something out for you. You can watch TV or walk the neighborhood. If you like, you can take my ten-speed for a run. I will leave you a key to the pad. So if you go out, please lock up. I will be back here around five. Here is my business card. If you need to call me, use the number in the corner.

CHAPTER 2

The Sale

It was nine o’clock as I walked through the front door of my office. Marge was behind her desk, looking fresh and ready for the daily challenge, or grind.

Good morning, boss. I hope you had a good night of peace and rest. Today you have some work to do.

You damn well know I could use some work. I just hope it is not more shoring-up type of work. I mean what I need is some fresh-blood type of work.

Well then, brace yourself. I have a juicy one for you. Crammer’s Food Processing called just a half hour ago and wishes to see you.

What is that all about? I made that presentation three weeks ago and was led to believe they were going with the Pulver Agency. You recall the agency that ‘pulverizes all competition.’ Jake Pulver was one of those athletic types. He looks a little like Burt Lancaster, except on steroids. In college, he played fullback for OSU and was credited with twenty-eight-hundred yards’ rushing in his three years of suiting up. It was this fact that gives him a big edge in the Portland insurance market. There is a hell of a lot of business owned or run by OSU alumni. Not to mention the general public fans.

I know all of that. However, all being said, they called and want a meeting.

It is not mine to ask. It’s a simple question of do or hang yourself. It would be too much to pray for that they should bestow on us the privilege of doing their tidings. Please give them a ring and find out when they would like to meet, and then use the old ploy of checking my calendar. Of course, we can squeeze them in at whatever time they have open.

The meeting was set for one o’clock, which gave me plenty of time to revisit the file and stack up answers to whatever they might inquire about.

I had a quick lunch at Gloria’s’ Bistro restaurant. I settled for ham and cheese on rye. Make that a half sandwich. I didn’t want to be overstuffed when I sat down with the prospect.

I walked into Crammer’s front office at one o’clock on the dot. I always liked to be punctual. That was one of my few good qualities. I did not like to be early. That made one possibly seem to be too eager.

The receptionist took my card and buzzed the gizmo on her desk. Mr. Wagner is here for your appointment. Then she said, Sandra will see you now. She is the third door on the left.

A fact I was well aware of from my presentation meeting three weeks prior.

Sandra Weatherby was one of those types of people that gave you the feeling that she was making a great personal sacrifice to take time out of her very busy and high-level position to give you an audience. So be careful that you don’t offend by wasting any more time than necessary to conclude this interference. Of course, she never said anything along those lines, but the body language was loud and clear.

She greeted me cordially, and we sat at a large round table in her very spacious office.

I was very happy to receive your call and am hopeful that my prior proposal is under consideration.

Mr. Wagner, we have gone over your proposal. You should understand, we here at Crammer’s have a high regard for the importance of our employees. We have quite a variety of workers. From administrative to dock workers, food prep, truckers, and maintenance. It is our decision to supply each of our workers with the platinum plan. That would be the plan you first proposed.

Yes, I see. Well, that is the top-of-the-line coverage with the least deductable provisions. I do not think you could offer your people anything better. Have you devised a participation program wherein you charge employees for any percentage of the premium?

It will be a full coverage for employees and employees’ spouses and children entirely at company cost.

Very well. I have the forms here, which will require your signature. I will need the first-month premium to submit with the application.

Yes, I had anticipated that, and here is the check.

I will get the entire order written up and submitted first thing in the morning. You will be receiving the contracts in about one week.

I thank you for your time. I sense you are wondering why Mr. Crammer chose you to act as our agent.

I cannot deny my curiosity. However, I did not want to be inquisitive.

We were considering Mr. Pulver’s proposal, as I am sure you were aware. Mr. Pulver let it slip regarding his background with Oregon State University. Mr. Crammer is a graduate of Oregon University and a devout Duck fan. We did a background check on you and Walla it seems you graduated with a masters from U of O. Personally, I think it is an unnecessary distraction, but you know how these things are with men.

This statement hinted at her general attitude toward men.

I certainly do know how it is with men and, in many cases, also with women. The rivalry between OU and OSU sports is legend. I am proud to say that I cannot remember the last time OSU beat us on the football field.

Some folks really get into this sports thing and develop a strong affiliation with the old alma mater. I have to say, however, I am all for it—particularly as it has worked out in this case.

I left Sandra with the obligatory handshake. I could have kissed her.

I stopped at a flower shop on the way back to the office. I knew Marge was going to have to go full steam to get all the forms and applications together in the morning. I figured the flower arrangement would bolster her spirits and defuse any flak caused by these good tidings.

As I walked into the office, she immediately noticed the flowers and gave me a scowl, which was to be interpreted as What in the hell have you done now?

Don’t tell me. You got the contract, and now I have to do the dirty work filling out all the paperwork.

It is only eighty-six employees—a few with spouses and a few with children. You can have all day tomorrow to get it all together. Here are the forms and, more importantly, here is their first-month premium. You should look on the bright side. This wonderful job you hold is now secured for a few more weeks.

Okay, that’s the bad news. So now what is the good news?

Oh, you are a hard one to please. However, I bet you are going to like this. Jake Pulver pulverized himself. He slipped up and mentioned his good old school days. Well, it turns out that Crammer—as in Crammer Foods—is a big-time Duck fan and a graduate from UO. For this reason, Jake had to sit out this game.

This got the response dear to my heart as Marge gave out her best hearty chuckle. It is impossible to describe. It is classic. If a vendetta could be expressed in a laugh, this would be it.

It was close to four o’clock, so I suggested we close shop and give it hell tomorrow. I was just a little anxious to get home and check on Jonnie.

When I arrived home and let myself in, Jonnie was sitting in the armchair and reading a book.

Hi, kid. How is everything? You look comfortable and settled in. What are you reading?

"It’s called Harry Potter, and it’s all about witches and magic. I hope you don’t mind me reading it. I found it on the shelf over there with a bunch of books."

No, I do not mind at all. That’s what books are for—to read.

"I read another one earlier called Moby Dick."

"Moby Dick, heh. I read that the first time when I was about your age. I read it again a few years ago. So how far did you get with Moby Dick?"

I finished it earlier.

You mean you read it through?

Yep.

That was pretty quick. How about us talking about it? I am curious what your take on it is.

Sure. I really liked the book. I mean it was like being out there in the ocean. The captain must have been totally psycho. He really hated that whale, and in the end, it caused him to be killed. That whale must have been the devil, just like the captain supposed.

Well, not really. The whale was not evil at all. Just an animal with animal survival skills. Mind you, he was one big bugger of a whale. The idea here is man is out of his mind to make a dumb animal into a demon. The effect of doing so is irrational and, as in this case, makes madness the end result.

Yeah. But that whale did bite off his leg.

What would you do if you were that big and some folks were trying to spear you to death? Would you be a demon if you fought for your life?

"You saying that whale didn’t