Stalking Bulls: A Parker Robinson Mystery

By Steven Thomas Oney

STALKING BULLS, another kind of theater of the mind. You've enjoyed them on radio; now read them in print.
YOU CAN SYMPATHIZE WITH PARKER ROBINSON: On the one hand, he has a guardian aunt who thinks he's a responsible college student but doesn't know he's on probation for skipping a half-semester's worth of classes to go surfing Hawaii. He has a Polynesian girlfriend whose face could launch a thousand outrigger canoes. He has a dog that listens only to him. He drives an antique 'bullet' Thunderbird that belonged to a late uncle and another uncle, who is the Boston Police Commissioner, who offers him a summer's internship provided he not involve himself in police business. Parker agrees.
But this is before the Isabella Stewart Gardner Art Museum suffers its second major break-in-and-art-heist and Parker realizes he must involve himself to save his uncle's job. However, doing so leads to unintended consequences: such as his girlfriend being kidnapped. To free her, he has to come face to face with a modern-day Minotaur ––must confront it and wrestle it–– even though it means pitting the monster's brute strength against Parker's youth.
Stalking Bulls is the first book of a trilogy, which includes Stalking Lions and Stalking Chickens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9780974566870

Book preview

PROLOGUE

"Testing, one, two … one, two, testing? Okay, recording ….

"I am now about to fill you in on everything I know about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Art Museum heist.

"However, before I go any further, I want to make sure nobody gets confused: When I say the ‘Gardner Art heist’ I am not referring to the one that took place –what is it? – approaching thirty years ago –and which, as far as I know, is unsolved to this day and may never be solved. Those thirteen stolen paintings are still missing and those thieves still at large. I can offer nothing new about that situation beyond the fact that I can say for sure the two crimes were not in any way connected. ––Well, maybe in one sense they were: the many details reported in the Press about how the first heist took place, I’m sure gave the second robbers plenty of helpful hints to use in planning their own operation.

"But you won’t have to guess about the details of this one. I am in a good position to give you a full and accurate accounting. After all, my internship at Boston Police Headquarters began the day after the break-in and my observer status there gave me access to meetings and even allowed me to view the video recordings made at the museum the night of the break-in. I was also present at nearly all the important junctures, and, as for the relatively few times when I was not, I was able to receive reliable information from my ‘mole’ on the inside. Other information I gleaned from talking to museum insiders and from the love-smitten professor himself.

CHAPTER ONE

‘Called out of the Bullpen’

Parker, elbows?

What?

—Elbows off the table, please. This is the dining room, not the kitchen.

I was having a late supper in the chandelier-ed dining room of my Aunt Ruth’s winter mansion in Gardner, Massachusetts. She was sitting up past her bedtime in order to keep me company.

Returning to what she was saying, she added, And, no, I am perfectly okay with the fact that you are going to be staying at Cedar Tree. After all, it’s the Cape, with its beaches, sailing and swimming. You won’t be working all of the time, and you should be down there, enjoying the amenities.

With a mouthful of scalloped potato, I replied, As should you, Aunt Ruth.

––Don’t speak with … do not speak your mouth full. Were you brought up in a barn? she said. ––And, no, Fall is my time of year to be down there. Either Fall or Spring. I’m not begrudging that you are going to be down there. I’m simply hoping that this does not mean I’m never going to get to see you at all this summer.

You’ll see me plenty, I promise. Don’t worry.

I doubt that. You’ll be going back and forth between Boston and the Cape. How often will you drive out here to see me?

How ’bout, once every two weeks?

Good … I’m holding you to that … I’m holding you to that.

You know, Aunt Ruth, driving-wise, it’s just as far from here to the Cape as it is from Cape Cod to here.

Yes, I know, but you know I can’t abide the summer traffic and the Cape’s rotaries make me nervous. You come up here to visit me. That’s why I’m lending you Uncle Max’s car.

Inserting a fork-load of green beans, I said, You’re awful nice to be doing that, Aunt Ruth …

––Awfully.

… But I’m not sure Uncle Max would approve.

She said, Oh, nonsense. Of course, he would. If he were alive … In fact, if he were alive, he would insist on it. I’m sure. I’m just sorry you weren’t old enough to know him better; he would have been very proud of you following in his footsteps, attending his Alma Mater. Besides, your Uncle Max’s motto always was ‘People, not Things’. He would never have allowed me to turn that car into a museum piece, not if it could be of use to his nephew.

I said, Yes, but it’s more like a keepsake for you.

She said, "It can still be that. More so, now that you’re using it. So, tell me, how were your exams?

Well, since I only took the last one this morning, I won’t know for a week or so.

I don’t mean your grades. I mean the tests. How were they? Were they tough?

They were okay.

She said, What was this morning’s in?

I said, Hamilton Hall, fifth floor classroom …

What subject?

Putting on my best oratorio voice, I said, ‘Masterpieces of the Elizabethan Stage’.

She said, Ah, the Bard … I remember reading him at Bennington. Tell me, how did you find Macbeth?

Uh, turn right at The Tempest?

Smart aleck, I’m asking, did you like the play? Did you read it?

Yes, I read it. I liked it. I found Hamlet to be his best, though. I enjoyed all of them, but my real problem with Shakespeare is, every time I get near him ––like the test this morning–– afterwards I walk around spouting like the Bard himself. I can’t help it.

Oh, nonsense.

No, really, I do. It’s like when you spend a few hours in an art museum and then come out. For a while, everything you look at is either a painting or a sculpture.

She said, I doubt you speak like Shakespeare.

I answered, Forsooth. Tis true. I warrant thee.

We were just then interrupted by the sound of a large dog bounding up the pantry hallway, his nails scratching and digging against the floorboards.

I said, Hark! But soft! What footsteps come?

The swinging door burst opened and entered the beast!

I said, Zeus! Buddy! Good boy! Good to see you! Where have you been?

Zeus was followed by Hilda, Aunt Ruth’s aged and loyal cook.

Aunt Ruth chided her, Hilda! You let him out. I thought we weren’t going to do that?

I’m sorry, Miss Ruth. I had to. Somehow he got wind that Mr. Parker was here and he just had to get out and come see him.

Aunt Ruth said, You mean you just had to let him out ––Zeus, get down! Parker, don’t let him jump up and put his paws on you like that! That is no way for him to behave, licking your chin like it was a salt lick. It’s unsanitary!

I said, All right, Zeus, down boy, down! Down. Stay down.

Hilda transferred the items from her tray to the table in front of me.

Here’s your extra catsup for your potatoes and extra tartar sauce for your scallops. She leaned in and lowered her voice to confide, I would have brought you a soft drink, but Miss Ruth says ‘no’.

Aunt Ruth interjected, Soft Drinks are a misnomer. There is nothing ‘soft’ about them.

Hilda continued, … So I just brought you a glass of pure wholesome milk … which has some ice cream, bubbly water and chocolate syrup in it!

I said, A chocolate soda! Hilda, you spoil me.

Poisons you, you mean. Aunt Ruth said.

That’s what I’m here for, said Hilda.

I said, Really? Hilda? To poison me?

Naw. I wouldn’t never do that … unless’n I was mad at you or somethin’. Anyways, you look too healthy to poison. Look at you, all tanned up and glowing.

I said, Your cooking always makes me glow.

Aunt Ruth chimed in, And she stayed up late to cook it for you, too. To make sure you had a hot meal to go to bed on.

I said, Well, that makes her a saint because I was totally famished. The only thing I’ve eaten all day is half a sandwich on the train.

Aunt Ruth said, Why only half?

I said, I shared it.

Oh? With whom?

Nobody. Just somebody opposite, who looked like they could use it more than me.

She said, A stranger?

I said, Yes, a stranger.

Hilda said, He always was a good boy, wasn’t he, Miss Ruth?

Aunt Ruth said, I wouldn’t say … always.

Hilda amended, Most times.

Aunt Ruth said, Let’s be generous and say: Oft’ times.

Hilda said, She loves you, Mr. Parker, don’t you worry about that …

As we were talking, I picked up a scallop off my plate and tossed it to Zeus. He snapped it out of the air.

Aunt Ruth was cross with me, Parker! Do not do that!

It was only one scallop, I said.

I don’t care what it was! You know we never feed the dog at the table. You think just because we’re all so happy to see you that it gives you the right to break all of the rules of this house ––Hilda, take Zeus back now, put him in his kennel. These two can see each other in the morning.

I complained, But Uncle Frank says I have to be there early.

Aunt Ruth said, We’re going to talk about that.

Zeus barked for another scallop.

Aunt Ruth said, Zeus, hush!

I said, Zeus, no more, that’s all. That’s all you get.

Hilda, take him back now.

Hilda complied, Come on, Zeus, back to your pen. Your master will see you in the morning.

I said, Good boy, Zeus. You’re a good fella. Go on to bed now.

Aunt Ruth said, Hilda, you go to bed too. Those dishes can be cleaned up in the morning.

I said, Goodnight, Hilda. Thank you again for this totally scrumptious meal.

She came back and leaned over and kissed me on top my head, You’re very welcome, and I’ll let you in on a secret about both these two …

I said, Oh, what’s that?

She said, It does both of them good to have you back in this house again.

CHAPTER TWO

‘Twelve Strokes Till Midnight’

She took the dog and they exited through the swinging door. I called after her, What about you, Hilda? Don’t I do you good, too?

No reply. I looked to Aunt Ruth and said, Ah, she probably didn’t hear me. Good Old Hilda. But she’s getting old.

Aunt Ruth said, Yes, and slowing down. Things are becoming more difficult for her; I try to insist that she do less but she doesn’t obey any of my directives anymore.

Never did.

Even if I ordered her not to, she’d still insist on being up early tomorrow to make you your grits and soft-boiled eggs.

Good Old Hilda. And Good Ole Zeus.

Don’t you be ‘Good-Ole-Zeus-ing’ me. That dog needs disciplining, badly. Really, I wish you would work on him. I’ve had to forbid Hilda from giving him anymore red meat. He was becoming too much of a guard dog, too aggressive.

Well, that’s what he is, a guard dog.

She said, Yes, but too much of one. With no males in this household anymore, he thinks he has to be the alpha. I was out raking leaves in the garden and he nearly took down the minister. I had to hit him over the head with the rake.

I said, You hit the minister over the head with a rake?

Ignoring me, she continued, … He’s getting so he won’t listen to anything I say.

He listens to me.

I know, and that’s the trouble. He’ll only listen to you. That’s because the two of you are alike: all bounce-and-go, and very little look-before-you-leap. And this, so called, ‘summer job’ of yours that your Uncle Frank has dreamed up …

Summer Internship, Aunt Ruth, I corrected.

… For one thing, you should be having a real job. One that earns real money. Your Uncle Max would be appalled.

But this is a unique opportunity. I’ll be gaining valuable experience, I protested.

She said, ‘Valuable experience’, my eye: Hanging around a police station. Which you have been doing since you were a child.

I said, But this is for a well-defined purpose.

Okay, define it.

I said, Well, Uncle Frank agrees: what I learn this summer will probably truly assist me in making the big decision I will soon have to make.

About law school?

Yes, about law school.

Then you ought to be ‘summer clerking’ somewhere. You ought to be a clerk at a law firm.

Aunt Ruth, many of my friends at Columbia ––who are also considering law school–– tell me they would kill for this kind of opportunity.

What? To be idle and do nothing.

No! To observe the criminal justice system from the inside. To see how it really operates and understand all its moving parts. I added, While ––all the while— under Uncle Frank’s wise counsel and close supervision.

Don’t lay it on too thick … You’ll be going out on patrols, I suppose?

Maybe. Sometimes. If they invite me. But Uncle Frank has made it clear: I am not to be placed in any harm’s way, whatsoever.

Oh, poppycock. Policemen never know when danger is going to pop up. These assurances my brother gives me are meaningless.

Aunt Ruth, I’d … I’d really like to try this, and I’ll work hard to stay away from any dangerous situations. I’ll be safe, I promise.

Stop. I won’t have any special pleading. Besides, I’ve already made up my mind …

But, Aunt Ruth …

––And I am not going to say no to you.

You’re … You’re not? Oh? Great!

As I already told your Uncle Frank, I am not going to block him on this. After all, he is your legal guardian too and, as such, he has the right to make some decisions on your behalf.

I said, Fine, fine.

She said, I have told him, I am willing to go along with this but only on a trial basis. Provisionally! … Permission for which I may rescind at any time.

Okay. I understand.

"And provided you adhere to all my brother’s rules and stipulations …

I will. I’m going to.

And the ones I lay down as well.

I will. I’m going to.

She said, Frankly, I wouldn’t be considering this at all if it weren’t for the commendable way you’ve been conducting yourself at school. You deserve some confidence placed in you for that, for the responsible way you’ve been handling your college education …

I love my Aunt Ruth. She is like a mother to me, a role she has tried valiantly to fulfill ever since that night, 16 years ago, when her younger brother, out for a drive on a hot summer night in his open-air roadster ––with his wife beside him and his young son asleep in the back seat— failed at holding a curve on a back-country road. The car flipped. My parents were seat-belted in; I was not. Ironically, they both died instantly while I was thrown clear.

My sole memory of that night is lying in the dewy tall weeds, hearing peepers chirrup all around me. Gradually, their chorus was joined by a distant, approaching siren. And then the flashing red lights showed up.

As for my vow to my aunt to avoid all dangerous situations, I had every intention of honoring that pledge. However, break it I did, and in fairly short order. And although my reasons for doing so were not of my own making ––that is, they arose out of circumstances beyond my control … Still, my actions were of my own volition.

As far as my Aunt Ruth is concerned, I could have saved myself a whole lot of trouble ––but still caused her an equal amount of consternation–– had I simply hit the minister over the head with a rake.

My late-night supper with Aunt Ruth wound up when she announced that it was way past her bedtime and she was turning in. She said I ought to do the same, but, instead, I elected to go out and spend a little downtime with Zeus, who didn’t mind at all my waking him up.

We went to the Garden Overlook. I picked the cement bench and sat down on one-third of it; Zeus hopped up to take the remaining two-thirds. He licked my neck and my cheek for a while and then settled down to lay his massive head in my lap. Inside the brick mansion, Aunt Ruth’s mantel clock in the library began tolling its familiar Westminster Chimes in preparation for the coming strokes of midnight.

From this perch, I could look down and make out the streetlights and tree-lined avenues of the city of Gardner ––elevation: twelve hundred feet above sea level.

Of course, I had no reason to realize it then, but a mere 60 miles to the east, within the city limits of Boston itself, the weather conditions were drastically different …

CHAPTER THREE

‘Oh no! Not again!’

It was all about the fog … Particularly in that swampy but cultured section of town known as the Back Bay Fens ––elevation a mere 2 feet above sea level. Anyone who has ever been there at night and seen it for themselves knows how eerie it can be to watch the fog come stealing up from out of the marshes.

Rising like mist-people, the vapor slowly advances to cover the parkland, then crosses Fenway Drive and sniffs along the back side of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and on to the front side of that other revered institution: The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum of Art.

As the fog swirls, it wraps around the base of the lampposts and continues building upon itself, layer upon layer, like spun cotton candy, until the layers overtop the triads of milky-white globes, whose purpose is to drive away the murk. But not this night, not now, not since the fog has stifled their brilliance until they seem like nothing more than clusters of inert white grapes ––too insubstantial to ward off a mugger or call in a moth.

In the bell loft of a nearby church tower, the same Westminster Chimes ring out, albeit somewhat muffled.

Outside the Gardner, the fog continues to thicken, while inside, on its top floor, three men are bunched together on a bench inside a locked storage cabinet.

The man in the middle, the oldest and frailest of the three, wearing a cardigan sweater, is cupping his hands over his ears. The other two are night watchmen, whose hands are handcuffed behind their backs. The oldest of the two of them, speaks up and says,

Oh man, I don’t believe this. This can’t be happening! Oh man, not again! Not again!

The younger guard tries to get him to lower his voice, Mr. Dunfey, not so loud.

Why?

We need to keep our voices down.

What for?

The old man in the cardigan speaks up loudly, WHAT? ARE YOU TALKING TO ME? I CAN’T HEAR A THING. I’VE GOT THIS LOUD RINGING IN MY EARS. IT WAS THAT GUN GOING OFF RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD THAT DID IT!

Dunfey muttered, I’ve got it, too.

WHAT? ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?

I said: MINE ARE RINGING, TOO!

The younger guard repeated, Mr. Dunfey, please! Not so loud!

So what if I speak up? The Professor has to hear what I’m saying.

But if we’re too loud the thieves might hear us.

So what if they hear us?

We don’t want to call attention to ourselves. We don’t want to encourage that guy with the gun to come back, that’s all.

He’s not coming back.

He might.

Why should he come back? They’ve got us right where they want us. And we’re going to be stuck right here until tomorrow morning when the next shift arrives!

Replied the younger guard, Why did he fire that shot? He had no call to do that. We were doing everything he asked.

Yeah, but not fast enough, Dunfey said. But he was a fool to fire that bullet. It could have ricocheted. It could have struck any one of us.

ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THE BULLET? I JUST HOPE IT DIDN’T STRIKE ANYTHING PRICELESS.

I wouldn’t bet on it.

WHAT?

I said I … WOULDN’T BET ON IT!

––Mr. Dunfey, will you please keep your voice down!

Ignoring him, Dunfey continued, "

YOU CAN’T SWING A DEAD CAT IN THIS PLACE WITHOUT IT HITTING SOMETHING PRICELESS!

The only man said, MR. DUNFEY, YOUR ATTITUDE SEEMS QUITE CONTEMPTUOUS.

Dunfey muttered, Who cares about the paintings.

EXCUSE ME! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?

You heard me.

YOU REALIZE WE ARE TALKING ABOUT IRREPLACEABLE WORKS OF ART?

Oh, yeah, sure. They’re ‘irreplaceable’ but I’m not! I’m very ‘replaceable’ and you can bet I will be too, just as soon as Belacorte gets here in the morning and finds out about this. He won’t even ask me to sit down before he boots me out the door ––and I was this close to retirement!

The professor said, It’s not your fault, Mr. Dunfey. I’ll speak to the director.

Dunfey said, It won’t do any good.

Then I’ll speak to the Board.

The Board is powerless. You know as well as I do that Mrs. Jack’s will gives the director absolute power to hire or fire anybody he chooses.

Mrs. Gardner’s will states he can fire anyone but not the Curator. And as I happen to be the Curator Emeritus, he can’t dismiss me and he can’t fire me, and I promise I’ll go to bat for you.

Thank you, Professor, but you know as well as I do that’s not going to work. It’s not going to save my job. In frustration, the disgruntled guard banged the toe of his shoe against the metal cabinet and raised his voice to the highest level yet, SO, THIEVES, YOU MAY AS WELL COME BACK …

Mr. Dunfey, please!

… LET ME OUTTA OF HERE SO I CAN GO HOME AND GET A GOOD NIGHT’S REST …

Mr. Dunfey ..!

AT LEAST TAKE THESE HANDCUFFS OFF! MY HANDS ARE GOING NUMB!

The younger guard pleaded, Will you please keep your voice down!

Eddie, it doesn’t matter! The man with the gun is not coming back!

But we shouldn’t tempt him.

Why?

Because you never know what he might do.

Such as?

Well, such as kill us. He might kill us.

Why would he do that?

Because we’re making loud noises! Because we are all witnesses to what happened!

Oh really? Witnesses? To what? Can any of us really say what happened here tonight, because I can’t: Can we identify our assailant? No. All we know for sure is that some gun-wielding Ninja sprang out of nowhere, got the drop on us and then locked us in here.

Replied the younger guard, Anybody have any idea how they got in?

Dunfey said, No, but the cameras will show us.

The old man, who appeared to have heard this exchange, added, I was up in my office. I wasn’t even aware that anything was going on until I heard shouts from below. And then I tried to hide but it was too late …

Then, for a while, all three grew silent. And all was quiet except for the sounds of their ragged breathing. The younger guard, who was the first to speak again, said, How long do you think they’re going to take?

Dunfey said, Who can say? The first thieves were plenty quick enough. It took them only about 80 minutes time, in and out. But that’s because they cut the paintings out of their frames. If these thieves follow the same practice, they may be in and out in as little time, but if they try to take them ‘frames and all’, it’s going to take them quite a bit longer.

Suddenly the old man spoke up, Oh my God! Why didn’t I think to say something? That gunshot left me so disoriented! Call them back. Call them back! I’ve got to speak to them, I’ve got to warn them ..!

Dunfey replied, Forget it, Professor, we’re not calling them back.

Heedless, the professor plunged on, THIEVES, COME BACK! COME BACK! COME BACK, THERE IS SOMETHING VITAL I NEED TO TELL YOU!

The younger guard said, Professor Welsh, stop shouting!

THIEVES, COME BACK! COME BACK! I’VE GOT TO WARN YOU …

Dunfey added, PROFESSOR, HE’S RIGHT. LEAVE IT BE!

But they mustn’t cut them out. They’ll destroy their value; they won’t get nearly as much money for them!

PROFESSOR, DON’T YOU THINK THEY KNOW THAT?

But what if they don’t? The first ones didn’t. They’ll be making a huge mistake. They’ll ruin them. They’ll destroy their value.

Although the hard-of-hearing professor failed to notice it, suddenly both guards reacted to a sudden sound: it was the outer Storage Room door opening a second time. Urgently, Dunfey prodded the professor, Professor, shhh, quiet! Somebody’s here!

Good. Let me speak to them!

The younger guard was beside himself, Mr. Dunfey, you said they wouldn’t be returning!

Well, Eddie, I didn’t expect this fool would try to call them back!

Footsteps approached and stopped outside the cabinet. The same gruff voice they had heard before demanded, Which one of you knows?

Eddie answered meekly, Uh, knows what, sir?

Knows how to get the paintings off the walls?

In a pleading voice, he replied, Uh, we don’t. We aren’t told. We’re just night watchmen. We don’t … they don’t … they don’t tell us things like that.

Well, one of you better know!

Outside the cabinet, the lock was being removed, the latch thrown back and the door swung open; then they were once more facing the muzzle of a gun.

The masked robber promised, I’m going to repeat myself only once more and then one of you is going to get a bullet to the kneecap ––Now tell me, how do we get them off the walls!

Defiantly, Dunfey tried to answer, He told you. We don’t know.

But the younger guard wasn’t up for putting on a brave front. Frantically, he turned to the professor, saying, Professor, you must know, tell them how it’s done!

Dunfey snapped, Shut up, Eddie! … Shut up! But it was to no avail.

The young guard continued blurting out, Ask the professor! He knows. He’s got to know … Professor, you know how it’s done. Just, come on, tell him!

Haltingly, the professor considered his options and grudgingly replied, … I can’t. It’s too hard to explain.

Then come out and show us! Step out of there!

The professor countered, You don’t have enough time. The police will be here soon. You’d better leave.

The police aren’t coming … Do as I say!

Mr. Dunfey tried to intercede, He’s, look, he’s going to do what you ask him, but take it easy on him. He’s an old man. To the professor, he counseled Professor, better do as he says. Turning to the thief once more, he warned, Hey, look, if you hurt him at all, you’re going to be in real trouble …

The professor stated, Just a minute, now … Just, just one minute. I may do what you ask, but … but we have to have an understanding first. We have to make a deal …

No deals.

Only if you promise not to harm the paintings. If you take care of them, if you see no harm comes to them until we can ransom them back ––I assume that is your motive, to ransom them— then I will … I may, as I say, uh, cooperate …

I’m counting to three … One …

Please, I appeal to you. I know you must appreciate art or you wouldn’t be doing this …

… Two …

Despite being hampered by handcuffs, both guards managed to lean together and to use their shoulders in a combined pincer move to make the professor stand up and force him out of the cabinet.

For the professor’s sake, the senior night guard instructed the old man, Professor, don’t be stubborn. Just do what he tells you. He’s not going to hurt you.

The cloaked thief roughly muscled the professor out of the way and slammed the door shut with a bang loud enough to cause the two guards inside to flinch as though there had been another gunshot. The lock was re-fastened. Then they listened as the professor and his captor exited the room; the old man continuing to plead his case.

Then, the storage room door closed one final time and that was the end of it. The sum total of the night’s exchange.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Their Horns Were Made of Iron,

Their Hooves Were Made of Steel’

(from the song: ‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’)

My Uncle Max had owned many cars during his lifetime, but his favorite was his 1963 Ford Thunderbird. The model’s many enthusiasts refer to it as the ‘Bullet’ car because of its streamlined profile. Uncle Max’s was painted Raven Black with chrome accents. It had turquoise, vinyl bucket seats and a chrome center console that also functioned like a roll-top desk.

It was perfect in every way except it should have been born a convertible.

Instead, Uncle Max had chosen a hardtop. That too was Raven Black and gave the car a look that suggested it might have served equally well as a hearse for children’s funerals. It also looked like the kind of vehicle Batman would drive around in. And so, we nicknamed it the ‘Bat Mobile’.

Early the next morning, I said goodbye to my aunt and Hilda and pulled out of their driveway with both ladies waving me off in the rear-view mirror and Zeus already lying down morosely with his head on his paws. I gave the horn a double-toot.

The calendar said that Memorial Day was still a week off, but the weather was already decidedly summer-like. However, the maple leaves overhead, the ones forming the canopy over the tree-lined street, had yet to fully leaf out. At this stage, they resembled hanging bats and looked like they might take off all at once if you exploded a firecracker under them. As in all coast-ally-influenced, New England towns, the trees of Gardner, Massachusetts knew it was never a wise thing to unfurl too soon.

Employing one of the Thunderbird’s deluxe features, I used the toggle switches to power-down the heavy, side windows. I wanted to let fresh air in. This car had been in storage too long.

At the highway entrance ramp, cars were streaming in from several directions, cueing up for access. They were congregating like cattle in a feed lot, each one waiting its turn to charge up the chute. I noted that my car was attracting quite a bit of attention.

Up ahead, I saw a lone hitchhiker standing at the bottom of the entrance ramp. Nobody was offering to pick him up, so when the Bat Mobile drew close, I waved for him to hop in. He sauntered over and opened the passenger side. The size of the door forced him to step around it to get in. He then plopped himself into the bucket seat and did it all without glancing over at me even once. He took his time closing the door, too. As it was now my turn up the ramp, impatience quickly built up behind me, causing a few of the ‘cows’ to ‘low’ on their horns. I stepped on the gas as soon as his door was closed.

Like a thoroughbred at the starting gate, the ‘390 Sports V-8’ engine awakened and attempted to thunder out of the gate. It didn’t exactly make a lightning charge, but did produce a thunderous backfire. I pressed harder on the gas; it hesitated again, backfired a second time and finally roared up the ramp.

As the vehicle shot ahead, I was concentrating on merging with traffic, but I caught what I thought was a derisive snort emanating from the passenger seat.

I joined in with a chuckle of my own, Yeah, yeah, I know. Must be old gas. Or maybe a clogged carburetor … This old car hasn’t been run in a long time.

As the old car’s ‘Cruise-O-Matic’ transmission powered through the gears, the engine finally reached optimum speed and then settled down and began to run smoothly.

My rider hadn’t said a word, so I was forced to inquire, So where are you headed? I’m going into Boston, myself. Roxbury. What about you?

Anywhere.

Nowhere in particular?

Any where’s good. Any where’s fine.

He was wearing jeans and a purple-ish blue denim jacket, the same color as his lips, the same color as his acne. He had sunken cheeks or maybe he was just sucking in on them. He was leaning away from me and up against the side door, classic defensive posture. I took him for several years younger than me and I pegged his uptightness as possibly having to do with a lack of hitchhiking experience. Maybe this was his first time?

I was no ‘Old-Man-of-the-Road’ myself when it came to hitchhiking, but I had done a fair amount of it, both around New England and in Hawaii.

I tried putting him at ease, You’re probably wondering about the car. It’s an early model Thunderbird. It was my late uncle’s. My aunt’s lending it to me. Otherwise, I’d be doing what you’re doing, hitchhiking or taking a bus.

I paused to allow him to hold up his end of the conversation, but he didn’t bite. So, like a volunteer, Big Brother, I pressed on, cheerfully determined to help him relax,

I’ve been hitchhiking myself for about two or three years. So far, my experiences have all been positive. I’ve discovered if you’re a guy hitchhiking alone, it can be tough getting a ride ––Of course, two guys together, that’s really tough–– then almost nobody will pick you up. But, I’ve found, if you’re hitching with a girl and you both have your thumbs out, then it’s a cinch. People just assume you’re trustworthy. You could be Bonnie and Clyde for all they know … but they’ll stop for you. Of course, a girl by herself has no trouble, but if I was one, I don’t think I’d have the nerve to risk it.

I looked over to see what progress I was making. None whatsoever. Except he was slouching even more. He was also drumming his left-hand fingertips against his knee cap. Perhaps the subject matter was making him uncomfortable? I tried to be more upbeat.

"I’ll say this though: my experience has been that you meet some of the nicest people you’re ever going to meet while hitchhiking. Two winters ago, a girlfriend and I decided, on impulse, to thumb our way from New York City up