The Boxcar Hole

By J. William Rush

When fourteen-year-old Clem Crabtree loses two of his white king pigeons, he see them in the wild when he makes grocery deliveries to one of the two local houses of prostitution, which are near the store in Langston, Mississippi, a visible town of heavy racial discrimination after the hostilities in Korea are over. Permission to attempt to capture the birds is given by the brothel owner, alone and at night, who was a friend of the boy's deceased father. On a trip to the house, Clem sees part of a sexual encounter and is terrified, so he goes home. Later, after his fears subside, he makes other trips to the house (Nanny's), and on one of the later trips, he sees the owner and a patron of the house in an argument. The patron vows to kill the dago owner. The owner, Emanuel Flowers, wants Clem to do a favor. They agree to meet in secret at the local swimming hole, the boxcar hole. Clem is careful, so he hides his bike and himself to wait for the arrival of his friend. Other cars, even a police car, appear behind the friend, and as Flowers exits his vehicle, he is shot with a rifle and is then killed with a handgun that Clem sees and is horrified. He sees them take a child out of the vehicle, blindfold the boy, give him a shot in the arm, and toss both bodies into the boxcar hole. They leave, and the terrified boy does not know what to do. He swims out and rescues the child. On investigation, he sees that the child is the grandson of Salmo Mancha, a New Orleans Mafia boss, and Mancha is the older brother of the just-killed Flowers. Clem manages to get himself and the child on a train toward New Orleans under the guise of going to the Scout jamboree in Houston, Texas. Clem and the child are met in Picayune, Mississippi, by Salmo Mancha and an entourage. Clem gives the details to Mancha and his men. Before the shooting incident, Clem's mother is married to a local well-to-do attorney, and the two leave Langston for a six-week honeymoon to Bermuda and then on to Europe. Since his stepfather's employees do not know much about him, he can make do until Mancha takes him back to Langston for his September classes. Successfully placed in his new home, he is ready to make a go of school but comes down with an illness. Awakening from a bad dream and deathly ill, he is comforted by a man that he thinks is his new stepfather. But it is his new grandfather: Emerson Hebert. The man and ill child bond over the several days it takes the parents to get home from their honeymoon, and they make plans to assist the FBI and local policemen in solving the killing in cold blood. As the new grandfather, a well-to-do attorney, learns from Clem what he has seen and has made him fearful for his own life, his grandfather and the Mafia boss go after the killers. Hebert is seeking legal justice from the courts; Mancha is seeking street revenge, Salmo's way, to hell with the courts and their justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640823853

Book preview

Your wickedness make you, as it were, heavy as lead and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure towards hell; and if God should let you go, you would immediately sink and swiftly descend, and plunge into the bottomless gulf and your healthy constitution and your own care and prudence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness, would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell, than a spider’s web would have to stop a falling rock.

—Jonathan Edwards

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God

How oft is the candle of the wicked put out and how oft comes their destruction upon them!

—Job XXI, 17

1

The boy was sweeping the floor. His cleaning mixture of kerosene and sawdust kept down the dust. Smelled a tad, he thought, but that beat the other foul smells. His normally fair skin was tanned almost bronze by the summer sun and was a handsome contrast to his nearly peroxide-blond hair. The hair was natural; the suntan was acquired. He swept in near slow motion, like the older boys, not making any wasted motions. He made his way across the semipolished concrete floor and finished up with an unoccupied booth. A black couple danced by; he stopped his sweeping and nodded to them. He waited for them to move on; they stopped dancing—the song was over.

The man went over and put a quarter in the jukebox. He took his time making selections—punched six songs. The music started again with Joe Tumer’s Shake, Rattle and Roll, but the couple decided to sit.

The boy finished sweeping; he had all the trash and dirt in a neat pile. He scooped up all the trash, emptied it into the can behind the counter, and placed his broom behind the counter.

Clem. The young man turned toward the door separating the black side from the white side of the hall.

Yes, sir, Mr. Morrow.

Morrow frowned, shook his bald head, blinked his tired-looking eyes, while he said, I don’t like doing this, Clem, but I can’t wait for help. Nanny’s Place has some groceries to be delivered, and Starr said they needed them now, so take the bicycle with the big basket and deliver them, please. I know that Manny Flowers is there, and he is fond of you. That way, with him there, you will be all right, but I sure wish you were a couple of years older though.

That’s no problem, Mr. Morrow, it’s okay. I know most of those ladies, anyway. I know a bunch of the men too.

The boy cut his eyes to look at Morrow, but he got no reaction because the man had turned his back. Clem took the packages out the door.

The freight train looked as if it had two miles of boxcars, in Clem’s mind, and Clem was fit to be tied when the train blocked the crossing. It really upset him, as he stood waiting near the grade crossing-guard-flag man, for he knew that some of the meat and milk were going to get hot; however, all he could do was hold up his bicycle and hope for the best. He glanced at the sky to look for imagined formations in the clouds, like he and the other boys did when they were swimming. There were few to be found in the near-cloudless sky, but he thought that he saw the face of a white elephant in one small cloud that was drifting overhead and casting a small shadow.

A voice from his side got his attention. Ya going to that cathouse with them things, boy?

Clem looked at the speaker and answered, Yes, Mr. Fontaine, I’m taking these to Nanny’s Place. That is, I’m going if this train will get its ass out of my way and clear my path.

Boy like ya ain’t got no damned business going to a place like that. How old are you, boy, anyway?

I’m thirteen, Mr. Fontaine. I’ll be fourteen soon. Why in hell ain’t I got no business delivering groceries to Mr. Flowers? Hell, he pays me a good tip when I see him. Don’t go there to play around, Mr. Fontaine, just to deliver groceries. Clem grinned at the man, as he had purposefully added the small profanities that his mother cautioned him about using.

Yo momma know ya go there?

Ya wife know you go there, Mr. Fontaine, to play around? Clem deliberately mocked the grease smelling man.

Hell, boy, don’t get sassy with me. Who told ya I go there?

Clem put a tattle-tell sound in his voice, smiled at the man, and said, "Mr. Flowers told me. He said that Old Man F, who is the railroad crossing-guard, flag man, visited. I don’t think he meant anybody else. Do you?"

Clem eyed the man, again, as he told him that obvious lie, but he knew that Mr. Fontaine did not know it was a lie.

All right, Clem, don’t go getting smart-ass with me. You just keep ya mouth shut about what I might do. Here’s the end of the train, so move ya skinny li’l butt on over there. Leave them women alone. Wait for a man to show ya how it’s done. The man laughed a screeching owl-like laugh as the caboose went by. Clem spit on the ballast rock, laughed at the man, and crossed the rest of the tracks; he went down the hill, around the curve, and delivered the groceries to the house.

The house had been something of grace and splendor in its earlier life, but now it was only big, dirty, and unkempt—from the outside; he knew that it was a place of luxury inside. Pre-World War I vintage hotel rooming house, it was over forty years old now. Starr, the big black lady who kept the food and drinks going, was at the top of the second-floor landing, which was, really, the street-level entrance in back.

Starr stared, as she put her hands on her ample hips, and her large bosom shook side to side as she eyed him. She let out, Late, ain’t you, Clem?

Clem eyed her before he said, Hell, don’t you start your back-biting crap with me, Starr. That damned train blocked all the cars on the street. It must have been five miles long.

Lord, my man, you have a vivid imagination. No train ain’t that long, not even them used to go by here when the war was going on so heavy. How you do exasperate with me. She wiped her chocolate-brown forehead, giggled at the young man, and put her right foot back into her slide. Feet hurt too much to stand here and put up with all your bad mouth.

Clem grinned and added, Exaggerate or exasperate?

"Both. Bring that sack of meat and milk on into the kitchen. Put the beer over there in the cooler. This all of it, or do I have to wait another two hours, maybe two days, for you and your poky self?"

Nope, Starr, this is all of it. I’ll bring the rest of the beer later. You don’t have to worry, though. I can put it in the cooler here. Mr. Flowers here, Starr? Clem gave her his best smile.

What if he is? She gave Clem her low-tolerance look.

I’m gonna talk with him, if he is, that’s what.

He may be here. He may not be. Anyway, what’s a boy like you going to talk with the owner about? Mr. Manny be too busy to mess with you, my man. Not only that, you ain’t even supposed to be in here, ’cause you be way too young and it be against the law.

If I ain’t supposed to be here, then neither is this beer. I think it’s ’bout against the law to have the beer here too. You, my lady, are just out of the city limit and in the wrong county. I’ll tell Mr. Flowers that you think that his cathouse is not only allowing minors but serving illegal beer also. How beat them apples, Starr Lady? He put his deep smile on her and fluttered his eyelashes.

The lady eyed Clem as she giggled. Let me go see if he’s here. And keep yo’ mouth shut about what I said about the age, ’cause I sho’ don’t want you making trouble. Lawdy, you be one bad apple, is all Starr Lady can say.

Don’t intend to make trouble if I see Mr. Flowers. Clem grinned at her and shook his head.

A voice from the doorway behind interjected, "What kind of trouble are you going to make, little hoss?"

Clem turned and grinned, Hi, Mr. Flowers. No trouble. I’m just jiving with my Starr Lady. She’s a good kitchen manager, and we get along fine. Been wanting to talk with you, though, Mr. Flowers.

Go ahead. But let me give you a little token of my appreciation for your hard work for me, first. Flowers handed Clem some bills, folded; Clem put them in his pants pocket.

Polite as always, Clem said, Thank you, Mr. Flowers, that’s very kind of you.

Aren’t you going to look at them? Flowers laughed.

Clem shrugged. He answered, No, sir. Ain’t no need to.

Flowers grinned but said, Now, let’s start over with better English, Clem. He patted Clem on the shoulder to soften the correction, and Flowers looked at Starr and winked. Starr giggled, turned, and moved toward the door to go out of the room.

Clem grinned to match Flowers, when he said, Bye, Starr Lady, and thanks. But yes, sir, I do forget now and then and do corrupt my English as my mother says. But there is not any need to look at them, Mr. Flowers. I know you gave me what you could and what you think that I’m worth, but I’ll never turn my back to your needs anyway.

Thank you. Now, what is it that you and I need to talk about? Flowers had a smile that told everyone around not to interrupt him and the young boy.

Clem had to look up to make eye contact with the man that most people said looked like a double for the movie star Tyrone Power, except, Clem thought, Manny Flowers was taller and better looking. Two of my white king pigeons got away, Mr. Flowers. They usually just fly off and come back in a day or so, but this time they kept going. Then day before yesterday, when I delivered some beer, I think I saw them on the roof over the back of your house, over here. It looks like they just moved in with all of your wild ones up there.

How can you tell, Clem?

Clem shrugged again and added, I can’t, really, Mr. Flowers, until I get up with them, but they have leg bands, though. The other thing is that there ain’t… Clem stopped, grinned at the man. Are not too many whites out there. Almost all of them have some kind of coloring.

Flowers grinned at the corrected English. Now, Clem, they’re not tame, like pets, are they?

No, sir, they’re not tame as such. They know me, yes, sir, but I’d have to catch them at night. That’s what I wanted to ask you. I’ve been looking at that fire escape and that big window thing on top of your house. That’s where they have a nest, it looks like. I mean, right up near the window that sticks up and the big chimney. I think that I could ease out the back door over there—on to the balcony over the garage—and skinny up that pole thing. Then I’d be right on top of them. I sure would like to get them before they set up house and lay eggs. If they already laid eggs, I’ll have to wait for the squabs, then I could take them home. Even if the adults get away, I could at least get something.

No, that’s not a problem. I’ll tell both Harlan and Nanny that you can come and go up there. Just be careful, please. Don’t bring anybody else with you, Clem. Is that understood? I mean ever, Clem. Flowers’s stare was intense.

Clem gave him a small smile and relaxed; he knew that he had been successful. "Oh sure, Mr. Flowers, I just want to catch my birds. There is no need to come to do anything else and bring anybody else. Anything I need to do, I can do during the day, like I’m doing now. But will you tell Mr. Harlan and Ms. Nanny now, in front of me? And you might ought to tell Nick. That Nick is the one who’ll rap my little butt if you don’t get me in tight with him up front."

Manny laughed and patted Clem’s shoulder. Clem, I’ll do that right now, but if Nick raps your butt, then you tell me. Manny did not smile.

Manny and Clem walked into the parlor off the main living room—it was what Clem called the sunroom. There were no customers, employees only. The three people Clem needed to see were seated, playing cards. They had another woman as the fourth member of the group, but Clem had never seen her before today. It looked like they had some bidding game going. Smoke filled the room, and there was a mixture of sweat, smoke, stale cigars, beer, and whisky. God, what an awful smell, went through Clem’s mind, and all of it trying to be concealed with some type of antiseptic.

Flowers called out, Nick, Harland, Nan.

The three nodded. Flowers pointed to the fourth person and called her Sabine. She smiled.

Clem looked and thought, Man, that Sabine is a pretty gal. But she doesn’t look much older than me. I wonder where she came from.

Manny continued, I want you to meet my best young friend: Clem Crabtree. Clem and I go back a long way. He lost some of his white pigeons, and they landed on my roof and took up housekeeping. Now the best time for us to get those birds back is during the night, so when he comes over to get them, help him out. Don’t go getting in his way, and don’t go rapping his rear.

Flowers stared hard at Nick before he looked back at Clem and continued, Don’t mess with my boy at all. He’ll be up there lots of nights, or until we get his birds back. Everybody agree?

Nan responded, "How ya gonna get up there, pretty boy?"

Clem blushed as he answered, I’ll ease out the window over the garage. There isn’t any way anybody from inside the house can see me. I’ll come up the back steps, the same way I do when I make deliveries, and then, without being seen by anybody of importance, I’ll slip out. I can just go up and get on the third floor roof—that’s where my birds are. I’ll come back the same way, and it’ll look the same as when I make deliveries, Miss Nan, you know, just using the porch foyer and not entering the house as such.

How long is it gonna take you, Clem?

Clem turned to answer the question, polite as always. Mr. Nick, I don’t know. It may take several nights, but I may never get them back. I would like to try, though. I’ll always be by myself. I’ve told Mr. Flowers that already.

Nick added, Good boy. Just take care when you climb. Up and down, alright?

Nick pushed a pocket comb through his wavy gray hair as he prepared to stand. Standing, he seemed to hover over the room. He was nearly six feet three and weighed 250 pounds of muscle. His green eyes seemed to be on the move always, and there was never a sense of talking to the man; the sense was one of talking to an idol, but a handsome one, and he knew it. Nick’s neck was massive and seemed to be sealed into the collar of his shirt, but Clem had never seen the man not wearing a starched, ironed white long-sleeve shirt.

Sure, Mr. Nick, I always do that. Thanks, Mr. Flowers, Mr. Harlan, Mr. Nick, Ms, Nan. I appreciate all this help. Maybe someday I can give you a pet bird for helping me.

Clem finished by nodding toward Sabine and said thanks, just to be well mannered. He noticed that she kept nodding and smiling while Mr. Flowers was talking.

___________

Clem made a number of deliveries over the next few days before he made the first attempt at catching his birds. It took him a few days to go over his list of names, to identify the escaped kings, and he found he was missing Montclair and Marzey. Maybe they’d respond to their names if I call them and I’m careful, but maybe not.

On the day of his first planned trip, Clem saw Mr. Flowers at the house and told Manny that he was going to come back that night.

Be careful, Clem. Don’t hang too far out, and don’t take any chances. Just take your time and be careful is all I ask.

I intend to be careful, Mr. Flowers, and there isn’t any risk involved. I looked out, and there is a perfect place to climb to. It is easy to get down, even if I have the birds. I intend to take that little back-sleeve holder up with me anyway. I’ll be fine. I just wanted you to tell everybody that I’d be up there and not to mess me up. I’ll tell them when I go up and when I come down.

Flowers nodded. Good. Make sure you inform some of us, and I’ll take it from there.

It was eerie-dark out that night as there were no stars and no moon. The late afternoon and evening had been loaded with dark, billowing clouds, as if it was going to rain. The nighttime stillness was rustled only by the slight breezes, and sounds of the city were in the distance. The heavy switching of the freight trains around the rail yard could be heard almost continuously; another long freight train was rumbling southwest toward New Orleans. But every night was like that, Clem thought as he walked up the back steps to the house.

Clem acted just like he did when he made deliveries; the only difference was that he had his own bicycle—not Hadden’s from the store. But unlike when he was riding the store’s bicycle, Clem put his bike over near the tall hedge, out of sight, because he didn’t want to use the kick stand and have his bike in plain view.

At the top of the stairs, Clem eased open the door. When he got inside, he smelled even more smoke, more alcohol, more cigars, but now they were all mixed with heavy perfumes and cologne. There stood Nick, just inside the door—Like a damned watch dog went through Clem’s mind.

Clem gave the man a little grin, Hi, Mr. Nick, I’m going up now. Mr. Flowers said it was okay today. I’ll tell you when I get down.

Clem, just be careful. Hell, I’ll buy you two birds if you can’t get these.

Thank you, Mr. Nick. It’s not the same thing. These are the main birds. I’ve gotta have them. I’m always careful.

Through the door Clem went, over to the window, and on to the garage roof. He was right: getting up was a snap. He heard the cooing of several birds, and he remembered that there was a big gang of birds when he looked up from the street. Several of those birds have some white, but none of them have the white like my pure breeds.

He took the sleeve coop off his back, put it behind the big chimney, took out his small flashlight, and covered the light end with his hand. He turned on his light, looked down at his hand, and laughed to himself. It looks eerie with the redness of my skin and the skeleton-look of the slender bones inside.

He heard the cooing and shifting of several birds again, and it was getting louder; he knew that they were getting restless. As he flashed his light around, with a narrow beam, he saw what looked like a bird with some white-looking feathers. He was looking eye-to-eye with a mixed fawn and white bird. Pretty. But it’s not purebred. No need to disturb her if I can help it.

Clem moved on and flashed again. There was a flapping of wings, a blur of white. Damned. Off it went. He watched as the bird went near the streetlight, dipped down, and showed that it was a pure white: one of his pair of kings. He moved on over to the roost; there, all by themselves, were two eggs. Hell, why didn’t the damned mixed bird fly off‘? He debated what to do next. Best thing is to get still and wait for her to come back. He did. His bird finally flew back, lit, and settled on the eggs. Slowly he moved the light on her. Yep, there’s the band. No reason to stay now. I can’t take the eggs nor the bird, even if I could catch her. And, I don’t know that I’ll catch that Montclair anyway.

He moved back down slowly. As he made it inside the house, Nick came by. Clem gave the big man his patented look of disgust as he explained that it was a bust for tonight, but he’d be back. He didn’t tell Nick as he thought: it would be several trips back and forth because he didn’t really trust Nick, as he thought, Anyway, what does a manager-bouncer of a cathouse know about pigeons and eggs?

___________

Clem had a hard time believing Mr. Morrow when the man bitched about having to send him to the house to make deliveries. For one thing, Mr. Morrow sent him often, even when others were working and could make the deliveries. The other thing was that Clem had heard Mr. and Mrs. Morrow arguing about the house. Mr. Morrow wanted to go himself, based on their arguments; Mrs. Morrow wouldn’t let him. And all the older boys were always sent someplace else; thus, Clem continued to make deliveries to the house.

This Friday afternoon promised to be busy. Clem had made his early delivery with beer and sodas only. Now he had a good load of meats, milk, bread, eggs, bacon, and other kitchen goodies. Starr was waiting when he got to the landing. As usual, she made jokes with him, and he needled back. She did, however, put the first load of groceries away while he went back for the rest of his load.

When they finished with the groceries, Clem said, Starr Lady, I saw Mr. Flowers earlier today. He knows I’m coming back tonight to look for my Montclair and his babe. Are you going to tell Mr. Nick for me?

My man, best I recollect, Starr Lady wasn’t in on the telling deal. You tell him yourself. She frowned.

Aw, come on, Starr, I know you ain’t—I mean aren’t––in no deal, but that don’t keep you from being a good friend and helping me. I don’t complain if I do all your work when I make deliveries. Ain’t I always your friend? Don’t I always tell Mr. Flowers some gospel and say how good you are? Hell, if he knew how lazy you were, he’d fire you. Think I’ll tell him just for meanness. Clem grinned.

All right, Buster, Starr Lady will tell Nick. Better be careful. And don’t go blabbing to Mr. Manny either. He believes yo’ little bad hiney no matter what the truth is.

Clem let out a chuckle and said, "I hope so, ’cause he doesn’t get anything but the Lord’s word from me. No way could I ever lie to Mr. Flowers, he knows that. You, now, are a different type of cat, and I could put some heavy-duty mojo lies on you, coming and going. And I would not have one pang of guilt or think that I was sinning."

The woman snorted, I can believe that. Go on now, and be careful when you come back. Don’t let these hot-rocks politicians and these other big shots see you in here.

Clem gave her a smile of thanks. Don’t worry, Starr Lady. I’m hep.

Slowly he made his way out and onto the roof. These were the same steps he’d made earlier. Only this time, he felt more brazen; he was confident. He eased up to the nest area. Clem didn’t use his light this time, as the moon was partially out and the darkness was not as severe.

Coo. Coo. Coo. He stopped. He saw his white king shifting on her eggs. Calm down, Marzey, he said. Just calm down. He cooed back at her, but his cooing did no good at all. Whoosh. Gone. Down toward the street lamp, again, she went. White as a fluorescent lightbulb. Damn. Damn. What luck?

He sat there waiting. None of the other birds flew. That figures, they were all wild anyway, more settled. They’re not as high-strung as my pure whites. Again, he was not sure what to do. He asked himself how a bird like the fawn and white one that hadn’t flown ever got to be like his pure whites. Wonder how many years of selective breeding produced the pure white king?

Silent, he sat there; his bird had not returned yet. He decided that he needed to look at the eggs again—he did. He turned on his light, eased the beam across the eggs, and was embarrassed that his birds had such a poor excuse for a nest. Hell, it’s next to nothing. Back in my loft, I know they had better nests because they had much better materials.

Clem moved to his spot near the chimney. This really is a weird rooftop. The roof was nearly flat for about three feet around the entire side of the house, then the slope upward began. He squatted in the space between the chimney and the single window frame. What did my mother call those windows, Mansard? No, that was the roof part. Dormers, like a dormitory, yeah, that’s it.

The windowpanes appeared to have been painted dark green or nearly black, with no light source. Wooden frames were on each side; they looked like they were fake hurricane shutters. They hadn’t been painted in years; the soot from the coal-burning train engines had branded them with layers of crap.

The pigeon came back and settled on the eggs. Clem waited. I guess the best thing for me to do is to go on back down, forget the birds for a while. He moved away from the nest—stopped. He heard a voice; he looked over the edge, toward the back of the house, and toward his bicycle. He heard nothing, saw nothing, then laughter and a woman’s voice.

It sounded like she said, No. No. No.

Clem made no movement and waited. Slowly he eased back toward the window. Light was streaking out of a small break in the glass; Clem had not seen it earlier, and now it could hardly be missed. Laughter again. He froze. His breath caught in his throat. Better breathe, he said to himself. He did.

Laughter again. Then, he heard the woman’s voice. How much then for that?

The man’s answer was mumbled, muffled; he sounded like he was talking through cloth or in a closet.

Clem sat there and then raised himself into a semi-stand-up position. He eased his eye over the light hole; he squinted and could see part of a person. From the midthigh up was definitely a man’s face, hair, chest, muscles. But the eyes were covered with a black mask; at the waist, there was what looked like a hula skirt.

Oh, Lordy, I remember seeing a short movie on the Hawaiian Islands and the dancing girls wore them, and I saw that in the old Bing Crosby movie that my mom took me to see. What in the hell is a man doing with one on?

The girl, or whoever was in the room, said something. The masked man leaned back, became agitated, and swung his right hand, palm open, at the voice. Nothing else could be heard. Then the man moved out of the line of sight. Clem could hear moaning, groaning. Lights went out: darkness. It was then he decided that he better get the hell off the top of the house. And he did.

Clem made up his mind: Can’t tell anybody about the birds or anything, I don’t need to talk to anybody, not tonight. I can imply to Mr. Flowers that one of the other three, or Starr Lady, knew that I had gone.

He retrieved his bike and rolled it onto the side street, away from the street he usually traveled. Without hesitation, he decided to go the exact opposite way home—north instead of south. So what if it’s nine blocks greater distance. No way am I going to be seen on that track at this time.

Riding the bike took more strength than Clem wanted to give it; his heart was now like a trip hammer. Bang. Bang. Bang. He suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom; he almost didn’t make it to the hedge and thought for a minute he had wet his clothes. He had no idea why he was scared, but he knew that he was, as he got back on his bike and peddled home.

After his bath and change of clothes, Clem went into his bed room. There was a note from his mother that she was at a finance meeting at the church; she’d see him on Saturday morning, and she loved him.

He went to bed but had a hard time going to sleep. He got up several times and looked out the window, but he heard nothing and saw nothing. Finally, sleep overcame his nearly-fourteen-year-old body-fear. He dozed. Though he slept some—it was a miserable sleep. He was wide awake at six in the morning. Clem decided that he better stay in his room. His mother would be asking if he was sick, if he got up that early for no reason. She would be especially concerned, since it was summer, and he had no school to worry about.

When Clem went into the dining room, he kissed his mother’s cheek and told her good morning. She had his breakfast ready. Both were going to work today; she would work until noon and he until dark, most likely. At first, he thought about telling his mother that he had a headache and might not go to work. Then, he thought better of it. Plus, Mr. Morrow could send one of the older boys on delivery to the house if they called in. He went.

There was plenty of business at the store when he got there at eight o’ clock. He went in and put on his smock top and commenced his work by stacking some canned goods. He went to the Cola box, and it looked like they were low on RC Cola. He filled the RC Cola shelf; he did the same thing with the beer box. He kept looking over his shoulder, wondering what was coming next. Jeep came by. Good old Jeep. He could make the deliveries now. Jeep was a big tow-headed blond but a little slow; he got along with everybody, by minding his own affairs, and never caused any trouble. He loved his nickname, and he kept an eye out for Clem too. Sure enough, after lunch, Jeep had to make a delivery to Nanny’s. He was gone about a half hour before he came back. He found Clem in the storage room.

Clem, Mr. Flowers said tell you he wanted to talk with you today. They want some stuff delivered and are calling it in. He asked if you’d bring it over there for him. I told him I’d tell you, but if we had a problem, I’d be there with it. If it’s a big order, I‘ll go anyway. Hell, ain’t no need to send your little frail frame when I gon do it for you. Jeep gave Clem his always caring smile.

"Thanks Jeep. We’ll see. I agree with you that it may be a big order. If it is, I’ll let you take it. Then you can, maybe, leave something out, and I’ll ease over and see Mr. Flowers. He and I’ve hem trading some coins, as we’re into coin collecting. Man, he sure comes up with some scarce ones, now and then. Claims he gets them out of Mobile and New Orleans. He has some import-export business down there. If we do it that way, Mr. Morrow won’t be jiving my frail frame about being gone. You know that guy would love to get in that marble action over at Nanny’s, other than his game of pocket-pool, and so would old man Fontaine."

Jeep laughed at that and added, Yeah, you’re right, Clem. But both do get in the action up the road, I heard.

Really, Jeep? Clem opened his eyes wide while he stared at Jeep.

Yeah, Clem, really. Jeep laughed at Clem’s reaction.

Clem, came from Mr. Morrow.

Yes, sir, I’m in here, Mr. Morrow. Jeep and me.

Mr. Morrow stuck his billiard-ball head inside the door. Manny Flowers wants something delivered to the house about four this afternoon, or after, as he wants time to get back. It’s a big order, so I’ll let you take the drinks on over. Jeep can come on behind you later and take the rest.

Morrow nodded toward Jeep but continued talking to Clem. Manny wants you anyway. I don’t like it, Clem, but can’t do much about it, and I’ve told you that enough times. They’re too big of a customer for us not to cater to. You understand, don’t you?

Clem let a tight grin ease into his cheeks. Don’t worry, Mr. Morrow. Mr. Flowers ain’t going to let them gals corrupt me, so that’s like going to Sunday school for me—no worry. I’ll go on about four, or a little after, and be back as quick as I can get away from Mr. Flowers. You know that he wants to chat with me a little, so it may take a few minutes longer.

Clem and Jeep smiled at each other; they knew they had their lines down pat.

When Clem did leave with the order, it was after five o’clock. Clem took the soft drinks in a nonchalant manner; inside his mind, there was nothing nonchalant about his feelings. He was still scared. Scared of what, he couldn’t pinpoint, but he knew enough about what went on in Nanny’s to be scared. He rode across the tracks and down the hill into the back, where he parked his store bike by using his kick stand and took the drinks up the steps. Starr Lady was there and bitched at him, for not bringing all of the order; she quit complaining when Mr. Flowers showed.

How are you doing today, Clem?

Pretty good, Mr. Flowers, you know, the same old work at the store. The big order will be here shortly, but Throw Ass will bring it.

Throw Ass? Now who is that? Flowers laughed.

Clem blushed. Oh, Jeep. Ah, you know, Jeep Hurlbutt. He was just over here not long ago. We call him Throw Ass, instead of Hurlbutt. He is bringing it.

Manny laughed again. Yeah, I know him. Big, strong. Not too bright, but no problem. Good kid.

Yes sir, I feel that way about him, too. It sure is a shame though. He is good people.

Manny queried, Did you have any luck last night with your birds?

No, sir. It didn’t take me long to see that Montclair was not there, and Marzey was gone in a flash. You know that the female stays on the eggs at night and the male in daytime. Montclair wouldn’t ever have left my pen had I not slipped up and let his mate get out. That was dumb on my part, Mr. Flowers. Anyway, they moved off, and I came on down and went home to bed. My mom was at a church meeting, so I cooled it by myself.

Manny was thoughtful but said, Ever hear from Stockard, Clem? Does your mom ever mention him?

No, sir. We never mention him, Mr. Flowers. You know they were long ago divorced. It is just my mom and me. She still works at the lawyer’s office, but only half a day on Saturday though.

"Still at Hebert, Ford, and Jackson?

Yes, sir, still there.

Flowers gave Clem a serious pat on the shoulder. That’s a fine firm, Clem. It’s an excellent place for your mother to work. Mr. Hebert is really some fine man. Most people say that he is truly a saint of a man. The other two main partners, I never been around much. Must be pretty good boys, though, for Everett Hebert to let them into the firm as senior partners. He put their names up there with his; however, with a firm that big and successful, Everett has no ego problems. I’m sure that in time, with no children, he’ll have to prepare somebody to move into his senior position. I do know several of his younger new associates, though, but not all of them.

Yes, sir, I guess so. I don’t know them much either. Mr. Hebert, I do, and the senior partners. I don’t see the others much. I don’t expect to be needing lawyers anyway. Do you?

No. Not likely. But I do have some business that I let lawyers handle for me. I know you need to go back to work, so let me give you this first. Manny handed Clem some money.

Clem looked directly into Manny’s brown eyes, and said, Thank you again for the money, Mr. Flowers, but have I done anything to deserve this?

Well, you will, Clem. Anyway, keep it. And here are some coins for both of us. I want to talk with your mom, Clem, about you and me opening a safe deposit box together, so you can keep our coins safe. Do you mind?

No, sir. I guess it’ll be okay. Do you want me to mention it to her? What will we have to do if she says yes?

Manny was pensive. Well, you and I will go down to the bank, sign a card, get keys, and somebody will show us where the box is and where to sign to get in. I’ll make the contract and pay for it up front. Only you and I will be able to get in, unless you want your mom. I’m doing this separate from my business and my family. My wife and two daughters have no interest in this, and they know that I’m going to let you handle the coins for me. Anyhow, they don’t care; it’ll be something you and I’ll do.

Well, that’ll be good Mr. Flowers. I know my mom will say it’s okay, but let me ask. You know how she is, though. She may make me let Mr. Hebert go with us.

Flowers nodded. I’ve no problem with Everett Hebert going with us. If you don’t want your mom on the box, it may make sense to let Everett go with us. You and your mom work it out and tell me. One day this coming week is best for me. Later, I don’t know exactly when, Clem, I’m going to be gone for a couple of weeks, I think.

Man, that long? Maybe we better make sure your guys know that you and I have not caught my birds, and I’ll need help in getting them.

Clem eyed the gentlemen beginning to come into the house. Looks like you’re going to have a full house tonight, Mr. Flowers.

We hope so, Clem. Yeah, a full house. But holidays are usually busy. Maybe you better not come tonight, come to think of it.

Clem was suddenly mystified. Did I do something wrong, Mr. Flowers?

"No. No. Just too many hotshots and names going to be here to get their nerves settled or let Lady Luck smile on them. I’d rather you didn’t get over here when that action is going down. It’s nothing you’ve done. Well, nothing that anybody has done, really. It’s just for my, and your, protection."

Well, thanks, Mr. Flowers. I’ll let you know what my mom says.

____________

Sunday afternoon, after morning church and a chicken and dumplings lunch, Clem asked his mother about the bank box.

Alana Crabtree sat there, looking at her slender, blond-haired-child. Although slightly built, he was beginning to grow tall, almost as tall as she; she hated to admit it, but he was a carbon copy of his father. She hoped that the carbon was replaced, though, when he grew up and went to college and work. She knew that she had married one of the most handsome men in town; he turned out to be one of the most unfaithful, sorriest people in town too. Thank God I have Clem.

Mom, it’ll be all right. Mr. Flowers said it would.

Alana was careful as she let her dark-green eyes smile at her son, always to be protecting. Manny Flowers, Clem. Yes, I know he said it’ll be all right. He called me here after he talked with you. What other business are you and Manny going to be involved in?

Oh, Mom. I don’t care that he runs a cathouse and other things. If he wasn’t out there, somebody else would be. There already is. Competition is right up the road from Nanny’s. We deliver there too. But I got no business over there with him. I don’t care for that type of life. Anyway, Mr. Morrow said they are way too big a customer not to work with. I know that they preach about Mr. Flowers in church all the time. They still take his money, though. I’ve never seen them turn him down when he gives money and gives at Thanksgiving and Christmas. And, he gives big bundles of money. Lots of it goes to the poor and religions that he has nothing to do with. He’s just a nice man to me. He wouldn’t do anything to get me hurt. You know that. I know, from what I hear, that he and Daddy were friends. But he didn’t make Daddy bad. Daddy made Daddy bad. Don’t blame Mr. Flowers, Mom.

Clem, darling. I’m not blaming Manny. I’m only trying to see what you and he are involved in.

Clem was concerned with Alana’s thoughts. Nothing, Mom, other than helping me catch Montclair and his mate.

Finally, she let her exasperation show. Clem, you and those birds. Why don’t you sell them and get out of messing with them?

Mom, they don’t hurt me or anyone else. I keep them clean. I keep them doctored and everything. Mr. Flowers got me some new medicine and feed supplements, so nothing is going to come to those birds or me. It gives me something to do also. I love my birds, Mother. I don’t want to give them up. I do want you to tell me yes about the safe deposit box, please. Let me talk with Mr. Hebert if you don’t want to go with me."

Relenting, softly Alana said, I’ll go with you. I think that if you’re going to put your coins in there, I need to be able to access your box in an emergency. Let me call Manny. We will meet him down at whatever bank he says. If we change our minds, then, I’ll let you talk with Mr. Hebert.

Gee thanks, Mom. He gripped his mother’s shoulder and kissed her on the cheek.

—————

Clem and his mother met Manny at the bank. All it took was filling out the form, signing, paying, and opening the box. They let Clem do the box-opening with his key; he took what coins he had with him and placed them in the box. Flowers kept his stare on the beautiful woman watching her son do his first banking business, and he had a pang of guilt and remorsefulness as he peered deep into her green eyes. Her smile had been always one of the most beautiful and delicate things about her; now, though, he knew that the smile was sometimes difficult to project. Her skin was as it had been always: the color of parchment paper and smooth as a polished diamond. No amount of pampering could make the lady any prettier than she was now, especially as she tended to the needs of her blond child. Flowers watched as she moved a strand of honey-blond hair from her eyes.

When Flowers looked back at Clem, he asked, What are you putting in, Clem?

"These four rolls of fifty-D nickels that you and I have together and those halves. We each have a roll of halves. They’re getting hard to come by, according to the Numismatic News. And with my mom here with me, I want to thank you, again, for giving them to me, Mr. Flowers."

Thank you, Clem, and you’re welcome. And with your mom here, I want to urge you to look after her, continue to work hard, and do well in school. When it gets time for you to go to college, I’ll make sure we have things in order for you to go. I’m working on it now. Please take care of Alana, Clem.

As always, Clem was polite. I’ll always do that, Mr. Flowers. Thanks, for both of us.

Flowers turned to Alana. Thank you, Alana. Just let me know and I’ll be there for him—and you, at any time.

Alana gave him a deep smile. Yes, Manny, I know that. We’ll see. Thanks for taking so much time with him, and thanks for this. He is truly looking forward to it.

They told Flowers good-bye and walked out of the bank.

2

Clem was frustrated during the next week; he had not made any progress on his birds, and he really didn’t know what to do. He knew that the scene in the cathouse had scared him badly; however, nothing happened with anyone associated with Nanny’s. He heard of no complaints, no police problem. Nothing. Just let it ride for the time being, but it sure was weird the way the man was dressed and acted. I guess that I can wait until the eggs hatch, and I’ll ease up every day or so to check on them. Maybe Marzey will stay on the nest longer after the squabs hatch. Manny Flowers had gone out of town.

Clem made a delivery to Mr. Eastman’s Garage; Mr. Eastman paid him in bills and a dollar in change. Clem said, Thanks, Mr. Eastman, for the change. You know that I’ll go through it and see if there are any collectable coins in it, don’t you?

Sure, Clem, I try to keep an eye out for some of those things. I threw some Indian head pennies in there and some V nickels. All worth the same to me—face value. I’m not hoping to make a killing, like you, and get rich. The man turned to take a look at the threatening clouds before he said, Better pedal on back to the store now, Clem, before that heavy rain comes and gets to you. Thanks for bringing these things on over.

Eastman laughed and pushed the boy’s bike down the driveway. Clem waved to him.

———————

Later, Clem was inside the black side of the beer hall, and they had a pretty good crowd. Clem thought that the crowd would stay pretty good, as long as the heavy rain storms were outside: captured audience. Two guys who claimed to be brothers were sitting at a table back from the dance floor. The tall one called to Clem. My man, Clem, you got any Falstaff—cold?

Sure, Chewdie, always got Falstaff. Mr. Morrow and the Haddens are part ownership in the distributorship. Be hell if we didn’t have that beer.

Think you got some for me?

Sure. You got money? Mr. Morrow won’t let me allow credit. Pay up front, in cash, and if you got change, all the better. If you need change for the jukebox, just let me know—it’s six for a quarter now. How many beers, Chewdie?

Just two, my man. Rackman don’t need but one. I need only one. Right now, that is. Chewdie chuckled at Clem.

Fine. Be right back.

Clem left to go into the other side of the store, the grocery side, to get the beer. When Morrow saw him pick up the beer, Morrow came over, took the beer from Clem, and eased into the other side of the place. He let Clem collect the money and told him that it was okay for him to put it into the cash drawer. Clem put in the money, but not before he looked at the coins. He pulled out two nickels and a dime and replaced them with some of the money Manny had given him. Morrow nodded his approval.

Morrow touched Clem on the elbow and motioned for him to come toward the back with him. Out of hearing of customers, he said

Clem, I don’t want you waiting on people for beer. You’re way too young, and the cops may get upset with us. Plus, it isn’t Christian, letting somebody your age do that.

Yes, sir, I know, Mr. Morrow, and my mom is always telling me the same thing—about the religion part, I mean. But I don’t have much choice sometimes, as I’m the only one in there. Anyhow, Mr. Flowers says that all of us are paying off the police anyway, and that makes this illegal. He says, what difference does it make if I’m too young? He says, he didn’t know there was a legal age for doing something illegal. I think that he may have a point, but Chewdie and Rackman are good people. They’re not going to be a problem.

You know those two convicts, Clem?

I don’t know that they are convicts, Mr. Morrow. Doesn’t bother me, though, if they are—it’s really none of my business. Don’t even know their real names, I don’t guess. Rackman works at the pool hall downtown by the Club Mona Lisa. That’s about all I know, though.

Morrow raised his eyebrows as he said, Do you go to the pool hall?

"No sir. No interest in it. Too young. I don’t know how to play pool