Chapter 3  The Grateful Damned

As I walked to my car, I spied a long, ugly gouge in the paint stretching from the front fender to the rear quarter panel.  “My new car,” I moaned.  Surveying the damage, I felt a fountain of anger rising from within.  This was the senseless handiwork of a vandal armed, no doubt, with either a screwdriver or an awl.  At that moment, a young man, a bit short in stature, with stringy black hair and an oily expression seemed to come out of nowhere.  He wore a Lynyrd Skynyrd tee-shirt and grease-stained jeans that had seen better days. With a smirk, he eyed my disfigured automobile and said, “Now isn’t that a damn shame?  A fellow works hard, saves his pennies, buys a choice looking ride, and then some clown with a screwdriver comes along and does his mischief.  What is this world coming to, I ask you?” 

 

Instinctively, I knew the stranger with the phony concern was responsible for the vandalism.  Why he had damaged my car, I could not say.  “I don’t suppose you know who did this?” I asked.

 

“I wish I could help you,” he answered, “but I was busy watching a mother robin building her nest while the joker with the screwdriver did his dirty on your pretty little car.” After a brief pause, he continued, “Say, I think I know you. Aren’t you the fellow whose been chatting up my bird?”

 

Struggling to keep a firm grip on the reins of my anger, I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“My bird, Carly.  Don’t be coy, man. I was standing outside the diner looking on while you were making time with my girl.  Not that I fault you—she’s a choice little tidbit.”  With the disgusting grin plastered across his weasel-like face, the unwelcomed stranger whispered, “Psst!  Just between a couple of gentlemen, if you can get her into the sack, she has this funny little squeal…”

 

“I don’t know who you are,” I demanded, “and I’ve had enough of your big mouth.” 

 

“Whoa! Sorry to offend you, Professor,” came his mocking reply.  “No reason to come out swinging.  Carly is my girl, but if you fancy her, I’m sure we can work something out.”

 

In my life, I have never wanted to strike anyone as much as the glib-tongued antagonist who stood before me. “You can go to hell,” said I.

 

“No doubt, I will,” he answered. “I’m not exactly a model citizen, don’t you know, but the devil will have to catch me first.”

 

“May I assume you’re the lowlife responsible for Carly’s arrest and conviction?”

 

“How was I to know the automotive parts hidden in the trunk of her car were stolen?  Funny thing is, I had purchased those parts in good faith, but the vendor, unbeknownst to me at the time of our little business arrangement, had a reputation for shady dealings.  And to think I had asked beforehand if he belonged to the Better Business Bureau.  Because I am such a trusting soul, unscrupulous people are forever taking advantage of my unassuming nature.”

 

“Is there a point to your story?” I demanded.

 

“Was I rambling?  Sorry.  Anyway, the story gets even funnier. After the pig cops busted Carly and me, she was convicted of transporting stolen property and, as I’m sure she’s already told you, pulled a seventeen month jolt in the women’s correctional facility.  What about me?  A mere slap on the wrist.  Isn’t that a hoot?  While Carly was eating prison chow and punching out license plates, yours truly walked away from the mishap with a suspended sentence.  Don’t you just love our criminal justice system?”

 

Further angered by his psychopathic behavior, I demanded, “Why did you let Carly take the fall for your crime?”

 

Stroking his chin as if in deep thought, he answered, “Couldn’t be helped. You see, Carly was represented by a public defender while my sainted mother mortgaged her home so that I could have proper legal counsel.  As they say, you get what you pay for, and take it from me, Professor, never scrimp to save a buck when it comes to legal representation.”

 

“What did a sweet girl like Carly see in the likes of you?”

 

“I’d be all too happy to show you, Professor, but there are local ordinances to consider, and I don’t care to have an indecent exposure charge added to my already lengthy rap sheet.”

 

I thought I would explode with anger. “You are as contemptable a worm as I’ve ever met.”  Clinching my fists, I challenged, “Why don’t you step closer and take a swing at me?  Go ahead. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing you out cold on my driveway.” 

 

“You don’t look like a fighter, Professor,” he calmly replied, “though maybe you are. Anyway, the reason I’ve survived as long as I have is because I don’t fight fair.”

 

Further enticing him to draw first blood by taking a swing at me, I taunted him saying, “I know your kind. You’re like a rat who comes out of his hole when the lights are out.”

 

Nodding in agreement, he said, “Honor is hardly among my more notable virtues.  I will not deny being an underhanded sleazebag of the worst sort, but as I was not blessed with an abundance in build, stature, or muscle, I have no choice but to depend upon my cunning to level the playing field.  I strike back at my enemies when they’re not looking.”

 

“Have you been making a nuisance of yourself with Carly?” I asked.

 

“I may have slipped into the diner for a word or two with her,” he said, “though I cannot say she was overjoyed in seeing me after nearly two years.  Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder was an ignorant bounder.”

 

“I want you to leave that girl alone. If I hear of you inflicting your filthy self on Carly…”

 

“What are you planning to do, Professor?” he laughed. “Are you going to keep me after class?  Are you threatening me with an F on my report card? You seem to forget that I’m not one of your young scholars, Professor, and it’s going to take a bigger man than you to make me behave.”

 

“Step in a little closer,” I challenged, “and give me your best shot.  I’ll show you how this English teacher handles a classroom clown.”

 

“Not today, Professor,” he answered.  “You might take me in a fair fight, but the odds favor me when the fight is dirty.  If we exchange blows, it will be on my terms.”

 

“You are a disgusting little coward.”

 

“You are right,” he scoffed.  “I am a coward.  Maybe I’ll unleash my anger on Carly rather than you.  Would I strike a woman?  You may add chivalry to the long list of virtues I seem to lack.  Say, did she tell you about the time I punched her in the face?  That little crook in the bridge of her nose is my doing.”

 

Only once in my life have I ever wanted to kill another human, and this was the time.  A white-hot hatred welled deep in my heart.  I wanted to squash him as I would have squashed a verminous little cockroach.  Fixing my gaze on his mocking countenance, I strongly considered lunging toward him when, suddenly, I realized his taunts were not to just to make me angry, but to make me act.  After a long pause, I finally asked, “What do you want?” 

 

“What do I want?” he asked. “World peace. And end to hunger. A ban on fossil fuel.”

 

Once again, I asked, “What do you want?”

 

“Maybe I should first ask what it is that you want,” he replied. “Would you like me to disappear from Carly’s life?  Would you prefer that I vanish?  With yours truly out of the picture, our little strawberry blonde cutie would be all yours.”

 

“How much do you want?” I asked.

 

“I’m into my bookie for a couple of hundred,” he said.  “I may be a lowlife who strikes women, but I pay my gambling debts.”

 

“What else?”

 

“I have a cousin living in Portland who has offered to cut me in on this sweet little financial opportunity, but I haven’t the funds to cover my fare.”

 

“Would $500 satisfy your bookie while meeting your traveling expenses?”

 

“Come on, Professor.  You reek with the prosperity of a Republican.  Since I’m a humble blue-collar who is into wealth redistribution and taxing the rich, let’s make it an even thousand. Do this and I’ll forever be a minor footnote in Carly’s life.”

 

“I consider a thousand to be an exorbitant sum for such a petty pilferer as yourself, but I would be willing to go as high as, say, $750.  Do we have a deal?”

 

With a careless shrugging of his shoulders, he said, “As long as I’m around, Carly will never have an easy moment, and, for that matter, as long as I stay close, your pretty little buggy faces the risks of more paint damage and slashed tires.  Aren’t those Michelins?  I am told they offer unparalleled traction on slippery roads—assuming they are inflated and unencumbered by punctures in the sidewalls, of course.”

 

Still hoping he might take a swing at me, I snarled, “For a wee little rat, you talk mighty big.”

 

“All my life, I’ve been called bad things, and after a while, a fellow grows accustomed to verbal insults.”  Looking me straight into the eye, he said, “I need one thousand dollars to vacate this burg, or I’ll hang around and continue making myself a recurring nuisance to all involved.”

 

Knowing he held a better hand, I had no choice but to fold. “For a thousand dollars, you’ll leave town once and for all?  Is this a promise?”

 

“This old town is no good for me.  This may surprise you, but I can’t go anywhere without the pig cops peeping over my shoulder.”

 

“For a thousand dollars, you’ll leave and never bother Carly again?”

 

“Fame and fortune await in Portland.”

 

“I don’t carry that much cash on me, but if you’ll meet me back here at noon, we’ll settle this matter.”

 

“Fork over the green salad of fiscal solvency, and by 1 PM, I’ll be making my way along the old Oregon Trail.”

 

As I drove to the halfway house, I debated whether to tell Carly about my run-in with her former boyfriend.  On one hand, he was likely an embarrassing chapter from her regrettable past—a past she would just as soon forget.  What bright, intelligent woman would want it known that she had once been romantically entangled with such a twisted little weasel of a man?  On the other hand, she might welcome the news that her lowlife nemesis had pledged to leave town never to return.

 

I spied Carly as she stood waiting for me at the curb in front of the halfway house. Wearing jeans and a casual summer top rather than her frumpy work uniform, it took me a moment to recognize her.  “I didn’t want you going inside and subjecting yourself to the taunts and the jeers of the residents. Some of these women don’t know how to behave around men and—oh, Woody—look at that scratch! What happened to your beautiful car?”

 

“Some punk keyed my car,” I answered. “I’ll telephone my insurance agent this afternoon.”  As we drove away, I asked, “How was your shift after I left the diner?”

 

Her face darkened. “Fine,” she answered in a voice that indicated otherwise. “Just another dreary night at the Silver Dollar Pancake House.”

 

Sensing she was troubled, I decided to bring up the matter of her former boyfriend. “Carly, did you have an unwanted visitor after I left the diner?”

 

Her face flushed crimson. After a protracted pause, she said, “Why would you ask such a question, Woody?”

 

“I asked because I had a visitor, too—a weaselly little lowlife of a brute who appears to derive great satisfaction from making you miserable.”

 

Carly burst into tears. “His name is Jake and he popped into the diner just a moment or so after you left.  I hadn’t seen Jake in two years and, Woody, I could have gladly gone two hundred more years without seeing him again.  Let me guess.  Jake took a screwdriver to your beautiful car, right?  Oh, God, I am so, so sorry about this.”

 

“Forget about the car,” I said.  “A car is nothing but stamped sheet metal and molded plastic. Are you afraid of this Jake?” Carly did not answer, so I continued, “I believe he is a threat to your well-being and now that I’ve tangled with him, I’m in his crosshairs, too, but I don’t want you worrying about him.”

 

“But I am worried,” she admitted. “You don’t know what Jake is capable of doing.”

 

“I think I do know what he’s capable of doing, but as I said, you are not to worry.”

 

“How’s that?” she asked while dabbing her moistened eyes with tissue.

 

“Like most thugs, Jake has his price.” I explained. “I’ve negotiated his disappearance for a thousand dollars.  Once he has the money, he has promised to leave for Portland.”

 

“But, Woody,” Carly protested, “I don’t have a thousand dollars.  I’m not even sure I could scrape together a measly fifty dollars. Between my fine and court costs along with rent at the halfway house, I’m, well, broke. What can I do? I don’t have a thousand to buy off Jake.”

 

“I do, and this Jake the Snake and I have scheduled our business transaction at noon.  I think he’ll split town for a thousand dollars.  Don’t you?”

 

Carly nodded her head. “I think so, too.  Woody, it may take me ten years to repay you, but you’ll get every penny back.  I promise.”

 

“Forget it,” I laughed. “I want this detestable little cockroach out of town almost as much as you.  If the people of Portland think they have it bad now, just wait until this one man crime wave shows up.”   

 

After a moment or so of silence, Carly gave me a faint smile. “Your Abbie married a good man.”

 

“Let’s grab breakfast. I’m hungry.”

 

After returning Carly to the halfway house, I withdrew a sufficient sum of cash to cover the payoff after which I promptly aimed my disfigured automobile for home.  Arriving just moments before the noon hour, there was Jake, nervously pacing back and forth, wearing a slightly agitated expression.  Near him rested two small suitcases. I considered the pair of suitcases a good omen. 

 

“You’ve kept me waiting,” he snapped.

 

“We agreed to meet at noon, and it is just now twelve.”

 

“If I don’t have the cash in my bookie’s hands by a quarter past, he’s threatened to break my kneecaps.  That’s him, watching us from across the street.”  Jake was not bluffing.  A bearded man with an intimidating physique looked on from across the way. “Do you have my money?”

 

“I do. Are you ready to leave town?”

 

Looking over his shoulder at the burly man, Jake said, “What do you think?  C’mon, Professor, let’s wrap up business so that I can get this gorilla off my back and blow this town for good.” 

 

Slowly and deliberately, I counted ten $100 bills. “Before handing you this stack of cash, I want you to promise me you’ll never bother Carly again. No visits. No phone calls. No text messages. No emails. Nothing. Nyet. Nada. Do we have an understanding?”

 

“Agreed. Whatever you say. Now hurry it up, man!”  Looking back at the granite-faced bookie, Jake anxiously said, “I’ve seen him maim more than one pony patsy who couldn’t pay the freight.  I value my continued good health more than the sexual gratification that comes from some little redheaded slut, so fork over the cash and the title deed to the girl is all yours.”

 

Greatly desiring to add to his distress, I threatened, “I’ve a good mind to walk away from this deal and let the bookie have a go at you.”

 

“Dammit, a deal is a deal,” he cried.

 

“Honor may not be among your virtues,” said I, “but I am committed to being a man of my word.  As you say, a deal is a deal.”

 

As Jake counted the cash, I produced two more $100 bills from my wallet. “What’s that?” he asked.

 

“A bonus.”

 

“A bonus?  For doing what?”

 

“Jake, if you will grant me the privilege of taking one swing at your uglier-than-sin face, I’ll repay the favor with these two bills.”  As he fixed his sight on the cash, I continued, “Muhammad Ali I am not.  In fact, I’ve never struck anyone in my life, but I’d gladly part with $200 for one quick jab to your ugly puss.  Think about it. $200 will buy a lot of beer and weed.  Do we have a deal?” 

 

With a smirk, Jake answered, “I’ll make you a better deal, Professor.”  Pulling a cheap flip phone from his rear pocket, he explained, “One night, I gave Carly a surprisingly potent little cocktail that greatly lowered her inhibitions.  Over the course of the evening, she willingly submitted to a variety of provocative and, may I add, compromising poses using an assortment of interesting and imaginative props—all of which are handily stored in the phone’s memory. I’ve strongly considered posting the entire photoshoot on social media, but I would be willing to sell the exclusive rights to you for, say, $200.  Do we have a deal?”

 

Jake accepted the money, and I took the phone.  As he walked away, I heard him say, “If you’re the fool I think you are, you’ll destroy the phone without ever eyeballing the pics.”

 

Excerpt from Chapter 3 The Grateful Damned

 

 

 

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