(As the real author of the Dewey Lynne stories, I am glad to tell you that I am happy to be back writing instead of "selling." I'm sorry I interrupted the stories with the info about the old books. It was just such a strange thing that Amazon did putting them on sale. --MT)
Chapter 3: Bad Choices
Honestly, I cannot tell you which came first--Handsome Kevin or plain ol’ Stainy. Handsome Kevin is a character in a song called Welcome to the Boomtown by a couple of cats named David & David. The song came out in 1986. Handsome Kevin, the lyrics say, “got a little off track/He took a year off from college/ and he never went back/Now, he smokes too much/He’s got a permanent hack/Deals dope out of Denny’s/Keeps a table in the back.” No matter who was first, Stainy was not handsome, and he never spent a minute in college. However, he certainly was off track, he chain-smoked and hacked through every breath he took, and he, most importantly for this tale, did deal dope out of Denny’s from a table in the back. I thought you might be curious about why I never went to Stainy’s house more than three or four times in a near twenty-year partnership. Now, you know. We took care of our business at Denny’s. I wanted to keep it a surprise in the last chapter, but there it is. What do you think about them apples?
Anyway, Denny’s was a good place to do the kind of business that Stainy’ did because everyone was in and got out quick. To make money, Stainy had to serve a constant stream of customers, so if folks sat with him too long, they were cutting into his profits, and he wasn’t gonna stand for that. The Denny’s people didn’t seem to mind Stainy’s business. I never knew the owners’ reasons, but I figure they turned a blind eye to the drug dealing because Stainy’s customers kept cars in the parking lot, so it looked like the restaurant was always busy, which tends to draw more folks in. Nothing draws a crowd like a crowd. I liked meeting with Stainy at Denny’s because I didn’t have to be around him and his annoying laugh for more than a minute or two nor did I have to walk past his dog shit smelling yard and into his house of freaking weirdness. It was a good deal for everyone involved, and we all seemed to be of the same mind that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and, like I already said, it kept Stainy and me in a solid partnership for around twenty years although toward the end I hardly ever went to Denny’s for the planning meetings or to the actual operations. No sense in me sticking my neck out unnecessarily when I get paid anyway.
Anyhow, it was either winter of late 1986 or early 1987 when Stainy got word to me through the usual channels that he had a two-man shotgun job if I wanted to do it, and I could decide how to split the money with whoever it was I got to be my second. A “shotgun job” meant that my partner and I rode along with a guy, the “trade-man,” who would do all the talking and handling of the product or money. The shotgun team was to keep our mouths shut, look tough and act mean, so that nobody gave the trade-man any shit, and, if it came down to it, we were to protect Stainy’s trade-man and his “assets” by any means within our power. In those early days when I was on the job, I wore a blue trench coat that I had picked up at an Army/Navy surplus store that still had some officer insignia on the left sleeve. The trench coat easily covered the two-pistol shoulder holster that I liked to wear back then. The holster was for show. I never pulled both pistols at one time. Of course, it was all just a big show anyway. The trench coat also had pockets for things that I didn’t want people to see like a little chrome-plated Blackwidow .22 revolver, an expensive Gerber 06 switchblade, and some latex gloves for when I didn’t want to leave fingerprints on things. You would be surprised how often I put gloves on when I never even touched any of the product. I also had a sheathe sown into my right cowboy boot where I kept a Rambo-type knife. Whether you ever use it or not, flashing such a knife makes people think you are not some sap to be messed with. Of course, I just told you I kept it in my boot where nobody saw it. Oh, well? Whatcha gonna do? My buddies all agreed that it was a bad, tough-looking knife. Yes, sir, on a shotgun job, I was armed pretty well from head-to-toe, and for the most part, being armed and acting prepared to use those arms was the whole job. Oh! And I could make anywhere between $500 and $2000 for a few hours of my time. That was the pay scale when I first started in the 1980’s. By the 90’s, I had a better, more efficient protection racket, and I could set the price a lot higher. Before I backed out of the business, I didn’t talk for less than twenty-five grand. Well, hardly ever. I might help a friend out.
Anyway, Stainy got word to me to come by Denny’s, and he’d give me the details that I needed about a job, and, believe you me, he never gave a smidgen more detail than what I absolutely had to know. On this particular run, I made a small mistake that ended up being a whopper. Joey Bob Mitchum had been persistently bugging me about what I did on these shotgun jobs, and when I fessed up and told him, he wanted to be in on the action too. I decided on the spur of the moment that this was the easy job on which he could be my second and learn a little something about what I did. It was all my choice to ask him in on this job, but I still don’t feel responsible for what happened to him. Anyhow, so I asked Joey Bob if was available such and such time, and he said sure, but he wanted to meet with Stainy for all the details when I did. Now, Stainy preferred always to meet with only one person and, on this type of business that one person was me, but I was still young, dumb, and inexperienced enough to imagine that it would be okay to bring Joey Bob along since we were all Stone Countyians and former Yellow Jackets, right? Well, while it didn’t bust up the deal like I thought it was gonna do, taking Joey Bob to meet Stainy set the tone for an entire series of events that was one misfortunate happening after another. From the moment we met with Stainy, everything about this job was out of kilter, and I should have seen it and backed out, but I didn’t. Whatcha gonna do?
So, Joey Bob and I walk in the front door of Denny’s on a Thursday morning around 8:30. A sign says “Wait to be seated,” but I lead us back to Stainy’s table without waiting for anybody to walk us back. I see Stainy’s ordinary face and the thick, shoulder-length hair of a guy who is sitting in the booth opposite of him. I cannot see anything of the feller but his hair and the top of his shoulders. There is a deal going down, no doubt, and as Joey Bob and I get closer, the hairy, faceless man slides out without turning my way and goes into the bathroom, which is in the corner of the building behind Stainy’s booth. I never see him come out. Stainy notices me and gets half a grin on his face, but that half-smile turns into a look of consternation when he recognizes Joey Bob. Nobody says anything as I slide into booth on the slick, red vinyl and scooch over against the wall. Joey Bob slides in behind me and reaches a hand over toward Stainy like he’s introducing himself. Stainy looks at the hand like it has horseshit on it and turns to me.
“What the hell you bring him for?”
“He’s gonna be my second?”
“That don’t mean he comes here.”
“Sorry, Stainy. It won’t happen again.”
It never did happen again, but it was happening this time. As Stainy and I are talking, a waitress walks by. Her red and black name tag says “Kimberly.” She’s the only waitress ever wanders by Stainy’s table, and she is not gonna stop because she knows better than to pause without Stainy’s direction, but Joey Bob sticks out a hand to signal her.
“I’d like some coffee, please, when you get a minute.”
Kimberly doesn’t even acknowledge Joey Bob. She looks quizzically at Stainy.
“No, Kim, he’ll not be havin’ any coffee. Just go on.”
Under the table, I knock my right knee hard against Joey Bob’s leg, and when he looks up at me, I give him the serious “shut-your-effing-mouth” look. Stainy reaches into the breast pocket of a green Army jacket he’s wearing, pulls out a key, and slides it across the table to me. I palm it in my left hand and hold it on the table. Stainy mechanically commences with instructions, and he only ever looks at me like Joey Bob is invisible or something.
“This key is to an S10 that’ll be parked at such-and-such an address at 10:30 Friday night. The stuff’ll already be in the back in duffle bags or trash bags. Don’t go up to the house even if people are there. You also shouldn’t need to check the what’s in the bags if they are there…”
“What’s in the bags?” Joey Bob blurts in.
“Muzzle this gawd-damned dog, Bugler, or I’m gonna do it for you.”
Stainy never does take his eyes off me and continues as before.
“As I said, you have no need to look in the bags if they are in the truck. If no bags are in the truck, bring the key back to me Saturday morning by 8:00. I’ll be here. But the bags will be there, so then you will drive to the Furniture Factory warehouse around behind the building where the loading docks are. Be there by eleven o’clock shift change. The dock foreman on second shift is a guy goes by Eddie the Snake. He’ll be looking for ya. Just back up to the dock. He’ll be the trade-man on this one, and he needs to be the one behind the wheel. You hear me? He’ll drive you to where you’re goin’, and he’ll let you know what you need to know while you’re on the way there.”
“Who…” Joey Bob starts to say, but I raise my hand up off the table and put a finger in front of his face before he gets a second word out, and he slumps down between the table and the seat like a slapped dog.
“Ke! Ke! Ke! Ke!” Stainy laughs annoyingly.
I push Joey Bob with my body as I slide out of the booth, forcing him to turn and stand up and, with my hand on his back, I head him toward the door as soon as I get up. I don’t “goodbye” Stainy, and he doesn’t acknowledge me, but a shadow of a person who had been sitting at a table nearby slides into the booth before Joey Bob and I take three steps. It was odd. Stainy usually slips me a roll of five or ten hundred dollar bills as I get up from the table, but he didn’t this time, probably because I had done something that I wasn’t supposed to do. Maybe, he was punishing me for stepping out of line. Anyway, that’s the second thing that told me I should of backed out of this job. I reckon Stainy was hinting that, because of my choice of partner, this job would be done pro bono. Yeah, well, ain’t nothing in this world free.
When we get outside and into my ’73 GMC truck, I put the key in the ignition, but I don’t I turn it. I lean back in the seat, put my head against the headrest, and take a deep breath a trying to calm down. I am fuming at the way that Joey Bob embarrassed me by speaking.
“What the hell, Joey Bob. You just about blew an easy job for us.”
“I can’t believe you don’t care what’s in the bags your haulin?”
“No, I don’t care. I don’t give a damn. It’s always gonna be something illegal and something worth a lot of money, or they wouldn’t hire people like me to guard it.”
“Well, don’t it worry you none that you don’t know who you’re dealin’ with on the other end?”
“Again, no, I don’t worry, or actually, I always worry. In this line of business, I deal with bad people, terrible people. I just have to be badder than they are. I have to believe that I am anyway. But that doesn’t make any difference. Asking Stainy questions is not gonna change a thing about what it is or who you are dealin’ with. You don’t talk at Stainy’s table unless you’re asked a question. You got that.”
“You coulda told me ahead of time.”
“Would’na done no good, you dumbass.”
Now, I know that some of you are thinking if Joey Bob’s so all-fired ignorant why did I want him to be my partner in this endeavor. The answer is pretty easy. Joey Bob Mitchum was 175 pounds of muscle on a 5’ 4” frame. His shoulders were as wide as an axe handle, and each of his thighs was as big as my waist. His shoulders and biceps weren’t sculpted like a body builder’s, but they were strong. He was short and broad. His body was shaped like a square, and so was his head, come to think of it. Despite what his mental shortcomings might have been, he was solid as a rock. If you put him somewhere and told him to stay, he stayed and would not be budged from that spot. He was a year behind me in school, but we always played sports together, at least baseball and football, so I knew a lot about this character trait in him. He was our catcher in summer league ball, and when he had the ball blocking the plate, he could not be moved. Baserunners would lower their shoulders and hit him to knock the ball loose, but it was like they slammed into a concrete wall. He never dropped the ball, and he never budged out off of home plate. On our high school football team, Coach would put him on the defensive line and tell him to hold his position, just hold, no slants, no push, no rush and, when he’d squat with his knuckles on the ground, the whole other team couldn’t push him out of the hole. Now, he never played a down on offense in a game because he wasn’t smart enough to figure out who he was supposed to block, but he played damned good defense. In a football brawl or a bar fight, if you could get your back against Joey Bob, you knew that nothing was gonna come at you from that way, and the two of us had been in more than a handful of pretty good scuffles together. I could trust him. As long as I was in control of where he was gonna be, he would always be there. I didn’t have to worry. When, he made his own choices…well…um…he did not chose well.
Anyhow, you know this tale is about events that went wrong, and things could not have gone worse for Joey Bob in this here adventure. I reckon that I should have noticed what has become increasingly clear to me through the years since it all went down. Joey Bob wanted to work his way into the middleman position. That’s why he was so eager to get hooked up with Stainy in the first place. His obsession with the hard drugs that the painters and electricians had wasn’t that he wanted the drugs so that he could use them. He wanted to sell them. He wanted to supply construction sites with cocaine, meth, LSD, and whatever else the poor workers might want. He wanted to know who to contact and what you said when you did contact the right person. He wanted to know how much different substances were worth in money and in barter one for the other. I don’t know how I missed that notion of his, but I did. I guess that I had my own concerns being a fledgling in the protection racket myself. Anyway, I think that his desire to learn about the drug trade is what killed him. Since I wasn’t in the room, I don’t know that, but I suspect that it was. Now, I don’t think I could have changed anything. Once Joey Bob was set on something, he couldn’t be moved. Why try?
Looks like I’m about out of time and space for this chapter. I’ve got us to the night before my arrest. Next, I will tell y’all about the all night drive to Cairo, Illinois, and what happened before Eddie the Snake, Joey Bob, and I ended up in a jackpot. You won’t want to miss it, I don’t imagine.
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