Action Packed (End)

Greasy Hair turned to us.  “You fellas should go get an up close look.  That boy won’t be botherin’ none of our women again.”

 Lenny said to me, “Let’s get out of here.”

 We drove in silence.  I’m not sure how long we were on the road before I noticed something tapping on my heel.  It was a gift from the Jimmies, a quarter-full bottle of bourbon.

 “Give that to me,” said Lenny.  He removed the cap and wiped the mouth with his sleeve.  He tipped back the bottle and swallowed a single gulp.  “To Moon.”

 “To Moon,” I answered.  I took the proffered bottle and a more generous swig than Lenny had allowed himself.  I stretched my arm out and poured the rest on the road’s dusty shoulder.  The brief stream of liquor broke into a thousand golden droplets.  I flicked the bottle away and it flashed in the sun before it disappeared in the tall grass.  “May we all rest in peace.”

Action Packed (18)

The sheriff sped by and hastily entered the little jailhouse.  A few seconds later, a deputy hurried to join him.  In spite of his speed, the dust of whatever country road he’d been patrolling covered his bumper.

 A contingent from the park marched across the square toward the jail.  A larger portion broke off to follow them with less apparent purpose, but boiling with energy.  The leaders went straight to the door and nearly walked into it when it resisted opening.  A few men were dispatched to bring a bench across from the little green patch in front of the courthouse.

 Lenny jumped.  I caught on a second later; nearly fell over sliding out of the booth.  We both threw money down on the table and ran to the door.  We stopped on the sidewalk, frozen with indecision.  Even under the striped awning, the air was so humid and warm I was dripping.

 I wish I could say there was a hero in my story.  There was no Atticus Finch to make a reasoned appeal to higher character.  No one spoke up at all and angry shouts prevailed.  There was no marshal with jangling spurs and six-guns to quell the unruly.  The sheriff and his deputies were locked in the closet of their own jail.  There were not singing cowboys to gallop into town and save the day.

 The crowd outside the jail parted and men began to pour out through the door.  They were greeted with cheers.  They led Moon out with his hands cuffed behind his back.  They already had a rope around his neck and pulled at it like a leash when he struggled.  Someone kicked Moon’s feet out from under him and he fell on the asphalt.  More hands took the rope as they dragged him across the street.  The onlookers at the park raised a cheer.  When they dragged Moon into the park, someone had already climbed into the oak to help pass the rope over one of its thick branches. 

 The hanging was not a quick execution.  They hoisted Moon up with the rope already around his neck until his feet dangled about the level of the heads of the crowd.  He kicked and twisted, but each time he flung out a foot, it moved with less speed, it sought the ground with less hope and desperation.  We watched until his body quit swinging.

 The crowd dissolved slowly.  Groups of three or four men would break off and drift away.

 Greasy Hair passed us again, this time with a couple of friends.  He told them, “S’about time we put some n****rs in their place.”

 “I think that boy shit his pants.”

 “They’ll all shit themselves when we put them down.”

Action Packed (17)

The waitress returned to the kitchen.  I could hear girlish giggles.  Young faces occasionally peered out from the opening between that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

 Normally I’d be glad to flirt with fans.  That day I looked out the window and watched dusty men pass by, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in huddles of five or six.  A couple of old trucks passed with high sides of wooden slat, like one might have hauled swine to the market, but these were full of ragged men who clasped their hats on their heads with sun-darkened hands.

 Another waitress brought out our food.  She wore a similar outfit with the addition of a thin gold band around her left ring finger.  She was pretty, but older than the girl was, and clearly not impressed with us.  Maybe she was the girl’s mother.  She came back and topped off our coffee cups, then lingered with a look of disgust on her face.  She wasn’t looking at me.

 “What’s going on over there?” Lenny asked.

 I turned toward the park and saw scores of men gathering in the shade of the oaks.  I didn’t look like a town picnic.

 “I don’t know,” answered the waitress.  “I haven’t seen such a tattered bunch since I was a little girl.”

 A loud knock on the window made us all jump.  A skinny man with greasy hair and a dirty shirt waved at the waitress.  She waved him away.

 “You know him?” I asked.

 “Yes.  If he’s in town, it’s for trouble.”

 We watch him jauntily stumble toward the park.  He stepped into the street without looking, though there was little danger of something hitting him.  I doubt Lenora ever bustled, but even on its quietest days you’d see housewives gathering their little needs, kids at play and industrious men taking care of their little businesses at the courthouse or the title company or on their way to the feed shop.  We didn’t see these people, just men like the one who left a sweaty handprint on the diner window, on foot and hanging from the sides of trucks and even a couple of horse-drawn wagons with peeling paint.

Lenny dug into his sandwich, but I kept my eye turned out on the town square and the dark cloud of men forming under the broad oaks.  A few men stood head and shoulders above the crowd having claimed buckets and boxes as makeshift daises.  They stood out because of their skinny ties and sports coats, too.  I couldn’t hear these gesticulating figures over the drone of the diner’s fans, but I could hear high-pitched yelps and a few wild howls.

Action Packed (16)

“Mostly. What does that have to do with anything?”

 “I’m just thinking like a prosecutor.  My son is sixteen and went to the dance.  He caught you’re song just as he was leaving.  He was singing it when he thought I couldn’t hear him.  He imagines he’ll be the next Elvis Presley.  Why aren’t you off to your next show?”

 Lenny answered, “We were going to take a few days off.  When we saw you’re deputy bringing in Moon, we thought we should talk to you, just in case.”

 “I’ll tell you something.  Those kids are always stirring up trouble among themselves and a few other gangs.  They’re in fights all the time and never report it.  They have no use for us cops.  Anyway, I brought Moon in mostly to keep him safe while I checked things out.  You’ve made it a lot easier for me to let him go.”

 I felt relief wash over me.  My imagination cast forward to the warm, salty water of the Gulf of Mexico.

 “I’m going to type up some statements,” said May, “which you’ll sign.  Then I’m going to have a chat with the prosecutor.  Can you stay in town for the afternoon, in case he wants to talk to you?”

 “Yes,” we answered in unison.

 “Good.  He may not want to bother, but it will make things easier if you can wait a while.  I can spend a day cooling tempers and scowling at troublemakers.  Once the dust has settled, I’ll let Moon go.”  The sheriff typed the statements himself.  He took over Deputy Pete’s desk and typed with all his fingers.  He didn’t even look at his hands.  He quickly loaded and unloaded the sandwiches of paper, carbons and onionskins from the roll.  “Sign here.  Pete, call over to the courthouse.  Tell Jim I’m coming over.”

 Lenny and I crossed the street to the Lenora Corner Restaurant.  It was situated on the town square so the whole town seemed to be within view from its large plate-glass windows.  The Greek-revival courthouse, block sheriff’s office, the sprawling city park with its long-armed oaks, allegedly grown from acorns brought from Mount Vernon, the little city hall and a string of shops all fit in the panorama framed by of the windows.  Both sides of the building were shaded by white and green striped awnings.  The place was silent except for the drone of fans and the jingle of a bell on the door.

 “Can I help you?”  A girl of about 16 years came to our booth by the window and put two glasses of ice water on the table.  She wore a powder blue skirt and blouse and wore her hair pinned back in little bun.  She looked flushed for the heat.

 Lenny ordered coffee, a pulled pork sandwich, slaw and fried potatoes.  “You want anything?”  I shook my head.

Action Packed (15)

“Leonard Jones.”

 “John Kalogeropoulos.”  That is my real name.  You can see why I used a stage name.  I though of using Johnny Kay at first, but some suggested that sounded like Danny Kay, which was not the image I was going for.

May raised an eyebrow when he heard my name.  “What do you know about Johnson’s whereabouts last night?”

Lenny took the lead.  “We know he was working at The Hideaway last night.  After they closed, we gave him a ride home.”

“Why were you there long enough after they closed to do that?”

“We’re musicians.  We were on the bill.  We were just finishing up when he was.”

“Did anything else happen?”  May looked at us and we looked at him for a few seconds.  “Johnson has been accused of lewd behavior toward a young lady and beating up her suitor.”

I saw fire flash in Lenny’s eyes.  He said, “There were some kids there who were harassing Moon—Johnson.  That’s why we gave him a lift.  We didn’t want any trouble.  Besides, does Johnson look like he’s been in a fight?”

“No.  When I got the report, the accuser didn’t look like he had been in fight either except for a little scrape on his hand.  My kid gets scraped up worse playing baseball.  But under his shirt, he was bruised up something fierce.  Someone worked him over.  Someone who know what he was doing.”

I felt like I was about to go back on the stage.  The eggs, biscuit and gravy started unpleasantly experimenting with ways to escape my stomach.  I told myself, “The show is already started.  It’s time to rock, man.”

Lenny continued.  “We can assure you that Johnson didn’t lay a hand on anyone.  We drove him away.  If one of those kids got themselves beat up, it was by someone else.”

“So do you promote promiscuity and adultery?”

“What?”  I asked.

“Did you sing a song called ‘Jailbait’ at The Hideaway last night?”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“And you’re musicians.  You play rock and roll music.”

Action Packed (14)

“Yes.”  I answered.

 She shook her head.  “It might have been better if you let him get beat up.”

 “He might have been killed by those kids.”

 “He might be killed now.”

 Lenny interrupted, “Did they say why he was arrested?”

 “On suspicion of assault and battery and—and more.  He may be a fool sometimes, but not that kind of fool.”

 I was stung by her tone.  “I’m sorry we caused you trouble.”

 “The world is full of trouble.”  She carried her vegetables into the little clapboard house as if she had said goodbye.

 We drove back to Lenora.  The sheriff’s office and jail was in a little building on the courthouse square.  A star-shaped sign by the door bore the name of the sheriff, Phillips Henry May.

 The office was one room, with a third of it separated from the rest by a banister.  In the larger part sat a desk with a telephone, a radio and a deputy.  A few filing cabinets, a map of the county and a ceiling fan completed the furnishings on that side of the room.  Behind the rails was the sheriff’s private office with a desk, a telephone, a bookshelf and Phillips Henry May himself.  On the back wall were two doors; one was steel, with a barred window of reinforced glass.

 The deputy was on the phone, but Sheriff May greeted us.  He was a little shorter than me, but very broad shoulder.  His hair was blond, cut short, and hardly showed the gray.  His teeth gleamed in his tan face.  “How can I help you?”

 “We understand you’ve arrested a man called Moon,” answered Lenny.

 “We have Montgomery Andrew Johnson in custody.  How does that concern you?”

 “We may know something about his whereabouts last night.”

 This elicited an audible snort from the deputy, who was hanging up the phone.  I didn’t turn, but tried to meet May’s unwavering, blue gaze.  He said, “Come in and have a seat.  Pete, bring over a couple of chairs.”

 When we were situated around the desk, Sheriff May continued.  “What are your names?”

Action Packed (13)

“Yeah, Kid, and someday you won’t need a sitter.”

 “Are you going to make the beds, too?”

 “No, but I’ll leave you to find your own way to Florida if you don’t hurry up and get ready.”

 I needed no more motivation.  I could almost smell the salt.

 We waited for a little string of traffic to pass before pulling away from the Sleep Inn Hotel.  The last bead on the string had a sheriff’s star on the side.  A bareheaded deputy drove, his short hair barely moved by the air.  A drowsy young Negro rode in the back with his arms behind him.

 Lenny didn’t pull out.  He drummed his fingers on the wheel.  “Was that Moon?”

 I thought for a second.  “It looked a little like him.  Do you think he got in a little trouble with the weed?”

 “Let’s find out.”

 Lenny drove us out to the intersection where we had dropped off Moon the night before.  In the daylight, we could see a little house through the trees.  We drove on a quarter-mile and found a narrow lane that led back to it.

 It looked abandoned at first.  We heard someone before we saw anyone.  A girl sat in the shade of a porch that stretched across the front of the house.  She was crying, sitting motionless in a rocker.

 “Hello,” said Lenny.  He spoke softly, just loud enough to be heard through the girl’s moans.  “We’re here to see Moon.  Are you his sister?”

 The girl jumped up and ran into the house.  She slammed the door behind her.

 “That is Moon’s wife.”  A high, rough voice called from behind us.  I almost jumped out of my skin.

 We turned to see little woman who was almost ink black; her face was both old and ageless.  She wore a threadbare, gray dress.  Her hands carried a half bushel of greens and tomatoes.  “What do you want?”

 “We thought we saw Moon being taken off by the police.  We wanted to see if he was okay?”

 “You saw right.  He is not okay.”  He regarded us coldly.  She took us in with our wagon with the white letters on the side.  “Are you the ones that helped him?”

Action Packed (12)

The crowd parted in front of her as she crossed the room.  The band fell silent.  They called her the Dame and treated her like a queen.

 Her voice was low, an alto, even deeper.  She began to sing blues I’d never heard before.  Her voice was clear and smooth, too beautiful for the melancholy that it carried.  The trio that accompanied her played with energy, sweetness and sophistication.  A little shower blew in with a cool breeze, seemingly conjured by her voice.

 I lost track of time.  I could have stayed their all night soaking in the music, with the cool, little gusts comforting me.

 The Dame finished her set.  She left with the same royal dignity and aloofness.

 The band began to play a more rocking blues.  They were joined by a saxophone and a rhythm guitar, though they received not additional floor space to accommodate the extra pieces.

 The change in the wind accompanied the change in tone.  Instead of getting cool air from our window, a hotter, more diffuse stirring crept toward us from across the room.  There was something in the air.

 I’m not sure who looked more disgusted, Lenny or Ezekiel.  Lenny was tolerant of moderate drink, but he held marijuana in very low regard.  He never touched it, even though reefer was commonly available among the musicians we knew, and he threatened to kick my ass if he ever caught me using it.  The events at The Hideaway gave me a new perspective on that threat.

 Ezekiel’s displeasure seemed to be that Moon was in the little circle that passed around a couple of short papers.  He had moved from celebrating life to forgetting his troubles.

 “I think it’s about time for us to go,” said Lenny.  We expressed our thanks to our host.

 “Enjoy the beach,” he told us.

 The little travel clock awoke me with its buzzing about an hour before checkout time.  Lenny was already up, shaved and dressed.  He had a newspaper and two paper cups brimming with coffee.  The coffee was still steaming.  In spite sweating in the heat, which the Westinghouse oscillating fan in our room did little to alleviate, I took a couple of sips.

 Lenny pointed to a plate on the nightstand.  It held two eggs, sunny side up the way heaven intended, a large biscuit and a little bowl of gravy that was just beginning to congeal.  He had eaten without me.

 “Len, you’re going to be a great wife someday.”

Action Packed (11)

“You should write for the movies,” I said.

 “Or the comic books,” added Lenny.

 “You shouldn’t laugh off something this serious,” scolded Ezekiel.  “There could still be trouble.”

 “Those punks were cruising for a fight.”  I felt protective of the man who had given me some credit for his salvation.  “They’re probably out sticking knives in each other right now.”

 Moon grabbed his chin with his right hand and struck a mock philosophical pose.  “I saw the fragility of life tonight.  I think I’m in a good position to celebrate it.”

 Some more radio waves passed between the young and older man.  The tension between them lessened.  Ezekiel said, “What did your momma think?  And Tabby?”

 “Those hens fussed over their chick for a while.  Hens need their sleep, though, and they settled into their nests.  I was in no mood for sleeping.  Besides, the Dame is supposed to be here tonight.”  Moon took the opportunity slip away from us toward a writhing segment of the throng that had managed to find room to dance.

 “So much for lying low,” said Lenny.

 “He’s young, Mr. Jones,” answered Ezekiel.  “He still has snap in his elastic.  Once I was even as young as Mr. Kid.”

 “Kid may look like he just crawled out of his crib, but he is a full twenty and one years old.  He is forever young.  He doesn’t age.”

 I scowled.  In half a minute, the music and smiles of my companions cured me of it.

 When the Dame arrived, every head turned.  I never saw her before or since, but she was clearly a celebrity in Lorena.  She was light skinned, like the guitarist, and had a similar Latin look.  She walked in like royalty, chin up, eyes straight ahead, her head crowned with a high, twisting bouffant.  Her eyes were almond-shaped and dark chocolate, her lips full.  She wore a white, short-sleeved blouse with a banded collar and a black, chalk striped skirt that was tight through the hips in just the right way.  All her curves seemed to receive a squeeze from her clothes, as if to make men jealous.  She was exotic and beautiful and it was as obvious to her as to everyone else.

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They were good.  The guitarist wasn’t as good a Lenny, but the others were better than the Jimmies.

 

Moon greeted people at the door.  He had taken off his sweaty, grease-stained work clothes and changed into a pair of Glen plaid pants and a white shirt with black and gray pinstripes.  I couldn’t see his shoes, but I imagined they gleamed like his scrubbed face and brilliantined hair.  His costume resembled the dress of the clean-cut portions of my audience that evening, but with more flash.  He saw us, no doubt rumpled overheated by comparison, watching him from our station at the window.  He seemed a little surprised, but not as surprised as we were.  Ezekiel’s teeth disappeared from view, and the crooked, stained and disarmingly charming visage gave way to veiled tension.

 

Electrical signals flashed across the room between our host and our recent passenger.  Moon came toward as if called.  He walked with the uncertain bravado of a boy coming to the principal’s office.

 

“Thank you,” he said, “for helping me earlier.  I didn’t think you’d still come after that.”

 

“We’re about to start a little vacation,”  Lenny explained.  “I can’t think of a better way to start that to let someone entertain me for a while.”

 

I had been upset that Lenny had made plans for after the show.  That was starting to slip away as I perked up under the influence of a cold, sweet drink and the rhythmic and somehow upbeat blues that fill the house.  I was infected with the happy energy of the crowd.  I pictured gulls hovering overhead as I watch pretty girls splash in the waves.  This was a good way to start a vacation.

 

“I didn’t think you’d come here,” Ezekiel said from a deep, gravely part his larynx, “after that.”

 

Moon straightened his thin frame, easily stretching taller than we were, set his jaw and squinted for an instant.  Just as quickly, he relaxed and smiled as if he had just told a self-deprecating joke.  He waved his hand in front of his face.  “My life flashed before my eyes.  I was surrounded by desperados.  They’d beat a man for few pesos; they’d kill a man for a few dollars.  I’d be feeding the buzzards in the lonely desert.  Suddenly two singing cowboys rode into the gang, throwing themselves off their galloping horses and into the fray.  They threw punches into the stomachs and faces of the confused highwaymen, sending them scurrying away to disappear in kicked-up clouds of dust.”

 

We stared at him for what felt like a full minute.  My mouth hung open the whole time.  I was flattered to be presented as more than a bystander.  Lenny seemed indifferent to sharing the glory in the tale.  Ezekiel crossed his arms and grimaced.  “At least that’s the way I remember,” finished Moon.  “It was better than a Gene Autry movie.”