Lucy

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“So did you know that there never really was a Brontosaurus?” Dave asked as he blew an immaculate smoke ring and watched it drift across the parlor.

“I think I read it in a book somewhere,” replied Jim through the haze.

“Yeah, it was really an Apatosaurus.”

“But I remember that they looked different.”

“No, no, it’s the same,” Dave said, then explicated, “Well…what they did was they put the head on a different skeleton.”

“So it had the wrong head.”

“Right. So they called that a Brontosaurus, then they found out that, ‘Gee! It’s the wrong skull on this thing.’ And then they took it off and put the other one back on, and said, ‘Okay, it’s an Apatosaurus now.’”

“Well, why didn’t they just keep the same head?” Jim inquired, half out of interest, half out of humoring Dave on the point.

“Because…it had a different skull.” Dave replied, slightly offended that Jim hadn’t caught on yet, “If they buried you with a different head on you, would you still want to be called ‘Jim’?”

“Well, uh, no. But…”

“Exactly.” Dave concluded as he laid back in the couch, surrounded by an absurd amount of smoke.

“I’m cashed,” I said as I yawned, “throw me some vanilla or something.”

Jim tossed the tobacco across the room, creating a trailing wake of smoke that hadn’t dissipated yet. “Well if my penis wasn’t circumcised, I’d still call it…”

“Shut the hell up. You can’t say that here,” Dave laughed incredulously.

“You two torture me,” I said, lifting my head up out of a Cigar Aficionado.

Ring.

Charlie entered in through the front door at a hurried pace. The front of this establishment was a tobacco shop, and there was a smoking parlor in the back where we lounged. Charlie trotted past us only muttering, “I gotta take a piss,” and made his way to the back, disappeared down the storage corridor.

“He can’t go back there!” the middle-aged woman at the counter exclaimed tensely, “Catch him before he goes too far.”

“Okay, I’ll go get him,” I responded bewildered by her sudden anxiety. Her eyes were bulging out of her sockets as if Charlie had dropped a jar of anthrax all over the parlor.

Charlie emerged from the hallway, “Is there a public restroom here?”

“No. No public restroom,” she responded tersely.

“Oh. Sorry about that,” Charlie turned to me, and I could see the confusion in his face.

“Are any of you going to buy anything?” the woman asked impatiently.

“Ah! Yes,” I jumped up and walked over to the counter, while the rest of them gathered their various effects, “Here.”

“Is that it?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Okay, one $.99 tamper and one pack of free matches.”

“Here,” I produced a couple wrinkled dollar bills, “Hard currency,” I said grinning and winking at her.

She raised her eyebrows, obviously annoyed. The cash register rang, and she dug out some coins “…and ninety-five cents is your change, Big Spender.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” The four of us left the tobacco shop and tripped across the street to the gas station, so Charlie could drain the proverbial one-eyed snake.

Charlie emerged from the gas station where the rest of us were leaned up against the wall smoking in silence. “That was weird,” he said.

“Yeah, you took long enough,” Jim acquiesced.

“No, not that, you mince,” Charlie replied, “Don’t you think that woman was awfully concerned about me going back there in that corridor?”

“Yeah, I did notice that,” I answered, “Seemed like she had something to hide.”

“Something like drugs?” Dave asked.

“Drugs, stolen merchandise, guns for the Michigan Militia – it could be anything, I suppose,” replied Charlie, “I think it’s probably drugs, though. I was talking to the Axis the other day, and he said a tobacco shop would make a perfect front for a head shop. They probably keep their gear in some back room there, and that’s why the lady at the counter freaked out.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I said, “I mean, why else would she be so concerned? It’s not like we were going to steal something.”

“Heh, yeah, this is cool. It’s not every day you find out one of Midland’s dirty little secrets. You know, they never card you in that place either,” Charlie added.

“Ooooh, dirty!” Jim exclaimed.

Well, later on that afternoon, it occurred to me that the reason this woman had gotten so excited about Charlie’s trespassing was because there were apartments above the shop. That corridor presumably led back to a stairwell, which led to the apartments. That explained the problem in my eyes. But Charlie was unconvinced. So we drove over to the shop late that night to investigate.

“I dunno, dude,” Charlie said, “I’ve looked up there before. It’s always totally dark, and the blinds are closed. Still seems like a shady place to me.”

“Oh come on, this is Midland. Of course it’s kosher.”

“Yeah, kosher as Christmas. What are you doing?” Charlie inquired when I produced a tennis ball and ball glove.

“Well, I’m just going to toss this up there at the window until somebody comes out,” I responded.

“I see. You should be careful. If there really are a lot of drugs up there, you’re done,” he warned.

“Ehn, relax.” I started throwing the ball against the window. It bounced off with a wham, and landed back down in my glove. I repeated this procedure a couple more times.

“I guess there’s nobody up there,” Charlie said rather resigned at this early juncture in our investigation.

“Maybe. I kinda like doing this, though. It’s good practice for fielding.”

“You play baseball now?”

“No, not really,” I signed, “I can’t run fast enough. I’m in horrible shape.”

“Yeah you are. I’m surprised Ashleigh still puts up with your flabby mass.”

“Pft. Look. Just because my manly figure has fallen into oblivion, doesn’t make her want to up and leave me. She has scruples. Yes, I know this. I guess she likes me for my personality, though.”

“Ehn…they either like you for your looks or for you cash. Or both, if you’re blessed. That’s been my experience,” Charlie put in.

I chucked the ball up again, “O ye of little faith. I am the sultan of sweetness. I was the one who put the ‘gentle’ in gentleman.” I threw the ball again.

SMACK!

“What was that?! That wasn’t a window.” A loud shout and groan emanated from the window. Lo and behold, the window had opened, and someone had stuck their head out to see what was going on only to be cracked by a tennis ball for their pains.

“Oh my! Oh dear God, my eye is out!” came the voice from inside. It sounded like an old woman. The moaning and crying out continued, and Charlie and I frantically tried to figure out what to do.

“Are you okay?” I shouted up to her.

“What the hell do ya think, ya goddamn kid! You put my eye out!”

“Eye out? Can you do that with a tennis ball?” Charlie asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know!” I said flustered, “I guess if it’s thrown with enough pressure…oh shit!” I shouted up to the window, “Look! Do you need to go to the ER? We can drive you.” The moaning just continued. “Hey! We’re coming up.”

“Okay,” she managed, as she was now sobbing, “I’ll unlock the door.”

Charlie and I ran around to the back of the building, up the stairs. Two doors. Crap. Which one? We turned the knob on the first, opened the door, and three cats ran out.

“Yeah. This is it,” I said. We entered and saw the old woman sitting in a rocking chair, bleeding all over the shag carpet and holding a wet cloth over her eye.

“Hey. God, I’m so, so sorry! Here. Let me look at it.” She complied and I pulled the cloth away to see a swollen, bloody mess. Thankfully, I perceived her eye to still be in the socket. On her forehead above, however, there was a gash, which was bleeding all over the place. The blow must have toppled her over. At least her eye remained, but the cut needed some attention.

“Here, let me help you up,” Charlie and I got on either side of her and lifted her out of the rocking chair. The place smelled of cat defecation and generic, unscented lotion. The only thing I could think of at that moment was, “Gee. Unscented lotion really isn’t unscented at all. It stinks like ass.”

We walked her across the room to the door, and Charlie asked her name.

“Lucy,” she replied.

“Okay, Lucy, we’re going to see that you get taken care of,” he said as we staggered down the stairs. She seemed almost in a daze at this point, and she leaned her whole weigh on the two of us. She wasn’t much to look at, and I reckoned her at under a hundred pounds. But man! She sure weighed a ton. That, or I really was more out of shape than I thought.

At any rate, we managed to get her into the car, with Charlie in the back and myself driving, breaking land-speed records trying to keep the blood that was spilled on my father’s car at a minimum. We arrived at the ER, helped her in and resided in the waiting room while she was getting stitched up.

Charlie snickered.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re pretty rich, you know that?”

“What, because I smoked an old lady with a tennis ball?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe you did that.”

“Well, I didn’t see her!” I exclaimed defensively, “Besides, you were the one who wanted to know if there was some kind of a drug hideout there.”

“There are other ways around that. You don’t have to play baseball,” Charlie pressed, obviously greatly amused with the entire situation.

“Yeah, well go find them, and get back with me, alright? Stop crushin’ my grapes.”

“Alright, alright. Man,” Charlie laugher died into a sigh, “It’s funny that we didn’t see her, though.”

“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I guess it could have been worse, eh?”

“Yeah. I guess.” Silence ensued for the next twenty minutes, and then Lucy came out in a wheelchair.

“Hey. That was quick. How are you doing, ma’am?” I asked.

“Oh, all right. The doctors have me pretty hopped up on morphine for the time being, so I reckon I’ll be fine,” she replied calmly.

“God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please, forgive me,” I petitioned.

“Well, at first I thought you were some o’ them urban youths – you know, hoodlums – but you seem to be a nice couple of boys. Besides, you helped me in my time of need.”

“We were the cause of your time of need. I’m surprised you trusted us,” I said.

“Well, what else was I going to do? Drive to the hospital with my eye out!” she laughed.

I chuckled, “Yeah, well, I’m just glad to see you’re okay. Can I cut you a check to cover the bill?”

“Oh no, I don’t take checks.”

“Okay,” I replied, bewildered at the idiosyncrasies of the elderly, “I don’t have any cash, and I feel like I need to repay you.”

“Well, you’re out of luck, bub!” she exclaimed half-seriously. I felt a bit distraught at this point, and she, being perceptive of that, suggested an idea.

“I know. I clean houses. It’s my own little business that keeps me and my cats fed. All I ask is that you hire me for the next year or so. I could use the work,” she said.

“I guess that’d be cool,” I replied, “I’m sure my place could use a little work.” So it was settled. Lucy was to work for me for the next year.

Getting to know Lucy over that time was one of the strangest experiences I had ever had. I suppose one could term it “rewarding,” but that sounds like what you’d call a situation like this in some sit-com on ABC. It was just weird. I would come home after work to her cleaning, and she would be upstairs talking! To whom, I had no clue, but she would we chattering on. The phone didn’t stretch to the upstairs, so it wasn’t that. So I plodded upstairs and entered the bathroom.

“Ketch, you know what I mean? It just makes me so sad,” she said.

“Yeah…uh…yeah, definitely,” I answered, my mind devoid of what she could possibly be referring to. I walked back down the stairs, and she kept on talking.

“Strange woman,” I muttered to myself. She was indeed strange. Not only did she talk to herself presumably for hours on end. She also was utterly paranoid that the IRS was going to repossess her home if they found out that she hadn’t been paying taxes. That was why she didn’t accept the check. By some fluke, the IRS didn’t consider her to be alive. So she received no social security. But according to her, she made more money on the side not getting taxed than she would have drawn from social security. Of course, that begged the question of why she didn’t pay taxes on the money and receive social security. I chose not to dwell too much on that inconsistency. Anyway, I felt guilty letting her prattle on so much without an audience, so I went upstairs again.

“My husband,” she said, “was an alcoholic until the day he died.”

“Man, that’s too bad,” I responded empathetically.

“Yes, it was bad. He would have diarrhea all the time. It would be all over the kitchen, the hall, the bedroom, the basement, the porch, the dining room…”

“Yeah! That’s real…bad,” I interrupted, fighting the urge to wretch.

“And it’d be all over the sofa, the furniture, the carpet. See these arms? They look pretty thin, I know. But they got strong wipin’ up his mess all the time!”

“Yeah, er…I see that. I’m going to make some coffee, do you want some?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Got any whiskey?” she asked.

“Um, no. Just coffee and water.”

“Damn, I could use some whiskey. Talkin’ to you is boring as hell, and I’d rather be drunk! It’d make the conversation more interesting. You never say anything or tell me about yourself,” she exclaimed.

“Lucy, I was at work. Were you talking the whole time?” I inquired, trying not to sound patronizing, but realizing how bad it really was.

“Oh,” she replied, embarrassed.

“Hey look, what do you take in your coffee?” I asked, pursuing the least delicate conversation I could conceive of.

“What’s that?” she asked, seemingly in a bit of a funk, staring off in the distance shocked at the revelation that she had been alone all afternoon.

“Your coffee? How do you take it?”

“Oh, black’s fine.”

“Great, I’ll be back up in a few minutes.” As I was preparing the coffee, she continued speaking. Only this time, she spoke louder so I could hear her on the first floor.

“Well, this weekend should be pretty good for the ol’ cash flow. Got this new job, and on Saturday morning, the church is havin’ a bazaar. I sell sock monkeys and can make a hundred dollar thare pretty quick.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool,” I said.

“Well, I figure knittin’ sock monkeys and cleanin’ toilets ain’t the most prestigious line of work, but it sure beats the hell outta doin’ nothin’ an’ playin’ bingo with the women from the church. All they do is gossip this and gossip that. I ain’t gonna look down my nose at ‘em, but it’s a sorry existence, if you ask me. Ha! Yeah, that’s what I want written on my tomb! ‘Played bingo and gossiped with her friends.’ At least I’m keepin’ active.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I said as I walked over to the stairwell, a cup of coffee in either hand.

“Catch!” she yelled.

“What?” I looked up and SMACK! A baseball hit me in the eye.

That’s all she wrote.