Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to the Editor of The Serena Daily Banner:

A young man bolted from the crowd at the Founders Day Parade this past Saturday in an attempt to throw himself in front of his own automobile, which, incidentally, had been seized and was being driven by the same Police Officer, who recently attained glory on these pages for his arrest of an alleged child molester from Toledo. He was promptly subdued by his own friends and no arrest resulted. The entire scene was captured by News-Chopper Seven and the footage was played and replayed all weekend, portraying the young man as Public Enemy Number One and rousing community support for more seizures of vehicles which have allegedly been used in the commission of a crime. Talk about a slow news day!

The Fourth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States reads as follows:
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

The automobile in question and the manner in which it is frequently displayed around town as a so-called deterrent, is an affront to every citizen of this city. The sign in the windshield implies that it was seized as a tool of the drug trade. As most of us know through the grape vine, that was not the case.

To the young man in question: Running out in front of the car was a foolish act that certainly could never have resulted in the return of your automobile. The way I see it, the statute of limitations on a lawsuit for the return of your automobile, more commonly referred to in the legal profession as a replevin action, has not run out. My advice to you - get a good lawyer and sue the bastards!

Sincerely,

Harry Kresge

***

There was a knock on Kresge's door. He got up from the computer where he had been working on a story and pulled back the curtain on the front window. There was a young man at the door. He was holding a newspaper. It was Snake's brother. Harry thought a moment about whether he should open the door. Finally he decided to do it.

"Are you Mr. Kresge?" Frankie asked.

"The same."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I'm Harry Kresge. What can I do for you?"

"I read your letter in the paper about my situation."

"You're kidding. They finally published one of my letters? Holy Christ!"

Frankie smiled. "I wanted to know if you could help me."

"Sorry, I'm not licensed to practice in this state."

"I thought maybe you could give me some advice."

"My advice to you is to get a lawyer from Dayton. Someone from outside of Serena who's not connected with the local politicians."

"I tried that. They all want money up front. No one will take this on a contingent fee arrangement."

"Why doesn't that surprise me..? You mind if I look at that?" Harry pointed to the newspaper.

"Come in. Sit down."

As Harry scanned his own letter to the editor, Frankie continued to talk. "I was thinking I might sue them myself. Whatcha call it, pro se? I thought you might help me as a matter of principle. I hear you ain't got no use for Orel Paige, yourself."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"My old lady..."

Harry blushed. "I don't think I mentioned anything about that to her."

"Word travels around here. She's been asking around about you, since you let her in here that time and called 911."

"Oh, you know about that..."

"Don't matter. I probably would have done the same."

"Sounds like your pretty rough on her."

"I suppose so. I been tryin'."

"Your brother ever say anything about me?"

Frankie smiled. "He says you're an asshole."

"Well, fuck him!" Harry's face was red, then redder. "He's the asshole."

"I know, I know. But he ain't had it so easy, living with my mom and all. I think he likes to make noise just to draw attention to himself. He's been largely ignored all his life."

"I tell you what. Don't hit your wife, don't abuse her in any way, including verbally, and get your brother to keep that fucking stereo down, and I'll do all the paper work for you in your name and tell you exactly what to do with it. We got a deal?"

"Hell, I've been thinking about moving my brother in with me, anyway, now that my house is repaired. As for my wife, after she moved in with her mother, I promised her things would be different. She's back and I've been doing a lot better. Deal!"

"I'll need copies of all the papers you have, papers from the cops, papers from the court and the papers for the car."

"I have them back at the house. I've got to go to work, now, but I'll have Audrey drop them, later."

"Fine. I'll be here."

"One other thing..." The smile suddenly faded from Frankie's face as it occurred to him.

"What's that?"

"No funny stuff with my old lady."

***

The layout editor stood at attention in front of Gar Findlay's desk. Gar was waiving a copy of the current edition in his hand and practically pirouetting as he pace behind his chair.

"I swear, Mr. Findlay, it wasn't there when I laid it out. There was a different letter in that column, something about an incident that happened when the Girl Scouts were camping out over to the fairgrounds. Some guy came outta the woods and exposed himself. I'm sure of it."

"Well then, who the hell could have replaced it with this? This wacko's been writing me letters ever since he moved to town and I've shit-canned every one of them." He looked down at the waste basket labelled "Letters To The Editor". It was empty.

"The only one who could have done it is the linotype operator."

"Louie? Louie never even reads what he's typing."

"Louie didn't come in yesterday. He had the flu."

"Louie didn't work? How the hell did we get the paper out on time?"

"House did it. He did everything, wheeled the skids over, cleaned up the place and got the paper out, too."

"You tryin' to tell me that Marvin Payne replaced that Girl Scout letter with a rant from that Kresge nut?"

"I'm not saying that. All's I'm saying is that he put the paper out. Done the whole thing himself."

"Well..." Gar closed his eyes and put the fingertips of both hands to his temples as if he were trying to conjure up the image of House of Pain doing all that work and making editorial substitutions, as well.

"You got a headache Mr. Findlay? I got some aspirins in my desk."

"No, I don't, thanks." He was mellowing. "Listen, don't say anything about this to anyone. We'll let it go for now. Just try to keep any eye on things, will ya?"

"Sure thing."

"One other thing. Is Louie in today?"

"No, he's not."

As the layout editor was leaving, Gar's intercom came on. "It's the Chief of Police," his secretary announced.

"Tell him I'll get back to him! You haven't seen that letter from the Girl Scout Leader, have you?"

Silence from the intercom.

"You know, the letter to the editor we were going to publish yesterday..."

"Oh, that one... No, I haven't."

Gar took the fire stairs to the linotype room. There was a fresh skid of lead ingots next to Louie's machine and a second one right next to it. House was at the far end of the room sweeping.

"How ya doin', House?" Gar had snuck up on him, unnoticed.

House looked up from his sweeping. "Hi, Mr. Findlay. I'm doin' just fine, thank you."

"We keepin' you busy enough up here?"

"Oh yes, sir. Been mighty busy, what with Louie out and all."

"Yes, I hear you did a terrific job for us, yesterday. I didn't know you knew how to work the linotype, just yet. You picked it up pretty fast."

"Thank you, sir."

"We're going to have to give you a raise. We can't have you doing linotype operator's work for janitor's wages."

"Thank you, sir. I can't wait to tell Mamma."

"Just one thing, though..."

"Sir?"

"I don't want you editorializing. You get what I mean?"

At first House looked confused, then a look of cognition crossed his face. "Yes, sir."

"You've got to work as a reporter, before you can be an editor, right? The way you're going, you'll have my job, before I know it."

"Reporter? Yes, sir. Thank you." House put his hand in his trousers pocket to reassure himself that the piece of paper was still there.