Is it okay for a grown man cry over the death of a chicken?

I'm hoping it's too early to be writing Rocky's obituary, but things are not looking good for the Grande Dame of Chicken Land. Yesterday, she was balled up on the floor of Unit A when I opened up. And she stayed that way most of the day. I actually considered bringing her inside the house, but I figured Mona would pitch a fit. Last night Mona said she would be okay with that. But this morning Rocky looked a bit better. Somehow, she had made her way up onto the roost (about 2 feet off the floor) and stayed there when I opened up this morning. I locked her in and am counting on the sunshine to keep her warm.

In a touching scene, yesterday, three of her friends came back into the coop after having been let out, and spent the rest of the day keeping watch over her. While they can be moody and especially viscious when maintaining their position in the pecking order, they can also be remakably empathetic. I have seen them mourn the loss of one of the flock on more than one occasion.

Mona says that when she was a kid growing up in Malaysia, they used to disolve an aspirin in water and give it to a sick chicken. I don't know... We are due for some warm weather. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Addendum: I tried the aspirin in water, but she didn't even open her eyes when I tried to give it to her. She wouldn't take any. Her comb feels dry and cold. I don't think she is going to make it through the day. I have brought her in the house. She is so limp, I thought she died while I was carrying her across the yard. The warmth seems to have had an immediate effect. She is breathing more steadily.

Post mortem: Rocky passed at 9:10 this evening after rallying valiantly during the day. She had a seizure while I was trying to get her to take some water. We will bury her tomorrow under the bamboo in a peaceful corner of the yard.

Building inspectors approve construction of new residence

Kalson's senior project is coming along nicely. This jealous bunch, who will continue to live in the older and shabbier Unit A, have chased the Unit B residents out so they can have a look around.

Harry's simple turkey recipe

(Based on Thanksgiving 2008)

12 lb. Turkey at 325 degs. for 3.5 hours

Wash turkey, clean cavity with salt. Stuff cavity with apples and onions. Add a cup of water to bottom of roasting pan. Use a pan that will keep the turkey raised.

Baste with mixture of melted butter, basil, and white wine, then cover turkey with aluminum foil for first 2 hours. Brown for last 1 ½ hours.

Baste every 20 mins. Use fresh mixture for first hour, then baste with drippings from pan. Add water if needed.

Basting Mixture: Melt ¼ lb of butter and add dried basil flakes and a couple dashes of dry white wine.

Substitute freely. Adjust cooking times for size of turkey approximately 20 min. per lb.

The rest:
Dice giblets, brown in butter and add to two jars of Heinz turkey gravy.
Stove Top Turkey Dressing (follow directions on box)
Instant mashed potatoes (ditto)
Wrap sweet potatoes in aluminum foil and place on rack with turkey for last 1 ½ hours.
Get someone else to make the green beans.

The Ohio Vote

If this truck could talk...

I spotted this antique tow truck parked on Short Street next to Deaton's and whipped out my camera. With that, the owner came out the side door, scowled at me, got in and drove off almost before I could get a shot of it.

I did not get a closeup look at it and have not been able to identify its make on the Web. I'd guess it is mid-late 30's vintage. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Obviously, it has not been restored, but looks like it is still in working condition. I'll bet it has pulled a lot of people out of tough spots over the years.

I wish I'd had time to get it from some different angles.

Backyard Whimsey

I still like 35mm.

The Horsey Set

Messages from Chicken Land

Somebody gets on somebody's nerves -
somebody gets pecked.
The squawk reaches the house.
You learn to tell them apart,
the ouch from the warning
that the hawk
is hanging around again
or the announcement,
“I have just laid an egg.”
And then there's the Anvil Chorus,
a joint effort so disturbing
I am moved to go out there
to that patch of earth
they have laid bare
and silence them
for their own good.
They usually comply
for a small bribe.

As with all my pets
I wonder,
who has trained whom.

What train is this, anyway?

Harry Kresge had started to rise as the subway train was pulling into the Canal Street station, when he was jerked sharply back into his seat by the belt on his greasy trench coat. He was trapped. The buckle had become lodged between the edge of the seat and the chrome handrail. As he struggled frantically to free himself, his mind was racing; what train was he on; what was the next stop? When he finally remembered that he was on the number six and that City Hall was up next, he relaxed a bit. He could walk from City Hall. He was able to dislodge the buckle, but only after the doors had closed.

Harry looked sheepishly around the car to see if any of the dozen-or-so other passengers had been watching this little bit of morning rush hour slap-stick. They all seemed to be looking off in different directions. Now he was sure they had. An uncharacteristic anger started to build within him. He muttered several curse words, almost audible to the other riders, slammed his briefcase around a bit as he made his way from the very front of the first car to the rear door in time for the City Hall stop. He would now have to walk several extra blocks, including the entire length of the train, to get to his office.

Kresge decided that this must be some kind of omen. It either meant that he was embarking on what would be a very bad day, or that he was being taken out of his way so that some unbelievably good luck would befall him. He decided to look for signs along his detour. He mustn't miss the signs.

Before he had descended into the subway in Queens, it seemed as if the day had been photographed in technicolor. Now, as he climbed the stairs to the street in Manhattan, he noticed that the sky was an abstract of threatening clouds, all sketched in charcoal. Was this a sign? If it was, then his first inclination, that this would be a bad day, was surely the correct one.

As he started up Lafayette Street past the Federal Building, Harry noticed that they were erecting some kind of sculpture in the park across the street, in front of the famous courthouse where they had filmed Somebody Up There Likes Me and numerous other movies. There was a crane lifting a big piece into place. A man, the sculptor, perhaps, was waiving his arms, directing the movement like an orchestra conductor. "What can this mean?" Harry wondered. Surely he had been routed past this scene for a reason.

***
Kresge was settling in behind his desk when the phone rang. It was a woman who claimed to be an old client. Harry didn't recognize her right away. After a few questions, he remembered that many years before he had gotten her son off on a gun charge in the Bronx. It was a dead case, but the jury had acquitted him anyway. They didn't like the cops. They never like the cops in the Bronx.

The son was a huge good-natured man, whom Harry had trusted enough to let the case go to trial with him still owing him a grand in attorney's fees. When the jury rendered its verdict, the man turned and hugged Harry and told him, "Don't worry about your money, I'll give it to you as soon as I get my tax refund." That was twenty years ago. About nineteen years ago, Kresge tired of chasing his money and wrote it off. Maybe this was payoff time. Maybe that's what all this omen stuff was about. Harry reminded the woman that her son still owed him the money.

She replied, "Oh Shawn...? He don't pay none of his bills. Why, he been in jail a few times since you was his lawyer. He even done four years in state prison. I ain't calling about him, I'm calling about my grandson. He just got arrested for drugs and then a parole violation was dropped on him. You think you can help me?"

"Come down to my office with five hundred cash as soon as you can," Harry told her, hopefully.

"Okay. How about tomorrow? You open on Saturday?" she asked.

"Tell me what time you're coming, I'll be here," Harry responded. He had two bucks in his pocket. He had been wondering how he was going to get through the weekend. He set it up for 1:30 the next afternoon. It was all set. He was giving her directions.

"You know what..., I'm changing my mind," she said. "The weekend is just too much for me. I'll come down to your office on Monday, after work."

There was nothing he could do. He had to maintain some pretense of dignity. "Okay, Monday, 4:00 p.m. Tell Shawn to give me a call! Maybe he'd like to get that old debt off his mind," Harry suggested without any real hope.

***
Kresge was alone in the office. The rent was two months past due. Nothing would settle. His clients were dropping like flies or else they were in the wind. Even a wisp of a promise of money ended up getting postponed.

He started working on a will for a client who was in the hospital with cancer. He wasn't expected to make it through the weekend. Harry had been trying to settle the guy's car accident case, had actually gotten pretty close, when he got this bad news late the night before. If he died, the case would be worth a lot less and it would end up mired down in the Surrogate Court even after it was finally settled.

The phone rang. It was Donald, calling in on Harry's 800 number from Bellevue. "Harry, did you ever call that guy I asked you to call?" came the manic voice.

"No, I didn't. In fact, I've never called anyone you've ever asked me to call. Haven't you noticed?"

"Hmmm... I guess you're right. Why's that, Harry?"

"I never call anyone. I never even call my clients."

"What about your friends? Don't you ever call your friends."

"I don't have any friends. Well, except for you... You're my only friend, and I can't call you at the bug house. You have to call me - on my 800 number."

Donald laughed, "Why don't you have any friends?"

"Because I never call anyone," he said. Then the obvious occurred to Harry. "I should give this number to more people."

Donald laughed again. "I better let you go, Harry. I'm running up your phone bill."

***
Harry put his feet up on his desk and began to dream. In the dream he had fallen asleep on the subway. He awoke to the sound of the subway doors opening. He was about to miss his stop. Startled awake, Harry jumped up. He wasn't sure where he was. The dream had seemed so real, he could almost feel the breeze from the doors slamming shut in his face.

(6/9/2000)

The Grande Dame of Chicken Land

This is Rocky, one of my two oldest girls. She is about four years old and still lays every other day.

Rocky may seem like an odd name for a chicken. It's short for Rocket Girl. She was the first in her run of six to learn how to fly - weeks before the others. She would fly in and out of the chicken run and sometimes just sit on top of the fence as the other chicks marveled at her accomplishment. She is a Barred Plymouth Rock, so the name also fits her in another way.

She is my favorite girl. I often carry her about under one arm and bring her out front or over to Bob and Virda Womacks' house to eat the bugs out of the garden. When I put her out in the front yard, people walking and driving by stop and tell me how beautiful she is. She is a classic Barred Rock and if I ever took her to a fair, I'm sure she'd win a prize.

Carrying her around is a job, though. She must weigh about ten pounds!


Here she is with her best friend Pee Wee. They are the same age. Pee Wee, a Rhode Island Red, got her name because she was the runt of the run. Look at her now - another classic beauty. Pee Wee lays the most beautiful light brown eggs.

Toronto

July, 2005

Getting the check

We don’t travel
like other folks.
We tour the world,
from one Chinatown
to the next.

Today, we’re upstairs
in a dim sum joint in Toronto,
eating the parts of animals
no one else will eat.
Trolleys rumble
in the street below.

The corner of Dundas and Spadina,
once the Glasgow of the New World,
is a Hong Kong so crowded,
sometimes you are forced to stop
and let life stream around you.

From the restaurant window,
I can see the world’s tallest
freestanding structure,
eighteen hundred fifteen feet
of poured concrete
rising above the squalor.

We ask for our check.
There is nothing left
on the table before us,
but empty plates
and piles of bones.

Remember this

April, 2007

On the closing of Antioch College

Snow is general
over the old campus.
It is a cruel dusk
to have come so soon.
Nothing glistens
on the frozen paths.
Save for what the deer have left,
there are no footprints
in the snow.
A soot-colored squirrel
climbs a dead tree.
An owl shudders
on its high perch
then falls back to sleep.
Ghostly voices drift
up from the glen,
past the darkened buildings,
and into the town.
Horace Mann walked here,
they whisper,
then fade
into silent awe.

Boxes

I kept an 18-year-old
from going to jail today.
The judge and DA couldn't understand
why I put up such a fight.

"It's only thirty days"
they told me. "He can do that
standing on his head."

But this was a good kid
who had never been in trouble
who had a lapse in judgment
and left the scene of an accident
but returned, within minutes.

"That's easy
for you to say,"
I told them.
"But things can happen
to you in jail, bad things
whether you are there for a year
or a day."

I prevailed.

In the lobby of my building
I held the elevator
for a man carrying
a heavy box.
He thanked me
then gave me the once over
him in flannel and jeans
me in suit and tie.

In Dreams

She was dressing for work.
I was laying there
watching, listening
to her early morning
bird song.

"I dreamed again
last night," she said.

"Another bad dream?"
I asked.

"No. You were in it
again. So many times
you've been in my dreams.
Do you dream about me?"

"Sometimes," I lied,
since I never dream.

"How do I look?"
she was curious.

"I can't remember,"
I lied some more.
"How do I look
in your dreams?"
I asked.

"Younger," she said.

Under construction

Pardon our dust!

Working hard to give the old place a new look...

New gossip blog

Local gossip, rumor and innuendo will now be found at:
A Yellow Springs Blog.

Ohio Secretary of State suing touch-screen voting machine manufacturer

Here is a follow-up to my article, "Electronic voting questioned," in the YS News last week. The link to my story is in the sidebar.

Read the article in the Columbus Dispatch.

Brownout

I flip on the bathroom light switch and am surprised by the weak orange glow from the three clear 40 watt globes above the mirror. The florescent light by the shower doesn't come on at all. I quickly turn them off again.

We had bad thunder bangers last night and again early this morning. We often lose our power here in Yellow Springs when that happens. But I have never had a situation where it appears that we have half-power or maybe less. I wonder if it is just my house or the whole town. I am worried about the appliances. I am sure that no power at all is better than just a little power.

I sniff the air for the smell of smoke. There is none. I call the police non-emergency number and the dispatcher answers. I recognize her voice. It is the tall auburn-haired, doe-eyed beauty I met yesterday, when I went there to do the police reports for the newspaper. Their computer was down then. So, I decided I would come back in the morning. Now this...

“The whole village is experiencing a brownout,” she says.

I go around the house unplugging most of the major appliances I think can be harmed by low voltage. Amy is up and boiling water on a portable gas burner. She is supposed to go to Miamisburg for a bank managers meeting, but she decides to stay in town to be sure there are no problems with the vault or the alarms at her branch. She leaves and I am at a loss for what to do next.

I hunt down an old transistor radio, put in a new battery and scan the airwaves for some news. Trees are down everywhere and there are scattered outages around the Miami Valley is the little news I can get. No mention of us. I can only pick up a few stations and now they are all playing music or talking about Jesus. I get 90% of my news from the Internet and the other 10% from television. I am at a loss. What would Jesus do?

There is no coffee. I can't even boil the instant decaf I found hidden away in a cabinet, because the gas cannister on the burner Amy was using has run out.

The power goes all the way out. I am relieved.

I have a vague notion that I should go to the police station. I have a noon deadline on the police report and time is wasting. I dress and drive through town. The usual characters are on the bench in front of Tom's Market. I yell at them, “Get a job!” They yell back.

“It's over on Snipe Road,” my friend Walter calls to me.

“That's Snypp,” another one corrects him. “They're working on it.”

Across the street, in front of the darkened Emporium a dozen people are standing around with paper coffee cups. They must have a gas stove, I think, making a mental note to stop there when I get done at the police station. I am blocking traffic. I move on.

The police station looks like a minor run on a bank. People have gone in person to inquire about how long they will be without power. Of course, no one can predict.

“Is there any chance I can work on the police reports?” I ask my new friend.

“The power is out,” she says.

I can see from the bright lights in the dispatch area behind the glass that they have generator power. I assume she means there is no power for the computer that I need to use. I have been dispatched. I am at a loss for what to do next.

I suppose I should go over to the newspaper, but first I stop at the Emporium. Walter is there.

“There's no hot coffee,” he says. “All they have is iced coffee and decaf. They have run out of hot coffee.”

“I think I'll make a run to Tim Horton's” I tell him. “Wanna come?”

Like the Springer Spaniel I had when I was a kid, he is always ready to go for a ride.

“Let me check to see if Amy wants coffee,” I say and head for the bank.

Walter plants himself back on the bench while I take orders from Amy and her employees. The list is substantial. On the way to Fairborn, I get a call on my cell phone. She wants me to stop at the Five Points branch and pick up some forms.

Back in town, I drop in at the paper. Diane is out of town and Lauren is in charge. The lights are out and the computers are down. She seems to be at a loss for what to do next.

“What's the latest I can get the police reports to you?” I ask.

“Four o'clock,” she says. “Does anyone know how long it's going to take to get the power back up?”

Dee brings her a breakfast burrito wrapped in foil. It's hot.

“Where'd you get that?” I ask.

“The Emporium,” she says. “They've got gas.”

“Hot coffee?”

“No, just cold.”

I take a sip from my Tim Horton's, satisfied that I made the right move. But now I am at a loss for what to do next. I decide to go home. The battery in my laptop is fully charged. Of course, the wireless is down, so I decide to write this.

And now for some solitaire.

(The YS News reported the next day that the brownout started at 6:30 am when lightening struck a power substation on Snypp Road. Full power was lost a couple hours later. Power was not restored until around 2:00 pm.)

A reading from Nothing Better To Do

Wherein I read all of Chapter One and parts of Chapter Two of the "largely unedited" Nothing Better To Do. These two chapters, however, have been worked over pretty good and probably contain some of the best writing in the novel.

And so the adventure begins: Harry is leaving New York for Ohio, meanwhile in Serena, Ohio, Phil Rowley and Marvin "House of Pain" Payne are headed for an epiphany at the Blue Moon Tavern.

If you don't like this stuff, no need to read any further...

Characters Around Town IX

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.

— Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 24-28)

Characters Around Town VIII

Nobody cares more about animals than my chicken rescuing buddy Nick.

Characters Around Town VII

"Manager of the Year"

Man shoots lawn mower

From the Associated Press via Yahoo! News:

Fri Jul 25, 3:59 PM ET

In this photo provided by the Milwaukee County Sheriff's department, Keith Walendowski is shown. Walendowski is accused of shooting his lawn mower because it wouldn't start. According to the criminal complaint, Walendowski said he was angry because his Lawn Boy wouldn't start Wednesday morning, July 23, 2008. He told police quote, 'I can do that, it's my lawn mower and my yard so I can shoot it if I want.' (AP Photo/Milwaukee County Sheriff's department via the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel)

I agree. You should be able to shoot your own lawn mower anytime you want. I have felt like doing it many times. Unfortunately, I didn't have the requisite weaponry.

Characters Around Town VI

What goes on on the patio behind Dino's anyway..? Eric came out from behind the counter to demonstrate. Look for an article soon in the YS News. It's Dino's tenth.

Characters Around Town V

Itinerant artists come and go. This guy has been around for a couple weeks. I love the bazaar atmosphere created by the sound of the steel drums. It wafts down Xenia Avenue like the pungent aroma of whacky tabacky escaping from an alley or a window above.

Characters Around Town IV

This kid was actually manning the Chamber of Commerce information booth at Street Fair one year. Keep Yellow Springs weird!

Characters Around Town III

Biz the clown of "Two Clowns Mowing" and star of the documentary American Savannah regales the throngs at Street Fair. What an odd fellow!

Characters Around Town II

You can find this guy (Walter) holding court on the "Havana bench" in front of Tom's Market just about anytime. Steer clear, or risk becoming the butt of his daily hijinks. Whatever you do, don't let yourself be seen talking to anyone on this bench of ill repute, lest you spoil your reputation for eternity. And for God's sake, don't sit down!

Characters around town I

JAFA Girls Nancy and Corrine of Knit Knot fame always brighten up my day. I just happened to be walking by when they asked me to take this photo with their camera. I said, sure, as long as you send me a copy. BTW, they confessed to reading this blog on occasion. Oh, Lord...

Sri Lanka, Queens

The brother-in-law knows the kid is nuts. Harry senses an ally as the man says nothing, listening, while Harry talks to the father and the uncle of the young man who was arrested for harassing a local Congressman and his staff. He smiles to himself every time they protest when Harry tells them something that is inherently true. They question everything Harry says, frequently asking the same question four or five times in subtle variation. Harry finds himself wondering if all Sri Lankans are like this. This is his first experience with them. They remind him of Indians, especially their accent.

Harry got called on this one late Thursday afternoon. He was supposed to have dinner with his ex-girlfriend's husband and their son-in-law at 6:45 at Peter Luger's in Brooklyn. He had driven to the office, instead of taking the train as he usually did, just so he could drive them to the restaurant and bring them home. The Sri Lankan kid had been arrested in Queens. Harry told the uncle that he would call them when he was through with dinner and would then make arrangements to meet them at the courthouse on his way home. They would have his money and Harry would file a Notice of Appearance and visit the detainee in Central Booking, which was in the basement of the courthouse. Things were working out swimmingly.

That night, Harry enjoyed the world's best steak with the husband of a woman who had been his long-time lover. Harry took no pleasure in dwelling on this little oddity. The husband had known about Harry and his wife, because it had turned up in an FBI investigation when he'd applied for top-secret clearance a number of years ago. The agent had come to him privately and revealed that he had tailed his wife and Harry all over Manhattan for a number of days. This was probably not much of a revelation, since she had stopped sleeping with him years before and she and Harry'd had a fairly indiscreet relationship for ten years. During that time, Harry had been a frequent visitor to their house in Florida. As far as the husband was concerned, Harry's only drawbacks were that he didn't play golf and he wouldn't join him in smoking one of the macanudos that Harry always brought as a house gift. They never discussed his wife.

After dinner, Harry dropped him and his new son-in-law in Manhattan and looked for a pay phone. He was running late. When he called the father's house, the man's wife informed him that her husband, brother-in-law and son-in-law had gotten nervous and gone to the courthouse to look for him. Harry could just picture the hand wringing and pacing of the three men, even though he had never seen them in person. He was annoyed by this blatant disregard of his instructions. It made no sense, because they didn't have a clue as to where to look for him when they got there. Harry jumped back in the car and headed over the Triborough Bridge.

He parked near the side entrance of the Queens County Criminal Court. It seemed remarkably deserted, even though night court should have been in session. He could see three small figures, back-lit by the lights from inside the glass doors. He knew it had to be them. They were wringing their hands and pacing, just as he had pictured. They spotted Harry and hurried over to him.

"Are you Mr. Kresge?"

Harry laughed. He had made up his mind not to let them drive him crazy.

It turned out that they were in the wrong place. They had moved night court to a newly constructed wing which was on the opposite side of the building. Harry quick-stepped around the front of the building, down Queens Boulevard with them strung out behind him like ducklings. When they got to the courtroom in the new wing, the Judge was on dinner break.

They wouldn't let all of the family through the airport style security system, because they had brought a meal with them in a brown paper bag. There is no food allowed in the courtrooms. The brother-in-law was elected to wait outside with the food. Harry was willing to bet that they had planned to ask him to pass dinner to their precious little terrorist, but it never came up. At some point, they must have lost their nerve, probably when they were confronted by the stiff security. Harry filed his Notice of Appearance with the lone court officer they had left to hold down the fort and got instructions on how to get to Central Booking, which had also been moved. It was around the back of the building.

In the hallway outside the courtroom, Harry asked the father for his retainer.

"What does this mean, retainer?"

Harry had to explain that this meant he wanted his money. He was handed five new hundreds. He counted them and stuffed them into his billfold. They formed up and marched duck-style to the rear entrance.

"Can we go to see him?"

"No you have to wait here. They only let attorney's inside"

"Oh, so we cannot see him?"

"That's right. You cannot see him, until they bring him to court."

"Oh, so they won't even let one of us see him, then?"

"That is correct."

"Oh, so not even his father can see him, eh?"

Harry remembered his promise not to let them drive him nuts. His resolve was chastened by the crisp bills in his wallet.

He went through the usual police rigmarole in order to gain entrance to the inner sanctum. When he finally found a cop he felt he could talk to, Harry asked him if he thought the kid was nuts.

"It's a strong possibility," the cop laughed. "He's refused to be finger-printed."

This was bad news. The young man had been arrested at twelve noon. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have expected him to come before the arraigning judge sometime the next morning. It was now 10:00 p.m. and he hadn't been printed yet. This would add an incalculable delay. Harry was going to have to talk some sense into this boy.

The friendly officer retrieved Harry's client from his cell and took the two of them to the interview pen, two small cells, separated by bullet proof glass with a couple dozen holes drilled through it so they could hear each other. He was a tiny, frail young man. He was shaking, but it didn't seem to be from the air conditioning or from fright. Harry had seen this before. From the expression on the young man's face, he could tell that it was silent paranoid rage that caused him to tremble so.

Harry introduced himself, then held a note against the glass for him to read. His uncle had written it in his native language, not because the boy didn't understand English, but as an extra measure of assurance that this had truly come from his family. The note introduced Harry as the attorney whom the family had hired to represent him. The uncle knew...

When the man had finished reading it, Harry stuffed it back into his shirt pocket. He lowered his guard a bit and told Harry his story in as much detail as Harry would allow. He complained about his treatment by various official authorities. Finally, he complained that his handcuffs were too tight. He was cuffed behind the back. His wrists were bruised and chaffed and there was a small blood stain on his white shirt.

From his point of view, he was the aggrieved party. He had been thrown out of one of the colleges of the City University for allegedly stalking a female professor who had given him a bad grade. The hearing at which his suspension had been handed down, had been a pure denial of due process. They would readmit him, only if he received psychiatric treatment. This, of course, was unacceptable. He took his grievance to the office of his local Congressman. He went there several times. Finally, they told him that they could not help him and would not give him an appointment with the Congressman himself. "He's not here, now!"

The young man's final words to the Congressman's staff were, "I know where he parks his car. I know what it looks like. You're lying, he's here."

They took that to be a veiled threat. They asked him to leave and eventually he did. The next day the police showed up at his sister's apartment, looking for him. They searched the place without a warrant. He wasn't there. When he found out, he was infuriated. He called the precinct to protest. They invited him down to talk to them. He told them to come to his house, where he had secretly set up audio and video recorders. When they got there and asked to be admitted, he demanded to see a warrant. They had none. They forced their way in and arrested him. They charged him with resisting arrest. He got it all on tape.

Harry explained to him that it would be best for him to consent to be finger printed. If he didn't he would remain in jail. He assured Harry that he would and asked Harry to ask the police to loosen his cuffs a bit. On the way out, Harry mentioned this request to the officers. They laughed at him.

Outside, the three Sri Lankan men were wringing their hands and pacing. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yes, I did."

"Oh, so you talked to him then?"

"Yes, I talked to him."

"Did you tell him that we are here?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you show him the note?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did he read it?"

They were distressed when Harry told them about the fingerprinting. They agreed to meet back there in the morning, but Harry knew that it was wishful thinking to believe that he would be arraigned before lunch. He got in his car and drove home. It was ten-thirty.

Harry returned the next morning and they drove him nuts all over again with the questions. They wanted to go over the story, again and again, almost acknowledging the paranoia that was so implicit in the young man's behavior.

Finally, Harry told them, "Look, whether he's crazy or not, it does not appear that he has committed a crime. Being a pain in the ass is not a crime!"

A light went on in the father's attic. "Yes, he is a pain in the ass! Can you tell that to the judge just that way?"

"You bet I can. And I will." Finally, they had reached a consensus. Suddenly, there was a calm. The hand ringing almost stopped; the pacing ended when Harry suggested that they all go into the courtroom and sit down and wait for the case to be called. Harry glanced at the brother-in-law. He was smiling down at the marble floor, so that the others could not see it.

Just before the lunch break, a court officer came up to Harry and told him they were about to call his case, but the results of the fingerprinting were not back from Albany yet. Harry would have to try to convince the judge to arraign his client without the prints. The case was called. When he made that application, the Judge asked the DA if he would consent to it, but he refused. The case would have to be called again after lunch when the prints came back.

Harry had to get back to his office to meet with some detectives from Buffalo, who had driven all the way to Manhattan to ask another client of his what he knew about a dead body that had been found in his apartment. Harry finished with them around a quarter-to-four and jumped on the subway back to Queens. He arrived in the courtroom just before closing time. They called his case and after a bench conference where Harry convinced the Judge that being a pain in the ass is not a crime, the young man was released without bail.

On their way out of the well of the courtroom, one of the court officers handed Harry an envelope. While they waited for the clerk of the court to prepare an order of protection for the Congressman and his staff, Harry's client removed his belt and shoe laces from the envelope and put them back on.

In front of the courthouse, the brother-in-law pulled up in his car and the father got in with him. "Where they going?" Harry asked the young man. When he learned that they were going to the town next to his, Harry bummed a ride.

"Is this guy a good driver?" Harry asked, joking with the kid who had just got out of jail.

"Oh, he is an expert driver," the father chimed in. "He's got a license!"

Feeling hosed by the high price of gasoline..?

Thanks to the Zucker Brothers!

Our exchange student has gone back to Thailand

Eiam at the Air Force Museum

Top ten things overheard in the Kresge household during Eiam's stay:

10. Cold cut? What's a cold cut?

9. Can I have the space-heater back?

8. Don't you have any whole-wheat bread? (first day)

7. Is there any meat?

6. This glass is almost broken! (cracked a glass while doing dishes)

5. Is there any dessert?

4. Kalson ate all the barbecue pork sandwiches!

3. I think I'd like another ice cream.

2. Kalson come quick! Something is very wrong. (toilet overflowing)

1. And the number one thing overheard in the Kresge household during Eiam's stay... Is there cheesecake?

A Mona's-eye view of Chicago

The Sears Tower from Chinatown

Everybody better have a good time!

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

House looked at his watch. It was 7:00 a.m. Orel Paige had worked a four to twelve the night before. The super cruiser was parked in his driveway. House had borrowed a Nikkon with a zoom lens from the newsroom and stationed himself across the street from Paige's old Victorian house. It was trash day. He had found a refrigerator box on his walk from his house to the Paige residence and brought it along with him. He cut a hole in the side, big enough to poke the lens through, and, now, he was stationed inside, keeping a watch in the house across the street.

The door opened and Sarah Johns came out, carrying her school books. She turned left at the end of the front walk and started down the sidewalk to the school bus stop three blocks away. House could see Paige in one of the large upstairs windows. He appeared to be watching the girl as she walked down the street. House barely fit inside the box. He had to be careful not to move it by squirming.

He had been there since before six. He'd needed the cover of darkness to set up his look-out post. After the girl left for school, traffic picked up on the street between his position and Paige's house. He worried that someone might notice the box and decide that they needed it for something, or maybe some kids would come along on their way to school and decide to play with it. Instead, a dog wandered down the street, sniffed at the box, then lifted his leg on it. Fortunately for House, it was a sturdy box and it didn't leak through, but it did begin to smell.

He dared another look at his watch. It was almost nine. His back ached and he was cold. He wished he could stomp his feet or rub his hands to get the blood circulating, but he couldn't risk it. He wondered how long it would be before the police arrived. Gar would wait until the morning edition was loaded on the trucks, before calling the Chief of Police. That would have been around seven. The Chief, no doubt, would have to review the evidence and make some arrangements before sending officers over to make the arrest. He might even go to court to get a search warrant. Court would open in a few minutes. The District Attorney would have to draw up some papers to convince the Judge to issue a warrant. He started to think he'd over done it, getting there so early. He figured it would be at least another hour. Now, his head started to ache.

A car came down the street and slowed in front of the Paige house. The driver threw something out the passenger-side window onto Paige's lawn and drove off. House used the camera lens to zoom in on it. It was the current edition of The Serena Daily Banner! This was something he and Gar hadn't considered. Even with the camera, House couldn't read the headline, but he knew what it said, "INTERNET STING COP STUNG." Afterall, he had written the lead article, detailing the exploits of Orel Paige right down to the time his game warden brother caught him jacking a deer. He prayed that Paige wouldn't retrieve the paper before the cops came.

A large black dog sauntered down the street. I hope that's not Godzilla, he thought. Much to his relief, as the dog got closer, he could tell it wasn't. The dog sniffed at the box. It must have smelled him inside, because it growled, then barked twice. It sniffed around again, until it got the the spot where the other dog had pissed on the box. It, too, lifted it's leg and let go. Satisfied, it wandered off.

House peeked out the hole to see if Paige had been alerted by the barking. Sure enough, he was at the same upstairs window, looking out. Then he disappeared and, a minute later, the front door opened and he came out in his bath robe and picked up the newspaper. He took it back into the house, without looking at it.

House hoped that he wouldn't read the paper right away, but ten minutes later, the door opened again and Paige emerged fully dressed, carrying an overnight bag. All House could do was take his picture. He got a shot of him leaving the house and another of him getting into the super cruiser. He heard the engine crank and roar to life and he took another shot as Paige started to back down the driveway.

Before he could back all the way out, there was a loud WHOOP as a police car hit its siren briefly and turned onto Paige's street, blocking it. Another patrol car pulled onto the street from the other end and blocked it. House clicked away as the officers got out, weapons drawn, and ordered Paige out of his car. They made him get down on the ground - click! They had him put his hands behind his head - click! Then they cuffed him behind the back - click! They walked him back to his front door - click!

House began to tear at the hole in the box. It was time for him to reveal himself. The tearing sound attracted the attention of the Police Officers who had arrested Orel Paige. As they turned to see what was going on, one of the officers pointed his gun in House's direction. Once he was out of the box, they ordered hin to put his hands behind his head. His camera dangled from the strap around his neck. "I have press credentials," he announced.

The officer who had aimed his gun in House's direction crossed the street to where he was.

"Keep your hands on your head. Where are they?"

"In my back pocket."

The officer patted the pocket then reached in for House's Serena Daily Banner employee I.D. card. "Phew..! What's that smell?"

House explained and asked if he could let his hands down. After the officer looked at his I.D., he told him he could. "Did you get some good shots of us?" He was smiling.

"I got the whole thing."

"Are you the guy who wrote the article in today's paper?"

"The same."

"Congratulations. I never liked that son-of-a-bitch. He climbed over my back on his way up. I'm glad someone finally brought him down."

"You guys got a search warrant?"

"The Chief will be over from Court with it in a few minutes."

"You think he'll let me come inside with you - take a few photos of any evidence you might find?"

"Offer to publish his picture, leading Paige out in cuffs, and he'll let you do anything you want."

***

Later in the day, the Chief went to back court with the District Attorney to publicly consent to the release of the Adderhodlts, without bond. The trial was adjourned for two weeks, a mere formality to allow the District Attorney enough time to further investigate the matter and draw up dismissal papers. The District Attorney also announced that a number of other matters, where Officer Paige was involved, were under review.

When the case of The State of Ohio vs. Harry Kresge came on the calendar, one week later, for a refusal hearing, the courtroom was jam-packed with members of the media and curious towns people. House was seated next to Harry in the first row which was reserved for police officers, attorneys and the press. Seated right behind him were Phil Rowley and Hank Pitts. House scanned the rest of the courtroom, spotting, among others, Morley Stevens, Cal Gardner, Freddie Edwards, Miss Hyacinth and George Sturges. He had noticed Miss Hyacinth's bicycle chained to the courthouse bike rack on his way in.

When the case was called, Harry stepped into the well of the courtroom and announced his appearance, "Harry Kresge, the defendant, pro se."

"Are you ready for a hearing, Mr. Kresge?" the judge asked.

"Ready, Your Honor." Harry looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock, the earliest he'd been in court in his life.

"Mr. District Attorney...?" The judge already knew the answer.

"The State of Ohio is not ready to proceed at this time, Your Honor. We are asking for an adjournment of two weeks.

"May I ask why you are not ready?"

"Your honor, our only witness, Police Officer Orel Paige, is incarcerated at this time and unavailable to testify."

"And why didn't you make arrangements to have the County Jail produce him in court today?"

"Well Your Honor, we expect that he will be invoking the Fifth Amendment. We need time to discuss that matter with his attorney. If he were to appear in court today, he would have the right to have his attorney present. From what we understand, his attorney would not be available today, in any event."

"Approach the bench with Mr. Kresge!" The judge, who had a reputation for sternness, leered down at Harry.

"Your Honor?"

"Here's your license back."

"We would object to that, Your Honor," the D.A. protested.

The judge turned his sights from Harry to the D.A. He ground his teeth as he spoke. "I'm not going to waste one more minute on a case which you have no way of proving. Even if you did manage to get that scum-bucket Paige to testify, I would rule that his testimony was incredible as a matter of law."

The judge handed the license to Harry, then grimaced. "Where the hell'd you get that suit? Is that how they dress for court in New York?"

"A few of the fellas and I are headed down to the track right after this, Your Honor." He turned and looked to where Phil, Hank and House were seated.

The judge nodded at them. "Enjoy your afternoon, gentlemen. And I hope I never see any of you in my courtroom again. Case dismissed!"

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Harry decided that, rather than go straight home, he'd be better off detouring by way of the Blue Moon. It wouldn't look good if a woman drove him home from the jail, especially a young attractive one, who had gone to the trouble of raising a thousand dollars cash bail, while her own husband was still in the county lock-up. He'd get a lift home from someone at the bar.

Audrey drove him there in the same blue car he had spotted behind the Snake pit, the day he first met her. Frankie's car, of course, was back in the custody of Orel Paige. It was the car he had used to chase Harry down the night before.

Harry knew she didn't have a thousand dollars of her own money. He speculated out loud that the bail must have come from contributions by the denizens of the Blue Moon.

"Actually, the money came from Gar Findlay." She explained.

"You're kidding."

"No. You're arrest finally satisfied him that Orel Paige really is dirty. Mr. Findlay had discussed your letters to the editor with the Police Chief. The Chief had convinced Findlay not to publish them, because he thought they would make him look foolish. When the Chief felt that there might be a backlash against his internet patrol, he cut it back to one officer and put Paige back in a police cruiser. When Paige protested, he showed him copies of your letters. Findlay realized that if Paige was getting back at you with this arrest, then he probably framed Frankie and Snake, too."

"How do you know all this?"

"When you were unable to attend, Phil Rowley asked me to go to the meeting at the newspaper yesterday afternoon. He said I could represent Frankie's interests."

"Who else was there?"

"This character they call the House of Pain. He had tapes and pictures and some articles of girl's clothing. I guess you know all about that. This Paige guy is filthier than I ever imagined. Gar asked me to keep it under my hat until they break it in tomorrow morning's paper. He's already called the Public Defender and Frankie and Snake's case has been advanced on the calendar for tomorrow for a bail application. They told me that they will probably get out, pending trial.

When I asked about you, Gar reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. I think he feels responsible for what happened to you. He said I should give you a message from him."

"What is it?"

"You're not a wacko, after all."

***

It was about ten o'clock when Morely Stevens pulled his truck into Harry's driveway to drop him off. The house was dark, but Harry noticed someone peeking through the curtains in the window of Billy's room. Harry hadn't called to tell them that he was out of jail, but he knew that Billy would be looking for him anyway. He could never sleep without Harry in the house. The light came on in the living room and the front door was opened before Harry was halfway up the front walk.

"Harry!" The boy wrapped himself around one of Harry's legs.

"Hi, guy. Miss me?"

"How come Mom didn't know you were coming home?"

"If she had bailed me out, she would have known. That's how it works, squirt."

"Who did bail you out?"

"Some of my friends took up a collection." Harry figured it was simpler to lie than go through a long explanation. "Want something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Okay, make me some oatmeal."

Harry knew the kid must have missed him a lot. Billy hated oatmeal. Whenever Harry made it for him, it was a struggle to get him to finish it. "How about Spam and eggs? We got any left over grits?"

The boy opened the refrigerator and started pulling out the eggs and the bowl with the grits. "If you were in charge, would you eat grits all the time?"

"Who says I'm not in charge?"

"Let's face it, Harry, Mom kicks your butt all the time."

"Is that right? Who was it that wanted to follow me down here when I left home?"

"It doesn't make any difference, she still kicks your butt all the time."

"Yeah, and she's really gonna kick your butt for getting drunk and getting arrested!" Amy wiped the sleep out of her eyes and came over to where Harry was seated at the kitchen table eating his eggs. She must have been awakened by the conversation in the kitchen. She hugged Harry around the neck, letting his stubble scratch against her cheek.

"Okay kids. Go to bed. It's time for Harry to face the music." He put the dishes in the sink and turned out the kitchen light.

The TV was on in the bedroom, but the lights were out. Jenny was snoring. She was curled up on his side of the bed with her head on his pillow. Harry knew she must have missed him. She always complained that his pillow smelled funny. "You smell like cheese," she would tell him. He knew he didn't. It was just another pressure tactic. She was always trying to get him to watch his diet, complaining that he ate too much cheese. As far as Harry was concerned, the Chinese just didn't understand cheese. The kids liked it, though. And that was another sore point.

Jenny stirred as Harry started to take off his pants. "Who bailed you out?"

"The boys." He figured he might as well be consistent.

"I figured they would. It took them this long to get up the money? Com'ere, I want to smell your breath."

Harry was safe. The food he had just consumed covered the smell of the beer he'd had earlier.

"You smell like Spam. Did the kids wake up when you came in?"

"Yeah."

"The little guy's been watching for you all day. They both missed you."

"Why didn't you bail me out?"

"You needed a lesson."

"You were going to let me stay a second night?"

"Maybe..."

Harry finished undressing and started to slip under the covers.

"Oh, no. You dirty thing..."

"Okay, I'll take a shower. I was just tired, is all..."

"You really are a dirty old man, Harry. I bet if I weren't around, you'd never shave and you'd probably bathe about once a week."

In fact, for the six weeks or so that Harry had lived alone in Serena, that had been pretty much the case. When she flew out to scope out the place for the first time, she made him shave off a pretty decent beard. It had come in gray, almost white. She hated the fact that it made him truly look the fourteen years older than her that he was.

Harry took a quick shower and climbed back into bed, just in time for the eleven o'clock news. There was the usual stuff, a shooting, a string of break-ins, a bad accident that backed up the interstate. Then there was footage of Harry, cuffed behind the back, being led by Orel Paige from the police station, to the courthouse across the street. "A Serena man who was arrested for D.U.I. yesterday will be representing himself in County Court," the woman newscaster announced. "For more on that, we take you to our Greene County Bureau." They cut to a shot of a young man with a microphone. The courthouse was in the background. He went on to explain that the man, one Harry Kresge, was actually a lawyer from New York who had recently moved to town.

"Another slow news day," Harry groaned.

"This is great. Now everyone at work will know..."

"What have you been telling them about me?"

"Nothing. They don't ask, I don't tell. I call you my fiancee. That's all."

"They don't know I used to be a lawyer?"

"No. And stop that 'used to be' stuff. You can still be a lawyer."

"I hated being a lawyer, that's why I quit. I'm a writer."

"I hate my job, too, but I go to work every day. Six months and you haven't made a penny. Are you just going to sit there and watch me struggle forever? You could open an office, do some wills or something..."

"Never! We had a deal. You said you'd give me two years."

"Two years? I said that?"

"Yeah, you said that!"

"Never mind... I know you're working hard at it."

"My novel's just about done. Now I've got to try to sell it. If that doesn't work out, there will be another and another, each better than the last. Maybe I can sell a story in between. They keep saying nice things about me over at Esquire."

"Send them something else! I have this feeling that you're just sending them the wrong kind of stories. I see the kind of books you read. Most people don't read that stuff. I think you're trying to be too fancy."

"You mean too intellectual?"

"Yeah, that."

"Ha! I've got to write something new. I'm running out of stuff. They get thousands of stories every month. It's like trying to make it in the N.B.A."

"What's the N.B.A.?"

"Never mind..."

"Turn off the TV, Harry!"

He searched the covers for the remote, then clicked it off. "I love you," he whispered in the dark.

"I love you, too. But I wonder how much you really love me, you old fart. If you really loved me, you wouldn't get arrested. What's going to happen to me and the kids, if you go to jail?"

Harry was already asleep.

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Harry's decision to refuse the breathalizer was no rash judgment. If he had blown into it, it probably would have shown a blood-alcohol level somewhere close to a .20, well above the state minimum. The consequence of refusal would be the loss of his driving privileges, subject to a hearing, that is, and a presumption at trial, that he had refused the test, because he had known he was intoxicated. If he had taken the test, there would have been witnesses and corroborating evidence, other than Orel Paige. The test, no doubt, would have been administered by someone else, someone with training on the equipment. As it stood, with the refusal, it was Paige's word that he had seen him driving erratically and there had been the smell of alcohol on his breath against his. Harry was banking on the fact that Paige's word was soon to be shown to be questionable.

At his arraignment the next morning, Harry asked to speak to the Public Defender. His request was denied pending proof of his indigence. Harry then elected to represent himself. The judge set bail at one thousand dollars because of Harry's refusal to submit to the breathalizer and the fact that he had lived within the state for less than a year. The judge also took his driver's license.

Harry had been planning on conducting his own defense all along. The reason why he had wanted to speak to the Public Defender was to provide him with the salient details of Officer Paige's lack of credibility in so far as it applied to the Adderholdts' case. Now that would have to wait until Jenny bailed him out.

Jenny was hot when he called. "Stay there! A taste of jail will do you good." Her diatribe covered all the ground from his skipping off to Ohio without her, to his long slide from criminal lawyer to "just plain criminal."

"Listen, I've got to get out. This goes beyond just my dilemma."

"You bet it does! What are the neighbors and the people at work going to think of me, when they find out you've been arrested for drunken driving? Bail you out? Hah!"

This wasn't working out as Harry had hoped. He told himself he should have known better. She never argues the central point, the logical issues. She always sidetracks into the emotional. It always comes down to respect. And she would never let him fight the current skirmish without having to re-fight the entire war.

"Don't you understand that this was a set up? This guy Paige has been laying for me ever since he was taken off that stupid kiddie-porn patrol. You know what he called me? He called me a tassel-loafered shyster! For Christ's sake, I was wearing sneakers when he made me get out of the car and take the position! He's the same one who gave you..."

She cut him off. "Don't try to defend yourself!"

This was always her strongest tactic. Once she said that, there was no use in going on. If he did, she would simply say, "I told you, don't try to defend yourself." So he shut up, didn't offer another word in his defense. There was nothing but the din of prison from his end of the line, inmates yelling, guards shouting, cell doors slamming shut.

She continued, raising all the old complaints, re-fighting all the old battles, getting madder. "Oh, I know your game," she said, after awhile. "You're just going to sit there and say nothing!"

He decided to go for sympathy. "I miss you and the kids."

"Oh right, the kids. I forgot about the kids. Imagine the disgrace when they have to face their classmates in school, tomorrow."

"Are you kidding? Half their fathers have been busted for D.U.I."

"That's it. I told you, don't try to defend yourself." She hung up.

Although he was technically entitled to only one, Harry managed to beg a second phone call. He called the Blue Moon to ask Freddie Edwards to pass the word to Phil and House that he was in the lock-up and wouldn't be able to meet with them at the offices of the Banner that afternoon.

At six o'clock, a guard opened his cell and told him he had been bailed. As he was being released through the visiting area, he braced himself for a furious attack by a very angry Jenny. He decided to act contrite. But when he walked into the reception lobby, the woman who was waiting for him was Audrey Adderholdt.

This is just great, Harry thought, how am I going to explain this?

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The headline of the Serena Daily Banner was to read: "POLICE SEIZE DRUG CAR - BROTHERS' BAIL SET AT $100,000 EACH." House read the lead slugs as they came out of Louie's machine.

"Who made the arrest?" he asked, Louie.

"Let me see..." Louie scanned down the copy he was working from. "Police Officer Orel Paige."

House turned and headed for the fire exit.

"Where you going?" Louie called after him.

"To see Gar."

"You're on a first name basis, now, I see."

***

"That's a fine piece of writing, that bit you did on Hyacinth Haynes," Gar Findlay told him as he came through the door. "We'll run it on Saturday, in the "Life Styles" section. Congratulations on your first story."

"Thanks, but that's not why I'm here. It's about Orel Paige. Remember when you said you had a feeling there was going to be a right time to release that stuff I dug up. How about in connection with today's lead story?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well then, how about tomorrow, as a follow up?"

"Look, I've decided it's too hot a potato for a small town like this. We can't go around destroying the credibility of our police officers."

"You called it your newspaper man's instinct."

"My instinct tells me to let sleeping dogs lay."

"But what if Officer Paige is lying? What if he planted the drugs just to get the car back?"

"That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? What's one thing got to do with the other? And besides, it's the girl's word against his. She never did produce those photos."

Actually, she had. She had found them on the internet. House's own newspaper man's instinct had told him to hold off on reporting it to Gar, especially after he had heard that he would be playing poker with the Police Chief. And even before that, House's instinct had told him to make a copy of the tape, prior to turning it over to his Editor.

"Yes, sir. And thanks for using my story about Miss Hyacinth."

"That's prize-winning material, you've got there, House. I wouldn't be surprised if the wire services pick it up."

"Thank you, sir." House retreated to the linotype room.

***

The handwriting on the small package looked familiar to Harry. He went into the kitchen and found a steak knife to open it. Inside was an audio cassette and a note: "Check this out and call me if you're interested." Included in the note was an internet URL - http://www.preteentitties.com/images/sarah1.jpg. It was signed Marvin Payne and it had a local phone number.

Harry listened to the tape on his walkman, then booted up his computer and went on the net. He found that in addition to sarah1.jpg, there were almost a dozen other photographs, depicting a poorly disguised Orel Paige in various poses with a young girl. In some of the pictures, they were doing things with his service revolver. In another one, she was painting his genitals with orange paint. When he was through, he dialed the number and asked the woman who answered the phone if he could speak with Marvin Payne.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked the man who came to the phone.

"I don't think so." The man sounded nervous.

"Why did you choose me to send this stuff to?"

"I've read your letters to the editor about the Serena Police and Officer Paige."

"Letters? I thought that only one of those letters was published."

"I work at the paper."

"Are you the one who responded to my letter about the dog."

House hesitated for a moment. "Yes, that was me."

"What do you do at the paper?"

"Sweep up and write stories."

"Well, this is some serious stuff. You blow Officer Paige's credibility all to hell. The problem is how to handle this. Does the editor of the paper know about this?"

"The tape, not the pictures. I held back on telling him about the pictures. There's something else. I have the girl's dress with a stain on it. I thought to get it from her from having read about the President and Monica Lewinsky."

"Where's he want to go with this?"

"Bury it, like he buried your letters. That's why I didn't tell him about the photographs. You're a lawyer, right? You should know what to do about this. Just keep me out of it."

"I'm going to turn it over to the Public Defender. He's the one who's representing the Adderholdt brothers. But I don't see any way to keep you out of this."

"You know Phil Rowley, don't you? From the Blue Moon..?"

"Yes, I know Phil. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yes, I'm gonna ask him if he can give me a ride over to the Blue Moon. Can we meet over there?"

"Sure. How about in one hour. Call me back if he can't make it." Harry gave him his number.

***

"I know Gar Findlay pretty well. I knew his father. I used to do all the plumbing work over at the paper. Gar is kind of spoiled, you might say. His father had shit under his nails, but he made sure his son didn't. He sent him away to prep school in Massachusetts and later to Columbia to major in journalism. He thought he'd take the paper up a notch, really make something out of it. But Gar was lazy. He always chose the path of least resistance. But he's no fool, mind ya. He can be made to listen to reason." Phil took another sip on his beer.

It was Harry's turn to talk. They were trying to reason with House, who was afraid to apply any muscle to his boss. "There's no way to see that justice is done and keep you and Gar out of this. The Judge and the D.A. are going to demand to know where this tape came from. For Christ's sake, your voice is even on it in a couple places. The best thing to do is to go to Gar and warn him in advance. If he has half the brain Phil here says he has, he will turn this around so that you and he look like heros, and the Chief of Police will do the same thing. Orel Paige will be dismissed from the Police Force and will probably go to jail, where he belongs."

"I'm afraid he's going to fire me."

"Phil and I will be with you to reason with him. Once the cat is out of the bag, I don't see how he can fire you. Let's call him and set up a meeting for tomorrow."

"Okay, but he says you're a wacko," House still sounded hesitant, but smiled when he uttered the word wacko.

Harry grimaced. "Phil, why don't you call him?" And so it was arranged.

***

Phil gave House a lift home, leaving Harry at the bar with Cal and Morely. Harry soon forgot his promise to Jenny, not to stay out too late. It was past supper time. Morely was explaining that for smoother grits, you had to add extra water and boil them longer before leaving them to simmer, when the phone behind the bar rang.

"Harry, it's for you," Freddie announced, stretching the long chord to where Harry was seated.
"You dog!" It was Jenny. She hung up, before he could reply.

"Time to go, boys." Harry handed the phone back to Freddie and climbed down from his stool.
It was dark in the parking lot of the Blue Moon. Harry couldn't have seen Orel Paige's cruiser, poking its nose out from behind the abandoned gas station across the road, even if he had thought to look for it.

***

There was barely enough of a shoulder to pull over on. It didn't matter, though. There wasn't another car on the road.

Paige came to the driver's side window. "Put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them!"

As far as Harry knew, this procedure was usually reserved for armed suspects. "Don't you want to see my license and registration?" he asked in disbelief.

"This ain't New York. Don't try to tell me my job."

So he knows who I am, Harry thought. That part of it didn't surprise him. He put both hands on the top of the wheel. "What now?"

"Shut up!" Paige circled the car in the dark, shining a flashlight into every visible corner of the station wagon's interior. When he was done, he ordered Harry out. "Lay flat on the ground, face down, with your hands on the back of your head!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? For a traffic stop?"

"Do it now!" Paige unsnapped his holster guard and removed his service revolver. He held it at his side, pointed at the ground.

Kresge lay down on the ground. He wished that another car would pass by to witness this absurdity. But none did. "Call for backup! I want witnesses!"

"I'm the one giving the orders." Paige leaned into the car with his flashlight.

"If you try to plant any shit on me, I'll sue your ass!"

"That's just the kind of threat I'd expect from a tassel-loafered shyster like you. Put your hands behind your back!" He reached down and cuffed him. Then he frisked him as he lay on the ground. "I'm taking you in for a breathalizer."

Harry twisted his head around so he could see the cop standing over him. "You can kiss my ass with your breathalizer!"

Paige reached down and jerked Harry to his feet by the hand cuffs. The pain was intense, but brief. Harry managed not to scream. "Anybody ever tell you how stupid you look in that hat?"
"You can bait me all you want, lawyer. The only marks I'm going to leave on you are where the hard bench in the holding cell leaves lines on your ass from having sat in jail all night." He keyed his radio. "This is Paige. I'm on Dayton-Serena Road about a mile west of the speedway. I'm holding a D.U.I. for transport."

"Ain't that a bitch..." Harry mumbled to the night.

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Kresge had just started on his second draft beer when Frankie and Snake tracked him down at the Blue Moon. Since Snake wasn't twenty-one and wasn't allowed to sit at the bar, they asked Harry to join them in a booth. They ordered another beer for Harry and cokes for themselves.

"I just picked up the car from the paint shop. I thought you'd like to take a ride." Frankie was gleeful. Snake was smirking like he'd just taken the pot at a high-stakes poker game.

"Did you guys have Cal install Snake's stereo like I suggested?"

"We sure did." Frankie said. Snake just kept smiling and shaking his head.

"I think I'll pass. You see any sign of Orel Paige?"

"It's just like you said. He's gonna shadow me everywhere I go, just waiting for me to fuck up. He's sitting out there in the parking lot right now. He had the paint shop staked out, before I got over there. That's why I'm celebrating with a coke instead of a beer. We'll sit in here for awhile, let him think I'm getting good and tanked. Then when we leave, he'll follow us down the road a bit and pull me over for a field test. Only I'm gonna blow nothing but a zero this time."

"I'd watch it, if I were you. He might not play it by the book."

"What can I do? If he's gonna fuck with me, he's gonna fuck with me..."

"True enough. With a little luck, he'll screw himself. What kind of paint job did you get?"

"I went for the original black, but this time with flames around the air scoop and coming out of the wheel wells."

"Ole Orel must like that. I bet he got a boner the moment she saw you pull it out of the shop."

The two waited about a half-hour before leaving. Frankie looked at his watch.

"That should do it. Thanks for everything, Harry." He shook his hand.

"Yeah, thanks, man." Fish grabbed his hand and shook it, too.

"Just remember, don't call me, if you get arrested."

It was gray and cold in the parking lot. A light drizzle slanted into their faces as the wind rattled what few leaves were left on the trees. Across the road from the Blue Moon Tavern was an abandoned gas station. The nose of Orel Paige's cruiser was just visible from in back of the peeling wood-frame building.

He followed them onto the by-pass and then off the exit for Fairgrounds Road. Frankie didn't really have any reason to go this way, except that he thought he'd inspire Officer Paige with the possibility of a little poetic justice. Sure enough, Paige turned on his flashing blue light and hit his siren one short blast in the exact spot where he had made his original arrest.

Frankie pulled the Camaro onto the grassy shoulder and watched in the rearview mirror as Paige got out of his car and adjusted his trooper-style hat, before coming over to his window.

"Is that beer I smell on your breath, Frankie?"

"No, sir."

"Hand me your license, registration and proof of insurance, and step out of the car."

After he administered the field test he leaned inside the car from the driver's side. Snake was playing the dashboard like a conga drum and chanting one of those derogatory chants the fans sing at baseball games when the home team is thumping the visitors.

"I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car too, Snake," this in his most officious police tone of voice. "Both of you put your hands on the trunk and spread your legs." He frisked them, then instructed them to remain that way while he searched the car.

When he was done, he radioed the police station, "This is Officer Paige. I need backup out here by the Fairgrounds. I just apprehended two white males in the act of transporting crack cocaine." He held up a small plastic vial with a red cap, displaying it between his thumb and forefinger so Frankie could see it.

It was his turn to smile. "I'll take my car back, now."

***
Kresge was at home when he learned of the new arrest.

"This is a set-up, Harry!" Audrey Adderholdt screamed into the phone. "Frankie doesn't smoke crack! A little marijuana, some speed every now and then... That's it!"

"Of course it's a set-up. Even those two know better than to carry when they're being followed."

"What am I going to do?"

"Get a lawyer!"

"I got no money."

"Go down to the courthouse for the arraignment, tomorrow. Talk to the Public Defender. Tell him I'll be a witness, if he needs me. That's the best I can do."

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"Whatcha doin', Miss Hyacinth?" House's ballpoint was poised above his memo book, as if he were sure something momentous would be forthcoming.

The tiny mulatto woman had just dismounted and was walking her shiny bicycle. It was an old-fashioned Schwinn, complete with chrome fenders and fat whitewall tires. Hyacinth, herself, was decked out in white tennis shoes, bobby-sox, a long pink and white flare skirt and a powder blue sweater. Her silver hair was in a bun. She was eighty-one years old, or at least that's what she would admit to. She rode her bike about a mile from the home to Towne Square every day that the weather would allow.

"I'm ridin' my bike, you damn fool. Cain't you see that fer yerself? I heard you got smart all of a sudden... Heh!"

Before the sudden emergence of his intelligence, House of Pain had often spent his days sitting in front of Dot's Market, when the yellow jackets that liked the garbage cans right next to the bench weren't too bothersome, that is. Once he got smart, however, he had been too busy for such idleness. Now that Gar Findaly was letting him free-lance on his own time, he was taking advantage of a rare afternoon away from the linotype room to do some more investigative reporting.

"Do you ride your bike every day?" He was thinking about doing a human interest piece on this very visible figure about town. Folks didn't really know much about her.

"You know I do. You've been settin' out here enough times to know that without askin'!"

"Would you mind telling me your full name?" He was taking it all down.

"Hyacinth Haynes. Whatchoo doin', House. I heard you been workin' over to the paper. You ain't gonna write nuthin' 'bout me, are ya?" She engaged her kick-stand and sat on the bench next to House. She was just amused enough that someone would take interest in her, that she had decided to play along.

"Where'd you live when you were a young 'un?"

"Out by the town limits on Dayton-Serena Road. Course't didn't have a name back then. Folks just called it the road outta town headin' west or the road to Dayton. Wasn't but one in that direction in them days. My daddy had a house on five acres of land. We grew our own vegetables and raised some pigs and cows. That's how it was in the old days."

Her grandfather, an escaped slave from Alabama, had come to Serena along the underground railroad. He'd found work harvesting corn and decided to stay for planting season. He never did leave. Eventually, he'd married a Shawnee woman and they'd had eight children. Her father had been the youngest of the brood and had benefited from the labors of his older brothers and sisters. He was the only one to graduate from high school. He worked in the hardware store, eventually bought his own truck and had a hauling business on the side. In this way, he was able to save enough money to buy the land on the edge of town, where, with the help of his brothers, he built the house where Hyacinth was born.

Hyacinth's mother was a white woman. She had been widowed during the First World War and was raising two girls on her own. She married Hyacinth's father and they had but one child, another girl. Hyacinth was pampered and treated like a little doll by her mother and her half-sisters, thus the habitual finery. Hyacinth never married. She had been engaged to a handsome white man, a descendant of the owner of the hardware store, but he was lost in the Second World War. From the moment she learned of his death, it was as if she had been frozen in time.

House pulled all of this out of her and much more. He took it all down, careful not to leave out one detail. When he got done writing the piece, it would end up being the saga of the family of a runaway slave, with all the drama of the escape and flight, the romance of meeting and settling down with the Indian woman, the inspiration of the fortitude and hard work to overcome poverty and prejudice, and then the same for the next generation and the one after that.

Two-and-a-half hours passed on the bench in front of Dot's. When they were finished, Hyacinth was exhausted and House's memo book was filled.

"I gots to take me a nap," Hyacinth told him, as she mounted her Schwinn and headed across the parking lot back in the direction of the Golden Age Home.

House sat for awhile, reviewing his notes. After a few minutes, George Sturges came out of the market with a half-gallon of strawberry ice cream and a plastic spoon. He joined House on the bench.

"What you doin', George?"

"What's it look like I'm doin', House? I'm about to eat this half-gallon of strawberry ice cream, same as I do every day. You got a problem with that?"

"You gonna be here for awhile?"

"You've watched me enough times to know how long it takes me."

"Don't let the bees chase you away or nothing like that. I'll be right back." House got up and hurried inside Dot's to buy another memo pad as if he were afraid a good story might get away from him.

Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

House was alone in his room. He took the letter from his pocket. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he read it again:

To The Editor:

I am writing to protest the reduction of Police staff assigned to patrolling the internet. From what I understand, the number of officers has been reduced from four to just one. That one officer is only at it eight hours per day, therefore there is no longer around the clock coverage, and no double coverage during those important hours immediately after the children come home from school. Furthermore, I understand that the officer who was responsible for the arrest of that child molester from Toledo has been assigned to a regular patrol.

As a Girl Scout Leader, I have recently witnessed what I maintain is the ultimate outcome of the proliferation of kiddie-porn. This past weekend, our troop was holding it's annual Halloween camp-out at the Fairgrounds, when the Scout Leaders' nightmare to end all nightmares happened. The girls were sitting around the campfire telling ghost stories. The adults on the trip had gone inside the mess tent for a cup of coffee. Suddenly, the girls started screaming. I realized, right away, that it was more than what one might expect from the scary tales. I ran outside just in time to see a tall man in a raincoat with some kind of jack-o-lantern mask covering his face. He was holding his coat open to expose his genitals. Now here's the really sick part, (I'll use a seasonal analogy here in order not to be too graphic.) his gourds were painted orange and his stem was painted green.

When he saw me, he quickly closed his coat and ran off into the woods. It is clear that it was the girls who were the target of his sick behavior. Of course, we called the police, but he was gone without a trace by the time they responded.

This is the kind of thing that happens when people are free to do whatever they want to do over the internet. If we had more people like Officer Orel Paige out there to put kibosh on this kind of sick behavior in cyberspace, then the sickos wouldn't be so emboldened as to try it in the real world. When I was a Girl Scout, we didn't have an internet and not once did we encounter degenerate behavior of this sort on any of our camping trips.

Very truly yours,

Louise Mays - Leader of Troop 103

***

House knew Mrs. Mays. He'd had a crush on her his second time through third grade. He had been eleven when she was eight. She had been Weezie Bradstone, back then. He never spoke to her because everyone thought he was just a big dummy. But he knew where she lived because he had followed her home from school one day. It wasn't far from his own house, so he often went there and watched the house in the afternoons to see if he could catch sight of her playing in the yard. When she married, she and her husband moved in with her mother. When her mother died, they continued to live in the same house. As far as he knew, they still lived there. House had it in his mind to finally talk to her. Now that he was a sort of unofficial reporter for the Banner, he had a few questions he wanted to ask her.

A girl opened the door in response to his knock. She looked like she was about twelve years old and, from the resemblance to Louise, she must have been the daughter.

"Hi, I'm Marvin Payne from the Banner. Is your mother home?"

"She's not here right now. Is this about the letter?" She smiled as if she thought she were about to become famous.

"My editor sent me over to follow up on it." House didn't really consider this to be a lie. It was merely a professional untruth, like the times he would call Gar Findaly to ask him when he was going to be officially promoted to reporter and his secretary would tell him he wasn't there.

"She didn't really see much, but I was there."

"Well, what did you see? Do you think you could recognize the man if you saw him again?"

"Not really. It was dark outside the circle of the fire. I could see that he was tall and wearing an pumpkin head mask and a rain coat. When he opened the coat, it was really too dark to see anything."

"Well, where did all that stuff about his... er... things being painted green and orange come from?"

"Oh, that was Sarah Johns. She said that was what she saw."

"Did any of the other girls see that?"

"No, I don't think so. Nobody saw much, but Sarah."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Uh huh. She lives over on Second Street in a big ole house with her aunt and uncle, the Paiges. I don't know the number, but you can look it up, or else you can wait for my mamma to come home."

"Thanks. That's okay. I'll find it."

***

Sarah Johns moved in with her mother's sister when she was ten years old. She and her mother had been abandoned by her father when she was eight. After that, her mother had taken to hanging out in bars and leaving the child home alone. Neighbors reported it to the police and there was a hearing where it was determined that she was not a fit mother. The family had been notified and close relatives were invited to file petitions for custody. As the Paiges hadn't been able to have children, they were particularly interested in taking the girl. Orel Paige was a Police Officer and his wife, Lucy, worked in the Mayor's Office; they seemed to be the best qualified.

Some time after Sarah turned eleven, she began to sprout firm little mounds with Hershey's Kisses nipples that, like crocuses in spring, seemed to want to poke through every thing she wore. It seemed to her that her uncle had taken particular notice. She often caught him looking at her, he suddenly seemed more affectionate, and he used any excuse he could think of to put his hands on her. Having been starved for fatherly attention, she didn't mind any of this. Actually, she liked it and encouraged it by flirting. It was around this time that Orel Paige was assigned to patrol the internet. Some say he asked for it, that he actually created the job, as it hadn't existed before.

Often, when Paige would come home from work, he would continue his investigations on his home computer. He would work late into the night, hanging out in chat rooms, following hyperlinks to the kind of web sites where he could expect to find pictures. When he found photographs, he would download them onto his hard drive. When the girl would come home from school, she would go on the computer and find the pictures.

By the time she was twelve, she looked all of fifteen. The pictures her uncle was downloading aroused her curiosity. After school, she would go on line and follow the links in her uncle's bookmarks, to the chat rooms and kiddie-porn sites he was investigating. But it wasn't enough.

Early one Saturday morning, as she was passing her aunt and uncle's bedroom, she heard some noises. The door was opened a crack, so she peered in. Later in the day, when her aunt had gone out, she told her uncle, "You should close your door more tightly. As I was going by, this morning, I saw you and my aunt having sex."

"You did? How much did you see?"

"I saw everything from beginning to end." She was smiling.

"Why did you watch for so long?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought it was interesting. Lots of times, I've hidden around the house, under the bed, in the closet, and watched you naked. Lots of times I've caught you playing with your thingie and you didn't even know it."

Later, Paige would confess to the girl that the prospect of her watching had aroused him. The next time he made love to his wife, he had purposely left the door open a crack and all the while they were having sex, he intentionally imagined that she was watching. He told her that he had never come so hard as he did that time, that his wife had even remarked on the vigorousness of his love making.

It wasn't long before he was exposing himself to her. He would often try to get her to play with him, but she refused, so he took to masturbating in front of her while she was watching television or working on the computer. He must have been confused by her hot and cold behavior. One time, when he was wearing just boxers, he was standing on a chair reaching for something on a high shelf in the kitchen, she snuck up behind him and pulled his shorts down around his ankles. Laughing, he pulled his shorts up again and chased after her. She turned and playfully grabbed him by the genitals, then ran to her room, where she locked herself in.

One of the things he did to try to arouse her interest was to show her the pictures he had downloaded from the internet. He didn't know it, but she was already bored with those same pictures.

Apparently, he continued to try everything he could think of to get her to play with him, but it was still no go. Finally, just before Halloween, she was painting decorations on her face in preparation for the annual Girl Scout camp-out. Instead of uniforms, the girls were supposed to wear costumes. Later they would sit around the campfire and tell spooky stories. As she sat on the living room sofa, painting her face orange and green with the aid of a hand held mirror, Paige whipped it out and started playing with himself. It must have been then that he got the idea. He convinced her to paint his balls orange and his dick green. As she was painting on the finishing touches of green with the small camel's hair brush, he ejaculated all over her costume.

That night when her uncle exposed himself to the Girl Scout Troop at the fairgrounds, Sarah hadn't actually been able to see the decorated genitalia. She recognized her uncle from his bearing and his coat and the mask he had bought in K Mart, and she just assumed that she had seen the orange testicles and the green penis she told the others about. She was no longer curious about sex, at least as far as he was concerned. And his advances were getting more aggressive. They were starting to worry her. And she was really pissed about having had to change her costume at the last minute after he messed all over her. She was beginning to hope that he would get caught.

All this was related by the girl in a deadpan monotone on the tape House was playing in Gar Findaly's office.

"This is really something..." Gar was shaking his head. "But damn... It's her word against his."

"She says he took pictures with his digital camera."

"Can she get a copy?"

"She says she's going to look for them on his computer, but it's going to take awhile. He's got lots of disks full of stuff."

"I'm not sure what we've got here and I'm doubly unsure what to do with it," Gar Findaly said as he locked the tape into the small safe in his office. "I think we'll have to sit on it for awhile. I know one thing for sure though, that was a damn fine piece of investigation, House. For now, I'll have to ask you to keep it under your hat. I've got a feeling there's going to be a right time to release this, and I think it's going to be soon. Just call it my newspaper man's instinct."

As House was leaving the Editor's Office, Gar's secretary buzzed in on the intercom, "It's the Chief of Police."

"Tell him I'll get back to him," Gar instructed her.

"He says you still haven't gotten back to him from the last time."

"Tell him I'll see him at the poker game, tonight. I'm too busy right now." He waved to House as he went out the door, then thought better of it and waived him back in. "Be sure and let me know right away, if that girl calls to tell you she found the pictures," he told him.

House nodded and went out the door.