“We need to get you to a hospital!”
Eoin shouted as he ran across the street, abandoning the luggage.
“I’ve called the police, they should be here shortly!” He
kneeled down where Luke was leaning back with his arms behind his
head. Luke jumped up from his relaxed position.
“You did what?”
“I called the police, you were
getting beaten by at least six guys, what was I supposed to do?”
“Watch, get the guns out, smoke a
cigarette, not call the police.” Luke was now walking across the
street towards the luggage with Eoin and the homeless man in tow. He
spoke over his shoulder, “I assume James is at the park?”
“Yes sir,” the homeless man spoke
up, “he wants me to ask you over for a drink.” Eoin looked
confused but followed Luke as he fell into step with the homeless
man.
“I don’t believe we have had the
pleasure of meeting yet, I am Luke Lee Smythe and this troublesome
whistle blower is Eoin Emmerson.” Luke held out one hand as he
picked up luggage with the other.
“Frank’s the name, like the
hotsauce.” Eoin and Luke both gave him blank looks as they loaded
themselves down with the bags. “Here, let me take some of them
bags,” Frank reached over and slung a bag Eoin was struggling
with over his shoulder and hefted two more under his arms. “Black
folk like hotsauce on everything and if you ask any black folk about
hotsauce, they’ll tell ya; only one kinda hotsauce, Frank’s!”
He gave them a self-satisfied grin along with a bit of a mad cackle
and led the way. Eoin shook his head and followed.
James turned out to be an elderly
black gentleman —in this instance we do mean a noble, honorable, and
kind man—who was sitting at a picnic table by the Grand River. “Mr.
Smythe, it has been some time since we last met.” He rose from the
table to shake hands with Luke, offering him a friendly yet wary
smile. Eoin was introduced to James and invited to sit down at the
table. Luke provided cigarettes for everyone and James had a woman, who could only be described as a runner, go to the store to get
everyone a half pint of cognac. When Eoin attempted to offer money
James quickly waved his wallet away, “It’s our culture, just take
the drink.” Eoin took the drink and thanked James for his
hospitality.
“Thank you for sending Frank to meet
us at the bus station, I do so appreciate the gesture.” Luke said
while wiping blood onto a towel the runner had proffered. “I
do apologize that he was forced to intervene in that nasty business
back there, I hope it causes no trouble for all of you.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Luke,
we would have come to a head with the no-gooders eventually. We’re
doing what we can to clean up this neighborhood, no more drug
dealers!” Eoin found it amusing that several of James’ men were
openly smoking joints, but he assumed that pot wasn’t considered
that nasty of a drug, if it was considered a drug at all. From the
continued conversation, Eoin gleamed that James had come back from
Vietnam to find his old neighborhood taken over by gangs and drug
dealers. Instead of moving on or lying low, he had gathered together
a band of merry men to take on the hooligans, slowly but surely.
As James and Luke discussed old times
and counter gang strategy, Eoin wandered off to explore the park. He
was reading about Ransom Eli Olds when Frank wandered up next to him
and began to read the sign as well.
“Looks like the police finally got
to the bus station.” Frank awkwardly broke the silence.
“Really? Just now? It’s been over
a half hour.” Eoin was shocked considering how far downtown they
were.
“Yeah, they’re driving by right
now.”
“That’s only about a block away,
should we go warn Luke and James?” Eoin turned to go back to the
picnic table. Frank gently grabbed his arm.
“Don’t worry, they’ll drive by,
see that everything’s done and get back to the station. They won’t
come down River Street, we’re at a dead end.” He smiled in a sad
but accepting manner. “That’s just the way it is, people down
here aren’t worth protecting ‘cause half of us have warrants and
the other half don’t pay taxes.” He offered his joint to Eoin who
politely declined but took another swig from his half-pint bottle.
They ambled down to the river
appreciating the mutual silence until Frank, once again, broke that
silence. “So what’re you doin’ with that Mr. Smythe?” Eoin
wasn’t sure how to answer this due to the fact that he didn’t
truly know the answer himself.
“He’s a friend of my family, I’m
traveling with him to meet them.” It wasn’t a good answer but it
was all that he had. Frank looked concerned,
“Now, I don’t know him myself but
James goes way back with him; he said that Luke Lee Smythe is some
kind of mix between an angel and a devil. James owes his life to him
but he wouldn’t trust him farther than he could toss him. Just be
careful.” Eoin assured him that he would do just that and they
started to walk back to James and Luke who seemed to be saying their
goodbyes. He thanked James for his hospitality and hoisted a few of
the bags. Luke began ambling across the park, following the river.
After a few minutes they came to a
neglected boat launch with a sagging dock. Without pausing, Luke
hopped onto the dock and walked over to a pontoon boat anchored at
the far edge. Along the side of the boat was written, “Lansing Boat
Tours” along with a telephone number. Luke tossed his bags into the
boat and began to unclasp the vinyl seat covers. “I don’t know if
this is the best idea, I mean the police probably have your
description.” Eoin said as he looked up and down the abandoned
street; already imagining people peering out from behind their
blinds, phones in hand.
“Nonsense, dear boy. The sign reads
‘Lansing Boat Tours’; we are tourists, we are in Lansing, this is
a boat. Now toss me the blue bag.” Eoin obliged quickly, not
realizing that he had been carrying the bag full of felonies. Luke
quickly pulled out a set of chain cutters and went to work freeing
the boat from the dock. As Eoin loaded the rest of the bags in the
boat, Luke managed to start the engine through some unseen trickery.
Realizing that there was very little he could do to dissuade Luke
from his felonious pursuits, Eoin sat on one of the still covered
seats and tried to enjoy the scenery. “There’s little to see
here, dear boy. Why not pull out your phone and dial that friend of
yours, I do believe we’re headed in his direction.” Luke looked
like some sort of vagabond pirate lord standing behind the wheel,
squinting into the sun. Eoin sighed and pulled out his phone to dial
Peter.
“Nigga please!” It was a typical
Pete greeting.
“Pete, it’s Eoin.”
“So I deduced, I’m neither bold
nor black enough to answer unknown calls that way. How’s life in
pretentious hippy-town?”
“It’s been interesting. Listen,
are you at work?” Pete worked at one of the most renowned music
stores in the world.
“Right now I’m down by the river,
eating some bacon and smoking a cigarette. Why do you ask?”
“I’m riding in a stolen tour boat
down the Grand River, heading toward the store.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not kidding, Pete. How much
longer do you have on your lunch break?”
“Well hot damn, our little Eoin is
growing up! Give me a second to run inside and sign out and I’m all
yours for an hour!”
“You’re on the clock right now?”
Eoin wondered why he was surprised by this revelation.
“I’ll see you soon.” There was a
scuffling sound along with a loud noise, a curse, and a click. Eoin
put his phone away, chuckling. He looked around, taking in his
surroundings. Eoin had been in Lansing before, several times in fact.
But he had never seen the downtown area from the river, it was
beautiful. Seeing the old, stately buildings, bridges and skywalks
from this angle, he understood why so many people desperately held
onto their loyalty for this decaying town. He was snapped out of his
contemplative daydream by Luke flicking his cigarette into the river
and striking a noble pose,
“Hold onto your butts!” Eoin
looked ahead and noticed several buoys and signs indicating that they
were quickly approaching a dam. And to Eoin’s horror, Luke leapt up
from the wheel, leaving the motor engaged, and started tying a lasso
out of the rope.
“What the hell are you doing, just
steer us over to the dock!” Eoin shouted in a voice filled with a
bit more panic than intended. Luke played a very convincing deaf as
he started swinging the lasso above his head and making what could
have been loosely identified as cowboy noises. Luckily for the
progress of our plot, Luke managed to hook a post of the dock and
hauled the boat towards the bank. Eoin quickly slipped the motor into
neutral and raised it in time to keep it out of the weeds. The two of
them managed to tie the boat more or less along the side of the dock
and hopped out. An elderly black man sitting on the edge of the dock
and fishing was looking at them with slightly indifferent bemusement.
Luke tossed him the keys, which the man deftly caught, and the odd
duo walked through the park, circumnavigating the dam.
As they walked around the fishladder
and into a parking lot, Eoin made a motion towards the nearest
street. “We have to cross at the bridge in Old Town and then circle
back to the store; it's right there across the river.” He trailed
off as he noticed a commotion in the woods on the other side of the
river. The trees shook and a man appeared out of the tall grass,
dragging what looked like some sort of primitive canoe into the
water. The man, who Eoin quickly identified as Pete, deftly hopped
into the boat, producing a rough excuse for a paddle and began to
make his way across the river. Eoin watched, transfixed, as his
friend managed to battle the currents from the dam, nearly tipping
several times. Eventually, Pete crashed into the bank and hauled the
boat up into the weeds. He threw the paddle into the bottom of the
boat and ran to grab Eoin up into a crushing embrace.
“I'm so proud to see you under these
majestic conditions, where's your pirate ship?” It came out in a
rush while Pete struggled to catch his breath and gave Eoin a kiss on
the neck.
“Get of off me, you creepy bastard,
it's good to see you too. The pontoon boat is at the dock but I'd
rather keep away from it at the moment. What are you doing for...”
Eoin stopped as he realized that Pete was no longer listening to him.
Instead, he was staring, entranced at Luke. Eoin remembered his
manner's, “I'm sorry, Pete, this is Luke Lee Smythe. Luke, this is
my friend, Pete.” Eoin looked over at Pete, who seemed to be in the
process of a bow, the amazed look still transfixed on his face.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, young
man. Eoin has told me wonderful things about you.” Luke walked
forward, offering his hand to Pete.
“But, how, how, what?” Pete
absentmindedly took Luke's hand in a limp embrace, still staring
incredulously at Eoin. He seemed to suddenly snap back to reality and
took Luke's hand in a firmer grasp. “My apologies, I was taken off
guard. It is an incredible honor to meet you sir, what was it you
call yourself?” If Luke noticed the odd phrasing of the question,
he did a masterful job of hiding it.
“Luke Lee Smythe. And no apologies
necessary, you remained incredibly composed, under the
circumstances.” Pete seemed to giggle as Luke introduced himself.
“Well,” He paused with his normal,
amused grin back on his face, “Mr. Smythe, if there is anything
that I can do for you; I am, as always, your humble servant.”
“What the hell has gotten into you,
Pete?” Eoin was completely taken aback by his friend's strange
behavior. “Are you the same arrogant, displaced noble who I know
and love? I didn't even know the word humble was in your vocabulary,
at least not in a reflective sense.” Pete looked at Eoin, slightly
confused but still grinning.
“Even nobles have our superiors, if
I refuse to acknowledge this, I am no better than some power hungry
despot attempting to use my false ideals as a means to oppress people
with no sense of order or dignity.”
“Isn't that what you are?” Eoin
loved mocking Pete's confusing and archaic politics. Pete wasn't
bothered at all,
“Come on, Robespierre; how do you
gentlemen feel about Mexican people food?” Luke seemed incredibly
amused as he followed Pete across the parking lot. Eoin couldn't tell
if it was the rant or the slightly racist remark that delighted Luke
so much but it was quite obvious that these two men approved of one
another.
The three companions ambled out of
Pablo's Pandaria, full of food and carrying bags of leftovers. Pete
managed to look debonair with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth,
talking nonstop, and taking wino style sips out of a bottle of
Mexican soda.
“You lads up for a ride in the
currach? I'm sure it could hold three.”
“Thank you for the kind offer,
Peter, but after all of that fine food, I believe a knorr would be
more appropriate. Perhaps Eoin and I shall take the bridge.” Luke
cooly sidestepped the potential drowning with ease.
“My next project is going to be a
small river drakkr, I just need to find time and materia...” Pete's
incessant chatter trailed off as he noticed flashing lights coming
down the street. “It looks like the bridge may not be your best
option, my friends; follow me.” He slyly veered their course back
across the parking lot, walking quickly but not so fast as to attract
attention. Eoin wore a worried expression,
“I hate to be a burden, Pete, but
isn't fleeing directly toward the crime scene a less than ideal
plan?”
“Trust me, I own this feckin town,”
Pete gave a mad cackle, jumped, and clicked his heels together before
leading them on. They arrived at a chain link fence and Pete casually
pried apart a barely discernible break in the chain while ushering
them through.
They found themselves in a scraggly
excuse for a woodlot behind four towering coal silos. Pete deftly led
them through the tangle of underbrush and scattered debris, remnants
from the city's industrial past.
“Here we are.” He motioned to the
second to last silo. Before Eoin could ask where exactly here was,
Pete had scurried up the side of the silo and disappeared into a hole
about ten feet off of the ground. Looking around, Eoin was able to
deduce that the hole, from where Pete's beckoning face was now protruding, was originally the seat of a chute for loading coal into
freight trains. He noticed old, worn railroad tracks covered in moss
and garbage and located the chute as a twisted hunk of metal perched
in the branches of a nearby tree. Luke grinned his usual grin and
scampered up behind Pete. Eoin saw that their method of transport was
a series of bolts securing the rebar supports of the structure, they
stuck out just far enough to create tenuous hand and foot holds. He
started up the same path as the others, albeit much slower and with a
good deal more caution. Once he came on a level with the hole, he
noticed that it was a good three feet over from their ascent path. As
he considered how best to swing himself over and into the hole
without crashing to his death, two arms emerged and dragged him into
the silo.
After recovering from his momentary
panic, Eoin took in his surroundings. He was lying on his back on a
floor of packed coal, the interior was somewhere around fifteen feet
in diameter, above him was about forty feet of silo, open at the top
with a long two by eight spanning all four silos, obviously the
remnant of some sort of loading mechanism. Directly across from their
makeshift entry was another opening with the chute still attached.
The walls were covered with infantile graffiti, proclaiming that this
was the territory of the Street Kings. Pete noticed Eoin's gaze,
“Goddamn little shits put that up
sometime last week. I really need to work on my extermination
process.” He sprung up from his crouch above Eoin and walked over
to the chute facing the river, “Let's watch the resulting chaos
from your little escapade.” Luke casually walked over to Pete's
side and peered through the chute and Eoin scrambled up behind them.
They were able to see the boat quite clearly, two police officers
were walking up the dock. The first hopped on board the boat and
began looking around, the second walked up to the old fisherman,
still at the end of the dock, and began questioning him.
“Shit, that old timer has the
keys...” Eoin trailed off and looked at Luke, “When we got in the
boat, you had hotwire it but at the dock, there were keys in the
ignition; you tossed them to the fisherman. What the hell is going
on?” Luke looked back at Eoin with a distracted gaze,
“Hmmm? Is that so? Well I suppose
you're right about that, how interesting. Now what do you think young
Peter is getting up to?” Eoin started at this sudden change in
topic and noticed that Pete was no longer in the silo with them; he
was, in fact, darting across the lawn towards the boat. He ducked
down and seemed to reach into some sort of grate and then glanced up
at them. Eoin was sure he saw Luke give an imperceptible nod out of
the corner of his eye but before he could turn, Pete was off again.
He managed to get right next to the boat without attracting the
attention of the police, pulled out a can of spray paint, and made a
few swipes along the side of the boat. Luke looked up at us, “Well,
hurry along now, better see what he's doing.” Eoin was about to
jump through the chute before Luke grasped his shoulder firmly, “Not
you, dear boy, not you.”
Pete retreated from the boat, as
quickly and silently as a Jackalope. He stowed the can in another
storm drain and emerged onto the path. He arrived at the scene just
as the elderly fisherman was proclaiming his innocence, “I was just
sittin' here, mindin' my own when I hears the boat comin' up, real
fast, too. And then they just jumped out and walked up the dock, two
of 'em by the sounds of it.” The first police officer, a young
black man with a friendly face, looked at the man skeptically,
“How is it that you have the keys to
the boat, sir?”
“They gave 'em to me! Where d'ya
think I'ma drive this boat to?” Pete noticed with a start that the
man was blind with opaque, white eyeballs. He seemed to decide that
this was a good time to step in. Breaking into a slight jog and
taking on an halfway winded manner he called out to the policemen.
“Excuse me officers, I assume you're
here about the two men who stole the boat. I was eating lunch across
the river and came over as soon as I saw you arrive.” Pete played
the overly vigilant citizen perfectly, even going so far as to rest
his hands on his knees while seeming to catch his breath.
“Just who the hell are you?” The
second police officer was your stereotypical cop, red faced,
mustached, and slightly overweight.
“Pete MacDonald, I work at the music
store across the river. I was on my lunch break in the park when I
saw the boat.” The officer's demeanor instantly became friendlier.
“Alright, son, thanks for coming
forward, what exactly did you see?”
“Well, like I was said, I was eating
my lunch across the river, halfheartedly watching this old timer
fishing off the dock when all of a sudden, I heard a roaring. The boat
came barreling down the river, straight toward the dam. Somehow they
managed to hook a line to the dock and haul the boat in. There were
two of them, they looked like they could have been teenagers, they
were wearing clothes that were obviously expensive but intended to
look 'street'; do you know what I mean?”
The officers started to look almost
dejected, “Sounds like a few kids that we're all too familiar
with.” The first officer let out a tired sigh.
“Would that be the Street Kings by
any chance?” Pete's response evoked startled looks from both men.
“How do you know about them?” The
second officer asked suspiciously.
“I don't really. I mean, I've seen
their graffiti but I don't know them. It's just that their name is
sprayed on the side of the boat.” Pete gestured at the barely dried
paint. The policemen were muttering profanities, seemingly on the
verge of beginning a round of the blame game.
“When they got off the boat, they
ran up the path towards campus. I wouldn't be surprised if they were
still defacing the foot bridge; I know that's where a great deal of
their 'work' is done.” Pete cut in quickly. All animosity seemed to
flee from the two men as they decided that the younger cop would run
up the path while the older man took the car to the other side of the
foot bridge. They hastily thanked Pete and took off in their
respective directions.
“Hey!” The forgotten fisherman
yelled to no one in particular, “Who's gonna help me back to my
seat?” The officers looked imploringly at Pete. He smiled and
motioned them to continue,
“I would be happy to help you, sir.”
The police thanked him again and were gone.
As Pete held the man's arm, he quickly
realized that no guidance was needed, the man was more capable of
making his way down the dock than most people with two good eyes.
“Thank you for intervening back
there, m'boy.” All traces of street vernacular seemed to evaporate
from the fisherman. “I assume you are with him?” Pete nodded.
“And he is close by?”
“In the coal silo behind us.”
“Remember, young man, I cannot see,
is he within earshot?” Pete smiled,
“You may not have the use of your
eyes, grandfather, but I highly doubt that impedes your vision. Why
ask me questions to which you already know the answer?” The old man
cackled, a dry, rasping sound,
“I like you, to whom do you belong? You're not his, I think; similar traits but not as much malice.
Who is it then? Is it Old Tree Fucker? I could see that.” Pete
laughed and patted the old man on the back.
“I do believe that may be the
fairest translation I have heard to date, but alas, none have laid
their claim on me.”
“A pity, you are of the North so I
have no rights. And one such as you would be wasted on such a minor
being.” Pete smiled, he had no doubts that the old man knew every
expression that crossed his face,
“I am deeply honored, grandfather
but tell me, who are you? I am not as familiar as I should be with
the Southern ways and I fear that I do not know you.” A sad look
crossed the old man's face,
“Not many do these days, I am
remembered only through the deeds of greater men. Mere mortals, but
still greater men. But enough of reminiscing, I have a message for
the little fox. Tell him that Tyrese says that the Road of the Fates
is closed to him, he should take the Road of the Sun to see Hermes.”
With that, the man, Tyrese, walked to the end of the dock, sat down,
and cast his line into the water, muttering and laughing to himself.
As Pete walked away from the dock, puzzling over Tyrese's riddle, he
looked up at us,
“Go on, now; although I am loathe to
admit it, I am only a minor character in this story.”
Standing in the coal silo, attempting
to read Pete's lips, Eoin was growing increasingly frustrated with
the self satisfied grin plastered on Luke's face.
“What!? What do you know? Why are
you smiling?” Luke gazed at Eoin, a distracted look on his face.
“What's that, dear boy?”
“What do you know that I don't
know?” Luke seemed to slowly remember Eoin's presence as a look of
slight bemusement replacing the distracted look of a moment before.
“I...am not left handed!” A voice
from above broke the awkward confusion. Luke erupted into a fit of
laughter. Eoin looked up and saw Pete, forty feet up and precariously
balanced on the two by eight.
“Pete!” Eoin shouted in shock,
“How the hell did you get up there?” Pete gave him a look of
confused disdain.
“Is that a trick question? I
climbed. I have to be off, though; I can play about with the time
clock but they're bound to notice my absence eventually. Come around
to the store at closing, I have a message to deliver.” Luke nodded
and smiled. Eoin interjected worriedly,
“And the police? Are they coming
back?” Pete raised himself from his squat and prepared to walk
away.
“Are you doubting my skills in the
art of conversation? I sent them on a bit of an adventure, you should
be fine for now.” Luke's voice stopped Pete just as he was
beginning to depart.
“Very impressive, are you one of
mine?”
“You know perfectly well that I am
not.”
“Tis a great shame.” Pete grinned at that and was off, running across the beam like a squirrel.
“Tis a great shame.” Pete grinned at that and was off, running across the beam like a squirrel.
No comments:
Post a Comment