40StudeDude
03-03-2006, 07:16 PM
Serial: A work appearing in parts at pre-determined intervals. More at installment.
Installment. Issued as part of a consecutively published and indefinitely continued series. Serials and installments used on major radio stations in the 1930’s, 1940’s and some of the 1950’s. Radio programs such as Dick Tracy (1934-1948), The Shadow (1931-1954), Amos n’ Andy, (1930-1952), Fibber McGee & Molly, (1935-1959), The Great Gildersleeve (a spin-off from Fibber McGee, 1941-1950), Buck Rogers (1932-1941) and in 1940, Superman rode the airwaves into everyone’s home three times a week in the serial until 1951. There were countless other serials on the radios back in the day…way before television ever found its way into homes. Families gathered around the radio to listen to a serial much like today’s families gather to watch a certain continuing television program…
This serial requires your intrigue, your imagination, your sound effects and your indulgence.
PART NINE –An easy nite.
You’re probably concerned about the Sheriff rite now. Understandable. Where’s he fit into all of this? What does he know about Blade, Stick and Stubby? How does Sheriff Buckner know these kids, anyway?
Let me back up a minnit, can I? Tell you WHO Zack Franklen’s Daddy, Mitchell, is/was. Years ago, before Zack came along, he was the jalopy car owner to beat ‘round these parts, spent many nites at Playland, in Council Bluffs, also in Harlan, Iowa, Knoxville, Iowa and Grand Island, Nebraska, doing the circuit…racing. And years before that, Mitchell was the only guy in Flatfield that had a true hot rod…built it himself…with a wicked flathead in it…way back in 1938.
A younger, snot-nosed kid in a “hot rodded” Model A five-window challenged him one day, certain he could beat Mitch’s back-yard built ‘27 T 4-banger with his out-of-Omaha ‘professionally’ built flathead V8. Yeah, even in 1938 there were hot rods in the Midwest…well, let me qualify that…they weren’t known as hot rods…stripped down Gow jobs, maybe, Gook-wagons…could be. “Hot rod” wasn’t invented…yet!
As it is, there’s always someone that has the quiker Gow job, the faster draw, the better aim, the bigger engine, the stickier tires, the mega-dollars. Yeah, rite, you understand now…it’s the money thing, always is…Ezra Blademann was certain his money could buy anything, including a built car he knew nothing about, nor how to drive it. Probably don’t have to tell you who won that race…on the very same road Zack and young Blade will have their go. Yep, on that very same curve, a drunken Ezra Blademann missed, trailed Mitchell by no more than an axle’s width…went bouncing and crashing over the edge, down thru the brush and young saplings, got tossed out ‘bout halfway down. The youngish trees didn’t slow the coop much and the ‘A’ plummeted the rest of the way -- at that time, 150-200 feet away from the meandering Missouri river. The coop is still there…you can only see its rusty top now from Riverview Road.
Took him a while to crawl back up the bank with a busted forearm and a shattered leg, that alone gave Ezra Blademann a limp…a permanent reminder for the rest of his life that money cannot buy everything. Ezra swore he’d get even someday.
Ezra’s son, Bonaventure, nicknamed simply ‘Blade’ in junior high, not only has the IQ, he’s got Daddy’s temperament, Daddy’s aloofness and Daddy’s money. It’s bought his way out of many Omaha tickets…his demeanor is not a well-mannered combination – but, it makes no difference, Daddy has many influential friends, wields power like champagne on election nite, what he says goes. Blade’s Uncle Sam is Sheriff in Powers County, Iowa, headquartered in Flatfield. Ezra “bought” the job for his brother a few years ago. Of course, with Sheriff Sam Buckner in the know…it’s doubtful Blade will lose. Ezra Blademann will get his revenge…it’s just taken a few years longer than he anticipated...
Sheriff Sam had warned Lew a couple of times already that he didn’t want any interference, from anyone, when the race happened…so, just in case Lew’d let it slip that the race was going down -- “Lew, you’d better go convince those you’ve already told they had better not show up, understand?”
“Yessir, “ Lew said, never quite sure how Sheriff Sam was to be taken…jokingly or seriously….this time seriously…this was the sheriff’s play…and no one was going to get in the way or stop him…or the race. The sheriff was going to end it and jail at least two of the parties involved…there would be no drag racing in his county!
“Lew, I understand Tommy has been released from the hospital,” the Sheriff growled. “I want you to keep an eye out for him…in case he decides to spend some time here in Flatfield.
And when it comes time for this big race, I’ll need your help to grab those guys, but I’ll let you know where I want you.”
“In the meantime, I just need to keep an eye on Stick?” Lew asked.
“Along with all your other duties, yes.”
“Where will you be, out on the road or here at the station?”
“Why is that important to you?” the sheriff asked. “My whereabouts are…well, you just do your job like you’re supposed to.”
“Yessir, I will sir, but just wanted to know how to get ahold of you…”
“You’ve got your radio? It works?”
“I do, yes.”
“That’s the best way,” Sam said, “I’ll be around when you need me. Just call. Anything else, Deputy?”
“No sir, you’ll be taking the cruiser then?”
“Yes, I will…and you’re getting the 4x4…try not to get into any car chases with it,” Sam winked. “…that’ll be all, Deputy.”
The sheriff watched Lew leave the office, step outside into the brisk wind and climb into the mid-60’s Ford pick up. He chuckled. That old Ford couldn’t keep up with a new John Deere baler out on the highway, but it sure won’t get stuck anywhere, especially out on Hangin’ Tree Road again. Wonder if he and Dorree will end up out that way again tonite…may have to bushwhack them later…that could be a ton of fun…for me!
Sam gazed out the window, watched the last of the sun’s ray slip behind a cloud bank, somewhere out west, on past Omaha, maybe near Lincoln or Grand Island…figured more rain was heading toward them…and if it gets any colder at nite, one of these first days we’re going to wake up to snow on the ground…then the real job around these parts will begin. He gazed at the cloud formations, lost in thought and the rest of day wound down slowly.
He racked his brain trying to figure out a way to catch the four guys right in the middle of their drag race…but…without knowing where it was to be held…he couldn’t put all the pieces together. Not wanting any more help than Lew, he’d have to figure out how to handle it with only the two of them. Maybe he’d better start checking with some of Blade’s old pals, at least those still living in Flatfield…and he was sure they wouldn’t have much to say to him…but all it’ll take is one guy to spill the beans.
Right at about eight, Sam decided to head over to Barney’s Roundhouse bar, grab a beer and a bit of supper and see if any of Blade’s friends were holding down stools over there. He decided not to wear his Sheriff’s uniform and changed his clothes to well-worn jeans and a red flannel shirt…he even decided to wear a pair of old snakeskin cowboy boots he had. He grabbed the keys to the cruiser off the office board and started for the front door…stopped…and remembered the old ten gallon cowboy hat his wife had given him so many years ago…why I still save that old hat I’ll never know. Standing in the hallway and hearing only the clock on the wall ticking, a flood of memories overtook him…memories of the good times he and Joanie had, the trips they took, the ocean cruises they went on…the island hopping they’d done…if it hadn’t been for her, he’d never had seen a lot of this world, he’d have been stuck in his little Iowa corner of the world forever…and right now, that was OK too. That‘s what he ended up with anyway, now that she was gone…but her leaving still tugs at his heart…he should have given her one more chance…and she should have given him a little more room on this job, especially after he got to be sheriff…and even tho she lives only a short distance away, in Lincoln, he’s never driven over to see her. The divorce had been finalized this past spring and that part of his life is gone, over and done with…his life now revolves around Flatfield, this small Iowa town…and that’s enuff to keep him going.
The old grandfather clock in his office struck eight times…jarring him from deep memories. He walked the length of the hall and halted at the front door, turned, pulled that old hat from his head and tossed it toward Dorree’s desk, a distance of ten feet from where he was standing. Made the perfect throw –bounced it off her desk, onto the chair’s armrest and slid it sideways into the trash basket. Good place for that, ‘bout time I got rid of it. She’s gone…and now, so is that hat He pushed the front door open with his boot, turned and locked the door and got into the cruiser.
The wind was picking up, blowing in another good storm…sounds like we’re gonna have a more broken limbs around here tonite. He fired up the engine in the cruiser, flipped it into reverse and pulled on the headlites…the 12 blocks to the outskirts of town, where the bar was, didn’t take long, barely got the engine warmed up. He wheeled into the gravel parking lot, avoided a few of the deeper water-filled potholes and noticed a few cars parked, none that he recognized tho. Once around the lot and back toward the front door, he spotted a light green Pontiac backing from the parking spot. Watching for the back-up lites on the Grand Prix to go out, the Pontiac backed into the headlite glare of his car, he noticed the gray of local clay on the sides of the car…there was only one place near Flatfield that the Pontiac could have gotten that dirty …and since he didn’t recognize the new car, figured it for a visitor to one of the many farms around here, perhaps from Omaha or Des Moines. He slipped the Ford blak & white into the spot and shut it off. The neon from several beer signs hanging in the bar’s windows shined on the cruiser’s windshield…the glare too bright to see anything clearly. He opened the door and slid off the seat, shielding his eyes until he got used to the glare. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something fluttering on the windshield, stuck under the wiper. Why didn’t I see that when I got in the car? Too busy thinking about Joanie, I guess. He grabbed the small piece of paper and held it up to the Hamm’s sign, trying to read it. It wasn’t handwritten, it was typewritten and hard to read in the blue glow of the Hamm’s Sky Blue Waters sign, but he studied it…finally making out the few words: Friday nite, half mile north of Old Riverview Road, 8 PM. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? He pondered it for a minute and then slipped the paper into his jacket pocket and put it out of his mind, for the time being…he heard a longneck calling his name from inside…and his stomach was growling.
Entering the door, most of the patrons turned to see who was coming in …a few acknowledged his name and “good to see ya, Sam. Lemmee buy ya a beer.” Sam declined and took the table closest to the bar…Billie strutted over, smiling and asked what he needed…he gazed at the open top two buttons on her blouse, the creamy smooth skin under the shirt and swallowed hard. “Uhm…yeah…two Hamm’s, first one now, a two inch thick T-bone, medium well, potato fries and corn on the cob…still got some corn on the cob? And bring that other longneck when the steak comes, please?”
She smiled, bent over the table to pick up the ash tray and dallied, not in any hurry to straighten up…Sam knew the blouse falling loosely open was an invitation…and what a pair of very nice invitations they were…but he couldn’t accept right now. Quite a change in fortune, especially since he was just thinking about Joanie less than half an hour ago.
Three of Blade’s old HS buddies were holding down a booth across the room, past the pool tables. The sheriff figured maybe he’d talk to them when he was done eating.
The colors of the jukebox flashed in the dim light, the C-W music was blaring, and smoke, from countless cigarettes, hung in the air. Glasses and bottles clinked, billiard balls cliked together and the room was filled with laughter and voices, all talking at once and nothing Sam could make out…just as well, he wasn’t here to listen to everyone’s stories anyway. For a long time, he watched people all around the bar, watched them come and go and gazed wonderingly on people he didn’t know in the bar…where do all these people come from…this used to be a quiet little town and everyone knew everyone else…now even I don’t know half the people in here.
Billie slid the steak in front of him and the aroma just about knocked him off the chair…“man that smells great, Billie. Did they get it cooked right? Awww never mind, of course they did. Besides, I’d eat it anyway…I’m famished.”
Billie smiled and slid the chair across from him next to his, put her hand on his leg. Startled Sam. He wasn’t ready for that… especially halfway up his thigh, even tho he’d always had a thing for Billie…
“Sam,” she purred, “I’m off Friday nite…got Julie to take the shift for me. I’m driving into Omaha…and need some company…interested?”
“Uhm, well…yeah. Sure, what time?”
“Seven-ish. I’ll even pick you up…your apartment…or the office?”
“My place…what’s going on?
“Play…at the auditorium.”
“Sure, I’ve never played in the auditorium before…what shall we play?” Sam winked.
“Smart-ass,” she said. “Play time is after…the play! You still game?”
“Seven it is, need a sport coat and a tie?”
“Alright! At least a tie…looking forward to it,” she squeezed Sam’s leg and stood up. “Oh hey, Blackie over there said if you came in, he needed to talk to you. Told me to tell you to meet him in back in the cooler, kinda secretive like. That OK? If it is I’ll go over there and tell him it’s OK.”
“Yeah, but tell him to wait until I get this steak finished off…I’m hungry…it can wait until then, can’t it?”
* * *
Can you believe that…the sheriff has got a hottie after him…now that he’s divorced…guess we learned a bit about the sheriff tonite, eh? And what of that piece of paper Sam shoved into this coat pocket? That going to present a problem with his “date” Friday nite? It did say Friday nite, didn’t it? Yeah. What it didn’t say was “what” was happening Friday nite…and what do you suppose Blackie has to say to the sheriff…think it’s got anything to do with Blade’s pals in the bar? Ya know, that’s the best part of story-telling, the author can slip in a new character any time he wants, and if the reader is intelligent enuff, he’ll figure out that the new character mite have information pertinent to the whole story…think? Speaking of intelligence…that Pontiac…with the clay on the side of it…notice that? Where was that clay road?
And what the hell kind of name is Bonaventure anyway? Who in their right mind would name their number one son that? If you’ve got the answer to that, please PM me…
Well, I’ll bet you hate to have me put this off another week, but it’s still winter in most parts of the country, at least in mine…and the cruisin’ season is still a few weeks off…guess you’d better plan on being here next Friday nite…got a feeling that ultimate drag race, and this cereal is going to wrap up real soon…Hmmmph, “serial”…not cereal. Oh yeah, we’re low on beverages again…mite want to roll a keg or two in…get your pals to chip in…we’ll need some hard stuff too.
C Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,
R-
Copyright 02-2006
COMING SOON-
"Fast Cars, 4-speeds & Fist-fights"
The second book, available August, 2006
Available now-
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”...the first book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.
Installment. Issued as part of a consecutively published and indefinitely continued series. Serials and installments used on major radio stations in the 1930’s, 1940’s and some of the 1950’s. Radio programs such as Dick Tracy (1934-1948), The Shadow (1931-1954), Amos n’ Andy, (1930-1952), Fibber McGee & Molly, (1935-1959), The Great Gildersleeve (a spin-off from Fibber McGee, 1941-1950), Buck Rogers (1932-1941) and in 1940, Superman rode the airwaves into everyone’s home three times a week in the serial until 1951. There were countless other serials on the radios back in the day…way before television ever found its way into homes. Families gathered around the radio to listen to a serial much like today’s families gather to watch a certain continuing television program…
This serial requires your intrigue, your imagination, your sound effects and your indulgence.
PART NINE –An easy nite.
You’re probably concerned about the Sheriff rite now. Understandable. Where’s he fit into all of this? What does he know about Blade, Stick and Stubby? How does Sheriff Buckner know these kids, anyway?
Let me back up a minnit, can I? Tell you WHO Zack Franklen’s Daddy, Mitchell, is/was. Years ago, before Zack came along, he was the jalopy car owner to beat ‘round these parts, spent many nites at Playland, in Council Bluffs, also in Harlan, Iowa, Knoxville, Iowa and Grand Island, Nebraska, doing the circuit…racing. And years before that, Mitchell was the only guy in Flatfield that had a true hot rod…built it himself…with a wicked flathead in it…way back in 1938.
A younger, snot-nosed kid in a “hot rodded” Model A five-window challenged him one day, certain he could beat Mitch’s back-yard built ‘27 T 4-banger with his out-of-Omaha ‘professionally’ built flathead V8. Yeah, even in 1938 there were hot rods in the Midwest…well, let me qualify that…they weren’t known as hot rods…stripped down Gow jobs, maybe, Gook-wagons…could be. “Hot rod” wasn’t invented…yet!
As it is, there’s always someone that has the quiker Gow job, the faster draw, the better aim, the bigger engine, the stickier tires, the mega-dollars. Yeah, rite, you understand now…it’s the money thing, always is…Ezra Blademann was certain his money could buy anything, including a built car he knew nothing about, nor how to drive it. Probably don’t have to tell you who won that race…on the very same road Zack and young Blade will have their go. Yep, on that very same curve, a drunken Ezra Blademann missed, trailed Mitchell by no more than an axle’s width…went bouncing and crashing over the edge, down thru the brush and young saplings, got tossed out ‘bout halfway down. The youngish trees didn’t slow the coop much and the ‘A’ plummeted the rest of the way -- at that time, 150-200 feet away from the meandering Missouri river. The coop is still there…you can only see its rusty top now from Riverview Road.
Took him a while to crawl back up the bank with a busted forearm and a shattered leg, that alone gave Ezra Blademann a limp…a permanent reminder for the rest of his life that money cannot buy everything. Ezra swore he’d get even someday.
Ezra’s son, Bonaventure, nicknamed simply ‘Blade’ in junior high, not only has the IQ, he’s got Daddy’s temperament, Daddy’s aloofness and Daddy’s money. It’s bought his way out of many Omaha tickets…his demeanor is not a well-mannered combination – but, it makes no difference, Daddy has many influential friends, wields power like champagne on election nite, what he says goes. Blade’s Uncle Sam is Sheriff in Powers County, Iowa, headquartered in Flatfield. Ezra “bought” the job for his brother a few years ago. Of course, with Sheriff Sam Buckner in the know…it’s doubtful Blade will lose. Ezra Blademann will get his revenge…it’s just taken a few years longer than he anticipated...
Sheriff Sam had warned Lew a couple of times already that he didn’t want any interference, from anyone, when the race happened…so, just in case Lew’d let it slip that the race was going down -- “Lew, you’d better go convince those you’ve already told they had better not show up, understand?”
“Yessir, “ Lew said, never quite sure how Sheriff Sam was to be taken…jokingly or seriously….this time seriously…this was the sheriff’s play…and no one was going to get in the way or stop him…or the race. The sheriff was going to end it and jail at least two of the parties involved…there would be no drag racing in his county!
“Lew, I understand Tommy has been released from the hospital,” the Sheriff growled. “I want you to keep an eye out for him…in case he decides to spend some time here in Flatfield.
And when it comes time for this big race, I’ll need your help to grab those guys, but I’ll let you know where I want you.”
“In the meantime, I just need to keep an eye on Stick?” Lew asked.
“Along with all your other duties, yes.”
“Where will you be, out on the road or here at the station?”
“Why is that important to you?” the sheriff asked. “My whereabouts are…well, you just do your job like you’re supposed to.”
“Yessir, I will sir, but just wanted to know how to get ahold of you…”
“You’ve got your radio? It works?”
“I do, yes.”
“That’s the best way,” Sam said, “I’ll be around when you need me. Just call. Anything else, Deputy?”
“No sir, you’ll be taking the cruiser then?”
“Yes, I will…and you’re getting the 4x4…try not to get into any car chases with it,” Sam winked. “…that’ll be all, Deputy.”
The sheriff watched Lew leave the office, step outside into the brisk wind and climb into the mid-60’s Ford pick up. He chuckled. That old Ford couldn’t keep up with a new John Deere baler out on the highway, but it sure won’t get stuck anywhere, especially out on Hangin’ Tree Road again. Wonder if he and Dorree will end up out that way again tonite…may have to bushwhack them later…that could be a ton of fun…for me!
Sam gazed out the window, watched the last of the sun’s ray slip behind a cloud bank, somewhere out west, on past Omaha, maybe near Lincoln or Grand Island…figured more rain was heading toward them…and if it gets any colder at nite, one of these first days we’re going to wake up to snow on the ground…then the real job around these parts will begin. He gazed at the cloud formations, lost in thought and the rest of day wound down slowly.
He racked his brain trying to figure out a way to catch the four guys right in the middle of their drag race…but…without knowing where it was to be held…he couldn’t put all the pieces together. Not wanting any more help than Lew, he’d have to figure out how to handle it with only the two of them. Maybe he’d better start checking with some of Blade’s old pals, at least those still living in Flatfield…and he was sure they wouldn’t have much to say to him…but all it’ll take is one guy to spill the beans.
Right at about eight, Sam decided to head over to Barney’s Roundhouse bar, grab a beer and a bit of supper and see if any of Blade’s friends were holding down stools over there. He decided not to wear his Sheriff’s uniform and changed his clothes to well-worn jeans and a red flannel shirt…he even decided to wear a pair of old snakeskin cowboy boots he had. He grabbed the keys to the cruiser off the office board and started for the front door…stopped…and remembered the old ten gallon cowboy hat his wife had given him so many years ago…why I still save that old hat I’ll never know. Standing in the hallway and hearing only the clock on the wall ticking, a flood of memories overtook him…memories of the good times he and Joanie had, the trips they took, the ocean cruises they went on…the island hopping they’d done…if it hadn’t been for her, he’d never had seen a lot of this world, he’d have been stuck in his little Iowa corner of the world forever…and right now, that was OK too. That‘s what he ended up with anyway, now that she was gone…but her leaving still tugs at his heart…he should have given her one more chance…and she should have given him a little more room on this job, especially after he got to be sheriff…and even tho she lives only a short distance away, in Lincoln, he’s never driven over to see her. The divorce had been finalized this past spring and that part of his life is gone, over and done with…his life now revolves around Flatfield, this small Iowa town…and that’s enuff to keep him going.
The old grandfather clock in his office struck eight times…jarring him from deep memories. He walked the length of the hall and halted at the front door, turned, pulled that old hat from his head and tossed it toward Dorree’s desk, a distance of ten feet from where he was standing. Made the perfect throw –bounced it off her desk, onto the chair’s armrest and slid it sideways into the trash basket. Good place for that, ‘bout time I got rid of it. She’s gone…and now, so is that hat He pushed the front door open with his boot, turned and locked the door and got into the cruiser.
The wind was picking up, blowing in another good storm…sounds like we’re gonna have a more broken limbs around here tonite. He fired up the engine in the cruiser, flipped it into reverse and pulled on the headlites…the 12 blocks to the outskirts of town, where the bar was, didn’t take long, barely got the engine warmed up. He wheeled into the gravel parking lot, avoided a few of the deeper water-filled potholes and noticed a few cars parked, none that he recognized tho. Once around the lot and back toward the front door, he spotted a light green Pontiac backing from the parking spot. Watching for the back-up lites on the Grand Prix to go out, the Pontiac backed into the headlite glare of his car, he noticed the gray of local clay on the sides of the car…there was only one place near Flatfield that the Pontiac could have gotten that dirty …and since he didn’t recognize the new car, figured it for a visitor to one of the many farms around here, perhaps from Omaha or Des Moines. He slipped the Ford blak & white into the spot and shut it off. The neon from several beer signs hanging in the bar’s windows shined on the cruiser’s windshield…the glare too bright to see anything clearly. He opened the door and slid off the seat, shielding his eyes until he got used to the glare. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something fluttering on the windshield, stuck under the wiper. Why didn’t I see that when I got in the car? Too busy thinking about Joanie, I guess. He grabbed the small piece of paper and held it up to the Hamm’s sign, trying to read it. It wasn’t handwritten, it was typewritten and hard to read in the blue glow of the Hamm’s Sky Blue Waters sign, but he studied it…finally making out the few words: Friday nite, half mile north of Old Riverview Road, 8 PM. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? He pondered it for a minute and then slipped the paper into his jacket pocket and put it out of his mind, for the time being…he heard a longneck calling his name from inside…and his stomach was growling.
Entering the door, most of the patrons turned to see who was coming in …a few acknowledged his name and “good to see ya, Sam. Lemmee buy ya a beer.” Sam declined and took the table closest to the bar…Billie strutted over, smiling and asked what he needed…he gazed at the open top two buttons on her blouse, the creamy smooth skin under the shirt and swallowed hard. “Uhm…yeah…two Hamm’s, first one now, a two inch thick T-bone, medium well, potato fries and corn on the cob…still got some corn on the cob? And bring that other longneck when the steak comes, please?”
She smiled, bent over the table to pick up the ash tray and dallied, not in any hurry to straighten up…Sam knew the blouse falling loosely open was an invitation…and what a pair of very nice invitations they were…but he couldn’t accept right now. Quite a change in fortune, especially since he was just thinking about Joanie less than half an hour ago.
Three of Blade’s old HS buddies were holding down a booth across the room, past the pool tables. The sheriff figured maybe he’d talk to them when he was done eating.
The colors of the jukebox flashed in the dim light, the C-W music was blaring, and smoke, from countless cigarettes, hung in the air. Glasses and bottles clinked, billiard balls cliked together and the room was filled with laughter and voices, all talking at once and nothing Sam could make out…just as well, he wasn’t here to listen to everyone’s stories anyway. For a long time, he watched people all around the bar, watched them come and go and gazed wonderingly on people he didn’t know in the bar…where do all these people come from…this used to be a quiet little town and everyone knew everyone else…now even I don’t know half the people in here.
Billie slid the steak in front of him and the aroma just about knocked him off the chair…“man that smells great, Billie. Did they get it cooked right? Awww never mind, of course they did. Besides, I’d eat it anyway…I’m famished.”
Billie smiled and slid the chair across from him next to his, put her hand on his leg. Startled Sam. He wasn’t ready for that… especially halfway up his thigh, even tho he’d always had a thing for Billie…
“Sam,” she purred, “I’m off Friday nite…got Julie to take the shift for me. I’m driving into Omaha…and need some company…interested?”
“Uhm, well…yeah. Sure, what time?”
“Seven-ish. I’ll even pick you up…your apartment…or the office?”
“My place…what’s going on?
“Play…at the auditorium.”
“Sure, I’ve never played in the auditorium before…what shall we play?” Sam winked.
“Smart-ass,” she said. “Play time is after…the play! You still game?”
“Seven it is, need a sport coat and a tie?”
“Alright! At least a tie…looking forward to it,” she squeezed Sam’s leg and stood up. “Oh hey, Blackie over there said if you came in, he needed to talk to you. Told me to tell you to meet him in back in the cooler, kinda secretive like. That OK? If it is I’ll go over there and tell him it’s OK.”
“Yeah, but tell him to wait until I get this steak finished off…I’m hungry…it can wait until then, can’t it?”
* * *
Can you believe that…the sheriff has got a hottie after him…now that he’s divorced…guess we learned a bit about the sheriff tonite, eh? And what of that piece of paper Sam shoved into this coat pocket? That going to present a problem with his “date” Friday nite? It did say Friday nite, didn’t it? Yeah. What it didn’t say was “what” was happening Friday nite…and what do you suppose Blackie has to say to the sheriff…think it’s got anything to do with Blade’s pals in the bar? Ya know, that’s the best part of story-telling, the author can slip in a new character any time he wants, and if the reader is intelligent enuff, he’ll figure out that the new character mite have information pertinent to the whole story…think? Speaking of intelligence…that Pontiac…with the clay on the side of it…notice that? Where was that clay road?
And what the hell kind of name is Bonaventure anyway? Who in their right mind would name their number one son that? If you’ve got the answer to that, please PM me…
Well, I’ll bet you hate to have me put this off another week, but it’s still winter in most parts of the country, at least in mine…and the cruisin’ season is still a few weeks off…guess you’d better plan on being here next Friday nite…got a feeling that ultimate drag race, and this cereal is going to wrap up real soon…Hmmmph, “serial”…not cereal. Oh yeah, we’re low on beverages again…mite want to roll a keg or two in…get your pals to chip in…we’ll need some hard stuff too.
C Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,
R-
Copyright 02-2006
COMING SOON-
"Fast Cars, 4-speeds & Fist-fights"
The second book, available August, 2006
Available now-
“Bangin’ Gears & Bustin’ Heads”...the first book, by R.A. Jetter describes a 16 year-old’s life in the late fifties up to the mid 1960’s…and what it was like to get into illegal drag races and fist-fights…it’s a series of 26 episodes, with each episode described in how and why, between each story. Vintage B & W photos are included-- a total of 208 pages.
High speed car stories set in the 1960’s.
Wanna know how it really went down back then? Wanna know what new ‘61 409’s, ’62 406 Fords ran like off the showroom floor? Wanna read about drag races, sock hops, real cruising and Premium gasoline? Wanna know how most of us spent our weekends back then? Wanna ride along with a lunatic?
If you do…this book will, at least, educate you to how it really was in the Midwest!
A personal, autographed copy is available at www.RAJetter.com (http://www.rajetter.com/) …or send check/ M.O. for $20.95 to: P.O. Box 440042, Aurora, CO80044.