Fabric of Our Fathers by: Al Nash, Acrylic on hardboard, 2011.
Small Town Bastards [cont…]
by: Jason Woods
Carl’s intelligence on the fall out yielded an excellent crop. All the Methodists were completely convinced that someone from the Lutheran congregation put that message on the marquee. Some names were tossed about, but Pastor Weiricht said that proof was the appropriate ingredient to allegations, and since proof was the one thing that was missing, all allegations had to be shelved. Pastor Weiricht did ask Carl to keep his eyes and ears alert for any information that might come about in the next month. Carl reported that he agreed to the pastor’s appeal. I thanked Carl for his labor and told him that next week we would be concentrating on the Lutherans. Carl couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. I assured him that it would be classic.
I piloted our conversation to his knowledge of Painter Joe. Carl said all he knew was that Painter Joe liked to storm into McDonald’s with his noiseless entourage, order a cup of hot water, pilfer ketchup packets from the condiment bar, and then proceed to make Tomato Soup from said components. I expressed revulsion with my face and asked if he’d ever chatted with Painter. Carl said once he had to tell Painter that Simon, James, Andrew, Levi, Philip and Bart were not really behind him, and that started Painter into an appalling harangue about how his friends are as sick as shit that they are overlooked. I laughed and told Carl that I encountered Andy, which caused Carl to rub his head and squint his face in skepticism. I assured him that I was speaking the truth and he shrugged it off saying that I had too much of McStone’s leafy treats leaving me cerebrally challenged. As I walked home from Carl’s boobatorium, I decided that I needed to have a little chat with Painter Joe.
A couple of days after my debriefing with Carl, Enema and I were rambling down Main Street discussing what our next message to the town would be. Enema said that Vowels’ ideas so far equaled a bucket of lemur piss, and the rest of the gangs performance didn’t even measure up to Vowels’ ideas. Sensing Enema’s stress, I reassured him that I had an idea that would ignite their creativity, but it involved Painter Joe. “Holy shit Scratch,” exclaimed Enema. “That fucking shithouse rat and his sidekick turds will cultivate our next message?” I reminded him that Painter knew about Newlove’s affair before anyone else did, and his main turd Andy passed that info along, so what else could Painter and his lackeys know? “Well shit,” Enema said as he kicked a rock, “no one else has anything to offer up on the Lutherans, but fuck man, Painter Joe as our last resort?” I reiterated that Painter was not a last resort, but an option worth checking out and that mollified Enema, but I could tell had his reservations.
As luck would have it, Painter Joe was at Carl’s station walking around the pumps looking at the ground. I told Enema to go inside and have him and Carl watch, and, if anything seemed wrong, to come outside and rescue me. Enema wished me luck and went inside. I slowly approached Painter, who was looking at the ground. I asked Painter what he was looking for. Painter said that Bart had dropped fifty cents and that they needed it for McDonald’s. I told Painter to wait where he was and went inside to get fifty cents from Carl. Carl handed me two quarters with a raised eyebrow and I walked back out to Painter and his crew. I told Painter that I had two quarters for him if he could tell me something. He told his boys to spread the fuck out so he could talk to me. Apparently they complied, because I had his full attention. I asked how he knew about Mr. Newlove’s affair. He said Andy saw Newlove driving his maid deep into the couch cushions with her clothes in a wad and her feet up in the air. I asked what else Andy knew about this town. Painter looked around and called Andy front and center and asked him what he could pass along in order to get their soup. I requested that Painter translate what Andy said, Painter cocked his head and said “sure,” but insisted that Andy spoke English. I started to feel like an ass and turned to gaze into Carl’s shop to make sure my back was being covered. Enema and Carl twirled their index finger around their ear and crossed their eyes; I had my answer. Painter said that Andy knew about Mr. Riegel and his trips to Fort Wayne, Indiana to the male strip bars. I asked for clarification, was Andy saying Mrs. Riegel went to the male strip clubs? Painter stressed that Andy said Mr. Riegel liked to watch the boys strip and that after the club he goes to an adult bookstore to meet other men.
I was floored! Mr. Riegel was at one time an elder in the Lutheran church and has two kids. Mr. Riegel was also known as the leading crusader against homosexuals in the county; he preached on the perils of such acts one Sunday a month. I asked Painter if Mrs. Riegel knew about this. He said that she’s as blind as a mole in daylight and her husband’s trips were cloaked around business. I told Painter to wait one minute and ran back inside the station. I told Carl that I needed four more quarters to give to Painter Joe, and Carl just looked at me. I pointed at him and told him that the extra dollar was needed and I would explain in a couple of minutes. He opened his register and handed me the quarters. I walked back out to Joe and handed him the six quarters I had and thanked him and Andy for the information. He took the money and looked me dead in the eye and asked if I was the one who put that message about Newlove on the Lutheran sign. I told him no, knowing that he didn’t believe me. “Simon says you are dishonest,” Joe said. “He knows it was you and your outspoken pal that’s inside observing us. Philip was inside and eavesdropped on the both of them and told Simon that Carl’s in on it to.” I had no reply. Painter Joe stuck out his hand and said that his boys are grateful for the money. He said now they all can eat and that my secret is safe with them, and he offered up his amenities whenever I required them. I shook his hand as he finished up by saying that he never enjoyed Mr. Riegel. I told Joe that I appreciated his silence in this matter. He said it was his desire to proclaim the wolves amid the herd.
I watched Joe walk away telling his boys that this town is ripe for an awakening and that they had better be sharp, no more fucking around. I shook my head and wondered how in the hell Joe was able to discern the town’s skeletons. I went inside and told Enema and Carl what Joe and his boys told me, and they were dumbfounded. Their silence quickly turned into disbelief. I reminded them about Newlove dipping his wick in his maid and that Joe knew and it turned out to be true. Carl said that we knew what our message was to be about and the gang better get working on it. I slowed Carl down and made sure both he and Enema listened carefully. I explained that we were not going to be attacking Mr. Riegel on his sexual preference. “It’s not about who he sleeps with.“ We were going to expose his affair against his wife, his family and his congregation. We were also going to bring to light that Mr. Riegel had been at the pulpit on Sunday mornings preaching against homosexuals with scathing tirades of hell and damnation. We were going to approach this in the exact same manner as we did Mr. Newlove. Both Carl and Enema agreed that the real issue is the double standard Mr. Riegel was living. I told Enema to round everyone up for a meeting the next night at Carl’s to explain the situation and make arrangements on phase two of our mission.
The gang was ready for the meeting and arrived promptly to go over the next phase. I called the meeting to order and quickly handed it over to Enema for the debriefing. “All right,” said Enema. “We have our next mission. Scratch found a wealth of information from a very unlikely, and somewhat alarming, source about a certain man in the Lutheran congregation. It seems that Mr. Riegel is not a man of his Sunday speeches. Now, I for one could care less what his perversion is, but we all know that this town is scared of anything that sits outside their prescribed normality, and this, my friends, will scare the living shit out of them. This is no different than Mr. Newlove’s affair or his bigotry. This town has heard Mr. Riegel give Sunday talks about the perils of homosexual lust and that those who practice such lewd acts are dammed to hell. I guess ol’ Riegel’s practices are not akin to his teachings. Mr. Riegel has been taking trips to Fort Wayne, Indiana, where he spends time and money at a strip club. It just so happens to be a male strip club. Then, he will close off the evening by visiting an adult bookstore to meet and hook-up with other men. To make this clear, we are not attacking Mr Riegel because of his sexual preference. If the man wants to bang a watermelon, who are we to condemn. We are attacking his duplicity. We would not be discussing this matter if all of Mr. Riegel’s topics on Sundays focused on God’s love, but all he preaches is God’s anger directed towards a certain group of individuals. I expect that this proclamation of ours will generate the biggest shit storm this town has seen since Devo Dan caused Alexander’s manure truck to overturn in front of Linda’s Dusty Pantry, spilling two tons of shit along Main Street.” Enema began pacing the floor with his hands clasped together. “This,” he continued, “will take place just like that last operation, everyone will be at their same spots. I figure the town will be a little more aware this time so our eyes and ears must be in tune and alert. We cannot afford any fuckups at this stage. Our asses are hanging out on a thin wire and prudence is our highest commodity. I now ask that Scratch take over as chairman of this meeting.”
I got up and recapped everything Enema stated and added that I had a suspicion that this escapade would not run as smoothly as the last one. So we all needed to be on high alert. I asked Vowels if he had any ideas on what our message would be, and he stammered that the words had yet to settle in formation in his mind. I gave him two days to accomplish this task. He said he would deliver. Hammy proposed that we stake out the Methodists church the night before we attack and we all agreed that was a sage decision. I asked for any volunteers. Carl said he would; he had a lot of invoices to go through, and it would take him well into the wee hours of the night. He said he could take a stroll and canvas the place for us. We all agreed that Carl was our nocturnal eyes for this. I asked that everyone regroup again in three nights for the second phase of our operation.
I visited Carl on the morning of our planned excursion and asked if he saw anything out of the ordinary. Carl replied that all was well and the town was as silent as a mortuary. I felt a little reassured, but my anxiety was on the verge of running amok. Carl proceeded to say the stakes were mounting and that from here on out our tenuous hold on events would be wrenched from our hands. I told Carl that I felt that way as well, and that my head was on a continuous swivel, and paranoia was starting to camp out in my mind. I told Carl that I believed this was our last message to the town and he replied he thought that we had to do one more after this. He said he didn’t know what that would be, but he just knew this wasn’t our last. Now paranoia’s friend panic arrived in an RV slopping over with fear. I couldn’t wait for this to be over.
Next, I went to Vowel’s to see if he had conjured up the perfect message, and he showed me what his defunked brain produced. It was a seething dagger dripping with venom capable of character assassination in the highest form. Pushing my anxiety down, I told Vowels that he had carved a gem. As I left his house, I was struck with Carl’s words that this was not our last message. He was right. We would have to leave one more, and this would require us to procure more letter tiles. Tonight’s message would exhaust my supply. I would have to talk to Carl about this after tonight and see if he could order some for us.
Everyone arrived on time on the night of phase two. Hammy brought a small rake with him and Enema asked if that was his new comb for that bird’s nest Hammy called a hairstyle. We all laughed and Hammy said that the mulch looked soft around the marquee, and we could use it to cover our footprints. I was amazed that we never thought of that, and I was proud of Hammy for recognizing potential danger. I told Hammy that I would put in a recommendation for promotion when this night was over on account of his brilliance. Pokers reaffirmed why Hammy was his right hand man. We all gave Hammy a pat on the back before hitting our marks. I couldn’t tell if I was projecting the anxiety on the group, or if everyone was equally anxious. But the laughter and Hammy’s brilliance settled all of us down.
As Enema, Spoons, and I reached the Methodist marquee and began to arrange the letters on the ground, McStone announced over the walkie-talkies that a car was approaching from the east at a good clip. We all scrambled behind the church in the shadows waiting for the car to pass. The seconds seemed like hours before McStone said the car had passed him and would be at Part Time in about ten seconds. I could see the approaching headlights and watched the car turn north on Main Street away from our position. Enema radioed to Pokers that the car was approaching his position heading out of town. He copied and took cover. Once the car had passed he signaled that all was clear.
I walked out of the shadows with Spoons and Enema right behind, me and returned to our work. The three of us moved with an even greater purpose, and I whispered that we needed to stay calm in order to prevent any mistakes. We cannot afford to let haste be the rope that hangs us. As we were placing the last word, Hammy broke the silence that the county sheriff was approaching the south edge of town, and we had twenty seconds to move our asses away from the scene. Enema placed the last letter while Spoons raked the mulch, and I told everyone to scatter and head toward the south end of town where my house was. They were to wait behind my garage and turn off their radios. I figured running in the shadows in the direction Officer Boutwell was going would be our best bet. Hammy was waiting for us as Enema, Spoons and I arrived. Vowels was two minutes behind us, and McStone was just behind Vowels. I knew Pokers was one mile away from my house when Officer Boutwell passed Hammy and would be the last to arrive. In fact, it took Pokers ten minutes to arrive at my house. Enema asked what took him so long, and Pokers replied that walking was his best defense. He would look suspicious if he was running through the back streets of town. He said he saw Boutwell drive past the Methodist church without braking. He apparently didn’t notice the message. Pokers added that he watched the cop car drive past Part Time and head out of town after his final round of the evening. We all relaxed a little bit and decided that our night was over, and tomorrow would be a colossal day for the town. Enema said that if he could he would inspect the scene to make sure we left nothing behind in our wake. I thanked him, and everyone said goodbye. I went inside to lay down, and imagined a myriad of ways this town would respond to the memorandum we left, and none of them were good.