July 22, 2008
Batesville Installment Eleven
“So where are you moving from?”
“Kansas City. I don’t know, it didn’t feel right living there anymore. Didn’t feel like home after a while,” Emily replies to Jaquie as they both carry in some boxes. After moving the furniture they were each trying to carry several boxes at a time, but they’ve since both worn out from that and have started only carrying one box at a time. “I grew up in Lee’s Summit, but it’s changed so much since I moved out it doesn’t feel like home, either.”
“Oh, I hear you. That town’s grown like crazy,” says Jaquie as she stacks her latest load with the rest of the boxes in the living room. “Jesus, thank God there’s only a couple more trips left.”
“No shit.”
“If you ever move again…”
“Use different movers?”
“Don’t ask me to help!” They both laugh hard. They get the last of the boxes into the house as the first raindrops start to fall. Emily looks over at Sarah and the cat Ellie playing in the kitchen and smiles, watching Ellie rolling around stoned from the catnip and Sarah giggling.
Emily calls to Jaquie, “You want some more water?”
“Yeah, please.” Emily refills both of the glasses which have been heartily drank from all day and carries them out to the porch where a couple of folding chairs have been set up. She joins Jaquie, feeling an intense sensation of relaxation from sitting, knowing the heavy work’s all done.
“Thank you so much for helping out, Jaquie. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” Emily says earnestly.
“No problem, Em. I think you’ll find folks like helping each other out here in the ‘Ville.”
“Definite change of pace for me. I’m loving it so far.” Emily notices a man standing at the end of the street staring in her direction. He’s a tall white man with white hair and a deep tan. Maybe he’s not white. His features are kind of indiscernible, not just due to the distance down the road he’s standing. He’s wearing black pants and matching t-shirt which cover an athletic but not overly-bulky frame. Emily’s sure, he’s staring at her. “Who’s that?”
Jaquie turns to look in the direction Emily indicated and freezes. Emily can’t see Jaquie’s face, but it’s obvious by her posture that she’s uneasy. She looks down at her hand and Emily follows her glance, noticing the beautiful sapphire ring on her finger for the first time. Jaquie looks up at Emily and says in a low and serious voice, “Who’s who?”
“The man standing down the street pervin’ on us.” Emily looks up again and sees that the man is gone. “Huh, shit, must be seeing things.”
“You worked too hard today, sweetheart. So wore out you’re seeing spirits now.”
Posted by Schamberger at 09:55 AM
July 15, 2008
Batesville Installment Ten
Kansas City’s not one of those rough-and-tumble big cities by any means, but those who live here have grown accustomed to screams and gun shots. Sure, they want to help their fellow man and all, but you never know who else is around the corner, or what may fall into your lap. Working downtown, Saul Van Deeten runs into this sort of trouble on occasion, and if he had been smart this time around, he would have kept on walking like he normally does. He would have gotten in his car, driven to his cozy house and checked the news to see if there’d been any mention of it. But for some dumb ass reason, that’s not what he did tonight. No, tonight a shooting victim came stumbling towards him and he stuck around. There Saul was when the silly bastard said the two names that would ruin Saul’s life for the next good long while. He also promised the second name would be worth millions. The cops show up promptly and pull Saul back and check his ID. He already know what the cop’s going to say before the officer turns back towards him.
The officer clicks the button to turn off his microphone and approaches Saul. “Mister Van Deeten?”
“Call me Saul,” casually says Saul, knowing there’s no point in bravado.
“You have a lot of outstanding parking tickets, sir. Now, we appreciate your helping here, but…” But Saul’s going to jail. He knows, he knows. About a year back, he got laid off from the title insurance company he’d been working for and struck out on his own as a private abstractor. Kansas City’s a tough market for that, and if you’re not hooked up with one of the big companies you really have to hustle to make ends meet. Saul has to hit a lot of the more rural counties to make sure the power stays on, as well as working the downtown courthouse. All of the runners pick up parking tickets like a hooker picks up vaginal warts. And as bad as that analogy was, Saul’s situation with the court’s even worse. Thirty days in lock-up or pony up the money. So, G-Pop? Here comes Saul Van Deeten.
Posted by Schamberger at 09:32 AM
July 08, 2008
Batesville Installment Nine
Bob and Paul walk through the door, entering the room filled with pounding bass, gunshots and explosions, smoke, and a smell somewhere between piss and vomit. Paul can’t help but comment, “God damn it fuckin’ stinks in here, Earl. You gotta air this shit out.”
Earl looks up from his video game and just nods in the pair’s direction. “’Sup, guys. Pop a squat while I finish this shit up.”
Bob looks down at the filthy couch covered in animal hairs and…stains, and ponders if he should take the offer to sit. Before he can make up his mind Paul takes point and throws out, “We’re cool standing, yo.”
“Whatev,” replies Earl, busy pushing the buttons on the game controller. The guy playing against Earl, whose name escapes Bob’s memory, cackles while playing the shooter game. “Fuck you, man.”
“So, uh, we’re here to pick up our shit, Earl,” interjects Bob.
Earl doesn’t even bother to respond, busy being focused by the flickering lights coming from his television. The three roaches in the ash tray clues Bob in that Earl’s stoned off his gourd again. Still. Perpetually. Bob doesn’t care, he just wants to get the hell out of here. The guys who hang out in this house make him more nervous than Earl himself, which says a lot.
Two men walk from the back of the house, both holding guns. “Hey, whoa, what the fuck’s going on, man?,” asks Paul, stepping backwards toward the door.
“Calm down, motherfucker. Sheeeit,” says Earl, still not looking away from the game, “These two just off to do some business for me. We had someone narc on us, gotta get that shit cleared up.” He looks away from the game following a beep that indicates he paused it. “You fools know what’s up, right.”
“You know we do, nigga.” It cracks Bob up listening to these white boys talking this way. This is the MTV generation at its finest. The two thugs walk past Bob and Paul, sneering at Paul as they pass. “’Sup.”
“For real, Earl, we gotta get our shit and get going,” says Paul, anxious to get out of this place.
“Shit ain’t here,” replies Earl, playing the game again.
“Do what now?”
“Shit ain’t here. I gotta go pick it up. Y’all might as well come with, you can buy it at my cost.”
Bob and Paul look at each other, trying to read their respective faces. Paul shrugs his shoulders, then Bob does the same. “Alright. When we headin’ out?”
“After a bit. I’m muthafuckin’ hungry up in this bitch. We’ll stop to get some foods on the way,” says Earl, then sits up straight, angrily yelling at his playmate, “Damn, nigga!”
To which his compatriot giggles again, “Blew yo ass up!”
Earl looks up at Bob and Paul, “You guys hungry?”
“We can eat, yeah,” replies Bob. Bob takes in the scene again, looking around. Earl’s either in his early thirties or late twenties, it’s hard to tell with the lifestyle he’s leading. He’s making a shit ton of money, but blows it all on stupid stuff like video games and stereo equipment, or on the fast food and take-out containers that litter the tiny house. “When we heading out to get that?”
“Gotta wait on those two fool muthafuckas to get back, then we’ll go. Shouldn’t take them long to find that squealin’ bitch.”
Posted by Schamberger at 09:43 AM
July 01, 2008
Batesville Installment Eight
Wednesday, May 26, 2008
THIS JOB IS SUCH A DRAG!
Hey, what’s up, my peeps? Same ol’ shit goin’ on here in the ‘Ville. I’m on break from the restaurant and decided to stop back home and see what’s goin on around the internets. Jack and shit! I also wanted to take a look at my new neighbor, gawd, she is FINE. Can’t wait for her to come into the restaurant so’s I can slide her some meat knowumsayin, show her why they calls me the king o’ the jungle! Any ways, I’ll check back in with yalls latur. Hopefully tonight the rents won’t be all up in each others faces fighting again. We’ll see!
Listening To: Ozzy!
Mood: Horny
1:03 PM – 3 Comments – 2 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit – Remove
And why do they call you the king of the jungle, Chuckles?
Posted by Jodie on Wednesday, May 26, 2008 at 1:28 PM
[Reply to this]
Sheeit, girl. A male lion has sex on average over sixty times a day!
Posted by Chuckles on Wednesday, May 26, 2008 at 1:29 PM
[Reply to this]
LOL! So you’re a masturbating lion!
Posted by KCAndrew on Wednesday, May 26, 2008 at 1:45 PM
[Reply to this]
Posted by Schamberger at 05:59 AM
June 24, 2008
Batesville Installment Seven
Jimmy can’t remember how long he’s been living on the streets. The old man has no time to be worried about things like that anyway, what with the dead people following him everywhere he goes. They’re not zombies or anything like that. No, that would be crazy. These are just dead people. They’re everywhere, always asking for help, but Jimmy knows that it’s not his place to step in and assist them. No, someone else has to do that. Jimmy’s camped out just north of downtown Kansas City, right by the River Market area. There seems to be a lot of dead folks wandering around the district, but Jimmy’s not quite sure why. Maybe there’s a Yamagot working the area and they came to get help that way. Jimmy hopes that’s not the case, as he’s hiding out from Yama, has been for a good long while now. He just can’t bring himself to face Yama yet, not after everything that happened.
So Jimmy just stands there at the corner, holding his sign, hoping that the people exiting off of I-35 onto Broadway will help him get enough money to get some food today. He tries to talk with them about what he sees, but they just don’t want to listen. Maybe today someone will know if there’s a Yamagot in the River Market. Maybe today someone will be able to help all of these dead people.
Posted by Schamberger at 08:07 PM
June 17, 2008
Batesville Installment Six
Frank decides that it needs a little more blue. The mixture’s close, but it needs to darken up a little, so he squirts a little primary blue onto his palette and mixes it into the rest of the paint with his knife. Then he adds a little white to it, but not much. A little bit goes a long way with white. Perfect. He daubs the blade into the paint and begins to apply it to the surface of the painting.
“I asked you a question, Frank.”
“You ask a lot of questions, honey. Do I really need to answer all of them?”
“This one you do, yeah,” she replies adamantly and with a little too much emotion.
Frank and Marilyn Saffo have been married for about eighteen years. If you were to get either of them alone they’d tell you that they hadn’t been truly happy together since before they got hitched. Back then Frank did ‘the right thing’ after Marilyn got pregnant and took her hand in marriage, but they’ve both wondered since what their lives would be like if they hadn’t got pregnant, or if they hadn’t married and just went their separate ways.
“I don’t know, Marilyn,” he says into the phone nuzzled between his ear and shoulder.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” her voice implores over the line.
“It’s ten in the morning. I don’t know what I fucking want for fucking dinner, alright?”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she whispers back. Good ol’ Marilyn, never wanting to make a scene. Never wanting to do anything that might get her noticed.
“Call me on your way home, maybe I’ll have an idea then. You know, when I’m hungry and it’s time for dinner.” The painting’s starting to come out the way he wants it. It’s got that right energy going on that makes Frank feel truly alive.
“You should go help that new lady move in. I saw Jaquie Folsom out there helping. You should too, since you’re home all day.”
“I’m home all day working, Marilyn. I’m not just sitting around with my thumb up my ass. If the lady needed help she should have hired some.”
“Yeah, who was I kidding, thinking you’d be help.”
“Fuck you.” Frank hangs up the phone and gets back to something he actually cares about.
Posted by Schamberger at 06:03 AM
June 08, 2008
Batesville Installment Five
Andrew Nillson’s been working for the Kansas City Journal for nearly his entire professional life in one function or another. As a kid he delivered papers with his grandfather, listening every morning as grandpa would talk about how important the Journal was to Kansas City and its Kansas Citians. “People need to know what’s going on, Andy,” he would tell him. Those early memories were what led Andrew to J School at Missouri’s state university, the leading journalism program in the nation. Andrew excelled in nearly all of his classes and had a job offer right out of school at the Journal as a beat writer. He worked his way up into editorial and slowly rose in the ranks, bringing credibility and high ethics with him as he went, having an indelible effect on everyone who was fortunate enough to call him ‘Chief’, finally now being the news editor for the prestigious paper.
Andrew believes in what the Kansas City Journal represents, but he doesn’t have much faith in his new publisher and the carpetbagging douchebag owners the publisher represents, though. So far Andrew has very little faith in any of the ‘forward-thinking initiatives’ that his new boss Jack Woodford has put in place, but he feels lucky that no such wrong-headed ideas have been put in for the newsroom. Well, felt lucky. Now Andrew is sitting in Woodford’s overly-decorated giant office, which happens to not even be located in the Journal’s complex of buildings, hearing how Jack is going to plain fuck up Andrew’s livelihood.
“Newspapers are a business, Andrew,” points out Woodford. Andrew hates this office, hates the golf memorabilia strewn around, especially the little putting green in the corner, hates the yachting pictures, hates the pictures of Woodford’s expensive cars, powerful friends, and beautiful family, but mostly hates that this office costs more than the monthly budget for his department. Every time that Andrew’s going to have to beg for a new monitor or computer or to get the copier fixed or to bring on more freelancers, he’s going to think of this office and hate it just a little bit more than he does right now.
“Yeah, among other things.”
“Forget the other things. We’re here to make money, and to make lots of it. We’re here to sell subscriptions, and to sell advertising, and to pump up the advertorial sections. What we need is content that’s going to sell those things.” God damn it, here it comes. Andrew knows that the Pulitzer’s going to be brought up, knows it already. We need to pander to committees instead of doing actual journalism. “We need more awards, more Pulitzers. We need…” We need more shocking headlines. We don’t give a rat’s ass about the quality of the story, we just want people to pick it up. I mean, come on, Americans don’t read anyway. “We need headlines that suck the people in. Our paper is boring,” We need to bring in younger readers, even though they’re not the ones with actual money. We could use the website more effectively to do that, but come on, the printed paper is where it’s at. “We need that younger demographic to come in, Andrew. We need to drive them to the paper and away from the news websites. We need to drive more attention to our subscription services online, too.” Because people are notorious for spending money online, don’cha know. Absolutely no one wants stuff for free, and it would be impossible to make the website ad revenue-based. “But mostly, I need you to focus more with your people on style,” not substance, “On getting the kind of stories that people want to read about in the aisles at the grocery store,” Say, did you know our mayor is gay? “Maybe focus in on local government some more, you know, get people interested in Kansas City politics. Are you with me, Andrew?”
Are you with me? Are you ready to sell your soul so that my corporate overlords and I can make a quick buck and then sell your shit paper off as soon as we can and go back to taking our trophy wives to Europe or the beach or anywhere that isn’t this godforsaken town? Are you ready to take all of the blame once this blows up in our faces, get fired, and find yourself overqualified for any job in your profession and unable to find work? Are you ready to be labeled as an antique because we were the ones too dumbassed to let you move the paper into the next generation, especially since we all know that print’s going to be dead in under a decade? Are you with me, Andrew? “Yeah Jack, I totally see where you’re coming from.”
Posted by Schamberger at 03:07 PM
June 03, 2008
Batesville Installment Four
Bob and Paul are enjoying the view. They’re sitting on a bench outside of a department store inside a mall in Overland Park, where all of the trendy upscale bitches shop. You know, the ones who stay in shape. Paul calls them ‘Jo Cunts’, since they’re in Johnson County, and, well, because they’re cunts. Still and all, these are fine physical specimens, properly representing the best that their gender has to offer. Bob and Paul are enjoying the view.
“Got-DAMN it, I love coming here,” exclaims Paul, watching a rather fine piece of ass walk by. He doesn’t care that she heard him, and when she turns to give him a dirty look he blows her a kiss with a wink. The corner of her lip curls up, but she keeps on walking.
“That’s alright, darlin’, ‘cuz ah love watchin’ you leave. Mmm, mmm.”
He turns back to look at his partner in crime, Bob. Bob’s a bit more soft-spoken, but he’s not about to deny that they’re here to perv on some girls walking by. Well, that and because they’re killing time.
“You heard from Earl yet?”
“Motherfucker, you’ve been sitting here with me the whole got-damn time. Have you heard my phone ring?”
Bob watches a particularly striking woman walk by, lost in the moment. “Huh?”
Paul stares at the side of Bob’s head, since his friend is still transfixed on supporting the women’s movement. Of their asses. “No, no I haven’t heard from the cocksucker yet.”
Bob turns back to look at Paul, but gets distracted again by a girl who’s probably too young. “We oughta get out of here before one of these ladies calls security.”
“Yeah, shit, let’s just go over to Earl’s place, see what the fuck’s going on.”
“Why the hell are we dealing with this guy, Paul? Crazy son of a bitch.”
“He’s got a connection on some good meth.”
“We live in mother fucking Kansas City, man. There’s connections for meth everywhere you fucking turn.”
“Yeah, and all of those assholes are batshit crazy, too.”
“Dude makes me nervous. He’s been extra special mental since he hit that chick driving drunk last week, too.”
“What, you think he doesn’t make my ass nervous? Let’s just go over there, get our shit, and go sell it off and…” Paul drifts off as a gaggle of girls come out of the store, carrying bags from the lingerie shop in the mall. Bob joins him in the ogling, ending the debate that could have saved their lives.
Posted by Schamberger at 09:11 PM
May 27, 2008
Batesville Installment Three
“Mornin’ Deb.”
“Mornin’ Chuck.”
That’s the way that JJ’s Chicken and Waffles opens most every morning, as its two employees walk from the parking lot to the Batesville restaurant’s doors. Debra is the manager and waitress for the joint, taking it over since her dad disappeared a couple of years back. The gossip was that it was due to a tax situation, and Debra will be the first to tell you that for once the gossip is true. Her dad JJ made some great manicotti, but he wasn’t very good at successfully cooking the books. Since he vanished she’s been running the business, the only one left in the tiny city.
Most of their clientele are people traveling on I-70, too hungry to wait until they get to either Blue Springs or Odessa, plus most of the town’s residents and a few folks who live in the area. While the name of the place may be referencing poultry and fancy pancakes, it’s really known for its Italian cuisine. In fact, they haven’t sold any chicken or waffles for over a year. Everyone in Batesville tells Debra that she should change the name, but she keeps it out of reverence to her daddy.
Chuck gets right to prepping up everything in the kitchen while Debra gets the register ready and the place swept up clean. While chopping up some cold cuts, Chuck looks up at Debra, laughing, saying, “Hey, you see someone’s moving into the old Campbell place?”
“Yeah, I saw the lady and Jaquie Folsom moving the boxes in.”
“She looks fucking hot.”
“Jaquie?” asks Debra, not really caring, more involved in the cash she’s counting out for the register.
“Well, yeah, I’d nail her too, but the lady moving in. Smokin’!” The young twenty-something Chuck licks his finger, touches it to his arm, and makes a sizzling sound that comes out more like a spittled “Ssssss.”
Debra stares at him, wondering what in the hell she’s doing here, in this shit job, working with this idiotic pervert, working in a restaurant. “So you gonna go over there, tell her you want to slide one in?”
Chuck breaks eye contact, trying to keep the smile on his face but instead having it slowly look uncomfortable. Chuck’s twenty two, overweight, although he hasn’t told his two sizes too small wardrobe that, making him look like a scene of Bill Bixby turning into Lou Ferrigno. His constantly worn ball cap covers the fact that yes, he is indeed wearing a mullet, but it doesn’t cover his barely ever brushed teeth. “Nah, I don’t know where that bitch has been.”
Debra goes back to counting her cash, smiling, “But we do know where you haven’t been.”
There isn’t any more discussion between them that morning. There normally isn’t much ever though, outside of whatever they have to discuss regarding an order. They just get back to their normal routines, getting the joint ready for its first customers of the day.
Posted by Schamberger at 05:39 PM
May 20, 2008
Batesville Installment Two
Vinnie Harris’ day started off just like every other day started off for just about his whole working life. His alarm clock went off, and Vinnie got out of the bed he sleeps alone in to walk across the room to turn it off. He has it across the room so that it forces him to get out of bed, something he picked up on during his hard-drinking late teens. He took his shower, washing his short balding hair and soaping down his beer belly, then shaved around his goatee, deciding not to trim it this morning as he really wasn’t in the damn mood to do that. He picked out one of his pressed dress shirts, a royal blue one today since that goes well with his favorite tie, matched them up with black dress pants and black suit jacket and headed on his way. Down the street he notices that movers are putting some boxes on the lawn of the old Campbell house while the cop’s nosy wife across the street watches, arms crossed. Vinnie just laughs, turns up M.I.A.’a Kala album and heads onto the highway.
It’s a bit of a drive from Batesville to the bank he works at in Kansas City’s Waldo area, and if you were to ask Vinnie why he makes the drive instead of moving or finding somewhere closer to work he couldn’t really tell you. It’s just that he works at that bank and he lives in Batesville and that’s it so mind your own business, buddy. Anyway, going through Blue Springs is fine but then it gets the normal amount of congested as he enters Independence and becomes a full-on mess by the time 70 intersects with 291. He stays on through and exits onto I-435 South and gets off on Bannister, heading west into Waldo. It’s the same route he takes every morning and most days he has absolutely no memory of the drive unless traffic is particularly piss-poor.
Vinnie pulls into the bank’s parking lot, taking one of the back spots and walks on in to start his eight hour shift. The old guard, Harold, holds the door open for him like he does every other day, and they have the same conversation they do every day.
Vinnie nods at the guard, an ironic smile on his face, “Thank ya, sir.”
“Sir, you’re welcome, sir,” the old man says in the best grandpa voice you’ll ever hear, a warm smile brightening up his face. The two men nod their heads again and Vinnie walks back to the time clock to punch in.
The bank’s an older one and is set in its ways, right down to its old style time punch system and the typewriters on everyone’s desks. This suits everyone who works there just fine. Sure, they have computers and all sorts of fancy gadgets, but the history of the place reminds them of what worked first and what worked best, and if someone wants to open an account the old-fashioned way they’re more than welcome to do so. Vinnie might be young in years, clocking in at only twenty-seven, but he’s got an old soul and loves the traditions of this institution.
He stops in the break room to get his coffee, having grabbed his mug off his desk on the way in, always thinking of efficiency, and stops to talk with one of the ladies who works in the proof department.
“Mornin’, Vinnie!” the rosy-cheeked woman says, looking up from her breakfast.
“Mornin’, ma’am. How’s things?” Another conversation Vinnie has every morning.
“Things are good. How’s it going with you?”
“It’s goin’,” Vinnie laughs, now finished pouring his coffee. The proof operator laughs at the joke, even though it’s the same one he’s told her every morning for the last eight years. When Vinnie started with the bank she was the woman who first trained him and he’s always felt a debt of gratitude to her since then. Plus, she’s a sweet old lady and gives him candy.
He heads back to his desk as the guard unlocks the door, allowing customers to enter the building. There’s always four or five senior citizens waiting for the doors to be unlocked at 9:00AM sharp, every now and then some of them rather impatiently, until Harold lets them know that their watches are off. They’re all members of the bank’s “Coffee Club”, which is a corner of the lobby that has cushy chairs and a coffee pot. For a long time Vinnie didn’t get why they come in every day and drink the bank’s cheap-ass coffee, but he sees the rhyme in their reason now. What else are they going to do, sit around the house and waste away?
This particular morning, one of Vinnie’s favorites is in, Mister Fulks, who makes a line to the desk. “Mornin’ sir,” greets Vinnie.
“Good mornin’, young man. Hopin’ you can help me out with one of my CD’s?”
Vinnie shrugs as the old man sits at his desk, “Sorry Mister Fulks, but CD day was yesterday.”
“Oh?” replies Fulks, his eyebrows rising above his thick glasses.
“Yeah, yeah. You gotta come in on Tuesdays now.”
The old man leans forward, looking at Vinnie’s daily “Learn Mandarin Chinese” calendar, then looks at the banker. “Calendar says it’s Tuesday.”
The two smile at each other slyly and then let out a small laugh. The ladies sitting at the desks around Vinnie roll their eyes, tired of the same old jokes. “Ya got me again. Alright, let’s get this here CD taken care of, huh?”
Vinnie gets to work on the certificate of deposit’s renewal process, rolling the interest over into the new term while old man Fulks inspects one of the pitiful plants on the desk. “So what’s new, young man?”
“Oh, last night a buddy brought over some DVD’s and we watched ‘em. Really cool show.”
“Yeah? I like movies. Harriet and I,” Harriet being Misses Fulks, another of Vinnie’s favorite customers, “We like to rent a lot.”
“Actually, this was a TV show on cable that was in a set of DVD’s.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Pretty cool. It was about the Hundred and First in World War Two, from the start of the war through the Eagle’s Nest and liberating Auschwitz. Really fascinating. Worth checking out, if you like stuff like that. War stuff.”
“Not really, no.” Mister Fulks starts to look a little reserved, his eyes looking a little distant. “I don’t really find the enjoyment in that.”
“Oh, uhm, I’m,” Vinnie stutters, afraid he’s inadvertently offended one of his favorite customers.
“Nah, Vinnie, don’t worry. I was there, you know.”
Vinnie slips from speaking in a professional tone and lets out, “No shit?”
“No shit. I was in the Hundred and First.”
The young banker leans forward, Fulks holding his interest. “You know, they were interviewing guys from the Hundred and First, having them tell the stories and then there’d be the part with the actors. Maybe you could contact them.”
The old man leans back in his chair, not comfortable. “They called me when they were making the show. I didn’t want nothin’ to do with it.”
“You didn’t want your story getting out there, so that people know?”
The old man looks at Vinnie, eyes creasing, the wrinkles suddenly aging his normally happy face. He looks around the lobby, then leans toward his favorite banker, opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “I was there, when we were rolling into Auschwitz. We knew the Germans were done for, but there were still pockets of resistance as we went. Anyway, some of the towns, as we came close, they’d start cooking big feasts for us, the officers saying it was to celebrate us liberating them, but I always thought it was so that we wouldn’t shell their towns. Anyway, we’re coming up on this little village and we smell barbeque. Vinnie, I was hungry for some good food. I’d been eating crap rations for months, and my stomach started grumbling, reminding how long it’d been since I’d had some honest-to-God good food. I started salivating, the barbeque smelled so good. We pull into the town, and there’s no feast,” Mister Fulks pauses again, unsure if he wants to continue. Vinnie gives him a sympathetic look, letting him know he can stop if he wants. “The people there, they’re scared of us. More scared than we’d ever seen any villagers look, and then we notice the smoke coming from just past the town. We rush up there and find the camp, the concentration camp, and find that they were trying to burn up all of the evidence. The people. They were burning up as many Jews as they could, and I just started vomiting. The scene itself, it’d make any man throw up, but that’s not why I got sick. I got sick because I was hungry for the smell of cooking human flesh. Do you know what smelling is, Vinnie? It’s inhaling particles into your nose. I inhaled a burning man’s flesh and it made me salivate. I haven’t slept a full night since then. So, no, I didn’t really want to share that story. I’ve only ever told Harriet about it, and now you. You know, the villagers, they were scared, because of what they thought we’d do to them once we found the camp. They knew that we’d know they had people working there. We went back to that damned village and made those bastards cook for the prisoners we’d liberated, give them their clothes, and clean up that awful, that awful…”
The two stare at each other, Vinnie simply unable to function, having never really run into any situation remotely like this, unsure of what to say to this man he considers to be a friend. All that he can do is hand the updated certificate to Mister Fulks and ask, “Is there anything else I can help you out with today, sir?”
Fulks looks at him, a really gentle smile coming across his face, and offers his hand, then firmly shakes the banker’s hand. He keeps his grip and wraps his free left hand around the young man’s, and very sincerely and warmly says, “No, Vin, you’ve helped me out more than I could have imagined. You have a good day now, young man.”
Vinnie, relieved but still a little shaky, says, “You have a better one, Mister Fulks.”
Posted by Schamberger at 08:30 PM
May 13, 2008
Batesville Installment One
It’s tough picking out which CD to play. Emily’s always thinking about her life’s soundtrack, so she wants to find the right song to play as she pulls onto the exit off of I-70 East into her new home town, Batesville. Emily looks into her rear-view mirror at the pet carrier holding her most valuable possession, the Ellie Cat, and asks, “What do you think, El? Maybe some post-punk?” El doesn’t reply, so she ends up going with Johnny Hit and Run Paulene by X. It’s a super high energy track, although the lyrics are a bit morbid. Still, she pulls into town tapping her thumb on the steering wheel, singing along, a smile on her face. The smile only lasts a moment though, dropping quickly from her twenty-seven year old face as she pulls around the corner to her new home.
It’s a small town, Batesville. The sign on the exit reads ‘Population 17’. It looks like a nice little housing edition in the middle of a farm. It looks like that because that’s exactly what it is. Emily can’t remember for sure what it was that made her decide to move here from Kansas City, but as soon as she saw the house she knew she had to move there. The town has nothing to do with her current state of consternation, though.
“Son of a bitch! Those cocksuckers!” Emily screams, the angry guitar licks screaming from her speakers definitely serving as a soundtrack to the moment. Her front yard is full of furniture and littered with boxes, several with ‘This Side Up’ arrows pointing at the ground. Son of a bitch, indeed. The movers she’d paid a ton of money to had obviously had something better to do than their jobs and had just left all of her worldly possessions in her new front lawn. She jumps out of her car and starts kicking her couch. “COCK SUCKERS!”
“Uhm, hi there.”
“FUCK!” Emily then realizes someone behind her has spoken and turns around to see a black woman in her early thirties accompanied by a precious little girl, obviously the woman’s daughter. The little girl looks a little uneasy, Emily reckons due to the harsh language spewing from her mouth. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry. It’s just, you know…”
“Yeah, your cocksucking movers…” the woman begins, until her daughter tugs at her pants.
“Mom!”
The woman looks down at her daughter, very seriously. “Now Sarah, you let us talk adult talk, alright?”
“Okay,” the little girl says bashfully, looking down at her pretty pink shoes. Emily finds herself smiling despite the anger she was just experiencing.
“Your movers. They left all of your stuff out here. I came over and asked them if that’s what you wanted and they told me to fuck right off, so I…”
“Mom!” stage whispers the little girl Sarah looking up at her mother again, not liking the words coming out of the matriarch’s mouth.
“…So I go back over across the street and watch your stuff. I called up Oliver, my husband, and I told him to get home early if he can, since it’s going to rain tonight and I didn’t want your things getting left out in the rain. But Sarah and I, we sat out here and watched and made sure nothing happened. Didn’t we, Sarah?” Sarah looks up at her mom smiling a beautiful little smile. The woman extends her hand, “Hi, I’m Jaquie Folsom.”
Emily takes her hand and shakes it. “Emily Hollinger. Thank you so much Jaquie, I really appreciate it.” Emily looks down at the little girl and offers her hand, “It’s nice meeting you too, Sarah.” Sarah shakes her hand and giggles, suddenly becoming shy.
Jaquie leans on the couch in the yard and says, “You need help bringing all of this inside?” to which Emily just laughs. They both pick up the couch and start to move it towards the house.
Emily looks over at Sarah and sees she’s looking around at the boxes in a way that screams I-don’t-want-to-move-this-stuff. “Hey Sarah, my cat Ellie is in my back seat in her carrier. Can you bring her in and keep her company while your mom and I move this stuff?” Without an answer the little girl runs to the car, smiling. Emily looks up at Jaquie and gives her a wink.
Posted by Schamberger at 06:57 PM
March 18, 2008
Batesville 01
The first chapter of Batesville is now available on Wowio at the link above. It's a serialized novel that will further explore the world of The Unbroken Circle, and is also my first novel. I'm pretty excited about this one.
Posted by Schamberger at 09:08 PM