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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
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I'd like to add something here as I near the end of the main story: when I started this story, it was only really a kernel of an idea. In passing, I mentioned to an internet buddy that I had started a story. He asked me if he could read what I had so far, which wasn't much. He encouraged me to publish it here on Nifty. I have had so much positive feedback from my readers that I want you all to know that is what drives me on to finish the story. I'm not an author by trade, or by temperament. I've never done this before. Anyway, again, thanks to you all.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Early the next morning, Ginny sat down at her computer. She had a folder on the desk with a yellow legal pad of the sort she always used to jot down information. For a person of her success and stature many would have thought it odd that she maintained almost no computer records, but that was by design. Only she, and she alone knew most of what was what and that's just the way she liked it.
At the same time, across the street at the Dickson home Tim and Brett were waking up in time to grab breakfast and head off to school.
"Hey, hun?" Tm asked.
"What, sleepy head?"
"Well, um... I uh... I mean, it's about..."
"You don't feel good about what happened between you and Sean and me and Andy, do you..."
"Um...I uh...I kinda don't... I mean, I guess I don't feel weird about it, or anything. I can't make it unhappen, but we're all supposed to be friends and stuff. And whenever I think about it all I think about it is you. I mean, how much I love you and stuff..."
"I know. I kinda feel the same way..."
"OK, well, I mean, I don't wanna talk to the `rents about it, that'd just be kinda creepy, but I wanna talk to someone. Is that OK?"
"I'll do whatever you need to do, Mister... Like I always say, you're stuck with me. Like dog hair on a jelly bean."
"OK, well, um...after school I want us to go see Father Taylor. Are you OK with that?"
"I'm OK with whatever makes you OK," Brett answered, planting a kiss on Tim's cheek.
"Alright then, we'll go see Father after school..."
"Is he gonna try to get me to turn into a Catholic?" Brett giggled.
"He might, I mean that's like his job..." Tim laughed.
Of course, the boys couldn't escape Peggy's notice at breakfast. "OK, you two! Ya got somethin' up yer sleeve there now I can tell... C'mon you two, out with it..."
"Well," Brett began not wanting to take a chance on Tim getting tongue-tied, "Tim's taking me to see Father Taylor after school so he can try to turn me into a Catholic..."
"Shouldn't be a problem," Peggy rejoined, "after all, half of bein' a Catholic is knowin' how to get on your knees and God knows I betcha both know how to do that!" She winked.
"Mom!" Tim yelled, choking on his Cap'n Crunch so much so that a couple piees of it flew out of his mouth and across the kitchen.
"OK, I gotta go, don'tcha know. Have a good day, boys! Oh, and clean your cereal off the floor, Timmy." Peggy laughed, walking out to the garage.
"What was that all about?" George said walking into the kitchen to put an English muffin in the toaster.
"Um, nuthin' dad... Mom was just giving us shit..."
"If you say so, Timothy," George chuckled, shaking his head. "Never mind... I'm not even gonna ask..." George grabbed a cup of coffee, his muffin as it popped up, chuckled again, and left the kitchen. Tim and Brett both broke up laughing.
"Last one in the shower has to bottom!" Tim said, jumping up from the table, running toward the bathroom. Brett, for his part remained seated thinking that at that moment he'd let Tim win that one.
At lunch that day, Brad showed up at the table the four boys' table. Standing, he asked "Mind if I eat here..."
Sean pursed his lips and shook his head in a motion for Brad to sit, which he did.
"Who's this guy?" Tim asked.
"His name's Brad," Andy answered.
"Like Bradley better." Brad said, not looking up from his food.
"OK, Bradley. I'm Tim and this is Brett."
Brad looked up, nodded, and went back to eating not really paying attention to the others. Tim and Brett looked at Sean and Andy, rolled their eyes and shrugged. "OK, there, Bradley, it's nice to meetcha. So, you gonna talk to us, or what..." Tim said.
"Ain't got nuthin' to say right now..." Brad replied, not looking up.
Brett signaled he would try. "Hey, Bradley... Andy told us how your mom and dad died and you live all by yourself and stuff. Just wanna say I'm sorry about that..."
At that, Brad looked up. "'Perciate that. Nobody never said that to me `fore. I like you... Brett."
"What about the rest of us?" Tim said.
"Dunno. Andy's OK. Still think Sean's a little weird `n' I don't know you. Yer tryin' to be nice to me so ya must want somethin'..."
"If you thought that, then why did you sit with us?" Sean asked.
"'Cause Andy n' you were nice to me n' somebody took my table. Still think maybe you guys want somethin'.... Might as well get it over with..."
Tim's face visibly reddened. "Look, Brad, or Bradley or whatever your face is, no you don't know us. And we don't know you. You think we want something from you? Like what... Look at us and then look at you. What do you have that we'd want... Except to be friends, that's all... Is that so fucking hard for you to understand? Get your head out of your ass. I heard Wymo over there saved you from an ass beating, and Cass just wants to help you maybe get your life back on track. We can make that happen for you, ya know, so get off it. Who the FUCK would turn that down, anyway? Well?"
"How come you guys'd do anything fer me... I ain't nobody. Just stay in my own lane..."
"Yeah, and get your ass beaten and work almost full-time while you're in school..." Andy said. "Tim was right, we wanna help you. If we can..."
At that, Brad looked up and looked around the table. "You guys ain't bullshittin' are ya... `Cause if ya are..."
"We're not," Sean said. "You work tonight?"
"Huh-uh. Workin' all weekend this week..."
"OK!" Andy said. "Meet us after school and we're going shopping!"
"Don't have no exter money..."
"It's on us," Sean smiled.
"Where we goin'...."
"Clothes shopping!" All four of the others said at once.
"Yeah, and make sure he knows how to wash the new clothes once you get him home...."
"I go t'the laundry mat," Brad said.
"Well, shit," Tim said somewhat disdainfully. "After you got the clothes take him to Sears and get him a fucking washer and dryer... And some laundry soap and fabric softener and shit."
Brad was doing double takes looking around the table. The last one he looked at was Brett who simply nodded indicating to him that it was OK.
"And get him a haircut and a fucking shave, too, while you're at it..." Tim added. "How the hell do you expect to be successful, Bradley, unless you fucking LOOK successful... I assume at some point around here you actually DO want to be successful..."
At that, Brad laughed. It was a genuine laugh. "You guys `r' all weird."
"You're not..." Sean deadpanned for effect. "Not at all..."
Ginny finished up at her computer and set off for City Hall. She wheeled the big Mercedes into the underground parking normally reserved for City Councilors and City Employees, herself having a permanent reserved parking space as she was on the Citizens Advisory Finance Committee. On the elevator, she pushed the button for the third floor where the City Zoning and Inspection Departments were.
"Morning, Sarah!" Ginny called, walking up to the Zoning Department counter.
"Well, Ginny... Haven't seen you for a while. We all thought you'd retired!" Sarah called out cheerfully.
Ginny was well-known among the Department staff, seeing to it over the years that if she needed City approval the decision-makers were rewarded for what she termed "their swift, professional and courteous service." Once in the past, the news media had accused Ginny of bribing the City staff to get what she wanted to which Ginny simply replied that they could kiss her ass, they should prove it or fuck off and it was a measure of her competence that her projects were regularly approved. She even invited reporters to her house "so you can all watch my Plumber install a new fucking toilet. I needed it with all of your bullshit..."
"Yeah, yeah..." Ginny laughed back to Sarah. "Listen, can you pull the jacket on a property for me? I'll need both the Zoning and the Inspection jackets."
"Sure, what's the address?"
"722 South Jackson Street."
"Slumming it, are we, these days?"
"Very funny, Sarah.... There's a young man I think maybe I'd like to help out, well maybe two young men, actually, and it's just some background info is all. Say, that area's a historic district. How strict are the regs with that district?"
"Not too bad, it's mostly just that the buildings don't get altered out of their original footprint, but additions to the rear are allowed if in keeping with the neighborhood, and garages are permitted, but they can be up-to-date. It's nothing like Courthouse Hill...."
"Thank God! I'll never forget that one I did about ten years ago. I thought you guys were gonna send me to my grave over fucking slate roof shingles," Ginny giggled.
"Here ya go" Sarah said as she returned with the City paperwork. "Have a ball..."
"OK, thanks, I'll just be a minute..." Scanning through the papers, Ginny saw the basics such as the house was built in 1879 by a gentleman named Joshua Bolt. The original building permit stated it was a single-story wood home, 816 square feet, 4 rooms and two bedrooms. There were other permits as well for minor updates and maintenance made over the years, but as far as Ginny could see without having an Architect visit the property, it was for all intents and purposes original. She returned to the desk, gave Sarah the folders back and left.
Onec away from City Hall, Ginny drove to the Jackson Street property and took a walk around. "Well, as Bette Davis would have said, what a dump..." she thought. She thought if she put Sean in charge of dealing with the City and Andy in charge of the actual construction then it shouldn't be a difficult project for them at all.
After school let out that day, two sets of boys went in two different directions. Sean, Andy and Brad set out for the Mall. Tim and Brett took the short walk from school over to Saint John Vianney Church.
At the Mall, Brad remained quiet, and somewhat pliable although me maintained his distance and terseness still not completely trusting the other two. Somewhere in the back of his mind lurked his innate opinion that people only do nice things if they want something in return. Nevertheless, he submitted to Sean's attempts to dress him.
"Let Sean-o dress ya, Brad. He's way better with clothes than I am..." Andy said.
"Toldja, call me Bradley..." came the monotone answer.
"Yeah, sorry... Anyway, he really is. I have other talents."
"That mean you gonna fuck me?" Brad asked.
"No! I'm not going to fuck you. And neither is Sean. GOD!"
"Whatever...." Brad mumbled.
About a half hour later Sean was getting exasperated. Brad was in the fitting room trying on some of the clothes as Sean told Andy, "I can't get him interested in anything other than blue jeans! I mean, what the fuck..."
"Baby steps, Sean-o. Besides it was you that said this was a project. Most projects aren't done in a day... Look how long it took me to get you after all..."
"Yeah, I guess. Well, maybe I can talk him into a pair of black jeans. I guess at this point I'd consider that progress..."
"There ya go!"
Brad came out and dutifully modeled the clothes for his new friends. Sean teased him about being a string bean with a 30-inch waist and a 36-inch inseam. In the end, they let Brad pick and ended up leaving with seven pairs of jeans, one of which was black, six sweatshirts, four Oxford-style shirts and a dozen each heavy cotton t-shirts and socks as well as a belt, a pair of sneakers, a pair of leather work boots, a new Winter jacket, hat and gloves. Sean considered it a start.
At the Barber Shop, Sean told Brad that he didn't give a shit, that Sean was going to pick the hair style. "Don't cut much off, just clean it up," Sean said. "He's got nice curls, so we're gonna want to leave as much of that as we can. And give him a nice, close shave. Can you put something in his hair that'll bring out the highlights? See, look, he's got those gold highlights."
The Barber complied, and in the end with a new haircut, new clothes and shoes, Sean and Andy were stunned. "Jesus Christ, Sean-o, he um...he's beautiful..." Andy whispered.
"It's a slight improvement," Sean laughed. And indeed Brad was stunning once he was cleaned up. Before leaving, Sean had the Barber add a razor, blades and shaving supplies to the haircut.
"Bradley, go look at yourself in the mirror," Andy said. "Just go look."
Standing in front of the mirror, Brad looked himself over, turned this way and that, twisted so he could get a view of his ass in the mirror and even primped his hair a bit. Turing to Andy and Sean, Brad tried to speak but nothing came out. Finally after a heroic effort on his part, Brad managed to half smile and nod his head.
"We're not done yet!" Sean said. "You gotta take good care of these clothes so we're getting you a washer and dryer. And so they did. At the Sears store, Andy picked out the same Maytag pair that he put in the spare apartment at the Alamo. They had the salesman throw in Tide pods laundry detergent, Oxy- Clean and fabric softener. "You use this on all your shit and just follow the directions on the package. It's pretty easy."
"Already know how t'wash clothes. Not a retard ya know..." Brad said.
"Well, let's get you home, Bradley, and when we see you at lunch tomorrow we wanna see you lookin' good, OK?" Andy smiled.
"Yup."
"You're a man of few words, Bradley," Sean said.
"Uh-huh."
While the other boys were at the Mall, Tim and Brett arrived at the Rectory of Saint John Vianney Church. Tim rang the bell.
Presently the door opened, and Father Taylor greeted them. "Well, Timothy, what brings you by today?"
"Um, yeah...sorry I didn't call, Father. Listen, you got a few minutes?"
"As luck would have it, I actually do. I have a meeting in about an hour out at the Country Club, will that be enough time?"
"Still taking those vows of poverty, I see, Father," Tim teased.
"I'm eating there, not buying the place," Father Taylor bantered back. "Anyway, follow me into my study..."
Tim motioned for Brett to follow the Priest. Once they were all seated, Tim began, "First of all, Father, I want you to meet Brett Dowling. He's gonna be my husband."
Father Taylor extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Brett. I'm sure you'll be making Timothy an honest man..."
"Likewise, and I've already done that, Sir," Brett smiled.
"Call him Father," Tim interjected.
"Timothy, I have a feeling you two didn't come here to discuss formal means of interpersonal address with Catholic Clergy this afternoon, am I right?"
"Um, yeah... Look, I don't know any other way to put it so I'm just gonna lay it out there. On the weekend, I was with one of our best friends and Brett was with the other one, and we both jacked off with the other guy. It's been bothering me."
"I see, well that is a sticky situation, isn't it..." Father Taylor quipped. "I'm sorry, guys, it was hard to resist. Oh, there I go again..."
"Well, what do you think, Father?" Brett asked.
"Has it caused pain in your relationship, Brett?"
"I wouldn't say so, I mean I don't think we feel BAD about it, it's just that I think we feel kinda weird about it..."
"Timothy?"
"I feel like I gave in to the moment and I shouldn't have done that."
"Do you two love each other as much as you did before this happened?"
"Yes," they both said.
"And do either one of you plan on a repeat performance?"
"Well, the four of us agreed that we were all gonna fuck when we go up north over Christmas break,' Tim replied earnestly.
"Crucifying yourselves, so to speak," Father Taylor winked.
"Well, I mean..." Tim began.
"We just want your advice, Father. I'm glad you took the time to meet with us, but we didn't come here for a comedy routine..." Brett said, trying to bring the conversation back to Earth.
"I appreciate that, Brett. I apologize. I wasn't making light, it's just that you realize of course that I've never had one of my Parish come in for this sort of advice. Very well, then. Do you two think you've sinned?"
"I'm not sure," Brett said. I'm Episcopal and maybe we don't think of it the same way the Catholics do..."
"I don't know, either," Tim said.
"Well, here's how I see it. You haven't entered into the sacrament of matrimony yet. Therefore, there is no sin that I think God's eyes would see in that respect and no cause to seek absolution from God that I can see, either. However, it appears to me that what happened, happened. It's water under the bridge. That's the thing about time: once you spend it you can't have it back. I can only hope that if nothing else you both physically enjoyed it, but what the issue is here is that what happened is obviously weighing on your minds, am I correct?"
"Yeah, and I did enjoy it," Tim said.
"Me, too..." Brett agreed.
"OK, so we're left with this: there is no cause for you to seek absolution from God because you broke no sacrament never mind that Brett isn't Catholic anyway. It appears to me that you may need to seek absolution from each other if you haven't done so already. The fact that you came here tells me that you both have a good conscience, and are good men. I've never believed that it's a good practice, or in God's teachings that we punish good men for a human misstep here and there when the good man knows in his own heart he must make it right and most importantly acts on it. One final question. I asked this before, but once more, do you love each other?"
"Yes!" they answered in unison.
"Then that's all there is to it, guys. Go and love each other, and it will be my privilege to say the Mass at which you two shall be married."
"That's it?" Brett asked.
"Yup. That's all she wrote," Father Taylor replied.
"Well, OK then," Tim said. "Thanks, Father..."
"Timothy, do you remember the words you recalled me telling you as kids? The ones you said to me when you came to see about your wedding?"
"That we are all of us Sinners and none of us Saints."
"Exactly."
"Well, I guess we're done here," Tim said.
"Just one more thing," Father Taylor said. "Brett, I'd like you, once you and Timothy are married, to think about joining our Parish. Tim's family helped to establish it, and one day you will be part of all that. Maybe too one day you will have children. Timothy went to school here up to eighth grade. So did his brothers We have an excellent school. When our kids leave here, they have a solid education and are well-prepared for High School. I won't press you, I'd just like you to consider joining us, that's all."
"I certainly will, Father. And thank you for your advice today. I was thinking along the same lines, but not as clearly as you put it."
"Very good, Brett, and remember what I said: make an honest man out of our Timothy."
"I'll try," Brett laughed. "It was really nice meeting you."
"You, too, Brett. I can see why Timothy loves you."
With that, the two boys left. Tim dropped Brett off at Woodmans, Brett having to work that night, and went back home. He finished up his homework, grabbed a sandwich and texted Andy and Sean that he wanted to come over.
George let him borrow the Escalade remarking that it probably was time Tim get a car of his own.
"I guess so, dad. Make it a wedding present. Brett doesn't have a car, either..."
"Oh, so I hafta buy you guys TWO cars now?" George chuckled. "Get the fuck outta here..." He said, now laughing broadly. "I swear, Timothy..."
Joe answered the door at the Alamo. "Hey, Tim! How's it going? You come over to see Mutt and Jeff?"
"Yeah. Everything's really good. Mom and Dad said to say hello..."
"Say hello back when you get home... Anyway, I'm pretty sure they're in the Library studying if they're not upstairs getting their rocks off..."
Tim blushed, which was Joe's intended reaction. "Um, OK, I guess..." Tim flustered.
"Ah, Tim, I ain't that old ya know. Now go on! If you want a beer, you know where the kitchen is..." Joe smiled.
"Don't mind if I do, actually..." Tim said, a bit nervous.
Knocking at the Library door, Tim indeed found Sean and Andy hard at work. "Where's the Beaner?" Tim asked.
"He's over at Kathleen's. Said they had some kind of a project to work on. I think we can guess what he's working on..."
"Brave kid going over there with that fucking Bill Kennedy," Tim observed.
"I dunno... He says that ever since like the past little while for some reason Kennedy leaves him alone and doesn't even sneer at him. Not sure why, but, hey... Anyway, what's up, Dix?"
"Well," Tim said taking a long pull off his beer, punctuating it with a reverberating belch, "See, me and Brett, we went to see Father Taylor after school today, and um, well, we, uh, I mean..."
"Just bottom line it, Dix," Sean laughed.
"OK, fine. We feel bad about what happened last weekend, I mean, you know, I mean we don't feel bad but we feel weird and we, um, well, we..."
"You don't wanna do that again?" Andy asked.
"Um, no... I mean yeah... You know what I mean!"
"Yeah, I know whatcha mean, Dix, and that's OK. I'm not sure we should do it again, either," Sean said.
"Me, too," Andy agreed. "But didn't we all agree to fuck when we go up north?"
"Yeah, we did, and we still can it's just that we won't swap partners but we can still like fuck in the same room, or the same bed. I mean, that would be just as hot. See, I just felt really, I mean I dunno. It was fun when it happened, but then afterwards, I mean you guys are our friends. And you're gonna always be our friends. I hope..."
"Dix, man, friends forever,' Sean said, standing up and hugging Tim.
"That's right," Andy joined in, joining the hug. "We love you guys like brothers."
Gradually, the boys released their hug. "So, we're all good?" Tim asked sincerely.
"Yeah, we're all good," Andy said, added to by Sean's thumb's up.
"Where's Brett?" Sean asked.
"Woodmans. Hadda work tonight. But he knows I was comin' over. Too bad he's at work, because that means I'll hafta do self-service tonight... That's OK, sometimes I come up with cool shit to do when we're together. Oh, and hey, when we go up north, you gotta bring the sling. Brett's been askin' about that..."
"Consider it done. Hey, you got extra room? Danny and Jim should be here by then, ya know... Remember, they're moving into the apartment over the garage..."
"Shit, that's right! Yeah, we got enough room! We might hafta rent a couple more snowmobiles, though... I mean, we have four and there's gonna be six of us."
"Snowmobiles?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, it's the bomb, and the forests up there are really beautiful in Winter. You're gonna love it! Plus, none of the bars up there ask for ID's. You look old enough, you can order a beer, that's how they roll. They don't give a fuck."
"Wow! Cool! Hey, we're gonna need snowmobile suits and stuff..." Andy said.
"Yep, and I'll tell ya whatcha need. Gets fucking cold up there. One time we were out and it was a cold snap. The temperature was 32 below zero. WITHOUT the wind..."
"That's cunty," Sean said.
"Wouldn't know," Tim laughed, punching Sean in the shoulder. "Would you?"
Sean made a motion of puking by sticking his finger down his throat. "Do I look like I eat fish tacos? Fucker..."
"No. Just assholes," Andy quipped, dropping his pants and mooning Tim.
"Fuck, Cass! I don't wanna see your hairy fucking asshole!" Tim said in faux disgust.
"No, but you thought you were gonna fuck it, didn'tcha..."
"I would have. You fuckin' bet I would have, just like I'da wanted that fat cock of yours up mine, but it wasn't to be. Sorry..."
"We're good, bro," Andy said.
"Coulda, shoulda, woulda," Tim laughed.
"Yep. Someday, we're gonna be sitting on the verandah with our old lady hats on sipping mint juleps and smoking a joint telling our grandkids about these days and they're gonna think we were terrible, ya know that?"
Speaking of kids, you ever check with the Doc up in Stevens Point to see how Colleen's doing? I mean how healthy the pregnancy is?
"Yeah, I have. They send me a report every week. So far, so good. The Mother Superior at the Convent tells me she's calmed down a lot. Now, I know this is all second-hand and stuff... I suppose sometime I'll hafta go see for myself, but if I hafta see her, what the fuck do I tell her? I mean, like fuck, what would a person say?"
"You'll know what to say, Wymo. You always do. That's a big reason why you're a better Quarterback than I am. I guess if it were me, I wouldn't be mean about it, but I'd say the truth of why I was there, get my answer, say a polite good-bye and let her know you'll be checking in every so often. That's more than enough... And I know it won't go to Court any more about custody, but if it did you'd show that not only did you pay for all this shit, but that you'd actually been there. Speaking of which, when you're there find out how often her parents have visited and break it down between Bill and Mrs. Kennedy. Get it in writing from them, and if you can't then write it down and get the name of the person who gave you the info..."
"How did you know it wasn't gonna go to Court?"
"Who lives across the street from me? See, me and Ginny, we share one thing: there isn't anything that goes on in this town that we don't know about if we wanna know about it. No, she didn't tell me. I figured it out on my own by using CCAP.* There's no cases filed against him except one for Disorderly Conduct. I figure Ginny prolly made some kind of deal with him. Quid pro Quo..."*
"I'll believe ya for now, Dix... Quid pro fucking Quo..." Sean teased. "I'll take your advice and just go in like a cucumber: cool."
"Sean-o, when are NOT as cool as a fucking cucumber..." Andy said.
"You'll come with me, Brown Eyes. Yeah?"
"Yeah, but not when you see Colleen. I think that needs to be just you and her..."
"Huh?"
"He's right," Tim said. "Other people in the room and she might not say what's really on her mind. Cass is right. Just you two. And you set your phone to record before you go in the meeting room."
"I see whatcher sayin'.... Don't worry, it'll all be fine. I just don't want her or that useless twat dad of hers getting a hold of those kids..."
"He's always been an asshole," Tim said. "I used to Caddy out at the Club, and he was always the one no one wanted. We used to draw straws to see who hadda take him. Half the time I'd take him anyway just because he hates my whole family and I loved to watch him try not to insult me. He hates Lawyers... Little does he know..."
"OK, well, we'll go up weekend after this. Hey, this weekend Kevin Masterson from West is coming down. We gotta hook him up with someone, man..."
"Is he one of us?" Tim asked.
"Yeah."
"Hook him up with Trager," Andy said. "It'll fix a lot of things and actually Trages isn't THAT bad of a guy... I mean, maybe if nothing else maybe they'll both get laid... It would certainly improve Trager's disposition anyway... I mean' he's way better but he's still got a chip on his shoulder..."
"What about Brad?" Sean asked.
"Fuck no!" Andy exclaimed. "He barely trusts us as it is. We introduce him to someone from out of town and it'll be just sixty-four variations on `what's he want from me?'"
"You guys take him clothes shopping?" Tim asked.
"Yeah, and a haircut and a shave, too..." Sean said.
"Dix, man, the result was stunning," Andy said. "I mean, he looked like maybe raw material before, but with the clothes, the haircut and the shave he's still too thin, but he's gorgeous..."
"He is," Sean agreed. "You better have a plan beyond that, bud..."
"I'm formulating," Andy said seriously.
"Well, alrighty then!" Tim laughed.
As the boys were talking, Ginny's Mercedes pulled into the driveway at 722 South Jackson Street. She saw lights on, so figured she was in luck. She exited the car wearing a sharp, businesslike black-and cream pantsuit with her hair perfectly sprayed, and her signature oversized red ruby necklace. "What the fuck," she thought, "if I'm gonna get killed it'll be in style. Oy vay! The things I do..."
Mounting the rickety front porch, Ginny grasped the somewhat wobbly railing. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed to heself. "How can people live like this?" Reaching the door, she banged on it. No answer, she banged on it again noticing a face peering out the window onto the porch. After a moment, or two the inside door opened and the storm door remained locked.
"Yeah?" said the voice of a young man behind the door.
"I'm looking for Bradley. Bradley Fletcher."
"That me. Who er you..." Brad said through squinted, suspicious eyes.
"I'm Ginny Miller."
"That don't mean nuthin' ta me. What you want..."
"I'm a friend of Andy Churchill's and trust me, young man, it will be in your best interest to see me."
"If he's yer friend, you call him up on yer phone and let me talk to `im. I don't know you..."
"Fine, and I should be doing this because?" Ginny said, palms up held skyward.
"'Cause it my house and I say so," Brad answered.
"Well, that's the best answer that I coulda heard!" Ginny laughed. "OK, wait a minute, I'll get Andy on the phone..."
Ginny dialed Joe as she didn't have Andy's number in her contacts. "Yeah, Joe? Ginny here, look I'm sorry to bother you but are you at home? You are? Wonderful... Is Andy there and can you get him on the blower here? Oh, good... Yeah, I appreciate it..."
After a few seconds Andy breathlessly took the phone. "Ginny?"
"Yeah, it's me... Look, I'm over at this Bradley guy's house on Jackson Street and he won't let me in unless he can talk to you, so I wanna give him the phone."
"Um, OK, but like why are you there?"
"That's not for now, just talk to Bradley..."
"Um, OK..."
"Here you go," Ginny said, slamming her cell phone into Brad's hand.
"Yeah..."
"Bradley, it's Andy... You can trust Ginny. If she's on your porch you just got a really good friend. That's all I'm gonna say."
"That fine. Bye," Brad said handing the phone back to Ginny but being wily enough to make sure the call was ended.
"You can come in."
"Well, thank God for small favors!" Ginny said. "Took you long enough. I should live so long!"
"You talk too much..."
Ginny followed Brad into the little house noting everything spoke of being old and fully depreciated. The carpet appeared as if at one time it may have had some sort of pattern to it long since tramped away by feet and smelling of every pan of cheap bacon that was ever fried in the old place. The walls spoke of not being painted for years. The furniture, what there was of it, was threadbare. The television was an old CRT type. But the house was neatly kept. There was no money for updates, but she noted the young man did the best he could. And that Ginny could respect.
Brad offered Ginny a beer. She declined but asked him for a glass as she took a silver flask out of her handbag. "Scotch, young man," she said waving the flask. "And if you have an ashtray..."
"That OK. I smoke anyhow..." Brad said handing Ginny a somewhat clouded highball glass that while clean obviously hadn't been washed in either soft water, or a dishwasher and an old, brass, well-used Pabst Blue Ribbon ashtray .
"OK, so what you want anyway..." Brad said, still suspicious.
"I did some research. Turns out I knew your Grandfather. He worked for my husband for many years. My husband had already been dead for years, but your Grandfatehr brought you into my office to show you off once when you were a baby. Yeah, I saw you in diapers, kid... So, I'll tell ya what I want..."
END CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
*CCAP is pronounced by locals as SEE-KAP. It is the public portal for access into the State of Wisconsin Court system.