Yardbird

3

3Scratch pulled up in front of the Primrose hotel in his '48 Dodge. The building was one of the tallest in Odarko, other than the Reliance offices. The Primrose was run by an old Jewish fella from Budapest. Jerzy Gerkbahn. Scratch was the only one who knew Jerzy's real heritage. If people in Odarko knew, the Klan would hang his a*s by Moonbark Tree in the park just to show everyone they didn't allow his kind to run things in town. Actually, it would have been a message to Darktown. Stay in your place.

Jerzy had hired Scratch to find his brother, Konny. He disappeared just after they came to Oklahoma with their mother. She was the one who bought the building and turned it into a hotel in 1938. Konny liked to drink, raise a little hell. Scratch traced the man's last days. Apparently, he was robbed out in Darktown. An eyewitness to the account was Frito Barnes, who owned an illegal gin joint back in those days. Konny liked his women dark, dangerous, and more than willing to do things in public.

Out back, behind Barnes's gin joint, three men came up behind Konny and cut him to ribbons while he was having s*x with one of the local prostitutes. Barnes came out to throw away trash and saw the whole thing. They rolled him in an old pickup, and drove toward Pleasant Lake. Nothing pleasant about that body of water. People picnic out there in the day. At night, it was a dumping ground for the dead.

The info he gave to Jerzy netted Scratch a few hundred. Neither man let old Spiff know of the outside job. Spiff would have run Scratch out of Odarko. He was possessive like that. Evidence shows. Look what Scratch had to do at the moment. Scratch had long ago come to the conclusion the old man was nuts.

Scratch finished his cigarette and tossed it in a mud puddle on the street. He got out of the Dodge, slow and deliberate like his walk. He stepped up to the drugstore and stood at the door. Scratch checked his wristwatch. Six thirty-five. Harry Sanders would lock the doors soon. The door swung open fast, and a bell chimed.

Harry popped up from behind the counter. His face, with its fleshy jowls, was flushed. No doubt the little fat druggist was putting away a new batch of pornographic photos and magazines. He caught his breath and chuckled. He came from behind the counter.

“Oh,” Harry said, “it's only you, Scratch. How's tricks?”

“Expecting somebody else, Harry?” Scratch asked.

“No, no.” Harry threw his hands up. “Just pleased to see you.” He ran a finger over his pencil-thin mustache. “Can I get you an ice-cream soda?”

Scratch shook his head. “Not tonight, Harry. I need to use your phone, if that's all right?”

“Of course.” Harry flipped a nickel to Scratch.

Scratch barely caught it. “And that's why you will never pitch for the Yankees.”

Harry swatted the air. “Ah, who wants to play for those pansies?”

“For the right money…” Scratch let his words trail off. Harry just shook his head, walked away muttering something about the Kansas Athletics winning the World Series one day.

Scratch put the nickel in the slot and he heard a smooth female voice on the line.

“What can I do for you?” The operator asked.

Scratch smiled sheepishly. He leaned in to the pay phone, hung his head.

“You could have dinner with me,” Scratch said.

The operator clucked her tongue. “Sir, I'm only a telephone operator. I'm providing a service.”

“I'm sorry,” Scratch chuckled. “Your voice sends me over the moon.”

Scratch couldn't help himself. The woman reminded him of a school teacher he had in the eighth grade, Scratch's last year. They shared that same commanding, smooth-as-velvet voice, telling you what to do in a precise, well-mannered way. Mrs Donner was her name. She was a solid woman, but not overweight, just tall and shapely. Her honey-brown hair was always fashioned neatly in a bun and her thinly framed glasses always sat at end of her nose. She always wore a white blouse and a black skirt, and black open-toed heels. You couldn't find a wrinkle or a crease in her clothes. When she walked, her stockings rubbed together, creating a rhythm like a whispering ticking clock.

He often wondered what happened to Mrs Donner. Maybe she married a wealthy businessman and had a couple of kids. Or she ended up running a clothing shop in Tulsa. Or she tutored kids for her regular income. Maybe she spent her nights alone thinking about all the students she taught.

Scratch hoped she'd think of him once in a while.

Scratch used to imagine all kinds of things he'd do with Mrs Donner. Now he imagines all those things he'd like to do with the telephone operator. He wondered if she was a blonde or a redhead. Maybe the same hair color as Mrs Donner.

The operator wasn't pleased at all with that confession. She sounded incensed. “Another one.”

“Another?” Scratch said. “What do you mean by that?”

The operator let out an angry sigh. “I mean just that. Another one! A nutcase! Look, you want a number or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm in a hurry anyway, but we'll continue this…”

“The number! Give it to me!” The operator said.

Scratch smiled. Yeah, he thought. I think I'm in love.

“Waltzing 224.”

“Thank you,” she said in that smooth, commanding voice and Scratch drew in a sharp breath, released it slowly. “Connecting.”

The line buzzed. A soft male voice answered in an Eastern-European accent.

“Primrose Hotel.”

“Jerzy, old pal,” Scratch crooned. “How's it hangin'?”

“I'm sorry? Can I help you sir?” Jerzy asked.

“It's Scratch, Jerzy.”

“Mr Williams,” he sighed. “Oh my. Been a few months since I've spoken to you. You didn't come dinner as my wife requested.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Been busy,” Scratch said.

“Of course,” Jerzy said. “I explained to Clara you were almost always on call. No matter, I am forever indebted to you for the job you performed.”

“It was nothing, Jerzy,” Scratch said. “Say, uh… could you do me a favor?”

“Well, of course!” Jerzy exclaimed, his voice pitched a little higher with each syllable. “Jerzy Gerkbahn takes care of his friends – always!”

Scratch chuckled. “I know, Jerzy, I know. Anyway, uh, look,” he licked his lips as he came up with a suitable lie. “Say… a friend of mine has a room at your establishment.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah… uh… Jerzy. His name is Gardner. Ray Gardner.”

“Oh, yes.” Jerzy sniffed. “I know Mr Gardner.”

“We're supposed to have a party at my place.” Scratch stopped to make sure Jerzy was listening.

After a brief pause, Jerzy said: “Ah. Yes.”

“Thing is, old pal.” Scratch chuckled. “I can't have it at my place. My mother is in town…”

“Oh! How wonderful! Give her my love!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. That's the reason we can't have our party,” Scratch said, squinting with concentration as he made the story up on the spot.

“Uh-huh.” Jerzy sounded slightly confused. “Does she not like parties because of the noise?”

Scratch laughed. “Let's just say… she wouldn't like what went on at these parties.”

“Oh?” Jerzy still didn't understand what Scratch was getting at.

“Yeah, old pal. I'd bring the booze and Ray would bring the ladies.”

Jerzy laughed. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. I see. Well, it seems Mr Gardner has already started without you in his room.”

“Is that right?” Scratch said, very interested. “You know…” Scratch chuckled. “I forgot what room number he said he'd be in.”

“Oh…uh…” Jerzy pulled away from the phone, his voice on the line reflected that. He bounced back, his voice louder and sharper. “Room number one-o-three.”

“Thanks, pal,” Scratch said.

“Mmm. He has a young lady already in there. As a matter of fact, I've had one or two complaints about the loud music. Frankly – please forgive me, Mr Williams – I don't like your friend very much.”

“That's OK, Jerzy,” Scratch said. “Not many people do. Say. The favor?”

“Oh,” Jerzy cleared his throat. “Yes? What would it be?”

“Well, it's a silly game Ray and I play. We like to – uh – scare each other. Practical jokes and all.”

“Oh. All right. Is this an American folly?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Could you leave me the pass key?”

Total silence. Damn, Scratch thought. Maybe I went too far with that last part. After a few seconds, Jerzy spoke.

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “When you come in the hotel, give me a wave. I will hand you the evening paper. The key will be inside.”

Jerzy hung up quickly, leaving a couple of clicking noises in Scratch's ears. He waited for the operator.

“Hang up now, please,” she demanded.

Scratch smiled. “That's all I wanted, baby, was to hear you say that.”

“Weirdo!” The operator said in a huff.

The line went dead and Scratch placed the receiver on the cradle. When Scratch turned around, Harry was standing behind him, scowling.

“What's wrong?” Scratch asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said. He was stony-faced, ice in his voice. He handed Scratch an envelope.

“What's this?”

“For the old man,” Harry said, glaring at Scratch.

Scratch looked inside. There was 100 dollars in 10s and 20s. Scratch didn't understand.

“No,” Scratch said. “What's this for?”

“When you see Gardner,” Harry snarled. “You ask him what it's for. Now get out, will ya? I'm closing up.”

Scratch nodded. “Yeah. All right.” He shuffled out the door, tipped his hat to Harry.

“And tell the old man and your friend they can both hang!” Harry slammed the door, locked it and pulled the blinds.

Scratch sat in his car for a few minutes.

“What was all that about?” he asked himself, turning the envelope over in his hands.

A red Plymouth Fury sped by, blaring Train kept a-rollin' by Johnny Burnette Rock 'n Roll Trio. A fair-haired boy with small black eyes and a crooked smile gawked at Scratch the whole time he drove by. The boy had a small round head with a flat top so large the air force could land a jet plane on it. In the passenger seat Scratch could see a brown-haired girl cuddling up to the boy. For a second, Scratch thought it was Maggie Spiff.

He felt uneasy about it when he thought back. No more than 45 minutes ago he'd left her at the top of the stairs ready for bed. The old man had the house pretty much locked up. He had his security patrolling the property. So it couldn't have been her anyway.

All Scratch knew was that boy gave him the shivers.