Abe and Shorty had been working on the huge pile of donations for six days when Captain Hedges sent Peon to get them.
“I’m very proud of you both,” Hedges said as he shook their hands and offered them a seat in his office. He shuffled some papers around on his desk to make room for his cup of coffee. “I think this is going to work out well for all of us. You’ve shown me you’re trying hard to put the past behind you. That’s what my program’s all about, you know; giving people a second chance.” He hesitated and gave them a broad smile to which Abe and Shorty beamed back like a couple of school kids. “Well,” Hedges continued. “You’ve done your part, now it’s time I held up my end of the bargain.” He handed them each an envelope. “I told Leroy to let you off an hour early today so you could pick out your new clothes.”
Hedges had put thirty dollars in each of their envelopes and permission slips to choose three outfits apiece from the Thrift Store.
At four o’clock sharp Peon came bustling around the clothing pile to officially release them from their toils. “The Captain says you can go now, but you’d better make it quick. We’re still closing at five.” He made sure they saw him looking at his watch before spinning around on his heels to return to his other pressing duties. As soon as he left, Abe and Shorty dropped the garments they were sorting and headed for the retail part of the Thrift Store.
“My, but yer a fine sight to me tired old eyes,” Shorty said later as he walked around Abe to inspect his new outfit.
It had taken them the better part of the hour to select their first ensembles from the various racks in the Thrift Store, and Abe was proud of his choices, a gray pinstriped suit and a blue shirt. He let a big smile wash over his face. “Yessir,” McDougal continued. “The Lord’ll be pleased with yer upliftin’.”
Abe took his mind off himself and gazed at the little man. “You’re a picture yourself,” he said without actually committing to anything. Shorty had been forced to make his own selections out of the boys department because all the menswear items were miles too big for him. He had on a gaudy floral-print shirt, a denim jacket and a pair of black painter’s pants. Abe smiled and eyed him a moment longer, letting his gaze rest on Shorty’s new footwear, a pair of canvas shoes that couldn’t be washed clean. “Maybe you could pick out a more substantial pair of shoes,” he advised as nicely as he could.
Shorty looked down at the low-cut tennies. He had tied the laces with over-sized bows and double knotted them but their ends still streamed onto the floor. “It’s me feet, don’t ya see?” he explained. “They’re in an awful mess. I couldn’t be wearin’ somethin’ that’d tend to be bindin’ ‘em up.”
“I can understand that,” said Abe, slowly shaking his head. “But couldn’t you find a regular pair of shoes? You know, a size or two too big that’d let your toes move around a little?”
“I see nothin’ wrong with ‘em, meself,” McDougal said, lifting one foot at a time and looking his new sneakers over. “And they’re about the same shade of black as me trousers.” They were, but only because of the ground in stains.
“Okay,” Abe said with a shrug. “I was just thinking that it might make the Lord happier if we show Him we’ve put ourselves out a little getting ready for Him, that’s all.”
Shorty threw his hands in the air. “Ya’ve said enough. I’ll see what I can find.”
While Abe sorted through a table of socks, Shorty trudged off to the shoe racks again, mumbling to himself and still admiring his first choice. He pulled the tennis shoes off without bothering to undo the laces when he got to the shoe section and set them back for some other lucky fellow to find. His eyes fell on a pair of high-top dress shoes three sizes too large. With a thoroughly disgusted look he stepped into them and plodded back to interrupt Abe. He tugged on Abe’s arm. “Do ya think the Lord’ll be findin’ these more to his likin’?”
Abe smiled when he saw the oversize brown brogans. “Couldn’t you find a black pair?”
“No, I couldn’t,” the exasperated McDougal fired back. Abe stared at him and raised his eyebrows. “But I’m thinkin’ I’d better be lookin’ some more,” the little man added with a questioning look at Abe.
“Well, I suppose you could dye them, if they feel good,” Abe soothed his ruffled feathers.
Shorty gave a quick nod. “Mind ya I’m not sayin’ they’re comfortable, but if ya think they’d pass inspection, I’ll just be dyin’ ‘em.”
Abe returned his nod, and Shorty clogged away towards the cash counter to get a bottle of black polish.
Peon ushered the smartly outfitted twosome into the alleyway at five o’clock. They wanted to show off their fancy appearance to Horace. Being clean-shaven with clean bodies and clean clothes, they were actually quite presentable. But the old dog was about the only living creature, except for Captain Hedges, that would appreciate the remarkable transformation they had undergone.
Horace had dragged up a pile of discarded rags in the alleyway behind a permanently parked trailer and made himself at home when it seemed the two men were going to stay on in the big building,. He had not attempted to sneak back into the sleeping room, and whenever Peon showed up he hightailed to his bed and stayed out of sight. With Abe and Shorty bringing him three regular meals a day, and no alcohol, he was putting on some weight and gaining energy enough to do a little wee hour gallivanting. He was enjoying one of his long afternoon siestas when Abe’s voice destroyed whatever dream he was having.
“What do you think, Horace?”
Horace rose quickly to see what was prodding him in the ribs. He glared at the intruder. The matted hair on his back tried to bristle up, and a guttural growl sounded from his throat.
“Hey there,” McDougal called out, and backed away. “Would ya not be knowin’ who yer friends are?”
Abe stooped down to gaze into Horace’s eyes. “That’s a fine compliment, Horace,” he said.
The old dog burst into his body wagging welcome. Flicking a wet tongue out in a lapping motion, he washed Abe’s face from chin to forehead. “Oh, gees!” Abe said, and threw both arms up to keep Horace’s tongue at bay.
McDougal started laughing, and Horace changed partners. Taking two giant steps he pounced on the little Irishman, toppled him to the pavement and started licking him with a great show of affection.
“Get yer awful, stinkin’ body off me new suit!” McDougal shouted, pushing against the loving Horace. “Get off or I’ll tell the Lord to glue yer lips together!”
At the threatening tone of Shorty’s voice Horace stopped his playfulness and backed away whimpering.
“Oh, come on, Horace,” Abe said. “He wouldn’t really tell the Lord to do that.” But Horace continued his retreat until he reached the safety of his bed, where he curled up and glared at the little man.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Abe scolded McDougal who was just getting to his feet.
“I know,” Shorty said in a remorseful voice, and walked over to Horace. “Would ya be of a mind to fergive me,” he asked the old dog in a much kinder tone. “Ya know, the Lord wouldn’t be takin’ me orders anyway.”
Horace shoved his nose under his tail and closed his eyes to the apology.
“You could be standin’ a bath yerself, ya know,” Shorty added. “Just look at Mr. Douglas and meself. Ya didn’t even know us at first, did ya?”
“That’s a good idea, Horace,” Abe agreed. “Why don’t we go down to the park and clean you up a bit?”
Horace opened his eyes and rolled them up at the sound of Abe’s voice. After a moment’s time he sat up and grinned.
“There now,” Shorty said. “It’s all fergotten, right?” Horace stood and stepped off his mound of bedding. “Good,” Shorty continued. “I’ll just run in and get us a towel and some soap.”
Horace didn’t have to be coaxed to let the men bathe him when they reached thepark pond. He jumped in on his own and swam back and forth across the small pond se
veral times before he climbed out and ran up to the men. He was still soaking wet.
“Oh, no!” Abe shrieked as the old dog spraddled his legs in preparation to shed the excess water. Abe raised the towel to save being drenched but he could do nothing to protect McDougal. Horace shook, and Shorty got the full brunt of the splash.
McDougal stood seething in silence while the water soaked into his new outfit and dripped from the bill of his cap. Abe handed the towel toward him and shrugged an ‘I’m sorry”, but then he giggled.
“Give me the towel,” McDougal grated, and snatched it away from Abe. “I knew I should’ve changed me clothes.” He wiped at his face with the towel then ran it down over the front of his shirt. The big flowers on the shirt had melted into a glob of indistinguishable color. He shot a glare at Abe who was trying hard to hold back his giggling. “I don’t see where it’s all that funny, Mr. Douglas. Of course you ain’t the one that’s soaked to the bone.” He slid a hand into his pants pocket, took out the bar of soap and tossed it to Abe. “Here, ya might as well be finishin’ the job.”
Abe had to jump to catch the soap, and Horace must have thought it was food of some kind. He jumped too, and they met in mid air. Horace slammed his still wet belly against Abe’s and grabbed onto Abe in a bear hug. It was now Shorty’s turn to laugh. “Hang onto him, Mr. Douglas and I’ll get him soaped up!” In a moment, between spurts of laughter, a rich, thick lather bubbled up all over the dog and both men as well.
Realizing what Shorty was doing to him, Horace skidded out from between them and raced back to the pond to get the foul smelling stuff out of his coat. Abe and Shorty were left in a terrible mess of wetness, soap bubbles and dog hair. Had it not been for their big meeting with the Lord later, the whole affair would have been laughable. As it was, the decision to give the reluctant Horace a bath had thrown a hitch in their plans. Now they had another decision to make.
“Do ya think the Lord’ll be noticin’ the wrinkles?” Shorty posed, trying to flatten out the front of his shirt.
Abe looked at his own shirt. “I don’t know. If we keep the buttons done up on our jackets maybe He won’t. Who’s idea was it anyway to wash the dog?”
“Yers,” Shorty said, like he had nothing to do with it.
“Was it?”
“It was.”
“Oh, well,” Abe said, picking up his jacket. “I still think we ought to go see the Lord tonight, even if He does notice.”
They were standing in front of the Salvation Army building wondering if they should ask Captain Hedges if they could go into the Thrift store and pick out another outfit. “He’s going to want to know why we need ‘em tonight,” said Abe. “What are we going to tell him?”
McDougal shook his head. “Do ya think we could sneak up and put our clothes on the heatin’ register to dry ‘em out a bit?”
“That’d mean we miss dinner,” Abe said. “But it might work.”
Shorty shivered. “At least we could warm up a bit. And I could put me thermals on.”
“They’re still dirty, aren’t they,” Abe said with a frown.
“I haven’t washed ‘em if that’s what ya mean.”
“I just meant we ought to be as clean as we can be. I’ll tell you what. I’ve got an extra pair of shorts in my sack. You can wear those.”
“Are they clean?” Shorty wanted to know.
“Yes, they’re clean!”
McDougal nodded his approval. “We’d better be gettin’ a move on, then. It’s gettin’ late, don’t ya see?”
It was going on eight o’clock when Abe and Shorty tiptoed back down the stairwell on their way to the Lord’s alley. Still damp and smelling strongly of disinfectant soap they stopped in the alleyway behind the Thrift store to pick up Horace. Sometime during their absence the old dog had found some dirt to roll in. “Good Lord, Horace,” Abe gasped when he saw the clumps of dirt hanging off the old fellow’s hair.
McDougal bent down to get a closer look. “Oh, me everlovin’…” he trailed off. “Mr. Douglas, we can’t have the Lord seein’ him like this!”
“Horace, Horace, Horace,” Abe said repetitively. “What are you trying to do to us?”
Horace, who had been his usual ecstatic self when the men walked up, dropped his head and stared at their feet.
“We don’t have time to clean you up again,” Abe said, pointing a finger at him. “You’ll just have to stay here. You understand me, Horace? Stay!” Horace laid down and buried his head under his tail.
Greatly disappointed that their friend and moral support wasn’t going with them, the very nervous pair started off to the alley by themselves. Abe stopped in front of Miller’s Liquor-To-Go store and peered into the window at the tempting display of bottles. “What’re ya doin’?” McDougal asked in a voice that said he couldn’t believe what he thought Abe had in mind.
“I need a little something real bad, Mr. McDougal. You know it’s been nearly a week?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to ferget it, Mr. Douglas. But I know just how yer feelin’. Do ya think a small bottle’d hurt any. You know, just to clear the edges up a bit?”
“We are clean,” Abe reasoned, as much to himself as to the Irishman. "If I remember right, that’s all the Lord asked us to do, really. Isn't it? Cleanse yourself, He said. Right?”
“Well,” McDougal thought on it. “As I recall, yer right. That’s what He said. I’m thinkin’ it was you that said we’d better swear off the stuff.”
Abe gave him a nod. “Then maybe a little drink or two would be okay. Do you think?” He didn’t want to be the one who made the final decision just in case it was the wrong one. As they were discussing the pros of the problem, someone in the store hung a ‘Closed’ sign in the window.
Shorty handed him the newspaper he brought for them to sit on, and took out his purse. “That’s the plan, then,” he said as he started counting out some coins. He finished sorting out his money and turned to enter the store. “I can’t believe it!” he said when he saw the sign. “They’re closed!”
Abe spun around. “What?” He looked at the clock on a neon beer sign in the window. “It’s not even nine yet!”
“Yer the one that likes to read,” McDougal told him. “Just look at the sign on the door. It says they’re closed, Mr. Douglas.”
“I can’t believe it!” Abe shouted. He rapped on the window to get the shopkeeper’s attention. In return, the man inside reached over and turned off the lights. The shop was definitely closed for the day.
“Would ya be wantin’ to go down by the Mission?” the disheartened McDougal said. “I know of a place over there.”
Abe took another glance at the beer clock. “The Captain’ll be locking up at eleven. Unless you want to put off seeing the Lord tonight.”
“No.” Shorty shook his head. “I’m thinkin’ we’d better not. I’m certain He knows we’re goin’ to be there.” The thought that they were keeping the Lord on hold while they made up their minds was something that hadn’t occurred to either of them until Shorty suggested it as a possibility.
“Oh, Lord!” Abe exclaimed. “He’s probably waiting on us right now!” McDougal’s mouth dropped open. “We’d better get going,” Abe said. He grabbed Shorty’s collar and started at a run towards Guthrie’s store.
Abe slowed the pace to a snail’s crawl at the alley’s entrance not knowing what to expect. He tightened his grip on Shorty’s shoulder, and together like two frightened lambs they crept down the alley to the big garbage bin. “Ya won’t be mentioning me shoes, will ya?” McDougal whispered.
Abe shot an eye to the little man’s feet. Somehow he had managed to dispose of the ill-fitting brogans and was now standing in his stockinged feet. His big toes twitched a ‘Hello’. “I don’t believe I’ll have to say anything about them,” Abe whispered back. “Give me the newspaper.”
Abe spread the paper out for them to sit on,
but before they could sit down Horace ran up and claimed squatter’s rights on the center section. He looked up at them and did his ‘woof’.
“I thought I told you to stay put,” the surprised Abe said. “Just look at you. Move over,” he said, and sat down on the paper beside him.
McDougal reached down and started brushing some of the dirt off Horace’s flanks. “Don’t ya be getting’ any of that on me new jacket, ya filthy scoundrel,” he warned after flicking away most of the clods and whisking the debris off his side of the newspaper.
Horace edged over to make room for Shorty and leaned against Abe who had already accepted the fact that it was too late to do anything about his condition.
They sat in the silence of their breathing for a long while, counting the bricks and blinking at every shadow of movement that caught their eyes. Finally Shorty leaned over towards Abe and whispered, “Do ya think we ought to tell Him we’re ready?”
Abe closed his eyes and thought about the suggestion for a moment or two. Not able to come up with anything better, he said, “Maybe we should. Seeing as how we didn’t have an appointment and all.”
“How do ya think we ought to do it?” Shorty asked.
“I guess we just call out,” Abe answered. “What do you think?”
“It oughtta work,” Shorty agreed.
Having decided on the approach, in unison they called out, ”Oh, Lord, we’re here.” When that didn’t bring the Lord, they raised their voices and yelled it out again. “We’re here, Lord!” The sounds boomed off the walls of the buildings. Then a light shone from somewhere near the alley entrance, then two lights, then two policemen came running up to the bin.
“Now that the Lord knows where you are,” came a loud voice from behind the blinding lights. “I’d like to know just what you think you’re doing here.”
McDougal left it up to Abe to answer him. Abe gulped. “We…we…we-e-e were just having a prayer meeting of sorts,” he stuttered.
“Oh you were?” the officer returned. “Come out of there, both of you. Clements,” he referred to his partner, “check that dog for tags.”
Abe and Shorty slowly got to their feet, and Horace, in a surprising move to everyone, streaked out past the policemen in a flash of red hair and particles of dust.
Without taking any sort of aim, Clements drew back and threw a whistling nightstick in the direction of the old dog’s flight. Luckily, Horace scampered around the corner of the Mercantile building just in time to miss the impact meant for him. The deadly club twanged off the side of the police car instead leaving in its wake a deep, foot-long dent in the door panel.
“Not my car!” Clements screamed, and ran to the cruiser to see what kind of damage it had done. “Robins, get them over here,” he yelled back into the alley. “Look at my car!” he cried when Robins herded the now handcuffed Abe and Shorty to the vehicle.
“It’s not your car!” Robins reminded him. “It’s my car!” He ran a hand over the damage then opened the door.
McDougal twisted his head back and forth. “It’s a sad sight fer certain,” he said, thinking a few consolatory words were in order.
“You did it,” Abe spoke up, nodding to Officer Clements.
The cop glared at him. “Was that your dog?”
“Well…” Abe began, but Clements didn’t give him a chance to complete his thoughts.
“Get in the car,” he ordered in a voice that said he wished they would make a run for it so he could shoot them instead. He bent and picked up his scarred nightstick and started smacking it against the palm of his hand. “Well?” he snarled.
“Yes, sir,” Abe said, keeping his eyes glued to the menacing movements of the stick.
“Right away,” McDougal chimed.
Clements, with a harsh push to each of their heads, shoved them into the backseat while Robins climbed behind the wheel and flipped the siren on to clear a path to the city jail. It was a loud, two-block ride. Once there, the officers were having a hard time trying to make their arrest stick.
“But, Sarge, they were yelling their fool heads off.” Clements was re-explaining his case to the desk sergeant who was resting his cheek on one of his palms in total disinterest.
Abe and Shorty were sitting on a bench twenty feet away wondering what was going to happen to them next and hoping that God would forgive them for calling out so loudly.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ve been over this three times now and it still don’t matter,” the sergeant said in a low voice. He leaned over the desktop to make sure Clements could hear him this time. “They passed the test, Clements. I can’t book them on a drunk and disorderly, or a drunk and anything for that matter. They’re not drunk. And get those cuffs off them. It’d be a sad day for the force if you couldn’t outrun ‘em.”
“But what about my car?” Robins blurted as Clements trudged over to take the handcuffs off. “It’s their fault, and that dog’s, that Clements crumpled it all up.” He stood on his tiptoes and whispered to the sergeant. “Listen, Sarge, the Chief’s gonna fire us if we don’t come up with an awful good reason for tearing up the car again. You’ve got to help us out here, Sarge.”
“You ain’t gonna cry are you, Robins?” the sergeant whispered back.
Officer Clements, back from undoing the handcuffs, pushed his head into the hush-hush conversation. “Couldn’t you just stretch it a little and go ahead and book ‘em for disturbing the peace?” he pleaded.
The sergeant puffed his cheeks then blew it out. “Who were they disturbing? You said they were behind Guthrie’s place, didn’t you? There ain’t a soul within ten blocks of there at night.”
“Please, Sarge,” Robins begged. “Just this once. I’ll never ask you for another favor.”
The sergeant let out a big sigh. “Never?” he asked himself more than Robins. Then he gave in. “Okay, okay. Now get off my desk. Both of you.”
Clements and Robins turned and smiled at Abe and Shorty who were nervously waiting to see what kind of punishment they were going to be handed for trying to talk to the Lord.
“Mr. Douglas and Mr. McDougal,” the weary sergeant addressed them. “We’re going to have to hold you for the night at least for harboring an unleashed, unlicensed dog and for disturbing the peace of our fair city.”
“But, Officer, we were just…”Abe started, then he saw the fire shooting out of Clements eyes, and cut it off with a shrug. “Nothing,” he finished, and held his hands out in front to be handcuffed again. McDougal followed his lead by holding his hands out as well.
Robins brushed them both aside. “Aw, come on. Let’s get you booked in for the night.”
The cell was a double-bunked affair with an open-air toilet somewhere in the depths of the chilly jail. A tiny window set so high it would require a stepladder to see out of it was the only other accouterment. From what Abe and Shorty could see, they were the only criminals incarcerated for the night.
“If you need anything,” the burly guard said as he banged the steel gate of a door shut on them, “don’t bother to call. Me and the Lord’ll be sleeping.” He chuckled at his own wit as he walked away to let the two men begin their sentence.
“I knew I should’ve worn me thermals,” Shorty complained when the guard closed the iron door at the end of the hallway.
Instead of answering him, Abe said, “I wonder what could’ve happened to the Lord? We worked so hard getting all ready and here we are in jail. I just don’t understand it at all, Mr. McDougal. Do you?”
“It’s a puzzlement fer certain.” McDougal swung his head back and forth then stretched out on the lower bunk. He put his arms up and yawned long and loudly.
“Don’t sleep in your clothes,” Abe told him.
“The thought never entered me mind,” the little man fibbed. “I was just tryin’ it on fer size, don’t ya see?”
McDougal’s nonchalance dismayed Abe. “Aren’t you even a little bit concern
ed that we didn’t get to see the Lord?”
McDougal sat up on the edge of the bed. “As a matter of fact, I am, Mr. Douglas. But, I’m not plannin’ on losin’ a night’s sleep over it. And, like ya said earlier, we didn’t actually have an appointment.”
“No, you’re right, we didn’t,” Abe had to agree. “But you never know, He might’ve just been running a little late. If we’d have kept our mouths shut, We’d probably be talking to Him right now.”
“Well, Mr. Douglas, if me mind serves me correctly, it was you that suggested we call out fer Him.”
“I know,” Abe sighed. “That’s the last time I’ll do that.” He climbed up onto the upper bunk and let his feet dangle over the side.
“Don’t be sleepin’ in yer clothes,” McDougal teased, but Abe didn’t take notice.
“Maybe He’ll visit us yet tonight,” he mused as he thought aloud.
“What an awful thought!” McDougal said. He stood to look at Abe. “Can ya imagine His disgust at findin’ us in the pokie?”
“The Lord’s everywhere, Mr. McDougal,” Abe said without truly realizing the profundity of his statement.
“I know that,” Shorty professed. “But if ya don’t see Him and He don’t actually talk to ya, you can sort of overlook it without feelin’ so bad.”
Abe climbed down from his upper berth and began to undress. “He knows what happened to us,” he said absently as he folded his jacket and set it on the floor in the corner of the cell. “I think we ought to get ready for bed and wait for Him for a while. He might just get us out of here.”
In the eerie silence of the small cell they prepared themselves for bed and for the later possible appearance of the shimmering light. Tucked into their sheetless, rock-hard beds they waited and watched for a sign of rescue to come stealing in through the bare concrete walls surrounding them. Somewhere around midnight the burly guard rattled by to look in on the two snoring misfits that the Lord had overlooked.
Rescue finally came in the form of Captain Hedges at eight o’clock the next morning.
“They tell me you were disturbing the peace,” the Captain said, glaring at Abe through the cell bars. His eyes behind the thick glasses looked twice the normal size, and they didn’t look a bit happy. He shifted his eyes to Shorty. “I thought that was all in the past.”
“It’s not what yer thinkin’ Capt’n,” Shorty offered in an effort to explain. “Mr. Douglas and meself were havin’ a bit of a prayer meetin’, ya see…”
“That’s true, Captain,” Abe broke in. “We hadn’t had a drop to drink. They tested us for that and we passed.”
Shorty nodded his head quickly. “Sober as the officers that hauled us in,” he confirmed what Abe had said, but seeing that Hedges wasn’t quite convinced, he added, “But it’s also true that we were bein’ a bit too loud in callin’ out the name of the Lord.”
With that, Hedges turned his glare to the jailer who was busy trying to get the door unlocked. “I don’t think anyone can be too loud in praising the Lord, do you?” he said to the guard.Caught in the middle of something he had nothing to do with, the guard shrugged. That was a mistake in Hedges’ eyes. “Well, do you?” he asked again.
The lock clicked open. “No, Sir,” the jailer answered in a very low tone, then mumbled something about not being the arresting officer as he quickly ushered them down the hall.
Hedges directed them to wait outside the jail while he took care of the paperwork at the sergeant’s desk. “You can sit in the car,” he said, pointing to an old yellow station wagon parked in a ‘No Parking’ zone across the street.
“This is the car that almost killed you the other night!” Abe exclaimed as they walked up to it. “It was the Captain that nearly ran over you!”
McDougal looked amazed. “Are ya certain?” he asked.
“Sure I am. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how close you came to being a memory. I still don’t see how he missed you.”
The Irishman scratched his head. “For some reason I don’t recall what the car looked like. But if ya say this is it, I’d tend to be believin’ ya.”
“I don’t think he even knew you were there. “You’ve seen how thick his glasses are. He just kept on going. Course he was going slow, that’s probably what saved you.”
“Maybe it was,” Shorty said, then pointed and nodded upwards. “Or, maybe it was Him.”
Abe glanced at the sky. “Might have been, Mr. McDougal. You never know.”
“Well, whichever, I’m thinkin’ I’m a pretty lucky man to be here. And about the car, Mr. Douglas, I don’t think we ought to mention it to the Capt’n, do you?”
Abe shook his head ‘No’ and left it at that. He could see that Hedges was coming towards them carrying a small case and a wide smile.
“Get in, fellows,” the Captain greeted them, opening the passenger side doors. “She’s not much to look at but she’s never let me down.”
“We was just sayin’ what a beautiful car it is,” McDougal replied.
“That’s a fact,” Abe agreed sliding onto the plastic seat cover. “You hardly ever see one like this anymore.”
“None around here that I know of,” Hedges said as he got into the driver’s seat and fired the old machine to life. He waited patiently as the coughing and sputtering of the engine settled down, then put it in gear, bent over the steering wheel and pulled slowly away from the curb. Luckily no other cars were in view.
Abe had taken the front seat beside Hedges. The windshield was so loaded with dust and grime that he had to strain to see the street ahead of them. “If you want to stop at the service station, I’ll clean the windows for you,” he offered, not wanting to be too forward about the lack of visibility.
“That’s the one bad thing about Midvale,” Hedges said as an answer. “It gets awfully dusty here at times. But, you get used to it and pretty soon you don’t even think about it anymore.”
McDougal leaned over the back of the front seat to try to get some idea of where they were. “How can ya see where yer goin?” he asked, more to the point than Abe had been.
Hedges looked around at him and the old wagon swerved in the same direction.
“Ferget I asked!” Shorty said quickly and loudly. He pushed back into his seat and braced himself for the accident that was sure to happen very soon.
Abe’s survival instinct took over. He reached over to turn the steering wheel, but Hedges got it under control before he actually had to help him. They were just passing by a food and drug market. Abe saw it through the side window which wasn’t quite as dirty as the windshield. “Do you think we could stop in here for a minute?” he asked, and pointed quickly to the store.
“Sure,” Captain Hedges answered, and spun the wheel hard to his left. The old wagon creaked and groaned and screeched across the street’s centerline and up and over the curb. “I thought there was a drive there,” Hedges said as the car rocked to a stop. “I must have missed it,” he added, looking in the rearview mirror to see where he had gone wrong. “Oh, well, no harm done. Is this where you wanted to go?”
Abe loosened his white-knuckled grip on the door handle and picked his hat up off the floor. “Yes. Thank you, Captain,” he replied breathlessly low. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll just get out and sort of wipe off the window,” McDougal stated as Abe was trotting across the parking lot. “Would ya be havin’ a rag, Capt’n?”
Hedges started running a hand around the floor and under the seat. “There’s one in here somewhere. I use it to check her oil.”
Shorty waved through the side window. “Never mind, Capt’n,” he shouted, pointing to his chest. “I’ll just be usin’ me shirt. It’s sort of in a mess anyhow.”
Abe could at least see the outline of the Captain’s face through the windshield when he returned from the store. He opened the rear door and dumped a large sack of dogfood in beside McDougal, then got back
in the front seat. “That’s some better,” he said, pointing to the glass McDougal had tried to dry-clean. “There’s some cars parked right in front of you, Captain.”
Hedges smiled at him. “Are you ready to go now?”
Both Abe and Shorty grabbed onto their door handles and seat cushions. “We’re ready, Captain,” Abe said. “But we’re not in any big hurry. Just take your time.”
“Is that for Leroy’s nemesis?” Hedges joked, flicking his head in a motion towards the dogfood bag.
“Fer what?” McDougal piped up.
“The red dog that tore up Leroy’s jacket,” Hedges clarified. “By the way, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any tags. That’s against the law, you know?” He twisted the key and the old wagon sputtered to life.
Abe shot a glance back at Shorty then returned his eyes to Hedges. “How did you know he was our dog, Captain?”
Hedges laughed. “About the only thing I miss is driveways,” he said without really answering. He rolled his window down and stuck an arm out to let everyone know he was coming, then without breaking or looking he pulled the car back out into the traffic. “You did a good job, there, Mr. McDougal,” he praised the Irishman for giving him back the view he never really missed.
Horace wagged every muscle in his body in a fit of welcome as his long lost friends stepped onto the sidewalk from the Captain’s car. He ran up to Abe and nuzzled each of his jacket pockets. “Nothing there, Horace,” Abe said, smiling at the sight of the old dog. He patted Horace’s head. “It’s a good thing you had some spirit about you last night, boy. Too bad you didn’t stick around to see the big dent you caused in the car.”
Horace sat down, looked up at him and licked his lips. “I know,” Abe said. He opened the rear car door, got out the sack of dogfood and held it up for Horace to inspect. “This is for you.”
Horace tilted his head to one side and eyed the colorful label for a moment, but not seeing anything of interest he walked over to McDougal to check his pockets. “Out of me way, lad,” McDougal said, pushing Horace’s wet nose away from his jacket. “Yer breakfast’ll be served up in a jiffy.” He took the sack out of Abe’s hands and jogged around the building to Horace’s campsite. The old dog loped along behind him still trying to get a whiff of what the little man was going to give him.
“Did you have any breakfast this morning?” Hedges asked Abe after he had secured his car for the day.
“A cup of coffee,” Abe said. “But it was too strong to drink.”
“Well, when Mr. McDougal gets back we’ll see what we can do about that.”
“Captain?” Abe stopped Hedge’s departure. “Thanks for getting us out of jail.”
Hedges nodded. “I’m really glad you weren’t in any bad kind of trouble. I might not have been able to help you. Remember that.”
“Not us, Captain,” Abe said, shaking his head. “No, Sir. You won’t find us causing anybody trouble ever again.”
Abe and Shorty went back to work on their enormous mountain of clothing after breakfast while Horace napped off his gluttony in the warmth of his own pile of rags. And after dinner that evening they retired to the sleeping room for a serious discussion about their lives among the employed workmen of America.
“Every bone in me body is cryin’ out fer relief,” Shorty started the conversation with a deep, despairing breath.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Abe said, massaging a stockinged foot.
Shorty sat up on the edge of his cot. “Then why in the world are we still workin’? We’ve got clothes aplenty to show the Lord how well we’ve done and we’ve still got a few dollars between us. I’m thinkin’ it’s time we quit.”
“Where are we going to stay if we quit, Mr. McDougal? Back under the stage at the park?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” McDougal answered. “But ya’ve got a point.”
“Yes, and I really don’t want to go back to the Mission. Brother Elkins thinks we’re crazy or something and I don’t want to face him again, do you?””
“Not if I don’t have to,” McDougal agreed. “He gets pretty riled up pretty easily.”
“Well,” Abe said, then paused to mull it over. “You got any other ideas?”
Shorty put his cheeks in his hands and stared at the floor. “I suppose we oughta stay here fer a while longer,” he said with a sigh. “Do ya think the Capt’n could find us somethin’ a bit less exhaustin’ to do?”
Abe changed feet and started rubbing the other one. “I was just wondering, Mr. McDougal, if we might be going about this all wrong.”
Shorty leaned over and gave him a quizzical look. “Could ya be clearin’ that up a bit?” he asked.
“You know,” Abe began, making a little face of uncertainty. “We have been working awfully hard, and we’re not used to that without something to keep us going, you know? Maybe we should’ve tapered off instead of quitting all of a sudden like we did. You know, kind of gradual like.”
Sensing what Abe was telling him, Shorty furrowed his brow and raised his brushy eyebrows. “Would ya be referrin’ to a bottle again?” he asked slowly.
Well yes, I guess I sort of was.”
“Are ya out of yer everlovin’ mind?” McDougal almost shouted. “Don’t ya recall the last time ya mentioned it? The store closed and we landed in jail. Don’t ya recall that, Mr. Douglas?”
Abe shuddered and leaned back at the show of temper. He hadn’t seen that side of the Irishman before.
“And furthermore,” McDougal went on. “Hasn’t it occurred to ya yet that the Lord probably knows what yer thinkin’?”
“I know that, Mr. McDougal. You don’t have to shout. I was just thinking of it as a medicine of sorts. Just look at us, we’re a mess. I’ll bet the Lord can see we need something to build us back up.” He finished his argument, and Shorty got up and started walking around in a tiny circle to give the idea some considerable thought.
“Fer medicinal purposes, ya say?” he said in the middle of a turn. With a nod of his head he walked another couple of circles. “Ya know, it’s true,” he reasoned aloud. “A dose or two would tend to relax the fatigue that’s overtaken us.”
“Uh-huh,” Abe said. “A dose every now and then. That’s what I mean. I can’t see where that’d hurt anything.”
“Just a small bottle,” Shorty suggested.
“Oh, yes, very small,” Abe agreed as he put his shoes back on.
Horace had no idea of their intentions but he was happy to plod along for the evening walk as his friends hurried down the street. He sniffed around from tire to hydrant until they reached Miller’s store where he pressed his nose against the window and waited for them to come back out.
“There’s a boarded up building a couple blocks over,” Abe was saying when the exited the store. “That’d probably be better than the alley, don’t you think?”
“Just lead the way, Mr. Douglas,” the Irishman said with a big smile.
Horace followed along keeping an eye on the top of the brown paper sack sticking out of Abe’s jacket pocket. Once they gained entrance to the old bowling alley through a loose board on one of its doors he whimpered a plea to be noticed.
“Do ya think we oughta be givin’ him a taste?” McDougal asked halfheartedly as he twisted the cap off the bottle.
“We probably should,” Abe said, looking down at Horace’s begging eyes and half-standing ears. “I imagine this new life’s been hard on him too, in his own way.” He scrounged around amongst the clutter of papers and tin cans for something to use as a dish and found an aluminum pie plate.
“There ya go,” Shorty said as he poured a little of the precious liquid into the plate. “Ya’d better be goin’ easy on it ‘cause that’s all yer gettin’.” Horace plunged his nose into the plate, lapped three or four times and it was clean. He looked up and barked. The unexpected loudness drummed down the empty lanes like a clap of thunder, and Shorty
dropped the bottle. It clanked and started spilling out over the floor.
“Gees!” Abe cried, and attempted to grab Horace before he barked again, but he needn’t have bothered. Horace was already lapping at the spilled sherry.
“Outta me way!” Shorty yelled, and pushed Horace’s snout away from the bottle. He managed to snatch up the container before it emptied itself completely. “Mr. Douglas, yer dog’s goin’ to be the death of us yet. Ya know that, don’t ya?” He held the bottle up and shook it. “There’s not much left,” he said holding it out to Abe. “You want the first drink?”
Abe held his hands up. “No,” he said shaking his head. “I think you ought to, since it was your money that bought it. That’d only be fair. I’ll just go see if anybody’s coming to check on the noise.”
Horace didn’t have any such reservations. He finished licking the floor and whimpered for more.
“Will you be quiet?” Abe said as he moved the loose board and peeked out. “No one out there.” He shifted his eyes back to McDougal. “Did you have your drink?”
“I was waitin’ fer you,” Shorty answered.
“Oh, just give it to me,” Abe said, and grabbed the bottle. He downed half its contents in one huge swig then let out a deep sigh as he blew some of the fire out of his throat. Without another word Shorty took the bottle and finished it off.
They sat silently waiting for the Lord’s reaction while the warm glow of the alcohol seeped into their bloodstreams. When nothing happened in a short time, they exited the building and made their way back to the sleeping room. Once again, neither of them took notice of the shimmering light that engulfed the staggering Horace as he trailed them home.