tales from the freakboy zone…: HAUNTING STURGEONS: Chapter Four

Previously in this blog serial...

Now the HAUNTING continues...

______________

Haunting Sturgeons, chapter 4, by John L. Harmon

I am pulling up to Newcastle Body Shop, with memories of Eddie following close behind. His father’s business is where we would come to stock up on those candy baked beans from the quarter dispenser. We both thought those beans tasted strangely delicious mixed with the aroma of oil and metal. It’s no wonder we had been best friends.

Getting out of my car, I study the intimidating grey building. I can’t imagine anything easily destroying such a solid structure, but nothing was spared in the end. One of the three rebuilt garage style doors is open, so I take a deep breath and start walking over the gravel lot. My uncertain expectations rise and fall with each step.

The scent of oil fully hits me as I enter the garage, making me almost feel 11 years-old again. Out of instinct, I glance towards the corner by the office door. There stands a quarter dispenser, chock full of the burnt-red candy. I know it’s not the same machine Eddie and I would crowd around, but it doesn’t matter. The fire engine red metal base. The square glass container. The coin slot. The silver crank. The metal flap to lift for bean retrieval. It adds up to a good enough facsimile to cause a smile. A smile for the happier times.

A dull squeaking stops me from digging into my pocket for a quarter. I turn to the noise and watch as a man wheels himself out from under a pick-up truck. Dressed in grease stained clothes, blue jeans and an off-white t-shirt, the man says nothing. He just begins wiping his hands on an old rag while remaining prostrate on the roller, staring at me with dark, searching eyes.

“Eddie?” I inquire, even though I know because I’m right back in his backyard on that final Saturday night ten years ago.

“Eddie, are you awake?” I asked, thinking about my afternoon with Tommy a few days before.

“Yeah, Jimmy. What’s up?”

“If you could be frisked by any police officer, who would you choose?”

I studied the faintly illuminated domed ceiling of the tent and wondered if I should’ve even asked. Was the question for Eddie’s sake or for my own? I turned my head and saw his hazy silhouette holding perfectly still, as if in deep contemplation. After what seemed like several agonizing minutes, the vague outline of Eddie’s lips spoke a familiar name.

“Chief Deputy Benjamin Straker.”

“Oh,” I answered stupidly, understanding this is what Tommy had been hinting at, but also understanding that my brother didn’t know everything.

“What about you, Jimmy? Who would you choose?” Eddie asked, turning his head to face me in the near darkness.

“Deputy Clyde Woodhouse,” I answered without hesitation.

“Cool.” Unlike me, Eddie knew just what to say.

After yet another round of silence, we said goodnight. There was more we could’ve said. More I wish I would’ve, but we drifted off to sleep. It was the last truly restful night of my life.

Eddie Newcastle skillfully maneuvers his agile 21 year-old body off the roller, effectively shaking me from the past. Dark eyes, nearly as dark as his slicked back hair, continue searching me. He draws closer, still wiping his hands on the rag. After ten long years, I finally hear his matured voice.

“You’re taller, but your hair is shorter and isn’t as blond. Your voice has deepened, but those eyes. As clear as Lake Pontoon, but as impenetrable as...” Eddie trails off and glances somewhere in the distance. I’m about to finish his sentence with Stickler Woods, when he shakes his head and beams. “I’d know those light blue eyes anywhere, Jimmy Schroder.”

His expressive, dark brown eyes hide nothing, and I’m not sure whether to shake hands or hug him. “It’s good to see you again, Eddie Newcastle.”

“I would hug you, but I’m a mess.” A lopsided grin fills his face as he tucks the rag in his back pocket and firmly shakes my hand. “So, what brings you back here, Jimmy?”

“My left taillight is out.”

Eddie’s lopsided grin turns into a wry smile, “Don’t play innocent with me, Jimmy Schroder. You know what I mean.”

I know what he means because I could never fully hide things from him. Maybe I still can’t. “I’ve come back so I can understand what happened to my brother.”

His dark eyes appear to darken as he gives a quick glance at the office door. “Let’s go take a look at that taillight now.”

Following his cue, I silently lead Eddie to my car. He performs a quick examination and nods his head. Without a word, he walks back into the garage and returns with a screwdriver and a new bulb. He then gets down on his knees and begins his work. I just stand there watching him, waiting.

Eddie focuses on the job at hand as he speaks quietly, “Meet me tonight around 8 at Gordon’s Bar. We can talk freely there.”

I stare as his fingers nimbly remove the damaged bulb and replace it with a new one. A few questions form in my mind, but there isn’t time to ask. The bellowing voice of Harold Newcastle cuts through everything.

“Eddie, the Thompsons need their truck finished today!”

“I’ll be right there, Dad!” Eddie shouts and then reattaches the plastic cover. He stands up, facing me with a whisper, “Gordon’s, 8 o’clock.”

“Ok,” I whisper as I reach for my wallet.

He shakes his head. “On the house. Just be there.”

“Get your ass in gear, boy!” his father continues to bellow, stepping outside.

“Alright already, I’m coming!” He gives me a quick smile, “It’s really good to see you again, Jimmy.”

Before I can respond, Eddie is tromping away from me, looking back once. Reverse deja’vu threatens to surface, but the cold stone stare of Harold Newcastle keeps me grounded in the here and now. His eyes, as dark as his son’s, tell me I’ve overstayed my welcome at Newcastle Body Shop. I give a nod and get into my car. Pulling away from the intimidating grey building and its owner, I reclaim a piece of myself that I thought was lost all those years ago.

______________

The HAUNTING continues in...