Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

78 - CAN YOU DIG IT?

Down here at Broken Heart Park it’s common knowledge that domestic bliss can be bought for the price of a six-pack and a brand new TV.

In a matter of hours the moving men had set up the place and cleaned out all the boxes and wrapping and hooked up every last pipe and wire, leaving me and Maggie free to settle into our new palatial double-wide home, just like old married folk.  After we’d ordered a Raw Dog, a movie and some beer on Maggie’s brand new iPhone, I stretched out in my EZ-Lounger chair with the vibrating magical fingers.  I almost hurt myself trying to figure out how to lay down prone while working the controls.

“Give me those dirty clothes,” Maggie startled me.  She caught me resting on my EZ-Lounger.  “Here,” she tossed me a fluffy new bathrobe.  “Put this on.”

I got out of my chair and started to undress.  Modesty required I turn my back; I didn’t want Maggie getting jealous how effective the new lounger could be.  She grabbed my duds and rushed off to the new utility room.

A minute later she was back.  “We know the television works and the washer works, wanna see if the bedroom works, too?”  Maggie operated her own version of magic fingers as she pulled me toward the back room.

It was some time later when I woke up.  The moon was shining in my face.  Maggie and me was layin’ side-by-side in the bedroom of the First Coach of Broken Heart Park, and I could hear her soft breathing over the sound of a TV playing somewhere in the distance.  There was something else, too.  Above the music I heard voices muttering, and I heard scraping sounds.

I got up and looked out the window.  There was two people in Edna’s memorial flowerbed.  In the moonlight I could clearly make out a tall woman in short-shorts and spiked heels holding a long, lethal-looking flashlight in front of her, while a man was down on his knees.  I was pretty sure he wasn’t proposing marriage, and, not that I’m all that experienced, it didn’t look like nothing kinky in the bushes.  Then it hit me.  I couldn’t believe it.  They was digging!

I whispered and poked at Maggie. “Hey, Maggie, wake up.  Come look at this.”

Maggie rolled over, “Noooooo, just go back to sleep.”

“Look, there’s people digging outside.”

Maggie was out of that bed like the mattress was on fire, her perfect form glowing in the moonlight.

“Let me see,” she peered out the window.  “Why, that dirty son-of-a….”

Just then I caught a flashy streak of silver.  Uh-oh, I thought, them diggers are gonna get it now.

Maggie’s soft naked body pressed against mine as she continued peeking out the window.  The Moon bathed her face, radiantly off her round creamy boobies, her firmly muscled lips, her fluffy lady parts, and all the while she was softly cursing the bastards outside.

Across the way in the garden, the tall woman in the short-shorts held up her huge flashlight with both hands, shining a bright beam of light down onto the digger, who turned out to be none other than Owen-fuckin’-Purty.  No doubt about it!  It was that damn Owen, down on his hands and knees, and digging madly away in the garden.

Neither one of them seemed to notice the Silver Ghost and Little Billy creepin’ up on ‘em.  The Silver Ghost snatched his sidekick’s inner tube and held it high over his head, shouting:  “Safety!  Security!  The Silver Ghost!”

Owen bolted upright just as the inner tube slammed down over his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides.  I could see his eyes bulge big as a bullfrog’s.  Meanwhile, Little Billy latched himself onto the woman’s leg like a monkey on a tree branch.

Maggie’s curses got louder and louder as her velvet voice rose, “I told that mother….”

Suddenly sirens roared in as the cops showed up.

Maggie turned to me and looked deep into my eyes, “You know, a man who doesn’t take the advice a woman gives him deserves everything he gets.  Let’s go.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but as she threw on a robe I grabbed some underwear and headed outside towards all the commotion.  The Silver Ghost was shouting about keeping the premises safe from digging desecrations while Owen was rolling around on the ground trying to get free from his rubber bonds.  The woman, who turned out to be the one-and-only Fine Lady herself, Babbs Montez, was beating at her leg with the blunt end of the flashlight try’n desperately to get Little Billy to let go.

In the midst of sirens, flashing lights and all the action, the trailer door next to the garden flew open, and out stepped Miss Dorothy with coffee and a tray full of doughnuts.

“Who’s up for pastries?” she sang out.

Before I could even grab a doughnut, a van with a satellite dish pulled up.  The media had arrived:

“This is Randy Felcher, news anchor with KWTF All-News Radio in Bakersfield, reporting live from the mangled remains of a flowerbed at the center of Broken Heart Park.  You may remember that Broken Heart Park was the recent scene of a quadruple homicide not far from this very spot.  Now, it’s the center of renewed police interest amid fresh criminal activities.

“According to officers responding at the scene, an alert trailer-dweller, who would only identify himself as the Silver Ghost, was patrolling the grounds of Broken Heart Park late this evening, accompanied by his young companion and assistant, a small boy, who shall remain unidentified due to legal ramifications or until we’re offered a deal.

“Shortly after midnight, this self-styled Silver Ghost individual appeared wearing his protective uniform of aluminum foil and Converse All-Stars.  The vigilante unwittingly came upon two vandals despoiling the Edna Peevy Memorial Petunia Plot.  The surprised diggers were subsequently apprehended by force by the elderly hero who insists on being addressed as the Silver Ghost.

“Apparently, using nothing but an inner tube carried by his extremely young protégé, the Silver Ghost disabled the male vandal while the young boy clung tenaciously to a leg of the female accomplice.  Let’s see if we can speak to one of the residents.  Excuse me.  Excuse me.  Hey, you, with the coffee and doughnuts.  Over here.” 

“Yes?  Oh, hello.  Would you like some coffee?  Lemon bar?”

“Ummm, thanks.  Coffee sounds good.  Tell us your name, and anything related to the surreal events of this evening?”

“Why yes.  My name is Dorothy Gotti, but you can call me Dottie, everyone does.  I’m the child’s foster mother, so if anyone’s going to get paid for his story….”

“Do you usually allow such a small boy to wander around late at night in his underwear with an old man dressed in foil clothes?”

“Yes, I think it builds character.  I’m the one who called the police, you know.  Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I see a patrolman in need of refreshment.”

“Hey.  Here comes the kid himself, let’s see if we can get something out of him.  Kid, hey kid.  Uh…it looks like the little squirt doesn’t wanna talk.  Oh wait, here comes the digger’s female accomplice.  And if I’m not mistaken…it’s…yes, it is.  It’s noted local entertainer, Fine Lady Babbs Montez.”

“You know it, Randy.  And hello to all my many fans at The Stardust.  You know, I do four shows nightly in the saloon and hourly shows in the VIP rooms in back.  Hey, Randy, haven’t seen you in what, two, three days?  But would you look at all this excitement.  And over what, a little gardening.”

“Gardening, Babbs?”

“Sure, Randy.  Owen and me, we were just weeding, ya know?  Nighttime is the best time for that sort of work.  This is a community garden, ya know?  I can dig it, he can dig it, she can dig it, we can dig it, they can dig it.  Can you dig it?”

“And what of the ceramic pots police found in your purse?”

“Randy, does your wife know you like to play Punishment Pony?”

“Hey, officer, you can take her away now.  And this has been Randy Felcher reporting live for KWTF All-News Radio in Bakersfield.  The hot spot for news on your radio dial.”

Completing the events of the evening, Maggie and me stood next to each other and watched a familiar red pickup truck fast approaching.  The Boss was on an intercept trajectory.  I could see Christos hanging halfway out the window of his truck, with his slobbering tongue out, looking like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.  After the truck screeched to a halt, The Boss and the Kartone Boys piled out to confront us.  Christos threw his arms up as he ran at Maggie an’ me.

“Oy, again wit da cops!  And what’s dis wit da nekkid old man an’ da child?  An’ da media?  Oy!”  The Boss was in a really foul mood.  Then he looked at me like he just remembered something.  “Hey, you got da fukkin’ rents?”

Finally, I could perform my managerial chops.  I gave him a double-wide professional smile, “You bet, Boss.”  Then I turned to Maggie.  “Honey, can you get the rent from my pants pockets?”

Maggie whispered, “Where?”

“My pants pockets, my pants pockets,” I whispered back.  “I put the rent money in my pants pockets, to keep it safe.”

“Oh, right,” she nodded, heading back to our shared coach.  About then I heard one of the cops yell out, “Hey fellahs, come over here and take a look at this.”  Everyone turned as he held up what looked like a Hawaiian shirt and a muumuu pulled fresh from the dirt.  The clothes looked oddly familiar.

In a jiffy Maggie reappeared.  “Here ya go, Mr. Kartone, here’s all your hard-earned money.”  She slapped a ball of wet checks and rolled bills into his outstretched hand.  “And how’s this for service?  I’ve already laundered it for you.”

Maggie whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “I didn’t check the pockets before washing your pants.  It never occurred to me that you’d have anything in your pants, especially a wad of dough.”

Maggie turned back to face The Boss.  “Oh, and here’s a bill for all the new furnishings we bought for the Manager’s Coach.  We figure it’s a legitimate business expense covered by Broken Heart Park, Inc.”  On top of the soggy papers sitting in the outstretched hand of Christos Kartone, she plopped an invoice for over $25,000.

The Boss began to tremble and shake, vibrating like a jelly volcano set to blow.  He stared in angry amazement at the handful of dripping wet money and checks, lightly topped with a bill for our new stuff.  Then he erupted, “Be in my office tomorrow at 9 o’clock sharp, got dat?”

Christos stomped off and hauled himself back into the red pickup, and the wet splat of soggy papers hitting against the inside of the windshield was audible even from where we stood.  Christos then waved his arm for Lucas to get a move on, and they ripped outta Broken Heart Park in a big ol’ cloud of dust.

“We’re in for it now,” I whistled.

But Maggie ignored my comment as her attention seemed drawn elsewhere.  “Hey, what’s all the excitement over there?”  She was pointing toward the police officers by the despoiled flowerbed.

“Oh, I dunno.  Looks to me like they just dug up some dirty laundry is all,” I yawned.