Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

77 - THERE’S NO NEED TO FEAR

So far it’d been quite a morning for me, so who could blame me for trying to catch a few winks on my own front steps.  I’d just about dozed off when I felt the familiar nudge from the familiar toe of a familiar boot.  Peeking outta one half-opened eye I could make out the outline of Owen Purty standing over me.

“Got your rent money for ya.”

I rubbed my eyes and stood up.  “What?”

“I said I got your rent money,” Owen handed me a wad of bills and checks that I dutifully stuffed into my pockets.  “Now what’cha wanna do?” he asked.

“Dunno.  I was sort’a planning on a catnap.”

“I got an idea,” Owen grinned.  “Maybe we could spend some of that hard-earned cash down at The Stardust?”

“Nah, I got responsibilities now.  I think I’ll just sit here and continue to run Broken Heart Park.  Say, you got any beer?”

“Sure I got beer.  But it’s all the way over on t’other side of the goddamn trailer court.  If I’d a’knowed you wanted rent and a beer I’d a’swung by that way.”  Owen was in a testy mood.  “I don’t understand why I gotta provide beer after spending my whole morning picking up rent money that it was your job to collect in the first place.”

“Owen,” I countered with my fine-honed business acumen, “first off, I found out that all this time you been living here you ain’t never paid no rent on no lot, so excuse me if I was asking you a simple question:  Do you or do you not got no beer?”  My voice trailed off.  I could not believe my eyes.

“Would you look at that,” I whistled.

“Holy shhhh—!  Is that who I think it is?”

“Afraid so.”

Coming round the corner of No. 1 was what looked like Joe Plato wearing nothing but tin foil britches, tin foil spats over his Chucks, and tin foil wrapped around his bandaged head.  Once he’d seen that we’d seen him, he raised his arms and pointed to the sky:  “Safety!  Security!  The Silver Ghost!”

I punched Owen in the arm while covering up my laugh with a cough.  I whispered in Owen’s ear, “Dunno what it means, but I heard it before.”  Owen and me just sat there and acted like nothing peculiar was going on, as Joe approached like a silvery vision.

Again, Joe Plato pointed to the sky and yelled in a baritone:  “Safety!  Security!  The Silver Ghost!”

“Hey, Joe, what’s going on?” I asked.

Joe came right up and turned his foil-wrapped head to my face and said real earnest, “There is evil ta’foot.  A wicked power is moving about, and only a strong force for good can fight its awfulness.  But don’t you be afraid, for the Silver Ghost is on the job.”

“Well, Joe, just what are you proposing to do?”

“My mission has been revealed to me,” he adjusted a foil point on top of his head.  He looked like he wanted to share a secret.  “While I was laying in that Emergency Room at St. Ides and losing precious bodily fluids of various viscosities, I realized my years at Second Shield was only a preparation for my higher calling.  It became clear to me I must fulfill my destiny as it is written in The Brotherhood of the Mystical Knights.”

Joe stared at me.  “Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Not a word, Joe.”  I stared back.

His deep voice shouted, “The Brotherhood of the Mystical Knights!  The Brotherhood of the Mystical Knights!  That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Me and Owen stared at our neighbor with blank expressions.

“You don’t know about The Brotherhood of the Mystical Knights?”  Joe stepped back, his feet firmly planted apart, hands resting square on foil-wrapped hips.

“Can’t rightly say that I do,” Owen replied, shooting me a sidelong glance.

“Nope,” I added, rubbing my chin.  “That one of them secret militia organizations?”  I elbowed Owen in the ribs.

Joe frowned.  “Not exactly.  We do get mystic names given to us by our supervisors, but the uniforms are more customized to fit personal tastes.”  He made a sweeping show of his hands to emphasize his aluminized choice of accessories.

“I’m surprised you two boys don’t know about the Brothers.  It ain’t exactly like it’s a big secret or nothing, ‘cept for the optional decoder kit.  Security guards all over get inducted as members of the Brotherhood.  You don’t think we’d be laying down our lives for $7.50 an hour, do you?”

Me and Owen stared.

“Of course not!”  Joe’s voice now trailed high in indignation.  “The security game is all about joining up and becoming one of the Brothers!”  I could tell Joe was really warming up to his topic now.  “Founded long ago, when simple men risked their simple lives to guard the treasures of the Pharaoh, the Golden Calf of Babylon, the plunder of Alexander, wherever fantastic wealth once accumulated, The Brotherhood of the Mystical Knights was there.  A network of security men and, since 1978, women, we are dedicated to safety, keeping the peace, and making the rounds.”

“Is that a fact?” I responded.

“And yet, the prophecy went unfulfilled.”

Now it was Owen’s turn to jab me in the ribs, while I struggled to keep control.

Joe seemed to swell in size as he spread his arms wide and shouted to the sky, “As it was written, so shall it be.  He shall come who shall clean the clock of corruption, mop up the floors of wickedness, and punch out the lights of mendacity.  It is He who shall dodge the evildoer’s silver bullet in order that He might lift the skirts of transgression and air out soiled linens.”  Joe closed his eyes, bowed his head and folded his arms across his chest.  “And that He is me.”

I let a few seconds pass. “Well, Joe….”

My bandaged neighbor opened one eye and glared at me as he replied evenly, “I am the Silver Ghost.”

“Is that Mr. Ghost, or can I call you Silver?”  I tried to interject some levity to balance his seriousness.

“I am the Silver Ghost,” Joe replied again more sternly.  (My attempt at humor apparently fell flat.)

Getting more serious on the subject, I felt I had to point out a possible flaw in his prophecy.  “Okay, Silver Ghost, I can see where you could sure think that this prophecy seems to fit you, except you did not exactly dodge the bullet now did you?”

His hands flew back to his hips.  “It’s a symbolic bullet.  Real bullets have no meaning for Him who fulfills the prophecy.  I am the expression of a greater power that flows from We-Know-Not-Where, but whose power makes me a servant of good, a righter of wrongs, and an un-doer of evil.  The Silver Ghost is reporting for duty, and ready for action!”  Joe rested a foiled arm on my shoulder, “And just like Batman had his Commissioner Gordon, I have my trusted Park Manager to protect and to serve.  Together, we shall redeem Broken Heart Park and overcome all the evil forces underfoot.”

“Uh, Joe….”

“I am the Silver Ghost,” he tartly reminded.

“Sorry, I mean, Silver Ghost.  Other than Ol’ Jack Philpot, who you shot, or the Minister’s Son, who was killed by someone we don’t yet know, and the Sheriff and his Deputy, who was both brained by Ol’ Jack, just what danger are you finding underfoot in Broken Heart Park?  And why can’t we have a Wonder Woman?”

Owen and me bumped fists.

Little Billy silently stepped out from the bushes wearing soiled skivvies and a blue towel tied around his scrawny neck.  “All will be revealed by the Silver Ghost and his able assistant,” Joe rested a foiled hand on Little Billy’s shoulder.  “You are too old for a job like this.  There’s nasty diggers out there who come by and rip up the flowers.  They disturb our peace and the quiet enjoyment of our existence.  Yet the Silver Ghost will catch them digging when they come around again, and bind their powers of evildoing by any means.”  The Silver Ghost gave me a snappy salute, “Permission to get back on patrol.”

“Well, Joe…uh…I mean, Silver Ghost,” I corrected myself, “I want you to know that as your Park Manager, I’ll be here for you as much as Commissioner Gordon would be for Batman and Boy Wonder.  And whenever you finally trip up them forces of evil that got themselves tangled underfoot, you be sure to let me know.  So you just go off now on your patrol, and we’ll be right here, or wherever there’s a cooler to be found.”

With one more snappy salute, Joe and Little Billy was off.  Owen piped up, “You ain’t gonna let that crazy old man wander around here at night playing superhero, are you?”

“And why not?  Any possible evildoers in the area who get a load of the Silver Ghost was bound to run in the opposite direction.  Can you think of cheaper protection?  Besides, everyone in Bakersfield knows ol’ Joe shot a man, maybe in justifiable self-defense, but still, he shot a man dead as a doornail.  It’d take a damn fool to come out here at night to start digging around.”  I scratched my head, “Damn strange too, all this digging.  Maybe we outta try and find out what’s going on?”

Owen immediately grabbed my arm and gave it a sharp tug, “I thought you said you wanted a frosty cold one?  Let’s go on over to my place and pop a few.”

Before we could declare Happy Hour, Maggie was pulling in with two big semis rolling right behind her.  Six muscled Latino dudes sprung from the trucks before you could say, “Nothing down, and only 36 months to pay.”  And then doors started to fly open and the hauling began.  Chairs and tables and boxes and boxes and boxes and beds and couches and a bathtub all went flying into our double-wide domicile.

Maggie sauntered over, twirling her purse on the end of her fingers.  She gave me a great big kiss on the cheek.

“Honeypot, I’mmmm hooomme.  Isn’t this great?  Look at all this stuff.  Top dollar stuff, too.  And immediate installation costs extra.”  She handed me an invoice.  “Here, sign this.”  I looked at a list of items ending at the bottom line.  My eyes near popped out like champagne corks.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars?  Twenty-five thousand dollars!  How do you spend twenty-five thousand dollars in less than two hours?”

Maggie calmly handed me a pen.  “You’d be amazed at how easy it can be.”  She smiled as she flashed a diamond ring under my nose.  “Besides, I thought you’d want the jumbo plasma TV.  Don’t sweat it.  Kartone is the one who pays for it all.  Just sign.”

She pressed the pen into my hand.  That was more money than I ever seen on one bill before.