Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

  87 - TELLING IT LIKE IT WAS Bakersfield is the kind of place where shadow and substance don’t just meet, they rub up against each other, with all the subtlety and nuance of tomcats under the same cramped camper. You could have heard a pin drop if it hadn’t been for the loud Sinatra music. The Deputy Sheriff said, “You’re saying he shot the Minister’s Son?” Maggie pointed directly at Christos, “It was him all right.” Whitey interrogated, “How do you know it was him?” “I was there, that’s how.” I had to butt in.   “Honey, no, don’t you remember?   You was with me in bed, making sure our baby was legal.” “Shut up,” she snapped. Looking at Deputy Whitey, Maggie started explaining her side of the story.   “Look, officer, I was in Broken Heart Park that night.   It seems like everyone was in Broken Heart Park that night.   I knew Philpot would be digging around the trailer park looking for buried treasure.   He revealed the legend of Mo...

  88 - SOUTH OF THE BORDER Sometimes when life gets tough, it’s fun to go for a little ride. Abel Chase drove Maggie’s car while Little Billy rode shotgun.   I sat in the backseat watching urban blight turn to sprawl.   Mr. Chase caught my eye in the rearview mirror.   “Now don’t you worry,” he assured me, “we have the law in all its magisterium in our lap.   And as long as you got Abel Chase on the case, justice hasn’t got a clue.” I didn’t respond.   We silently rode on out of Bakersfield proper towards the outskirts of town and my trailer home. By the interstate off-ramp I saw a bunch of fellahs in orange vests picking up trash along the side of the road.   I recognized the head trash-picker. “Whoa, stop the car,” I shouted.   “Stop!” Mr. Chase obliged and I hopped out.   “I’ll catch up with you later,” I waved as Maggie’s car disappeared down the road carrying Little Billy and the lawyer. I whistled.   “Owen!   You...

  89 - THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW Down here in Broken Heart Park, inevitability is an iffy thing. I was overcome with a feeling as fuzzy as the dice hanging from the Fine Lady’s rearview mirror.   Owen and Babbs grew smaller and smaller in the far, dusty distance.   The racket of various pipes hanging from the back of Owen’s camper faded as they dragged down the highway.   Sight and sound of the happy couple totally vanished, while, with a heavier heart, I tried to hitch a ride. Once back at my double-wide I grabbed a beer.   I sat out on my iron steps and watched the grass die.   Time seemed to stand still.   Two six-packs had passed before Maggie came driving up with Abel Chase.   Maggie walked up to the foot of the stoop and looked at me.   Mr. Chase was addressing her, “Miss Gato, I’ll be taking your leave concurrently.   I want to concord my findings with the facts and perhaps deflect them with my colleagues at the firm. ...