commotion ended, I figured I’d get another beer and bring Solace outside. My nerves being what they were, I was startled when I rose out of the lawn chair.
“Hey, what do you say big boy?”
It was the take-charge guy. He had come from behind the bushes and caught me off guard. He had a resonant deep voice that mismatched his stature, and I actually flinched.
“Whoooa! Relax man, didn’t mean to scare you. Thought I’d just come over and introduce myself.”
“Oh, that’s OK. I’m fine. Just didn’t hear you coming is all. I’m ah, Frank…Frank Reynolds.”
I really did not want to shake this man’s hand, but he did go out of his way to come over and introduce himself. Reluctantly, I extended my hand and was immediately sorry I had. There was an uncomfortable hesitation before he accepted it. The delay had been deliberate, and I damn well knew it.
When we finally did shake he studied my face far more than another man normally would have. “I’m J. Henry Logsdon,” he said, “of Grosse Pointe, Michigan, and Vail, Colorado.”
He then let go of my hand. And I was glad, not only because I didn’t like him but because his was all clammy and soft as a fashion-model’s. He immediately pointed to the front of my RV and said, “I see you’re from Newww Yorrrk.”
He said New York as if it had put a rotten taste in his mouth, as if rolling the R awhile would dispel all its unpleasantness.
“Well … yes, I’m from Queens—Flushing to be exact.” Oh shit , I thought, I didn’t mean to tell him that .
“That’s a damn good place to be from isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you know, Newww Yorrrk isn’t exactly the garden spot of the world, if you know what I mean.”
“Where do you get off talking like…you know what, forget all that, who do you think you are coming over here and…”
He interrupted me with a new smirk on his face—this one bigger than the two he’d been wearing both times he said New York. “Who do I think I am? I’ll tell you exactly who I am, my friend , J. Henry Logsdon.”
This was a man who’d obviously been protected by his wealth and social status all his life. Nobody who lived in the real world would ever dream of giving a stranger such shit—particularly a stranger a head taller and three times as fit. I tried to fight back the creed of the city streets I grew up in—talk the talk, walk the walk. I wanted to give this prima donna a good pounding. My fists balled themselves at my sides, but I held them back. I was just about to really tell him off but he spoke first, and what he said knocked me for a loop.
“Frank Reynolds, huh? I don’t think so. I know who you are, buster. Why the hell do you think I bothered coming over here? I saw the plates on this heap. You’re the only one on this entire side of the park. I figured it just might be you, hiding out. Shit, the whole country knows you’re running scared in an RV. You’ve been all over the news. Last time I saw your picture was just last night. You can run, traitor, but you can’t hide.”
The shroud of fear I’d struggled with for so many weeks tightened around me like an iron straightjacket. I didn’t even notice the driving rain that had begun drumming on the awning, or the sudden drop in temperature. I barely heard Solace going berserk inside the camper. Moving closer now, I went eye to beady eye with him. Speaking slowly, measuring the distance between each word I said, “I want you the fuck out of here little man, right fucking now!”
He didn’t budge. He didn’t flinch. He stayed right where he was. His face flushed crimson with hate, and he started shouting, “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost this year because of you and that so-called book of yours? Do you have a clue how much that propaganda piece of shit has hurt the market? Do you know how much YOU took from me?”
He then paused, shaking his breakfast-sausage finger at me. His entire body began to
“Hey, what do you say big boy?”
It was the take-charge guy. He had come from behind the bushes and caught me off guard. He had a resonant deep voice that mismatched his stature, and I actually flinched.
“Whoooa! Relax man, didn’t mean to scare you. Thought I’d just come over and introduce myself.”
“Oh, that’s OK. I’m fine. Just didn’t hear you coming is all. I’m ah, Frank…Frank Reynolds.”
I really did not want to shake this man’s hand, but he did go out of his way to come over and introduce himself. Reluctantly, I extended my hand and was immediately sorry I had. There was an uncomfortable hesitation before he accepted it. The delay had been deliberate, and I damn well knew it.
When we finally did shake he studied my face far more than another man normally would have. “I’m J. Henry Logsdon,” he said, “of Grosse Pointe, Michigan, and Vail, Colorado.”
He then let go of my hand. And I was glad, not only because I didn’t like him but because his was all clammy and soft as a fashion-model’s. He immediately pointed to the front of my RV and said, “I see you’re from Newww Yorrrk.”
He said New York as if it had put a rotten taste in his mouth, as if rolling the R awhile would dispel all its unpleasantness.
“Well … yes, I’m from Queens—Flushing to be exact.” Oh shit , I thought, I didn’t mean to tell him that .
“That’s a damn good place to be from isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you know, Newww Yorrrk isn’t exactly the garden spot of the world, if you know what I mean.”
“Where do you get off talking like…you know what, forget all that, who do you think you are coming over here and…”
He interrupted me with a new smirk on his face—this one bigger than the two he’d been wearing both times he said New York. “Who do I think I am? I’ll tell you exactly who I am, my friend , J. Henry Logsdon.”
This was a man who’d obviously been protected by his wealth and social status all his life. Nobody who lived in the real world would ever dream of giving a stranger such shit—particularly a stranger a head taller and three times as fit. I tried to fight back the creed of the city streets I grew up in—talk the talk, walk the walk. I wanted to give this prima donna a good pounding. My fists balled themselves at my sides, but I held them back. I was just about to really tell him off but he spoke first, and what he said knocked me for a loop.
“Frank Reynolds, huh? I don’t think so. I know who you are, buster. Why the hell do you think I bothered coming over here? I saw the plates on this heap. You’re the only one on this entire side of the park. I figured it just might be you, hiding out. Shit, the whole country knows you’re running scared in an RV. You’ve been all over the news. Last time I saw your picture was just last night. You can run, traitor, but you can’t hide.”
The shroud of fear I’d struggled with for so many weeks tightened around me like an iron straightjacket. I didn’t even notice the driving rain that had begun drumming on the awning, or the sudden drop in temperature. I barely heard Solace going berserk inside the camper. Moving closer now, I went eye to beady eye with him. Speaking slowly, measuring the distance between each word I said, “I want you the fuck out of here little man, right fucking now!”
He didn’t budge. He didn’t flinch. He stayed right where he was. His face flushed crimson with hate, and he started shouting, “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost this year because of you and that so-called book of yours? Do you have a clue how much that propaganda piece of shit has hurt the market? Do you know how much YOU took from me?”
He then paused, shaking his breakfast-sausage finger at me. His entire body began to
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