Victory Tour (Part 268)

The last thing I needed right now was to be around people. Even the thought of going to one of the restaurants near campus didn't appeal to me.

It didn't help my mood that there was quite a bit of traffic in the senior lot I had to dodge as I tried to make my way to the Beemer. The stupid bitch who honked her horn at me when I crossed a lane in front of her only made it worse.

That scene from "Midnight Cowboy" with Dustin Hoffman crossing the street flashed through my mind. It may have just been my imagination that the girl hastily locked her doors when I glared at her. Hey, I was just trying to get to my car.

Dropping the backpack in the passenger seat, I cranked up and waited for traffic to clear. With no other options that sounded better, I decided to head to the Osborne house. I have no idea if there was any food in the place, but the apartment was just a short walk away.

Grandpa's Cadillac and Grandma's Rover were parked in the driveway when I arrived. Against my better judgment, I parked on the street, grabbed my backpack and headed to the front door.

"What're you doing here, dear?" Grandma asked sweetly from the kitchen as I let myself in.

"Just thought I'd go off campus for lunch," I said, setting my bag on the dining table before I went to give my grandmother a hug.

"You don't have much time," she said. "When do you have to be back?"

"The tardy bell for fifth period rings at 12:40," I said. "But Coach Tucker said he'd see if Mrs. Stirling could grant me a little relief. If I'm back by 12:45, I should be good."

Grandpa, seated comfortably in what I assumed was "his" recliner, was on his phone when I turned to greet him.

"Marv? Hal. He just showed up," Grandpa said before pausing to listen. "I'll tell ’im."

With that, Grandpa disconnected and gave me a look like I'd just declared I was adopting a vegan diet.

"You're to stay here until your detail arrives," he commanded. "And ya might wanna make sure your phone's turned on. Marv said John wants to talk to ya."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, reaching for the backpack to follow my orders.

"Have you eaten?" Grandma asked.

"Not yet," I said, pulling the phone out. "If there's nothing here, I'll just go over to Arlene's apartment."

"Well, there's nothing here except the drinks that were left in the fridge," she said. "And Marie's off running errands. You probably shouldn't go messing around in her kitchen if she's not there."

God forbid I ever make a decision that might upset someone else. Which seemed to be all I was doing this week.

"I'll just grab something on my way back to school, then," I said, thinking Subway would be a decent change from burgers as well as relatively quick.

Just then, my phone rang. Coach Tucker. Better get this over with.

"This is Gary," I answered.

"You calmed down yet, Robinson?" Coach asked in a much more civil tone than I expected.

"I'm workin' on it," I sighed. "Maybe I can find a quiet place to get some work done this afternoon."

"Richards said it's been a long time since he's seen you go off like that," Coach said. "I don't need that in a game."

"Yeah, but in a game I can take it out on the other team," I said, thinking of that Tigers linebacker and a few others.

"And I don't need that, either," he snapped. "Listen, why don't you just take the rest of the day off. It sounds like you're in a secure location that'll be pretty quiet. I'll clear things with Mrs. Stirling."

"What about practice?" I asked.

"We'll make do," Coach said. "It's just the walkthrough. You weren't going to be doing much, anyway. See to it you're in a better frame of mind tomorrow. We'll talk again in the morning."

"Yessir," I mumbled, trying to figure out if I was still on the team or not. Guess I'll find out tomorrow.

While I had the phone in my hand, I realized I hadn't checked the message I'd received yesterday afternoon. The realtor selling the little house I'd found an ad for could meet me at that location at 8:30 Saturday morning. I sent a quick reply that that would be fine. Unless Ny'Quesha expected a very large reward for making straight A's.

I'd better set an alarm for 8 a.m. just in case.

"What'd John want?" Grandpa asked as the doorbell rang.

"He said I should take the rest of the day off," I said while Grandma answered the door to let Buck and Sarge in. "He'll talk to me again in the morning."

"Dang it, kid, don't go runnin' off like that!" Sarge barked as he stepped in. "Marv didn't know you were goin' off campus for lunch. Interrupted my nap to have me chase your butt down."

"Yes, Sergeant," I replied, somehow stopping myself from calling him "sir," reminding myself that he worked for a living.

"What's the plan for the plan for this afternoon?" Buck asked as Sarge fumed.

"Got some schoolwork to do," I said. "There is a property I'd like to look at real quick since I have time. I can grab lunch while I'm out."

"Where's this property?" Grandpa demanded.

I read off the address, receiving just a grunt in reply. It wasn't one Grandpa recognized, but he didn't know his way around this town like he did Buchanan.

"Maybe I oughta go with ya since I'm gonna have to sign anything that needs signin,'" he said. "Your grandmother doesn't have much for me to do here today."

I don't think that was the best idea, but it'd just stir up more shit if I tried to argue about it. Grandma said she needed to go look at some more things for the house, anyway. Maybe the two of us could keep each other out of trouble for a couple of hours.

The way Buck and Sarge snorted at that made me think the odds weren't very good.

"Where's this place again?" Buck asked.

I showed him the address on my phone and he quickly whipped his out to map the route. We could make most of the trip on trunk roads. Three or four turns is all it would take.

"You boys better get going, then," Grandma commanded, sounding like she was ready to get on with more shopping. "Gary, I expect you to get to work on your assignments just as soon as you get back. I'll stop by on my way home to check."

I don't know if she was acting on orders from Mom or if it was just the career educator in her coming out. Either way, it was another point I wasn't going to argue.

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Let's load up," Grandpa said, forcing himself to leave the recliner. "I'll ride with Gary in his little Nazi wagon."

"We'll be right behind, sir," Sarge growled, like he expected me to try to run away.

It only took a few minutes to get over to Redwood, the black SUV staying on my tail the whole way. A left turn onto another trunk road had us heading toward the freeway. A right before we got there put us on a side street that'd take us to the house.

"And just what're we gonna look at?" Grandpa asked as we drove past warehouses, trucking yards and a few buildings that looked to be manufacturing plants.

"A place for me to run and hide from the world when I need it," I said as we passed a little diner that looked to be doing pretty good business during the lunch hour. "Everybody knows about the apartment and the Osborne house. If it hadn't been for that cartel, I woulda just gone out to the hay farm."

"Can't say I approve, but I understand," he said. "Just make sure your detail knows where ya are. Tom's not convinced one or more of those cartels won't come lookin' for their money again."

Well, they shouldn't have left it in my barn, I thought.

Just past the little diner but a couple of blocks from our destination, we passed a lot that looked like it may have occupied an entire block that had a for sale sign on one corner. I was going too fast to get any details. All I saw were stacks of shipping containers lined up in several rows and a lot of trash blowing around.

We finally reached the block of houses that seemed to be the only residential parcel in the area. I could only imagine what the city's P&Z Commission faced in dealing with this area. The place I was looking for was the fourth one from the corner on the east side of the street. Good thing I could recognize it from the picture on the ad. It wasn't the only one on the block with a real estate sign in the front yard.

Modest would have been an overstatement, but it appeared to be more than a shotgun shack. All the houses on the block appeared to have been built right after the War, late ’40s or early ’50s. Must've been a lot of ex-GIs in this neighborhood at one time. As long as the roof didn't leak too much, I'd be willing to chance it.

I pulled into a driveway just far enough to get off the road, while Sarge parked on the curb. I would've pulled in far enough to fit both vehicles, but there was a shopping cart full of crushed soda cans sitting right outside what I took to be the kitchen door.

We got out and took a look from where we stood. The front had two windows on either side of a weather-beaten door. There was no storm door or even a screen door.

"Can I help you fellas with somethin?'" a deep voice called out from what I took to be the kitchen door.

"Just looking things over," I said, turning to see a black gentleman of indeterminant age — probably fairly elderly based on the amount of gray in his scruffy beard, but that could mean anything from 40s to 70s — eyeing me suspiciously. "Saw the ad for this place. Thought I'd check it out."

"White boy like you don' wanna buy nothin' ’round this part o' town," he said as he eased down the cement steps, clinging tightly to a handrail. "That fancy ride o' yo's be trashed or gone ’fo ya even got moved in."

"That's good to know," I said stepping toward the man, who was clad in a pair of workpants that could've been part of a factory uniform and an old fatigue jacket, Air Force based on the insignia, with a fatigue cap on his head. "Gary Robinson."

I stepped toward the man with right hand extended, causing his suspicion to increase with an added hint of bemusement. Just another crazy white boy. At least he accepted my handshake with a pretty strong grip.

"Walter Scroggins," he said only a little begrudgingly.

"What can ya tell us about the house?" Grandpa asked from behind me as he reached in with his own extended hand. "Hal Robinson."

"Walter Scroggins," he said with another quick shake. "You this boy's daddy?"

"Granddaddy," Grandpa said. "Rasin' his daddy was bad enough."

That drew snorts from more than one location.

"This was my grandmomma's house," Walter said. "She pretty much raised me here after my momma run off when I was little. I come back to take care of her after I got outta the service. It was all she had to leave me when she passed. Been here nearly 30 years."

"What has you looking to sell, if you don't mind me asking, sir?" I asked.

"Ain't got no choice, boy," Walter said with a little heat. "Damn property taxes ’bout to eat me up! Some days, it's ’bout all I can do to scrounge enough to eat. What little pension I get from the gubmint's barely enough to cover the bills."

"You got a place to go?" Grandpa, one of three military vets in my party, asked.

"Maybe one o' them VA joints 'if I qualify,'" Walter spat. "Don' know what I'm gonna do if I don't. Maybe go camp out in one o' them shippin' containers up the road. I know there's couple dozen folks doin' that already."

A quick glance at my grandfather and the security guys showed they didn't like that idea one damn bit. We'd all seen, read or heard stories about homeless vets. They certainly wouldn't approve of me adding to the problem by kicking this man out of his home just so I could have a place to hide from the world on occasion.

And it was the first I'd ever heard of there being homeless people in our town. I figured that'd be more of a problem down in the city, but I admit I was pretty sheltered from such realities of life. I was just another privileged white boy from the suburbs.

But I also had billions and could at least help come up with a solution. The 320 Foundation was about to get another assignment.

"Mr. Scroggins, have you eaten today?" I asked, earning curious looks from my companions.

"I's jus' ’bout to fix sumpin' when y'all showed up," he said with a little more suspicion in his eyes.

"How ’bout I save ya the trouble?" I smiled. "That little diner up the way any good? I haven't had lunch yet, myself."

"Miss Effie's? I guess it's a'right," he admitted. "Nothin' fancy, jus' home cookin.'"

"That's what I growed up on," Grandpa said. "Didn't know there was anything else ’til I got in the Army."

"You serious?" Walter asked, looking from Grandpa to me. "I don' got ’nough to eat out much."

"Not a problem," I said. "My treat. Consider it a consultation fee. Got an idea I want to bounce off ya. You can tell me if it's a good one or not. Folks in the consulting business would charge me a few thousand just to listen."

"Don' sound like I'm gonna get a better offer today," he said, sounding like he would gladly go for a free meal.

It was decided Walter would ride with the security guys. Watching him totter on the way to the SUV made me wonder how he got around to take care of his needs. There was no sign of a car and the nearest grocery store was several blocks, if not miles, away. I have no idea if he had laundry facilities in the house or visited a laundromat, but I hadn't noticed any offensive odors when I got close to him.

"You wanna tell me what this latest idea of yours is, boy?" Grandpa demanded in a tone that indicated what I might want didn't amount to a hill of beans. Which sounded like a good idea for lunch once I thought about it. Especially if there was cornbread involved. Too bad we were on the wrong side of town for Cookshack.

"Have The 320 Foundation set up a homeless shelter," I said as we loaded into the roadster. "Maybe that'd help cut down on the neighborhood's crime rate if it's as bad as Mr. Scroggins made it sound. Also, figure a way to involve Mr. Scroggins and pay him enough that he can keep his house without causing trouble with his benefits. I know there's a limit on how much he can earn, but it doesn't sound like he needs that much. The asking price on the house is just $46,000."

Grandpa mulled that over as I backed out of Walter's drive and pointed toward the diner. I took it as a good sign that he didn't tell me I was as full of shit as a Christmas goose as we headed in that direction.

The diner's parking lot was much emptier on our arrival than it had been on our first pass by not even half an hour ago. I guess most of the customers had gone back to work. There were only a couple of men in the place that I could see.

I noticed Sarge kept a hand on Walter's elbow as they headed to the entrance. The place was just a typical diner. The sign on the door listed business hours as 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. Monday through Saturday. Breakfast and lunch for the workers at nearby businesses. Since it was just now coming up on 1, we should be good.

I entered to find a counter with stools running almost the width of the dining area and a string of four-seat booths lining the outer walls. A dry-erase board propped up on the counter listed today's special as meatloaf. For some reason, I heard Chuck asking if I was gonna eat all that.

A matronly black woman was wiping down tables after the lunch rush, arranging the condiments against the wall as she went. A vision of Aretha Franklin bursting into song when Jake and Elwood came looking for her husband flashed in my mind, but I don't think that was going to be an issue today. I had no need for a guitar player.

"You boys better hurry," the woman said as we looked for clean tables to sit at. "Ain't but a couple o' specials left."

"We're good, ma'am," Buck said with a smile. "What kind of pie ya got? A slice and a cup of coffee'll be enough for me."

The only pie left was cherry, but she still had some German chocolate cake that had been the dessert on the lunch special.

"Make that two slices of pie, two coffees," Sarge said.

"I think I'll try the cake and a glass of iced tea," Grandpa said.

"Sweet or unsweet?" she asked, moving behind the counter and grabbing two coffee mugs.

"Ah, just dip yer little finger in it," Grandpa said with a wolfish grin. "That oughta make it sweet enough."

Three men snorted in response as the woman gave my grandfather a remonstrative glare. I wouldn't dream of telling Grandma about her husband's flirting, but I was damn sure going to steal that line.

Walter and I picked a booth with Grandpa sliding in beside me as our waitress dished up two slices of pie. Buck and Sarge sat in the next booth toward the door, positioning themselves to have an overlapping field of vision.

The lady impressed me with her ability to carry two servings of pie and two cups of coffee to the security guys in one trip, keeping forks balanced atop the little plates. She eyed my grandfather warily when she brought his cake and tea, but Grandpa behaved himself. Or at least kept his hands to himself. I was just glad he didn't call her "darlin.'"

"What about you two?" she asked after completing her delivery.

"Special an' a cup o' coffee," Walter said.

"Special and unsweet tea," I said, thinking it was too soon to steal Grandpa's line just yet. Besides, that German chocolate cake looked like it was more than sweet enough to compensate.

Walter waited for the woman to depart to fill our order before starting the discussion.

"You really still in high school?" he asked with a hint of disbelief, as if my letter jacket wasn't enough of a tipoff.

"I'm a senior with a chance to graduate at the semester," I said. "I need to start planning what I'm gonna do in the spring. I have some business opportunities available in addition to starting college."

"Why you wanna buy my house, then?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a place I can have some privacy when I need it," I said. "Sometimes, ya just gotta get away from the world. I bought a place out in the country a while back, but the house burned down. I need another hiding place."

"Sounds like you got more money than sense," he snorted.

"Ain't nobody got that much sense," Grandpa cut in. "We're just tryin' to get him to where he can hang on to the money."

"Look, I understand your concerns," I said before my grandfather could bury me any deeper. "Sounds like that's been your home most of your life. I have no intention of kicking you out. And, from what you said about my car getting trashed or stolen, this isn't an area I should consider."

Our discussion was interrupted by the arrival of our food. Then it was put on hold as we dug in. This meatloaf was pretty damn good.

Any chance of resuming our talk was delayed further by the jingling of bells as the door opened and Carla Johnson walked in.