“Anyhow, I think they struck a deal. They shook hands, for whatever that means. The whole meeting couldn’t have lasted more than fifteen or twenty minutes. But it was definitely tense.”
“So get this... Her purse is still sitting on the table, right? So she grabs it, puts it in her lap and opens it. She leaves it open wide, takes a cigarette out and holds it between the fingers of her right hand, about ready to smoke it, and the guy leans over and slides a thick envelope into it, never losing eye contact with the broad for a second. Just glad they didnt see me seeing them, little man, and that’s gonna cost you a bit extra, my good dude. Sorry.
“Oh yeah, know something, sure, he was wearing one glove. Who knows, maybe he was queer? Different strokes for different folks, right?”
“Anyway, that’s all I got, kid. Oh, tell Alison I’m super disappointed and crushed that she never showed up. What the what’s up with that little rocket man? Tell her I said there better be a rain check happening…”
“Hey, man, I gotta split. Let’s get the rest of this stuff into my wagon, k?”
So we finished helping him load up, both of our minds going a mile a minute. Burt gave us the peace sign he was pulling out.
“Thanks, guys. Peace, Love, and Granola!”
Whatever…dude.
Chapter 50
Fuzz
The Lumps on the Bump had been hired by Reginald G. Knight to make our lives miserable, of that we were sure. It started a cat-and-mouse game that would last the rest of the summer. The next summer too. Maybe longer.
There were actually two Lumps contracted through the “Lower Cape Cod Security Company, Incorporated” to engage and repel all potential evildoers and no-gooders who dared drive, motor bike, or otherwise set foot on the hallowed grounds of Mashnee Village. The protection of which was duly assigned to: Weekday Guy and Weekend Guy. Naturally we had nicknames for them. Flim and Flam. I think The Stick came up with them. Pretty good. Simple, yet effective.
And while the nicknames were similar, all similarities ended right there.
In fact, the two were a classic case of opposites. Tall and skinny, short and round. High and squeaky, loud and gravelly. Neat and clean, sloppy and unkempt. Ok guy. Total prick. The Ying was Flim. Flam, the Yang, I think.
During the week, Flim manned the illustrious bump from eight p.m. until midnight, and the “Flam Experience,” aka our worst nightmare, happened on weekends, six pm. to one a.m., although he was well known for circling back a half hour or so later, in hopes of jettisoning his portly body onto some unfortunate bad guy (His body could accommodate multiple.), should the hint of trouble break out. That’s assuming, of course, the bad guys wouldn’t mind waiting a half-hour or so for slow, portly Flam to get his fat bee-hind to the scene of the crime, and another ten minutes for him to maneuver his portliness out of his brown and tan “Security Vehicle.” What a joke.
However, even with the slow-moving physique of a water buffalo and unpleasant temperament of a crocodile, do not be fooled; this guy was nothing but trouble.
Now we couldn’t really blame Knight for hiring island security; after all, lest we forget, there had probably been an actual murder somewhere around here! It was simply a matter of who they hired that bothered us, and the fact that the guy seemed a lot more interested in harassing the island’s teens than keeping them safe. I mean really, who are we kidding here?
Not only did he have the direct ear of Mr. Knight, but even worse, the Flam often teamed up with another arch nemesis, The Narc, who had the most annoying habit of showing up unannounced, right next to you, without a sound. I mean no sound. Zero. Zip. Nada. Nothing. Not a peep. He’d just appear without warning, a nasty habit indeed. We hated him.
It gives me the creeps just thinking about it. I mean, stealth is one thing, but this cop wannabe was beyond sleazy. Fortunately it was the only noteworthy skill the slimeball actually possessed.
Naturally, by now we were accustomed to getting harassed about violating rules in the pool or The Club and fully accepted the penalties that came with such obstinacy, be they my personal battles with Mr. Knight over having long hair in the pool or getting kicked out for too many cannonballs (What is the all-out obsession with cannonballs anyways?) or swearing in the clubhouse.
But the hiring of the Lumps on The Bump changed everything, and suddenly there were actual rules everywhere.
The tried and true tradition of hanging out on The Club’s front steps, had suddenly become loitering! Gathering in groups larger than six or seven, unlawful congregation! Dare to be in The Club’s parking lot past midnight? Curfew violation! Does roof stomping and door knocking strike your fancy? Ah ha! Malicious destruction of property! You get the drift.
It got so bad that even cutting through your neighbor’s yard was now a fineable offense! I mean, sheesh, we couldn’t do ANYTHING!
The rent-a-cops also appeared to have a direct buzzline to the Bourne Police, and weren’t afraid to use it. And, this summer, the police and Mashnee teens were already way too familiar. No need pouring gas on an inferno.
During this “crackdown,” the one thing we still had, thank gawd, was The Hut. It wasn’t that Flim and Flam didn’t know about it. I’m certain they were forewarned. But neither liked the thought of schlepping that far down the dark beach through the deep sand and wet seagrass in an area loaded with mosquitoes and more than the occasional skunk late at night, only to be greeted and outnumbered by who knows how many raucous teens when they arrived.
Their pay grade just wasn’t high enough for that.
Certainly they could have made a bigger stink about it, but I think they were more concerned about protecting Club property than schlepping to a distant hideout that nobody could see anyway. Plus, there was Tommy. And say what you will about a seventeen-year-old punk, but even The Lumps were intimidated by him. So although their security trips to The Hut were exceptionally rare, they were not nonexistent.
Not only did we have to be cognizant of our surroundings, but clever and crafty as well. We had devised several emergency hiding spots, some dug into the sand, with other prime hiding spots concealed in the tall seagrass.
Oh, and given our overnight experience at Aptucxet, we managed to devise a few of Stevie’s booby traps as well!
So if you weren’t invited, it was best to stay the heck away from our shanty. But on this particular night, and for a very particular reason, The Flam Experience showed up, unannounced and suddenly, as per modus operandi, this time with an uninvited guest…
Tommy took a look-see, stepped out of The Hut where he could see and be seen, then called back to his scattering league of summer comrades,
“Put the joints out, boys, it’s da fuzz.”
I threw up.
Chapter 51
Tower
It wasn’t like we were always in trouble, or dumb for that matter. There were plenty of days filled with nothing but blissful summer fun, when we were, for all intents and purposes, the perfect teenagers.
Any one of us could be seen doing a neighborly good deed, or chasing down some little kid’s water-float as it blew down the beach. Some of us more than others, most likely dependent on their family standards and level of parental supervision, of which, at least in the summer, there simply wasn’t much.
Point being, most of the islanders loved us and would probably have called us “pretty good kids” upon query. Sure, we heard the assorted complaints about loads of long-haired-hippie types hanging out constantly on the front steps, which we regarded as a compliment, or scolded for cutting the wrong yard, but good kids were we. From good families who lived on the right side of the tracks. Or at least could afford a summer rental. Hey, and Bar-Mitzvahed too, or Christened, or Baptized, or whatever the heck their religious denomination called for. “Cream of the Crop,” some might say. And smart, too (ok, they never said that about Eddie), some even honor roll students (one, Mary Ellen). Yup, just a good group of nice, wholesome, friendly kids,
Except when we weren’t.
Which is starting to sound like an abundance of the time…
