Chapter 26 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - They Gossip a Lot

                                   Chapter 26 – They Gossip a Lot

It’s funny what flashes through a person’s mind during emergencies, although I don’t remember ever being in one quite like this. In what could only have been a scant period, perhaps a second or two, I remember thinking that this had started out to be a fine fall evening…or would have been, minus all the violent distractions.

A faint, cool fall breeze was in the air. There was a nearly full moon in the sky. It was the kind of evening where the world seemed to hold its breath. If I hadn’t gotten entangled in, well, whatever this social catastrophe you might want to call Clara’s obsession with Frank and Joey, the evening might have been damn near perfect.

Yet, out of that perfect stillness, ripping the peaceful veil of the evening asunder, came the low, uneven roar of an engine pushed far too hard. Then the vehicle approached. And as I stood next to Rico, I noticed that Fenton was missing. I looked back at the large four-wheeled monster coming towards us. I could still hear Sal screaming at me. I looked down at the shotgun in my hands.

My mind raced as I raised the gun and aimed at the tires. You see this stunt all the time in the movies, but does it work? Is there a trick to it or is it just Hollywood magic. Is ‘shooting out the tires' just a cinematic requirement in an action scene like effortlessly kicking a locked door in? Is it some fiction that scriptwriters perpetuate, I wondered? I was on the threshold of finding out.

Then the vehicle slowed down a bit. It started to veer to the left of the rest home lobby. Another sixty yards or so and it would have cleared the visitor parking area and ran over the curb. Beyond that the Happy Meadows complex was a scant fifty feet. My finger was on the trigger of the shotgun when Rico forcefully pushed the barrel down. 

"Don't shoot!" Rico cried. But the gun went off.

The noise was deafening. My eyes beheld a large divot that I had blown in the Happy Meadows dirt and gravel parking lot. The recoil from the shotgun knocked me backwards. I stumbled trying to regain my feet. I’m not a very big person. I only weigh about a buck and thirty cents in change. I hit one of the roof’s rain pipes hard.

It was then that I heard Fenton scream. He was above me. Rico, in a state of confusion, looked around for Fenton while trying to help me off the ground. I dropped the shotgun in the grass. We both looked up to see Fenton clinging to the drainage system tightly above us.  

While Rico and I were preoccupied with the oncoming car, Fenton must have climbed up the pipe like a monkey. He was nearly to the roof. Although Fenton hardly weighs more than I do, the drainpipe was starting to separate from the building. Slowly Fenton fell away from the roof and had to surrender his grip at the last minute.

Fenton finally surrendered to gravity and fell about six feet into the parking lot. His letterman’s jacket got scuffed but he seemed to be uninjured. The drainpipe, however, continued to descend in a perfect trajectory to collide with Fenton’s mother’s car. There was a loud crash and scraping sound.

I couldn’t make out exactly what Fenton said when the drainpipe scraped the surface of the restored classic car. My ears were still ringing from the shotgun blast. He spent the rest of the evening trying to think of how to spin the story to his mom and the insurance company.

Sal put his gun back in his shoulder holster and he backed away from the vehicle as it started to slow.  As the vehicle rolled in a large circle, nearly tipping over once again, I noticed that this wasn’t an ordinary car. I could see only the silhouette of the driver. He was slumped forward as if he was exhausted. The vehicle was a hearse.

It was an old hulking thing. I could see it’s dull chrome and long black body. It was made to solemnly glide down the street, not tear around a country road like a wounded animal.  

“Holy Hostess Twinkies,” cried Rico. “That’s the Jerry mobile.”

It was true. Slumped at the wheel was Jerry Gonzales, necromancer extraordinaire, still wearing his beat-up cowboy hat and ratty blue bathrobe.

“Jax, do you know this guy?” Sal asked. Then he eyeballed Rico suspiciously.

“Yes, this is Rico Gonzales and that, over there, is his Uncle Jerry.” I signified. “I’ve known both for several years.

“Why is he in a hearse?” Sal said, still trying to figure out if this weirdness was some sort of threat. We approached the hearse.

“Uncle Jerry is a brujo and a holy man that administers to the needs of our community. He is a healer and legally can perform burial rites. He bought the hearse three years ago for advertising purposes.” Rico explained. “He has a driver's license, but admittedly, even sober, he never was a very good driver.”

“What is Jerry doing all the way out here?” I asked. “You said he was watching wrestling on television at home.” I was puzzled.

“I’m afraid that was my fault. After I called you, I left a note telling him where I went.” Rico hung his head.

Fenton came over. “Actually, that was a very responsible thing do.” He tried to reassure Rico.

A very drunk Jerry Gonzales mumbled something in Spanish. I leaned over to him. I was close enough to smell his breath. He was very intoxicated. I checked the interior of the hearse for containers of alcohol. I couldn’t see any. Jerry mumbled the same thing again.

“What did he say?” Fenton asked.

“How should I know?” Rico replied.

“I thought that you spoke Spanish.” I said rather confused again.

“I do. But I don’t speak drunken Spanish. He is really out of it.” Rico snarked. “Jerry, speak English. Jaxon is here and he can’t understand you.”

“You said that you were going over to Happy Meadows. The dead told me you might be in trouble. They said that somebody was murdered there tonight. I came as fast as I could.” Jerry’s words were slurred and he fought to maintain consciousness.

“Murdered? Was he that dead guy with the newspaper that was sent to kill Joey Flowers? Um, Zach something-or-other.  I spaced his last name I guess.” I said, trying to put some pieces together.

“Who is Joey Flowers?” Fenton asked.

“A friend of Clara’s.” I answered. “I don't understand how anyone could already know that there is a dead body inside Happy Meadows?”

“The dead can instantly communicate with each other in our community. Frankly, I’ve always found it annoying. But it’s true never-the-less.” Rico said. “And let me tell you, they gossip a lot.”

“Is there is a dead guy inside there?” Fenton yelped.

“Yep!” answered Rico. “Right now, I can see his ghost staring at us through the window.”

Fenton waved at the window, waggling his fingers.

“Stop it, you’re just encouraging him. You should be grateful that you can't see him. By the way, I’m not going in there. There is no way!" Rico pointed at the window. "Come on. Help me get Jerry in the back of the hearse. I'll put a blanket on him so he can sleep it off."   Rico said sternly.