IN SEARCH OF FRANK MILLER: a s

IN SEARCH OF FRANK MILLER: a semi true ghost story
Chapter Two
The NEW SITUATION


I completed my first week at the service station laboring through menial tasks in the scorching Oklahoma sun where nightfall seemed distant, teasing, and out of reach. I honestly detested my new found job, but at the end of the week, Clinton reluctantly revealed both of his secrets to me, and I ended up escorting him on a dangerous journey across the Red River to Texas. We both needed the money that this mission would bring.

Looking back over it, I should have seen the warning signs. But, when you’re only twenty-one, and male at that, you think you’re invincible. If I could go back and do it over again, and change a few things, would I? Of course not! I did the right thing. I made the right choice… even though it cost me my life.

When I arrived home from my first night at the service station, Mama grew extremely overjoyed when I told her the news of my sudden employment. In celebration she baked me a chocolate pie. Papa grunted his approval, and cut himself a large piece. He didn’t say much after that. I guess he felt bad for that morning’s lecture, but he would never tell me. All throughout his life, Papa kept quiet. He rarely spoke about anything. I don’t know if it ran in the family. I never met my grandfather, him haven kicked Papa out of the family after I came along in 1905. Papa did allow me, and my siblings to be on speaking terms with my cousins, who happen to be the children of Grandpa’s favorite child, Papa’s older brother. I heard that one of them agreed to be pallbearer at my funeral. What a strange way to say goodbye to a person you grew up with.

But, as usually, I am getting ahead of myself.

On my fourth day of work, I reluctantly settled into a boring routine of sorts. By that afternoon, it had grown unseasonably hot outside. The sun poured down onto our little town like sticky molasses. The town of Woodville seemed to have been shoved into a brick oven, or perhaps the gates of hell broke through the parched dirt and engulfed us all in invisible flames. I couldn’t tell which.

The surprise weather brought us few customers, so Old Elmer took an afternoon nap in his office, stretched out on a faded sofa. As for his workers, Clinton showed up around three, and joined me in slouching against the faded stucco entrance of the service station. We stayed cool by fanning ourselves with the morning’s paper, crunching on ice, or drinking down a glass bottle of coke that we stole from the machine outside. Old Elmer never cared. He believed soda to be ‘the work of the devil,’ and, ‘I’ll stick to whiskey thank you very much! It won’t rot my teeth away!”

When customers did decide to ramble up to us, they usually shelled out a few pennies in tips. If they drove up in a fancy car, they would present us with a nickel or more. I’m guessing that is why Old Elmer only paid us five cents an hour; we could make more than that in tips.

Still sticking with my plan of ‘escaping as soon as possible,’ I hid all of my money in an old coffee tin under my bed. Of course, Papa still demanded his dollar a week of rent money. After my first week, I had about a dollar and forty cents in the hidden savings. I only needed fifty cents to take the train to Van Alstyne. A rented room in town would be about five dollars a month. A rented room here in Woodville only cost two dollars a month, but everything cost more in Texas. I felt elated knowing that I already earned train fair. Now, I just needed at least three months rent, plus extra savings for groceries and anything unexpected that life would throw my way. Clinton, who lived on his own, helped me craft out a chart. I needed fifty dollars. I sighed with disdain when it dawned on me that I would be at this horrible job until at least fall harvest.

Despite the circumstances, I quickly grew to like my new coworker. Clinton may have been the same age as me, but he seemed more aware of the world around him. He knew how to calm a distressed customer, and spoke with an air of importance and respect. He also carried himself with a sense of accomplishment. I liked that. Clinton seemed to know it all, but he harbored two secrets. And, if it weren’t for Old Elmer’s arthritis and Clinton’s friend breaking his leg, he would have never confessed them to me.

By five o’clock, the sun began to fade out, and Old Elmer stumbled from his office, tossing me the store keys.

“Boys, I’m heading out early. Damn knee is acting up! Can’t sit still for less than five minutes! Frank you can stay and work my shift. I left your pay in my office with Clinton’s.”

In surprise, I caught the keys with one hand, and with the other dropped a rag I had just used polishing a cracked windshield. Bastard customer only tipped me one penny. Pushing aside my aggravation with the snotty geezer, I gasped at Old Elmer in disbelief. He didn’t believe in twelve hour shifts.

“Frank can’t close with me,” Clinton yelled out in annoyance. “He’s been here since morning, and I just got here two hours ago. Plus, you know how I like to be by myself.”
Shooting a glance of surprise irritation at my coworker, I turned back to Old Elmer. By now, he had opened his car door, and settled in the front seat.

“I can see that,” he sighed. “I trust the boy not to get into trouble. He’s only been here for three days, but he’s proven himself loyal. He’ll stay until closing.”

With a grunt, he closed the door, cranked the engine, and sputtered off. An uneasy silence filled the air. I turned back toward Clinton, who promptly ignored me, which further fueled my surprise hatred at him. Only an hour ago, my coworker had taken a piece of scrap paper from his pocket, and helped craft me a money saving plan. Now, he had taken on a different, distant, tone.

Confused, and a little hurt, I spat out, “What the hell is your problem all a sudden?”

Getting no response, I stormed over to the coke machine, where I angrily grabbed one, popped the metal cap off, and drank half of it down.

Clinton listlessly stared at me the entire time. Finally he shrugged, and kicked at a dirt clump.

“I ain’t got time for this. Tonight is my last night. I cannot afford to miss it. You should leave an hour early. Take the nickel, I won’t tell Elmer.”

By now I had grown livid. I honestly believed Clinton to be a decent man, but all of a sudden something had caused him to try in desperation to get rid of me. I had two choices: I could have taken his advice and gone home an hour early, or pressure him into confessing his secret. Naturally, I chose the second, which led me two steps closer to my murder.

“I don’t think you know whom you’re talking to?” I hissed back. “If you think I am some Mama’s Boy, who is going to tattle to Old Elmer about whatever you have planned tonight, think again. I don’t give a damn what you do. I once snuck out of the house, walked down to that pool hall by the Red River and gambled all night long. Of course, I lost all of my money…”

“You know the pool hall?” Clinton suddenly interrupted me. His eyes seemed to light up in surprise. He no longer looked upset at me having to close with him.
 
A tantalizing smile crept over my lips. Two can play his game. I took a long drink of my coke, enjoying the look of anticipation on his face.

“Perhaps,” I coyly placed the bottle down on the bench. “Is that where you’re heading tonight?”

“In a way,” Clinton replied, his voice taking on a harden tone.

I rolled my eyes, and finished my coke. Placing the empty bottle back on top of the machine, I turned to my co-worker. He looked at a loss for words. He kept licking his bottom lip, biting the skin, as if he wanted to tell me something, but couldn’t. I guess it was up to me to drag it out of him.

“I should join you,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “It’s been awhile since I walked up there. I could play tonight with the overtime money I made. If I won, it’s more money closer to my planned escape to Texas.”

“I ain’t going to gamble.”

The hurried way Clinton spoke, I knew something was wrong. I pushed further. An overwhelming sensation filled my brain. I had to know his plans. This must be how women felt when they egged others on for their secrets.

“Well, what is it?” I called back. “Everyone goes up there to gamble. What else is there?”

Once again, Clinton turned his back on me. At that moment, a car drove up to the pump, ending our conversation. He just shrugged his shoulders, as he took the man’s quarter, and placed the nozzle in the side of the car. Clinton waited until the customer walked inside to pick out a pack of cigarettes, before hissing at me:

“You’re so naïve to think that the only thing going on there is gambling. I maybe younger than you, but I am so much older than you.”

I drew back a gasp of air, and starred daggers at my so called new friend. How dare Clinton suggest that? Did he even know what I did at the pool hall? Everyone there knew my name; they also knew my Papa’s name.

Crouching down to fill up the tires, a million thoughts seemed to swamp my brain. What could Clinton’s secret be? Why couldn’t he tell me? I’m male for crying out loud, I’m not going to run around town gossiping it to everyone I meet. I pondered hard to find an insult that would make him confess, and then it hit me. With a grin, I stood up, and walked over to the service station island to grab a can of motor oil. In my most sarcastic tone, I whispered:

“Is that so? Well, what’s your big secret then? Are you a bootlegger?”

I laughed to myself, as I imagined Clinton secretly working undercover, transporting illegal homemade moonshine to the residents of Woodville. Maybe, that’s how he afforded to live on his own.

Clinton silently topped off the gas, while I hurried over to the engine. A smirk had rested on his face. As I passed him, he grasped a hold of my uniform, forced me to stand still, while speaking softly in my ear:

“Yes. Yes, I am. And, tonight is my last night.”

I gasped as Clinton released his hold on me, and walked calmly back into the service station to wait on the customer, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

*****

None of us said anything to one another for over an hour. Clinton stayed inside working in the stockroom, and left me to wait on the customers. I wonder if he felt like he had made a mistake by telling me how he made his living. I wished I could tell him that he had nothing to worry about. But, he kept his distance, and I respectfully honored that.
 
As the evening sun began to sink, and the night insects woke up from the morning hibernation, I walked back inside to start the task of closing. Our last customer rumbled off, I smiled at the ten cent tip he left, rolling it between my slender fingers. We locked our doors every night at seven. Old Elmer used to say that if a person still needed their car serviced after then, well they were too damn lazy. They had all morning and afternoon to get up here. He didn’t wish to hear their excuse.

Turning to lock the door behind me, I switched off the outside lamp, and slowly maneuvered my way back to Old Elmer’s office. The store looked as pristine as a small service station could be. Clinton’s dangerous confession still made itself known in my brain. I found him with his back turned toward me. He had the telephone in his hand. His fingers growing red as he gripped it like a man strangling a chicken. I realized I had accidentally wandered into a private conversation. I should have turned around, but something told me to stay, plus I needed my money.

“What do you mean you cannot make it tonight?” Clinton yelled into the phone, as he took his other hand and erratically ran it through his short black hair. “Do you know how much money we’re going to get? This is my last run for Christ Sake! I cannot postpone this! You know how much I need this for Charlotte and the baby!” I… Oh, I see…are you serious? Today of all days…you do…Lord!...I cannot comprehend…this is absurd!”

With a loud sigh, he slammed the telephone back on the hook, and turned around. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, yet a small shiver ran through my body.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I took notice of his flushed face and angry beady eyes. Instantly they softened. He sighed.

“I should go,” I turned to grab my money off Old Elmer’s desk. But, Clinton reached out, and grasped a hold of my wrist. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

“I need you to come with me tonight.”

His tone shocked me. He had never sounded so needy. I knew my coworker as a well spoken man, who had complete control of his life. Now, he stood in front of me, a changed person. I paused, rolling the eighty cents in the palm of my hand. Clinton must have sensed the hesitation, for he pressed on, he grip growing tighter.

“I will pay you. You can have all the tips I made today, plus ten percent of the money I’m taking home tonight. I’m supposed to bring two cases of top whiskey to a bunch of business men. They’re paying me five hundred dollars. This is the most I have ever made. I need this money more than you can imagine. My business partner broke his leg falling from a horse this morning. I need someone to help me carry the other case. You seem to know the pool hall and the area surrounding it. It’s an emergency. I need you to do it, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Frank, with this money, you can quit tomorrow, and run off to Texas immediately. Both of us need this money.”

I stared back at him in surprise. He looked nervous, but determined. I did need the money. I could leave tonight if I wished. After the drop off, I could take a train and be in Van Alstyne in only a few short hours. Sure, Mama would be upset, but I couldn’t live with Papa anymore. Then again, he pretty much gave me a time limit on living at home. With a nod, I caught Clinton’s eye, and smiled.

“You got yourself a deal.”