Bookshelf Battle

“Fetch the stick boy! Fetch the stick!”

Three months later, skippy had grown to the size of a bulldog. He and found Buford had become fast friends, frolicking throughout the trailer park courtyard, playing fetch the stick.

With a retrieved stick between his jaws, Skippy waddled back to the steps leading up to Roxy’s trailer, where Buford was sitting next to his father, who was enjoying an ice cold beer.

“Damn, that thing is growing like a weed,” Beaumont said.

“He sure is,” Buford said. “I’ve been feeding him tacos and soda pop and ice cream and frozen pizzas and rats and I think he might of ate the neighbor’s cat, Daddy. Either that or Fluffy got one look at Skippy, got scared and decided to not come around here no more.”

“Well,” Beaumont said. “Your Momma’s been ragging me about it. Saying he’s been eating all her furniture and biting her…uh…customers.”

“Aww, I’m still training him, Daddy,” Buford said. “But he’s a good alligator. Really, he is.”

“Whatever, boy,” Beaumont said as he swigged his beer. “Just be sure to whack it in the head with a shovel if it ever gets outta control.”

Buford scratched Skippy’s scaly head, causing the creature to emit a joyous, “Raarga, raarga.”

The young man pulled the stick out of Skippy’s mouth and tossed it into the courtyard. “Fetch, boy! Fetch!”

Skippy waddled after the stick once more in hot pursuit, going as fast as his little green legs would carry him.

“Daddy,” Buford said. “Can I come live with you?”

Beaumont crushed his beer can and popped the top of another. “The hell would you wanna do that for? You don’t like your Momma?”

“Oh, I love Momma alright,” Buford replied. “It’s just that, well, she’s always bringing all these fellas over for shirtless wrasslin’ classes.”

“Yeah,” Beaumont said. “I imagine that could be annoying.”

“And I know women are like empowered now and all and I should support her career as a shirtless wrasslin coach, especially ‘cuz without her all those men will never how to wrassle without their shirts on…”

“God damn, boy,” Beaumont said. “You sure do talk a lot.”
“It’s just whenever all those wrasslers come over, Momma makes me go to my room and stay there all night listening to music on my headphones and I don’t even like music all that much,” Buford said.

“Probably to drown out all the noise from all that wrassling going on,” Beaumont said.

“I know,” Buford said. “But I don’t mind wrasslin sounds. I watch wrasslin on the TV all the time. The Rock is my favorite wrassler. He’s gonna be a big superstar one day.”

“Son,” Beaumont said. “If anyone ever hands over a red cent to see that giant lummox in a feature film I will eat a whole heaping helping of crow.”

“Anyway Daddy,” Buford said. “Momma says you got a big ole fancy house and I bet it would be real nice to live there.”

Beaumont blew a raspberry. “Pbbbht. Boy you gotta be kidding me. Sorry son, but your daddy is an important man. I got all kinds of deals and hustles going on. I can’t just drop my business to change your diapers and feed you and do all that woman’s work your Momma should be doing.”

“I’m toilet trained, Daddy,” Buford said. “Like, for years now!”

“Bah,” Beaumont said as he swigged the beer. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Skippy returned and dropped the stick at Buford’s feet. “Raarga.”

“Belly rub time!” Buford shouted.

Skippy rolled over on his back. Buford tickled the beast’s slimy undercarriage all the while saying in a tone that adults usually reserve for their babies, “Who’s a good boy? Who wants a belly rub?”

“Sakes alive, son,” Beaumont said. “I honest to God thought you’d of killed that thing by forgetting to feed it or stepping on it or sitting on it or accidentally dropping it down the garbage disposal or casting upon it one of the fates you bestowed upon your other pets but damn it, maybe you’re starting to grow up and get some wits about you.”

“I love Skippy, Daddy,” Buford said. “I love him to much to forget to take care of him and he’s so big now I could accidentally step on him and he wouldn’t mind.”

Buford swigged some more beer. “Tell you what, boy. If you still don’t like living with your Momma by the time you start high school, then you can come live with me.”

“You mean it?” Buford asked.

“That’s a better guarantee than I’ll ever give any of my customers down at the Slightly Used Car Emporium.”

“Why do I have to wait until high school?” Buford asked. “‘Cuz Momma will be lonely if I don’t stay awhile longer?”

“Nah,” Beaumont said. “I just figure by then I won’t have to clean up after you or do any of that child rearing shit.”

The year was 1997. Chumbawumba was Tubthumping all over the music charts. The English Patient won best picture despite boring the ever loving shit out of audiences everywhere. Bill Clinton was running around the Oval Office with his pants around his ankles, shtupping everything that moved.

Meanwhile, a perpetually picked on, completely unpopular, chubby little eight year old boy named Buford sat on the floor of his Momma’s trailer playing video games while stuffing potato chips into his face hole.

“Buford,” said a younger, somewhat hotter Roxy. “Quit yanking your joystick stick and go outside. Run around the park a few times and blow the stink off ya.’”

“Can’t, Momma,” Buford said. “I’m about to beat the high score on Karate Fighter 7.”

Roxy blew cigarette smoke all over the room with little concern for the safety of her son’s lungs. “I told your daddy not to get you that machine. You’re going to rot your brain! Go outside and make some friends!”

“But no one likes me, Momma!” Buford said.

“Because you don’t got nothing interesting to say, son,” Roxy said. “Maybe if you’d stop being a little doofus and…”

Ding dong. An excited Buford turned off his game and ran to the door. He opened it only to find…

“Daddy!”

In his pre-mayor days, Beaumont Dufresne was younger and more physically fit, but he still had a cigar in his mouth and a martini in hand. He set a small cardboard box down on the coffee table and picked up his young son.

“Well howdy, boy,” Beaumont said. “Gee whiz, you’re gettin’ bigger than a bull elephant. What’s your Momma feeding you?”

“Chips!” Buford proudly declared as his father put him down.

“Boy, you know I only try to feed you good food,” Roxy said. “You’re the one whose always rootin’ through your Momma’s purse, takin’ all my money to go to that Burp N’Blow store on the corner to buy junk.”

Beaumont took Roxy’s hand and smooched it. “My sweet.”

Roxy took her hand away. “Don’t you ‘my sweet,’ me. Your check was late.”

“Yeah, well, I doubled it, didn’t I?” Beaumont asked.

Beaumont took a seat on the couch next to Roxy as Buford stared at the cardboard box on the table.

“Can I open it, Daddy?” Buford asked.

“Why, sure you can,” Beaumont said.

“Beaumont,” Roxy said. “You’re spoiling the boy. All he does is wreck his brain on that video-ma-jig you got him and now what?”

The boy picked up the box. He could feel something moving around inside. His eyes lit up. “Is it a puppy?”

“Maybe,” Beaumont said. “Maybe something better.”

Buford shook the box. Whatever was inside, it let out a high pitched, “Raarga!”

The boy was beside himself with eagerness and anticipation.

“Go on now,” Beaumont said.

Buford set the box down on the table and lifted the lid. Inside, a teeny, tiny baby alligator scurried around. It was no bigger than an average lizard.

Roxy shrieked. “You have got to be shitting me, Beaumont!”

“What?” Beaumont replied. “You said the boy doesn’t have any friends!”

“And you think that thing is gonna get him any?” Roxy asked.

“Oh my God,” Buford cried as he picked the little beast up. The baby gator fit easily into the palm of the boy’s hand. “I love him so much, Daddy!”

“I’m glad, son,” Beaumont said.

“Where in the hell did you even get that thing?” Roxy asked.

“I stopped at a red light,” Beaumont said. “There was a guy on the corner with a bucket of them, selling them for a dollar a pop. They seemed cute. Figured the boy would like one.”

Roxy puffed on her cigarette. “You ever think about what will happen when that thing grows up? It’ll be too big to live in the trailer!”

Buford playfully wagged a finger near the baby gator’s mouth. The baby gator snapped at it to no avail.

“I don’t know, Roxy,” Beaumont said. “If he becomes too much of a pain in the ass then flush him down the toilet. Do I have to think of everything?”

“Oh sure,” Roxy said. “I gotta be the parent around here. I gotta be the one who’s the bad guy, making all the tough decisions to raise him, putting my career to the side while you’re out there selling cars, raking in money hand over fist.”

“Your career?” Beaumont asked.

“I could be pulling a double shift at Big Ray-Ray’s right now if I didn’t have to watch him,” Roxy said.

Beaumont stood up. “Roxy, I swear, that trip to champagne room with you was the worst mistake I made in 1989, even worse than when I went to see Turner and Hooch because some idiot told me it was a good movie. It wasn’t. It was two goddamn hours of Tom Hanks and a dog that was smarter than he was.”

“You don’t mean that,” Roxy said.

“About Turner and Hooch?” Beaumont said. “I surely do. Tom Hanks is a hack and his film career is destined to fizzle out any day now.”

“I meant the champagne room,” Roxy said. “You know it was nice and…”

Roxy patted Beaumont’s knee. “…it’s not too late for us to be a family.”

Beaumont headed for the door. “You know I’m a free bird, baby! Stop tryin’ to clip my wings!”

As the door slammed, Roxy turned her attention to Buford. The boy was gently stroking the baby gator’s tiny head with his finger.

“Buford,” Roxy said. “I don’t think you ought to get too attached to that little critter.”

“I love him, Momma,” Buford said as he kissed the baby gator. “Every day I’m going to love him and hug him and kiss him and feed him bugs and snakes and rats and whatever else baby gators eat and I’m gonna call him Skippy.”

Roxy sat back on the couch. “Aw shit.”

Buford was back in his hotel room, snacking on chips and playing video games. He paused the action to call his father.

“Daddy?” Buford asked.

“Whaddya want, boy?” the Mayor asked. “I’m about to do another commercial and I’ve already spent enough time bailing out your sorry ass. If you’d been any kind of a real man you would have been able to have handled those cops on your own.”

“I know, Daddy,” Buford said. “I’m sorry.”

“The hell were you doing out at your Momma’s trailer at that ungodly hour anyway?” the Mayor asked. “Trying to move in with her instead of becoming a damn adult like I told you?”

Buford figured in this instance, a lie was better than the truth. “Yeah, Daddy. That’s it.”

“Yeah, well,” the Mayor said. “I know Roxy was your Momma and hell, out of all Big Ray-Ray’s strippers, I always found her to be the most fun so I know this is a painful time for the both of us. But don’t go thinking that means I’m gonna let you back into the house so you can postpone adulthood. You need to stop being a man child, Buford.”

“I know,” Buford said. “I just called to tell you I love you, Daddy.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Well, that’s sorta gay son but alright. I suppose if there ever was a time where that should be said, it’s now. I love you too, boy.”

“Thanks Daddy,” Buford said.

“Not in a gay way, mind you but in a father-son way, mind you,” the Mayor said.

“I figured,” Buford said.

“Alright, son,” the Mayor said. “I don’t have time for any more of this touchy-feely bullshit. I got work to do.”

“OK,” Buford said. “Bye Daddy.”

Buford hanged up his phone. He laid down in bed and closed his eyes, his mind drifting off into thoughts of Skippy, the pet he’d once considered to be his one and only true blue friend, though now he was having doubts.

Cole listened to Country Western music while he drove down the highway. Sharon played mindlessly with her phone. This carried on for a half-hour until Sharon attempted to start a conversation.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Sharon said.

“It’s been five years,” Cole said.

“Yeah,” Sharon replied. “But still…”

“People die,” Cole said.

“I wanted to come to the funeral but,” Cole said.

“I know,” Cole said.

There was a brief pause before Sharon finally blurted it out. “Do you hate me?”

Cole’s sigh was long and loud, like air escaping from a hot air balloon. “Let’s not do this.”

“Do what?” Sharon asked.

“Scratch the scab,” Cole said. “Neither of us will like the puss that oozes out, so just leave it alone.”

“We never really talked about it,” Sharon said.

“Not for lack of trying on my part,” Cole said.

“I know,” Sharon said. “That was my fault, but now I…”

“Look,” Cole said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in four decades it’s that everyone thinks they are right and everyone else is wrong. I think you were wrong, you think I’m wrong, let’s just skip the part where we argue about who was right and who was wrong and just think whatever the hell we want because that’s what we’ll end up doing anyway.”

“Wow,” Sharon said. “I guess you really do hate me.”

Up ahead, there was a Tasty Burger rest stop. Cole slowed down and pulled into it.

“What are you doing?” Sharon asked as Cole pulled into a parking spot.

Cole turned off the ignition. “You want to have this out? Fine. Let’s have this out.”

Sharon was quiet. She began to regret her prodding.

“You were my wife,” Cole said. “We both stood up before a minister and promised to love and cherish each other, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health and so on.”

Sharon looked away from Cole and out the passenger’s window. “I know.”

“I held up my end,” Cole said. “I took every last cent out of my paycheck to put you through law school because I loved you and I wanted you to be happy. Out of the two of us, you were the brains, so it seemed like a good investment in what was supposed to be the beginning of a happy life together.”

“I know,” Sharon said.

“And then you left me,” Cole said. “Out of the blue. No warning. No nothing. On the worst day of my life. I was in the hospital, dying. They took my leg. And your first thought wasn’t to come see me but to get the hell out of town because of…what? You were worried you’d have to take care of me?”

Sharon turned to face Cole. “That wasn’t…”

“I’ve got news for you,” Cole said. “I get along just fine without help from anyone.”

“I know,” Sharon said.

“I get along fine without you,” Cole said.

Sharon broke into tears. “I know.”

Cole felt saddened by the sight of his ex crying. “See? This is why I didn’t want to do this. It’s pointless.”

The pair sat there for awhile before Cole started up again. “Look, I don’t see any point in me shitting on you after all these years, so that’s why I think it’s stupid to rehash all of this. I don’t want to cause you any pain but if you’re expecting me to, what? Tell you that you did right by me? That what you did was great? That I was somehow the bad guy and you were the good one? That I forgive you? No. Not happening.”

Sharon wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed. She opened the door. “You’re right. This is pointless and stupid.”

Cole watched as his ex stepped out of the car and slammed the door. He rolled his eyes as he rolled down his window.

“Sharon!” Cole shouted. “Come on!”

Sharon waved Cole off as she walked toward the Tasty Burger.

“Let me drive you the rest of the way,” Cole said.
Sharon turned and held up her phone. “I’ve got the Mobo Cab app. I’m fine. Take care of yourself, Cole.”

Cole bonked his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes, realizing he may have just botched his one and only chance to get back together with his lady love.

“Fucking Mobo Cab app,” Cole muttered.

Cole sat behind an empty desk on the main floor of the Sitwell Police Department. Rusty stood nearby, while Paul sat in a chair across from Cole. The cops had found an oversized pair of sweatpants and a Sitwell PD sweatshirt for the boy to wear in lieu of his wet clothes. However, the sweats were so big and the boy so small that Paul was swimming in them.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” Cole said.

“Twice,” Rusty added.

“That’s the story you’re going with?” Cole asked.

“Story?” Paul asked.

Cole clicked the button on his pen and jotted a few notes down on a yellow legal pad. “For the official report. Gotta be thorough.”

“You said you were in the vicinity of the bathroom where Chad Becker was murdered?” Cole asked.

Paul sipped a complimentary soda pop Rusty had brought him in a prior attempt to feign good cop. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“You did,” Cole said. “Best not to change your story now.”

“Again with that word,” Paul said. “‘Story.’”

“Again,” Cole replied as he scribbled down some more notes. “For the official report.”

“I’m the frat’s Beermeister,” Paul said. “That’s the guy in charge of…”

Cole held up his right hand to form a “stop” motion. “I know what a Beermeister is. I went to Sitwell Community College.”

“OK,” Paul continued. “So, Chad got wasted. I helped Britney get him to a bathroom because he was puking and shitting all over the place. The sorority house was the closest place with an unoccupied bathroom. Britney and I got Chad there, got him on the bowl and I stepped outside. Then I heard a godawful noise…”

“What kind of noise?” Cole asked.

“A roar,” Paul said.

“A roar?” Cole asked.

“Like a lion,” Paul said. “I heard it at the trailer tonight too.”
Cole clicked the button on his pen a few times. “You on drugs, Paul?”

“No,” Paul said. “I never touch the stuff sir.”

Cole reviewed his notes. “What were you doing at Roxy’s place?”

“I consider myself to be a good citizen,” Paul said. “I like to help out senior citizens and need, so I was helping her redecorate and…”

“Cut the crap!” Rusty shouted.

“Fine!” Paul said. “I met her at Big Ray-Ray’s and she offered to rock my world for twenty bucks. It seemed like a great deal while I was buzzed but as I sobered up I began questioning my decision and was about to leave when…well, whatever happened, happened.”

Cole twirled his pen between two fingers. “I dunno. Just seems odd.”

“What does?” Paul said.

“That you were on the scene at two of the murders,” Cole said. “You ever been to Miami?”

“Once,” Paul said.

“To a Countess Cucamonga concert, perhaps?” Cole asked.

“No,” Paul said. “I prefer the musical stylings of Stank Daddy.”

“Boca Raton?” Cole asked.

“Good God, no,” Paul answered. “They don’t even let you in Boca Raton unless you’ve got an AARP card.”

Paul looked out the window. It was dawn and the sun was rising. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“Just a few more questions,” Cole said.

“I didn’t do it,” Paul blurted out.

“No one said you did,” Cole said.

“You all seem to think I did it,” Paul said.

“What makes you think that?” Cole said.

“Because you’re asking me questions as if I did it,” Paul said. “Plus that redheaded cop is giving me the crazy eyes.”

“Maybe my eyes aren’t crazy,” Rusty said. “Maybe my eyes are normal and you’re the one with the crazy eyes. Ever think of that, hotshot?”

“Can’t say that I have, Rupert Grint,” Paul replied.

Cole flipped through the pages of his legal pad. “So, answer me this, if you were…”

“I’m done,” Paul said.

“With what?” Cole asked.

“This,” Paul said. “All of this.”

“We’re just asking questions to a witness,” Cole said.

“Don’t you want to help catch the guy that killed your friend and your hooker?” Rusty asked.

“Sure,” Paul said. “But I’m not about to get a bunch of bogus charges pinned on me because you pigs are too lazy to get off your asses and find the killer.”

“Pigs?” Rusty said.

“If the oink fits,” Paul said.

“Paul,” Cole said. “You’re overreacting. Everything’s fine.”

“This isn’t fine,” Paul said. “All cops are corrupt. I know how you all operate. I streamed Serpico.”

“Just a few more questions,” Cole said.

“Nope,” Paul said. “Not another word without my lawyer.”