The eye of the chicken, p.11
The Eye of the Chicken, page 11
Pavements put the magazines back into the rack and picked up the newspaper and licked his thumb to turn the page to see what Jesus might direct his eyes to next. There it was:
The Commissioner of Police and the Mayor of the city have announced that the Fringe Dwellers are upsetting the women and children who ought to be able to enjoy the facilities in Silver Park undisturbed. Effective immediately, the park will be patrolled by three more bicycle unit police officers.
The librarian came over. “My goodness, Pavements, look at you in your nice new matching shirt and tie. Pretty spiffy.”
Pavements looked at himself. Usually, he would be sitting in an off-putting manner with an odiferous smell and his legs stretched out and his City Works boots on the magazine table. But he didn’t do that no more. If Celia came by, she would see him sitting up straight, feet on the floor, reading in Better Homes and Gardens about planting flowers.
When the rain stopped and the sun came out, Pavements walked the five blocks to the cemetery. He returned with some flowers, donated by Mrs. Elizabeth Mae Schmidt (1946-2018), who wasn’t using them anymore. He arranged them in the slats of Caps’s bench. After a while, Salty came along with Whisper and an almost-full bottle of Majestic Diner, which they passed back and forth.
The first one to notice the bicycle crossing from the far side of the park was Whisper, who was poking around in the grass. First, his head came up and then he sniffed the breeze and then he looked around, and then the policeman came along, riding a bicycle and wearing policeman sunglasses. As he pulled up, Salty slipped the bottle into the inside pocket of his coat.
“My name is Officer Cobbs.”
He was looking at Salty.
“Why is this bench covered with flowers?”
No one answered.
“Where did the roses come from?”
Pavements said, “I picked them in the woods.”
“Did these ‘woods’ have a cemetery in them?”
“Not that I noticed.”
Looking directly at Whisper, who was standing next to Salty, Officer Cobbs said, “We have orders that all dogs must have a tag and be on a leash. Do you have a leash and a tag for your dog, sir?”
Pavements had never heard anyone in Silver Park being called “sir.” But the officer was looking at Salty sitting in the roses looking more like Hulk Hogan at the Better Homes and Garden Flower Show than anyone called “sir.”
“No, I don’t have a leash and a tag for my dog,” said Salty. “How do I get one?”
“Go to City Hall, fill out the form, giving your name and address. It will cost twenty dollars. In the meantime, I’ll phone for the Humane Society and we’ll look after your dog in the pound.”
He took out his pad and pencil “What is your name, sir?”
“Salty.”
“Your real name.”
Strike me dead, thought Pavements. Now the truth comes out. If Salty says Harold Saltzmanous, there goes out the window up in smoke down the drain five thousand reward dollars.
“Everyone calls me Salty.”
Pavements held his breath, imagining The Missing Link reward money that was going to buy Celia back disappear along with Salty into a cell at 54 Division.
“What’s your last name?”
“Bacon.”
“Salty Bacon. What’s your dog’s name?”
“Dog.”
“How long have you been living down here, Mr. Salty Bacon?”
Salty pulled back the sleeve of his left arm. “Hard to know without a watch.”
“How’d you get all those scars on your arm, Mr. Salty Bacon?”
Salty pulled down his sleeve.
Officer Cobbs took out his cell phone.
Salty said, “No need to phone for the dog truck. I’ve got some money put away. I’ll buy him a tag.”
Officer Cobbs snorted a chuckle. “Yeah, right. You’re loaded with money. The truck will be along in a few minutes. Best you give up your dog without a fuss.”
Officer Cobbs rode his bike to the street and waited for the cube van. Salty did not move. Whisper continued his wandering. The truck must have been parked around the corner because it pulled up to the curb right away. Pavements heard the dog pound truck’s side door open. He recognized the driver was not Jake but Colin. Oh, oh. He looked over at Whisper, who was sniffing the breeze coming from the truck. What was that smell telling him? Dogs in cages? Tranquilizer guns? Dead dogs loaded up and hauled away? In a blur of black and white, Whisper crossed the park and disappeared.
Officer Cobbs came over, sunglasses off, waiting for the dog to come back. Colin stood next to him, waiting. No dog. The policemen straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and returned his cell phone and his sunglasses.
Pavements said, “Strike me dead. Vanished into thin air.”
Pavements watched Officer Cobbs mount his bike. “Next time I come by I want those flowers gone. The bench belongs to the public. And the dog belongs in the pound.”
Salty said, “Funny thing about that dog. Who knows where he went? First, he comes and there he is and then he’s gone. He may never be back. He’ll probably turn up somewhere else. I doubt that you’ll ever see that dog again.”
As the policeman set off on his bike, Salty said, “See you next round.”
Pavements closed his eyes and imagined the five thousand dollars creep under his hat and back into his head.
Chapter 17
Salty
Father Sutcliffe came by. “Is it okay if I join you and Whisper and Pavements on Caps’s bench?”
Salty took the dog up on his knee to make room. Pavements sat in the grass.
Father Sutcliffe stared up at the sky. “Sitting on his bench with the flowers makes me think that if I look up I will see Caps floating above the bridge, looking down.”
Pavements looked up, his City Works hat tilted on one ear.
Father Sutcliffe said still looking up, “I need to have a word in private with Salty.”
Salty looked up. Caps was up there, probably from the clouds looking down at the fate and destiny Father Sutcliffe was here to deliver.
Pavements left.
Father Sutcliffe said, “Two detectives came by asking me if I knew anyone with scars on his arms. I said I don’t know anyone with scars. Is there anything about scars, Salty, that you’d like to tell me? Remember, this park is my church. This bench is my altar. What you say to me will be held in confidence.”
Salty was tempted. He was thinking, scars, too many scars, scars from all those years and all this time rolled up in the carpet I am right now kneeling on in front of that square iron box with “2020” wrote on it.
Father Sutcliffe said. “My brother drank a bottle a day until the doctor told him his liver was shot and he’d die if he didn’t quit. So he did. He got himself together and solved his problems, which he had always thought unsolvable, and then he went back to the doctor and said, ‘I quit and now everything’s good and I feel fine.’”
Father Sutcliffe crossed one leg over the other. He reached over to scratch behind the dog’s ears.
“The next week my brother died. I wrote his obituary for the newspaper, his life story summed up in one column two inches wide and four inches long. But he should have been writing it, not me. Our most important choice in life is to write our own story.”
The dog stepped down off the bench and wandered off. Salty watched him sniff his way from shrub to tree to bush, reading the news of the day. He didn’t need a newspaper to tell him what was going on. The events of today and yesterday and the day before came to him, carried by the currents from the past and the present and the future at each sniff.
“Helen dropped by yesterday. She said to tell you those two detectives are looking for Sylvia.”
Salty was keeping an eye on the dog, making sure he didn’t wander too far off.
“Sylvia is connected to one of those cold case files they’re talking about. Every day another cold case file, going back years.”
Father Sutcliffe was nodding his head, in agreement with himself it seemed. “Cast your bread upon the water. It will come back after many a day.”
He got up to leave. “Jake asked me to talk to you about getting a tag and keeping Whisper on a leash. Jake said for him to take Whisper would be like taking somebody’s kid. But if Jake doesn’t take your dog, they’ll fire him and Colin will take him and Whisper’s life ends in the gas chamber.”
Father Sutcliffe walked away a few steps, then he turned and said, “And these flowers. They’re past their prime. Why not throw them away? I’ll get you some daisies from the supermarket.”
Salty looked at the roses. Daisies would suit Caps better.
***
Salty paid the money and went into Madame Kratz’s little room with the door covered by the purple curtain. Salty realized for the first time that she looked the same now as she had at the Teeswater Fair. Even the chair for sitting in was the same, as though after all these years, no time had passed. Wee Frank had been afraid of her then and would probably be afraid of her now. Salty had said, “So she dresses weird. Don’t be a suck.” A small word then, a big word now.
Except for one thing different, Salty noticed. Now, instead of the candle, when she sat behind her little table a hidden switch lit her up with fluorescent light as she shuffled and laid out and studied.
“You are at the cosmic axis of past and future.”
She shuffled from a different deck with different pictures.
She shuffled again.
“The three forces are at this minute planning your now.”
She tidied away the cards.
“Do you hear that, Salty?”
Salty listened but could hear nothing.
“It’s the girl next door crying. I better go over.”
Salty did not need to ask her what that meant. It wasn’t the girl next door she could hear crying.
***
Father Sutcliffe came by with the daisies. “Whisper is still running loose. Officer Cobbs is a man of rules, and rules can’t be broken; laws must be written down and followed. This is the square dance that Officer Cobbs steps to. He wants Whisper in the pound. If the rules allowed it, he would shoot Whisper on the spot with his service revolver, or give him an on-the-spot lethal injection. Stray dogs and homeless people are the same thing for Cobbs — he wants them out of the park.”
Father Sutcliffe said, “In that World War Two movie we saw, remember the Nazi captain said to the private who didn’t like his boxcar job? ‘The weak and the defective must go to the wall and because they are weak and defective they need help to get there.’ That’s who you’re dealing with, Salty. He doesn’t care how big you are.”
Chapter 18
Roof
As Detective Roof pulled up to the curb he saw Father Sutcliffe kneeling on the floor of The Daystar porch helping Beets untangle his foot from the wrong leg of his trousers.
Father Sutcliffe finished with the trousers and stood for a handshake. “Good morning Detective Roof. Good morning Detective Dickie. How can I help you today?”
Roof was not interested in pleasantries. “The man called Salty. We understand he’s one of your flock. What can you tell us about Salty?”
“I am a priest. Anything one of my flock tells me is told in confidence.”
“Yes I know, and this is your church.” Roof stepped back, off the porch, on to the front walk for a look at the property. “It doesn’t look like a church to me. It looks like a house.”
“A church is a building, bricks and mortar, same as this.”
“And the only time the men talk to you is in confession?”
“You might say that.”
“What can you tell us about Harold Saltzmanous?”
“There is no one here that goes by that name.”
“Do you know that withholding information will make you an accomplice?”
“Accomplice to what?”
“What looks like a homicide.”
“What is the nature of this homicide?”
“The disappearance of Lee Ann Saltzmanous under suspicious circumstances.”
Detective Dickie was rubbing his jaw, saying nothing.
Roof said, “Could we talk to some of your parishioners, Father?”
“They’re all doing activities off the property. Besides, the last time you talked to one of my parishioners, he jumped off the bridge.”
“Activities like drinking bootleg liquor?”
“I don’t know what they do while they are not here.”
Dickie continued to rub his jaw.
“Have you got a sore jaw, Officer?”
Roof answered for Dickie, “54 Division had a charity baseball game to raise funds for the homeless here in Silver Park. Dickie got hit with a line drive.”
“Nice try, Detective.”
Roof said, “We understand they all go by nicknames. A good way of losing their identity. Hiding, in other words.”
“Protecting their identity, yes.”
“And that’s what you’re doing?”
“I don’t ask their names. The name they give is the name I use.”
“I heard that the Fringe Dweller advocates — Fringe Dwellers is now the politically correct term — have a plan to house the homeless in boxcars in Silver Ravine.”
“Yes, I heard that. Your friend Officer Cobbs would say they should park the boxcars at the vacant chemical factory lot at Cherry Beach.”
“And what do you say, Father?”
“I am reading a book called The Lost Sheep. Its premise is that in human behaviour the obvious patterns explain the hidden mysteries. The mystery is why the individual is following the patterns he is following. All patterns will make sense when you solve the mystery of why that pattern. My job is to offer help in managing the patterns. Sometimes, I can give them help with the mysteries causing the patterns.”
Dickie said, “I get it, Father. My friend Roof buys a new Dodge Ram pickup every year. That’s a pattern that makes no sense if you live in the city and don’t need a pickup the size of a boxcar for buying your sixpack. So, if you checked back, I bet you’d discover he has some mysterious cock-extension inadequacies left over from grade nine.”
Father Sutcliffe smiled. “So tell me, Detective Roof, are you finding that the Dodge Ram is helping you with your problem?”
“You don’t worry about my problem. You should be worrying about your problem.”
As Roof turned to leave, Dickie following, Father Sutcliffe said, “Have a nice day, Detectives Roof and Dickie. And by the way, what happened to your jaw, Detective Dickie?”
“Playing baseball.”
Chapter 19
Salty
Salty noticed the girl crossing the open space between the two lines of lilacs and the board fence along Bridge Street. Then he noticed the Donkey Man crossing the grass towards her, the snakes tattooed on each arm swinging in time with his long, black ponytail.
The girl put her head down and hurried on. But as she attempted to walk around him, Donkey Man blocked her path. He must have said “Give me all your money,” because she went through her purse and gave him what she had. Then she took off her watch and gave it to him. When she couldn’t get the ring off her finger, he put it into his mouth, wetted it with spit, and yanked it off. He put the watch, the ring, and the money into his pocket and continued across the park.
***
Lunchtime at The Daystar. Salty took his seat with the rest of them: Beets next to Salty, Pavements across from Mr. Bones, Father Sutcliffe at the end with two spaces open for visitors. Indian Elvis wandered in first, followed by Donkey Man. They passed the sandwiches. They ate, nobody talking, everybody busy slurping up their soup called Cream of Notsurewhat that Father Sutcliffe made in an old-fashioned pot every morning.
Donkey Man gave Indian Elvis a poke in the ribs. “Indian sign language. Means move over, you fat pig, and give me room.”
Indian Elvis shifted over and Donkey Man spread his elbows and slurped up his soup. He said, “So how’s Caps’s dog doing, Salty? Do sheepdogs eat sheep, Salty? Ever watch Caps with his coffee? He put in so much sugar he had to crank his spoon with two hands and when he let it go, it stood up by itself.”
Donkey Man slurped up his soup. “I had a dog once. I trained it to catch dew worms for when I went fishing, the nightcrawlers, you know, big as snakes.” He pointed to his bare arms, his T-shirt rolled up to show his snakes. “The dog could smell them. Elvis here knows about fishing. That’s what Indians do, sell blankets and go fishing.”
Donkey Man finished his soup and pushed back his chair and pulled his comb from his back pocket. He unfastened his ponytail and let his hair fall to his shoulders. He reached out and dipped his comb into Indian Elvis’s water glass. He combed three strokes and then, looking Salty straight in the eye, reached out to Salty’s water glass. He dipped in the comb.
Salty watched the drips of water trail across the tabletop as the comb traveled from the glass to the hair. The comb combed two or three times and then came back and dipped into the glass and then combed again, the beads of water in Donkey Man’s black hair glistening in the overhead light like silver glints on a black fishing line.
Salty pushed back his chair and stood. Pavements, Mr. Bones, and Beets put down their soup spoons and shifted away.
Donkey Man returned his comb to his back pocket. “I met a nice girl in the park this morning. She told me she liked my hair. Girls like guys with nice hair. You ought to get yourself a comb and fix your hair, Salty. You ought to put on some decent clothes and clean yourself up. Look at Pavements, how nice he dresses now. He’s trying to get back with his fat cow wife so he can get some pussy. Clean yourself up and you and me might be able to get some pussy. If you don’t use your grapes, they wither on the vine.”
