The red brick road, p.1
The Red Brick Road, page 1
The Red Brick Road
Robert P. Wills
Cover illustration by
Milena on Fiverr.com as “MilenaVitorovic”
Cover design by
Rebecca on Fiverr.com as “RebecaCovers”
Copyright 2018
A boy got there first. He went down a different path.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Kansas
Chapter 2 Not Kansas
Chapter 3 Still Not Kansas
Chapter 4 Kansas
Epilogue (not in Kansas)
About the Author (Kissimmee, Fla)
Chapter 1
Kansas
“Get off my squash!”
The young man ignored the driver as he ran across the top of the vegetable cart. He was honestly trying to not step on the vegetables, but the wagon was completely full of them.
“Dang kids,” the driver added as a final admonishment when the youth jumped off the back and ran off.
The youth ducked around another wagon- this one full of much more substantial milk jugs and blocks of cheese- before darting into an alley. He took deep breaths to keep his speed up.
Today it was going to be close.
“Jus’ another minute, Sam. Jus’ another minute!” The disheveled young man begged in a nasally voice. “Barney’ll make it. He always makes it.” He looked over his shoulder. “Just take your time and look at the clouds or somethin’. There’s lots of them this morning. Havin’ a convention or something.”
Sam looked down from the loading dock. He wasn’t much older than the boys standing before him. Thanks to his size however, he seemed several years older. “You goops think you can tell me what to do?” A smug look on his face. In truth, several of the boys were actually older than him, but it didn’t stop him from pushing them around. Partially because of his size, but mainly because his father owned the distributions rights to the paper- the Okaloosa Independent. “You are lucky I even let you sell these papers!”
“Come on, Sam. Y’know Barney sells more pape’s than… than anyone.”
Nods from most of the other delivery boys as well as several girls, attested to this fact. The hard truth was that since Barney could read, it made it easier for him to scan the paper and tailor his hawking to individual customers as he saw them approach. Most of the other sellers only had what Sam or Barney told them was in the day’s headlined.
Sam picked up a bell and held it high. “Not today he doesn’t, Staples. Barney isn’t selling any papers today.
As he brought bell down, signaling the end of the distribution time, 6AM, Barney skidded to a stop in front of the platform. He put his arm on it as he tried to catch his breath.
“Tol’ ya, Barney’d make it!” Staples said. “Tol’ ya myself even.” He narrowed his eyes at Sam. “And as a goop, I can tell you you’re a big goop yerself.”
“I’m warning you, Staples,” Sam scowled down at the boy.
“Right Barney?”
“The name’s Honus.” Barney said.
“Sure, sure thing. Honus.” Staples grinned. “Doesn’t roll off the tongue as well as Barney, but sure. How about I call you B-H? Ya got a middle name to round out your initials? Ya know, now that I think on it, a D would be handy if you add that. How about Dennis? Wha’da ya say B-D-H?”
Honus stared at Staples.
“Catchin’ your breath?” Staples tried. He smiled. “Thinkin’ if y’should have it put on yer luggage?”
“Don’t got luggage.”
“Well, if y’get any,” Staples winked, “put it on there. In a nice fancy script. Gold letters even. Makes you look bonified.”
Sam kicked Honus’ arm off the platform. “Taking your time, Barney?”
“The name’s Honus. We selling papers or not?”
“You’re selling alright.” Sam said. “Thanks to Staples; if it were up to me, you’d be panhandling today.” Secretly he was relieved- Barney sold as many papers as any two other sellers and his father would not have been pleased to have that many papers not sell from his account.
“Right?” Staples hooked his thumbs on his suspenders. “I got to take care of my lackeys.”
“What?” Honus glanced at Staples. “Who says I’m your lackey?”
“I do.”
“So how many papers you want today, Mister Late Great Barney?” Sam interrupted. “You two can argue about who’s in charge of your lame brains later.”
“I’m in charge,” Staples said. He jerked a thumb at his friend. “My lame brain’s twice as good as Honus’, here.”
“Two bundles.” Honus said flatly. He held up two fingers. “Two is this many, you lame brain.”
“Yeah, that’s right; you’re the lame brain.” Staples said with a grin. “Everyone knows it too.”
“There’s no credit, Barney,” Sam said in a business tone. Even though he was their best seller, Sam still refused to call him anything but his given name. And he had gone through several names in the two years he had been in town. “It’s cold hard cash to sell, you know that.”
A murmur went up from the other sellers- it was an unusually large amount of papers and an equally large outlay of cash.
“Yeah.” Honus said. “I know that.”
“That’ll be four dollars. Even.”
Honus nodded at Sam. “I’ve got it right here.” Honus said casually as he pulled four quarters from his vest pocket. He pinched them between two fingers and held them high for Sam to take as he reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out three wrinkled dollar bills. “Easy money.” He smiled even though he had scrimped and saved a month to come up with it.
Sam’s eyes swiveled to the bell still in his hand. He slammed it down on the crate next to him. “Fine. Come get your papers.” He waved at the others. “Toe the line!”
As they did every morning, they lined up to buy as many papers as they could afford to. They bought them for two cents then sold them for five. It would garner a tidy profit if it weren’t for the fact that the Independent (and all other papers) would not buy back any unsold copies. A bad day selling would mean a large stack of worthless papers and little to eat. And worse- less papers to buy the next day causing a downward spiral that was all too familiar to many of them.
“Why ya need so many pape’s?” Staples asked as he worked his way into line behind Honus. “Why, huh?”
“I got my reasons.”
“You got some sort of plan, Barney?” Staples elbowed the other in the back.
“Honus. My name’s Honus.” Honus insisted.
“Sorry; Honus.”
“I know I just said it. Just now.”
“I weren’t payin’ attention; thought it was for the narrative.” Admitted Staples.
“Well, it’s Honus. Everyone else is keeping up, you should join them.”
“Sure, sure, Honus. Got a plan, Honus?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna let ol’ Staples in on it”
“Not really.”
Staples pursed his lips. “He had a good game, huh?” Staples elbowed his friend again. “Two hits and a stolen base even.”
Honus nodded. “Yeah. Tried to get into the viewing party at the Blind Tiger.”
“Da Blind Tigah!” Staples exclaimed. “Who you know to get in dere?”
“I couldn’t get in.” Honus said sourly. “Again.”
“Yeah? Y’ contacts couldn’t get ya in?” He poked his friend again. “That it?”
Honus shoved him. “Quiet you! I don’t know anyone. That’s why I couldn’t get in.”
“Sure, sure, Honus. Whatever y’say.” Staples leaned in close and whispered into Honus’ ear. “So what’s wit all the pape’s?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Ohhhh.” Staples winked. “Headin’ west? Go see what there is to see?”
“I’m going East.”
“Most folks go West.” Staples said. “Go West young man. Find adventure. Ya know? No more explorin’ ‘n adventurin’ East. Pretty much all filled up over there on the right side of the map.”
“Well, there’s not any baseball out West.” Honus said as the line moved forward. “Probably never will be. Too sophisticated for them.”
“Right, right; too sophisticated for them cow wranglers to get the nuances.” He elbowed Honus again. “So, baseball, huh? No more following in the footsteps of Sir Henry Morton Stanley? Trudgin’ through South Africa even?” For the better part of four months, Barney had worn a pith hat he had found in a trash bin and demanded he be called Stanley.
Honus gave his friend a hard stare. “Things change.”
“Baseball.” Staples shook his head. “Y’know, I’ve never been to a game. Can ya make a livin’ at that? A good livin’?”
“Better than selling pape’s.” He turned to look at his friend. “I’m going to bust if I don’t get out of here.”
“Bust, huh? Ya got a plan? What’s the plan ‘cause I know you got one.”
“I’m goin’ to Pittsburg.”
“Well, there’s something you don’t hear every day.” Staples put one hand over his heart. The other he held out above his head. “I’m going to seek my fortune in foreign lands. Exotic lands. In Pittsburg!”
Honus poked Staples in the chest. “And I’m not going to miss you at all.”
Staples kept his pose. “And when I gets to Pittsburg, the first thing I’m going to do is miss good old Staples. He’s the brains of the operation, you know.”
“We don’t have an operation.”
“ Oh yes,” Staples continued, “head of the whole operation and I miss him dearly.”
“No, I’m not... won’t.”
Staples put his hands on his hips. “So, it’s settled; ya goin’ to miss me.” He rocked back on his heels. “Understandable.”
“When you two are done talkin’ ‘bout nuthin’,” snapped the Sam, “You can get t’work.” He hefted a bundle of papers.
“I believe I’m going to miss you least of all,” remarked Honus.
The boy tossed the bundle of papers at Staples.
Staples staggered back as he caught the bundle. “Thanks Sam, for being so considerate in throwing them to me. You are a tribute to your kind.”
“Kind of what?” Honus said with a smirk, feeding his friend a straight line, nice and slow. Right over the plate.
Staples swung for the fences: “The proud and noble goop ruffian.” He took a small bow.
“Pick yers up so you don’t make a mess.” Sam gestured at the large bundles.
Honus obliged by grabbing a bundle in each hand. He grunted as he pulled them off the platform. He swung them to get turned around then stumbled to the far wall of the alley. He dropped the bundles there and flexed his fingers.
Staples followed close behind his friend. He dropped his bundle as well. “So what we gots today, Honus? What we got?”
“Give me a minute, will ya?” Honus pulled the top paper out from one of the bundles carefully so he didn’t tear the thin paper.
“Whatever you say, Honus.” Staples sat on his stack. “Take your time.”
Several other youths came to join them, also sitting on their papers. They didn’t worry about ruining the bottom one or two; they never sold them all anyway.
“Let’s see,” Honus said as he scanned the front page. “Commodore Dewey defeated the Spaniards in Manila Bay.”
“What? You’re making that up!” Staples leaned forward. “It’s over that quick? Hard t’ believe.”
“Whose side are you on?” One of the other boys shoved Staples- who happened to be fairly olive-skinned and distinctly darker than the other youths. “You a Castilian or something?” He tilted his head back and crowed. “Staples the Castilian cock!” He flapped his arms to add to the effect. And insult.
Staples frowned. Truth be told, he didn’t know who his parents were or where they were from. He was definitely aware of his olive skin but didn’t speak with any discernable accent besides ‘street rat’. “I’m American, James.” He shoved the other back. “I just didn’t think it would be over so quick.”
James blinked at Staples. “What? Who says the war’s over?”
Staples pointed at Honus, who was now reading the article, “He said the Spaniards were defeated. That means it’s over.”
“The war’s over, Barney?” James asked.
Honus looked up. “What are you two on about? Who said the war was over?”
“You did!” James and Staples said in unison.
“I just said that we beat them in Manila; that’s just one battle. The article says we won there and there are plans to invade Cuba next. The war’s not over.”
“Oh.” Staples elbowed James. “But we’re going to win though.”
“We? Who’s we?” James leaned in on Staples.
“The Americans!” Staples shot back. “That’s who! That’s what we do. We won the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, didn’t we?”
“Not the one in 1812,” James countered. “We lost that one.”
“If you two are done discussing American history,” Honus said, “we can get to selling pape’s.”
“Yeah, Honus here needs to get going to fortune and glory.” Staples winked. “In Pittsburg.”
James started to speak, then just shook his head instead.
“Battle won in Manila,” Honus said. “Spanish navy routed.”
The youths repeated what Honus said to commit it to memory.
“Plans to invade Cuba in the works. Willie Simms wins the Kentucky Derby riding Plaudit.” Honus looked at the youths. “Want another?”
“Got an easy one?” One boy said.
“Heavy storms called for later this afternoon and continue through the week. Tornado destroys houses in Ashland.”
“Where’s that?” Asked a girl.
“About forty miles east of here. The storms are moving west, towards us from over there.” Honus pointed east.
“Who’s calling for storms?” Staples asked with a smile. “Not very cordial, if you ask me.”
Honus exhaled loudly. “I’m going to sell my papers.” He stood and picked up both bundles. “See you goons this afternoon.”
“Before the storms.” Staples winked. “Right?”
James stood as well. “Well, if the storms do show up, we can count on Staples to crow and let us know.” He slapped his knee then crowed. “Like that.”
Staples stood quickly. He was a full head shorter than James.
“Got somethin’ else to say?” James said, looking down at him.
Staples picked up his bundle of papers and stared at James for a moment. Then nodded to Honus, gave him a: “Sir.” And walked off.
James crowed again.
Honus shoved James with his shoulder. “Lay off him, James.” He turned to face James.
Honus was a good four inches taller than James and was a bit more muscular.
James smiled widely at him. “Don’t get soaked today, Honus.” He picked up his stack of papers. “Spaniards routed in Manila!” He shouted as he moved off. “Storms later today! Tornadoes destroy houses in Ashland! Panic ensues!”
With that, the youths moved off to their preferred paper-hawking areas and did their best to sell every one.
No one ever sold every single paper, though.
Only one got close- Honus.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Never thought to trade like that,” Staples said. “Definitely something I’ll remember for later because es Bueno.” He smiled. “That means it’s good in Spanish. I had a fellow tell me that when I told them about them Spaniards getting walloped.”
Honus just nodded- he was exhausted from the day’s work. He had managed to sell all but eleven of the papers. And those he had traded at the fish market for two smoked trout. “The pet shop’ll take them too but all you can get out of him is petting the puppies and kittens.”
Staples nodded. “I’m gonna remember that. Pet the kittens. Not the puppies though. Don’t care much for dogs. They’ll chase you without any good reason, ya know?”
Honus just nodded again. He was tired and wanted just to go to bed even though he knew there was no way that would happen. Mainly because he wasn’t in control of his life. Yet.
The pair walked down the busy street eating and chatting as they went.
Dark storm clouds moved toward them from the East.
After ten minutes. Honus and Staples stopped in front of a large, dilapidated house. It was striking because the house had been built along with all the others on the street but it still looked a hundred years older.
Staples pushed the last of his smoked trout into his mouth. “Dinnerfm?” He chewed quickly.
“You’re going to choke doing that one day. A stray bone’s going to kill you.”
“Can’t let Miss Devinell see me eatin’ meat.”
“No, I suppose not,” Honus said. “That’s why I ate more and talked less while we walked here.” He elbowed his friend.
“You saying I talk a lot?”
“What, now? Presently?”
“Yeah.”
Honus smiled. “Well, besides not getting a word in edge-wise, I’d say… yes.”
Now Staples elbowed Honus. “You think it’s dinner time yet?”
Honus shrugged. “Not unless someone else did our chores for us. Can’t imagine Miss Devinell’s going to give us a free ride on them today.”
As if on cue, a very tall blonde woman stormed through the front door. It clattered on worn hinges as it banged against the house- adding another couple of small dents to the overall battered look of it. Without shoes, she was an impressive six feet tall. Thanks to always wearing full Wellingtons- handmade of course, she gained an additional two inches above that- allowing her to tower over all but a handful of the male townsfolk and definitely all the females.
