THE LONG, DELIRIOUS LIFE OF TAFFY SLUMMINGS

[Arroyos]

THE LONG, DELIRIOUS LIFE OF TAFFY SLUMMINGS


Roberta Tipitina was distracted by the news that David Goode was dead. Murdered. What was happening in Yuma?

“Watch out!” Emma Span yelled, and Roberta recovered in time to keep the car from driving off the road. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Roberta said. “I was just thinking.”

“Well, cut it out! Leave the thinking to me. You just drive.”

Roberta wasn’t going to argue with her boss, but she wasn’t going to stop thinking either. How could she? In only a few weeks time, she’d seen the manager fired, the acting manager fired, the acting GM fired, the team’s funds absconded with by the owners, and now former manager David Goode was dead. Murdered.

As often as she’d disagreed with Manager Goode’s decisions, she’d liked the man personally. He was quiet, he was friendly, he noticed what others did for him. Nothing like the angry, arrogant, imperious woman who sat next to her in the car.

“Why did you fire Pam?” Roberta finally asked.

Emma was looking out the window. She couldn’t believe anybody could live in a place like this. “There’s nothing but dirt out there, and those little prickly bushes.”

“Sage,” Roberta said. “It’s called sage. Now listen, I understood firing David, and even Billy, because after such a bad season you’ve got to fire someone, but Pam? Why Pam?”

Without looking at Roberta, Emma said matter of factly, “Because she was beginning to think she was the GM.”

“She was the GM!”

“No, that basket case in Camarillo is still GM. But he’s next on my list.”

“You’ve got a list? Of people to fire?” Emma nodded while watching another empty lot go by. Robert turned to ask her, “Am I on it?”

Emma started to answer Roberta, then screamed and pointed, “WATCH OUT!”

Roberta saw a silhouette in front of the car and tried to swerve but something went KA-THUMP and bounced over the car. She slammed on the brakes. Her hands were sweaty and she was hyperventilating.

“WHAD’JA DO? WHAD’JA DO?” Emma was shouting.

No one moved for a moment, then Roberta forced herself to get out of the car and see what, or who, she had hit.

About fifteen feet behind the car a gray lump lay in the road. It wasn’t moving. Roberta approached tentatively, asking, “You all right? You okay?”

There was no response.

When she got to the body, she asked again, “Are you okay?” She knelt down and hesitantly touched the shoulder. She shook it gently. “Heh, are you alive?”

The body convulsed and Roberta scooted away. Then she head a muffled voice say, “Yeah, I’m alive. Help me.”

She approached again and touched the body. This time it turned to face her. What she saw was an old man, heavy white beard and long, dirty hair. There was blood on his forehead and what looked like more blood on the one hand Roberta could now see.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

The old man coughed, or laughed, or both—Roberta couldn’t be sure—and then said, “Fuckin’ yeah I’m hurt.”

“But you’re alive!” Roberta said, both relieved and pleased.

“No thanks to you.”

“Sorry, so so sorry, I …” Roberta didn’t know what to say. She’d never had to exchange small talk with someone she’d just mowed down with her car.

“Fuck sorry,” the old man said, “just help me sit up.”

She did. It took some effort, and she winced at the smell coming off the old guy, but she got him sitting up. He seemed to breathe easier.

“What’re you doing talking to him?” Emma Span shouted from where she’d stepped out of the car. “I called an ambulance. He’s alive, don’t touch him.”

“Where are you hurt?” Roberta asked, ignoring Emma.

“We haven’t got time for me to list all the places I hurt, lady,” the old man said, laughing and coughing again.

“You’re bleeding here,” Roberta said, daubing her shirt sleeve on his forehead, “and there,” she pointed to his hand. “Anywhere else?”

“You tell me, sweetheart.”

“Are you bleeding internally?”

“Now how the fuck would I know that? If I fall over and die, then yes, probably. But if I’m still talking to you, well, who knows? Until the bruises appear, you and I will never know.”

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“You got that right.”

Roberta touched his shoulder, “How can we help? Ambulance is on its way.”

“Yeah,” the old man said, shifting like he wanted to stand up, “that’s the first problem we gotta deal with. I don’t want any medics looking at me or pumping stuff in me or trying to fix me. I been fixed up more than enough in my life. What I want,” he said trying to stand, “is for you to give me a ride into town. Can you do that?”

Roberta put her hand under his arm and helped him stand. He was wobbly and grabbed her arm to keep from falling. “Not too shabby for a guy who just did a half gainer over your car,” he said.

“Not bad at all,” Roberta said, smiling. “But you should wait for the ambulance. They can check you out and—”

“You want me to sue your ass for hitting me?” he said, glaring at Roberta.

“No.”

“Then give me a ride into town. That too much to ask in exchange for getting run over?”

Roberta almost laughed. “You rolled over me, not the other way round.”

The old guy smiled. “It’s a pun … or a mixed thingamajig, whadda call them?”

“Mixed metaphor?”

“That.”

“I don’t think so” Roberta said, politely.

The old man gave her a hard look. “You gonna argue with me, Missy, right here in the middle of the street or you gonna give a ride downtown to the man you just run under in the street?”

“If you insist,” Roberta said, and helped the old man hobble toward the car.

When they got to the car, Emma said, “You’re not putting him in here, are you?”

“Pleased to meet you too,” the old man said sarcastically.

When Emma got a whiff of him, she pulled Roberta aside and whispered, “I’m not riding in that car with him in it.”

Roberta looked Emma straight in the eye and said, “It’s a long walk into town, Emma.”

Emma glared back. “You wouldn’t.”

Roberta returned to the old man, helped him into the back seat, closed the door, opened the driver’s door and sat down in the driver’s seat. She looked at Emma, standing a few feet from the car, then started the engine. “Close that door, Emma!” Roberta called out.

Holding her nose, Emma slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. She immediately rolled down her window.

As Roberta drove away from the scene of the accident, the old man said, “Thank you, ladies. My name’s Slummings. One of you I believe is the owner of the Yuma Bulldozers, am I right?”

The women looked at each other, incredulous.

[Borealis]

Hmmmmmmmmm... Slummings... I have a bad feeling about this guy... or is it a good feeling? Either way - life in Yuma feels like it's about to change...