Down and Out in Yuma, Arizona

[Arroyos]

Down and Out in Yuma, Arizona


“How did you know who we are?”

“I only know who one of you is,” the man with the salt-and-pepper beard in the backseat said. “And I don’t rightly know which is you is that one either,” he added, chuckling.

“But how?” the woman driving the car asked. The other woman in the front seat said nothing. She was scowling, the lines on her face forming a dreadful image.

“You tell me who is who,” the man said, “and I’ll tell you how and why. Deal?”

“Deal,” said the driver.

“Don’t tell him a damn thing,” the woman in the passenger seat said. Her face scowled even more tightly.

Ignoring her, the driver said, “I’m Roberta Tipitina, former office manager for the Bulldozers, and this—”

“Former?” the beard interrupted.

“Yes. The owners ran off with the money, so …”

“I knew that part,” the beard said, “but you can’t run a business without someone in the front office. Who fired you?”

Neither woman spoke.

“Ah,” said the man, leaning forward to address the woman in the passenger seat. “Ms. Span, I presume. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you at last, except …” he paused dramatically, “you must be the fool who fired this woman, so there’s not much pleasure left in our meeting. Why’d you do it?”

Emma turned and glared at the stranger in the back seat. “I don’t have to explain myself to you!” she snarled. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

A smile full of white teeth and a pink tongue appeared in the middle of his salt-and-pepper beard. “How I love good old Anglo-Saxon vocabulary!”

“What the fuck?!”

“Your use of the vernacular, Ms. Span. It’s most entertaining. After years spent in the company of the politically correct debauchers of language, it is music to my ears to hear Anglo-Saxon spoken with such vivacity.”

“Are you making fun of me, you old windbag? ‘Cause if you are, I’ll fucking give you something to fucking get excited about!”

“You already have, my dear, already have. Now …” He held a finger up to keep Emma from speaking. “About firing Ms. Tipitina here. That just won’t fly. We need her. So what I propose—”

“WE?!?” Emma bellowed. “There is no ‘we,’ Buster Brown. There’s me. Just me. I’m the sole surviving owner of this sorry ball club, which means this is my club and I’ll fire any goddamn person I want to fire and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

“Well,” he said, “there might be just one small thing I could do about it. If you’d permit me.”

“I ain’t permitting you to do nothing but get your sorry ass out of this car at the next corner.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to do that.”

“Yes, I do!”

The man smiled through his beard. “Did I say my name was Slummings?”

“You did,” Roberta chimed in.

“Did that not ring a bell for you?”

Emma guffawed. “Ain’t no bells ringing except the ones you hear in your head. And if you don’t get out, I’ll give you a few more bells to hear.”

“Ha ha!” Slummings laughed. “I love your spirit. We’re going to miss you, Emma Span.”

Emma spun in her seat so she was face to face with him.

“You threatening me, buster? ‘Cause I got friends—”

He put his hands up. “No, no threat. I just assumed you’d want to return to your beloved Brooklyn, and your little puppy. He must be so lonesome without you there.”

“You been spying on me?”

“Only if reading your FaceBook page is considered spying. Just doing my homework.”

“Homework. What the fuck are you nattering on about?”

Slummings took a deep breath. “Well, the reason I wanted to meet you both, and the reason—”

“Wait,” Roberta said. “You arranged this meeting? You … you …” She didn’t believe what she was about to say, “you arranged for us to hit you? That’s what you’re saying? That it wasn’t an accident, that it was … deliberate?”

“Part of my plan, yes,” Slummings said. “I had to meet you and I knew you’d never make an appointment with a bum who’s been living on the street for the past several years, so I figured—”

“You wanted to get run over by a car!” Roberta couldn’t believe it.

“Run over, no, that would have been painful.”

“Our hitting you wasn’t?”

“Yes, a bit more than I planned,” he said rubbing his elbow, “but you see—”

“You planned for us to hit you?”

“There’s no us in this,” Emma said. “You hit him, not—”

“Yes!” Slummings said to shut Emma up. “I planned it. I practiced it. I used to be a stunt man for the movies. Did dozens of tumbles out of cars and over cars before I got too old to take it anymore, but I figured one more tuck and roll would be worth it to finally get to talk to you two. But I’m having doubts now.” He turned to Emma. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Leave me out of it.”

“I can’t. As you said, you’re now the sole owner of the Dozers.”

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”

“But you don’t want to be stuck here in Yuma. You can’t wait to get home to Brooklyn. And you’d just as soon the Bulldozers buried themselves in the sand and stopped bothering you, right?”

Emma looked curiously at this old man. He seemed to know what he was talking about. “Yes,” she said cautiously.

“I can make that happen.”

“What happen?”

“I can relieve you of the burden of this ball club and send you back to Brooklyn a rich woman. Tomorrow, if you want.”

“The sooner the better,” Emma said, “but how?”

“Ah, at last!” Slummings said. He sat back in the car seat. He smiled. He said nothing.

Emma couldn’t take it. “What the hell do you mean you can send me home a rich woman?”

“Roberta?” Slummings said politely.

“Yes?”

“I think you’d better pull the car over for a moment, dear.”

“Why?”

“To avoid another accident.”

Roberta wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she figured it was best to do what he wanted. Humor the old coot, if for no other reason than avoid another accident. She pulled the car to the side of the road. Then turned to look at Slummings. He looked like Santa Claus, sitting there in his white hair and nearly white beard, smiling. A dirty, somewhat down-on-his-luck Santa, to be sure, but St. Nick nonetheless.

“Spill it,” she said to him.

He winked at her. “Would you like to be General Manager?”

Roberta’s jaw dropped. Emma laughed out loud. “Her?” Emma said. “What ball club would want her as GM?”

“The Bulldozers, of course.”

“I ain’t hiring her as GM.”

“You’re flying back to Brooklyn tomorrow, remember?”

“I haven’t agreed to any—”

“First class with a million dollars in your pocket. Cash.”

Both women were silent. They looked at each other. Finally, Roberta said, “There’s only one way you could get her to leave tomorrow AND make me GM …”

Slummings’ smile filled the back seat. “Right you are,” he said. “I’m buying the Bulldozers.”

[Borealis]

I wonder what a certain someone down at the psych ward will have to say about this...

[Arroyos]

I wonder what a certain someone down at the psych ward will have to say about this...

Maybe you should give him a call. See if he knows what's going on.