The bottle green Electra was parked, a bit skewed in angle, alongside Hazel’s Texas Chili Parlor on New York Avenue, just six blocks from the Mission. Some storm-blown limbs of ailanthus tree were laid casually around the big sedan and its peripheral area- just in case any loose associates of the late un -lamented Ferret Apache might be nosing about anywhere near.
Inside the Formica ambience of the chili corner, Ivory Joe Hunter was softly crooning his polished patois, “I…Need You…Sooooo!” Hunched over a shared wide-brim bowl of Hazel’s best Brazos broth and beans were the deeply committed Billy Luck and Skipper Mizelle, formerly Skipper Marsh.
“Indictments are going down. I don’t think Marsh can ever put Humpty Dumpty back together again…”
“You are so right Skipper.” Billy locked glances, and they kissed over the deliriously fragrant chili, spiked with just the slightest hint of jalapeno– then relatively unknown east of the Missouri River!
Billy looked a wondrous sight– dark slim suit, white shirt (no tie), and the beginnings of an Italian-model stubble just beginning to make the rounds up in New York. “But,” he continued, “keeping the Mission of Last resort on its little bitty feet is A-number One priority for me now, Skipper. I fear you are going to haf’ta deal with your husband’s cave-in on your own terms– whatever that means.”
“So how does that shake out, Biily? When can we rejoin forces- as an unbeatable team that can see this sick old town back to– dare I say, Moral rectitude?”
“Well, Sugar, I don’t know about all that ‘moral frippery and frumpery,’ and such, but there are hungry mouths to feed, and maybe a few SOULS left to save at that beat-up chapel of tar paper and lath, and I know Rev and Macedonia wanted me to take the helm…”
Skipper stood, adjusted her veiled chapeau, level with Billy’s dusted-off black sombrero,
and they kissed- meaningfully. He stood, touching the tip of her bunny-ish pink nose.
“We have a rendezvous planned. Laurel Race Course. (When? she winked.) Billy went on, “Call the pay phone at the chapel in three days– Two PM sharp. Okay?” She laughed as she raced out to free up her big sexy ride and gone. Billy put more nickels in the chili-parlor juke box, fora reprise of Roy Milton, Lloyd Glenn and Ivory Joe. Those 78s were already hard to come by, as far as public listenin’ went!
Exactly a day later at High Noon, the crowds spilled out bthe East Porch steps of the
U.S. Capitol Building. Loudspeakers set up in the Plaza caught Skipper Mizelle, formerly Marsh (and soon to be Luck?”) accepting the office of “United States Senator, now Democratic, from the sovereign State of Tennessee!” Even Wanda Sholes, disgraced local reporter, was scribbling away in excitement.
(To be continued)
