File #939: "Mosaic_Spring2009_21.jpg"
Description
sunglasses, white cane, and straw hat. Fat rolled off the man's skeleton like silly putty.
"You Chief?" asked Stuart, humbled by the spectacle. "Just as sure as you dip Skoal,” replied Chief, in his effortless bayou dialect.
"How you know I ain't a Copenhagen man?"
"You see, those of us who are sight deprived have a very lovely sense of smell." Chief was the only man Stuart had ever seen who could use the word lovely and still be masculine. "Stuart, please inform Johnboy that his services are no longer needed and that I'll call him tomorrow at supper time." Stuart relayed the message and heard Johnboy clumsily step from the porch and start his rust-bucket. Once Stuart was back in the room, Chief continued their discussion. "Here's the situation son," Chief continued. "I'm a business man, some might say a manufacturer. And I pay well for anyone willing to deliver my product."
"Keep talkin'." At the mention of money, Stuart's eyes lit up like a four year old's at Christmas. In fact, that outer room was Christmas, with its tilting, top-heavy towers of cash.
"Would a fine gentleman like yourself be interested in doin' some skilled professional work for my organization?" Chief said organization with a strange chuckle.
Stuart pondered the benefits of the opportunity presented to him. "Bout how much you reckon I'd get paid for bein' your errand boy?" In reality, Stuart would work for less money than an illegal alien, when he worked, which was highly dependent on how much he owed his probation officer. However, he felt that since he was negotiating with a businessman, a salary question only added to his professionalism. Stuart was to the professional business world what Dennis Rodman was to professional basketball. Hickerson 5
"I pay Johnboy out there fifty a delivery, but for a young man like you that's got class, I'll up the ante to one hundred smackeroos every job." Chief fanned himself with a stack of crisp twenties as he made his proposition. Chief had Stuart at smackeroos.
"Chief, you got yourself a new employee." Stuart shook the soft well-manicured hand, presented at such a level that Stuart had to make a grab for it in mid-air.
"Now there's a few things we need to address before start delivering." The piggy smile disappeared and Chief's pudgy face was solemn, eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. "Don't nobody else know what I look like, where I live, or who I am, and I want to keep it that way - understand? Not even Johnboy's ever seen my face, but I knew yer daddy and I trusted him. When I got hurt at Brushy, it was Gerald that tried to help me to the infirmary, before the guards came after him. Coulda just as easily been him that got blinded since he was usin' the torch right before me. God bless him. Still don't know what made it explode like that."
"Now you gonna be deliverin' about fifty thousand dollars worth of moonshine I don't deal in none of that hard stuff so needless to say son, you better be careful. Not only is that some pricey product, but you get caught, yer lookin' at forty years in the pen.”
A cold chill went down Stuart's spine at the mention of prison. The moonshine business started to sound like more trouble than it was worth. He contemplated the issue of his pay - it didn't take a fifth grade education like his to know he was getting gypped.
The obese blind man had carelessly laid his cane next to Stuart's chair. Beads of sweat dripped down Chief's multiple chins and his breath was rapid and shallow. He suddenly looked old and vulnerable. Stuart leaned forward and deftly grabbed the cane. It was good and heavy, with a solid gold handle.
Stuart admired his reflection in the window as he straightened his tie and placed the dark sunglasses gingerly on his face. Clumsy footsteps could be heard on the porch. "Everything goin' alright in there, Chief?"
"Just fine," Stuart answered in his best Cajun drawl, “just fine."
"You Chief?" asked Stuart, humbled by the spectacle. "Just as sure as you dip Skoal,” replied Chief, in his effortless bayou dialect.
"How you know I ain't a Copenhagen man?"
"You see, those of us who are sight deprived have a very lovely sense of smell." Chief was the only man Stuart had ever seen who could use the word lovely and still be masculine. "Stuart, please inform Johnboy that his services are no longer needed and that I'll call him tomorrow at supper time." Stuart relayed the message and heard Johnboy clumsily step from the porch and start his rust-bucket. Once Stuart was back in the room, Chief continued their discussion. "Here's the situation son," Chief continued. "I'm a business man, some might say a manufacturer. And I pay well for anyone willing to deliver my product."
"Keep talkin'." At the mention of money, Stuart's eyes lit up like a four year old's at Christmas. In fact, that outer room was Christmas, with its tilting, top-heavy towers of cash.
"Would a fine gentleman like yourself be interested in doin' some skilled professional work for my organization?" Chief said organization with a strange chuckle.
Stuart pondered the benefits of the opportunity presented to him. "Bout how much you reckon I'd get paid for bein' your errand boy?" In reality, Stuart would work for less money than an illegal alien, when he worked, which was highly dependent on how much he owed his probation officer. However, he felt that since he was negotiating with a businessman, a salary question only added to his professionalism. Stuart was to the professional business world what Dennis Rodman was to professional basketball. Hickerson 5
"I pay Johnboy out there fifty a delivery, but for a young man like you that's got class, I'll up the ante to one hundred smackeroos every job." Chief fanned himself with a stack of crisp twenties as he made his proposition. Chief had Stuart at smackeroos.
"Chief, you got yourself a new employee." Stuart shook the soft well-manicured hand, presented at such a level that Stuart had to make a grab for it in mid-air.
"Now there's a few things we need to address before start delivering." The piggy smile disappeared and Chief's pudgy face was solemn, eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. "Don't nobody else know what I look like, where I live, or who I am, and I want to keep it that way - understand? Not even Johnboy's ever seen my face, but I knew yer daddy and I trusted him. When I got hurt at Brushy, it was Gerald that tried to help me to the infirmary, before the guards came after him. Coulda just as easily been him that got blinded since he was usin' the torch right before me. God bless him. Still don't know what made it explode like that."
"Now you gonna be deliverin' about fifty thousand dollars worth of moonshine I don't deal in none of that hard stuff so needless to say son, you better be careful. Not only is that some pricey product, but you get caught, yer lookin' at forty years in the pen.”
A cold chill went down Stuart's spine at the mention of prison. The moonshine business started to sound like more trouble than it was worth. He contemplated the issue of his pay - it didn't take a fifth grade education like his to know he was getting gypped.
The obese blind man had carelessly laid his cane next to Stuart's chair. Beads of sweat dripped down Chief's multiple chins and his breath was rapid and shallow. He suddenly looked old and vulnerable. Stuart leaned forward and deftly grabbed the cane. It was good and heavy, with a solid gold handle.
Stuart admired his reflection in the window as he straightened his tie and placed the dark sunglasses gingerly on his face. Clumsy footsteps could be heard on the porch. "Everything goin' alright in there, Chief?"
"Just fine," Stuart answered in his best Cajun drawl, “just fine."