He began to pedal his bicycle toward what appeared to be Fenelon Falls’ main intersection, which just happened to be almost directly above the lock. At these four corners Kori looked left and he looked right just as Elmer the Safety Elephant had taught him in his childhood. But the road pachyderm had never taught him how to find a beer store in a strange town. Perhaps Elmer didn’t think that such things had to be taught. You can smell out a beer store. But Elmer forgot that not everybody had a nose like him. And if Elmer forgot that then he was not much of an elephant because elephants are supposed to never forget. Could this fallacy mean that Elmer does not exist? Kori had to admit that. He had to let the road pachyderm go the route of Santa and the tooth fairy. You don’t have to look both ways when you cross the street. Kori pulled out into the intersection and damn near got crushed by a passing automobile.
“Watch where you are going!” snarled the driver.
“How can I?” Kori yelled back. “I don’t know where I am going!”
The driver looked him over. Kori didn’t like this at all because something about this driver told the photographer that crushed and splintered bones and an intestine wrapped around a neck would not make the driver queasy. Kori’s clue to this was the oak tree sized arm that hung out the car’s window. It was not so much the arm as it was the brass knuckles on the end of that arm that gave Kori this hint.
“Beer store’s three blocks down and about half a mile down that street. You can follow me because that happens to be where I am going.”
Korihart wondered how the driver knew that he wanted to go to the beer store. Did it show on him? Instead of being insulted by this, Kori felt flattered. A big bruiser like the driver was giving him recognition as a fellow beer-swigging tough guy. That was an honor. No lockmaster or shaggy man was going to call him queer any more because he’s been recognized by a tough guy as a tough guy.
The driver spun his ’68 Muscleman Mustang’s Tiger Paws into the gritty Fenelon Falls pavement. Little chunks of asphalt splattered up against Kori’s face. The car roared its way down the street while the photographer, pumping like a fiend, was in lukewarm pursuit.
Ten minutes later, the bicycle pulled into the Brewer’s Retail right where the driver said it would be. There were only two cars in the parking lot. One was the Mustang while the other was a mint condition ’65 Chevy Impala. The two cars from the Sixties made Kori wonder if he had not gone through a time warp and gone back to that overrated era. But, no, he shook his head. This was Fenelon Falls. This was Hicksville, Ontario where everything is always at least two decades behind the times.
He set the bicycle up on its kickstand beside the store. Before going in, he checked his look in the Impala’s mirror and found that he had to comb out some of the wind-mess. Then Korihart Salming, a recognized tough guy of the Kawarthas, sauntered into the beer store and promptly shit his pants.
Standing there, being served by the clerk, was the sunburned and freckled pate of one Spinning. He was wearing a loud short-sleeved plaid shirt over even louder Bermuda shorts. Spinning was very carefully counting out the money for his six-pack of Dow Ale. Kori decided that the best thing that he could do right now was to sneak out and hide behind the store until Spinning was gone. Kori could have kicked himself. He should have recognized the Impala. It was the car that sat in the driveway next to his all of his wonder years. He began to crawl out.
“Hey!” a low, low voice rumbled.
Kori turned and saw the driver with the oak tree arms. He was standing in line behind Spinning. He was big man, that driver. Kori wondered how such a monster of a man could fit in the cab of a Ford Mustang. But that didn’t matter because suddenly Kori realized that he didn’t have to be afraid of Spinning. This driver was his protection.
“Hi ya buddy!” Kori squawked and walked back into the store as if he owned the place.
Simultaneously the driver gave him a strange look and Spinning turned around and cried, “It’s you!”
“Of course it’s me Spinning! Who did ya think it was?”
All at once Spinning charged at Kori. His wallet fell from his pocket and splattered coins in a loud jangle all over the marble floor. “You are a pervert!” Spinning’s voice grunted as he threw a flurry of slaps, paws, and scratches at Kori’s startled head.
All that the photographer could do was back up into a corner and try as best as he could to defend himself by using the method of holding his arms over his head, as a shield and crying, “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”
The big-armed driver decided to step in and stop this nonsense. He picked Spinning up by the collar and said in uncompromising words that if he tries to slap one more time his kneecaps would be welded to his forehead.
Spinning was redder than a firecracker. It was pure acid that lolled from his spindly eyes and ate away the face of Korihart Salming. “You don’t understand, you big galoot, this pansy boy with the greasy hair likes to watch men in washrooms!”
“And what’s wrong with that?” the muscular man growled and gave Spinning a couple of shakes that made the bone plates in his skull crackle. Spinning’s eyes were whirling around like the score on a pinball machine. “Now pick up your change and your wallet and get out of here man!”
Like a dog, Spinning grumblingly complied. Korihart was only able to catch a few snatches here and there but what he heard was life threatening to himself. The beaten man disappeared out of the store with his Dow Ale. The Chevy Impala roared out of the parking lot on grinding, spinning wheels.
“Thanks, man!” Kori said to the big man. He held out his hand to show his appreciation.
The big man returned the gesture with a squeeze of his fingers that was tight but not so tight as to hurt. It was the kind of tight that had a message within it. The photographer didn’t care for this message at all.
“What’s your name, friend?” the big man asked.
“Kori Salming,” Kori said somewhat uneasy. He started to get the feeling that that was not the information that he should be giving someone like this big guy. Afterall Kori had heard that they come in all shapes and sizes.
“What will you have son?” the beer store man asked.
Kori turned away from the big guy and felt good that he was going to be in a normal situation as a customer in this store.
“Let’s see. I will have ten cases of Blue cans, ten cases of Canadian, and a two-four of Twist Shasta.”
“That’s a lot of beer, son!” the beer store man said in a fatherly fashion to him.
“Gotta have a lotta beer. Sailors, you know. Just passin’ through!” he said, trying to sound conversational.
He felt a tap at his shoulder and he felt a physiological flush through his veins.
“By the way, Kori, I didn’t introduce myself.”
Kori was almost afraid to turn around and look at the Homo Neanderthal. He turned and saw the rough, craggy features of a man that’s been places.
“My name is Mick, Mick Hauth.”
“How do you do Mick!” Kori smiled, wondering where he had heard that name before.
“Perhaps you have heard of my brother, Rick Hauth, Kawarthan superhero?”
That was a ton of bricks off of Kori’s chest. Of course, he had heard of the legendary great do-gooder from Carveth’s. Who hasn’t? They even got Saturday morning cartoons with Rick Hauth where he time and time again fights alien monsters that want to be masters of the Earth if not the entire Universe. Of course, he had heard of Rick Hauth. The reason that Kori felt relieved was because no superhero like Rick would have a social misanthrope for a brother. Mick Hauth had to be okay.
The beer store man had by now hauled out the last of the 21 cases that the crew of the Doral ordered. “That’s quite a shipment of beer that you’re buying Kori,” Mick observed. “How are you going to carry it back? Not on that bicycle of yours, I hope!”
“I’ve no other choice Mick,” Kori lamented as he paid the beer store man a sum just under four hundred dollars.
Kori hated taking favors from anybody especially strangers. But in this case he saw that he had little choice. It would take him half the evening hauling the beer back to the boat if he was to do it on his own on the bicycle.
Mick Hauth made his order – a couple of dozen Miller Tallboys. The two men loaded the Ford Mustang with the beer. The trunk was filled to capacity as was the backseat and the floor. They still had about six cases to go. The only spot that there was left was the passenger seat.
“Tell you what,” Mick suggested. “You tell me where your boat is and I’ll deliver the beer there. You’ll have to ride your bike back.”
Kori couldn’t thank Mick Hauth enough for all the help that he had been. It would have taken him most of the evening to cart the beer back by bicycle. He said to Mick that it was a deal.
“If you can’t do a good turn for a stranger now and then, well then, this world is nothing more than a cold rock going through empty space,” Mick commented as he climbed into his Mustang, started the engine and proceeded to take a turn for a stranger. The wrong turn. The Mustang disappeared over the hill along the road that led back to Bobcaygeon.
“Holy Christ!” Kori cried from the pit of his stomach as he realized what had just happened. Mick Hauth, brother of superhero Rick Hauth, had just ripped off 21 cases of beer from him. The Captain was going to take a shit. Luke was going to scream ‘Blue Bloody Murder!’ and then wonder what the hell that meant. They were going to kill him. There was no doubt. Not only were they going to be down four hundred dollars in finances, they were going to be out 21 cases of beer. Holy shit! Holy shit!
Kori was on the other side of panic and as he drifted back into panic he realized that he had froze and had done nothing. He should have chased after that bastard Hauth on his bicycle. But it was too late now to do that. He went back into the beer store and asked to use the phone.
“Local or long distance?” the beer store man asked.
“I don’t know. Do you have local police?”
The beer store man’s head went back and forth sideways as he negated Kori’s query. “Just the O.P.P. out of Lindsay at this time of year.” The beer store man added, “In a couple of more weeks, once the waterway becomes busier, we’ll be detached a few officers to keep the peace. If you can hold on until then?”
“No!” Kori fumed and explained to the beer store man how Mick Hauth had stolen all that beer from him.
The beer store man put his hand to his chin and leaned over his cash register. “I could have told you that about Mick Hauth. Ain’t nobody been back and forth out of the slammer as much as Mick. He’s a born crook. We’re only lucky that he doesn’t have the same aptitudes as his brother Rick or else we would have a bona fide supervillain on our hands. Thankfully Mick is only small time. That, however, doesn’t mean that he can’t pull off a big job now and then. Those 21 cases of beer are peanuts to Hauth. I’ve seen him come here before and make away with the General Electric’s complete supply of ale and lager for their company picnic.”
“Did he ever get nailed for that?”
“For God’s sake man! You saw the size of him! He’d have drunk the evidence long before the cops could lay a hand on him.”
Kori’s eyes fell to his own shuffling shoes. He felt like a lost boy that has just learned that the only dime in his pocket was not enough to make the phone call home. “So you’re saying that I might as well kiss that beer good bye?”
“Say adios to it, buddy! You should have realized with whom you were dealing,” the beer store man took on a scolding tone. “You saw the brass knuckles on his hands. What nice guy wears brass knuckles? And you saw the way that he handled that sweet old man. Nice guys don’t treat sweet old men that way!”
“Spinning? Spinning’s not sweet! He damned near tried to kill me!” Kori piped.
“From what I heard I would think that he has his reason. No one likes perverts. Many people come up here to vacation land just to get away from them,” the beer store man opined.
“But I’m not a pervert!” Kori exclaimed and then proceeded to explain the circumstances behind Spinning’s delusion.
The beer store man slowly nodded and said that he now understood the misunderstanding. He went on to say that such a thing was becoming more and more common around Fenelon Falls in the summer when all those Power Squadron wizards come into town and start showing off their latest para-normal feats. “It distorts people’s common sense and a lot of times nobody knows what’s up and down or right or wrong anymore. I’d blame your trouble with the old man on the Squad. The human mind was not built to cope with the stuff that they can do.”
Kori chuckled. Somehow or other he did not think that he would be able to convince Captain Ness that the missing 21 cases of beer was due to a mental breakdown from overstimulation from the Squad.
“What can I do?” he asked the beer store man plaintively.
“Well, you could buy 21 new cases of beer,” the beer store man suggested. You look like a man of means. You should be able to absorb the losses and put it down as a lesson in trusting men with brass knuckles.”
“I’m not as well off as you may think,” Kori said. “Four hundred bucks down the drain is hard to stomach.”
“Look at it this way,” the beer store man smiled. “It would have been four hundred bucks down the toilet any way. Now what’ll it be? The same? Ten Blue. Ten Canadian. One Shasta?”
“Forget the Twist Shasta. I’m not drinking any more.” Kori pulled out his wallet again and looked at the wad within. There was still lots of money left. He might be able to absorb the loss without having to resort to going to a bank. He gave the beer store man $370. The contents within his wallet had shrunk considerably but still had a sizable presence.
“How are you going to carry all that beer back?” the beer store man asked.
“I’ve got my bike,” Kori said forlornly. “I guess I’ll just ride back and forth until it’s done.”
“I’m closing in a few minutes, you know. It’s six o’clock.”
“Well, I’ll just have to leave the beer outside then, won’t I?”
“It’ll get stolen there,” the beer store man pointed to three ten-year-old kids that were kicking around a crushed milk carton on a driveway across the street.
“Uh huh, I see,” Kori grimaced.
“I tell you what,” the beer store man began. “If you wait a few minutes I will give you and your brew a lift.”
“Oh no! I’m not going to have that trick played on me again!” Kori cried.
“Fine!” the beer store man said with a pout. “If you want to have your precious beer fall into the hands of pre-pubescent children, that’s fine with me. Frankly I don’t care for you. You just called me a thief. Did you know that?”
“I did not call you a thief!”
“You won’t accept my help. You say that you’re not going to fall for that trick again. So, if that’s not calling me a thief, what is?”
“Oh Geez!” Kori sighed. “I guess that it sounds like I did, doesn’t it?”
“You’re darned right it does! I think that you owe me an apology.”
“You’re right I do!” Kori was not one to hide behind false pride. If he were wrong he would admit it. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s my pickup beside the store,” the beer store man said. He pointed to a brand spanking new GMC High Sierra with heavy-duty suspension.
“Nice truck!” Kori said in admiration.
“You start loading up the beer into the flatbed while I get this store locked up.”
Kori saw nothing wrong with the proposal. He was thankful that he did not have to be riding his bike back and forth all of that distance. At least this way he’d be getting all of the beer back to the boat without those kids ripping him off for any.
He was just going back for cases nineteen and twenty when the lights to the beer store went out. “That’s it for another day!” the beer store man said while handing Kori the remaining two cases of beer. He got out a thick ring full of keys and had to try several before he found the right one.
Then as they were walking toward the truck, Kori suddenly remembered his bicycle. For some unthinking reason, he set down his two cases of beer on the parking lot instead of handing them to the beer store man.
As he was retrieving his bike he heard the pickup truck start with a squawk. A moment later black smoke and black rubber made a private hell out of the parking lot. The pickup truck was speeding up the road in the same direction that Mick Hauth had gone.
Kori’s face was ashen. His hands shook like a hot bird’s throat. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He couldn’t believe it. Not twice in the space of half an hour! It could not have happened. It could not have happened!
But it did!
He was ripped off again! He was out $750 and all that he had to show for it were two measly cases of beer – one Crystal and one Black Label. How could that have happened again? How could he have trusted another stranger? But he wasn’t a stranger was he? He was the beer store man. Beer store men don’t rob their customers! Kori promised himself that he was going to get that bastard.
But first he had to get the beers to Luke and the Captain. The two of them might be near death because they had gone too long without the brew of life. Sadly, he climbed onto his bicycle and using the Bungee cord he trapped the two cases of beer onto the carrier. With slow lugubrious pumps Kori went like a dog with his tail between his legs back to the boat.
Little did he know that inside the locked beer store, the real beer store man was struggling with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth gagged. The Fenelon Falls’ Brewers’ Retail had been hit by the Brothers Hauth – Mick, the big strong burly one, and Nick, the one that can assume the appearance of anyone including beer store men. Later on Kori would comment that the world is morally balanced. The only way that the Hauth family could compensate for Rick’s super-goodness was to have two creeps like Mick and Nick.
“It’s about time that you got back!” Luke yelled at Kori as he glided to a halt beside the Doral. In the interim, while Kori was gone, the Captain had been busy straightening out the mess of a day’s cruise. The boat’s antiquated and dew-stained top had been set up. The Captain, himself, had changed out of his swimsuit attire and was now dressed in his finest cloth. He cut a dapper figure with his multi-zippered jacket with turned up collar and his irregularly patterned designer sweatshirt. For a trouser, the Captain wore basketball warm-up pants.
Luke, on the other hand, was not so ribald in dress. He still wore the same crimson track pants with frayed seams and tattered ends that he had been wearing since Bobcaygeon. For a top Luke wore a blue and red t-shirt with the words ‘Oslo Master’ written upon it. If Kori wished to fraternize Luke that would be the topic to touch it off. Whereas the Captain’s hair was stylishly gelled into a proud pompadour with bouffant sides, Luke’s hair looked like it got caught in a food blender. It went every which way in a wild array that was symbolic of the scatterbrain that it covered.
“You look good, Captain,” Kori said. “You’ll dazzle the Fenelon locals with your good looks.
“Thank you Kori. You are always a gentleman. Where the hell is the rest of the beer? You’ve been gone for over an hour now. My throat is parched and I’m starting to get a splitting headache. What’s the idea of taking so long?” Despite his good looks, the Captain was in a bitch of a mood.
“You’ll never believe what happened!” Kori decided that he was not going to lie about this. He will let the Captain know everything that happened and he will also state his intention to personally absorb all of the losses incurred.
But before Kori could even utter his next word, the Captain broke out into a tirade. “What the hell is this? Crystal? Black Label? You didn’t even get any real beer!”
Kori looked over to Luke. “What’s the matter with the Captain?”
Luke smiled. “While you were gone doing whatever the hell you were doing, the Captain and I decided to do some preliminary surveying of the Monday night nightlife situation here in F. Falls.”
“Yeah?” Korihart nodded, not comprehending what Luke was leading up to. “What’s it like?”
“It sucks the big one! There’s only two drinking establishments in town and by the looks of it one of them is closed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, we found one way in the hell to the south of the town. It’s a real dive. Even you could not think of a worse place to puke. It’s so bloody far away. But I guess that’s the place where we are going to go tonight because the other place is closed.”
“Where’s the other place?”
“It was supposed to be right here. After the Captain had a look at that shitty bar he decided that we might have our best time just by staying on the Doral tonight and playing cards.”
“Well, why can’t we do that?”
Luke pointed at the two cases of beer that Kori brought. “What kind of fun can you have with Crystal and Black Label? And just one case each! I mean before you even get half a buzz on all the beer is gone. Now do you understand why the Captain is so pissed off?” Luke jumped off the boat and walked toward a clump of trees. Beside this little copse a family was eating a basket of Kentucky Fried Chicken on a picnic table. There was a mother, a father, and two well-mannered boys of about ten years of age. They were all quietly eating their chicken looking as wholesome as any family could ever look while beside them, not five feet away, pissing in full view was Luke.
Kori watched the woman say to her kids, “Now, that’s an example of bad manners, children. After that gentleman went to the washroom, he should have taken the time to wash his hands. I want you to promise me that when you grow up you will always wash your hands.”
“So that’s all the beer that you could buy?” Luke half-chortled and tore open the case of Crystal. Putting his hand around the beer cap, he clenched his teeth like a Japanese Sumu wrestler having a shit and began to twist. From his mouth came wild groans. From his bum came a sputter of farts and then the beer bottle was open.
“Crystal doesn’t have a twist-off cap, you idiot!” Kori pointed out.
“I know,” Luke said as he wrapped a dishcloth over his profusely bleeding hand.
“So what are we going to do about tonight?” the Captain asked. “We don’t have beer so to speak. We don’t have any place special to go. What the hell can we do?”
“Can I make a suggestion?” Kori spoke up. “Why don’t we go to some of the museums and historic sites that my pamphlet mentions? It says that Fenelon Falls was the site of several lumber mills and that it had its own hydroelectric plants. Why don’t we go and have a look at some of these places? Maybe I can get some pictures!”
“Are you nuts?” Luke cried out. “Look at sawmills and electricity plants? I’m on holidays! I’m not spending them looking at those stupid things!”
“At least Kori had a suggestion Bridgeman. I don’t hear any great ideas coming from your mouth,” the Captain charged.
“Well, I don’t hear any coming from your mouth either Captain!” Luke shot back.
“Well, if neither of you have any suggestions then I suggest that we go to those places that I suggested. Who knows? We might learn something!” Kori suggested as he began strapping his camera outfit together and getting other things ready for the little excursion and foray into historical Fenelon Falls. And while he was getting ready he did not notice that both the Captain and Luke were going from boat to boat, scrounging beer and any other type of booze that they could get a hold of.
Kori was just finishing up clipping his nose hairs to a presentable and fashionable length when the Captain and Luke returned. Each had a green garbage bag full of booze. It was not that the boaters camping along the Fenelon lock that night were especially friendly. It was just that sometimes the only way to get rid of pesky raccoons was to oblige them.
“Well, at least it’s not going to be that early of a night,” Luke answered, swigging back a bottle of Sambucka.
“You guys ready?” Kori asked as he came out of the cuddy looking as flamboyantly dapper as any gentleman along Bay Street.
“Ooo! Look at you!” the Captain laughed.
“Ooo! Smell you!” Luke grimaced.
Kori applied his aftershave cologne rather on the abundant side. But what did that matter? He was beginning to smell bad because of not being able to take a shower. He had to cover it up with something. And seeing that there was nothing but hicks around here, what did it matter?
“What are you all dressed up for Salming? Going some place?” the Captain burped through a half bottle of Teachers’ Scotch.
Kori looked at his two crewmates and saw the garbage bags in their hands. Somehow this was not fitting in well with his expected plans. “I thought that we were going to the sawmill and electricity plant?”
“Sawmill? Electricity plant? Where in the hell did you get an idea like that?” the Captain cried. “We’re not going anywhere. We’re staying here tonight and we’re going to play cards. Euchre! I hope that you can play!”
“Of course I can,” Kori said defensively. “But I didn’t know we were going to play tonight. I thought that we would do some sightseeing. I’ve read about a historical plaque that commemorates a pickerel fishery that is supposed to be on the other side of town. I thought that we would have a look at that.”
“Kori, shut up, we are playing cards. We’re not going to be looking at historical plaques.”
“But if we are going to play euchre, don’t we need four players?” Kori’s chest rose in and out in shallow breathing. It was as if he sensed imminent danger. He did not understand this. The only thing he knew was that tonight he should not be onboard the Doral. Something bad was going to happen. He knew it.
“You can play euchre with three people,” Luke said. “It’s called three-handed euchre.”
“But that doesn’t matter Kori. We’ve got a foursome,” the Captain added reassuringly.
“Who’s the fourth?”
“It’s some bald-headed guy in a Sun Ray who said that the only way that he would share his Dow with us was if we allowed him to go out on the town with us. I told him that we weren’t going any place because there was no place worth going to in Fenelon Falls on a Monday night. But I wanted his beer even though it is Dow so I suggested that he come over and play cards with us.”
Kori felt his heart sink. The only person in the living world that fitted that description was Spinning. The Captain had invited Spinning over to play cards. The photographer swallowed and said in a weak voice, “Well, you guys can play cards. I’m going out to see the historical …”
“Hi ya guys!”
Kori lifted his head and saw Spinning. He was all decked out in a canary yellow outfit with a white golfer’s cap.
“Well, hello there! You’ve come to lose some money, I see!” the Captain said in his most affable, jocular voice.
“Yes, Captain Ness, I have come to lose some of your money in fine drink and food!” Spinning replied just as affably. Thus far he had not noticed Kori who had jumped into the cuddy as soon as he saw his old neighbor.
“Luke Bridgeman!” Spinning laughed. “Your hand was made for a bottle!”
“Not as much as my lips and throat!” Luke replied truthfully.
“It’s too bad that your brain was not made for it as well!” Spinning said as he slipped through the zippered boat top and stepped onboard.
“I’m going to get it overhauled next week. I’m tossing out all of the gray matter and have it replaced with a portable still. That way I can stay drunk all of the time!”
“You’re a joker Bridgeman!” Spinning chuckled.
“No, he’s serious!” the Captain said.
“I’m serious! I’m doing it!” Luke said with vehemence.
“You’re still a joker Bridgeman! Captain, I thought that you said that there would be four of us to play cards. Unless my eyes are deceiving me I only see three.”
“There’s a fourth. I believe Kori is getting changed in the cuddy. Kori, are you in there?” the Captain’s voice rose.
Inside the cuddy, Kori’s heart was pounding out the drum solo to an Iron Butterfly opus. His throat was parched and his nerves were raw. “Yes Captain! I’m in here getting changed!” His frightened condition caused him to sound like Little Bo Peep instead of a man.
“Kori sweetheart!” Spinning called out to him. “Can you put on some tunes for us before you come out? I wouldn’t mind listening to Led Zeppelin IV, if you have it.”
“I’ll check and see,” the photographer said in his female shepherd voice. As he searched through the Doral’s extensive tape library, he could hear Spinning explain to the Captain and Luke that his oldest son had turned him onto ‘Black Dog’ fifteen years ago. It seems that this boy would crank that song up so loud every night that the people from NASA used it as a radio beacon to guide their reconnaissance satellites by.
“That song got into my bones,” Spinning said.
Kori chuckled from inside the cuddy. There was a lot of truth in that statement. He had lived next door to Spinning’s boy, Bob, and was well acquainted with the nightly blasts of Led Zeppelin IV. When Bob moved off to university the police, the army, and even NASA came around to see why things had grown so quiet. It seemed that they were afraid that the Russians had conducted a surprise attack to neutralize the ground-based beacon.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have any Led Zep,” Kori continued with his Little Bo Peep voice.
“Ah, that’s too bad!” Spinning’s voice was downcast.
“But we do have some Robert Plant!” Kori cried out and at once covered his mouth in girlish embarrassment. Too much of his normal voice had come through on that one.
“’The Principle of Moments’?” Spinning asked. Apparently he did not notice Kori’s slip.
“Yes, that’s the one.” Kori popped the cassette into the tape deck.
“Hurry up Salming!” Luke cried. “We want to get into some Pukie Ukie!”
“Pukie Ukie! Pukie Ukie! Pukie Ukie!” Captain Ness began to parrot. At once Kori understood what this Power Squadron master’s weakness was. He was a sucker for euchre.
“Pukie Ukie! Pukie Ukie! Pukie Ukie!” The Captain was sounding like the Coconuts Cereal’s cuckoo. I’m cuckoo for coconuts.
“Hurry up Kori! I’m going to start dealing out the cards for partners. The first two Jacks, all right?”
Kori had become frantic. He could not go out onboard looking the way that he did. Spinning would recognize him as the pervert that watched him on the toilet. He began to scramble and rummage through his belongings and the belongings of the Captain and Luke.
Presently, he emerged from the cuddy at the same time the music of Robert Plant began to pound the speakers. Luke and the Captain roared with laughter. Even Spinning was smiling. In all of his years he had never seen anything quite like Korihart Salming.
With the Captain’s styling elk, he had slicked his hair straight back until it had that motorcycle grease shine of some Fifties’ tough guy. He had taken oodles of the rapid suntan lotion that the Captain kept and had it washed deeply into his nose until it was as brown as the nose of the guy that was competing with you for that promotion. With some black shoe polish he underlined his eyes in a thick smear that made him look like he was a warpathing Washington Redskin ready to go underneath the lights. With white shoe polish he had painted his cheeks and chin. And overtop of all of this he had donned Luke’s eyeglasses to give himself some degree of sophistication. For clothes Kori wore only his smoking jacket. It had white fur tucked underneath of its collar. And so that he wouldn’t be exposing himself every time that he moved his legs he had put on Luke’s giant-sized green wet pants. And on his feet to complete the outfit Kori wore nothing. He hoped that he had camouflaged himself enough so that Spinning would not recognize him.
Spinning slapped Kori on the back with regaling laughter. “I’ve never said this before to a complete stranger but, God, do you look like a complete idiot!”
Kori sighed. His disguise was working. And in the voice that he had used inside of the cuddy cabin, he replied, “It takes one to know one.”
“A witty guy!” Spinning said to Luke and the Captain. “I tell you he has got to be my partner! He is the perfect match. His face! My …! Ha! Ha!”
Share
Print
Save