THE MIDWAY MONSTER
Daniel Eness
Published by Eortholic Press at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Daniel Eness
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Table of Contents
The Midway Monster
A hundred and twenty-three miles away from the big city is Blumpton, a small city whose heyday came and went with the town fathers’ rejection of a young Howard Hughes’ informal proposal for a machine parts factory.
Too risky.
So they stuck with the brickyard, which was out of business by the time TransWorld made its maiden flight.
I’m at the pinnacle of my career as sports reporter and columnist for the Blumpton Beagle, a nearly dead daily newspaper somewhat infamously monikered by an early typesetter's dyslexia. It was supposed to be "Bugle."
Newspaper – it’s a thing people used to read before they had better options.
As you can imagine, my beat is primarily reserved for local high school and small college sports. Occasionally, I’m allowed to opine on the big boys, if I catch them on television or pay my own way to the game.
About a year ago, I requested, and received, credentials and approval from my editor to head up north. A local boy had made good on the football field, got drafted to the pros, and got into a bit of trouble on a return visit to his old stomping grounds.
Marcus “Mack” Henry is a back-up inside linebacker for the big boys, a team that practically invented the position. The guy ahead of him on the depth-chart hits so hard, his opponents' ghosts wake up in the Hall of Fame. So even though Mack sees the field rarely, and then on mop-up duty, he is, as they say, made.
He is also, as they say, idle.
Being made and idle on a bye weekend in his hometown resulted in some fairly off-color behavior. Off-colors like red (emergency lights), blue (cops) and black (Mack’s reputation as a gentleman and a scholar.)
Ultimately, charges were dropped, the girl, also a local, a college sophomore, fell silent, and Mack scampered back to the less violent confines of the gridiron.
I knew the kid a little, from his amateur days, and he once said he liked me because I "shot straight." I think that meant that he thought I cared enough to be fair; neither falling down at his altar nor digging around his girlfriends, enemies or family for purposeless scandal. I thought it might be a good story to follow-up with Mack in person following his first game since the arrest and release.
To my shock, Hicks, my editor, thought it was a good idea too.
“Ad revenue is in the toilet. I’ll be surprised if you have a job by the time you return,” said Hicks, “so what the heck?”
Hicks is considered an optimist in my line of work.
I made the arrangements for credentials, and decided to track down the girl first, just to see if she’d give me a little hook to snag Mack with. Off the record, of course.
I affected a humble posture outside the woman’s apartment. It wasn’t hard – I felt like a sheep bringing the situation back in front of her.
The tan, curly haired woman who came to the door was a non-traditional – that is, an older-than-normal undergrad. Her news shorthand was “college sophomore” on t.v. and just in the way folks talked about her. I’d forgotten she was nearly thirty.
She squinted at me. Shook her head, bemused. It knocked me off a bit. People, especially people in her circumstances, are usually tentative, wary, potential door-slammers.
“Come in,” she said, her voice raspy. I followed her in, unprepared.
“Uh, I’m –“
“From the paper. Yeah. Have a seat,” she said gesturing to a decent leather sofa in the living room, just off the kitchenette. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
I’d lost the initiative, dumbly taking a seat and pulling out my voice recorders. I carry two and run them simultaneously, just to be sure.
“You won’t need those,” she said as she came back into the room, a bounce in her step and laptop under her arm. “This is all off the record. The only thing you got from me is a ‘no comment.’ That’ll be okay, right.”
Her voice didn’t go up at the end. It wasn’t a question.
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She was a pretty blond who had unfortunately begun to turn her skin leathery from cigarettes. Memorably attractive, she had a beauty flaw, a crooked incisor that gave her face focus. Her eyes danced. She'd seen plenty.