Chapter 6:  Fast Times At Berwick High

(for “Chapter 5:  In The Mouth Of Madness (Talkin’ Turkey) click here)

Sunnyview Estates is a run down apartment building on the east side.  It’s where the interlopers, the swindlers and the ne’erdowells of the city collect like Hummels in your Grandma’s curio cabinet.  Not a place I typically like to visit, but you can’t pick where a perp’s gonna live.

The brass numerals on #156 were tarnished like every other apartment here.  Three knocks on one side of the door.  Three footsteps from the other side.  The door opens and the guy facing me looks like Jim Morrison on a bad day.  Rough patchy beard and a smooth silk robe.

“Whadda you want?  You sellin’ juice or vacuums or some shit?”
“Mr. Powlus, I presume?”
“What’s it to you?”
“My name is Rich Rodriguez and I’m a private investigator.  Can I come in?  I’d like to chat with you for a couple minutes.”
“Whatever you want man.”

He steps to the side and I follow him into the apartment.  Other than the smell of nicotine the first thing I notice is that the place looks like your local high school’s trophy room after an earthquake.  Random news clippings and plaques and BetaMax video tapes are strewn across the entire space.  “Glory Days” plays softly in the background.

“So, what’s this all about?”
“Mr. Powlus, you know anything about the Maltese Heisman?”
“Maltese, huh?”
“The Maltese Heisman.”
“Nah, I ain’t never heard of that.”

He’s fidgeting with what appears to be a high school class ring.

“Well, it’s a trophy that been stolen from one of my clients.  I’ve asked around a bit and Ol’ Beano Cook seemed to think you might know something about it.”
“Beano’s just some old crackpot, man.  Probably strung out on tar or something.”
“He thought you would win four Heismans.”
“Like I said, a crackpot.”

I press a bit, trying to crack him.

“Whatever happened with you at college?”
“Lou Holtz is what fuckin’ happened.  Crazy son of a bitch wouldn’t call the right plays.  Showcase my cannon.  Dinking and dunking is not what this beautiful rocket launcher was built for.”
“Must have pissed you off.”
“Sure as hell did.  Waste of four years.  Now look at me.  Living in this hole.  Working at Payless Shoes.  Watching the freshman QB at the local college plow through co-eds while I get my jollies from a Land’s End catalog.”
“Not even Sears?”
“I like outerware.”
“Seems rough.”  I pause for a moment.  “And you’re sure you don’t know anything about what I’m looking for.”

Suddenly, a switch flips.

“You want me to say I stole the goddam thing?  Alright, I stole it.  You wanna see it?”

Powlus crosses the room and heads directly for a La-Z-Boy recliner.  He pulls up the seat cushion, reaches into the guts of the chair and produces the missing trophy.  For a moment he just looks at it, a child regarding his most prized position.  Then, sharply, he jerks his head up and stares at me coolly.

“So now, Dick Rod, we got a little problem.  I can’t let you leave here.”

With surprising speed he pivots on one foot, grabs the TV remote and executes a perfect five step drop.  He then fires the remote at me and I instinctively duck.  This isn’t necessary as his throw is five yards over my head and the remote lands in the open microwave in the kitchenette.

Undaunted, he spins, races to other side of the room and snatches up a coaster and chucks it at me sidearmed.  I leap over the back of the couch I’m sitting on, but the coaster bounces three times before landing four feet short of where I was sitting.

“DAMMIT,” he roars.  “Looks like we’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

Before I know it, he’s pounced over the couch with a high school varsity jacket in his hands.  In a flash, he wraps one of the sleeves around my neck and pulls hard.  Powlus is surprisingly strong and I’m struggling to free myself.  I start losing focus on the stitched “Berwick High.” Things are looking pretty bad.

Two gun shots outside brings everything back into sharp relief.  The lock being blown out, Constable Carr jogs into the room, jowls full and taut like the sails of a regatta at top speed.  Powlus doesn’t know how to react and before he can, Carr fires one shot into his shoulder that spins him around and off of me.

“Didn’t think you’d ever get here,” I say as I try to regain my breath.
“Traffic.  They didn’t crown the road right and now the rain pools up in the right lane.  I left as soon I got your call for back up.”
“Well, I’m just glad to see you.  What leads a guy to do something like this?”
“‘The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy, but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain.’  That’s Keats.  Who’s your favorite poet?”
“I’m partial to Dr. Seuss.  Hop On Pop, specifically.”
“Tremendous choice.  No question about that.”
“So, you gonna take Powlus in to the station?”
“No question, Rich.  You did some tremendous detective work.  He’ll be running stairs for a long time.”

Powlus, still struggling, sits up with his back against the couch.  “Hey Carr.  Rodriguez.  You takin’ me downtown now?  I need to call my Mom.  She’s doing my laundry and I don’t have any clean shirts.”

“Yeah, you’re going downtown,” Carr responds.  “But first…let’s go to Cedar Point.”

[freeze frame as Carr and Rodriguez give each other a high five]