NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Last night’s snowfall is cleared away from the pump islands at the Light House Gas station. Customers getting out of their cars for self service find it gritty and wet. Snow is piled around and against the old wooden oil derrick in the corner where Huygens Street intersects Maxwell Avenue beyond. It hides those waiting at the traffic light muffling the growl of idling engines and the strange howl of the accelerating new buses. The station sign looks as if it is growing out of a dirty white mountain range with black peaks and white hollows. One might be looking at a satellite image from the moon of an outer planet. The derrick’s wooden framework is boarded over from half way up, and painted white with ‘GAS STATION’ printed in red block capitals down all four sides. Below the bottom of the big red “N” of the word station, “Independent Since 1948” appears hand lettered in black. A lantern mounted on top makes the structure resemble a lighthouse and at night the lantern winks brighter then fainter, and a single red neon tube glows along the center of each red letter.
Snow in the streets has started melting and refrozen many times over the past week. The sun comes out briefly during the day and streams of water run like rivers off a mountain, which freeze into glaciers of black ice overnight at the intersection.
The soft looking snow at the base of the mountain is frozen and hard enough to dent the front of a customer’s car. A tall man with long brown ponytail climbs out of his small faded cream colored car to examine the front end for damage, and starts chatting with one of the polite and helpful attendants. Mr. Ramsay walks over toward me from the office as I fill the old Saturn with regular gas, and wave as he approaches.
“Well hi there ahh…”
“Its Fred.”
“Yeah, ah right, ahhh Fred, how you doing there?” A strong voice comes out of the cave of his collar. The collar of his soiled trench coat is up around his head and his belt is tied crudely to one side. He pushes back his fedora and looks up from the curve of his bent frame. His coat is too big. He has the ends of the sleeves bunched up in his hands.
“Filling up before the next blizzard.”
“Didn’t we meet at Hank’s barbeque a while back?”
“Yes we did.”
“It was gusty as I recall, and Daisy brought her Wombat.”
“In the tea cozy.”
“Haven’t seen Daisy around. Have you?”
“Yes, saw her at the party for Derwent.”
“Oh! That son of a bitch finally kicked it! Now I am the last of the Mohicans. He always said he was, but I am!”
“Last of the Mohicans?”
“Yeah, well there weren’t any Mohicans around here … figure of speech of course. It was the “Faux”, so named by the French who couldn’t believe they were Indians.”
“Why?”
“Hell I don’t know! It’s probably a pack of lies! That’s the story though, and I am the last of the old guard, the pioneers who built this place.”
“I see, an original settler, and you started the water system I hear.”
“This area was settled in the late 17th century. I may look old to you but let’s not be ridiculous. Didn’t you learn any history? I was just a guy looking for affordable housing after the war when the government had expanded and hired me along with thousands of others.”
“That’s world War II right?”
“What else could it be?”
“Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf …”
“Those weren’t real wars for Christ’s sake! Korea was a United Nations boondoggle and Vietnam and the Gulf were imperial scuffles.”
“Cost a lot of lives and money, just like a war.”
“Wasted money … compared with the big one, they were unnecessary scuffles. The mistakes of political midgets like Johnson, and Bush and the rest of them.”
“Very glad you got the water system up.”
“Yeah it’s been a pain in the ass ever since. Anyway, you were saying you saw Daisy? “
“That’s right.”
“Maybe I did see her … Yeah across the room there. Couldn’t talk to her though.”
“The room was crowded.”
“It was, but that was not the obstacle.”
“No?”
“No, see there’s scheming going on there.”
“Scheming?”
“You know what scheming is. You know there’s plans and then there’s schemes.”
“Well yes, scheming has a …”
“… negative connotation? You got it. Sloot was a god dam schemer if ever there was one.”
“He was a little rough around the edges.”
“Slippery as an eel though … For God’s sake there’s Finderelli.” Mr. Ramsay is looking beyond me. Turning I see an old dented Plymouth Valliant, which must date back to the sixties. The tall man is getting out. He has backed it away from the snow pile.
“Haven’t seen him since I interviewed him a year or two ago.”
“What did you do that for?”
“You remember the fire ants at Prestige U.?”
“Oh that was the Tripp kid’s prank. Is she serving any time?
“No, I believe the case is settled or going to be soon.”
“Right, right, right, her rich Daddy got Shrowd in. Yeah that guy is a real operator!”
“So I gather, he is …”
“He is the reason I can still keep this old filling station the way it is, independent, without the god dam oil monopolies taking it over.”
“So you are a client too!”
“Stick around, and you will find yourself knocking at his door.”
“Hope to avoid litigation. Don’t have the money for it.”
“You’ll never get to court with him.”
“No I am told he works behind the scenes.”
“He knows who to talk to and how to make a deal. If you can’t afford to pay him he’ll make a deal and you will never get away from the guy. Like the Mob, once you accept a deal that’s …”
Mr. Ramsay is looking beyond me again toward the street. “Hey Finn!” Mr. Ramsay shouts above the traffic at the tall man. Finn strolls over. The gas pump has stopped. My tank is full. As I pull the nozzle out of the car Ramsay pushes my hand back down, all the while shouting to Finn, who doesn’t seem to hear. So I leave the nozzle in the car.
Bending slightly towards him, Finn shakes hands “Mr. Ramsay”, and turns to me.
“I remember you … how’s the blog?”
Mr. Ramsay interrupts our exchange of pleasantries. Finn’s thick hair is combed back from his wide lined forehead and you wouln’t guess he has it all gathered in back.
“So you totaled that car I gave you huh!”
“Just a dent that’s all.”
“How many miles you got on that thing now?”
“I am in my fifth century.”
“Not bad for a guy who doesn’t know any history. Just like you Fred!”
“Same old smooth charmer Mr. Ramsay!”
“Listen, I gave a young hippie my old car thirty odd years ago when no one else would have given you the time of day.”
“My gratitude knows no bounds!”
“Yeah tell me about it Flower … or should I say Doctor Finderelli?”
“Say what you like.”
“I usually do! You still professing up at that university, what ever its called?”
“No, we came to a parting of the ways.”
“You are well out of that stinking place. So what you doing now, smoking dope?”
“Back to building houses.”
“That’s real honest to god work. Hell! You might have come to your senses!”
“Maybe … need to make a buck, like any one else.”
“Why did they throw you out? … or did they?”
“I had a profound disagreement with the dean, Dr. Bookbender.”
“Profound huh!”
“Yeah, it went real deep.”
“Now you can forget all your degrees, and what you majored in and all the rest of that horse shit you academics get off on!”
“What you got against P.U. anyway Mr. Ramsay?”
“That goes real deep too.”
Farouk the manager walks over and stands next to Mr. Ramsay, grinning at Finn.
“Farouk, how you doing buddy?”
Mr. Ramsay interrupts again and drowns out Farouk. He grabs Farouk’s arm. “Okay what have I done now?”
“Mr. Ramsay, look over there, you have customers lined up waiting to use this pump.”
“Give Fred a chance to fill up will you?”
“Mr. Ramsay the pump stopped five minutes ago.”
“Fred, what you messing around for? Get that thing out of there will you?”
I pull the nozzle out of the car and Farouk takes it from me and hangs it back on the pump. Finn is laughing.
“He used to pull that on me too Fred.”
“What’s that Finn?”
“Hold up the whole line and blame me for it!”
“Okay okay so I’ve got a conscientious manager. What’s your hippie problem with that?”
“Mr. Ramsay I don’t have a problem. You do, you are holding up the line talking.”
“Farouk, get these people moving will you!”
“Yes boss.”
I get in the car but Mr. Ramsay doesn’t move out of the way. He is still talking to Farouk and Finn who have stepped to one side. Now he is leaning on the right front side of the car.
Finn is still laughing. He and Farouk each take an arm and pull Mr. Ramsay out of the way and I pull away from the pump.
