Harvey Porter Does Dallas (22 page)

“So how much then?”

“Yeah,” Harvey repeated her question. “How much?”

Victor sighed. “I can't do the math in my head.”

“You don't need to,” said Harvey. “We'll use Lichtenstein's calculator.”

“Ya think he's got it with him?”

“He's
always
got it with him.” Without another word, Harvey strode across the room and asked 'Berto if he could borrow the calculator. Lichtenstein was having trouble keeping his glasses from slipping down his nose. If he didn't have enough pimples in that area, he couldn't keep them up. He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

When he got back to his two friends, Victor and Carmelita were ready to go. Victor started punching buttons. “Okay, if eBay takes five percent, that's four thousand, five hundred bucks. That means 85 thousand, 500 for us.”

“Oh my lord,” said Carmelita in hushed tones.

“And what is it if you divide it by three?” Harvey asked eagerly.

Victor punched some more buttons rapidly. “The grand total is 28 thousand, five hundred dollars apiece. Don't forget it's taxable, though.”

“Oh my lord,” was all Carmelita could think to say.

“Piss on the taxes. We take the money and run,” said Harvey.

“I think we do,” Victor replied. Then he brightened up, “Hey, think about this: I can pay my ten thousand dollar fine and still have more than eighteen thousand left! Hot damn!”

Harvey said, “I'm gonna buy a used car and some new clothes. I'm gonna get a
Harley-Davidson
sweatshirt and a windbreaker.”

“You also need to get yourself a couple of pairs of Dockers slacks,” said Carmelita.

“I do? Why?”

“Well you can't just wear blue jeans all the time, Harvey.”

“I can't?” Maybe he should have paid more attention if she'd like him more that way, but his head was swimming. He took the calculator back to 'Berto. “Lichtenstein, you keep havin' so much grief from those glasses.”

“I know. It's embarrassing.”

“Why don't you wear contact lenses?”

“I'd love to Harvey, but I can't afford it.”

Carmelita had joined them. She told 'Berto he should get blue tinted lenses if he ever got any contacts. “They'll accent the color of your eyes.”

“I just told Harvey I don't have the money to buy contacts.”

“But you will,” said Harvey, laughing. “Within a couple weeks.”

Puzzled, Lichtenstein replied, “How will I have the money?”

“Just trust me on this,” Harvey answered, giving Lichtensteins' shoulder a squeeze while thumping him playfully on the back.

They left, but Lichtenstein was still stuck in confusion.

25. WHAT'S IN A NAME?

On Thursday, Harvey got his wolf's tooth necklace from his foot locker and asked Carmelita to wear it.

“This is just what I need,” she answered in a sardonic tone, even though she knew Harvey was trying to give her something special. “Now I can wear the
Los Rebeldes
gang identification.”

“It's not a gang symbol. It's got a new meaning, its true meaning.”

“And what would that be?”

“It's a symbol of the Cherokee. They were wearin' these a hundred years before anybody ever heard of
Los Rebeldes
, maybe two hundred years.”

Carmelita smiled. “Harvey, I know you're trying to be nice and it really is sweet. But in our world, it's a street gang emblem.”

“The thong is real long,” he replied. “You could wear it and nobody would even see the tooth; it would be down inside your blouse or your dress. You could take it out to look at it when you're alone or at night.”

“Why?”

“It'll help you think of me.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Nah. It's just the only thing that came to mind.”

He took the bus that afternoon. He had the shorts Mrs. Mushrush had nipped and tucked for him. He was headed to Forest Lane in Garland. He had to make several transfers, so the trip was long. The last bus he rode had the folded-up
Dallas Morning News
in the empty seat beside him. He leafed through it, bored. Then he came to the Sears advertising insert. It practically fell into his lap. They had Dockers slacks on sale for $22.99.

Carmelita had said he needed to get some of these so he wouldn't be wearing blue jeans all the time. He frowned;
Could I really wear clothes that are this white bread?
He tossed the paper aside.

When he reached the porch of the Mushrush house, he found things pretty much the way he wanted them. Mrs. Mushrush was home alone. First, Harvey gave her back the shorts. “I really appreciate how hard you worked on 'em,” he said. “But I was never into wearing shorts. Maybe Bobo'll lose some weight one of these days.”

“Fat chance of that,” said Mrs. Mushrush, who then laughed at her own unintentional pun. “You don't need to apologize, though. If they're not you, then they're not you.”

“I figured you'd understand, Mrs. M.” Then Harry summarized his research into his family tree. It took a long time. “I never coulda done it without that e-mail from your mother.”

Mrs. Mushrush was shaking her head in disbelief. Harvey lit up a Marlboro Lite while she was trying to digest it all. He apologized for the smoking and said he'd be glad to put it out, but she waved her hand to indicate it didn't matter.

“How did you find the Oswald paper?” she asked him.

“I don't know, probably in some dumpster or somethin'.”

“So what you're telling me is that you're part Cherokee or a mix of tribes on your mother's side, and Lee Harvey Oswald was your father.”

“That's what I'm sayin'.”

“And Clyde Barrow was your grandfather?”

“That's what I'm sayin'.”

“And you're sure about all of this?”

“Not a hundred percent, but almost.”

“It's a truly amazing story, Harvey. Do you mind if I share it with the rest of the family?”

“I don't mind, but you might not want to tell Bobo.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He's already afraid of me. If he finds out who my father and grandfather were, he might come unglued.”

Mrs. Mushrush refilled her coffee cup and offered some to Harvey. He took half a cup. Then she laughed. “Maybe that's what Bobo needs; a nervous stomach to reduce his appetite.”

Even Harvey had to laugh at that one. “There's one more thing, Mrs. M., I'm gonna to be gettin' a lot of money soon. A whole lot of money.”

“How so?”

“I've got a friend who's real smart on the Internet. He auctioned off the Oswald paper on eBay.”

“Really? For how much?”

“Ninety thousand dollars.”

She put her hand to her chest.
“Ninety thousand dollars?
My Lord.”

“Yeah, but my friend did the math. eBay takes somethin' like four thousand right off the top.”

“Their commission?”

“Yeah, that's the word. Anyway, we have to split the money three ways. Victor and Carmelita get a third.”

“Who are Victor and Carmelita?”

“Friends I've made at the SAS. I've never had friends like them before. I think I'm gettin' better, Mrs. M.”

Mrs. Mushrush folded her hands and rested her elbows on the table. She looked him straight in the eye. “Maybe you were good all along,” she suggested. “But you never had anybody to tell you so. Certainly not yourself.”

“Ya think?”

“I think it's worth thinking about, don't you? Now if it's not too personal, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions about this money you've got coming in.”

“I hope you will. I've never had money. I can't get next to what 28 thousand might mean.”

“I know you're not fond of my husband,” she said. “But this is where Bailey can help out and I know he'd be glad to.”

“How?”

“Bailey is a CPA.”

“What's that mean?”

“He's a certified public accountant. He could invest your money for you so that it grows over time. That's what planning for the future means. He could also help you sort out your taxes on this money. You do know it's taxable, don't you?”

“Yeah, Victor's already reminded us about a dozen times.”

“That way your money will grow. As you get older, you'll have a good deal more money than you started with.”

Harvey grinned. This sounded pretty good.

Mrs. Mushrush drove him back to the SAS, but he was still late. The cafeteria was nearly closed. He managed to gobble a couple of leftover bratwursts and wash it down with a
Dr. Pepper
.

Then the strangest thing happened. Harvey saw Oboe Meel waddling in his direction. “What's up, Professor Meel?”

He didn't answer right away; he was too busy looking scornfully at the molded plastic chairs around the tables. “There's not a decent chair in this room,” he declared. “Nothing that swivels, nothing that you could stretch out on, and certainly nothing that would work for basking.”

“Haven't you been down here before?”

“No. And I hope I don't have a future need to return.”

“Didja wanna tell me somethin'?” Harvey noticed that Oboe had taken his advice: He was now wearing a black
Harley-Davidson
tee shirt under his overalls.

“I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news. Headmaster D'Artagnan came to my office a couple of hours ago. You see now what I meant about having an office with my nameplate on it?”

“Yeah I see.
Work
.”

“Exactly. In any event, he wanted me to tell you that you have a detention to serve because you were late in returning.”

Harry shrugged. “Can I serve it tonight?”

“I'm told these detentions are usually served in the afternoons.”

“But maybe you could make an exception for me. You're not an errand boy here, you're a dean of something.”

Oboe nodded his head. “True. I'm dean of something.”

“That means you've got the power to make an exception,” Harvey was quick to point out.

“Well I should think so!” Oboe declared.

They found the headmaster and all his staff gone; the office was locked. “Never mind,” said Oboe. “I think I've got a key here.” He fished around in the huge pocket on his fading denim chest.

Harvey had to show him where the detention room was. Oboe unlocked it, turned on the light. Naturally, the room was empty, except for the desks.

Harvey asked him if he ever got all his
Playmate
pictures thumb-tacked back in order. Oboe smiled. “Indeed. They are all in perfect order, in perfect symmetry. Symmetry is the key that unlocks the meaning of the universe, by the way.” Then he frowned. “I've started throwing darts at a picture every morning.”

“Darts?”

“Yes. I sit at my chair and throw a dart at the wall. The first times I tried, I couldn't even hit the wall. I'm better at it now.”

“So what are the darts for?”

“The one I hit becomes the girl of the day. I only wish I could tell her because I think she would take great pride in it.”

“But pretty soon some of the pictures will have lots of holes.”

“It's okay, I've got a large collection clear back to the fifties. Well, go ahead and do your detention, whatever that means. Just make sure to lock the door and turn off the lights before you leave.”

“Can do.”

Then he was alone. He didn't have any of the reading list books, but he did have a yellow notepad on a clipboard.

He began writing his name:

Lee Harvey Harvey Oswald Soft Feet Clyde Walks-in-twos

He tried to shorten it. He didn't really need the “Lee,” and the second Harvey was just a waste of space:

Harvey Oswald Soft Feet Clyde Walks-in-twos Porter

Then he was startled. The video cam was running, so a programmed voice came through the speaker: “You need to be working on the reading list.” He just gave the video cam the finger and returned to his name. He was getting very drowsy.

Harvey Porter

Maybe it was just that simple. He could just take his dodger's name. After all, his dodger helped him to learn petty thievery and ways of scamming people. And he always made sure there was a bed available for Harvey when they slept in homeless shelters. But he did like Clyde, and since Clyde Barrow wasn't really a bad guy, he thought a middle name might be nice.

The same message came through the speaker: “You need to be working on the reading list.” Harvey just gave the cam the finger again with his left hand, while writing:

Harvey Clyde Porter

By now he was so sleepy he folded his arms on the desk and rested his head. He was drifting into a deep sleep. The new name could wait. There was still lots of time to think it over.

“You need to be working on the reading list.”

But by now he was sound asleep and didn't even hear the message.

“You need to be working.…”

“You need.…”

“You.…”

About the Author

James W. Bennett's uncompromising, challenging books for teens have earned him recognition as one of the nation's leading—and most provocative—novelists for young adults. His fiction has been used in curricula at the middle school, high school, and community college levels.

His 1995 novel,
The Squared Circle
, was named the year's finest by
English Journal
and the
Voice of Youth Advocates
.

Bennett has served as a guest author at Miami Book Fair International, as a featured speaker at the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of the NCTE, and as a writer in residence (a program he established) for secondary schools in Illinois. He has also been the director for the Blooming Grove Writers Conference.