Chapter 23: A turn for the better

The Town Government classes I'd taken at college did little to prepare me for my work in Perryville. It became clear to me that my professors, while well versed in parliamentary procedure, budgets, and public service, lacked practical experience. Actually managing a town was foreign to them.

How Berry could cope with the political backstabbing was beyond me. At twenty-six, he'd become an all-knowing, crowd-pleasing, public administrator. He may have benefited from Mr. Perryman's tutelage, but that's not where he learned to listen to the other members of the town council and to the citizens who attended the meetings. That was not Mr. Perryman's style at all. The old man had his own idea of town management, and it was unique. He was an authoritarian, and bowed to no man.

Mr. Perryman definitely left his mark on the town. Berry was slowly making changes to operate the town government in a more traditional fashion. Still to be resolved was his dual position as town manager and member of the town council, which was a holdover from Mr. Perryman's tenure.

My position as Director of Tourism had been Berry's idea, and I was indebted to him for that. I was also indebted to him for giving me the idea for the sign at the outskirts of town. The sign had not only been responsible for the first wave of visitors to the town; it had led to Mr. Perryman noticing me and giving me the opportunity to attend college at the town's expense. It was during the time that I was working for Mr. Perryman that I had the opportunity to investigate the town's history. Without that, I would not have learned about the gunfight, and there would have been no reenactment.

I was also indebted to Kitty for her part in making her husband notice me, and more recently for urging Berry and the other members of the town council to offer me my new position. She contended that I'd paid my debt to the town by working tirelessly to write the scripts, select the actors, and direct them in the skits that brought visitors to our town.

As the summer season approached, I had a full agenda planned. In addition to making a success of the 'Gunfighter and Barmaid sketch, ' I was determined to convince Berry and the council that I could fill the motels and restaurants with visitors. I'd advertised the wedding of the town manager and the schoolteacher as an upcoming attraction, hired a judge from the county seat to perform the ceremony, and written a special script. From the response I was receiving, it promised to be the highlight of the season.

Having so many bosses didn't appeal to me at all. What had been explained to me as a position of autonomy was turning out to be anything but. In addition to the town council looking over my shoulder, every citizen in town considered me a public servant who needed their constant direction. The merchants were the worst. They had committed to pay my salary, and wanted a return on their investment.

The turnout at town council meetings packed the meeting room, and tourism, or the lack of it, was often the first topic on the docket. The first anniversary of Mr. Perryman's untimely death went by without notice. The crowd was having too much fun taking me to task. While pleased with the number of visitors on weekends, the motel owners complained that they couldn't offer their help full time jobs. Mr. Tuttle and Ben Brooks agreed with them, saying that their staffs were threatening to go elsewhere to acquire full time work. I countered by pointing out that school was still in session and our program would be expanded to seven days per week once families could travel.

This failed to satisfy the business people who were paying the rather steep advertising tab, and seeing that I was stumped for words, Berry spoke up.

"Mickey is pursuing more activities to give our visitors reasons to stay longer. Just last week he came to me with the idea of offering horseback riding as an attraction. He's taken the initiative to locate an establishment with excellent equestrian credentials. Additionally, he is working on other ideas, aren't you, Mickey?"

I was so startled by his coming to my rescue, that it took me a few seconds to form my response. "That's right, we'll be advertising the training classes and the trail rides on the website soon."

After considerable discussion regarding the town's legal exposure and the rancher's willingness to pick up his share of the advertising expense, it was determined that my idea would attract families and the council voted to let me proceed.

After the very successful meeting, Berry and Claire stopped by the house for a late night visit. Kitty let us congratulate each other for five minutes on how we'd turned an awkward moment into a victory before she interrupted our fun.

"Did Mickey tell you the news?"

Berry and Claire exchanged questioning looks before shrugging their shoulders.

"He went to a laboratory to find out if his sperm was active or passive, and when they called to tell him that he had nothing to fear, he said, 'I know.'"

It took another minute for the meaning of what Kitty had told them to register with Berry and Claire. Their first expression was to show shock, then disbelief.

"Does that mean ... are you... ?" Claire asked Kitty.

Kitty half smiled, half blushed. "It means exactly what you think it means."

"When? I mean, how long?" Claire asked.

"Three weeks, we think, but you can't imagine how much time we waste trying to pin down the exact time it happened. Mickey swears it was one lunchtime when he came home and found me putting Matilda down for her nap, and he curled his finger in his special, come hither way. I contend that it was that same night, but who cares. It happened, and we're both very excited about it."

"Does that mean that you'll be taking our place on the boardwalk?" Berry asked, looking hopeful, and missing Claire's suspicious stare.

When Kitty didn't answer, we looked at her, waiting.

"I don't think so. We haven't decided to take that big step."

"WHAT?" I shouted in dismay. "You said I had to prove that I was virile. I did more that that, I knocked you up!"

Berry and Claire, wanting to avoid an argument, couldn't leave fast enough. Kitty hardly noticed their departure.

"What I said was that you would need to prove that you're not sterile. I didn't agree to marry you. It was only a condition, not a commitment," she said, calmly, making me think that I was losing my mind. I was beside myself.

"I know what you said, but now you're going back on your word."

"I am not going back on my word," she said, before getting up and leaving the room. I sat at the kitchen table for two hours, staring into space. When I finally went to bed, Kitty joined me. I felt her arm go around me.

"I love you more than anything, Mickey, but I'm afraid. One mistake is one too many. I don't want to wind up like my mother."

Her reference to her mother gave me the idea for a three-pronged campaign. At the top of the list was convincing Kitty to marry me, but I felt her mother's constant mooching was a major obstacle. There was one other thing that bothered me. I decided to tackle it first.

"Can we shorten Matilda's name to Millie?" I asked.

"Of course, Darling," she answered, as if she knew that I had trouble calling the baby by my mother's name. "She adores you, and I'm sure she won't mind being known as Millie."

It was true, the little girl had her mother's disposition, and like Kitty, smiled every time she saw me.

The next day was Friday, and it turned out to be a busy day for me. In addition to final preparations for the weekend productions, I had a telephone call from Berry and a visit from Kenny. Berry didn't mention the night before, and I didn't either.

"A realtor is opening an office. I briefed her on how we support your efforts, and told her to expect a visit from you," he said. I thanked him, but before I left my office, Kenny came through the door, wearing a baseball cap with a crooked T above the bill. He seemed nervous, like he didn't know where to begin.

I tried to break the tension. "I didn't know you were a Rangers fan."

He shrugged, and began to tell me what he'd come to say. "One of my bartenders overheard something that you need to know about. It may be nothing, but hear me out anyway."

Kenny and I had never been close, but I'd never known him to be untruthful. "Shoot," I said.

"The guy that's shacked up with Kitty's mother told his drinking buddy that he was out to get you, something about you trying to influence Kitty not to give her mother her monthly check."

"Monthly check? Shit! I didn't know it was that often. What does this guy look like?"

"Picture a weasel crossed with a wild turkey, beady eyes, long neck, and as skinny as a rail."

The description didn't sound like anyone I'd seen around town. Hell, I didn't know if I would recognize Kitty's mother if I saw her on the street. That was strange, seeing how everyone knew everyone in a town the size of Perryville, but we didn't cross paths. I was a day person, while she was a night person. "Did you get his name?"

"He goes by Jay Carson, although his first name may be John. He's new in town, only been hanging out at the pool hall for a couple of weeks."

"Thanks, Kenny." I said, and watched him pause when he reached the door. Was he going to berate me for selecting Agnes to play the barmaid? Instead, he tipped his cap and left.

The new realtor was busy overseeing the installation of a sign, but she greeted me with a firm handshake, and a raised eyebrow.

We'd had other realtors try to make a go of it in Perryville, but with the glut of houses on the market, buyers could easily deal directly with the owner and save the commission. I could see that Renee La Rue was different. I had to admire her professional savvy. The location she'd chosen for her office was one of the best in town, she was dressed impeccably, and she had a Mediterranean look that was sure to attract the attention of our citizenry.

She divided her attention between what I had to say and the sign, which read, 'La Rue Real Estate' in gold lettering on a blue background.

As I explained who I was and the reason I was there, she acted as though she hadn't heard how we worked things. "That sounds like a shakedown to me," she said.

"Didn't Berry tell you to expect a visit from me? All businesses pay their share of the advertising costs. In return, I put on reenactments of our early history which brings tourists to Perryville," I said, pointing to the banner that hung above Main Street.

"What's that got to do with me? I'm not interested in tourists. I'm interested in buyers, and I'm perfectly capable of doing my own advertising."

She was a feisty little shit. "Are you saying that if tourists show interest in settling in Perryville, you'll send them away?"

She was cagey, too. "It's been my experience that tourists who show interest in real estate only want to waste my time. Yes, I'll send them away. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an office to get ready for its grand opening."

I complained to Berry. "How could you issue a license without making sure she would pay her way?"

Berry may have taken into account that I was still upset about Kitty's attitude about marriage, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. "What if we make you a member of the licensing board? I'll clear it with the town council."

"Who else is on the board?" I asked, wanting to see what kind of bureaucrat I would be up against.

"Just you and me," he said, smiling, and I had to smile back at him.

I asked what could be done about the realtor. He told me that her license was only for a year, and that my term would be for three years. That was good enough for me.

"What goes around comes around," I said, as I left his office.

Kitty and I got into another argument about her stand on marriage. I tried to convince her that marrying me would not be a mistake. She differed with me, pointing to her marriage to Mr. Perryman as a mistake, and her mother's string of mistakes. That's when I decided to pay her mother and her live-in boyfriend a visit.

Beulah was not exactly hospitable. She let me know in a sarcastic tone that, "Jay's not here. If he was, he would kick your ass," she said, before opening the door to invite me inside.

"Jay's the reason I came to see you. I understand that he's been making idle threats against me."

"They're not idle threats. I've got myself a real ornery hombre this time. He swears that he's going to get what I've got coming to me."

I was dumbstruck, unable to think of anything to say in retort. Could this woman be Kitty's mother? There was some physical resemblance, but that's where it ended. She was beyond reason, and the heavily applied makeup gave her a hardened look. I asked her to tell Jay that I was looking for him and left.

"Call me B," she called after me, in a futile attempt to win my support.

I didn't tell Kitty about Kenny's warning that Jay Carson was out to get me, although it was certainly on my mind. She begged off attending the reenactment performances on Saturday, saying that she expected her shops to be especially busy. I'll always be thankful that she was not there to witness what happened at the matinee performance, and she'll always regret that she missed it.

Mr. Sizemore was setting the scene, and making sure the audience had a clear view of the boardwalk where the action was to take place, when a stranger came around the side of the backdrop. A hush came over the audience. Those who had been there before whispered to others that it was the gunslinger's adversary because they'd seen Dick Avery, the actor who played opposite to Roscoe, come from that same direction.

I was seated in my director's booth, and recognized Jay Carson by the description Kenny had given me. The cross between a weasel and a wild turkey could not have been more accurate.

Mr. Sizemore caught on to what the audience was thinking; that Dick was merely making an early appearance, and didn't say anything to the contrary. He continued setting the scene as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Jay Carson didn't cooperate. He interrupted Mr. Sizemore, making it clear to the audience that he was not one of the actors by calling me out.

"You think you can keep all the cash for yourself, but you're wrong. That girl's got a short memory. She don't remember everything B done for her. Well, it's payback time and there ain't nothing you can do about it."

Mr. Sizemore appealed to the audience, explaining that this was not part of the show, and asking it to move back. Part of the show or not, the audience wasn't budging.

I heard someone exclaim, "HE'S GOT A GUN!"

The person was right. Jay Carson was wielding what looked like a .45 caliber firearm, and he was pointing it at me.

"I'll teach you to meddle in other people's business," he said, waving the pistol around haphazardly. I panicked, looked for an escape, and finding none, took solace in three things that were happening. Mr. Sizemore was remaining calm, the audience was heeding his advice to take cover, and I saw Roscoe coming through the swinging doors of the backdrop.

"You're drunk, Sir," Roscoe said, in his best actor's voice.

"Stay out of this ... cow ... cowboy. This ain't none of your con ... bus ... ness," Jay said, and I noticed the slurred speech for the first time. His body was weaving, and his eyes were glazed.

Roscoe edged closer to me, and whispered, "Fire department."

"What you talkin about?" Jay asked, still waving the gun erratically.

"I was just saying there may be a card game going on down at the fire station. They have the Sheriff's number on speed dial."

Use of cell phones was discouraged at our reenactments, but I had mine out in seconds, hoping Roscoe was right about there being a Saturday afternoon card game in progress.

The guy that answered the phone must have thought it was a wrong number and hung up. He answered my second call with, "Stop fucking around!" and would probably have hung up again if he hadn't heard Jay's firearm discharge. I brought the phone to my ear and spoke rapidly, telling him to call the sheriff.

Jay was looking directly at me, but it didn't register that I was calling for help because he seemed puzzled at how the gun could have fired.

"Mickey, is that you?"

"We're on Second Street, just off Main. Get help," I said, cutting the volunteer fireman off in mid-sentence.

Jay was pointing the pistol at Roscoe, telling him to move. Roscoe obeyed him, and now the gun was being pointed at me. He'd seen the phone.

"Give," Jay demanded, in a one word command. I was extending my arm to hand my phone over to him when I spotted Roscoe drawing his own pistol. I'll always remember thinking, 'Doesn't he know that gun shoots blanks, ' when I saw him bringing the butt end down on the back of Jay's head.

What followed will always be a blur in my mind. I vaguely recall my phone dropping to the pavement, along with Jay, the siren of the town's only fire engine blaring, and the crowd rushing in to get a view of the man who had interrupted the performance. When my head began to clear, I saw Dick peeking around the corner of the backdrop.

A second siren, more distant, could be heard as the Perryville fire engine arrived, and the volunteer firemen took charge. They had gathered at the fire station to play cards, and it was evident by their dress that they had not expected to respond to an emergency. Anyway, the crowd cheered as Mr. Jay Carson was revived and literally carried to the fire engine.

The second siren turned out to be a car from the Sheriff's department. Two deputies took possession of Jay Carson, which was just as well since we didn't have a holding cell in town. One of the deputies told us the sheriff was on his way, and that he would want to talk to some of us.

I was in favor of canceling the afternoon performance, but Roscoe was keyed up and wanted to go on. Agnes came out of hiding and sided with Roscoe. Mr. Sizemore reassembled the crowd, explained that nothing like this had ever happened before, and we would take measures to prevent it from happening in the future.

Naturally, the crowd wanted to know what had provoked the gunman. I told them it would be explained in the weekly newspaper, not that I intended to keep my word. I was just buying time until I could think of a plausible story.