Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 14 - John

Chapter 14

“John” By Roseyone

      Indoors, with his thirst fully quenched, with his every word a bid for my father’s favor, John Woodstock had a way of talking that was something like what I’d heard in crime movies except John was less contained, more rapid, more rough, it wasn’t phoney, this disparity was close to the difference between a dog and a wolf.

“So, I left that lemon exactly where it was and thumbed it west. They can keep it for all I care. The whole thing was a racket anyways.” John explained over the last french fry on his plate. He had washed up for dinner, slicked his overgrown hair behind his ears, trimmed his partial beard just a fraction. Though John’s lips were still cracked he’d had enough water to clear his bloodshot, it was hard for me to not notice that his eyes had become dingy blue beneath the dining room lights. John was from New York City, his presence at the dinner table felt like ten people, he was twenty-six years old, three years out of the army and the Korean War.

      Good manners, hunger, greedy admiration and fear competed within me, I feared that John would tell my father about Mr. Abel and I silently routed for John to win over my father. When he tried to engage Matilda in the conversation she would stiffen, her eyes would drop to John’s tie, but she was no young girl, her bashful display was not only out of place but deceptive as well.

“Then, in Phoenix, I caught a rig but things didn’t work out too well. The driver was a funny uncle if you catch my drift Mr. Decascos.” John glanced over at me then at Matilda.

“Geez, excuse me please, I didn’t mean to offend the ladies present.” he offered.

“You’ll watch your mouth in my house John.” My father replied, cut into his steak and brought an impaled piece to his lips before he signaled with a quick nod for John to continue. John went on more slowly, much of his accent sloughed off as if he thought his natural way of speaking itself had been too dirty for our feminine ears and minds. I turned over what John had said, how different it was for a man I thought, he was able to simply walk away from an unwanted situation, I was stuck in a nightmare ruled by Mr. Abel.

“I have a friend south of the border…Baja, we’re starting up a business, deep sea fishing expeditions, a strictly high-toned set-up all the way. We’d be at it now but he can’t make a move for a while.” John looked around the table for a moment before he continued in a lower voice.

“See, his wife is in a delicate way. He won’t make any moves until afterward.” John revealed. My eyes went to his smooth hands then to his good bone structure, the curve of his forehead, the prominent sharp nose, glossy white smile framed by facial hair. John didn’t seem like the type who would enjoy squinting ugly with lobster skin in the middle of the ocean for hours at a time. No, surf, sea and sunlight made dried leather of good looks, John seemed rugged enough but he was much too handsome to trade his good looks for swordfish and rolling seas.

“When’s it due?” my father asked. John did not hesitate.

“End of August. So, I figure it’ll be October when we start.” Traces of a smirk curved John’s lips as if he thought he’d accomplished something.

“That’s just in time for the holiday crowd. You said that you ditched your car? Where exactly? We could arrange a tow.” my father said.

“About ten miles from a place called Stooge’s on route 260, westbound side. That’s near Show Low, Arizona. Probably been towed already by the same guy who gypped me on the repair bill. Either way, it’s dead to me now.” John sipped the last of the milk in his glass.

“You’re alright with dumping a Champion?” my father asked.

“I’m okay with dumping that one. I’ll keep away from Studebakers from now on though.” John said. His table manners were impeccable, he sat straight, tall, even arrogantly, the glow about him was not literal at all,it was actual, something felt more than seen but it was there nonetheless. My father watched him, listened, casually cross-examined, he reeled out the rope and sat back hunter-like behind a blind made of neutrality for John Woodstock to make a mistake. John didn’t fuck up, if he was lying I couldn’t tell, except for the impression I’d had about him working aboard a fishing yacht.