Down These Mean Streets, A Man Must Go

Chapter One

P.O.V. Elliot

August, 1992

My rusty 1971 Chevy pickup rattles and attempts to turn over, but fails, as is custom during the hot, dry summers of Kansas.

"Car troubles, again, Orman?", a man's voice calls.

"Yeah, she's getting too old, Mr. Rhodes. I might have to retire her," I respond.

"Nonsense," he pauses, "You know, Elliot, if your dad was still around, he'd have her running in a day."

"Yeah, he would," I change the subject, "mind if I use the landline to call Amory?"

"Be my guest."

Jasper Rhodes was a real swell fellow. He owned the town grocery store and always had the best strawberries. He was my dad's best friend, but my dad passed a few years back due to pancreatic cancer. Ever since then, Mr. Rhodes has always been there for me, whether it be a phone call or cooking for my sister, Eden, and I dinner when our mom has to pull all-nighters at the hospital.

I crank the dial on the phone: 620-555-1245, hoping that Amory is home.

Amory is my best friend; always has been. He's the closest person to a brother I've ever had. We're almost always together.

Today I had to work at The Flumen, the "fanciest diner in town", owned by the one and only: Ulysses Rutherford, Calhoun's mayor. He is quite the character, very flamboyant and gaudy, but I'm not a fan of him.

Amory and I had plans tonight to get the gang together and have one last "hoorah" before the school year started, and as always my truck was nominated as the taxi, so I needed to get home and grab some tools to fix her.

Finally, Amory picked up.

"Hey, Amory, Ol' Reliable isn't being so reliable right now, you think you could come pick me up? I'm at Rhodes'."

"Again? Man, Elliot, that's five times this month."

"I know, I know. But will ya come get me?"

"Yeah, yeah, be there in 5."

"Thanks."

I gave my thanks to Mr. Rhodes and headed outside to go meet Amory.

While I was sitting on the curb at Main and 1st, I heard some shouting and, as one does, eavesdropped:

"... they onto us, Oswald?"

"Hell no, you think I'm that stupid?"

"I really don't know what to believe anymore after last month."

"Hey, I already told you that was mother's fault."

"Sure it was. Oswald, I swear, if Wilson Finlay founds out, he'll tear the whole oper..."

HONK.

"Good God, Amory, was that necessary?" I half screamed.

"No, but it sure as hell was funny. Let's go."

I hopped in Amory's car, and tried to peer down the alley where the shouting was coming from, but no one was there. It was probably some kids stealing from a shop.

A voice pierced my thoughts, "You ready for tonight? I stole some beer from my dad's stock." Amory proclaimed, clearly pleased with himself.

"Score. I'll call Esme and Mattie when we get to my place."

Amory marveled, "It's gonna be one to remember."

And memorable, it was.