The Norphlet Mafia, Chapters 17 & 18 Post 22

When we met the next morning, Mrs. Graves was out in the yard feeding those stinking Chihuahuas. When I took a good look at her yard and house, I nearly choked. Shoot, it had been dark when I came up with the idea of fixing and cleaning up her house and yard. But in bright daylight I noticed that the danged grass was about halfway up to my knees, the flowerbeds were so full of weeds you couldn’t see the flowers, and there was so much dirt on her windows it was hard for the sun to get through. But we didn’t have a choice, so I walked up to Mrs. Graves who was feeding her little “friends” and said, “Mrs. Graves we’re Boy Scouts, and we here to do our good deed for the day. We’re going to mow your yard, clean out your flowerbeds, and clean all the windows in your house.” Yeah, the Boy Scouts’ good-deed thing was a lie, but I couldn’t think of any other reason that I could tell her. You know like, “We’re trying to look good so the Marshal won’t send us to reform school.” But what I didn’t expect was how she acted. It took a few minutes for it to sink in, but when she saw my lawn mower, she really lit up. “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Boys, last night after I shot a couple of holes in my front door thinking I was shooting at burglar. I prayed the Lord would send me some help to fix up my door, mow my yard, and clean up my house! You boys are an answer to prayer!” Well, I have been called a lot of things, but being an answer to prayer ain’t one of ’em. “And, boys, while you’re at it, I have another door out in the shed behind the house. You wouldn’t mind hanging it for me would you?” “No, ma’am; we’ll get it,” I said as Ears and John Clayton just shot a hole through me with their eyes. ’Course I was wondering where Mr. Paul was so I asked, “Mrs. Graves where’s the man who was staying with you?” “Well, boys, after he got drunk last night and made up all those tales about manure and a animal’s head in his bed, Marshal Wing put him in jail to sober up. He got out of jail at daylight, and he was down at Fred Smith’s garage when Fred opened up at seven. Wanted him to clean his car; said it smelled. He was back here at nine, but he was still all upset. It seemed Fred cleaned his car and found two animal ears in it, but it still smelled to high heaven.” Yeah, it crossed my mind that they didn’t find the goat’s head under the backseat. Mrs. Graves kept talking, “And he was so upset. Finally, he put on one of those masks that painters wear to keep from breathing fumes, and just took off heading back to Little Rock.” The Norphlet Mafia had run the private eye out of town! Chapter 18 Trying to Look Good Okay, now I know I have done some stupid things, but agreeing to do all that yard and housework was right up there with kicking a wasp’s nest. Heck, it was mid-August and this is Arkansas not Alaska, and talk about hot… The weatherman said it was gonna be a record-setter, and that record was hot, not cold. But we were trapped like a rat in a barrel of cats. Either whip 10 cats, work like dogs, or get sent to reform school. Well, it wasn’t that bad early on, but it was a cloudless day, and my noon we were nearly just plain out of it. Mrs. Graves saved the day by bringing us a big, cold glasses of lemonade. As she handed up the lemonade she said, “Boys, I wish I could pay you, but I only get a small check from my late husband’s Social Security to get by on. Y’all know I raise Chihuahuas to help, but this has been a bad year, and I still have a whole litter that I haven’t sold yet because someone sprayed bleach on them. Sometimes I have to wait a week to buy groceries, but I am frying chicken for lunch, so you boys just wash up in about thirty minutes, and come sit to the table.” Yeah, I felt especially bad, ’cause I figured shooting the puppies with bleach had probably caused them not to get sold. And then to top it off, I had caused my two good friends to get all tangled up with everything, and all of us still might still get arrested. But, as I finished up the side part of the yard, I heard my stomach growling like some old bear, and I knew feeling bad was gonna get shoved to the back of my mind while I devoured that fried chicken. We had just finished lunch, and were about to start back to work when I saw Marshal Wing coming up the sidewalk. You bet I stopped breathing, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck just stick straight up. Well, the Marshal kinda slowed down and Mrs. Graves went out to talk with him. “Marshal, I sure hate it that my nephew caused so much trouble last night.” “Mrs. Graves, don’t you worry about that. I think he might have had a couple of beers too many down at Peg’s place. Anyway, I understand, he’s headed back to Little Rock.” “Well, maybe that’s for the best—oh, Marshal, look at my yard and house! I have had a prayer answered. These wonderful boys just showed up this morning, and they have been working all day. They’re little angels.” Well, I was watching Marshal Wing real closely, and he kinda frowned at “wonderful,” but as Mrs. Graves kept going on and on about all the stuff we had done, he kinda nodded. Well, we acted like we couldn’t wait to get back to work, especially with the Marshal standing right there. We had finished eating, and you bet it was good—the lemonade and fried chicken really pepped us up. But, you know, I really don’t think it was the lemonade and fried chicken. It was knowing that what we were doing was really helping a little old lady, who was just dirt poor, even if we were doing it for the wrong reasons. It was about 5 o’clock when we hung that new door—after we had to take it down to Boynton’s Hardware Store to get it cut down. Yeah, we were all just standing out in the front yard with Mrs. Graves, and she was telling us how good of a job we’d done when I saw a shadow on the grass, and it crossed my mind that it must be a big bird flying low. And then I heard a dog’s wild yelp, and we all turned and looked at the back yard where the 10 little Chihuahuas were scampering around, except now there were only nine. The biggest chicken hawk you have ever seen was taking off with one of the Chihuahuas in its claws. “Oh! Oh! The hawk has Prince Charming! Ahaaaaaaaaaaa!” You bet that scream from Mrs. Graves would easily have broken glass. “Richard do something! Save Prince Charming!” “Huh?” Yeah how am I supposed to save Prince Charming? That dang hawk was flying out of the back yard with little Prince Charming in its claws, and I didn’t have a clue what to do. But after Mrs. Graves let out another shriek, I figured I had better act like I was trying to do something, so I took off running after the hawk. Well, Prince Charming must have been a little heavy ’cause the hawk was flying low and it looked as if it was going to light. Oh my gosh, I thought. The hawk is going to light in that big tree ahead, and it’ll start eating Prince Charming! I turned on the speed, and I was nearly to the tree when the danged hawk lit. The hawk was about 30 feet up, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the hawk just ignored me. I guess that bird was tired of carrying a fat, little Chihuahua so it didn’t move. In fact it kinda glared down at me and then took a good look at supper. I’ve got to do something, I thought. Then I remembered my slingshot. Shoot, I grabbed it out of my back pocket just as the hawk plucked the first hair from Prince Charming and the little dog let out a yelp, I put a rock in the pouch and drew the rubber straps back. If I didn’t do something quickly it would be too late. I sent the first rock at the hawk, but I missed and it sailed right past it. Heck, I can get a second rock off real quick, though, and I did. When I let it go I knew it was gonna be real close and might even hit the hawk. It did. The second rock was right on target. Whap! It caught that hawk right below his neck, and although I knew a rock from a slingshot wasn’t gonna kill a big chicken hawk, it might upset it enough to drop Prince Charming. And it did! With a big screech, the danged chicken hawk jumped straight up, turned little Prince Charming loose, and flew off. I looked up to see a flying Chihuahua headed for the ground about 10 feet away. Heck, I play junior football for the Norphlet Leopards, and that brown ball of fur looked just like a football, so I made a dog-saving catch. ’Course I figured the dog would be kinda cut up from being clawed by a supersize chicken hawk, but outside of a couple of scratches, it was fine. Yeah, coming back up to Mrs. Graves’ house after saving one of her favorite dogs was really something. She was just going on and on about how wonderful I was when Marsha Wing walked back up. After about 10 minutes of telling Marshal Wing how great we were, she said there should be some kinda of a medal for saving Prince Charming. I figured it couldn’t get any better than that so we gathered up our tools and started back down the sidewalk toward town. Marshal Wing was right behind us, and when we turned the corner, he said kinda softly, “Boys, if I was y’all I’d forget I ever heard of the Norphlet Mafia.” He kinda smiled as he walked away, and I knew right then—no reform school. We were almost back downtown when Ears said something, “Y’all know what I’ve been thinking?” “Naw, what Ears?” I replied. “I think we should come back next week to Mrs. Graves’s house and do the same thing.” Then John Clayton piped up. “Yeah, and then the next week and the week after that…” “Hold it right there,” I said. “Let’s don’t get carried away.” The End