Date: Sat, 22 Dec 2012 11:54:58 -0500 From: Sean Williams Subject: The Nicholson Boy, Chapter 8 The Nicholson Boy Chapter 8 "So this guy walks into Joe Lancaster's place down on State Street and asks for six bottles of Jack, the older the better." "Uh Huh. "And, get this, he even shows Joe his driver's license. Ha! His... his driver's license! And... And... and when Joe returns from the back with the case of Jack, this guy pulls out a pistol and says 'Give me everything you got!'. But, get this, he's wearin' a Robin costume, you know like Batman and Robin, and when he takes the case of Jack with all the cash from the register, he... he... ha!.. he asks Joe for his driver's license back... and... and... and then he leaves with the Jack and the money..." "Oh no! Ha!" "And he goes, I don't know where he goes after that, ha ha, but we find him at home half drunk on Jack and still wearin' his Robin costume..." "And you know where he lives because Joe saw his name and his address on the driver's license." "Yep, goddamn dummy, and he just comes to the door wearin' his Robin costume, this yellow and black costume, and he tries to run off but he's wearin these boots with the high laces and trips over the laces... Ha ha! So we nab him and take him down to the prison because there's an old warrant out." "What can you say, right, Rob?" "Yeah, what can you say?" the sheriff's deputy answered back. "It's Halloween." Yep. It was Halloween. I was sitting in the Sheriff's Office listening to and watching the Sheriff's deputies fill out the paper work for recent arrests (and whatever it is that they do in the Sheriff's department) and tell stories about all the weird things that went down this last week before Halloween. But now Halloween was here. It was a day that I had been thinkin' about pretty much from the moment that I arrived at this wacky college. I think the first thing people here asked me even before they wanted to know my name was what I was wearin' for Halloween. And if you had an idea they figured wasn't a good one they laid into you for it. Why? Because Halloween was the day that Frank Nicholson crashed his red Camaro into the stands of the baseball field back in '69 and so all people could think about at this school was what everybody else was wearin' for Halloween. Because Halloween was Frank's day. And here he was, Frnak Nicholson, that is, sittin' behind a dozen cold bars in the back of the Sheriff's Office in town, and here I was, legs up on a desk in the office, tryin' to figure out what the fuck had happened, what I was gonna do, and how things had ended up like this. It wasn't the first time I was in a jail. My Dad, my real Dad, had gotten arrested one time when I was a little kid and me and my Mom had spent the night in the jail while we waited for my grandparents to bring the cash for the bail, but, man, that was such a long time ago. I felt this weird feeling in this place. I can't really describe it. I felt this racin' feelin', like my heart was beatin' really face and my brain was buzzin', but I felt kinda excited, too. I mean, I was tired, but I felt like I could stay up all night if I had to. Maybe some of it was all the coffee the deputies had given me, but, I mean, I had to know what had happened to Frank. Like I said, I could see Frank from where I was sittin'. I was sittin' in a chair on the other side of the Sheriff's desk, but the Sheriff wasn't hear right now. That's why I had my legs up on his desk. Right on top of his papers. "And that wasn't even the craziest thing I saw this week," said Rob. That was the guy that had told the story before. He wasn't a bad lookin' dude. I think I had seen him in plain clothes in town before. He was kind of a bigger, former football player type of guy and he filled out his beige uniform pretty good. Even though I was here in the Sheriff's office waitin' to find out what they were gonna do with Frank, I couldn't help but think that it would be pretty awesome if I could spring Frank outta the joint and we could fuck the bejeezus out of all the Sheriff's deputies. You know, man, just kinda handcuff 'em and bend them over the desks and just fuck 'em until their asses were sore. Maybe we might give their asses a beatin' with the black batons first and then just fuck 'em as hard as we could! Talk about stickin' it to the law! I mean, I don't know if Frank killed Coach Gunn or not because he hadn't said a word about it to me and I wasn't in the room when the Sheriff took his statement late last night, but I couldn't see any good reason NOT to fuck these guys. So, here I was, with my legs up on the Sheriff's desk, sproutin' a a pretty impressive hard-on, when I heard the sound of the office door slammin' shut. "What in the name of Jesus is goin' on in this place?" asks the Sheriff. The deputies scramble around, standin' up straighter and what not, and try to look like they are doin' work. "Get your goddamn legs off my desk!" I hear the Sheriff say and I feel a hard slap on the back of my head. I suddenly sit up, bringin' my legs down, naturally, and I have kind of a guilty look as the sheriff looks me dead in the eyes. The Sheriff shakes his head at me and I can tell that he's tryin' to figure out why exactly I am here. I guess he's wonderin' what the relationship between me and Frank is. I wonder if he guessed that the hot smell he detected on Frank when he arrested him was my dried cum on Frank's back. Maybe not, but I don't know for sure. The Sheriff ignores me when he asks: "So what's goin' on with the kid?" "The kid in the Robin costume, Sheriff?" asks Rob, the deputy. "He's down at the county prison, sir." As I'm listening to the Sheriff, I turn and look outta the front window of the office where I see this shadowy figure occassionally lookin' in and then disappear. Somehow the figure seems familiar to me, especially the rather prominent rear end. "No, Becker, the kid in the cell. The Nicholson boy. What we got on him?" "Well, actually we don't got nothin', Sheriff. He says he doesn't have a social security number and so we can't run a background on him." The Sheriff laughs. "Okay," he says, sorta stretchin' out the word. "What about his license? You did run his driver's license didn't you, Sherlock?" "Yessir, I did. The thing is, his driver's license says it expired in 1975 and I can't find nothin' on that either. Our computer records don't go back before '92." The Sheriff has this look on his face like he's the only sane person in a nuthouse and I kinda feel sorry for him. I mean, he can't seem to piece together that Frank really is dead and that this Rob Becker guy isn't an idiot, it's just that the whole story is a mess. "Alright, so we'll have to consult the paper records," and the Sheriff thumbs back toward a back room. I guess that's where they keep the "paper records." "Alright, kid," and the Sheriff gives me the intense look. "There's no reason for you to be here, so why don't you get on home, now. Alright?" "But... um... what about bail? I mean, I don't have any money, but aren't you supposed to set bail if he's waitin' to see the judge?" "Well, lookey here, kid, the thing is we can't set bail if we don't have any record of this kid's existence, now can we? We don't even have a social security number or a valid driver's license. You can come back later, kid. We can consult the county birth records. Rob call the county registrar's office! Get on home now, ok?" "But it's Halloween." "I know it's Halloween." "But Frank's dead, and he died on Halloween, and... um... today's Halloween." The Sheriff shakes his head again. "If you don't get outta my office I'm gonna charge you with obstruction, got it?" Alright, so that meant I had to set feet to pavement and git. I mean, there was no reason for both me and Frank to be in jail. So I sorta give Frank a head nod as I leave the Sheriff's Office. It feels awfully cold when I close the door of the Sherif's office. There's like this gust of wind and it's freezin' even though it's only October and it's Tennessee and Tennessee is supposed to be a pretty warm place this time of year. But I can't do nothin' about that. I guess I was gonna have to walk back to my dorm. A good five or six miles, I guess. "Look at you, dipshit, you're not even wearin' your Flash Gordon costume," says a voice about a minute after I walk outta the Sherif's Office. "You do know it's Halloween, right?" It was obviously Matheson. I knew I recognized that juicy ass I had seen from the window. "Yeah, I know it's Halloween. How could I forget?" "Alright, so let's go home and get your costume! I don't think anybody can pull off Flash Gordon but you. You need a ride?" "No," I answered, even though I did. "I'll walk it." "No, you won't," said Brian. "I'm parked right down the road, by the post office. Just come over to the car and get in, dumbass." "I missed you, too, Brian." "What?" "Nothin'." We reached Brian's car, this big lifted Jeep Wrangler. Kind of a nice car. I was definitely a little envious. I mean, I had no car at all. "So let's go back and get a pizza, alright, Allston? Extra herrings." That sounded really awesome, but I wasn't really in the mood for food. Yeah, I know, it wasn't like me to turn down a meal, but I had a lot on my mind and all the coffee that I had to drink in the Sheriff's office had me so hyped up that I couldn't even think about food. I told Brian I wasn't hungry. "Yeah, you are," he said as he opened the passenger side door for me. "Extra herrings." I wasn't gonna argue. "Did you hear about Coach Gunn," I asked Matheson as he got into the driver's seat and put his key in the ignition. I looked him squarely in the face to gauge his reaction. I mean, Coach Gunn was dead! That was big news for a small town like this. "Yeah, pretty crazy, huh?" That was it. "I meant, did you know that he's dead? Somebody killed him, Matheson." "Yep, I know about that, too. That's fuckin' wild, man." I thought it was a little weird that Matheson was so nonchalant about it, but it was Halloween after all and everyone was actin' a little weird. "Yeah, he got stabbed with a fireplace poker," said Matheson. "Pretty fuckin' wild. It's a crazy fuckin' world, man! You comin' to practice tomorrow?" "Yeah, I'm comin' to practice." Matheson put his hand on my thigh as he the car drove one-handed. "I hope we get that hot pizza boy again. Man, was he a slut! He just couldn't get enough." I didn't say anything. I wondered when I would get a chance to go back to the Sheriff's Office and see Frank. Maybe by then they would have figured out that Frank really was dead. I really thought that when the time on the clock that Frank died back in '69 came round Frank might just evaporate into thin air and I hoped that I might see him again before that happened. "I mean," said Matheson, "if that pizza boy doesn't show up this time that would be cool, too, because then it would be just me and you, Tucker, and that would be awesome. I mean, you are like the most annoyin kid on Earth, dipshit, but I'm hungry and... um... I need someone to share the pizza with." We reached Matheson's dorm not long after that. Matheson stopped the car and we stepped out. [TO BE CONTINUED] [Send all comments to the address above. Thanks for everything, buds! Happy Holidays and please support the Nifty archive or I wouldn't have any place to send my stories to. 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