Welcome to Hellville

By Jack Moskovitz

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 20, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462835300

Jack Moskovitz

Former disk jockey, retired civil servant, life-long Nebraska resident, Jack Moskovitz also fled Duseberg, and now lives happily in Omaha with his: “chubby tummy” for whom this short story collection is dedicated.

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Copyright © 2000 by Jack Moskovitz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to

any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

PART ONE

HELLVILLE

BODY IN A BOX

BLIND ALLEY

TREADMILL

PART TWO

FIVE O’CLOCK FOOL

DEVIL’S DANCE

ELVIS ON THE BUS

LET IN THE DARK

LEAVE IT TO DEATH

To Ms. Johnny Hawkins

who likes thrift shops, kittens, and me.

PART ONE

HELLVILLE

HELLVILLE

One

With one claw, the robin clung to the screen. Wings open, flat, she seemed dazed, trapped.

Through the screen I touched her stomach. She flew a diagonal line to the neighboring ledge. Her shadow broke the sun’s reflection on the porch floor.

On this cool, August morning, I began to sweat. My heart beat with the strokes of the robin’s wings. The newspaper lay at my feet.

Mama, I said to the dark lump on the warehouse ledge. Is that you?

The robin flew under the warehouse eave.

A car passed; the sound of its wheels unbroken.

Mother’s will would be read today.

I went inside.

Cortina blinked, yawned.

Sleep well? I patted her butt.

I dreamed my absinthe dream, Jake. She went to the kitchenette and the coffeepot. Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, as I wander, as I wander, she said over her shoulder.

I was behind her now.

She turned. You’re like absinthe, old Jake-son. You make my belly hot while you feed on my brain. She gestured at the coffee and orange juice. Continental breakfast, without the con?

After you, Ms. Hawks.

Thank you, Mister Bauer.

After, I stripped for a shower.

She came over, whispered: I love you in that pose.

What pose?

This one. Her fingers grazed my belly, made it jiggle.

I don’t think. . . .

Don’t think, baby. Her tongue teased my ear.

Taking advantage of a naked man?

You bet.

Later, baby.

I wore my one suit: navy blue single breasted with pant cuffs; dark blue shirt; light blue tie; black alligators.

My baby looks like a prince.

Thank the thrift shops.

Missouri River mist rolled across downtown Omaha, where my pawnshop was. We lived over the shop, made love twice a week which was pretty good for a sixty-four year old man, doin’ the best he can, as Cortina said.

Since ma’s death, two weeks ago, Cortina and I lived like stones.

The shock of her death, today’s encounter with her other two sons made me impotent.

In the van, I said: Bob has the brains, Tim has the strength and I have small shoulders, big hips. . . .

A sexy mouth. . . .

And no balls.

That’ll pass.

Cortina smoothed her dark bangs, the short neck hair.

At five-nine, Cortina weighed one hundred ninety without an ounce of fat on those sweet bones.

She thought her breasts and butt were too large; first time I saw her on The Fifteen Club’s stage my cold stones warmed in a hurry.

Those worthless brothers of yours have your drop-downs. You believe their lies?

My brothers wanted success, had the morals of sewer rats. I wanted the pawnshop and a good woman. It took thirty years but here you are.

Here I am.

If you cheat on me. . . . I never have.

If you do, that’s okay. Remember where you live and don’t bring him or her or HIV into our house. Deal.

I parked next door to Manny Eisenman’s storefront law center.

Cory had her hand on the doorknob. Ready?

I saw something this morning.

I told her about the robin.

A lady bird after my sweet someone.

Am I?

And more.

I never saw a robin flatten itself against a screen door, hold on ‘til it had my attention.

What do you think it was?

A sign.

Of what? Your mother’s silently weeping spirit, trying, somehow, to comfort you? An early autumn. Sounds good.

Let’s go in.

From behind his desk, Manny waved us into the office. Bob and Tim sat in front of the desk. Two chairs, off to one side, were for Cory and me.

Still with the bitch? Tim said.

Still making it with Madame Thumb and her four daughters, Tim? I said.

Hey, guys, Manny said. Still douching with rosewater, Tim? I said. Bob said: Still got the shop on O Street, Jake? Zero Street, Tim said. More losers down there than there are in Vegas.

Hey, fellas, Manny said.

Let’s get this done so we can go, Cortina said.

Suddenly silent, the brothers examined their nails.

While you’re at it, I said, check each other for fleas.

Why don’t you screw a tree? Tim said.

Sounds delicious, Cortina said. I’ve got the redwood.

You got a coward. Tim clutched the chair’s arms.

An honest coward, I said.

Manny raised his hands. Guys, I’ve got a bond hearing in twenty minutes.

My head pounded. The forehead vein jumped.

Tim smirked. When I was a baby, four-eyes-Jake found one of my stools, thought it was a licorice drop.

I’ve been eating your garbage ever since. So that’s settled. Let’s get this done.

Don’t like my stink, fish? Tim said.

Ma hated it. When she needed help she called me.

That’s not exactly true, Bob said. When her house needed a new roof she called me. Tim was on vacation. . . .

In the pen, I said.

Tim wasn’t available and you were broke, Jake.

Yeah, Jake, you got what you wanted. A two story brick building in downtown, near the industrial park and warehouse district. A business you keep open eighteen hours a day to make bread and butter money, and a lady—so-called—who showed it to anyone with chump-change. Yeah, Jake, you’re a real success.

I don’t deal stolen stuff. . . .

Who knows what you do? Tim said.

Every time a body and an alley find each other I wonder which of you made it happen.

We don’t deal dope or dames or make a profit on the dead. Bob nudged the wise ass. Turn it off, kid.

Glaring, Tim muttered, then shut up.

Okay, fellas, Manny said. Like a dunce’s haircut: short and to the point.

Save the humor, Bob said.

Bob and Tim. Each gets ten thousand dollars. Jake, you get the house on Wellman Street and its contents.

What? they said.

Fellas, please, Manny said. I have a skull-splitter. Can’t stand the shouting.

So, sit. Tim laughed.

Bob scowled. That’s not right.

What else? I said.

Negotiable bonds. Bring them in, Jake, and I’ll divide them equally. There’s also the contents of her jewelry box. Mostly costume stuff.

The brooch, we said.

Sold. The proceeds donated to charity.

What?

Which one?

Who scammed her?

Our dear brother. What did he have to do with it?

Manny, I said. I’m going.

Sit your ass back down, Tim said. Or I’ll massage your knees and shove what’s left into your tonsils.

Many waved a long-barreled thirty-eight. The shadow swept the wall.

We shut up.

I’ll search the file again: come up with the receipt. She passed it to me for a tax credit on her estate. When I find it, I’ll call you.

I always was the freak, I said. That’s how they treated me, Cory. We’re not the Gershwin brothers.

Two of them, she said.

An honest coward, Tim said. Nice epitaph.

Timid Timmie, with the gimme-gimme, I said. When you’re jive-assing with the worms, that’s the tune I’ll dance to.

Boys, boys, Bob said. Let’s examine this realistically. I last saw mother around Thanksgiving. Tim, you were off the street for six months, saw ma one year ago. Jake visited her, took her for rides, mowed the lawn, swept the snow.

Found her body, I said.

He earned what he got, Tim.

Not yet he hasn’t, Tim said. And, say, sis, where’s the gold coins?

She pawned them, I said.

We remember, Bob said.

Mother’s last mistake: remember? You used a stolen telephone credit card, ran up a thousand dollar bill.

Liar.

Ma sold the coins, paid off your bill. The phone company got its money and didn’t prosecute.

Manny said: She cashed in four of the ten bonds your dad left so you two boys could get the bequests before the will went into probate. The money was to keep you two from hassling Jake about the house.

Ain’t fair, Tim said.

Mother figured you and Bob had enough. Jake’s finances are precarious. You boys are on solid ground, financially. So, boys, I’ll probate the paper, hope the receipt turns up, send you my bill, equally divided.

After lunch, Cory and I went to the house. The living room was dusty, humid. Cory threw back the drapes, opened the