BigCat & the Tapdance Kid ~1

Short Story ~1150 words ...

 Guys and Duds ...the cleaned-up version

Copyright © 2021 by John D. Major

Scene 1

It’s late fall, 1970, a Monday, 10:05 pm. A canary yellow MGB is parked behind Wing’s Laundromat. Alex, AKA the BigCat, 19, is behind the wheel; David, AKA, the Tapdance Kid, 18, is sitting shotgun. They are four-each into a case of Bud, listening to a ballgame on the radio. Every stitch they own is in the dryers inside. (No, they’re not naked. Focus!) 

   

“Our stuff should be ready by now, Tapdance," the BigCat says, getting out of the MGB.

Tapdance is first to the rear entrance. He twists the knob and rattles the door. “Damn thing won’t open!”

“S**t!” The BigCat points to a tiny sign below the door’s window. TIME-LOCKED AT 10:00 PM. “I need clean clothes for work tomorrow!” 

He strides to the front door and returns. “Front’s locked, same sign.”

“I gotta have my stuff for tomorrow too,” Tapdance says. “What the hell we gonna do, BigCat?”

They look at each other, and at the window. “Seems we only got one option,” they say in unison.

 

Scene 2

Hearing the sound of shattering glass, Mrs. Edna Dalyrimple, in a cottage-style house across the street, cracks her drapes and peers out, and hotfoots it to the kitchen phone.

 

“There’s two of them, officer,” she says, “young, baby-faced punks, members of that local gang I think, you know, the TopStreet Boys.”

“Thanks ma’am, got it, lock your doors, we’ll dispatch a couple o' cruisers to Wing’s, lickety-split.”

 

Scene 3

Inside Wing’s Laundromat, the boys are pulling handfuls of freshly laundered duds from their dryers and stuffing them into garbage bags.

 

“Let’s hurry, Tapdance. “If we’re quick we can catch the rest of the game on the clubhouse TV.”

“Games up Boys! Freeze!” bellows a voice like thunder in a dome, amid a clatter of boots.

    

The boys dart their eyes to the front and rear doors. Two uniformed officers have burst through each entryway, their sidearms drawn cop-style, a stone-cold expression on each face.

    

“Assume the position!” the biggest cop, Officer Caidenhead, orders. “I think you boys know the drill.”

The boys drop the clothes they’re holding, snap an about-face and plant their hands on their dryers.        

Caidenhead glares down at their shirts and pants of many colors, and their pale pink and baby blue briefs. 

“You boys should’ve separated your colors and whites," he says."Your tidy-whities, they ain’t white no more.”

    

“You gonna bust us for mixin’ our colors?” Tapdance chides, as Officer Murphy snaps handcuffs on him.

"Been wanting to ask you, Kid," Murphy says, "how come they call you TapDance?"

"'Cause he tap dances out've every jam he gets himself into," Officer Wyatt says."Until now."

"The Kid smirks. "ll be out and tappin' by midnight, at the Club digs folding my chinos and hangin' my tees."

    

“What’s criminal-failure to separate worth, anyhow?” The BigCat jeers.“Five to ten in Laundryville? And time-off for good spin-cycle?"

“Comedians, huh?” Officer Primeau says, locking cuffs on the Cat. "How'd you get your handle, slick?"

"The ladies gave me it. What's yours, shorty?"

"Primo, P-R-I-M-O, like it?"

How'd you get it?

"Your mother gimme it."

"My mother! Your Mother!" the BigCat roars. "Take these cuffs off me, so's I can teach you some manners!"

"Put a lid on it, both o' you!" Caidenhead orders. 

Primo and the BigCat bristle and flex and mumble curses, and shut up.

“You can’t bust us for doin’ what we had to do!” Tapdance says. “We gotta have our clothes for work tomorrow.”

“Don’t sweat it, boys, you’ll both have your work clothes soon enough, I guarantee it--orange-issue jumpsuits courtesy of Corrections, for your new jobs pressin’ license plates in Folsom.”

“The time-lock signs are way too small," the BigCat grumbles. "We didn’t see them ‘til it was too late.”     

“Nobody would've noticed them,” Tapdance adds. “You really gonna bust us for standing up for our rights?”

“Nope, I’m bustin' you for being nincompoops.” Caidenhead unholsters his two-way radio. “Caid here, get a couple of basement cells prepped, we’re bringing the Boys in now.”

The boys stare at each other, their game-banter gone, sharing in silence the same bleak thoughts. …

We’re going away for a long time …and we know what they do to pretty boys in the slam.

Scene 4

Two hours later, 12:15 am, the home of Russell and Avis Howard. The phone rings ...

"Who in blazes would be calling this time of night?" Avis says, reaching to the nightstand. ... "Hello?"

"Officer Caidenhead, City Police, ma'am. We have your son Alex in custody. He and--"

"In custody? For what?"

He briefs her, adding, "Alex seems like a nice kid, ma'am, a tad high-spirited and somewhat scrappy, sure, but clean cut, and no real priors to speak of. So, we're going to release him now, on condition he and David compensate the Wing's for their window tomorrow. Unless, that is, you'd prefer we keep him overnight as a lesson."

"Thank you so much, officer, I'm sure he's learned his lesson. Please go ahead and release him." She rings off.

"Who was that, Avy? "Russell asks, rubbing his eyes.

Avis briefs her husband.

"Headstrong brat, I'd've said "Keep him!"

"Now, dear, do you really mean that?"

"Yes. ... No. Heck, I don't know."

Scene 5

12:20 am, the home of Rev. Jack Austin and wife Pat, their phone similarly awakens them. Rev. Austin picks up, Officer Caidenhead reprises virtually the same spiel he'd delivered to the Howards, asking Rev. Austin his preference ...

"Keep David overnight, officer, and thanks for apprising me of--- Can you hold a moment, officer?"

"Of course, Reverend."

... ... ... ... ...?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .

... ... ... ... ...!

Hello, officer, this is Pat Austin, please release David, I'm sure he's learned his lesson."

"Yes, ma'am," Caidenhead says, and hangs up after a cordial "Goodnight."

"Really Jack?! Where's your empathy? Did you never make a stupid decision as a young man?"

Don't say it, my son, don't say Yes, on the day I proposed to you my dear, you don't mean it.

 ... Did you hear something, dear?" Pat asks

" ... Hear something? ... No?"

"It sounded like, kind of like, a voice ... whispering.

" ... No, no voice, I didn't hear a voice, must be your nerves. I'll turn the light out now. Sleep tight, dear."

"You too, dear, goodnight."

Rev. Austin whispers his thanks to the Ceiling and kills the light.

"There it is again, Jack, did you hear it this time?"

"No dear, pleasant dreams."

Fade to black ...

The End

____________________________________

Author's Note

Anything you'd care to share, I'd be grateful to hear.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I easily pictured those two sitting in the yellow MGB (I had one. A '69) doing their laundry, too. "Bigcat" reminds me of a a similar character I unfortunately met about 1965, who wanted everyone to call him "Tiger".
All the boy stuff in this story, I can certainly relate to, though I never broke a laundromat window. Why are preacher's kids always such miscreants? (They really are, ya know)
More good story-telling from you. I like it.

[JD Major]

Thanks again, Samuel!
Yes, PK's are the "dickens," ... I'm one :)
Yeah, the BigCat's was a "69 too, great memories.
And, thanks for the "I can certainly relate!"

[Murf]

Every good story has a tad of truth in it, this one sounds like it might have more than a tad though :-)

[Delmar Cooper]

This was a ton of good grammar, format, and punctuation unblemished by typos.

[dirtychess]

Great use of imagery. Very interesting characters but the end was a little to open ended.