8-Track (8 page)

Woodsy mountain views, flowing creeks and that old town feeling greeted Bill as he exited at Old Dover Road. The building’s brick facade had faded over the years, turning it a mauve red. Sprawling green English Ivy ran up one side, looking more like it was holding up the old structure. Bill’s father had mentioned the hall was originally built as an armory during the Second World War.

The US and local fourteen flag fluttered in the wind as Bill pulled into the lot. He noticed an aluminum faced garage out behind the union hall. Two Caucasian men were standing by it talking. Bill parked beside a shiny black 1957 Lincoln Premiere, which he noticed was in very good condition. Both men looked over at Bill as he walked by them. The rather tall one nodded, the other man shorter, took a sip of his coffee.

Bill opened the front door to the hall and went inside, the foul stench of cigarette smoke making him sneeze. 

“God bless you,” said an older man wearing glasses, he was sitting on a chair, hunched over reading the
Boston Globe.

“Thanks,” Bill replied.

“Are you Bill Powers,” the person asked sitting up, extending his arm.

“Yes,” Bill replied shaking the man’s hand.

“Good to finally meet you. Name’s Buddy, friends call me Bud. I knew your dad years back, how’s Ben doing?”

“He’s good, slowing down a bit, but healthy.”

“Good to hear that, you’ll have to tell him I said hello.”

“I will,” Bill replied.

“All your paperwork got sent up from Middletown, so you’re good to go for work. Things are slow right now, typical with the summer coming. When September comes a knocking, things will pick back up. Just check the board regularly for posts.” Bud removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Everybody just kinda comes and goes here, I leave the doors unlocked so you’re free to come and go as you please. There’s a kitchen down back, look around and help yourself. Good to meet you and please say hi to your father for me.”

Bill nodded. “All right then, thanks.”

The hall was L-shaped, plastic circular tables and folding metal chairs were scattered throughout. Bill walked around them to find
The Price Is Right
running on a twelve inch black and white Zenith TV in the kitchen. The air conditioning by the back door kicked in, giving him goose bumps. Noticing a fresh box of donuts on the counter, he took a moment to look over the choices before settling on a coconut sprinkle. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and watched the tube. A warm breeze blew in with the two men entering through the back door, they sat down at one of the tables.

“Who owns the Lincoln outside?” Bill asked before biting into his donut.

“It’s mine,” said the man removing a cigarette from the front pocket of his blue denim vest. He appeared to be in his late forties, wore a goatee, and long dark hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail.

“Far out looking car,” Bill sipped his coffee.

“Thanks,” he replied pulling out a Zippo from his jeans. Bill noticed how the man lit his cigarette, he flipped the silver lid and ran the thumbwheel over his thigh before bringing it up in one rapid motion. Finishing his donut Bill picked up his coffee and walked over.

“My name’s Bill Powers.”

The man smoking the cigarette reached out to shake Bill’s hand. It took Bill a moment to make out the tattoo on his right arm. Running from his wrist to just below his elbow was a cluster of finely drawn human skulls, maybe fifty or more. They were drawn in various sizes, from different angles, each one perfectly detailing the individual bones in fine black ink.

“Names Eli, you’re the new guy right?”

“Yep, just got up here on Friday,” Bill replied shaking his hand. The other man was broad and very muscular. He extended his thick veiny arm. Bill shook his hand which looked more like a pitcher’s mitt. 

“Sig,” he said with a firm shake. 

“Sit down man,” Eli said taking a drag off his cigarette. Bill threw his leg over the chair and sat down.

“Why’d ya move to New Hampshire, why not some place warm like Florida?” Sig asked sitting back.

“I happen to be fond of this state. Growing up I spent my summers here, thought it would be a good change.”

Both men laughed, Eli took a long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out. He ran his thumb and index finger down the sides of his close cut goatee before replying.

“Good change huh, it’s fucking quiet up here man,” he said with a grin.

Bill took a sip of his coffee and shrugged before speaking. “It’s quiet in Rhode Island as well.” 

“You got any family up here?” Sig asked with his thick eyebrows raised. Bill shook his head.

“No, it’s just me.” 

“Married?” Eli asked.

“I was. She died.”

“Sorry,” both men responded together. Sig stood up, “I gotta run Eli, I told Melanie we’d go see
Chinatown
 today. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around Bill.”

“Yeah, be seeing ya.”

 “Later dude,” Eli said.

Bill waited until the door closed behind Sig. “That guy eats his Wheaties, huh?” he said with a reserved smile.

“Siggie was a bodybuilder, won Mr Maine in fifty-five.”

“Oh, wow. Is Sig short for something?”

Eli shifted and crossed his right leg over the left. “Sig is short for Sigliano, but his first name is Jimmy.” Bill nodded.

“Gotcha.”

“There ain't much going on right now, you looking to start working soon?” Eli asked.

“Yeah, sooner the better, I’m one of those people who needs to stay busy.”

“I got a side job that I’m working on in Wolfeboro, mostly guttin the inside of a house. I could use another hand, if you want the work?”

Bill put his hand up to his face and ran it over his brown beard. “Yeah, that’d be great. I don't wanna take anyone else's
j
ob though.” 

“You won’t be, I can pay you ten dollars an hour and lend you tools for the...”

Bill put his hand up in a stopping motion. “No, thank you. I had all my tools sent up. They’re sitting in my garage right now.”

Eli raised a brow, stood up and smiled. “No shit huh, sounds like you think ahead. I’ll give you the directions to my place, I’m off Route 104 in Meredith. Let me grab a pen and some paper.”

“Sure.” Bill noticed the far wall in the kitchen, it was covered with photographs. He threw his cup away and went over, leaning in and looking at the faces in the pictures. Some were dated,
1959, 1964 and 1970
. Bill’s eyes stopped on one picture, it was a photo of Eli when he was younger. He was sitting on the hood of a black Pontiac GTO next to another man. Several men were standing around, one of them had a scar running down his cheek. The letters OMC were written on the back of another man’s vest. A heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder startled him.

It was Eli, he unfolded a road map and began writing on the side of it. “You shouldn’t have any problems, just follow this. I put my phone number on there in case ya change your mind.” Eli handed the map to Bill.

“Yeah, I know this area.”

Eli slapped his shoulder.

“Think nothing of it, that’s how we do things up here. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The sky was clear the next morning, the air a bit warmer. It was eight forty-two when Bill turned down Baxter Ave, parking in front of Eli’s home. The oversized traditional Cape was stunning and even boasted an attached two car garage. Bill noticed the roof, it was cedar and stained a blond ash. Eli’s Lincoln was parked in the driveway next to an old blue Chevy pickup. One of the garage doors was open. Bill took a quick look as he passed by. 

On the left was a beautiful red Karmann Ghia. In front of it and to the right stood a work bench, small hand tools were hung neatly on a peg board over it. Bill noticed how clean and organized it was, even the floor shined. He observed from afar until the mirrored chrome stole his attention. The Harley Davidson parked in the corner was something to marvel at. Bill was admiring the motorcycle when he read the sign hanging on the wall. “When we do right, nobody remembers. When we do wrong, nobody forgets.” 
I wonder what that
’
s supposed to mean?

An attractive Asian woman, who looked to be in her early forties, opened the front door before Bill could even knock. She spoke in broken English. “Hello, you are Bill?”

“Yes, I’m Bill,” he replied extending his arm and shaking the woman’s smooth hand.

“My name Bitty, Eli expecting you, please come in.” Eli was putting on his vest when they entered into the kitchen. “Hey man, you ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You wanna coffee for the road?” Eli asked tying his worn leather boots.

“Sure.”

“How you take it?” Bitty asked.

“Black,” Bill replied.

“Here you go,” Bitty said handing Bill a steaming white styrofoam cup.

“Let’s hit it Bill.”

“Nice to meet you Bitty.”

She nodded and smiled, her eyes meeting his. “You too.”

Bill followed Eli through the house and into the garage.

“That’s sweet, what is it a sixty-two?” Bill asked examining the Harley.

“Fifty-nine XLCH Sportster,” Eli replied cleaning his teeth with a toothpick.

“That’s one bitch’n bike, do you ride it often?”   

“Nah, hardly ever, my niece says she wants it. Throw your stuff in the trunk and I’ll drive.” Bill retrieved his tool belt along with his wallet before getting in Eli’s car.

Heavy,
was the word that came to Bill’s mind opening the passenger door. It reminded him of an era of car making that was slowly fading away.
It was only 1974, but cars were clearly changing.
He got in and sat down on his share of the gray leather bench-seating. The first thing Bill noticed were the air-vents, located overhead, much like those in an aircraft. The air conditioning was directed to the roof via a pair of clear plastic ducts visible through the rear window at each side, connecting upward from the rear-decking tray. That was the only indication of the car’s unique engineering.

“Ya know, this car is based on the same model they used in that TV show with Adam West,
Batman
,” Bill said admiring the minty interior.

“Yeah man, but I ain’t fighting crime.” Eli backed out of the driveway, a slight grinding sound resonated as the exhaust hit the asphalt.

“You originally from New Hampshire?” Bill asked before taking a sip from his coffee.

“No man, born and raised in Mass.”

“What part?”

“Boston, Back Bay area. My old man and me moved up here in fifty-two.”

“What does your dad do?” Eli's eyes shifted to the gold plated wrist watch wrapped vertically around the rear view mirror. “He was a master carpenter, he died from asbestos poisoning.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Shit happens, life happens. You just deal with it.” 

“What about your mother?” Bill asked.

“She took off after I was born, guess she didn’t want the job.” Bill’s head turned towards Eli, they made eye contact.

“The same thing happened with my own,” he replied.

“Huh, so tell me about yourself man?” Bill took another sip of his coffee before talking about the last several years.   

“I guess I can relate, not to losing a spouse but a loved one. My brother died in a car crash, left a wife and daughter. I do as much as I can for them.”

“That’s too bad, any kids?” Bill asked rolling down the window.

“No, I had a longtime girlfriend before Bitty. She wanted kids, it just wasn’t me, so she left.”

Eli’s Lincoln turned off Route 28 and onto what appeared to be a driveway. It was long, secluded and flanked on either side by a short tumbling cobblestone wall and birch trees. As the driveway dipped it provided Bill with a 180 degree view of the property. Straight ahead was a very big body of water,
most likely Lake Winnipesaukee,
he imagined. Circling the roundabout driveway Bill’s eyes shifted to the Victorian house now directly in front of him.

The exterior of it was a soothing mixture of light blue shingled siding and charcoal gray roofing. All the trim, including the railing leading up the front steps were painted bone white. Windows of all different sizes lay across its facade and dormers. The multi-level roof even boasted a short roof-top deck. Bill caught a slight view out behind the house, there was a wooden pier that went out into the lake.

“This is beautiful, that’s the W right?” Bill asked.

“Yup,” Eli replied parking by a large steel container. Getting out of the car Bill recognized it,
it was for trash, the kind they used on big jobs in the city.
Putting on his tool belt Eli handed him a long dull bronze key.

“That key is for the front door. Nobody’s home, head on up and I’ll be right behind you.”  

Bill was half way up the front steps when Eli called him, “Bill, when we get done today I was gonna stop by my sister-in-law’s. I haven’t seen her in a while, shouldn’t take too long.”

Bill nodded. “No problem.” The stained glass in the door rattled as Bill opened it and stepped inside. Natural sunlight filled the entire lower level which lay sight to the bare studded walls. Eli came in behind him.

“There’s a John upstairs, after you go just pull the rope hanging from the box once. I’m gonna have you finish guttin’ one of the bedrooms today.”

“Got it,” Bill replied checking his hand tools.

Over the next several hours Bill worked feverishly alone upstairs. He was nearly done tearing the weathered Teak off the walls when Eli came in wiping the sweat from his forehead. “How’s it going?” 

“Groovy,” Bill replied tossing the wood into a pile. 

“I’m gonna run over to the Yankee Smokehouse for lunch, what can I get ya?”

“Uh, whatever you get is fine.” Bill pulled some cash from his wallet and handed it to Eli.

“Take a break, I’ll be back soon.” Eli said sauntering away, his voice drifting off.

Bill removed his belt and went outside for some fresh air. Crossing the property he admired the view, a gentle breeze coming off the lake felt good. The idea of a quick dip to cool off was tempting. Eyeing the pier Bill guessed it went out about twenty yards into the lake, hovering just above the water line.