TREASURE KILLS (Legends of Tsalagee Book 1) (7 page)

“Thanks a lot, Oxley,” he said with humiliated anger. His friend shrugged and continued to concentrate on stirring his cream and sweetener diluted coffee.

Chapter 6

Punch Dances With Jo Lynn

The Punch and Jo Lynn dancing duet—that Texas two-step, that jitterbug, that waltzing rondo, that allemande left and allemande right, that cotton-eyed Joe, that fandango and tango—had begun in earnest in the mid-70’s. They’d both been young then, not much more than kids.

When Jo Lynn had confronted Punch about Sunny Griggs at Arlene’s, the two were situated in one of their estranged, post-marital, cohabitating arrangements, about the fifth one to date. But their colorful history together had begun some thirty years prior.

Nineteen-year-old Jo Lynn had come into Arlene’s on a Sunday evening in the spring of 1973, just before closing. She asked the café’s owner if she had any job openings. Arlene sat next to the cash register counting money, and writing in an open ledger. When Jo Lynn came up to her, Arlene stopped writing, and carefully looked the girl up and down. She saw a spindly, pretty girl with a lot of brunette hair and a sad, fearful look in her eyes. She also noticed a dark area around her left eye under a heavy blanket of make-up, and the scab of a cut on her lower lip, which the dark red lipstick hadn’t quite concealed.

“Where you from, honey?” Arlene asked.

The girl looked nervous, her eyes darting. “Oklahoma City,” she said.

“What brings you way out here to our little town?” Arlene asked. She laid her pen aside and leaned forward toward Jo Lynn, putting her elbows and forearms on the counter.

“I’m just... I have an aunt here I’m staying with. I wanted to get away from the city for a while.”

“You in some kind of trouble?” Arlene cocked her head to the left, frowning slightly, but not in an unfriendly manner.

“No, nothing with the law or anything. There’s this guy... he... we broke up and I wanted to get away... from him,” Jo Lynn said. Tears started to well in her eyes, and she sniffed, putting the heel of her right hand to the corner of her eye. Then she smiled and expressed a little air in a short laugh. “You know how it is,” she said, lips trembling.

Arlene looked at the blue-green bruises dotting the girl’s arms from wrist to bicep. “Uh huh,” she answered.

Indeed she did know, having had some experience herself with black eyes and split lips dealt out by a man. But that had been decades past, and the guy now lay moldering in his grave, the recipient of a forty-five slug to the heart from a military policeman’s service pistol. Two MP’s, had come to their base housing unit in response to a call from neighbors. Her husband, an Army mess sergeant in a drunken rage, had charged one of the MP’s with a raised butcher knife. That incident had left Arlene a young widow; most likely, just in time. She’d taken what was left of the soldier’s ten thousand dollar life insurance benefit given her, and had come home to Tsalagee where she opened her café; leaving her battered past behind.

“Your folks back in Oklahoma City?” Arlene asked.

“No,” Jo Lynn said. “Both my parents were killed in a tornado...”

Arlene sucked in air making a startled sound. “Oh, my,” she said. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

Jo Lynn nodded and looked at the floor. “I’ve got a brother in the Navy. We never were very close. Haven’t heard from him in a while... and Aunt Rose, that’s who I’m staying with. She’s about all the family I got left.” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at Arlene.

“Aunt Rose? Is that Rose Leach?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sure, I know her. A nice lady. You have any experience waitressing?”

“No, not really,” Jo Lynn said looking at the floor again. “I worked some at a McDonald’s when I was in high school. The last couple of years I’ve been working in a factory.”

So Arlene, as usual her heart being bigger than her better judgment, had taken Jo Lynn on as an employee, even though she and Poncho—her fry cook—could pretty much handle the place at the time. But in most cases the instincts of Arlene’s big heart proved to be wiser than cold judgment in the long run, and hiring Jo Lynn became a shining example of that. She hadn’t really expected the girl to stick around longer than that summer of ’73. But the girl settled in and the two of them struck up a friendship that lasted the rest of Arlene’s life. Arlene seemed to find the daughter she never had, and Jo Lynn regained some of the mother she’d lost.

When Arlene died in 1996, Jo Lynn found that she had inherited her employer’s small house and small business. Out of honor and respect and love for her friend and patron, Jo Lynn left Arlene’s name on the door and on the menus and on the small neon sign that hung above the outside corner of the building. Arlene’s had been a town landmark for nearly sixty years. Calling it anything other than Arlene’s Café just wouldn’t seem right.

* * *

The first time Punch laid eyes on Jo Lynn back in ’73, the muscles that tightened his jaw and kept his mouth closed, fell slack. He was twenty-one at the time, and Jo Lynn had just started her first day at Arlene’s. Punch’s jaw remained in that dropped position, his eyes intently watching the girl’s every move, until Hayward Yost, sitting on the counter stool next to him, leaned over and suggested to Punch that he close his mouth. Hayward told Punch that the expression made him look like a fool. He added, he doubted that particular look would impress any girl, let alone the pretty one stacking a tray load of clean coffee cups under the counter in front of them.

Punch immediately complied only to have the condition involuntarily return, when Jo Lynn finished with the cups and stood in front of him. She took the pencil out of her piled up red-brown hair, looked at him coolly and asked, “What can I getcha?”

The new waitress cocked her head in query after ten seconds of waiting for the slack-jawed Punch to reply, then looked over at Hayward as if deciding maybe Punch was too mentally disabled to answer her question.

“Is he with you?” she asked Hayward in a voice which seemed to convey suspicions about Punch’s mental capacity.

“No,” Hayward said smiling kindly to the girl. “No, he came in here all on his own.” The big man reached over and put his meaty left hand gently on Punch’s right shoulder. He leaned closer to the young man’s face and said in a slightly louder voice, “Didn’t you, Punch?”

Punch nodded but kept his open-mouthed stare on Jo Lynn.

“That’s right,” Hayward said patting Punch’s shoulder. “That’s right.” He turned back to Jo Lynn. “He does pretty well for himself most of the time, considerin’. We’re real proud of him.”

Punch seemed to come back to earth. He closed his mouth and blushed, then leaned over and pushed Hayward a little with his right shoulder and arm. “Stop it, Hayward,” he said, and then started looking at the menu a little sheepishly, thinking maybe he could impress the girl with the fact that he could read.

Hayward laughed and jostled Punch back. Jo Lynn looked at the two of them; confusion pinched her eyebrows.

“You just start here?” Hayward asked her. Everybody knew everybody in Tsalagee during that time, and this pretty young thing behind Arlene’s counter on a Monday morning was a total and pleasant surprise.

“Don’t let these two scare you, Jo Lynn.” Arlene came in from the kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot off its burner. She clattered out cups and saucers from under the counter, sliding them in front of the two men and filled them. “This here is Hayward Yost and this is Gale Roundstep,” she said using the coffee pot as a pointer. “I know they ain’t much to look at, but they’re here most mornings. So you’ll just have to get used to them.” Jo Lynn smiled a little and nodded.

“They’re pretty harmless,” Arlene added.

“Nice to see you’re making some improvements in the place, Arlene,” Hayward said with a grin. Punch kept quiet, still studying the menu with intermittent and frequent peeks up at Jo Lynn.

“Hell, Hayward, if I wanted improvements, I’d just keep you two from coming in.”

The hanging doorbell jangled as two customers entered. They took a seat in the booth nearest the door.

“Well, I ain’t got time to jaw-jack with you two,” Arlene said. She grabbed two more cups and saucers and headed for the newcomers. “You be nice to Jo Lynn, now,” she said in leaving.

“Real nice to meet you, Jo Lynn,” Hayward said grabbing the bill of his orange ball cap in a tipping gesture. “I’ll probably have to speak for my young friend here ’til he gets his tongue. Looks like he’s plum smitten by you. By the way, most people know him as ‘Punch’ not ‘Gale.’”

“I don’t need you talkin’ for me, Hayward,” Punch said with irritation. “I can dang sure talk for myself.”

Hayward threw his hands in the air and leaned back a little. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Punch wiped the sweat off his upper lip and addressed Jo Lynn. “Uh... You... uh,” he started. She looked back at him impassively, her pencil and pad still at the ready. Punch swallowed and continued, “Well, I mean... I’m sure glad you’re here and that you got to meet me. Welcome to here. I mean, thanks for coming here, and you’re welcome.”

Jo Lynn wrinkled her nose and giggled, so Punch said, “I gotta go.” And hurriedly left the cafe.

Hayward snorted and took a drink of his coffee. “Well, give the boy some time,” he said. “He’s not used to talking to girls as pretty as you. He just needs some practice, that’s all. He’ll get better at it.”

Jo Lynn looked at the door Punch had just exited, then back at Hayward. “So... you mean he’s not... um, retarded?”

“Well, the jury’s still out on that one, darlin’. I think he did graduate high school. He mostly just ain’t right on his social graces, sort of like you just seen. But like I say, give him some time and he’ll grow on ya.”

Jo Lynn nodded with a frown. But she didn’t think so. At that particular time, she wasn’t ready for any man to grow on her.

“What can I get you?” she asked Hayward, the frown still on her face.

* * *

Punch abandoned the finesse route with Jo Lynn a few days after that first attempt, and took up the repeated and frequent frontal advancement approach. He thought that tactic would eventually bring down her walls of resistance. In his occupation as a trim carpenter, and part-time mechanic, Punch had no learned marketing skills, as such; but thought a large quantity of impressions would work better for him than a single well-phrased line. That is, if he had one. More importantly, this continuous visit method killed two birds: by going to Arlene’s at least once a day, he could eat, and at the same time see Jo Lynn.

Surprisingly, the routine eventually worked for Punch. After two months, it got to where he could actually carry on an intelligent conversation with Jo Lynn. None of these lasted much more than thirty seconds, as Arlene’s bustled at meal times. But they grew stronger, and at some point even turned flirtatious. So his persistence began to pay dividends.

Towards the end of that summer of ’73, following the spring the waif-ish girl had first appeared on Arlene’s doorstep, Jo Lynn’s loneliness began to melt through the icy wall of her fear and mistrust. Still not sure she wanted much more involvement with any man beyond casual friendship and harmless flirtation, she nonetheless found Punch engaging and somehow attractive. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, or even if she really wanted to; but as Hayward had predicted, the guy grew on her. Despite his rough edges, he had a certain something that appealed to her.

The relationship continued to evolve over the next two and a half years, with fits and starts (and one or two stops), until Punch suggested that maybe they should make it legal. Jo Lynn considered this long and hard before she gave an answer. Punch had his good parts. He appeared honest and hard working, even gainfully employed. He had always treated her with gentleness and respect, never once acting like he’d... do otherwise. In fact, it was almost as if he was a little bit afraid of her. That always made her smile, especially when the other men in town who came into Arlene’s, teased Punch about it.

Punch did have a little bit of a temper. That’s what had gotten him the nickname Punch. More than once it had ignited into major rants when Jo Lynn and he got into it about something, which they seemed to do more than she liked. He would sometimes smash a few things near him or kick a car door, but he never, ever threatened her with physical harm.

More times than not, she had to admit, she’d been the start of their set-to’s. She ragged on him a lot about his dress and manners and attitude and cussing and spending. Most of those attributes revolved around his favorite hobbies: fishing, hunting, and gambling. Jo Lynn knew she fought a losing battle on getting Punch to change on any of those counts, and that maybe it was wrong for her to even try. But he was so pigheaded.

While still weighing the pros and cons of marrying Punch, Jo Lynn found herself pregnant, and so consented to marry him in the winter of 1976. Not quite seven months later, Jo Lynn gave birth to a baby girl they named Galynn Arlene. Jo Lynn and Punch got their first divorce fourteen month later when Jo Lynn found evidence that one of Punch’s deer hunting trips amounted to more than him bagging the four-legged kind. They re-married, after a three-year cooling off period, but decided that still might not be a good arrangement, and divorced again. Damning evidence kept appearing that Punch couldn’t keep his firearm holstered.

The two still couldn’t seem to be totally rid of one another and they continued to “date.” This so-called dating included extended periods of co-habitation when Punch promised to quell his philandering. But Jo Lynn never completely trusted him on that part, and told him she would never marry him again, because it just wasn’t worth the trouble and expense.

She loved Punch, and even liked him to a certain extent. She felt keeping him around was better than not. For one thing, she thought it was better that little Galynn had a daddy present most of the time. For another, she had to admit, she didn’t want to be alone. Her experience with men hadn’t been the greatest, and she didn’t want to go through the trouble, nor take the chance, of finding another; not only for her own sake, but Galynn’s. So, for that, she hung on to Punch in this tenuous fashion even well into their daughter’s adult years.