“The Cornbread Hustle”
By Mark Whittaker
Ed really wasn't faring too well. His head hurt and his eye sockets felt as if sawdust got inside and were blowing around them. His feet were itchy too. Ed really just wanted to get home and get into a tub, drink a lot of beer and watch some TV show with girls mud wrestling.
“Do they even have shows with girls mud wrestling?” Ed asked himself, or to no one in particular. “I thought they did.”
Ed was standing on the corner of Bilgewater Ave. and Floop St., a location no one should really find themselves just standing around. Especially at noon. It was hot, swampy and the gritty folks that meandered by, all brandishing sneers and open sores, looked at Ed rather disapprovingly.
“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Ed. “I know I aint from around here and I know I don't look my best. Just keep walkin' and no one's gonna get nasty.”
“Hey you!” cried a voice. Ed heard it and when they repeated themselves, he turned his head to see where it was coming from. Across the street, in front of a storefront that just had the sign “FOOD” dangling from a rusty chain, stood three gruff looking men in flannel shirts, just buttoned at the top, long black shorts, white socks pulled up to the knee and black flat shoes. The three men all were very short and looked Canadian.
“Yeah?” Ed finally uttered. “You guys hollerin' fer me?”
“That's right homie,” said the guy in front, who was the shortest and whitest of the trio. “This is our turf, eh. We run this street esse. You got no right to stand there and look like you just walked out of a graveyard.”
“Yeah,” said the guy standing behind the main thug, who had shocks of bright red hair and was extremely freckled. “What? Are you like from that Thriller video or something homes?”
This got the three very short wannabe vato gangsters in a laughing fit.
“I don't get it,” said Ed. “What's a thriller video?”
“It's that song by Michael Jackson,” came a voice right behind Ed. “The video had like zombies and stuff in it. And I guess you kind of look like one.”
Ed slowly spun around to find a young boy, maybe 10 or 11, sitting on a stoop eating an ice cream sandwich. The vanilla filling was dripping down his arm and onto his red sneakers.
“Oh,” Ed replied. “Not my fault kid. It's been one heck of a night.”
The boy licked the ice cream and gazed up at Ed. “You got like all drunk or something?” he asked.
Ed creaked his heavy head up to the sky and took a bereft gander up at the prison break sun. “You don't even know kid,” he muttered. “I got dropped off here and I kinda don't know where I am.”
The boy took a bite out of the ice cream sandwich. “You got any money?”
Ed then lifted his near broken arms and dove them into his deep and worn pockets. His fingers fished around, trying to hook anything that resembled a bill or coin.
“Uh...nope,” was all Ed could answer with. “'Fraid not.”
“That's too bad,” said the kid.
Ed just slightly nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”
The two then regarded each other as the boy finished up his ice cream sandwich and Ed stood there watching him with a shattered mind and body. The sandwich looked good but he knew all too well that if he ate, he'd feel even worse. So he just stood there, barely able to, hating that the sun was charring the top of his hairless head.
After the boy wiped his mouth clean of the chocolate and vanilla, he stood up.
“C'mon,” he said with an arm wave.
“C'mon...where?” Ed asked.
“Follow me.”
With that, the boy opened up the door he was snacking in front of and walked in. Ed, having nothing to lose, followed.
“That's right esse,” cried out one of the taunting vertically challenged gangsters. “Run. Run off like a little bitch!”
Ed just didn't care. He walked inside and closed the door behind him.
It was dark and it took Ed's eyes some time to adjust, but when they did he was pleased to find that he was inside some kind of convenience store. Thing was, it was really old and run down and appeared to have not been in business for quite some time.
“Beer,” Ed uttered loud enough for that kid to possibly hear him. “Do you have any beer?”
“No,” said the boy who was walking towards a doorway that was draped in some sort of middle eastern patterned shawl. “But with the money you'll make, you can go buy some.”
“Oh.”
The boy disappeared behind that shawl and Ed was left a lone in the dilapidated bodega. There were ancient boxes of muffin mixes and dusty cans of green beans. Ed considered eating once again but he knew it was best if he just kept his momentum going and eat later when he knew he was home safe.
Eventually the boy returned, this time holding something in his hands. It was a rectangular box wrapped tightly in brown paper.
“If you take this to the guy across the street...”
“What guy?” asked Ed. “Those white midgets pretending to be Mexican gang members?”
“Oh no,” said the boy, sounding rather alarmed. “You don't wanna mess with those guys. In fact, that's why you will make the money. What's in this box is...what they want.”
“What is it?”
“I can't tell you,” the boy said almost whispering. “But it's the thing that made this neighborhood so scary.”
Ed suddenly became rather iffy on the whole making some money by delivering whatever is in that box and the possibility of getting jumped by three tough short guys dressed like they just walked out of an east LA gang catalog thing.
Still he really needed some cash. “How much?” Ed asked.
“Fifty dollars,” informed the boy. “Here. You need to go now because the guy...”
“What guy?”
“The man in the green jacket sitting at the table in the back of the seafood restaurant.”
“There's a seafood restaurant?”
“Yes. Across the street.”
“They serve beer?”
“I don't think so.”
“Damn.”
The boy walked up to Ed and handed him the package. It had some weight to it and Ed really didn't want to know what was inside. He was too nervous to ask.
“The guy just called and said he's ready for it,” said the boy. “Good luck.”
Ed took a deep breath, turned around and exited the bodega. Once back on the street, he was pleased to find that the three dwarfed honky vatos were gone. So Ed walked across the street and was pleased to find a seafood restaurant. It was that “FOOD” place he saw earlier and noticed that they had also drawn a crude picture of a fish under it to indicate what type of food you would be consuming.
When Ed entered the restaurant he was happy to find that it was air conditioned. The fake coolness felt good on his sun baked skin and scalp. The place was empty of people but it was packed with ornate tables and antique looking captain's chairs. There was light pan flute music playing over the crackling house system and it smelled like low tide. In the back, sitting at a table, was a man dressed in a green jacket.
“Are you the guy?” called out the man in the green jacket.
“Um. I guess,” answered Ed.
“Good, good. You're just in time.” The man in the green jacket then began to wave Ed over. “Come in...come in!”
Ed walked over, through the maze of high class tables set up for patrons that would never come and stood in front of the man. His jacket was a bit too bright of a green and it off set his chubby red face. His thin hair was combed back a little overly so and he appeared to be sweating a bit.
“Well sit down, sit down,” insisted the green jacket man.
“Uh...no,” said Ed. “That's okay. So, do I get fifty bucks for this or what?”
The green jacket man raised a finger and said “Ah!” before reaching into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve a stack of money.
“It's all there,” said the man. “You can count it if you want.”
Ed grabbed the stack to find it was all ones bound together by an old rubber band.
“These are all ones,” Ed said.
“I know,” said the man. “Now...my package please.”
Ed handed the package to the green jacket man who had his hands outstretched. The man, once in possession of the package, bore a look of absolute rapture.
“Oooooh,” he exhaled. “Come to daddy.” The man then ripped apart the brown paper and opened the box. When he saw what was inside, his eyes grew wide as the empty plates on all those tables.
Ed then had to sneak a peek. Craning his sore neck over, looking inside that box revealed nothing more than some substance that was only lighter in hue than the paper it was wrapped in. It wasn't white, it wasn't green it really wasn't...anything. It looked like a golden colored lump.
“It is always worth the wait,” said the man, seemingly drooling. “Here, you have to get a taste of this!”
“Oh no,” said Ed waving his free hand as the other had that wad of one dollar bills. “It's alright. It's...”
The man then grabbed a butter knife from his table, sliced into the substance, cut a square out of it, grabbed a bread plate and put that square piece on it.
“Wh...what is that?” Ed asked.
“Well can't you see?” implored the man with a wide grin. “It's cornbread.”
“Cornbread?”
“Yes! The finest cornbread in all the land. The sorceress across the street makes only a little each day. I feel as if I am robbing her only giving her fifty dollars for it.”
But, thought Ed. I have the fifty bucks. That kid said I could keep it. This makes no sense. I'm outta here!
“Well, uh...enjoy,” said Ed. He then left the man in the green jacket to enjoy his cornbread. As he was about to exit the seafood restaurant, Ed was met with the three small cholo Canadians as they entered with a fierce vengeance.
“What are you doing in here puto?” exclaimed the main gangster. “Now we got problems.”
“Yeah,” said another, one sporting a thick hair comb mustache. “You're on our turf homes. Prepare for total domination.”
Ed, over it all and just wanting to go home, rolled his eyes and said, “Look guys. I don't want any trouble. I just want to...”
“He just wants to deliver the best damn cornbread there is or ever was.”
From behind the three vatos came a voice. When everyone turned around to see who it was, they were all shocked and surprised to see the boy standing there holding a very large machine gun.
“We run the cornbread game in this town esse,” said the gang leader. “You got no right...”
“I do have a right,” said the boy. “And I have this gun.” He then pointed the large weapon straight at the three very white and very silly Latin Kings knockoffs. This caused the three gangstas to draw their handguns, which were almost as big as they were, from under their belts.
“Oh boy,” uttered Ed.
“I just want to enjoy my cornbread,” screamed the green jacket man, who was now running through the restaurant toward the standoff. “You're tearing this neighborhood apart!” He then produced a gun that looks like it came off of the set of a Bonanza episode. The barrel was very long and it had a six chamber revolver.
That caused one of the gang bangers to fire his gun at green jacket man. Then the boy opened fire. The tiny gangstas ducked and hid behind the white linen, yet totally unused, draped tables and shot back. The green jacket man began to fire his wild west pistol at anything and anybody. It was an all out shoot 'em up massacre in the deserted seafood restaurant over a box of cornbread.
Amongst the hail of bullets, all Ed could do was sigh.
As the war raged on in the restaurant, Ed walked back outside, back onto the heat blistered concrete and stood there, once again, just wanting to go home.
“Maybe I should see if a bus stop is nearby,” he said as the sound of guns blaring behind him in the restaurant, along with the screams of the boy, the green jacket man and those ridiculous pasty homeboys, filled the scorched air like a thousand popping balloons and agitated orangutans.
Just then, a car pulled up right in front of Ed. It was a red convertible, with a bunch of scantily clad girls in the back, a large black guy wearing an ear piece in the passenger seat and Danny Terrio, from TV's Dance Fever, driving.
“Dude,” cried Danny Terrio. “Ed! Where you been man?”
“Uh. I've been here,” said Ed. “Where am I?”
“Where are you? Where are you?” giggled Danny Terrio as he pulled his sunglasses off. You're crazy man. We thought we lost you. Here...get in and lets get back to business.”
The large black guy then opened the door, got out and waited for Ed, who then, with a shrug, got into the car and was soon sitting between him and Danny Terrio.
“Ed. You don't look so good,” mentioned Danny Terrio. “What happened?”
Ed just exhaled deeply and said “Just drive Danny. I've got fifty bucks so lets grab some beer and go to my place.”
Danny Terrio then turned his head to address the lovely ladies in the backseat.
“You girls up for some mud wrestling?” he asked enthusiastically.
The girls all began to holler and shout in approval to which Danny Terrio nodded with a grin and put the car in drive.
Ed, after all he'd been through, finally managed a smile.
The red convertible drove off and out of the neighborhood and was soon gone from sight. The cornbread really was that delicious by the way.
The End
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