Lawn Boy (5 page)

“He has a purse? What kind of prizefighter carries a purse?”

“That's a figure of speech. The purse is the prize money. His winnings.”

“What's his name?”

“Joseph,” Arnold said. “Joseph Powdermilk, Jr. I have the specs in the computer and can run you a printout if you like.”

“Sure. I'd like to know more about him.”

“Good, because he's due here in about fifteen minutes. He called last night and wants to meet his sponsor and thank him.” Arnold shook his head. “Look, I'm really sorry about this. If you lose I'll cover it, all right? And as for meeting him, well, he asked about his sponsor and without thinking I gave this address, so if you want you can leave right now and miss it.”

I shook my head. “No. And if we lose on this it's not your fault. Five, six weeks ago I was sitting in my
yard wondering about an inner tube. Now I'm a thousandaire. Or something. You think I'm going to complain?”

“Some would.” He sighed. “Some have. What if we'd lost?”

“Then we would have lost forty dollars. That's what we started with, right? We lose the whole Walleye thing and all we've really lost is that, the original forty dollars.”

“Well, that's a healthy way to look at it.”

There was a sudden clatter in front of the house and an old station wagon rumbled to a stop.

It sat almost wheezing, then the driver's-side door opened and with a great deal of difficulty a man got out. I say man, but this person looked more like a living mountain than a man.

“I see it,” Arnold said, “but I don't believe it. How did he get
in
the car?”

He was wearing a big sweatshirt and sweatpants and as he moved up the sidewalk to the door his step was amazingly light for someone his size. Almost like a
really
big cat.

Even though he could see us through the screen of the porch, he knocked on the screen door.

“Please,” Arnold said. “Come in.”

A quick motion, a sideslip, and he was in the door and standing in front of Arnold.

“I am Joseph Powdermilk and I would like to thank you for being my sponsor.” He faced Arnold and held out his hand.

I have never heard such a voice. It sounded like thunder a long way off. Muted, but deep, rumbling.

“Sorry,” Arnold said, “wrong sponsor.” He pointed to me. “This is him.”

He turned, a mountain turning. “I am Joseph Powdermilk and I would like to thank you for being my sponsor.”

He held out a hand as big as a whole ham. I put my hand out—it disappeared completely in his— and we shook. His touch was gentle.

“It's nice to meet you,” I said. “My name is—”

Just then Pasqual's truck streaked up behind Joseph Powdermilk's station wagon and came to a screeching halt. Pasqual came running up to the porch.

I knew it must be serious because it was daylight. Pasqual
never
came out in daylight.

“Come right away!”

I got up. “What's the matter?”

“His name is Rock. He has two … guys … with
him. He says we've got to pay him or he'll harm our workers. He plans to take over the business.”

“What can
I
do?”

“Come! If Rock doesn't meet the boss he'll cause a lot of trouble. Come
now.
”

I hadn't taken a step before I saw Joseph Powder milk move with me.

“I'll help,” he rumbled. “I'm good at this.”

I was out the door. “Good at what?”

“Trouble.”

Pasqual, Joseph and I jammed into Pasqual's truck. Arnold had said he would follow in his car, but Joseph said, “You don't need to come. I'm sure it will be all right.”

I sat in the middle of the front seat and Joseph sat on the right. Pasqual hadn't seen Joseph before but seemed to accept that he would be coming with us. He looked at Joseph once, briefly, when Joseph squeezed into the cab of the truck and the whole truck leaned so I thought it would tip over. But then we were on our way.

The house where Pasqual's relatives lived was more or less a big box, with a good yard because they worked on it when they had time off. There were four trucks parked in front under the huge elm trees that stood along the street.

The first three trucks I recognized. The fourth one was a red pickup angled into the curb, not parked parallel like the others. A man was sitting behind the wheel with the driver's-side window open and two men were leaning against the end of the truck. One of them was pretending to clean his fingernails with a knife. Several of Pasqual's family members were standing around by the door of the house. They seemed a little afraid, maybe, but mostly confused.

“The one in the truck is Rock,” Pasqual said, stopping.

Joseph opened the door and slid out. The truck rose visibly when his weight was gone. He shrugged as if to loosen his shoulders, strode up to the driver's side of the red truck, reached in and grabbed Rock by the neck and pulled him out through the window. Then, holding Rock by the neck and crotch, Joseph power-drove him through the window into the truck headfirst.

This happened fast. The man with the knife was still cleaning his fingernails when Joseph moved around the front of the truck, grabbed the arm with the knife and shook the guy like a dog shaking a snake.

The knife flew through the air and Joseph picked this man up by the neck and the crotch and threw him into the third man, knocking him sprawling.

Then Joseph picked them up one at a time and speared one into the passenger side through the window and the other into the back of the truck. He went back to the driver's side and stood over Rock, who had tried to scramble around but still had one leg hanging out the window.

“Don't hurt the boy who's my sponsor,” Joseph rumbled, “or any of these people who work with him. If you do, I'll know and I'll come and pinch your head. Do you understand?”

“You're crazy!” Rock said.

“All that matters is that you do not hurt my sponsor or any of the people who work with him and you do not ask them for money. If you do I'll know and come and pinch your head. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah! But this isn't over!”

“That doesn't matter. Only what I said matters. Start your engine and drive away.”

Rock scrabbled to get the key turned in the ignition, slapped the shift lever down and tore away with one leg still sticking out the window and the other two men with their legs hanging out the passenger side and the back of the truck.

Pasqual's relations started a slow applause and soft whistles as Joseph came back to our truck. It had happened so fast that Pasqual and I hadn't had time to get out.

Joseph moved his bulk back onto the seat and the springs creaked as he sat down.

“Maybe,” I said, slowly, “we should have talked to them first. You know, before you … well, just maybe we should have talked.”

“We did talk,” Joseph said. “Before we came, they talked and asked for money. Then, after I put them in the truck, I talked. Then they drove away. That's the best way. First talk, then handle the problem, then watch them go away.”

“I'll remember that,” I said.

Joseph nodded. “Some things are hard to remember but this one is easy.”

I nodded. “Still, maybe next time, if there is a next time, we could talk a little longer first.” “Maybe.” He sighed. “Maybe not. Each time is different.”

Pasqual drove off but I saw that he was looking at Joseph out of the corner of his eye and he said something under his breath.

“What?” I asked.

“He's a force of nature….”“It was something!”

“A big storm sweeping down to clean all things away.”

“I think it was more like an earthquake….” Itrailed off, thinking. “Joseph, do you have a boxing name? Like a catchy title?”

“My name is Joseph Powdermilk, so I use that when I box.”

“I think we need something with a little more excitement to it. How about if we call you Earthquake?”

“Earthquake?”

“Right. We'll call you Earthquake Powdermilk the next time you box. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like it's not my name.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Sure.”

“Wait!”

I jumped back from the percussion of his bellow.

“Joey Pow,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

“Joey Pow,” he said. “It's catchy
and
it's my name.”

“Joey Pow.” I looked over at Pasqual, who was smiling at Joey. “I like it.”

And just like that, I was the sponsor of a boxer, I had security for the business, and my fighter had a cool nickname. I love it when things work out like that.

It was still raining softly that afternoon as I pedaled home from Arnold's, but the sun was coming out and I knew we'd be able to work the next day.

I'd told Arnold what happened with Rock. He nodded. “As you become more successful you'll attract more attention. Good
and
bad. It's a fact of business. It was good that Mr. Powdermilk showed up. With our unique situation, it might be difficult to call the authorities.”

“Are we breaking the law?”

“Not at all, not at all. But it might be difficult to
explain how all this could happen without your parents knowing.”

I watched as Joey Pow waved, got in his station wagon and drove away.

“I'm going to tell them. I'm just waiting for the right time.”

“Soon. The right time should be soon.”

I nodded. “Maybe tonight.”

And just for the record, I tried.

Mom came home around four o'clock from her summer job, Dad came out of his lab in the basement, I helped in the kitchen and we had a proper sit-down meal.

After the meal Dad read the paper and I helped Mom with the dishes and then we went into the living room to watch television. Just after Dad put the paper down and Mom turned the set on there was a moment.

“Mom, Dad …”

They both looked at me.

“I've been mowing lawns….”

Seemed lame.

Try again.

“I mean, I know how hard you work….”

Still lame.

Hmmm. All right. Shoot the moon.

“Mom, Dad. If you could have anything you wanted, anything, what would it be?”

Mom looked at me. “Is this a game?”

“No. Seriously. Anything you wanted—what would it be?”

She frowned, thinking. “Well, I would hope that you have a happy and fulfilled life.”

“I mean stuff. Is there any kind of stuff you want?” I looked at Dad. “Same for you—anything.”

“I'd agree with your mother and hope that you had a good life.”

I have a good life, I thought. And I have over fifty thousand dollars. “Thanks, both of you. But, hey, like I said, I mean stuff. For yourselves. Isn't there anything
you
would want?”

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“Not a thing,” Mom said.

“Me either.”

“Oh, come on. I mean, think about it, anything, no matter the cost.”

There was a silence. Then my mom laughed. “Oh,
I
know what you're doing. You've saved up some money from your lawn-mowing business and you want to help out. Isn't that it?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Ohhhh.” She smiled that soft mother smile. “That's very sweet, dear, but we … Who on earth is that?”

She had been sitting facing the front window, which looks out across the lawn—which by this time, what with Pasqual's efforts, was starting to look pretty good. He'd been so horrified by the condition of what he called “the boss's lawn” that he'd come by to recondition it. The change was a complete mystery to my parents, who made jokes about the lawn fairies who work on the grass when everybody is asleep. My parents were spending a lot of time relaxing in the evenings after work, admiring their miraculous lawn.

My mother stood and walked to the window. “My goodness.”

I looked and was stunned to see the old station wagon with Joey Pow sitting in the front seat, his head down, dozing.

“Look at the
size
of the man. Why, he barely fits in the car.”

Dad stood and went to the window. “Hmmm … the car looks kind of beat-up. I wonder if he's all right?”

“He's all right, believe me.” It slipped out before I could stop it.

“You know him?”

Think fast. But I couldn't figure out how to explain how I had come to own the prizefighter in front of our house without a whole lot of details and I also didn't want to lie to my folks. “Well, sort of. I know him from the lawn jobs I've been doing. He's a good guy. I'll go out and see what he's doing here.”