The Struggles of Johnny Cannon (3 page)

Still, she wasn't exactly like one of them girls he used to mess around with. Besides the fact that she wasn't white, she also seemed higher class than them. Probably couldn't dance on a table or cuss me out over her cigarettes and waffles if she tried.

I liked her already.

It had been five seconds since anybody had said anything, and Martha's eyes was practically floating in midair as she stared at Sora, so Sora cleared her throat.

“And you are?” she asked. Martha blinked a few times and stuck out her hand.

“Martha Macker.”

“Oh, I've heard about you!” Sora said, and she smiled at me. “So you two finally—”

“Finally became friends, yup,” I said. “Tommy told you about that?”

Sora glanced at Martha and then nodded.

“He told me all about you, and about Cullman, and everything else.”

“Wish I could say the same,” I said. Martha kicked me. “I mean, Tommy didn't say a darn thing about you.” Another kick. “I mean, it's nice to meet you, too.”

Sora laughed.

“Tommy always said you were funny.”

He always told me I was a moron. Maybe that's along the same lines as funny.

“Um, where are you staying?” Martha asked.

Sora brushed her finger down Tommy's gravestone and traced along the dates that was under his name. She sighed.

“Nowhere,” she said. “Not yet. I just got here from Mobile. My luggage is still in the car.”

I looked over at the gate, expecting to see a yellow taxicab or something. Instead it was a gold Buick LeSabre. And a fella was leaning on the hood, wearing a slick blue suit and a white fedora, smoking a cigarette.

“I'm sure Mr. Cannon would want you to stay with him and Johnny,” Martha said. I almost kicked her back, but I reckoned that would be detrimental to Operation Happy Ending. It wasn't that I was being inhospitable or anything. It was just that me and Pa was private folk. Partially 'cause we was both a little shy. And also partially 'cause of the work Pa did for Mr. Thomassen. But I couldn't go and tell about all that, so I just nodded instead.

Sora grabbed me and hugged on me again. Just about threw my back out contorting like that. Then that baby in her belly socked me in the gut. Dang, it was definitely Tommy's baby. It punched just like him.

Martha went to help Sora up.

“So, the car, is that a friend, or—”

“No,” Sora said, real quick. “No, he's just someone that offered me a ride.”

“Well, you can send him away now,” Martha said. “We'll drive you up to the house. Let's go get your luggage.”

They both headed back to the entrance. Martha looked at me over her shoulder and moved her head like she wanted me to come with them. I looked over at Ma's gravestone. I wasn't done with the conversation yet.

Oh well, I reckoned I could come back later. Say what you want about the dead, but they're the most patient folks you'll ever meet. Actually, don't say what you want about the dead. They're patient, but they hold a grudge like nobody else. Just ask my great-uncle Tom. He's been haunting the newspaper ever since they canceled his subscription back in '22.

Them girls got to the car before me and Martha told the driver that we was taking Sora's luggage. He got a funny expression on his face and looked at Sora, but then she nodded and so he went around and started pulling her bags out of his trunk. It was like a magic trick, I didn't reckon it was possible for all them bags to come out of one car. I half expected to see him pull out a dove or something like that. And maybe a clown or two. There was so many bags, I went ahead and untied the boat off the truck. I'd have to come back for it.

After we got the luggage all loaded up, the fella called me over.

“So, you're the kid she's looking for?” he asked. He had a real strong wintergreen-smelling aftershave.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You take good care of her,” he said. “And that baby of hers.”

“Sure,” I said. “I reckon it's my nephew or something like that.”

He nodded, looked like he wanted to say something else, but then went and got into his car instead.

He drove off and then we all got into the truck to head to my house. Sora slid in right next to me and I was actually sort of surprised at how skinny her legs and butt was, considering her belly was as big as a well-fed pig. Still, that belly was blocking the gearshift. I hoped Tommy's kid knew how to shift into reverse.

Martha got in and closed the door and we headed on up the hill.

“So, when are you due?” Martha asked.

“Sometime in October,” Sora said.

“Due where?” I asked. “You got someplace else to be? Is it really safe to be going somewhere when you're about to have a baby?”

“Johnny,” Martha said, and her voice sounded like it had when she slapped me earlier, “shut up and drive.”

We drove along the road and I did my best to ignore all the times my niece or nephew was hitting me in the ribs like I was a piñata. I hated to disappoint them, but I didn't reckon no candy was going to come out. I'd been trying to cut back.

We finally made it to our house, the two-story gray home that the Cannon family first built right after the Civil War. There was an American flag waving off the antenna poking out from the backyard where Pa had rebuilt his radio shack. That was where he did his work for Mr. Thomassen.

“As you can see,” Martha said, “there are no women living in this house.” Sora nodded in agreement.

I looked at the place again and couldn't see what they was talking about. I mean, sure, we didn't have no flowers or nothing, or curtains on our windows, or a porch that looked pretty. And sure, there was tools in the driveway that had been there for a week and the grass had gotten to growing longer than it should have. And, sure, we had some squirrels and rabbits hanging on the front porch 'cause I still had to skin them. But really, what about all that made it unfit for a woman?

There was several cars parked in our yard, which didn't cause me no stir 'cause they was just Mr. Thomassen's white Cadillac and Carlos Martí's blue Chevy pickup. Carlos had been Mr. Thomassen's bandleader back in Havana, and he and I had escaped from Castro's clutches together. That's another long story. Now Carlos worked for Mr. Thomassen same as Pa, only Carlos did a lot of running around while Pa stayed put.

I parked next to the Cadillac and hurried to get inside before the girls. I was kind of hoping to prepare Pa for meeting his grandchild. He wasn't the healthiest fella in the world, mainly 'cause he only had half a lung and a quarter of his intestines thanks to the war. He also told me quite often that he had half a mind, but that was usually in context of him yelling at me, so I didn't think he was serious about that.

When I stepped in the door, I forgot what I was aiming to do, 'cause there was somebody there that I wasn't expecting. Sitting there with Pa, Mr. Thomassen, and Carlos in our living room was a fella that still scared the bejeezus out of me.

It was Short-Guy, the CIA agent.

They was all deep in a conversation, but Carlos elbowed Pa when he saw that I'd come in. Pa looked over at me.

“Oh, hey, son. How'd the fishing go? Did you catch anything?”

Right then the screen door behind me slammed open and Martha and Sora came in.

“Yeah, I reckon I caught a big one,” I said. “This here's—”

“Sora Sa,” Sora said.

All four of them men stood to their feet, 'cause that's what you do in Alabama when a lady has done entered the room. Pa cleared his throat and wiped his hands off on his shirt.

“Pete Cannon, Johnny's pa. It's nice to meet you, miss,” Pa said. “What brings you—”

That's when Sora stepped out from behind me to show off that beach ball of a belly she had.

“Well,” Pa said. “Congratulations on the baby.”

Sora smiled and bowed her head.

“Thank you,” she said, then she glanced at me. “It's your son's.”

All of them fellas' eyes practically popped out of their sockets and looked at me, though I couldn't figure out what for. Pa's face turned as red as a fire engine and he started breathing the way he did when he forgot he couldn't breathe so good. Then they all started hollering at once.

“What in the name of all that is good and holy—?”

“You aren't even old enough yet!”

“
¡No tienes dos dedos de frente!
What were you thinking?”

“Hold the dadgum telephone!” I yelled. “It ain't mine, for crying out loud, it's Tommy's.”

Talk about throwing a bucket of water on a bonfire. Pa went from being as mad as the devil to as giddy as a naked angel baby. He hurried and got up next to Sora and walked her over to the couch, the whole time grinning like a possum with an ice cream cone and babbling sounds that didn't none of them make sense strung together.

He fluffed up a pillow for her to sit on, then sat down right next to her.

“Ain't that just like Tommy,” he said. “Going off and getting married without telling nobody.”

Come to think of it, no, it wasn't like him at all.

“Well, we didn't ever actually—” she started, a little embarrassed. “What I mean is, we planned to take care of that when he came back.”

Yeah, that sounded more like him.

Pa's face showed his shock again, but I reckon the happiness from finding out he was a grandpa took over and he just started smiling again.

“Oh well, water under the bridge,” he said, then he patted her on the leg. “And this just proves that the Good Book is true.
‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'
Here I am, doing the work I'm doing, and in return the Lord brings a happy addition to my own family.”

Sora smiled and nodded.

“When are you due?” Mr. Thomassen said.

Martha plopped down next to Sora and put her arm around her.

“In October,” she said, “and she doesn't have a place to stay.”

“Not true,” Pa said. “She can stay here.”

“Pa!” I said. “What about the hotel or something?”

“What?” he said. “No, nonsense. This place could use a woman's touch. Sora can stay in Tommy's room. It's only right.”

She hugged his neck and I reckon the baby took a jab at him too. He didn't seem to mind it. He put his hand on her belly to feel it contort and he laughed when it did.

I announced that I was going to get her luggage and Carlos offered to help me, but then Short-Guy said he'd do it 'cause he needed to talk to me about something. Which made my stomach get back into the bag of knots it had been when I first saw him. I hurried outside and he hurried to follow me.

I started grabbing bags real quick and he stopped me.

“How much do you know about what your father is doing with Mr. Thomassen?” he asked.

“Why?” I asked, and I felt all them knots tighten up in my stomach. “Is he getting into trouble again?”

“No,” he said. “Not—just tell me, how much do you know?”

“Only that they call themselves the Three Caballeros, like that old Disney cartoon. And that Carlos goes away for two or three days to do jobs that Pa finds for him. And that not a one of them talks about it none.”

He listened real intent to that.

“And that's all?”

“Yup.” I pulled out another of Sora's bags from the truck. “Why? What's up?”

“Have you mentioned their name to anyone? The Three Caballeros, have you told anyone about that?”

“No,” I said. “Well, Willie, but he's my blood brother, so I tell him everything.”

He nodded.

“Now, listen to me. I need you to answer this question completely, and don't even think of lying to me.” He grabbed me by the shoulders, which was a little weird since he was an inch smaller than me. “Who have you told about Captain Morris? That he is your real father?”

“Only the folks that was in the room when I recorded my testimony,” I said. “So, the Parkinses, the Mackers—well, Martha and her ma, at least—and Mr. Thomassen and Carlos. Oh, and Pa, of course.”

He sighed.

“That's more than I'd like, but it'll have to do. It can't go further than that circle. Do you understand me?”

“Sure, I guess,” I said. “Why, what's going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. As long as you do as I say, nothing at all.”

Oh good. 'Cause there wasn't nothing about what he said that made me worried or nothing. I was as cool as a cucumber now. A cucumber that was worried he might get shot in the head while he slept. That'd be a real pickle.

See, I wasn't nervous. I was almost peeing my pants, but still, I had jokes to spare.

We headed back inside and went to carry Sora's things up to Tommy's room. She stopped me and told me to leave the duffel bag down there. When we came back down, she had a gift-wrapped box and a manila envelope sitting on the coffee table.

“What's this?” I asked.

Sora smiled.

“Tommy made me promise I would come here to give you your birthday present. He wanted to make sure it was hand delivered.”

The whole room got quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the air start itching at you. Adding the itchy air to the nervous stomach I had from Short-Guy's conversation, and I almost puked.

“What?” she asked. I looked over at Short-Guy, and he threatened my life with his eyes, so I had to come up with something else that was wrong.

“My birthday is in July,” I said. “You're late.”

“Johnny!” Pa yelled.

“Really?” she said, real confused. “Then why did he say it was—” She shook her head. “Oh well. Tommy wasn't exactly in the clearest state of mind when he and I were together in Mobile. He was so nervous about shipping off.”

“To Nicaragua,” Pa said.

That was a sputter in the conversation, and Sora seemed to get a little nervous over it. Or morning sick, there ain't no real way to be sure with pregnant women. She shot Pa a glance, one of them “do you know what you're talking about?” glances (or maybe one of them “I'm about to puke on your face” glances. Like I said, pregnant women).