Plaid Jacket Jackson

"Whatever you think's best, Billy. You're in charge back there."

PJ smiled inwardly as he thought of Billy being in charge. It seemed like it was yesterday when his sister, Candee approached him about a job for her ex-con son. He had not spoken a word to Candee in months, and her first words to him were a demand that he give her son a job.

Twenty-Four Months Ago:

"Do you have a job for him or not? He needs something to keep him busy until he goes to prison."

PJ looked at his sister in surprise. "He's going back to prison? I thought he just got out." A couple of weeks after he graduated high school, his nephew Billy had been busted with weed in his car. Although Billy denied the baggie was his, the DA charged Billy with possession with intent to distribute. It was a horse-shit charge and PJ believed Billy's defense: the weed belonged to someone else. However, the prosecutor was a spurned ex-lover of Wendy Jackson, Billy's grandmother, and chose to punish her by sending her grandson to jail. The DA should have chosen as his revenge target something that Wendy actually gave two shits about; she didn't even bother to appear at Billy's trial.

Candee looked at her son in disgust. Average height and thin, with blonde hair just starting to grow out after his prison buzzcut, he was sitting with his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms were crossed across his chest and he stared morosely at the floor.

"The little fuck up will do something to get arrested again and get himself thrown back in prison. He can't help himself. He's just like his father, and I don't care what that asshole Raiford Mahl says; he's Billy's daddy."

"What do you want to do, Billy? PJ asked. "I can use another mechanic if you're interested. Buddy Hawkins is getting too old to stay hunched over a car engine for any length of time. He's been working part-time in sales for the last couple of months and wants to move out of the shop and into sales full-time next year. I'm willing to give you a shot if you think you're up to it."

Billy shrugged his shoulder. "I guess," he said with little enthusiasm for the idea.

"You have to ask me, Billy. I'm not going to beg you to work for me. I expect a full day's work and I'll pay you a decent wage. But you have to ask me for the job. If you're not man enough to ask me for a job, then I have no use for you." PJ stood to signal the meeting was over, as Candee looked angrily at first her brother, and then her son, the little fuck up.

Billy looked up at PJ with a hint of anger. It was the most emotion from Billy that PJ could remember seeing.

"Fine," Billy snapped. "Can I please have a job?"

"Sure thing Billy," PJ replied cheerfully. "Be at the service department at 8:00 AM tomorrow. I'll have Buddy Hawkins show you the ropes."

Billy's first day of work went exactly as PJ expected. He was an angry young man who had just been released from prison after serving eighteen months for a crime for which he was probably innocent. He was sullen and any time Buddy gave him directions Billy either ignored him or performed the actions at a snail's pace.

PJ called Buddy into his office at the end of the day and poured a bourbon for each of them.

"Tell me the truth, Buddy, is he going to be worth a shit? If he has potential and you can work with him, I'd like to give him a fair shake. But if you think he's a lost cause, I'll cut him loose and deal with my sister."

Buddy took a large gulp of his bourbon and relished the burn as it went down his throat. "I know some of the kid's story. Raised by a shitty mom and even worse grandmother and mostly ignored or yelled at for being male. No self-confidence and bullied all through school... On top of that, he was sentenced to two years for possession of weed that probably belonged to one of those asshats he hung around with. By the way, no offense meant about your sister and mom."

PJ waved away the apology; there was no offense to be taken if anyone talked bad about his sister or mother. Billy's mother, Candee, was a shitty mom and his grandmother, Wendy was an even shittier grandmother. Billy had barely graduated from high school, and almost immediately upon graduating, had been arrested for possession with intent. It was only a small amount of weed, so the punishment could have been worse but still, Billy was sentenced to two years at the Ellis unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. PJ viewed it as an opportunity for Billy to get his act together. Candee Jackson (who PJ privately thought of as "Whore Jacket" Jackson) viewed the sentence as an opportunity for Billy to spend some quality time with his daddy (or at least one of the candidates) who was also being housed by the TDCJ.

As it turned out, Raiford Mahl had little interest in spending any time with someone who may or may not be his whelp. Raiford knew that in addition to himself, there was also a good possibility that the kid's daddy could be any one of his brothers; Angola, Joliet, or Brushy Mountain Mahl. Hell, as far as that goes, throw their daddy Alcatraz Mahl into the mix too. Candee Jackson, for all her family's history in Jackson County, was as much of a Texas dirty leg as her mother. It was not until Raiford saw the hapless Billy wandering about the yard with his oversized prison-issued slip-on tennis shoes flapping around like clown shoes, that he decided to stick his oar in the water. Maybe Billy was his kid, maybe he wasn't, but in either case, he wasn't going to let the kid be some asshole inmate's June Bug.

When Raiford observed another inmate chin-check Billy by punching him in the jaw to see if he would fight, Raiford sent his cellmate to fetch the boy over.

Under Raiford's protection, Billy was not beaten, sodomized, or otherwise assaulted during his two-year term (which turned into eighteen months with six months off for good behavior.) Raiford had even called in a couple of markers and got Billy into classes for automotive repair; a much more marketable skill than either high-volume institutional cooking or high-volume institutional laundering.

Although they never bonded in the way that Candee hoped, Raiford adopted an almost paternalistic attitude toward Billy. The shy, naïve young man was protected and never developed the hardened shell and deeply rooted cynicism that was the inevitable result of doing time.

"I think at heart he's a good kid," Buddy continued, "I'll work with him and keep you in the loop about his progress. I don't want a fuck up in the shop any more than you do."

PJ nodded at Buddy's assessment. "Thanks, Buddy. Keep an eye on him. The poor kid had been crapped on all his life and Candee would throw a shit-fit if I tried to do anything for him while he was growing up. Now, she comes to me as a last resort." PJ shook his head at the thought of his sister. They were almost complete strangers.

+++

"Absolutely not," Carol said. "I am not going to have that convict living over our garage."

PJ had broached the idea of Billy moving into the loft space over their garage. The farm had a two-car attached garage but it also had a three-car detached garage which contained PJ's workshop and exercise equipment. PJ had converted the space above the garage into an apartment a couple of years ago with the idea that once they had children, it would provide additional space for holiday guests.

"Billy's a good kid. He's starting to settle in at the shop and now that he's got a steady income, Candee and his grandmother want to start charging him rent. They're trying to take advantage of him and I'm trying to help him." This was a hill that PJ was willing to die on. The Jackson family also owned a house on the edge of downtown in which Philip lived with his second wife; a pretty widow of Mexican heritage named Bonita, who had been Philip's physical therapist after his stroke.

Carol threw up her hands. "You do what you want; you're going to anyway. Just don't expect me to welcome the little jailbird with open arms."

+++

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Buddy said. They were once again sitting in PJ's office sipping on tumblers of bourbon.

"Tell me the whole story," PJ said.

"Well, you know that old Jeep Cherokee that Donnie Slater dropped off to see if we could fix?"

PJ wagged his hand. He was vaguely familiar with the story but could not remember the specifics.

"Donnie bought that Jeep off your grandfather about thirty years ago, so it's seen some hard use. Donnie complained that it would stall out at intermittent times. Donnie has had six shops look at it, including the Jeep dealer in Austin but no one could find the problem. Every shop could duplicate the complaint once or twice, but the damned thing always started right back up. No one could figure it out, including me." Buddy took a sip from his bourbon and leaned back in the visitor's chair in PJ's office with a self-satisfied smirk. "It took your nephew all of two minutes to diagnose the problem."

"Which was..." PJ prompted.

"Donnie had replaced the battery himself a few months ago. AutoZone was out of the correct battery, but they gave him one that they said was the same length and width as his old one. And it was. The problem is, that it was about an inch and a half taller. That wouldn't ordinarily be a problem except that ol' Donnie also has a busted left-side motor mount along with the hood insulation being worn through in a few places. When Donnie would hit the accelerator, the engine would rock up, causing the battery posts to come into contact with the steel hood, causing the computer to shut down."

Buddy chuckled as he recounted the tale to PJ. "You should have seen Donnie. He told me that from now on, he doesn't want anyone but Billy to touch any of his vehicles."

PJ smiled inwardly. Donnie Slater was good for about three trucks a year for his excavating business. Keeping Donnie Slater happy was a top priority.

Later, PJ made it a point to stand in the service department as Billy exited.

"Nice work on Donnie Slater's Jeep," PJ said.

"You heard about that?" Billy asked in surprise before blushing and looking down at his feet.

"I try to keep up with what's going on in my own service department," PJ said, dryly. "Billy, walk with me. I heard that your mom is trying to charge you rent. I want to talk to you about another option that you may be interested in."

+++

"The doctor will be right with you," the nurse said.

Carol and PJ sat in the chairs to which they were directed. They were meeting in the doctor's office rather than an exam room, so PJ knew that this was not going to be good news. He and Carol had been trying for years to get pregnant. Carol had suffered through several miscarriages, each one spiraling her into a deeper depression leaving PJ to feel helpless in the face of her misery. She had refused any therapy and counseling, choosing instead to white-knuckle through her mental and emotional pain.

Dr. Ellsberg entered his office abruptly and sat behind his desk, laying a folder down.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, there's no way to ease into this conversation so I'll be blunt. Mrs. Jackson, your womb is inhospitable to bearing children."

PJ stared at the doctor, shocked at the coldness of his manner. Dr. Ellsberg continued talking, using terms like "hostile uterine environment" but by this time PJ had tuned the doctor out. It all came down to one thing: they could not have children.

On the drive back to Jackson City, it was as if a curtain had been drawn over Carol's emotions.

"Well, that takes care of that," she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I suppose you want a divorce now."

PJ was incredulous at the question. "How can you ask that? I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I'm disappointed we can't have kids. But, baby, that's not why I married you. I'm your life partner, just like you're my life partner. No one and nothing is going to come between us. You have to know that."

Carol said nothing as she looked out the car window, watching the scenery go past in a blur.

+++

Carol eventually went to therapy and saw counselors and gradually accepted the doctor's statements, however, the diagnosis fundamentally changed her. Gone was the happy, loving carefree coed that PJ had fallen in love with. In her place was an angry, embittered shrew who unfairly blamed PJ for the fact that she would never be a mother. When PJ had suggested they adopt, she fixed him with a withering glare before telling him that she would rather strangle him in his sleep than raise someone else's unwanted brat. PJ stared at his wife in shock and disappointment and knew that his marriage was in deep trouble.

As she aged and the first gray hairs began to creep in, she began dying her hair. Gone were the glorious flowing, copper-colored locks; replaced by a hideous color that PJ privately thought of as "Bozo Orange" although was actually just a brighter shade of red than her natural hair color. She also now changed how she wore her hair. Instead of hanging to her shoulders or in a ponytail, she now wore her hair in a style reminiscent of a 1960s updo. PJ began thinking of her as the "Copperhead," a particularly venomous pit viper.

Carol had also joined several volunteer organizations. She stated that she wanted to give back to the community, but PJ believed that she joined the groups as a way to distance herself from, and spend less time with her husband

+++

12 Months Ago

"Did you get a chance to check out that Audi," PJ asked.

Billy got a disgusted look on his face, a look he had picked up from PJ when it came to German cars. "Yeah, it's in pretty good shape considering it's an Audi. It needs two rear tires and an alignment, new wiper blades, and front and rear brake pads and rotors. It looks like the timing belt has already been replaced."

PJ nodded his head. It could have been worse. Buddy took the car in trade and PJ was worried about needed repairs. Considering the cost of an Audi timing belt replacement, the fact that it was not necessary was a huge deal. PJ would not have allowed the car to be sold if the timing belt needed replacement and an Audi t-belt and water pump replacement would cost almost a thousand dollars even billed at the internal rate for recon costs. That would have effectively wiped out a lot of the profit when it came time to put the Audi on the sales lot.

"Go ahead and call Napa Jacket over at the parts store for the parts and get a couple of Bridgestones ordered from Tire Rack. Nice job, Billy." And it was. Billy had blossomed over the last year leaving Buddy free to transition to a sales role, which he was loving. Billy still lived in the apartment over PJ's garage and Carol still refused to acknowledge his existence. She would not look Billy in the eye and continued to call him "the convict," even though he had worked for his uncle for a year.

"What are you doing this weekend, Billy?"

"The two Carlos' and Benny are taking me over to The Body Shoppe to celebrate my first anniversary of working here," Billy said. "I think I went to high school with one of the girls dancing over there. I'm going to check it out."

"Billy, even though you didn't ask for it, I'm going to give you some advice: first off, to paraphrase Nelson Algren, "Never get involved with a woman whose problems are worse than your own." That means no white-knighting. If a woman can't stand on her own two feet and manage her own life, then you need to run the hell away. Second, don't get involved with single moms. Ever. If you do, you will be involved in more bullshit drama than you ever dreamed in your worst nightmare. Third, don't stick your dick in crazy. Now, you're going to break at least one, if not all three of those rules when you're young, but if you remember them in time, they will save you a whole shit ton of misery. Especially if you're hanging out at a titty club."

Billy rolled his eyes at his uncle and left to meet up with his co-workers. Billy had no idea what PJ was talking about. He was always quoting somebody and then telling Billy to "look it up." Who the hell was Nelson Al-whatever? Fucking PJ, what did he know about life anyway? What Billy knew, was that tonight was going to be epic. PJ had given him his monthly bonus a week early.

+++

"Did you hear that Ben Fowler is retiring in six months from being school superintendent?" Carol asked her husband over dinner.

PJ looked up in surprise. "I hadn't heard anything about it," PJ admitted. "Why did he decide to pull the trigger?"

"He was diagnosed with Afib," Carol said. "He wants to take care of his health and travel around the country with his wife in their RV. He says the stress of the job is going to give him a coronary."

"The stress of his job is only there because he's terrible at it. I wonder what the school board plans to do about a new superintendent of schools," PJ said.

"They've talked about making Elmer Hudson the acting super," Carol replied.

PJ grimaced at that. Elmer Hudson was a New Yorker who had been hired as the high school principal three years previously. Privately, PJ thought of Elmer as a roly-poly little asslicker. Elmer could at times be officious and at other times come across as whiny. His hiring predated most of the current members of the school board, although he was aware that a few of the board members thought highly of the twatwaffle.

"Elmer asked me if I would consider becoming the acting high school principal if he became acting super. I told him that I would, but I wanted to talk to you first."

"You always talked about getting into the admin side of education. Go for it if you think it's something you want."

"Thanks, PJ. I didn't think you'd have a problem with it," Carol said. She needed to think through an idea she was having, but if the world aligned for her, she would have it all.

+++

Billy had experienced sensory overload when he walked through the doors of The Body Shoppe. The club had one large main stage and two smaller stages, each of which held a solitary dancer gyrating to older rock songs. The customers were a mixed lot: construction workers, migrants, truckers, and mechanics. There were a couple of guys wearing colors for the Bandidos motorcycle gang sitting at the bar. They ignored the dancers and would continue to do so until whichever dancer belonged to them would walk over to them and advise her man that she had caught a trick and would be gone for an hour or two or perhaps even all night.

The girls were a mixed lot ranging from overweight to emaciated; from not attractive at all to kind of cute. One girl had approached Billy and asked if he wanted a table dance. Billy thought her pretty until she smiled, revealing that all the teeth on the left side of her face were missing. Billy noticed an angry pink scar on another dancer running from her navel to just below her right breast.

"Was that an appendix or something?" Billy had asked his co-workers.

Benny Ortega had laughed. "No, mi hermano; someone tried to gut that bitch."

"All the putas calientes go to Dallas, Houston, or Austin to dance," Carlos Hernandez said. Carlos H. was a portly, divorced forty-five-year-old. "We get the leftovers here."

"Yeah," Carlos Rivera had agreed. "But you wanna fuck a dancer in Dallas, you gonna pay mucho dinero. These putas are way cheaper."

"They're all prostitutes?" Billy asked with surprise. He had thought all they did was dance.

"Not all of them," said Benny Ortega. "Maybe half the girls in here are hookers on the side. What they call 'being in the game.' The rest are just dancers. Some are single moms and some are going to college. Or so they say. Don't believe anything these crazy bitches tell you," Benny laughed.