“She’s been abandoned,” Julie said. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and she looked down at the little girl. “I don’t trust adoption agencies. I’ve got my reasons,” she said.
The three of us men exchanged looks.
“How you doin', Child? Are you hungry?” Dock asked, leaning toward her with his hands on his knees and a grandfatherly smile on his face.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“’Course you are. So am I. What say we go get us some dinner?”
Keesha nodded in the affirmative. The rest of us didn’t even have to confer over the answer. We hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and that had been a hurried affair in Dock’s kitchen that morning before setting out.
“That settles it,” Hank said.
There was one thing we’d learned from the trip after poking our noses against enough dirty windows and peering into the gloom: Jake and Freddie-whom I was simply dying to meet-had cleared out. There wasn’t so much as a stick of furniture in the place. There was, however, trash aplenty, which consisted of the leavings of many a take-out meal. Apparently Jake and Freddie liked Chinese food.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hill’s Cafe on South Congress in Austin has seen its share of strange clientele before, but I wasn’t sure it had ever seen such an awkward collection of thrown-together folks as the five of us as we took our seats at the ‘George Bush Table’. Back when the younger George was Governor, he used to eat at Hill’s-or so the story goes-and the management had designated our table for him. I wondered if while he sat in his big chair at the White House he ever missed his booth at Hill’s.
Dock Slocum and Julie sat with Keesha between them. They both doted on her. Keesha held open a large fold-out menu while Dock pointed to each menu item in turn.
“How 'bout onion rings? Ever had that?”
“Nope. Never did.”
“Chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes?”
“I like mash potatoes.”
“Mashed potatoes it is then!”
Most of their conversation was like that and they managed to run through the entire menu, the old fellow asking about this dish and that dish and the little girl nodding her head appropriately and looking up at Julie for approval and asking for clarification about the things she’d never heard of before.
Hank and I just looked at each other, smiled and nodded.
After ten minutes or so we all ordered. I knew I’d be picking up the check and a sinking feeling came over me; the knowledge that my credit cards would be getting a hell of a work out in the very near future.
I noticed that Dock and Hank were carrying on some kind of covert conversation.
“What’s going on, you two schemers?”
Dock looked up suddenly, as if he’d been caught red-handed.
“Nothing,” he said. “Private conversation. Something I’ve been trying to talk to Hank about for the last couple of years and I’m beginning to think he’s not really interested.”
“Now that’s not exactly true, dammit,” Hank said.
Julie reached over and slapped Hank’s hand.
“Ow! What?”
She had an angry look on her face and she nodded in Keesha’s direction.
“Language!” she said.
“Oh!” Hank said. “All I said was ’dammit’.”
Julie slapped his hand again.
“OW!” Hank jerked his hand back. “For Pete’s sake!”
Keesha giggled and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Naw. He’s not interested,” Dock said and put a hand up on the table and started adjusting his silverware.
“Tell me, Dock,” I said. “I might be interested.”
“Here we go,” Hank said.
Dock gave him a withering look.
“What?” Hank shrugged.
“Okay,” Dock began. “So I’ve got this rental property in Harker Heights-that’s a little town that’s grown up into Killeen, sort of like a thorn in its side, you know-”
Hank cursed under his breath.
“Ow!” Hank sat upright. “Somebody kicked me! Bill, you’d better control your woman!”
“Shut up, Hank,” I said. “Go ahead, Dock.”
“Anyway, I’ve got this duplex over there-nothing but trouble. I don’t know what to do. About the time I get one set of renters in one half, the other half goes vacant and I have to make repairs. I’m all upside down on the mortgage too-bought it when interest rates were too high and I can’t refinance it because of my age, now. I haven’t seen enough on it to cover payments, repairs, and taxes too. And I wouldn't have bought it except for a slick-talking real estate agent-a friend of a friend, you know-called me up and told me about this foreclosure. So, I picked it up and have had nothing but misery with it ever since. I retired in 1972 and should have stayed retired, know what I mean? I got no business trying to invest in real estate. I’m a retired deputy sheriff from down in Hays County. I guess I never really hardened up, except in San Diego during boot camp. That was back in 1944. I guess I was born expecting the best out of people and have never been not-disappointed since. Maybe I ought to change my ways of looking at things, you know?”
“Don't change a thing, Dock,” Hank said. “It's the world that needs to catch up with you.”
“Reckon you're right. But it’s not just other people I expect more out of. It’s me, I reckon. I was down dropping off my taxes the other day, and I overheard this young whipper-snapper refer to me to this other accountant-fellow as a ‘slumlord’. Didn’t like the sound of that. I guess they were just following the stereotype, thinking that because I’m old I couldn’t hear worth a damn. I can still hear the Baptist preacher inside his church across the valley screaming at his congregation on Wednesday night. My hearing hasn’t changed since I was about two.”
“You just have the one duplex, right Dock?” Hank asked.
“That’s right,” he said, scratched his head and looked down at Keesha again. I noticed whenever he looked at her the corners of his mouth turned up into a little smile.
“Well,” Hank said. “I never heard an official definition, but I think you’d have to own a row of them, come by a couple of times a month not to repair anything but just to browbeat everybody for their rent to technically qualify as a slumlord.”
“Hank’s right,” I said. “That’s about the closest I’ve ever heard to a real definition of the word.”
“Well. That makes me feel some better. Still, after all this, I’ve got to get rid of the damned thing. Not sure how to do that, though. I was hoping Hank here would take them off my hands.” Dock looked over at Hank. Hank shook his head in the negative.
“I’ve got a friend who can help you with that, Dock,” I told him. I fished out my wallet, pulled forth a business card and handed it to him. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back in my office, Dock, but why don’t you call me and I’ll give you the numbers for a couple of honest realtors and investors I know who could take it off your hands. You might be able to get some or all of your money back out of it. If the market has corrected itself since last I looked, you might even be able to make some spare change.”
“Well, thank you kindly, Sonny.”
“You have to watch Bill, Dock,” Hank said. “He’s always at work, even when he’s not.”
“Just exactly what is it that you do, Bill? You never did say?” Dock asked.
