THE BOLAN CHRONICLES: Reading #18

18. Approximate Minutes Reading (AMR): 10

Introduction to Characters
Doris Fanning, AKA 'Missy' - Jake and Donna's neighbor

THE BOLAN CHRONICLES

Chapter 3

A House

**Cop Tales and Missy**

January was a cold and uneventful month for the couple. Jake focused much of his time on his job, taking every opportunity to become acquainted with more customers from the police department, and always going above and beyond. The other employees recognized Jake's hard work, and they admired it. He was a veritable, unstoppable bulldog. Lonnie, the head chef, often teased him about it. He'd say things like, 'What the hell does your wife put in your Cheerios every day, Bolan?' And, 'Does that damn spring ever wind down, Bolan?'

One cold Saturday night, late in January, Twila commented on how the snow had just about completely covered the cars out back, and she laughed and added, "Maybe have ta' pull an overnighter here at Kens!"

Without a word, Jake grabbed the snow shovel leaning against the wall just next to the kitchen’s back door. Thirty minutes later, he stumbled back. Twila had been searching for a strainer in the sink. She looked up.

"Jake, Honey!  You're sweatin' like a whore on night shift! What the hell was you doin?"

He pushed the door back open and pointed. "That!"

She hobbled over and looked out the door. Jake had uncovered completely not only hers, but the three other employee's cars, as well. She gasped, "Oh my Lord! Jake, Honey! Did you do all of that?" Jake just smiled.

Twila wrapped her big arm around him and said, "You are a momma's dream, you know that!"

Jake faked a shy reply, "Ah, shucks, Twila! I'z speechless!" 

"I can't imagine you speechless, Jake Bolan." Twila replied. And she added, "Life around here'd be purdy derned borin' without you keepin' things alive."

Jake absorbed every last word.

The cold month of January brought with it lots of time indoors, and on his days off, Jake often found himself feeling frustrated and pent-up. Most of the time he enjoyed being around Donna, but when he was in a mood to be alone, there was no discussing or disguising it. Donna learned to recognize the warning signs. He would give her that mysterious stare, or he would suddenly stop talking in what she considered to be the middle of a conversation. It wasn’t difficult for Donna to accept. She simply chalked it up to stress and and his natural reaction to necessary time alone.

On one of his days of necessary isolation, Jake finished his cup of morning coffee and informed Donna that he would be in the basement. He asked that she not bother him and told her that he’d be up now and then, and that in the meantime, she was to keep the door shut. He wanted to think. 

He sat at his desk and grabbed a handful of his True Crime magazines and began to pore through them. His favorite stories were about the cops who didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of them. Though he’d read it half a dozen times, he opened a June issue from 1974 to his favorite story, Officer Sugar, the Rapist’s Worst Enemy, and the subtitle, The Victim’s Sweetest Friend. In it, Officer Timothy Sugar, a five-year cop with a mean streak, patrolled the streets of Highland Park, a suburb of Detroit. For three years, rape had been the crime of choice; plaguing the community so severely that females were encouraged to do everything they could to avoid being alone at night. The Officer Sugar incident occurred at a dumpy apartment complex. A waitress had just arrived and was walking up the concrete steps to her second-floor apartment. Sugar had been dispatched to the complex. A resident claimed that he had heard disturbing moaning noises coming from somewhere just outside of his kitchen window. Just as the would-be rapist grabbed the waitress and began dragging her down the steps, Sugar came around the corner. The criminal saw Sugar and attempted an escape, but Sugar drew his gun and demanded the man drop to the ground and put his hands on his head. He handcuffed the would-be rapist, threw him in the back of his squad car, and drove him to a remote area. There, according to the criminal, torture ensued. Allegedly, Sugar had said something like, “I’ll see to it that you never use that little thing again,” and used his nightstick to ensure his promise. Sugar denied it, claiming instead that the criminal had fallen from the second floor landing onto the handrail below. The investigation was brief—the criminal hadn’t a chance. The Victim’s Sweetest Friend was a reference to Sugar’s apparent follow-up visitations with the would-be victim. 

After hours of reading, Jake had satisfied his isolation wish. He ascended the steps back to the house. Donna asked him if he enjoyed his time. 

“Yepper. I did.”

“Did you just do some reading?” She asked.

“Yeah,” He replied, “Got some cop tales read.”

Donna giggled, “Cop tales?”

“Yeah. You know, cop stories.”

“Ooh. Sounds exciting! What were they about?”

He stared at her blankly for a second and then said sarcastically, “They were about good Samaritan’s, Donna.”

Puzzled, she replied, “Oh. That’s…unusual.”

Jake laughed and asked, “We got anything around here to consume? I’m famished!”

-------------------

February brought more cold weather, and though the house did have a nice sized fireplace, Jake had decided that wood was an added expense they couldn't afford. But on one particular Monday night when the temperature dropped to four above zero, Jake told Donna that it didn't matter what the cost, he was going to get some firewood.

Off work the following day, he forced himself out of bed before seven, and as Jake was getting dressed, Donna asked him why he was up so early.

"I'm getting us some firewood. That's why."

"Oh, okay." 

Jake stepped outside and shivered. He cursed the cold then walked to the neighbor’s house. It was small brick home with an inviting front patio. Two wooden rockers on either side of a petite round wooden table sat just in front of the front room window. Jake had noticed smoke coming from the front room chimney for the past month.

A small stocky lady, easily in her sixties, opened the door. She wore an oversized housedress tied at the waste with a bright pink strip of cloth. Her blotched pudgy cheeks supported a pair of horn-rimmed tortoise shell glasses. Her hair was gathered in a large bun, which Jake thought might have put her at an inch taller than five feet, and he was surprised at the high pitch of her voice when she said, "Hi-hi! I’ve seen you next door, and I've been meaning to come over to meet you folks." She offered her very tiny hand and added, "Me and my procrastination--by my age you'd think I'd learn!" Then she laughed, and it sounded to Jake like a five year-old girl's chortle, a snort punctuating each break, her pudgy cheeks jiggling about.

"Hi Ma'am. My name is Jake Bolan."

"I'm Doris Fanning, but please call me Missy. Everyone does." The chortle followed her introduction.

"It's nice meeting you, Missy."

"Likewise, Jake."

Jake cleared his throat and said, "I do have a question, if you don't mind."

"Oh no. Not at all."

He cleared his throat again and said, “Over the last few weeks, each day I’ve come home from work, I’ve noticed the smoke coming from your chimney.”

Curiously, Missy replied, “Yes?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling me where you folks buy your wood? It’s getting awfully cold, and it’s hard to sit and watch my wife shivering.”

"Oh, Stanley gets it...that's my husband...he cuts it with a friend over near Saugatuk Reservoir, just a bit south of here."

“I see,” Jake said. “Well, that’s all then. Thanks for your time, Ma’am, and it was nice to meet you.” Then he turned to walk back.

"If you'd like," She said, "You could take a few logs for the time being. It's awful cold out today, and it's the least I can do to make up for my lack of hospitality. Me and my procrastination!" The chortle followed, this time even more pronounced.

"Oh, I couldn't accept that ma'am. Not on our first meeting, anyway." He chuckled.

"No, no, you! I insist!” She raised her stubby arm and pointed, “Just open the old gate to the yard on the west side of the property there. You'll find a pile bigger than you'll believe. Two or three logs won't put a dent in it." Then she looked down as if she was thinking of what to say next. She continued, "I'd help you with it, but..."

"Oh, no ma'am. I can take care of it. And thank you so much! My wife will really appreciate this!"

So Jake gathered three of the heaviest logs that he could carry and lugged them back home. He put them next to the fireplace hearth and called Donna out from the soon-to-be baby's room. When she saw the logs she said, "Wow! How did you get back so fast?"

Jake explained to her that he'd just met the neighbor and that she had offered the logs. 

"That is so nice, Jake." Then she looked at the logs and added, "I'll get something to put down so we don't scuff-up the carpet.

"Don't worry about it," Jake said. "My arms feel like shit gone lame." He dropped the logs and told Donna he’d be right back. Five minutes later he walked in with an armful of kindling wood.

The fire was wonderful. Jake brought his small garage sale television up from the basement and placed it on a chair that they’d brought in from the kitchen. Donna made instant hot chocolate and served it in a set of old mugs, both with the face of a beautiful young lady from the fifties, grinning from ear to ear, and the words, DRINK COFFEE--DO STUPID THINGS FASTER WITH MORE ENERGY.   

The television sat on the kitchen chair throughout the month of February. It was a cold month, and Jake wooed his neighbors, helping out with this and that, which resulted in lots of free firewood. Jake had offered to pay, and he'd even left an envelope with $10 in their mailbox, but he knew that he'd get it back. And indeed, he did. And he boasted to Donna about how they'd enjoyed a month's worth of good old-fashioned heat at no cost.

Donna thought that they might be wise to stop accepting the firewood, but Jake said that a good string of luck is hard to come by, and that the fool passes up opportunity. She smiled and said that she understood; that he knew what he was doing and that she loved and trusted him. But Donna insisted that something be done for the neighbors, so she made several small loaves of corn bread and delivered them herself. Doris, AKA, Missy, was at first speechless at the gesture. Even before she introduced herself, she wrapped her chubby arms around Donna and thanked her profusely then she invited her in. Donna accepted the offer, and they sat down at hot tea and small, light brown cookies that Missy referred to as “crumblies.” 

Missy talked about herself for a while. She had been married to the same man, Stanley Manning, for forty-three years. Both of them had retired at the same time about five years ago, she from education and he from the railroad. Then Missy suddenly raised her open hands in front of her face and waved them, “My, my! That’s enough about me! I want to talk about that precious little package you’ve got there in your belly!” And they talked about names and the baby’s room and diapers. Donna was thrilled with their visit, and when she returned with a grin pasted across her face, Jake said, “So you liked that white Aunt Jemima!” 

Donna replied, “Oh, Jake! That’s not nice. She’s a really sweet lady.”

“Oh, I agree with you there, Dearie. She’s kept our little home cozy and warm for goin’ on two months now.”

Donna smiled and agreed, “Yes, she has.”