Макс Коллинз - Shoot the Moon (and more)

Each girl was a recent high school graduate planning to attend one of the nearby community colleges or the University of Iowa. The two redheads were planning to major in home economics. The girl with the nose was going into pre-med. The skinny, plain girl was an English Lit major and wanted to be a poet. The Queen was a phys ed major.

The Mayor played Bert Parks and asked the Queen, who was dressed virginal white with a rhinestone tiara in her long brown hair, how she felt about her honor.

She said “I am thrilled from head to toe,” which in her case was quite a distance.

Then there was more applause and the Queen and her court climbed back down off the stage, showing thigh again, especially the Queen, who had quite a lot of it to show.

Wheat followed the Queen as she disappeared into the crowd. Followed her with his eyes, that is. Hopp was holding onto Wheat by the elbow, not about to let him get out of sight. Wheat was used to Hopp being somewhat irritable and thought nothing of it. I wondered if there was some way of keeping the truth away from Wheat. Telling him about the bank robbery (which was, technically, still in progress) was apt to set him off. A few minutes ago, before Wheat had showed up, Elam had asked if I thought Wheat capable of panic. I hadn’t had the chance to answer him, but soon Elam should find out first-hand just how foolish that question had been.

Only the more I thought about it, the more it seemed a bad idea to tell Wheaty about the robbery. And as the program on the bandshell stage drew to a close, I whispered that opinion to Elam. “Listen, he’ll freak. He really will. Take my word for it. Let’s leave well enough alone.”

Elam whispered back, “What do you suggest we tell him, them?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing except we’re not happy he parked his car where he did, making us stuck here in the middle of the trial run.”

Elam nodded.

“And,” I continued, “he’ll understand that naturally we don’t want to attract much attention, since we’re in town getting ready for the real thing.”

Elam nodded some more. “You’re a smart kid,” he said, with his sinister smile. “Ha! Maybe I oughta cut you in on the take.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

“Hey you guys,” Wheat said. “Quiet. This is interesting.”

The Mayor was telling about the forthcoming events of the day. There was to be entertainment, much of it there on the bandshell stage: an amateur-hour type contest; a concert by a female glee club from West Liberty; and a reprise of the talent numbers the girls in the Wynning Founder’s Day Queen contest had performed the night before. The big tent was for a marathon bingo game, “only a 25-cent donation per card, and lots of big prizes.” The Grange Hall, which was on the side street Wheat’s car was parked in, was the scene of an antique show, a needlepoint and ceramics display, and a fine arts competition. Hot meals could be had, for a pittance, at the VFW Hall; and the local tavern had been transformed into a beer garden, for today only, with mugs of beer for a nickel and pitchers for fifty cents. In between the various entertainment presentations on the bandshell stage, there was also to be dancing in the streets. Or more specifically, dancing in the street, you guessed it, the street the stolen Mustang was parked along. There was to be square dancing, and then a country western band would play, after which there’d be a teen dance. It was beginning to look like a long day.

At this point the Mayor concluded his remarks, thanked the Governor for coming and everybody stood and clapped again, and the program was over. People rushed forward to meet the Governor, shake his hand, get his autograph, and we quietly rose from our front-row seats and gathered under a tree at the rear of the park, away from any Wynning citizens.

Elam took immediate command. He had apparently whispered to Hopp the game plan about leaving Wheat in the dark, and merely said, calmly, “Okay. So we’re stuck here for the day, looks like. Unless you can move that car of yours, Wheat, without making a thousand other people move their cars too. No? Okay. Then we got to blend in. Be part of Flounder’s Day, hey hey. Enjoy ourselves.”

“How?” I asked.

Wheaty said, “Let’s all go drink nickel beer.”

Elam said, “No. Getting crocked ain’t exactly a good way of stayin’ on top of things. No, much as I’d like it, the beer garden is out. Besides, we should split up. Bein’ strangers in town on a day like this is bad to begin with. Bein’ a group of strangers stickin’ to each other like fly paper’s worse yet. So we each go a separate way. Now. Who wants to do what?”

Hopp said, “I’ll play bingo.”

“Hopp’s got bingo,” Elam said. He turned to Wheat. “What about you?”

“I’ll drink nickel beer,” Wheat said.

Elam said, with incredible patience, “You’ll go to the antiques show and that other junk at the, what is it?”

“Grange Hall,” I said.

“Grange Hall,” Elam said. “Understand?” And he prodded Wheat’s chest, gently, with a stiff finger.

Wheat said he understood. Then he said, “My mom collects antiques.”

Everybody looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out what that had to do with anything, and when nobody could, Elam finally went on, turning to me and saying, “You. You plop your butt on one of them benches over there and just watch the entertainment. And watch everything else, too. Keep an eye on what’s goin’ on, and if the situation changes at all, come tell us, each of us. For example, if those cops move their car for some reason, givin’ us a berth to get out. Or if, uh, the situation should change in any other way, if you know what I mean, kid.”

I knew what he meant. He meant watch the bank.

“Now,” Elam said, thoughtfully, “all I got to do is figure out something for myself.”

“Excuse me,” the Mayor said.

He was on the stage. Talking in the mike.

“Excuse me” he said again, “but we seem to be missing someone. Has anyone seen Jack Wynning?”

There was no particular response from the audience. (And in case you’re wondering, a lot of people in Wynning were named Wynning. I didn’t find that out till later, but I don’t see any reason not to tell you now.)

The Mayor repeated his question and then added, jokingly, “I hope our local banker hasn’t run off with all our money.” Some of the crowd laughed.

Elam, Hopp and I were not among the amused.

“Hey,” Elam said. “He’s talking about that damn banker.”

Wheaty didn’t catch the full significance of that, of course, not realizing that the banker in question was bound and gagged in the bank across the street.

Someone from down in the audience was handing a note up to the Mayor.

“Oh,” he said, “Jack’s daughter says her father was called out of town on business, at the last minute.”

Elam grinned.

So did Hopp.

So did I.

Wheat said, “What are you guys grinning about?”

“I’m afraid,” the Mayor was saying, “that Jack’s absence presents a problem. We’re now one cook short over at the VFW Hall. Anyone who’d like to volunteer, please come forward. Is there a short order cook in the house?”

“See ya later,” Elam said, and went forward.

After Hopp headed off for the bingo tent, I took Wheat by the arm and said, “Don’t screw around.”

“What do you mean, Kitch?”

“This is a serious thing. These guys have us involved in a serious thing.”

“Who says they don’t?”

“Wheat, did you like jail?”

“It wasn’t a bad place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”