January 2, 2010.

Jack, Sr., hopped into his turbo charged Muscle. He headed north toward Minton. He was moving along at about 65 miles per hour. He decided to exit and drain the lizard. When he put on the blinker to turn right, his foot automatically started to touch the brake pedal which immediately hit the floor, no brakes. “Oh, shit”, he thought. He took his foot off the accelerator and let his car drift and slowly pulled onto the Emergency lane. How was he going to explain this to the cop. Then he noticed his satellite vehicle emergency device. He hit the red button and a nice lady came on. “How can I help you” she asked. “I need a tow truck out here, my brakes failed”, Senior replied. “Anyone hurt?” she politely asked. “No, just need a tow”. “We’ll send one in five minutes to your location which is showing on our computers.”

Hank Melbourne and his tow truck arrived shortly thereafter and towed Senior to the dealership in town. The mechanic looked at the car and saw the problem. “Someone sure messed with your vehicle”, he said sardonically. “What do you mean?” Jack asked fearfully. “Pretty amateur job, they punctured it with like a pen knife”, the mechanic replied. “When do you think it happened. You say you left New Orleans, it probably happened there. Some punk kid probably wanting to get a thrill.” “Could it have happened before I left for New Orleans from Montgomery?” Jack asked. “Nah, too far” the mechanic answered.

Later that day, a pleasant voice said over the phone “Jack Jenkins Motors, may I help you?” Jack liked that young woman who answered the phone at the dealership. He’d have to give her a raise, he thought to himself. “This is Big Jack, is Junior in?” “No, sir, he said he was up late last night watching football and would be sleeping in late today.” “Thanks, darlin’,” Senior replied. Jack, Sr. dialed “Junior’s home phone, it rang a couple of times and a sleepy sounding Jack, Jr. answered the phone. “Hullo”. “Junior, this is your dad, I damn near got killed this morning on the Interstate”. “What?”, Junior asked. “I damn near got killed heading home from New Orleans”, Jack, Sr. repeated. “Hhow?” Junior asked. “Brakes failed on the Interstate and I was able to roll oft the road. But had there been an emergency, I’d have been toast.” “Are you getting them fixed?” Junior asked. “Yeah, I’m at the garage right now. Someone punctured the line with a pen knife. Son, what were you doing last night?” “Dad, do you think I’d do something that chicken sh… to cut your brake line? If you need to know, I went to Jerry’s Bar to watch the game with some friends, met a hot looking chick in a Houston jersey who was quite drunk and quite willing and went her place. And yes I had my raincoats with me. I left her place at about 4 a.m. and got home around 5 a.m. and I’m pretty tired right now”, Junior responded in an obviously irritated tone. “Sorry, son, this just shook me up.” “I understand Dad, once you get your car fixed, let me know when to meet you at Hardee’s, and I’ll be there.”

December 31, 2009.

“Dad, your driver’s sick and can’t take drive you to New Orleans tonight for the Sugar Bowl tomorrow. I think there’s a bus from Montgomery to New Orleans that gets in about noon.” “Son, are you crazy? I gotta get to New Orleans tonight. There is some first class hootie there, and I ain’t gonna miss it. Why don’t you drive me?”

Junior rolled his eyes, “because its New Year’s Eve, we have our annual tax sale, where we offer to pay their taxes next year if they buy this year. It’s always a huge sale day for us, and we have year end close out on the books. You remember those. I’ll make you a deal, I’ll drive you to the Mississippi state line and then you can drive and I’ll get back somehow.” “Sounds like a deal”, Senior responded.

Later that day, Junior stopped the car at a Hardees and handed the keys to his father. “Don’t get stopped, or you’ll spend New Year’s in a Mississippi jail”, he smiled. “It’s the old double nickel til we get to New Orleans. I’m staying at the Hilton.”

After waiving goodbye, Junior picked up the telephone and called Lomax Car Rentals. “Pick me up at Hardees”.

December 10, 2009.

The dealership had its annual Christmas party for its important customers and its staff and their families. Even in a bad economy, Holiday cheer had to be maintained for morale. Jack, Sr. held court.

As the kids opened their presents, Jack, Sr. was getting gifts from everyone, Cuban Cigars from Beau, candy from Elise, the shapely secretary, bourbon from Mikey, the head of the garage, and on and on. Junior watched as the boss got all these gifts he didn’t need or want, while Junior got nothing. He felt a little sick to his stomach. At that moment, Jack, Sr., walked up. “Look at all this crap, they give me for Christmas, although these cubans is pretty nice. We’ll have to fire up them puppies.” “Right Dad, I’m think I ate something that’s a bit too rich, and I’m feeling a little nauseous, so I’m going to split.” “Son, don’t lie to your pappy, I know you’re going out to bag you some young filly to ride tonight.” “Whatever you say dad”, Junior answered in a monotone.

As Junior was heading toward the door, Jack, Sr. shouted, “Junior, I’m going to spend Christmas at home this year. Let’s have a good ole’ time.” “That’s great, dad, turkey, gravy, stuffing and yams okay?.” “Sure, son, that sounds like heaven.”

December 25, 2009.

“Junior, you out did yourself this year. Good food and now we can watch a couple of basketball games on the television set and drink some nice port and smoke the cubans I got from Beau for Christmas.”

“Okay, dad, but let’s talk about the future for a minute. We have a huge business and we need to plan because we’re not going to be around forever. Something could happen to you, or something could happen to me. We need to think long term. Son, you get that lawyer to schedule a meeting with us about mid-January to talk about that. I am feeling a bit more mortal these days.December 10, 2009.

The dealership had its annual Christmas party for its important customers and its staff and their families. Even in a bad economy, Holiday cheer had to be maintained for morale. Jack, Sr. held court.

As the kids opened their presents, Jack, Sr. was getting gifts from everyone, Cuban Cigars from Beau, candy from Elise, the shapely secretary, bourbon from Mikey, the head of the garage, and on and on. Junior watched as the boss got all these gifts he didn’t need or want, while Junior got nothing. He felt a little sick to his stomach. At that moment, Jack, Sr., walked up. “Look at all this crap, they give me for Christmas, although these cubans is pretty nice. We’ll have to fire up them puppies.” “Right Dad, I’m think I ate something that’s a bit too rich, and I’m feeling a little nauseous, so I’m going to split.” “Son, don’t lie to your pappy, I know you’re going out to bag you some young filly to ride tonight.” “Whatever you say dad”, Junior answered in a monotone.

As Junior was heading toward the door, Jack, Sr. shouted, “Junior, I’m going to spend Christmas at home this year. Let’s have a good ole’ time.” “That’s great, dad, turkey, gravy, stuffing and yams okay?.” “Sure, son, that sounds like heaven.”

December 25, 2009.

“Junior, you out did yourself this year. Good food and now we can watch a couple of basketball games on the television set and drink some nice port and smoke the cubans I got from Beau for Christmas.”

“Okay, dad, but let’s talk about the future for a minute. We have a huge business and we need to plan because we’re not going to be around forever. Something could happen to you, or something could happen to me. We need to think long term.” “Son, you get that lawyer to schedule a meeting with us about mid-January to talk about that. I am feeling a bit more mortal these days. Since your momma died, I’ve been acting like a damn kid and not being an adult. I guess I was channeling my grief through living it up. And I am not sure that I’m completely past that, but we do need to do some planning son.”

November 2, 2009

The fastball started to rise, it seemed as if it were coming toward his face in slow motion, he could see clearly the seems as the rotated toward his eye. Still nursing the effects of the party the night before, his body was frozen as if in concrete as the baseball screamed toward him. He managed to slightly turn his head which meant that the pitch hit him near his orbital bone. The tell tale cantelope splitting open sound of a baseball hitting a face echoed across the field. Jack, Sr. lost consciousness immediately.

The league kept paramedics at these games because heart attacks were so prevalent in these fantasy leagues as older out of shape men tried to re live their childhoods. They reacted instantly by immobilizing his head, putting him on a backboard and rushing him to Phoenix Hospital.

November 2, 2009

“Mr. Jenkins, this is Joe Webb from the Fantasy League, you need to get down here to Phoenix right away, there’s been an accident.” “What happened?” asked Jack, Jr. “You father got hit with a fastball in the face, he’s in route to the hospital right now. They’re taking him to Phoenix Hospital, their emergency room number is 555-555-5555.”

October 15, 2009.

The Judge looked down at his old friend, Jack Jenkins, Sr. “Have the parties reached a plea agreement” the Judge inquired. “Yes, Your Honor, the State agrees to a continuance for one year based upon good behavior. If at the end of one year, there are no further charges against this defendant, the case will be dismissed” the prosecutor answered. “Is this your understanding Mr. Goldstein?”, the judge asked. “Yes, your honor.”, Goldstein replied. “Then I accept the plea agreement”, the Judge replied. “Mr. Jenkins, this Court accepts the plea agreement and you’re very lucky that you are not standing before me after being convicted of the charge, because I would be sentencing you to thirty days in jail. If I see you again, then I will sentence you to jail”, the judge intoned.

Jenkins answered humbly, “Thank you, Judge, I’ve gotten a driver for the year and trust me, I won’t be back here.”

October 30, 2009.

“Son, I’m headed to Arizona for a month to play fantasy baseball. Can you make sure that Bridget gets to the Atlanta airport to send her back to Sweden?” Jack, Sr. directed. “Sure, dad, and we have a driver lined up for you in Arizona for a month, he’ll meet you at the airport.” Junior said. Junior then turned and walked away, shaking his head. The old man was nuts.