Three on a Light: The Complete Dean Murphy Case Files by Victor Gischler

Author:Victor Gischler [Gischler, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-25T12:00:00+00:00

Six years earlier in Southern California ...

ELEVEN SILVER JOHNNYS

My name’s Pete, Pete Macbeth, and I have to start by telling you about Johnny Christmas. I have to start with Johnny because Johnny started it all.

I knew him from the garage. Of all the grease monkeys, Johnny was the best, a big, thick-necked, hammy-handed man, and he could spit and smoke and cough up phlegm like it was a career. He farted and swore and laughed, and he could bring down a charging rhino with his salami breath. That was Johnny Christmas. He’d managed forty-six years on God’s green Earth and wore it poorly. He had big, jowly, red cheeks and a salt and pepper crewcut left over from his army days. We found it hard to look him in the eyes when he was angry. His eyes were hard, black stones set deep into his sweaty face. Whenever he caught one of us slack-assing around the garage, he’d tear into us with that howitzer voice of his. The whole place would shake. He was a loud, angry, mean son of a bitch.

Everybody loved him.

No matter how repulsive he became, people would flock around on smoke breaks or coffee breaks or just when it was slow to hear him spin some yarn, or we’d sit and nod sympathetically while he told us what God-awful thing his wife had done with his hard-earned cash. A lot of the boys said they only listened to Johnny to get out of work. The only time he let anyone slack off was if they were listening to him, but that didn’t explain the guys who’d hang around the garage after closing to see if Johnny wanted to grab a beer. You had to like the guy. You just had to.

I remember the day I walked into the garage for a job. I’d seen they’d wanted a new grease monkey in the Tribune.

He’d said, “You’re hired.”

“Just like that?”

“You got here first.”

“Don’t you want to know my experience?” I’d asked.

“If you learned, then you learned wrong. We’ll show you how things work around here.”

I remember wondering if there was a catch. “Are you sure?”

“Can you lift those two tires?”

I’d scooped them up, one under each arm.

“Perfect. We’ll show you the rest.”

That was three years ago. I was just out of high school.

On a particular hot, shitty day, the grease monkeys all gathered around the grease pit. It was in the back, and the customer – if any came in – couldn’t see us smoke and slack off. Everyone was laughing at the story Johnny’d just told. It was about a guy in ‘Nam who was part of Johnny’s outfit who’d got himself all blown to shit in a mine field. I realized it was actually kind of a terrible story, all bloody and gruesome, but Johnny had a way of telling it that made it seem okay like a roadrunner cartoon.

Johnny stuck a cigarette in his mouth the way he always did before, during and after a story.

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