Ms. Abby's Dead Battery

by G.W. "Bill" Snell

I was in trouble the day I was born, and about as welcome as an eviction notice, and that's exactly what I got that day.

Being rudely ejected into a crazy world of temptation, terror, and taffy, plus struggle, sadness and Santa, I touched base with each.

They caught me taking taffy from the local candy store, and change from Santa's pot, while he rang the bell at Christmas time. Temptation just seemed to show up at my door on its own, well, OK, with a little help from me.

Born to an unwed mother who was a child herself, and God only knows who my father was, my mama's parents didn't know what to do with me, and mama for sure didn't, she was a poor scared kid at the time, like I was later.

Winding up in a foster home, one of about a dozen I've been told, it was almost inevitable that I would wind up in trouble, and I didn't disappoint anyone. I was placed in a juvenile detention facility when very young, and educated by some of the countries worst juvenile offenders.

I learned how to lie, steal, and con people before I could read and write. I'll have to give the institution credit, for being exposed to the fine art of swearing, spelling bad words and counting money. I could read well enough to tell where the money was, and could count well enough to tell how much I got away with.

I thought I was pretty good until I got caught with my hand in the wrong pocket. I was practicing pocket change procurement #1, a required subject to get your diploma at the graduation ceremony.

Not knowing for sure how old I was, my age wasn't a big concern of mine anyway. I was old enough I thought, to do anything that came to mind. That attitude got me into a lot of trouble.

Swearing the last time I heard that gate clang behind me would be the last time, I had a plan, I was smarter now, graduating from crime school with honors.

Reading all I could about the new electronic equipment that was on the market now, was going to be my way of supplementing my retirement. I was no dumb kid any more.

My plan called for me to get a legitimate job, and just the right place to live. I found a job on the night shift, stocking shelves in one of the super stores, it was perfect!

My little two room apartment in the housing complex was well chosen. Looking, until I found just the right one was important, it was on the ground floor, next door to the middle aged widow lady that ran the place, and she had all of her faculties.

She could see and move around quite well, and most importantly she said she could hear a pin drop. She emphasized that point when she showed me the place, saying she was in charge and didn't allow any unnecessary noise. That was good, I was used to quiet myself.

The place was a nice choice, and a nosy landlady to help me with my plan made it perfect! She would be my perfect alibi!

The day I moved in I bought a top of the line recorder-player, and a good timer to turn if off and on automatically. The place was furnished but I needed a recliner. I asked the nice lady if she minded if I bought one. I explained I had a tricky back and it would help me rest during the day. She knew I worked nights and said it would be all right, if there was room for it. I made room.

Visiting all the second hand furniture stores in the area, I found just what I was looking for. It had the God-awfulest squeak and clanging thump when forced to recline you ever heard, perfect!

The man said he would deliver it, he was so glad to get rid of the poor thing I believe he would have carried it on his back to my place.

When I was sure the lady was out of her apartment, I would practice recording the noisy recliner laying back, and a short time later, me snoring. I recorded it several times until I was satisfied it was near perfect.

Playing it back in my tiny closet so it wouldn't be heard by anyone, it sounded exactly like I thought it should, the loud squeaking and thud of the noisy recliner, me snoring, the getting up from the chair, and after a bit the stool flushing.

It was all the sounds I'd make if I was at home, the radio on just loud enough make it real, but not loud enough to tell what was being played or said, just in case my alibi was questioned.

I scoured the area for a likely place to request a donation, not a big haul, just a little at a time would do. With my steady job to feed me and pay the rent, I felt I could take my time putting away my retirement fund.

The main thing was to not get greedy and get caught. I took my time locating just the right place for my first capital venture. Knowing, being an ex-con, I would be visited if any crimes were committed in the area. I was especially careful about being regular with my habits. I was always prompt reporting to my parole officer and I certainly didn't want him coming to check on me, I was seemingly, a perfect parolee. No one living here knew of my past.

I was counting on Ms. Abernathy to be my fool proof alibi. I could imagine what she would say if asked about my whereabouts on any day in question. "I know he was home, I hear every move he makes in that little apartment. He is the most predictable person in every thing he does. I could hear him off and on all day long. He works nights you know and rests most all day. Take my word he was home that day, no doubt."

There was no way she could know that I could slip out the window without her seeing me. No one could see through the vines that grew along the fence, I had taken every possible precaution to not get put back in jail, incarceration was a word I didn't like.

I tried a few dry runs, just to see how things went before I tried the real thing. I carefully avoided disturbing the dust and cobwebs on the outside window ledge. I could step on the low inside sill, that I kept dusted and hop to the ground without touching anything, and get back in the same way.

I had it down pat after a few trial runs. Now to select a nice contributor to my "401 with a gun fund." I was ready to begin operations!

All I had to do was pick the right place for the first donation to my worthy cause. I'd been looking on my way home after work, there were several likely places, a jewelry store that said in it's window that it was protected by "GOTCHA SECURITY SYSTEM" it looked like a pushover for a daylight donation. Then there was a little candy, gift, flower shop, called, "IF MAMA AIN'T HAPPY FORGET IT." That was nice I thought, and true I hear.

Another place I thought should be on the list was a check cashing business, they shouldn't mind donating to the cause. It was aptly called, "CHECKS CASHED FOR A WEE FEE". I would check out a larger area when I got my "FOUR O ONE WITH A GUN FUND" plan going real good. Sorta catchy, the name, huh?

Everything was planned to start the project on the first rainy day. My reasoning was, there wouldn't be so many people out and about to foul things up.

I watched the weather forecasts on my five inch black and white TV. I'd get me a nineteen inch color soon, but first things first. The next rain for the area was forecast to be on the following Friday, I'd be ready.

Conclusion—»