The Welcome Crow Medicine Show (727 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: one-part_stories
Rating: 2 on 25 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2006-04-11 05:45:12 EDT
Three days on the road, and James was beginning to have his doubts. Sales were barely covering the cost of fuel, let alone accommodation. They'd skipped out of another motel that very morning, leaving behind nothing but bad memories and false names. He glanced into the back seat of the car, at all the cases of unsold remedies and philtres.
James removed his hat, scratched his head. He turned back in his seat and spoke to Dave. "You know, I said from the start that Welcome Crow was a bad name. Crows don't sell."
"Now, lad," said Dave, his eyes glued to the road. Perhaps avoiding eye contact deliberately. "Ya don't know the first thing 'bout the selling. That's why I'm in charge, see. If ya knew about the selling, you'd not even bring me along. Don't think I don't know that."
James ignored the final part of Dave's diatribe. Dave's contrived bitterness conspired to wear a man down after awhile.
"Look," James said. "All I'm saying is that it ain't working. People ain't buying. We're losing money."
Dave kept his gaze on the road, in a perfect parody of ferocious concentration. Thick trees whipped by the car on either side.
James rolled his eyes at the older man's reticence. Somewhere, he reasoned, there had to be a point where he decided that taking to the road with the old bastard to sell their wares was a good idea. He just couldn't, for the life of him, pinpoint when that was.
Displaying more awareness than he was prepared to admit, Dave said, "Don't start. I know our problems at least as well as you. The people on this route are natural born suckers. We both know it." He removed one hand, already showing one or two age spots, from the wheel and gesticulated vaguely. "We'll get the break. In the meantime, simmer down."
Reluctantly, James turned his attention back to the road, and the rest of the journey passed in silence until their next destination.
It was a mere half an hour before they drove into Galvaston, a town that was merely a way station along the road. Not much to speak of. A main road that flooded every summer and iced up every winter. Everyone in town knew everyone else. There was a town square, a small park and about a dozen stores. Galvaston was a town like hundreds of others in what Dave referred to as the Sales Belt.
Dave pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot of Galvaston's only motel. The parking lot was merely a rectangular area of dust contained within the motel's outer wall. There were only two other cars parked there.
James exited the car hastily and stretched. This done, he surveyed the motel with disdain.
"Great," sneered James. "Another flea-pit that we can't even afford."
Either Dave didn't hear the comment, or pretended not to. Exiting the car rather more sedately than James, he said, "Come on, lad, give us a hand with the cases." He headed for the rear of the car and unlatched the boot. As he began to struggle with the first case, James noticed something just outside the entrance to the motel.
Below the sign (Galvaston Motor Inn, Vacancies, NO PERSONAL CHECKS!) stood a man. Not a particularly unpleasant or unusual looking man, but something about him struck James. Perhaps it was nothing. The man beneath the sign was wearing a cheap suit and battered fedora. There was the faintest suggestion of bags under his eyes. He was staring at Dave with an unsettling intensity.
"Hey!" James called out. "Can I help you?"
The man under the sign was visibly startled. He shook his head quickly, turned on his heel and strode away.
James turned to the car and began to help Dave with the cases. He looked at the Welcome Crow logo on the cases with disdain. It was possibly the worst marketing he'd ever encountered. The logo consisted of a cartoon-like crow, winking and giving a thumbs-up with one wing, above the lettering: Welcome Crow Medicine.
After some fumbling, James simply snatched the case away himself.
"Look," snapped James. "Enough of that. Go check us in, and get us that room there." He pointed to a second-floor room, Room 11.
The old man shuffled off, head lowered. James spat into the dust. Cursing all elderly people, he pulled the handcart from the car and set about loading the cases and stall components onto it. It was better this way. It was always better if people never saw their car at the show. Made things harder to trace, to prove. Sometimes, of course, their car or license plate would be noted by some enterprising customer who tracked them to their motel, but they'd yet to have that come to anything. Still, it was a case of being safe, not sorry.
Dave returned with a motel key, which James snatched from his grasp with an expression of almost unhealthy glee. James then proceeded to lock the car and pocket both the car keys and the motel key.
"Well, alright," said Dave, "We might as well get going, eh?"
James nodded, and gripped the handles of the handcart. There was never far to go in these small towns, he reflected.
The two of them made their way over to the town square. In front of a statue of a nameless Galvaston hero, they began to set up their stall. It would have been better if they could have a stage of some sort, thought James. People gave more respect and attention to men on a platform.
It was about twelve noon. The square was nearly deserted, except for a small group of kids sitting around the bandstand. James put on his best grin and waved to them as he set bottles out on the stall. One of the boys, with long dirty hair and terrible teeth, smiled and nodded back.
"Goddamn hicks," James muttered, still grinning.
"Can it," said Dave. "Get your game face on, and all that. I reckon we'll get some bites soon enough."
"What exactly are you basing that on?" James asked bitterly, still taking pains to keep his expression happy and carefree.
"Ah, lad. Salesman's instinct. The people in this town are ripe to buy. Ya can sense it." Dave grinned, and it was a genuine grin, not the fake smile that James had plastered to his face. "Our fortunes are gonna look up."
James doubted it, but kept his doubts to himself. And perhaps there was some merit to what the old man said, because the group of kids came over to the stand.
"Whatcher doin', mister?" the kid with the awful teeth asked, speaking to James.
"Why, we're only setting up the most the most stupendous show this side of the Rockies," James said, his standard line.
"Yeah?" the kid with awful teeth said. The other kids, three boys and one girl, all apparently in various stages of malnutrition and ill hygiene, said nothing. They merely eyed James and Dave suspiciously.
"That's right!" James said, with an excitement in his voice that he did not feel. "It's the Welcome Crow Medicine Show, the single most innovative medicine show on the planet! We've got all kinds of potions, remedies and philtres!"
This did not elicit any reaction from the group of children. Damn, James thought. Words like innovative and philtres might be out of their grasp.
He continued, "Look, sonny, you wanna grow up big an' strong, don't ya?" The kid with awful teeth nodded. "Well, at Welcome Crow, we got the goods to make that happen!" He snatched a small brown bottle from the table and displayed the label: Welcome Crow Growth Tonic, it proclaimed, underneath the logo. Beneath that it stated, in smaller lettering: Designed To Help All Children Achieve Their Potential!
"How much it cost, mister?" the kid said. "I only gots a bit of pocket money."
"That's where I come in, fine young sir," Dave said, stepping forward smoothly. "All Welcome Crow prices are completely negotiable. You look like a smart little lad. We can work something out."
And then, to the amazement of James, the old bastard sold the kid the bottle. Took the kid's money and slapped it in the cash box. That was only the start.
Within an hour, they had an actual, honest-to-god crowd around the stall. This hadn't happened in months. They sold bottle after bottle of Welcome Crow Love Philtre, Spots-Be-Gone, Rash Removal, Honest Dave's Aftershave, and Throat Tonic. They sold remedies for coughs, gout, aching joints, painful muscles, red eyes, chronic body odour, dandruff, sore feet, and more.
This continued for about two hours. James was still grinning, even though his face hurt from the strain. He didn't care, however, and the grin was a genuine one. Why, he thought, we'll actually be able to pay for the motel and gas.
It was as he entertained this happy thought that a voice cut through the air.
"Frauds! Liars! Cheats! Scum!" James had rarely heard such rage as was infused into this voice. It cast a hush over the crowd, and the crowd parted to reveal the man in the cheap suit, standing in the Galvaston town square. His jaw was trembling with the force of his anger, and he clutched something rectangular in his hand.
The man in the cheap suit pointed at James. "You don't know me," the man said. "But your partner does."
James shot a glance towards Dave. Dave was staring at the man in the cheap suit, his mouth agape and his hands trembling. Recognition and fear were etched into Dave's face.
"Dave," James said quietly. "You know this man?" James wasn't grinning anymore, but he kept a pleasant expression on his face.
Dave forced a smile. It was weak and unconvincing, and it sat on the landscape of his face uneasily. "But of course," he said. "How could I forget? Ladies and gentlemen, this is my old friend Phil Langford."
Phil's accusing finger swung towards Dave, and it shook with ire. "Don't you call me your friend! Don't you dare!"
Nervously, Dave said, "Alright, Phil, be calm. What ails ya?"
Phil advanced through the crowd and thrust the object he was holding towards Dave. It was a photograph, James observed. A photograph of a young boy, perhaps six years old, smiling with complete and artless innocence. The picture was slightly yellow with age, and one corner was peeling out of the frame clutched in Phil's hand.
"James," Dave said, "Pack it up."
James didn't question the command; he merely began scooping bottles off the table and packing them into their boxes.
"You can't even look me in the eye, can you?" Phil's tone wasn't so much angry as bitter.
"He was dying anyway, Phil," said Dave, so quietly that only James and Phil could hear.
Phil rounded on the crowd, who had begun to murmur restlessly among themselves.
"Did you hear that?" he shouted to them. "My son," he held the photograph aloft, clutching it like a talisman, "This was my son. He had cancer. This old fraud sold me medicine to cure him. It didn't work. Nothing worked. My son wasted away in front of my eyes." Tears began to roll down his cheeks. "He died two days before his eighth birthday. I wasn't even there."
He spun back on his heel and confronted Dave once more. "You sold me nothing but pain and false hope," he said.
"Screw it," Dave said, addressing James. "Just grab the handcart and let's go."
"But -"
"No buts! Let's go! Now!" Desperation coloured Dave's voice, dark and hungry.
James heeded him. He grabbed the handcart, which only contained three cases, and started pushing it away from the stall.
"We're leaving the stall behind, you know that, right?" James said.
The old man didn't reply. He just accelerated and ran past James, the cash box held fast under his arms.
As they vacated the town square, they could hear Phil haranguing the mob. "I couldn't even be there when he died! That jackal promised me he would live! I couldn't even be there!"
They were not followed. They stopped running once they reached the motel.
"Was that true?" James asked.
Dave waved away his enquiries. He was doubled over, wheezing. He spat into the parking lot dust, much as James had when they arrived.
"Look," said James, "I reckon we should skip town, right now."
Dave straightened up. "No."
"What?" James was baffled. "Are you out of your mind? Did you see that bunch? They're priming up to tear us to pieces!"
"Nah," said Dave. "It'll blow over. Phil's a bit...well, he's not right in the head. They'll see that."
"I don't think we made the strongest case by running! We left a lot of good stock back there, not to mention the stall."
"That's alright. We can sell out of the trunk of the car if we need to. Look, we'll spend the night, and then it'll be over by morning. We can head back to the square and get our stuff back, if it's still there. You'll see."
James said nothing more, though his face betrayed his doubts. He opened the trunk and stuffed the cash box into the concealed compartment.
They retired to their motel room, and spent the rest of the afternoon mostly in silence, before turning into bed early.
James was unsure, later, what exactly had awakened him. He was never able to put his finger on it, and this bothered him. Regardless, he was out of bed well before Dave. He walked across the tiny motel room, tweaked the shade aside just a fraction, and looked out the front window.
Outside, in the parking lot, were quite a few of the good people of Galvaston, perhaps forty in all. Some of them carried lanterns. At the front of the group was Phil, still holding the photograph of his dead son. As James watched, several of the people, maybe spotting the movement of the shade, threw rocks at the window. The window rattled under the impact.
This awakened Dave. He sat up in bed and said, "What's that? What's going on?"
James inclined his head towards the parking lot. "It's your friend from before. He's got a sizable crowd with him."
"Shit," Dave said. "Pull the other one."
"I'm 'fraid not," said James. Then it hit him. He knew exactly what to do. The knowledge bloomed in his mind. "Look," he said, "They're only really mad at me because I'm with you. I'll talk to them. I'll tell them you're a good man. I'll try and reason our way out of this yet."
James pulled on his trousers, then his shirt and jacket. He tapped his pockets to make sure he was carrying everything. "Lock the door," he said. "I'll be back soon."
Dave nodded his approval. "Thank you," he said.
"Not a problem," said James. He didn't have to fake the smile.
James left the room and walked down the stairs to the mob. Some of the crowd started towards him, and their fellows restrained them. Phil glared at him.
"Where is he?" Phil demanded.
"He's still in the room. You've got no fight with me," said James. "He's the one you want." He held up the motel room key, and it glinted in the soft, warm light from the lanterns. "Let me pass, and I'll give you the key."
Phil's eyes widened, and he nodded his assent. He turned to the crowd and made parting gestures at them. Just like old man Moses, James thought.
He tossed the key into the dust at Phil's feet, and walked through the crowd to the car as Phil scrabbled for it. James slipped into the driver's seat. Dave never let him drive. He started the car and locked the doors. He reversed carefully as the mob stormed up the motel stairs. As he left the parking lot, he told himself that he couldn't hear Dave's screams over the sound of the car's engine.
User Reviews
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-12-19 10:27:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I usually have zero attention span for anything on this site, but you always manage to hold my interest.
Nicely done.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-06-21 02:12:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't like you, but Orgasmatron does.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-12 00:05:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers Saccy.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-04-11 22:38:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh good, you went ahead with this.
I almost missed it too. Good stuff, Stag.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 22:37:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks, guys.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-11 17:36:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i almost missed this.
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-04-11 12:50:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-04-11 12:05:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
great story. well written, entertaining...just good job.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 10:14:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers to the three people sandwiched between this review and my earlier review.
Submitted by yhywstudios (user info) at 2006-04-11 08:45:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Stories like these are what makes me come back to this site.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-04-11 08:41:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Burn him! Burn him at the stake!
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-04-11 08:16:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely done.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 07:03:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks a lot, fuzz_buzz.
Derbies are unpredictable. They scare me.
Submitted by fuzzy_buzz (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:50:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That was a great read.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:48:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:46:45 (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers Bubba. Even though you are so wrong.
Screw you, Geordie. Tell me this, who gets to relegate the mackems? I do believe it's us.
---
If they beat you I will laugh and laugh and laugh.
I do however have the sneaking forboding that they'll beat us. Derby games respect no form or talent. THAT'S why Man City have taken 4 points from you this year.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:46:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers Bubba. Even though you are so wrong.
Screw you, Geordie. Tell me this, who gets to relegate the mackems? I do believe it's us.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:39:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The Australians don't have proper language anyway. They communicate by playing the Didgeredoo and throwing boomerangs to express emotion.
It's beautiful really, but like watching a retarded child take their first unaided steps aged 15.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:37:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cheques; harbour; colour; spelt; learnt.
Only a few of the words you folks misspell...
Bwahahahahaha!!!
Good writing.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:34:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OH NOES!
You +2ed yourself!
Shlongy will be along shortly to equalise it for you. Worry not ;)
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:30:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Damn.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:29:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't really want to go to Prague. Isn't it cold and full of vampires?
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:24:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well yes, but I'd say *precisely* the same thing.
And the word 'cheque' must ne'er again be abused, or you will be banned from Prague.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 06:17:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You dare not raise the cry of alter to me. I will smite you, and stuff.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-11 05:55:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good work young Alter.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-11 05:47:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Forgot this:
Note: the town in this story is completely fictional. Also, using the American spelling for 'cheques' made me sad, but it had to be done.