Whisk

Whisk

By Steve Sheppard

Lee and Kerry Grimes weren’t really married, but would have been considered common law spouses because they lived together and shared their bills and a house and a bed. They lived down Highway 12 about five miles from the Martinelli’s. Lee was a VW mechanic and Kerry raised and bred and groomed Golden Retrievers, which were really just Goldens mixed with Labs. They were hard people who lived ranch lives and did ranch things.

And it came about, partly because the Martinelli’s had a male Retriever and a female Lab, and some horses, and some old vehicles, that Lee and Kerry worked for them on occasion, babysitting, grooming, working in the barn and fixing stuff. And the Martinelli boys interchanged between home and the Grimes’s whenever it was convenient for the adults.

Kevin Martinelli was at the Grimes’s watching Lee work on a VW engine one time. He was tightening the output shaft with both hands until it stripped.

“There it is. There it is. That stupid, baby raping son-of-a-bitch!” Lee said.

That was the first time Kevin heard “baby-raping,” and he thought it was a pretty cool cuss-word, and as they became more familiar, the Martinelli boys saw Lee Grimes mad more often. “When you meet somebody,” Kevin thought to himself, “it’s like you go through his front door, and the more you get to know him, the more of their house you get to see.”

On the first floor of the Grimes’ were the impressive rooms, the rooms you may see through a window. Lee could lift an entire engine block and carry it across his yard, and most people knew that, and he knew a lot of fun poker games, which was common. Kerry looked like Gwyneth Paltrow in Wranglers, was sweet and smiled a lot, and never narced when the Martinelli boys said bad words, as long as they were “well placed.”

But deeper into the Grimes house were a few questionable rooms. Jordan, Kevin's older brother, came home from school and saw Lee Grimes on the porch smoking a joint. “Hey, boy. You need to mow this lawn,” Lee said, as he scuttled the evidence. The drug, put with this situation, made him giggle uncontrollably.

“That’s Kevin’s job,” Jordan said, seeing a chance to talk back. The Grimes boys were hard working, but also knew how to negotiate.

“Fine.” Lee’s pants were down. “Tell him when he gets home not to take such a wide cut with the mower.”

Jordan told Kevin all about it that night, when they took showers. “Lee said, ‘fine,’ and I said, ‘cause I don’t have to do what you say, fatso!’ Then I Jeet Kung Do’ed his ass!”

“Liar. So he was smoking a ‘J’? What did he do with it?”

“I don’t know. But they probably both get high.”

“Are we gonna tell Dad?”

“No. Don’t say a word or I’ll kill you.”

He was right. Mr. Martinelli was stern and fair and never wasted time, or left things unpunished. He liked the Grimes’s but wouldn’t let them around if he knew they were stoners. Before leaving on a trip, Mr. Martinelli held a family meeting in the master bathroom. “Keep the grass mowed, feed the dogs, and do whatever Lee and Kerry say,” he said. He was sitting on the pot when he held this meeting, and the smell drove the point home to Kevin and Jordan.

“Fine,” Kevin said, “I won’t say a word.” And they went downstairs. Lee was waiting for dinner, sitting in Mr. Martinelli’s chair, which was an old, antique smoker facing the TV. Kerry cooked Rigatoni, Lee’s favorite.

“Are we playing poker tonight Lee?” Jordan said. Silence. Lee’s eyes never left the 6 O’Clock News. The Grimes’ brought company that night, which was good and bad, Kevin thought. New people bring others back to their foyer, so the exploration of the Grimes’ lives was on temporary hold.

“Dinner’s ready,” Kerry said, and they sat down and ate. The guest was Rance Roullard, a friend from Lee’s rougher days who didn’t seem to be of the bathing strain of humanity. He wore ironed jeans, however, and a belt, and tucked his snap-shirt in, and wore a leather vest. He was boney and long, with a deep voice and a walrusy mustache that blended back to his ponytail. Kevin figured he was a biker who didn’t own a bike.

Lee leaned over to Rance. “How’s the Rigatoni?”

“Perfecto!” said Rance. The two started giggling, then laughing. Rance’s eyes were puffy and thin. Jordan glanced over at Kevin with a look that said, “I told you so.”

There was an awkward silence that only Kevin, Jordan and Lee could detect. Rance was in his own world, eating and drinking. He finished his beer in one gulp and slammed the mug down, then let out a belch that shook the silverware on the table.

“BURRRRPPP!!!”

Laughter broke out. Hysterical laughter.

“’Scuze me,” Rance said, wondering if he might have done something wrong.

“It smells like beer,” said Kevin, adding in. As the laughter died down, Lee leaned back and admired the Martinelli boys, swirling his wine in the glass.

“You guys ever play Whisk?” Lee said. “It’s pretty easy. You just play a game of Seven-card, but instead of low-club-in-the-hole-splits-the-pot – ”

“Are you staying to play, Rance?” Kevin said.

“Yeah.”

“But!” said Lee, “the difference is, the winner plays a side game of Whisk – or best out of five – with the low-club. One down, three up, one down. The low-club bets out of the pot.”

“Sweeeet,” said Jordan.

“Winner takes all.”

“Yeaahhhh – ” the boys said. Lee was in the red from getting high, but won back pole position by his sheer coolness. This game was sure to go past nine. It was clear to Kevin why Jordan didn’t want to tell on him. Kerry started clearing the table.

“The boys will get the dishes,” Lee said, looking at his wine.

“Sounds like a great game,” Rance said.

The Martinelli boys did dishes with lightening speed while Lee and Rance set up poker. Mr. Martinelli kept a basket full of change and a couple decks of cards high on an end log. They played Whisk, a couple rounds of No-Peek, and some Indian Poker. Somehow, even though Lee had great hands, Jordan always came out ahead and won, and a new understanding came between them.

After about a month, they found a pot plant growing in back of the house, below where Lee was smoking. No one cared, and then it disappeared.

Lee and Kerry stayed over again. There were no drugs or wine, no Rance or rigatoni. Lee cooked sirloin steaks with lots of pepper and there was a tense mood in the house. Kevin could do nothing right, and he and Jordan were under Lee’s microscope.

“I want you to re-mow the grass. You’re taking too wide a cut,” Lee said.

“Too wide a cut?” said Kevin.

“You’re cutting too wide. With the mower, you dumb bastard!”

“Okay.”

“Look at that. You see the lines? The piles of grass? Go down there.”

“Leave him alone,” Kerry said.

“I’m not talking to you!” Lee said, with a feral look in his eye.

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

“Go down there, right now,” Lee said to Kevin. Kevin went out and down the steps of the porch to the grass. “Kick over that grass,” Lee said through the window screen, “you see? More grass that hasn’t been cut. I want you to re-mow the grass.”

“Now?” Kevin said. Lee’s eyebrows raised up and he started toward the door, looking at him fiercely. Kevin ran to the barn, looking back to his brother. Jordan stood on the porch in shock.

“Did you feed the dogs yet?” said Lee.

“I’ll do it now,” Jordan said. He went down the steps, bending away from Lee’s reach, and followed Kevin to the barn. Later on, when Kevin was trying to start the lawnmower, he heard a loud BOOM. He looked and there was Lee in a window above his head holding one of Mr. Martinelli’s antique shotguns. A blue jay dropped, lifeless, out of the oak tree. Kevin never saw anyone but his father handle the guns.

“They eat hawk eggs,” Lee said, slithering back into the house like a snail to it’s shell. Kevin was terrified.

Something was wrong between Lee and Kerry. At dinner, Kerry said something Lee didn’t like, and he smacked her leg with his VW engine block-lifting arm. She screeched, then slammed the plate down and ran out of the house, got in her ‘73 Bug and drove away. That was a long week for the Martinelli boys, and their previous silence to Mr. Martinelli was tested.

“I know much more about Lee than I ever wanted to,” Kevin thought to himself.

That fall, Kerry came over without Lee. They’d split up, and the boys were glad to see who their dad leaned towards. And lean he did, for she accompanied the family on a two-week trip to the East Coast. They were going out to pick up the horses they bought that Spring, which were too young to transport. Mr. and Mrs. Martinelli flew ahead and Kerry and the boys took the fifth wheel. The trip was a blast for the boys, and Kerry enjoyed getting away too.

“You want to drive?” Kerry said to Jordan.

“Drive?” Jordan said. She may as well have said “do you want to kiss?”

“Yea, I’m tired,” she said. Both boys were familiar with driving, having learned when they were eleven. Jordan was fourteen now, and Kevin twelve. Their eyes were wide at the prospect.

“Sure,” Jordan said.

“You won’t tell your father?”

“Are you kidding?”

So Jordan drove, from Flagstaff to Albuquerque, 320 miles. Kevin was co-pilot.

“This feels manly,” Kevin said.

“Don’t be a gay rod,” said Jordan as he rolled down the window to hang his arm out. Kevin found sunglasses for both of them in the glove box. Jordan kept it at 55 all the way, then exited into a truck stop and parked right by the pumps, like a truck driver would do. They never saw a cop once. Kerry slept in the back seat under her windbreaker the whole time, like she was sleeping off a hangover.

They got home on a Sunday at around 3PM. The Ford was blocking the barn doors, so Jordan went up to the house to get the key. Stepping in the front door, he heard men talking, then silence. He froze, looking out the window where the pot plant grew in back of the house. There was a black VW Bug, not Kerry’s. Kevin looked down the hall into his parents room and saw the gun cabinet was open, and all the guns gone.

His heart thumped loudly and he thought he’d been heard. There were people in the house, burglars. His body wouldn’t move, so he stepped out of it to say, “you’re the guy who has to do something, so do it.” Then, he remembered where Mr. Martinelli kept a loaded gun. It was in a secret compartment under the waterbed. He found it, a .300 Savage, a good deer rifle, with a scope.

Outside, Lee Grimes and Rance Roullard ambled toward the car. Each carried an armload of guns, holding them like firewood, but neither one noticed Kevin on the porch behind them. He was perched, his elbows nailed to the rail, aiming the .300 Savage right at Lee’s heart. Lee turned and nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Freeze, you baby-raping-son-of-a-bitch!” said Kevin. Lee froze like a damned soul. Rance put up his hands, a gesture he was akin to, dropping the guns in all directions.

“Kevin!” said Lee, “I thought you were coming back tonight.”

“Shut up!” Kevin said, “I just called 911.”

“Look, just let us go and we won’t say nothin.’”

Kevin was terrified, but had his sunglasses on, and all the men could see was an unhinged teenager with hunting rifle. The way Lee saw it, his best chance was in Police custody.

“We’re gonna play a little game called Whisk. Ever heard of it? It goes like this: If you move, I’ll shoot you. If Rance moves, I’ll still shoot you.”

Within minutes they heard sirens. Kevin laughed.

“What’s so funny?” said Lee.

“If you came yesterday, you could have got away with it.”

“So?”

“So. You cut it too wide.”

The cops came and the men were arrested. A basket full of change was recovered from the Bug, as well as all of Kevin and Jordan’s records, some fancy dishes of Mrs. Martinelli’s, some cash, and 27 guns.

A man named Detective Mike McMurtrie came around a few times. The boys loved him because he was big and had a ponytail and earrings, and looked nothing like a cop. He gave Kevin his mirrored sunglasses, a gift he cherished more than being in the newspaper. “They’re probably worth five bucks,” Jordan said, but Kevin knew he was just jealous.

Kerry moved to town and the boys saw less of her. They ran into her and Detective Mike McMurtrie in a restaurant in town, one night. “Hey Mike, Kerry,” Mr. Martinelli said. As with everything, he already knew about them being engaged. Mike’s beard was huge, and he had new sunglasses which he mounted on his forehead in a cool way. It turns out he looked the way he did so he could infiltrate drug outfits, but he occasionally worked robberies when drugs were involved. Kevin and Jordan were pleased to see Kerry had a new squeeze.

“He can eat a VW engine block and then pick his teeth with the output shaft,” Kevin told Jordan in the car later, “then jackhammer Lee’s house down with his fists. He probably knows Jeet Kung Do.”

“Whatever,” Jordan said.

That was the last time the boys saw Kerry before she moved to Arizona with Detective Mike. They kept their secrets about driving across New Mexico, and the joint, and Lee’s temper. Kevin thought, “Lee’s house came down, but Kerry moved into a mansion.”