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Show Ferguson Lives Butch and Fenn Stories 31 4 Outside, Butch asks: "How's your head?" "Fine. I'm fine." And I am fine., I feel the place and it's swollen and sore, but fine. "Good. We've got one more thing." He clips his sleeping bag onto my bike, and we lay the bicycles in the weeds by the alley, out of sight. Fenn and I are so used to doing things before we know what they mean that all of these activities go smoothly even in the dark. Butch is so happy that every once in a while he mutters, "Old Ferguson!" and pushes Fenn into one of the holes. But when Fenn joins us by the old Studebaker, Butch says, "Here, Bozo, you get the honors; you fought for them." And Butch taps a hole in the windshield and hands Fenn the hammer. "Ventilate each window," he whispers. "This particular Studebaker will bake no more alligators." Fenn moves around the car, his head up close tapping the windows one at a time. For a guy who can't see, he does a neat job. Then Butch comes running from somewhere behind me, and in three steps he is standing on the roof of the old car pouring gasoline through all the newly opened spaces. He drops the can through the windshield, and then he drops to the ground beside me. Butch grins: "Any questions?" He shows us his matches. "He loves that car." "He does love that car," Butch nods, still grinning. |
