3 – Tommy Trouble
Henry stood outside the Sheriff's office on Main Street, hands in the pockets of well-worn Levis, sleeves of his thick, red flannel shirt rolled up over a long-sleeved grey T. He tipped his golden face to the sky and closed his dark eyes enjoying the warmth. Maheo, The Creator, had blessed the day with a light breeze and sunshine. He smiled peacefully to himself.
Main Street was busy at this time of day. Cars, trucks, and pickups rolled by or lined the opposite sidewalk parked at forty-five degree angles to the curb - some with noses in, some with noses out, efficiently using the space along the town square, a beautiful grassy area with park benches and budding trees.
He heard the boy and his mother emerged from the Sheriff's station, the silence was almost deafening. They stopped not more than a few feet from where he rested near the lamp post; the mother, grim and tired; her mouth a thin line of annoyance at her son's internment by the county police. The boy, not more than thirteen, his hand pushed deep into the pockets of his low riding jeans, his baggy shirt at least two sizes too big, head down but a small smirk played on his lips. Arrogance of what he thinks he got away with. They quickly looked at Henry, the mother nodding briefly, the son rapidly losing the smirk before being pulled away to a beat-up, red pickup across the street. Henry watched as they wordlessly got in, the mother shooting the boy a harsh look, the boy staring at Henry through the cracked windshield before they pulled away.
Henry pushed himself forward meandering across to the park. He really ought to get back to work, but it was too nice out, and he needed to think. Sitting on a wooden bench in the sun, arms spread across the back, right ankle across his left knee, face tipped up again. Mmm, a few minutes of this would refresh the soul. He let the rays beat down warming his skin.
"Thought I'd find you here," a deep voice rumbled as the bench took on more weight.
Henry cracked open his left eye to the intruder. "Miss me already?" His thin lips curled up at the corners.
Walt mimicked Henry's position. "You see 'm leave?"
"Yes." Henry nodded his reply.
"You sure you're up to the task?" the Sheriff pointedly questioned.
"I would not have volunteered if I wasn't." Henry shifted his body turning toward his old friend. "The youth are our future. We need to guide them. Tommy's father still has two years left on his sentence. There is no responsible role model besides his mother, and she has admitted that she is lost as to what else to do."
Walt almost imperceptibly shook his head. "There's a whole lot'a that around. You can't take responsibility for every kid who takes a wrong turn."
Henry's lips pressed together. "No, but I can offer help when I can. There's an old saying, It takes a village to raise a child. Whether it's on the Rez, in Durant, or broader, we all have to take responsibility for our youth. Parents are not always around or capable of doing it. Sometimes people just need help."
Walt nodded. Tommy Two Feathers was a good example. Poverty had driven his father to petty theft which had escalated to breaking and entering into homes of some of the more affluent people in the town. He got caught and was presently serving a five-year sentence in the state penitentiary. That left Tommy and his mother alone struggling to make ends meet. Tommy's mother, Mary, worked as a maid at the Star Cross Motel just north of town which left Tommy to his own devices after school. Trouble follows the idle.
This afternoon, young Tommy quite literally got caught with his hand in the cookie jar – Miss Dorothy's cookie jar at the Busy Bee Café to be exact. His defense was that the double chocolate chip cookies in question were calling to him, and he had to save them from the fat truckers at the end of the counter. His smug expression and lack of remorse annoyed Walt who had first called Tommy's mother then called Henry who often worked as liaison between the Indians and the police. After meeting with the boy and mother, Henry had volunteered to oversee Tommy and put him to work at his establishment, The Red Pony, for a few hours after school and on the weekends when his mother worked. Give the boy some responsibility, a sense of purpose, a positive, male role model. Show him that life can be good, even better if you earn it.
Henry knew that all too well. He couldn't let the boy fall through the cracks of society.
"You know," Walt began, "he's too young to be in a bar. It's against the law."
Henry's lips twitched up again. "No problem, Sheriff. I'll give him a fake ID, make him grow that peach fuzz into a beard, and have him pouring beers in no time."
Walt snorted again, returning what would pass as a grin for the gruff man. "Ya know what I mean."
"Of course, I know," Henry replied leaning back. "I also run a restaurant. As we agreed in your office, he'll be sweeping floors and cleaning tables from after school until his mother picks him up around five. Weekends, she'll drop him off in the morning before her shift. If she has the day off, he stays with her. It's a good plan."
Walt's mouth was grim. He removed his Cattleman's hat and combed his fingers through his hair, replacing the hat on his head before rising to his feet. Casually looking over his right shoulder and down at his friend, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, he nodded before walking back to the station. On the sidewalk, Henry saw him bend to pick something off the ground – a cigarette butt. Henry smiled openly. Walt hated litter.