The Minnesota Candidate (44 page)

“Are you blind?” asked Shari. “That’s payola
from our new president. We’re not taking it, Tom. Do you hear me?
Look at them, all dressed up for Levitz. They make me sick.”

“Settle down. We’re not sure what they
have.”

Sam and Chona were smiling and they practically
skipped up the sidewalk. Tom could see Shari was becoming more
agitated by the second. The doctor had wanted Shari to quit her job
to avoid the stress, but even away from work, they couldn’t seem to
get away from it. There was a knock at the door.

“You answer it,” said Shari. “I don’t trust
myself.”

Tom walked to the door and opened it. Lugging
the suitcase, Chona brushed past him. Sam followed, right on her
heels. “What the hell?” asked Sam, “I thought I asked you to get
dressed?”

“What the hell is right!” spat Shari, pointing
to the suitcase. “What the hell is that?”

Chona laughed as if the question was the
funniest thing she had heard in a decade. “You first,” she
chuckled, pointing to Sam. “Oh, this is just perfect!”

Shari marched up to Sam and tore the plastic bag
out of his hands. She then dumped the contents out onto the living
room rug. An orange pillow dropped to the floor. “Hey,” she said,
squatting down to retrieve the pillow. “I recognize that.”

“That’s right,” said Sam. “Tommy borrowed it to
me when I was sleepin’ under the bridge. You don’t want any charity
and we’re all done offering it to you. We came over here to set the
record straight. You don’t want nuttin’ from us and we don’t want
nuttin’ from you.”

“You drove all the way over here, at six in the
morning, to bring back a pillow?” asked Tom. “Are you nuts?”

“Look,” said Shari, “we know who is out in that
truck. That’s Levitz, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me. We know what he
wants and we’re not selling it to him, not at any price!”

From upstairs, a door crashed open; it was
followed by the sound of stomping feet. Doris appeared at the top
of the stairs, haggard-faced and dressed in a rumpled nightgown.
“Do you people know what time it is? Shut the hell up! Now, get the
hell down in the basement, there are people trying to sleep up
here!”

“Sweet Jesus,” whispered Sam, “it’s Medusa.”

“I heard that, Sam!” bellowed Doris. “I’m going
back to bed. If I hear another sound, Tom, you and Shari are out of
here. Am I making myself clear?”

“As a stump,” said Sam.

“Stop making fun of me!”

“That’s enough,” said Tom. “Mom, we’re going
downstairs. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

Like teenaged children, the two couples slunk
down into the basement. “I can’t take it anymore,” said Shari. “I
can’t live like this.”

Chona, who was still carrying the suitcase,
turned to Sam. “Can we just get this over with?” she asked.

“Not yet,” said Sam. “I’m just getting warmed
up. So, nice place you got here.”

“Shut up, Sam,” said Shari. “We’re doing the
best we can.”

“Please,” said Tom, “try to keep it down. You
know how Ma gets.”

Sam shook his head. “Tell her to blow it out her
ass. You don’t need to take her shit.”

“I’m sorry,” said Shari, “but we do live under
her roof.”

“And a beautiful roof it is, if I don’t say so,
myself. Too bad the insurance money didn’t cover finishing the
basement. This place is a real dump.”

Tom stepped between Shari and Sam, without a
moment to spare. “That’s enough, Sam. You’ve got a lot of nerve
coming down here and criticizing our home. You know how hard it is
to start over. I want you to apologize to Shari.”

“Yeah, I’d like to do that, Tommy. I really
would. But under the circumstances, I just can’t do it. Shari
accused me of stealing from her. Maybe the two of youse forgot
that, but I sure as hell didn’t. That hurt me, Tommy. That hurt me
real bad.”

“He’ll never get over it,” said Chona.

“But I’ve apologized,” groaned Shari. “How many
times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

“Just one more time,” said Sam.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I mean that from the bottom of
my heart. I was crazy and didn’t know what I was saying. You’re a
good man. There, are you happy?”

Sam smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Shari,
I forgive you. There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Please,” whispered Tom, “Let’s try to keep it
down.”

Chona and Sam exchanged a look and they both
roared with laughter. From two floors up, returned the sound of
stomping feet.

“Oh, this is just great,” said Shari. “Now we’re
going to be kicked out into the street. Thanks a lot, guys.”

Once again, Sam and Chona began to laugh. “Can I
show them?” chortled Chona. “I can’t take this, anymore.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Go ahead and open Door Number
Two.”

With the Bigfoot monster stomping above them,
Chona unzipped the zipper. She then opened the suitcase. Tom stared
down, expecting to see bundles of payola, but all he saw was a
folded up blanket. “Do you recognize this?” asked Chona.

“That’s the blanket that Tom borrowed Sam,” said
Shari, “big deal.”

“We’re probably going to need it,” said Tom,
staring up at the unfinished ceiling. “I’ll bet it’s going to be
cold… living under that bridge.”

“So,” said Chona, “you really have no idea, do
you?”

“Idea about what?” asked Shari. “I’ve got a
pretty good idea that Doris is about to throw us out of here. Are
you happy?”

“Shari,” said Sam, “I’m tickled to death. Let
that old bat throw you and Tommy out of here. You guys just follow
us.”

“This isn’t funny, Sam,” whispered Tom. “You
heard my mom, she meant it.”

“Sorry Tommy, but your ma is really a
bitch.”

“I heard that!” roared Doris, who now stood at
the top of the stairs. “Tommy, pack up your shit and get the hell
out of my house! I warned you!”

“You can kiss my ass,” said Sam. “Tommy and
Shari are coming with us. Chona, grab the suitcase.”

“What did you say to me? That’s it, all of you,
out of my house!”

Tom looked up at his mother. She stood halfway
down the stairs, her face the color of spaghetti sauce, pointing up
to the door. Spittle ran down from the corners of her pinched lips.
With nothing left to do, Tom led the way up the stairs. His mother
stood to the side and waited for everyone to pass. “Excuse me,”
said Chona, brushing past her with the suitcase.

“What’s in there?” asked Doris.

“None of your damned business,” said Sam. “We’re
outta here.”

Dressed in their bathrobes, Tom and Shari
exchanged a worried look as Doris slammed the door behind them. The
morning was cold and frost covered the new lawn. Tom patted Shari’s
bump and tried to smile. “Everything will be alright,” he said,
trying to sound as if he meant it.

The doors to the Suburban swung open and two
large men stepped out into the cool morning air. Like Sam and
Chona, both men were well-dressed; unlike Sam and Chona, the men
were obviously Native American. One man was much older than the
other, and he reminded Tom of a character in an old west painting.
He looked as if he were a hundred years old. The younger man helped
the older man walk over to the back of the Ford. The old man
pointed to the suitcase and said something to his escort.

The younger man nodded his head. He then
motioned to the suitcase. “My grandfather wants to know if we have
a deal.”

“Who are you?” asked Shari.

“That is unimportant,” replied the younger man.
He spoke with a thick tongue, as if English was a second language
to him. “Do we have a deal?”

“We don’t understand,” said Tom. “What are you
talking about?”

“The Navajo Nation wishes to buy back our
blanket. I thought you were aware of this.”

“That old thing,” said Shari. “Why would you
guys want that?”

The younger man smiled. “That old thing, as you
put it, is a First Phase Navajo weaving, A Chief’s blanket, and the
finest example of Navajo weaving that we have ever seen. Do you
have any idea what that old thing would fetch at an auction?”

Shari covered her mouth and shook her head. Tom
wrapped his arm around her.

“A similar blank just sold for one and a half
million dollars. The Navajo Nation’s offer is two million dollars,
cash money. We would prefer to buy it from you than to risk paying
more at an auction. We must have it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” whispered
Shari.

“Nope, we’re not,” said Sam. “Ya see… I had this
friend who lived down by my bridge, homeless guy, a professor.
Well, he took one look at that blanket and I thought he was gonna
shit his pants. He cut off a couple of fibers and gave them to a
buddy of his. I was gonna tell you about it, but then you went off
about that stupid gun and I kind of forgot. Anyhow, yesterday, I go
down to say hello to the boys and to drop off some of Chona’s soup,
when who do I see? Right, it’s the Professor. Sam, he says, tell me
that you still have that blanket. Well, I told him that I did… and
then he tells me to sit down. To make a long story short, this
Chief guy caught wind of it and left his number for me to call him,
day or night. Can you believe that shit? My jaw hit the floor when
he said two million bucks.”

“Do… we… have a deal?” asked the old man.

“Oh my,” gasped Shari. “Yes, of course we do!
Thank you so much!”

“Hey!” shouted Doris from the front door. “Get
the hell off of my sidewalk! Do it now or I’m calling the
cops!”

“What a… bitch,” mumbled the old man.

“Yeah,” said Sam, “she’s really somethin’, ain’t
she?”

Later that night, inside their suite at the posh
Millennium Hotel in downtown Minneapolis, Tom sipped wine while
Shari sipped apple juice from a champagne glass. After taxes, they
had netted a cool $1,200,000.00. Tom argued that they could afford
a night of luxury, and reluctantly, Shari agreed.

“I just can’t get the look on your mom’s face
out of my head,” laughed Shari.

“I know,” said Tom. “That was priceless.”

“What should we do tomorrow?”

Tom sighed. “I don’t know. Sam and Chona want us
to look at building sites, but I think we should just buy a little
house. We don’t need anything brand new.”

“Oh Tom, I was hoping you’d say that. Do you
think they’ll be mad?”

Tom shook his head. “They know what we’ve been
through. They also know that you’ve got a bun in the oven. We don’t
have the luxury of time.”

“What about the ray gun? Don’t you think it’s
time to start using it?”

Tom took his glass over to the window and he
stared down at Nicollet Avenue. Despite the late hour, there was
still a demonstration going on. Tom didn’t have to read the signs
to know what was printed on them:
Death to those who insult
Islam. Behead the unbelievers. 911 was only a warning.
The
protests had grown increasingly violent as counter protests sprang
up in support of the American way of life. Tom turned to face
Shari. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But where should I
start?”

Shari sipped her apple juice. “Washington,” she
said. “You might as well start at the top.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Shari nodded. “You have to see Levitz.”

Tom sighed and nodded his head. Down below, with
fires burning in steel trash cans, a revolution was brewing. Tom,
armed with his secret ray gun, was determined to stop it. Or he was
prepared to die, trying.

The end