IT WAS ELVIS!
Gerald E. Sheagren
Tommy Bartucci kicked open the screen door with such force that it bounced off the side of the house. Cursing and muttering, he began to pace the front porch, picking up a rocking chair and flinging it onto the front lawn.
“Nadine, get out here, right now!”
“I don’t want to,” wailed a voice from inside the house.
“If you don’t get your butt out here, I’ll come in and drag you out!”
Seconds later, his sister appeared in the doorway; hair in disarray and blouse torn, a purplish-black mouse shrinking her right eye into a watery slit. She stood there, sobbing, her good eye unwilling to meet his glare.
“Let’s go, Nadine. We’re going to find the bastard that did this to you.”
“Please, Tommy; let the police take care of it.”
Tommy snorted a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me; the Keystone Kops in this town. They’ve couldn’t find a corpse in a closet.”
Their mother appeared, wrapping a pudgy arm around Nadine’s shoulder. “Enough of this big brother machismo. You remind me so much of your father.” Maria made a quick sign of the cross, kissing her fingers. “May God rest his soul.”
“I’m glad I remind you of Pop. He knew how to take care of things.”
“Old country traditions are long dead, Tommasso.”
Tommy barked a laugh, regarding his mother’s all-black attire. “You could have fooled me.” Opening the screen door, he grabbed Nadine’s arm and dragged her onto the porch. “Let’s go, sis. We’re going to cruise until we find this creep. And when we do, he’ll be sorry he was ever born.”
“I’ve been through enough, Tommy. Give me a break.”
Ignoring his mother’s pleas for restraint, Tommy led Nadine to his candy apple-red Camaro, opening the door and shoving her into the passenger’s seat. Hurrying around, he hopped behind the wheel and took a few moments to fume before firing up the engine. The vein in his temple was pulsating, looking much like a big fat worm squirming just below the skin.
“Okay, tell me again what this guy looked like.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? He looked just like Elvis.”
“C’mon, sis; how much could someone look like Elvis?”
“He could be his identical twin. He had black hair, all slick with some kind of goop, and combed — you know — just like Elvis use to comb his hair. And he had that cute pout. He was even wearing a white jumpsuit with ruby-red rhinestones.”
Tommy rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Jesus, Nadine. What kind of idiot goes around dressed in a white jumpsuit with rhinestones?”
“Piss on you!” Nadine reached for the door handle. “If you don’t believe me, let’s end this little vengeance quest right here and now.”
“Okay, okay, the King lives. If he’s still out there, he’ll be sticking out like a sore thumb.” Tommy stomped on the accelerator and the Camaro shot away from the curb with a long screech of rubber. “Once I’m finished with this dude and the cops scrape him off the sidewalk, he’ll be singing “The jailhouse Rock.”
“And you’ll probably be his cellmate.”
Tommy sped onto Main Street, down-shifting and weaving through traffic, ignoring the horns and shouts of the drivers he cut-off. He turned on the radio to soothe his nerves and wouldn’t you know it — “Love Me Tender.” The syrupy voice was more like chalk squeaking across a blackboard. Cursing, Tommy whacked the radio, shaking his hand and sucking the blood from a torn knuckle. Stuck behind a slow-moving delivery truck, he shot to the right, nearly broad-siding a school bus.
“Slow down, Tommy, please! What’s the sense in all of this if you get us both killed?”
“You just keep your eyes peeled for the jerk.”
“You mean ‘eye’. I happen to have only one good one at the moment.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I can’t help you. I have to pay attention to traffic.”
“Oh, really? Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“Just remember one thing, Nadine; this whole thing is for you.”
Nadine barked a laugh. “Bull crap it is! This whole thing is for you and your precious big-brother ego. It’s for you, Tommy, and only you.”
“There’s plenty of chicks who wish they had a big brother like me — tons of them.”
“Oh, pleaseeee!”
Once they hit the center of the city the traffic became bumper-to-bumper, carbon monoxide thick on the humid air. It was a little past noon and the sidewalks were crammed with people rushing for a quick lunch. Horns blared. Engines revved impatiently. Nadine spotted a policeman and debated whether or not to hail him over and blurt out her whole terrible story.
“Have you seen him yet, Nadine?”
“If I did, I would have said something, no?”
“Maybe not if you want to avoid a scene.”
“I’ve already got a scene — right here in this car.”
And, then, as if summoned up by thought alone, she saw him! My God, what were the chances! There he was; this time wearing a shocking-pink jumpsuit, walking into the underground garage of the Park Sheraton. Should she say something, or keep her mouth shut? But it was too late. Tommy’s head whirled as he heard her suck in a startled breath.
“What, Nadine? Did you spot him?”
Silence.
“Nadine, for Christ-sake — did you see the creep?”
“Yes, damn-it-all — I saw him! He just walked into the garage of the Park Sheraton.”
Slamming on the brakes, Tommy shifted the Camaro into reverse and backed it between two oncoming cars, fishtailing and nearly striking a bumper. Then slamming on the brakes again, he jerked the wheel to the right and bullied his way in front of a panel truck, thudding over a speed bump as he zipped into the garage. With squealing rubber echoing off cement walls, he braked alongside the ticket dispenser. Growling with impatience, he yanked the ticket from the slot and nearly clipped the security arm when he tromped on the gas.
“Do you see him, do you see him?”
Nadine gave a long, weary sigh.
“Nadine, answer me! Do you see him?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I see him, just disappearing around a corner. One more time, Tommy; forget about this macho nonsense and call the cops.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Then as he cleared the first corner, he saw Elvis for the first time, walking around a vintage, nineteen-fifty-seven, pink Cadillac, looking for any dings or dents.
“Wow, look at that Caddy, Tommy.”
“Man, this creep goes whole hog.” Tommy pulled into an empty space and kept the motor running. “Okay, Nadine; you just wait, right here, while I take care of matters. It shouldn’t take long; the guy looks like a pushover.”
“Don’t hurt him too badly.”
“I can’t believe you. The bastard roughs you up during an attempted rape, and you want me to put on the Mickey Mouse gloves.”
Shaking Nadine’s hand from his arm, Tommy whipped open the door and jumped out. Man-oh-man; was he ever primed for this! He’d give the creep lefts and rights, uppercuts and roundhouses, even a good stomping when he went down. “Mercy” was not in his dictionary on this particular afternoon. Running on his toes to keep quiet, he quickly closed the gap between them.
“Hey, scum bucket!”
The man turned and stared, a brow raised in question. Oh, yeah, Elvis for sure! He had jet-black hair, shining with pomade and carefully combed into a pompadour. The pouting lips just like Nadine had said. And there was the jumpsuit; faggot-pink, this time, and encrusted with red rhinestones.
“Are you talking to me?” he asked in a syrupy Tennessee accent.
“Yeah, you pervert — I’m talking to you.”
“Did I hear you correctly?”
“What else would I call a lowlife who beats up on a seventeen-year-old girl? You didn’t quite get what you were after, did you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Obviously, you have me mixed up with someone else.”
Tommy brayed a laugh. “Oh, I don’t think there’s much room for that. So, now, you’re going to get a taste of your own medicine.”
“Just leave me alone or I call the police.”
“Yeah, sure.”
As the man slipped a key into the Caddy’s lock, Tommy dashed forward and grabbed hold of his arm. With surprisingly speed, Elvis whirled and launched a fist which he managed to duck under just in the nick of time. Zeroing in on a large rhinestone, Tommy delivered a punch to the creep’s midsection, then a knee to his chin as he doubled over, sending him reeling backwards. There was a thud as Elvis’s head hit the cement wall. With a groan, he slid to the ground, winding up in a sitting position with his chin resting on his chest.
Dancing from foot-to-foot, Tommy lashed at the air with a series of punches. “C’mon, shit-for-brains — you’re not going to get away this easy!”
The man didn’t move a muscle.
“Get the hell up! I’m going to clean your clock, pal!”
Still, the man failed to move.
A terrible thought crossed Tommy’s mind and he took a few hesitant steps forward, bending down and feeling for the pulse in Elvis’s wrist. Nothing! Impossible, totally impossible! He desperately moved his fingers from the wrist to the carotid artery in the man’s neck. Still nothing! And, only then, did he notice that the guy wasn’t breathing. Oh, Christ, no! It had happened so fast, in just a few lousy seconds!
Tommy scuttled across the cement floor on his hands and knees, peering out between the Caddy and a Mercedes. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Sweat trickled into his eyes, burning them, his heart feeling as though it were being squeezed by a giant fist. Leaping to his feet, he made a mad dash for his car, scrambling behind the wheel and slamming the door.
“Tommy, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What happened? You’re as white as a ghost.”
“Nothing happened. I roughed the jerk up a little, that’s all.”
“There’s more to it than that. Tell me what really happened.”
“Nadine, please; just shut the hell up. I’ll tell you later, I promise.”
Squeezing the gearshift knob to steady his shaking hand, Tommy reversed and sped toward the exit, struggling to put on a nonchalant face for the attendant.
The old man squinted at the ticket. “You just got here by the looks.”
“Uh — yeah; I remembered that I had a prior engagement. You know; Alzheimer’s at twenty-two.”
“Well, be it one hour or one minute, it’ll cost you five bucks.”
Tommy fumbled out a five. His hand was shaking so badly that the old man had to reach for the bill three times before plucking it from his fingers.
“If you shake like that, I’d say it’s Alzheimer’s for sure.”
“Take it easy, Pops.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Would the old man be able to describe him if the police were to ask about any suspicious characters? If not, he would certainly remember a bright red Camaro. Tommy whipped onto the street without looking, nearly colliding with a taxi. He felt so dizzy he could hardly concentrate. He took one hand off the wheel at a time, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“C’mon, Tommy — what happened back there? You’re a bucket of nerves.”
“It’s nothing. I just never beat anyone up before.”
Suddenly, Nadine’s head snapped toward the sidewalk, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Wait a second! Wait, wait! It — It wasn’t that guy in the garage after all! That’s the real guy, over there!”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Over there, Tommy! That’s the guy who attacked me!”
Tommy looked to where Nadine was pointing, spotting another Elvis. This one was decked out in a purple jumpsuit decorated with pink rhinestones!
“No, no, no, it’s not him either! Over there, coming out of that restaurant! That’s him — that’s him for sure!”
Tommy spotted yet another Elvis, slipping on sunglasses, dressed in a fifties-style sports jacket and blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up!
“What — What in the Christ is this; the frigging Twilight Zone!”
An, then, he caught sight of the sign in front of the Park Sheraton, groaning, and slamming on his brakes so suddenly that a police car smashed into his rear bumper.
There, for all to see – WELCOME ELVIS IMPERSONATORS OF THE WORLD!
