Brush Creek Charlie, D. B. Reynolds [top non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

a contemporary hairstyle and dress code. Being the civilized gentleman he pretended to be, Charlie swooped around a host of other motorists. The woman stranded on Pershing watched Charlie park and emerge from his car. As he walked towards her, she felt a sudden tingle of fright.
“Having car trouble?” Charlie asked the strange woman, bits of hotsauce and cheesecake scattered across his work uniform.
Her impulse kicked in right away.
She broke into a frown after she observed his pitted face and crashed dental work. “This car should’ve gone to the junkyard a long time ago. This is what happens when you try and economize and hold on to a piece of junk.”
“By the way, I’m Charlie.”
“My name’s Lisa Wallace. Most of my friends call me Bernie.”
“Bernie?”
“My middle name’s Bernadette.”
“How distinguished,” Charlie smiled, showing all of his uneven, rotted teeth.
“And your full name?”
“Charles Anthony Rastelli.”
“Italian?”
“All day.”
“Mafia connected?” Lisa casually joked.
“Now, now, not all Italians are in the Mafia.”
Lisa didn’t mind giving Charlie further conversation. Having the face filled with holes and the teeth ready to fall out of his mouth, it kept a sightly frown on her face.
“What seems to be the problem with your car?”
“Well, it leaks oil like crazy. I also believe one of my gaskets needs to be sealed.”
“See, even you know something about cars.”
“Not enough to fix this worthless piece of junk.”
“How about I take a look at it.”
“Go right ahead.”
Charlie lifted the hood to check things out. A few wires and hoses went swinging to the side. Steam rushed up from the water pump. Cables to the battery and wires connected with the starter and alternator were observed. Charlie instructed Lisa to start her car up. She climbed inside and jerked the ignition. For strange mechanical reasons, the car wouldn’t crank over.
“When’s the last time you replaced the battery?” Charlie inquired, having primary auto mechanic skills.
Lisa shook her head while wrinkles creased her forehead. “At least four years or more.”
“How about the starter and alternator?”
“Probably even longer.”
Charlie was never the type of man any woman looked upon and got excited from his looks.
“When’s the last time you had a tune up? How often do you get the oil changed?”
“I haven’t had a tune up in two years. I get the oil changed probably twice a year.”
“Well, there’s most of your problem,” Charlie guessed. “You should get a tune up done once a year and get your oil changed at least every three to four thousand miles. You’re going to need a new water pump and a new battery. Your belts and hoses look like they’re in great shape.”
“Gee, I see that you know a lot about cars. What, are you an auto mechanic or something.”
“Worked on a lot of jeeps and tanks when I did my tours of duty over in Vietnam.”
“You were in Vietnam?”
“Did several years over there.”
“Interesting.”
“Look, I’m going to let you see the gentleman side of me. Let me go to O’Hurley Automotive Parts just south of here and get you that water pump and battery.”
“How much will it cost?”
“It’s on me.”
“No, no, I have cash to pay for it,” Lisa insisted, reaching into her purse to pay for the goods and services.”
“Sweetheart, my pockets are loaded with money from a bonus I got at work this work.”
“Really, I have no problem paying for the battery and water pump.”
“Please, I insist on you letting me take up the costs. I’d be insulted if you didn’t let me do so.”
“Alright, have it your way.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Lisa’s co-workers from the IRS sped out of the dark garage and on past where her car sat stranded. In less than an hour, Charlie made a trip to O’Hurley Automotive Parts and came back with the new battery and water pump. She watched him work his skills by replacing the vital car parts. With the use of his own hands, he tightened wires and adjusted a few of the belts and hoses.
“Get inside your car and try starting it up,” Charlie told Lisa, his eyes fixed on the water pump.
Lisa turned the ignition and pressed lightly on the accelerator. Juice flowed through the engine. Power sparked from around the battery and starter and alternator. The water pump worked like a dream.
Charlie smiled at Lisa from the hood of the car. “Looks like you’re back in business.”
“How can I ever thank you?”
“Easy,” Charlie deceitfully smirked. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
The cheerful look on Lisa’s girlish face dropped a level. “Dinner? Uh, I’m not so sure about that one.”
“Sure you’re sure. I’d cherish the company of a nice woman like you. I think you and I have a lot to talk about. We possibly have a lot of things in common.”
“Sir, I’m not too big on having dinner with men I barely know. We’ve just met today and you want us to have dinner. I think we should get to know one another a lot better.”
“Darling, I’m not asking you to marry me or have sex with me. Dinner and nice conversation, that’s all I’m asking, no more or no less.”
“What place did you have in mind?”
“My place.”
“Your place!” Lisa shunned. “Where exactly do you live?”
“In The Rosenberg Apartments on The Country Club Plaza.”
“Sounds quite fancy.”
“My residence is tranquil and civilized. The building is filled with nice, working-class people.”
Lisa picked away at her brains. “Come to think of it, you did pull over to offer me some help.”
“Being the perfect gentleman is in my blood.”
“You did make a special trip to the automotive store to pick up the battery and water pump for my car. Those qualities, I guess, are the signs of a true gentleman.”
“In this day and age, people are self-centered and self-absorbed. They only care about themselves.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“This guy here is from the old school. I care about the welfare of others.”
“What’s your exact address at these apartments on The Plaza?”
“Eight-Sixty-Four Ward Parkway.”
“Apartment number?”
“Two-twelve.”
“You’re not too far from those multi-million dollar mansions all along Ward Parkway.”
“When I drive up and down Ward Parkway, those mansions give me the creeps. That whole neighborhood is spooky, haunted with ghosts from back in the Civil War days.”
Lisa scrutinized Charlie with the strongest look. “Charlie, you’ve got yourself a dinner date tonight.”
“Great!” Charlie cheered. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. What time can I expect you?”
“Let’s say, about seven or eight this evening.”
“Perfect!”
“I’ll see you then.”
Charlie and Lisa got inside their cars and drove away from the huge IRS complex.


CHAPTER—5

Charlie didn’t have company too often inside his apartment at The Rosenburg. Neither males nor females were allowed to step inside his private domain. Second only to Brush Creek did he find his residence a place of true solitude. He’d made Lisa Wallace a rare exception since she exuded pleasant vibes. Everything in his apartment was clean and organized. The air was filled with incense and potpourri. Not a speck of dust appeared across the hardwood floor. The buzzer to his apartment rung with authority.
Charlie moved his face up to the speaker system. “Who is it?”
“It’s Lisa Wallace.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Charlie exited his apartment and crept down the stairs. None of his nosy neighbors heard him coming towards the front door. There stood Lisa on the other side. She’d gone home and changed into a dress which brought out her hidden sexiness.
Charlie opened the door and looked her up and down. He liked every inch of her. An unpleasant odor seeped from under the door of Derrick and Mitchell. Charlie and Lisa fanned away the foul sexual odor. They climbed the stairs and he closed the door.
“Well, this is where I stay,” Charlie grinned, welcoming her to his private sanctum.
“It’s pretty neat,” Lisa obliged, scanning the walls lined with the Brush Creek posters.
“Here, let me take your coat.”
“Thank you very much.”
Lisa took a seat at the middle of the sofa. She turned her head from front to back and then sideways. “Can I ask you a sort of unconventional question?”
“Sure you can.”
“The disgusting odor from downstairs, where was it coming from?”
“There’s a gay male couple who lives in that first apartment on the first floor. Others here at The Rosenberg have complained about the stink blasting out of their apartment.”
“My stomach got twisted into a tight knot after getting a whiff of that smell.”
“Two guys having sex would stink up any area.”
“So, these guys are gay?”
“As an eleven dollar bill.”
“How odd.”
“Homosexuality itself is