Percy's Mission (8 page)

“No more coffee,” said Mr. Anderson. “Might you have anything stronger?”

“Now Herbert,” admonished Mrs. Anderson.
“We have a small bar,” replied Calvin, when Mrs. Anderson didn’t insist on a no, and looked rather interested herself. Calvin went over to the built-in cabinets flanking the fireplace and opened one.
“We don’t drink much,” Calvin continued, but we like to keep a selection for guests. Is there anything in particular you would like?”
“I usually just drink sippin’ whiskey, but I’m a mind to try something new,” Mr. Anderson said, walking over to join Calvin and take a look at the offerings. “What’s that rounded bottle with the long neck. He squinted a bit. “Irish something.”

“Irish Mist,” replied Calvin. He opened the bottle and let Mr. Anderson take a sniff. “It’s very good,” Calvin said. “Would you like to try a snifter?”

“Yeah. That’ll do.”
Calvin poured a nice shot of the Irish Mist into a balloon snifter and handed it to Mr. Anderson. He turned to Mrs. Anderson. “Would you like one, as well?” he asked.
“Perhaps some sherry, or something like that,” she replied.
“How about an aperitif?” responded Calvin. “We have Galiano, Frangelica, Crème de Menthe…”
Mrs. Anderson interrupted him. “A Crème de Menthe,” she said. “That sounds nice.”
After pouring the drink he asked Nan, “Honey? What are you having?”
“I think the Frangelica,” she said.
He poured her drink and a snifter of Amaretto for himself. Though they hadn’t used it except to try it to make sure it worked properly, a fire was kept set in the fireplace. Calvin lit a match and started a piece of fatwood burning. He put it under the tinder and closed the screen.
By the time he took a seat on the sofa, Nan perching on the arm beside him, the fire was already catching.
“Dinner’s over,” said Mr. Anderson. “The drink here don’t count. What’s on your mind, sonny? Beth told me a little, but I need to hear it from you.”
“Yes, sir,” Calvin said. “Well, Nan and I have been thinking of starting a business, similar to some of the business you have. I was hoping you might give me a few pointers. Training, actually. On weekends.”

“Don’t work on the Sabbath. Ain’t right. At least not unless it’s a real emergency.”

“I meant on Saturday, Mr. Anderson,” Calvin replied.
“That would be okay. Don’t work many Saturdays, when I can help it. But have to some; because that’s the only time some people have to be home for me to do the work. And I bet, even though you haven’t got much experience, you’d be better’n Jimmy.
“You gotta understand,” Mr. Anderson continued, “my equipment is like me. Old and slow. I can teach you some things, sure enough, but it might not mean much in your own business. Unless you want to buy me out someday. I probably wouldn’t sell it to you. Wouldn’t be right. I can handle it okay. Wouldn’t expect no one else to make a living with that old hoe and the other equipment.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Anderson.” Nan put her hand on Calvin’s shoulder in encouragement as he continued. “I’m working on a plan to go ahead and get my own equipment. If I can do that, you could train me on it. If you would.”
Mr. Anderson took a quick sip of the Irish Mist, thinking. Finally he asked. “Just what kind of equipment? It pays to buy good equipment, you know. My old hoe was a good one once. It was pretty hard used before I got it. Didn’t want to invest too much when I got it, ‘cause I didn’t know if I wanted to do that kind of work for good.”
“Actually,” Calvin said, “We…” he looked up at Nan for a moment before he continued. “We were thinking about getting a Unimog, and a couple of models of Bobcat equipment. Plus attachments.”

“I know Bobcats, but what in the world is a Unimog? And what’s this about attachments?” asked Mr. Anderson. “Those little Bobcat spinners got a bucket, don’t they?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Anderson. But they can take a variety of attachments, such as a snow blower, tiller… rototiller that is, backhoes, trencher, rollers, tree transplanter…”
“Whoa, boy! Those little things can do all that?”
“With the right selection of attachments. I do have in mind one of the larger units. Two, actually. An A300. It can be used as a skid steer, but it can also use four wheel steer. Easier on lawns and such. The other one is the Toolcat 5600T utility vehicle. Kind of a small pickup truck with front lift arms to take a bucket or the other attachments.”

“Does sound interesting,” replied Mr. Anderson. He took another sip of the Irish Mist, and then asked, “New or used. I can take care of old equipment okay myself, but I wouldn’t want to deal with any more than I already got.”
“I plan to purchase new units, straight from the dealer.”
“That’s good. That’s right good. Now what’s this other thing you mention. Moogy something?”

“Unimog. U500 model. It’s a truck made by Mercedes-Benz. Where the Bobcat Toolcat is like a small four wheel drive pickup with front lift arms, the Unimog is like a giant four wheel drive pickup with, on the one I plan to get, front attachment points that can handle lift arms and other attachments. Can also mount or tow equipment on the rear, too. It has engine and transmission PTO shafts, as well as hydraulic connections front and rear.”
“Didn’t know Mercedes made trucks. Here in the US, anyways. Way back when I was in the service I saw some Mercedes trucks over in Germany. But nothing like a big pickup truck.”

“I’m not explaining it very well, I’m afraid,” Calvin said. “I’ve got some literature…”
“I’ll get it,” Nan said, getting up and heading for the den. She was back in moments with a handful of brochures and data sheets. “Here you go, Mr. Anderson.”
“That is an ugly sucker, isn’t it?” said Mr. Anderson, looking at the picture of the Unimog on the cover of the brochure. “Don’t really look like a pickup to me, though. Just a small flatbed…” He squinted a bit at the picture. “Not a flatbed, though, looks like a short sided bed.”
“It is,” replied Calvin. “The one I would get would have that bed with a three way dump kit. Plus the bed can attach and detach pretty quickly without much trouble. I’d get a couple other beds for specific purposes.”
“Hey,” said Mr. Anderson, as he leafed through the brochure. “This shows a bucket on the front. And a pair of forks. And…” He fell silent and looked through the brochure in more detail as his wife, Nan, and Calvin looked on.
Mr. Anderson handed the first brochure to his wife and went through the other papers. Mrs. Anderson looked through them with as much intensity as had her husband.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Anderson said, after going through all the papers. “Sounds like a good idea. But something trying to do everything usually isn’t as good as a specific piece of equipment.”
“I agree, sir. But for what I envision, I think they would serve the purpose.”
“Maybe.” Mr. Anderson looked thoughtful again for a moment. “Got to admit, Mercedes makes good stuff. Beth, remember that diesel sedan I traded for back a few years ago? Turned a nice profit on that, after driving it for a year. Really good car.”
Mrs. Anderson nodded her agreement.
“And Conrad has a Bobcat out on his farm. He swears by it.” Mr. Anderson frowned. “But he never said nothing about extras for it. He just uses the bucket for all kinds of things.” He looked at Calvin. “You say they can plow snow?”
“Plow or blow, Mr. Anderson.”

“Used to do a pretty good little business plowing driveways and such for people when I had the old Ford with a snow blade on it. Blew the engine and never got it fixed. We had two or three years of mild winters and I didn’t see the need. Way winters been the last couple, snow removal could be a big business.”
This time Mr. Anderson gave Calvin a hard look. “You really do this? This stuff can’t be cheap.”
“I’m pretty sure, but I can’t guarantee it. I don’t want to do half measures, so if we can’t do it the way we want, we won’t do it.” He looked up at Nan and she nodded her agreement.
Mr. Anderson drained the snifter of the last of the Irish Mist and set it down on the coffee table. “I tell you what, sonny. I’ll train you, Saturdays, on my equipment. If you can come up with the equipment, I’ll help you with it, too. This area can’t support a big contractor, but needs lots of work done on a small to medium scale. I been doing it for forty years now, but I’m ready to retire. If you work out, and can get the ‘quipment, I’ll put in a good word for you with my regular customers.”
Mr. Anderson stood, and the others did as well. Calvin held out his hand and Mr. Anderson took it in a firm grip and gave it a good hard double shake.
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. I appreciate your faith in me. I’ll have a proposal for the bank by the end of the week. I should know if I’m approved a week or ten days after that.”
“Okay, sonny. I’ll see you this coming Saturday at nine at the office. We got a septic job to do for the Widow Hammond.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”
With that, the Anderson’s took their leave. When Calvin closed the door after they drove away, he turned to Nan and asked, “You think we’re doing the right thing?”
“I do, honey. Mr. Anderson made it pretty obvious that the type of service we plan on doing is needed. I think he’s only still working because there isn’t anyone else around here that could and would do those types of jobs.”
“I’ll get to work on that proposal. Do you think you could get some numbers from Mrs. Anderson that I can use to show the potential for the equipment?”
Nan put her arm around Calvin’s waist as they walked toward the den. “I’m sure they won’t mind. Mrs. Anderson didn’t show it much, but I’m pretty sure she is excited about the idea. I think she really wants them to be able to retire as soon as possible. She has a cruise line brochure at the office that is dog eared from being looked at so much. It’s for an around the world cruise.”
Calvin nodded. “Well, we’ll do our best to help them accomplish that, if that is what they want.” Calvin took Nan in his arms and kissed her firmly. When he stepped back he said. “I love you.”
“And I you,” Nan replied, stepping away from him. “I’ll go clean things up while you start working.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Buddy Henderson wrote down the deposit in his checkbook. “Yes!” he said quietly to himself. He finally hit the goal he’d been shooting for. He now had ten thousand dollars in his savings account and five thousand in the checking account. The vendors were all paid off for the job just finished. So were the two apprentice plumbers he’d hired to help. The three thousand dollar final payment had been all profit.
He was going to have to take Charlene out to dinner to thank her for her help with the special orders. She’d done the orders for him and kept on top of deliveries and such while he’d concentrated on getting the job done. It was his biggest contract job to date.
The bank account contents were only one part of the plan he’d been working on for several years. He had paid off the plumbing truck, a large step van, the year before. Buddy owned free and clear the extensive stock the truck held, as well as the contents of the storage building behind the house, and the pipe rack beside it.
The house was free and clear. It was the first thing he paid off. It was a small two-bedroom tract house with a small den. But it served his needs nicely. He used the master bedroom and kept the second bedroom for personal storage.
The only thing left to pay off was his personal transportation. That consisted of a lovingly restored and customized 1977 Chevy three-quarter ton crew cab four-wheel-drive pickup truck. It had taken hours of work, some expert help, and quite a few dollars, to get it the way Buddy wanted it. But it had been worth it. He knew it was 100% reliable, and would go anywhere a wheeled vehicle had any business going.
Only one payment left on the engine work for the truck and he’d get the title. And the money was in the payment file already. He just needed to take it down to Hooper’s and give it to them. He just hadn’t had a chance this past week. It wasn’t even due for another week, but Buddy wanted it paid off.
Most of his emergency preparations were well along. But now he had the opportunity to get a few things he’d been holding off from buying. Instead he’d accumulated some expedient gear. He’d keep it, of course, but it would be regulated to back up status.
Buddy stopped at the house and changed clothes. He started a small load of laundry, and then went to the fire resistant, locking file cabinet in the den. Opening the top drawer, he removed the money from his haircut folder. It was about time for another haircut, anyway, and if he was going to take Charlene out, he wanted to look his best.
Another drawer held last year’s tax information. He took it out and put it in a manila envelope. He’d drop it off at his tax person’s place on the way to the barbershop. He’d run rough numbers himself and thought he’d get a substantial refund. The jobs had looked pretty good, so he’d paid more each quarter on his taxes than he thought he might need. Let the government use the money for a while and then get it back in a lump sum.
Some of his friends made fun of him for letting the government use the money, but Buddy liked not having to worry about coming up with a large sum to pay his taxes if he shorted the quarterly payments. And getting the refund was nice. He’d always saved money, but this was just one more way of forced savings.
Buddy grabbed his hard hat out of habit, then smiled and hung it back up and picked up his Ditch Witch cap. He’d rented the one machine enough lately that the rental place had given him the cap and a pair of work gloves in appreciation. Though he owned the plumbing truck, rental rates were low enough compared to maintenance rates that he was better off renting some of the necessary equipment as he needed it than he was buying it.
After checking the fuel gauges in the Chevy, Buddy decided to top off the fuel tanks on the way to the barbershop. He dropped off the tax documents first, and then drove down the street to the station he used. He rotated use of all three fuel tanks in the truck to keep the gasoline fresh.
The rear tank, where the spare tire originally went, was almost empty. It held thirty-six gallons. He put twenty-one in it to fill it. The other two tanks, a pair of twenty-gallon tanks, one on each side of the frame, were full. Buddy flipped the auxiliary/main switch to main, then the right/left switch to left. He’d run on the left tank until it was about empty, then fill it and switch to the right tank.
Buddy was whistling softly as he entered the barbershop. He grabbed the paper and took a seat. There would be a wait. The shop was full. His good mood moderated a bit when he saw the headlines. The Department of Homeland Security had shut down the airport again. And gasoline prices were still going up. The two fuel cans on the rack on the back of the truck were full, but it had been a while since he’d emptied and refilled them.
He’d do that while he was running on the left tank. It was time to check with the surplus place and see if they had any more of the cans in stock. There were two more at the house, in the shed, but he’d like to get a few more. But he wanted the good ones. Maybe another water can or two, as well, for the truck.
The barber had to call his name twice before Buddy looked up from the paper, then rose to go to the chair. “Sorry, Bobby. Got caught up in the paper.”
“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” Bobby, eighty, replied as he put the cloth around Buddy’s neck. “Gonna be worse than the depression and the big war combined, I’m a’thinkin’, when it happens this time.”
“You really think so?” Buddy asked. He respected Bobby. Bobby had gone through the depression, and then served in both World War Two and Korea. Lost a finger to frostbite in Korea, but it didn’t slow him down any as a barber. Buddy wondered sometimes why Bobby still worked. He knew he didn’t have to.
“Do for a fact. Do for a fact. Won’t live through this one, I’m a’thinkin’. Was a hellion in my day, but my day is over. First cold night we have without heat and I’m a goner. Yes sir’ee. A goner.”
You’re tough as nails,” protested Buddy.
“Not any more. Doc said it’s just a matter of time.”
One of the other barbers called over. “We’ve been trying to get him to retire and take it easy. He’s got that property up in the hills just waiting for him. Put in a manufactured home, and he’s set.”
“Not likely,” was Bobby’s reply. “With the interstate going the way it did, that place isn’t going to get any utilities for years. I bought it more for the investment than to ever use. Ain’t no way I’m going be up there with no utilities. I lived enough days in the field when I was in the service. It’ll be a nice rest home for me till the end comes.
“I’ll find some sucker that’ll give me what I paid for it and it’ll be someone else’s headache. Without the utilities going in and the limited access, no one in their right mind is going to develop that area. I just made a bad call on that place. ‘Bout the only one I ever did, I’m a’thinkin’. Yes sir’ee. ‘Bout the only one. So I got no regrets. One of these young’uns will want one of them off-grid lock things I hear about. I’ll sell it or let the estate sell it if I die first. My kids sure don’t want it.”
“You really serious about selling it, Bobby?” Buddy asked thoughtfully.
“Sure am. Had it listed now for a year. Nary a nibble. People just don’t want in the sticks any more. Take a jeep to get to it, the way it is. Went up there when I bought it. Found the best parcel, in my opinion, they had up there. View for miles, but still lots of trees. Good flat spot for a house. Small one, anyway. Wind blows like the dickens, though. Don’t like the wind much. Can’t hear enough around you when the wind blows. Wind almost got me killed three times. Once in Germany and twice in Korea. Don’t like the wind much.”
“I might just be interested in it. Would it be okay to go up and take a look at it this weekend?”
Bobby was putting the final touches on Buddy’s flattop. “I’ll cut you a deal, I will. I don’t aim to go up there, but I got all the particulars and I can let the real estate lady know. She might go up there with you, though I doubt it. I think she just took it ‘cause she felt sorry for me.” Bobby laughed. “Real politically correct gal, that one. Me being a disabled vet and all. And old.” Bobby waggled his fingers, the one obviously missing, and laughed.
“Long as I’ve got good directions and a map, I can find it,” Buddy replied.
“Well, sure thing,” said Bobby, brushing the loose hairs carefully from Buddy’s face and neck. “Stop by Saturday morn and I’ll have those directions for you.” He removed the cape and shook it free of hair as Buddy got out of the chair.
“I will, Bobby. Here you go.” Buddy handed Bobby the money and waved away the change, as always.
“Stop by the realtors, if you want and ask about the property. They can give you their version of the details.” He laughed. “Then me and thee can sit down and discuss it after you’ve looked at it.”
Buddy nodded. “That sounds good, Bobby. Thanks.”
One of the things he’d planned on doing when he’d met his financial goals was to obtain a piece of rural property. Like Bobby, he considered it an investment, but more importantly, a place to go if things really got bad. A retreat, so to speak.
Maybe a place to retire. But mostly just a place to get away for the next few years. He’d done a lot of camping when he was younger and he missed it. Hadn’t had much chance the last few years, with staying as busy as he could with the business, and saving money, and getting the things he’d wanted. Not much time for leisure. Nor much of a social life.
Buddy thought of Charlene. They were friends. Good friends. Had been since high school. He’d dated her off and on even then. She was a good woman. Straightforward, intelligent. Kind of pretty, though not a flashing beauty. That was partly why he was comfortable with her. They were pretty similar in a lot of ways. He had his plumbing business and she had that little curio shop. She did all right for herself.
Checking the traffic behind him, Buddy quickly turned into the first parking lot he came to. He wasn’t about to get a ticket, much less the hassles now attendant with using a cellular phone while you were driving. He called up Charlene. It took only a few moments to arrange to pick her up that evening for dinner.