Red White and Black and Blue Read Online Free Page B
Author: Richard Stevenson
taken it."
"Did anyone else see it?"
"I wouldn't think so."
"Did Mrs. Pensivy know about the abuse?"
"Not as far as I know. She lived next door with her sister."
"Who else knew about the beatings?"
Jackman mulled this over. "Greg never said. But other people must have figured it out. At school, or his family. You could see the marks and what have you. He had a big shiner one time. Janie gave him a cube steak to press against it."
"Did Greg ever seek medical treatment that you know of?"
"Just from Janie and I. The cube steak."
"I thought people only treated black eyes with steak in the comics. Dagwood, or Nancy and Sluggo."
A puzzled look. "What are those? You mean like in newspapers?"
"Yes."
"My granddad still reads the Times Union most of the time.
Sports and what have you."
I supposed the couple in the next booth could have explained what the funny papers used to mean in American life, but the old man and the old woman were busy staring 33
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
intently at each other's sagging midsections, and I didn't break their reverie and bring them into our discussion.
* * * *
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34
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Chapter Three
"And I was like, I have to say something, and Kev was like, no you don't have to say anything, just let Virgil do it, cuz nobody's going to give him any shit, cuz he's a guy. But it just didn't seem right that if I know about this guy, I should just let him get elected governor of New York, and anyway maybe he still beats up on people. He could, you know, go after some young guy who works in his office—put the moves on him and then beat on him the way he did with Greg. My conscience would bother me if I didn't speak out, although I don't want my name mentioned, and I think you can understand the reason why."
"Tom Dunphy said it was for family and professional reasons."
"That's right. My parents would shit burritos if I did anything to mess up Kenyon Louderbush's chance to win the election. They think he's Jesus Walks on Water, and they don't know about the gay stuff or any of that. Also, at work it would not be appreciated if I got into some political thing.
That is strictly, like, no way."
"Where do you work, Janie?"
"Walmart. I'm an assistant shift supervisor. I keep the associates happy and productive."
"I see."
We were seated in a booth at the bar at the Outback Steakhouse not far from the Wolf Road Denny's where I had my late lunch with Virgil Jackman. Insinger had gotten off 35
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
work at four, and she was sipping some wacky concoction: half a tumbler of Red Bull, a shot of rum, and a cocktail onion bobbing in it. I was nursing a Sam Adams and eating too many peanuts coated with corn syrup shellac.
It was hard to imagine Insinger supervising the impoverished geezers and laid-off math teachers at Walmart who wandered the aisles hanging red sale tags of $7.99 on garments sewn on the outskirts of Kunming for twenty-five cents each. With her croaky voice and cuzes and was likes , Insinger seemed like an implausible boss lady at a company famed for both cracking the whip and inspiring near-religious awe in its employees. Her deficiencies may have been compensated for to some extent by her appearance. Insinger was a knockout, both svelte and sweetly busty, with a pert nose, large hazel eyes and a lower lip the size of a kielbasa.
She was done up in the tart-wear that the young routinely leave home in now, making little distinction between going to work and attending a backroom sex club. It had been a while since I had generated a physical response to a body of the opposite sex, but there was something about Insinger's appearance and her perfume—peony bloom?—that combined to have me shifting in my seat. Until, that is, she opened her mouth again.
"So I was like, hey, if I can't personally screw over this dickhead senator and keep my
"Did anyone else see it?"
"I wouldn't think so."
"Did Mrs. Pensivy know about the abuse?"
"Not as far as I know. She lived next door with her sister."
"Who else knew about the beatings?"
Jackman mulled this over. "Greg never said. But other people must have figured it out. At school, or his family. You could see the marks and what have you. He had a big shiner one time. Janie gave him a cube steak to press against it."
"Did Greg ever seek medical treatment that you know of?"
"Just from Janie and I. The cube steak."
"I thought people only treated black eyes with steak in the comics. Dagwood, or Nancy and Sluggo."
A puzzled look. "What are those? You mean like in newspapers?"
"Yes."
"My granddad still reads the Times Union most of the time.
Sports and what have you."
I supposed the couple in the next booth could have explained what the funny papers used to mean in American life, but the old man and the old woman were busy staring 33
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
intently at each other's sagging midsections, and I didn't break their reverie and bring them into our discussion.
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
34
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Chapter Three
"And I was like, I have to say something, and Kev was like, no you don't have to say anything, just let Virgil do it, cuz nobody's going to give him any shit, cuz he's a guy. But it just didn't seem right that if I know about this guy, I should just let him get elected governor of New York, and anyway maybe he still beats up on people. He could, you know, go after some young guy who works in his office—put the moves on him and then beat on him the way he did with Greg. My conscience would bother me if I didn't speak out, although I don't want my name mentioned, and I think you can understand the reason why."
"Tom Dunphy said it was for family and professional reasons."
"That's right. My parents would shit burritos if I did anything to mess up Kenyon Louderbush's chance to win the election. They think he's Jesus Walks on Water, and they don't know about the gay stuff or any of that. Also, at work it would not be appreciated if I got into some political thing.
That is strictly, like, no way."
"Where do you work, Janie?"
"Walmart. I'm an assistant shift supervisor. I keep the associates happy and productive."
"I see."
We were seated in a booth at the bar at the Outback Steakhouse not far from the Wolf Road Denny's where I had my late lunch with Virgil Jackman. Insinger had gotten off 35
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
work at four, and she was sipping some wacky concoction: half a tumbler of Red Bull, a shot of rum, and a cocktail onion bobbing in it. I was nursing a Sam Adams and eating too many peanuts coated with corn syrup shellac.
It was hard to imagine Insinger supervising the impoverished geezers and laid-off math teachers at Walmart who wandered the aisles hanging red sale tags of $7.99 on garments sewn on the outskirts of Kunming for twenty-five cents each. With her croaky voice and cuzes and was likes , Insinger seemed like an implausible boss lady at a company famed for both cracking the whip and inspiring near-religious awe in its employees. Her deficiencies may have been compensated for to some extent by her appearance. Insinger was a knockout, both svelte and sweetly busty, with a pert nose, large hazel eyes and a lower lip the size of a kielbasa.
She was done up in the tart-wear that the young routinely leave home in now, making little distinction between going to work and attending a backroom sex club. It had been a while since I had generated a physical response to a body of the opposite sex, but there was something about Insinger's appearance and her perfume—peony bloom?—that combined to have me shifting in my seat. Until, that is, she opened her mouth again.
"So I was like, hey, if I can't personally screw over this dickhead senator and keep my
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