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"Bats On Fire"
May. 19th, 2022 09:58 pm"Bats On Fire"
10/29-19/30/1938
I.
On the furthest outskirts of town where paved roads gave way to hard-packed dirt, the Valley Rest Inn stood behind its gravel parking lot. A cheerful-looking three-story white building with a porch that held both a long bench and some rocking chairs, its name in cursive paint letters filled a wide picture window and the smaller neon VACANCY word glowed blue. Rolling to a halt in front of that porch, the dark green Plymouth convertible went silent as its engine was turned off.
A big man emerged from behind the wheel. Just over six feet tall, Memphis was solidly built with wide shoulders and a massive chest beneath that sedate pinstripe suit. His fedora was pushed far back on his head. Memphis was a black man about thirty years old, very dark-skinned and with his hair trimmed as short as possible. He turned slowly around as if looking for trouble before moving over to open the rear passenger door. "Everything seems quiet enough, Albert," he said. "No sign of any murderous glowing whatevers flying overhead."
Squeezing out from the rear seat of the car, Albert Rigby was not nearly as imposing as his partner. Barely of medium height and rather dumpy-looking despite his suit's tailored attempts to conceal his build, Rigby had a round face and mild blue eyes behind pince-nez whose ribbon hung down to his lapel. "Oh, it's good to stand up," he said. "That was a long ride."
"I quite agree," Memphis responded as he opened the trunk and lifted out two suitcases. "Being stuffed with food doesn't help, I indulged a bit too much at that roundhouse back there."
"Those WERE good pork chops. The dishes of applesauce always aid to the taste, but we both had second helpings which might have been too much." Rigby tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket. "Ready?"
"Right behind you," Memphis said. He followed his partner up onto the porch and through the front door which had an overhead bell tinkling to announce visitors. Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged man wearing a black vest over a blue dress shirt put down his copy of a pulp magazine and rose to greet them. "Say. I think I know you?"
"Good evening, sir," Rigby said. Behind him, Memphis carefully lowered the suitcases to the thin beige rug and straightened up, looming over his slightly-built partner.
"You are Albert Rigby, are you not?" asked the clerk. "Heh, I've seen those comedy shorts you've done. They showed them before the B-picture. My favorite was the one about having dinner with in-laws you never met before. And I enjoyed one of your books, it's the only one I've seen for sale. GOING BOTH WAYS AT ONCE, that's the one."
Rigby smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, glad to meet you, sir. I have a new book at the printers now, it should be in the stores before Christmas. I've starting writing about old folklore, ghost stories and such. Your name would be...?"
"Heins, George Heins. Owner and manager of this establishment, and to be honest it seems I sleep behind this desk more than in my own bed. Would you be wanting a room, Mr Rigby?"
"Yes, very much. One with two beds, if possible, and a private bath." Rigby had reached into his inner jacket pocket to remove his checkbook but he paused at the sour expression on the manager's face.
"Yes. Well, sir, there is a very nice colored couple living in the house half a mile up the road. Mr and Mrs Williamson. They have a few rooms they let out and I'm sure your servant would be perfectly comfortable..."
Rigby's voice did not grow cold or angry. He stayed civil. "No, no, Mr Heins. Memphis is my valet and chaffeur and much more. I try out my stories on him to see if he laughs. I must insist he stay with me."
"Please, suh, I doesn't mean to be no trouble," said Memphis in a completely different voice than the one he had used outside.
"I would be lost without you, Memphis," Rigby insisted. "Well, Mr Heins, if you can't accomodate me, I believe I have no choice but to try somewhere else."
"Well...." Heins was obviously debating with himself. "I don't know. Your man here certainly seems discreet and well-mannered. Fine looking fellow, in fact. But I don't want complaints from other guests."
"Honest, Mistuh Rigby, I wouldn't mind staying with my own," Memphis drawled with a distinct Deep South tinge that had not been there moments earlier.
"No, no, I must insist," Rigby went on. "Here. Let me write out a check this minute. I'm tired and cranky and I will not be denied."
"I suppose," Heins replied. He studied Memphis' stoic face. "You would come and go by the back door, to avoid trouble?"
"Yassuh, certainly." He picked up the suitcases again, which seemed to prompt everyone. Rigby took a suite of three rooms on the floor directly above them, added that he might want to stay a day or so.
"Well then. Supper is served in the common room at eight-thirty. It's meatloaf tonight." Heins rubbed his chin. "Memphis, is it? I could have a tray prepared for you to eat in your rooms."
"Thank you kindly, suh." Like Rigby, Memphis remained polite and even in his tones. "I quite understand."
"Well then, here is your key, Mr Rigby. Maid service is at four in the afternoon but Lucy will knock before she enters. It would be best if your rooms were, ah, unoccupied at the time."
"Don't worry," Rigby responded as he took the large brass key with its wooden tag bearing the room. "Neither Memphis nor I will cause a scandal. Especially since this town is still on edge after those mysterious deaths."
( the rest of the story )
10/29-19/30/1938
I.
On the furthest outskirts of town where paved roads gave way to hard-packed dirt, the Valley Rest Inn stood behind its gravel parking lot. A cheerful-looking three-story white building with a porch that held both a long bench and some rocking chairs, its name in cursive paint letters filled a wide picture window and the smaller neon VACANCY word glowed blue. Rolling to a halt in front of that porch, the dark green Plymouth convertible went silent as its engine was turned off.
A big man emerged from behind the wheel. Just over six feet tall, Memphis was solidly built with wide shoulders and a massive chest beneath that sedate pinstripe suit. His fedora was pushed far back on his head. Memphis was a black man about thirty years old, very dark-skinned and with his hair trimmed as short as possible. He turned slowly around as if looking for trouble before moving over to open the rear passenger door. "Everything seems quiet enough, Albert," he said. "No sign of any murderous glowing whatevers flying overhead."
Squeezing out from the rear seat of the car, Albert Rigby was not nearly as imposing as his partner. Barely of medium height and rather dumpy-looking despite his suit's tailored attempts to conceal his build, Rigby had a round face and mild blue eyes behind pince-nez whose ribbon hung down to his lapel. "Oh, it's good to stand up," he said. "That was a long ride."
"I quite agree," Memphis responded as he opened the trunk and lifted out two suitcases. "Being stuffed with food doesn't help, I indulged a bit too much at that roundhouse back there."
"Those WERE good pork chops. The dishes of applesauce always aid to the taste, but we both had second helpings which might have been too much." Rigby tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket. "Ready?"
"Right behind you," Memphis said. He followed his partner up onto the porch and through the front door which had an overhead bell tinkling to announce visitors. Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged man wearing a black vest over a blue dress shirt put down his copy of a pulp magazine and rose to greet them. "Say. I think I know you?"
"Good evening, sir," Rigby said. Behind him, Memphis carefully lowered the suitcases to the thin beige rug and straightened up, looming over his slightly-built partner.
"You are Albert Rigby, are you not?" asked the clerk. "Heh, I've seen those comedy shorts you've done. They showed them before the B-picture. My favorite was the one about having dinner with in-laws you never met before. And I enjoyed one of your books, it's the only one I've seen for sale. GOING BOTH WAYS AT ONCE, that's the one."
Rigby smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, glad to meet you, sir. I have a new book at the printers now, it should be in the stores before Christmas. I've starting writing about old folklore, ghost stories and such. Your name would be...?"
"Heins, George Heins. Owner and manager of this establishment, and to be honest it seems I sleep behind this desk more than in my own bed. Would you be wanting a room, Mr Rigby?"
"Yes, very much. One with two beds, if possible, and a private bath." Rigby had reached into his inner jacket pocket to remove his checkbook but he paused at the sour expression on the manager's face.
"Yes. Well, sir, there is a very nice colored couple living in the house half a mile up the road. Mr and Mrs Williamson. They have a few rooms they let out and I'm sure your servant would be perfectly comfortable..."
Rigby's voice did not grow cold or angry. He stayed civil. "No, no, Mr Heins. Memphis is my valet and chaffeur and much more. I try out my stories on him to see if he laughs. I must insist he stay with me."
"Please, suh, I doesn't mean to be no trouble," said Memphis in a completely different voice than the one he had used outside.
"I would be lost without you, Memphis," Rigby insisted. "Well, Mr Heins, if you can't accomodate me, I believe I have no choice but to try somewhere else."
"Well...." Heins was obviously debating with himself. "I don't know. Your man here certainly seems discreet and well-mannered. Fine looking fellow, in fact. But I don't want complaints from other guests."
"Honest, Mistuh Rigby, I wouldn't mind staying with my own," Memphis drawled with a distinct Deep South tinge that had not been there moments earlier.
"No, no, I must insist," Rigby went on. "Here. Let me write out a check this minute. I'm tired and cranky and I will not be denied."
"I suppose," Heins replied. He studied Memphis' stoic face. "You would come and go by the back door, to avoid trouble?"
"Yassuh, certainly." He picked up the suitcases again, which seemed to prompt everyone. Rigby took a suite of three rooms on the floor directly above them, added that he might want to stay a day or so.
"Well then. Supper is served in the common room at eight-thirty. It's meatloaf tonight." Heins rubbed his chin. "Memphis, is it? I could have a tray prepared for you to eat in your rooms."
"Thank you kindly, suh." Like Rigby, Memphis remained polite and even in his tones. "I quite understand."
"Well then, here is your key, Mr Rigby. Maid service is at four in the afternoon but Lucy will knock before she enters. It would be best if your rooms were, ah, unoccupied at the time."
"Don't worry," Rigby responded as he took the large brass key with its wooden tag bearing the room. "Neither Memphis nor I will cause a scandal. Especially since this town is still on edge after those mysterious deaths."
( the rest of the story )
