Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Margie cried, “How I need you now.” She sat in her favorite chair, her Bible open on her lap. Her grief was palpable. The other babies had been born of the working girls at Lash LaRoux and, God-be-praised, they had chosen to save life and not abort it, and the money was going to help them pay their own expenses. “But this?” Margie was grief stricken. Little Amber and Little Mikey had been two of her favorite tenants. They had lived in her basement for nearly four months like two little scared rabbits while they kicked that horrible drug habit and then Foxey had come and taken Mike away then Amber. “Oh, Lord, it hadn’t ended there. Freddie had ordered Eppy to kill me. Imagine, ordering him to kill his own mother.” Margie had gone after that Maggot with a butcher knife and she’d have sliced his throat, too, if Foxy hadn’t stopped her. “Teddy Baggett,” she’d screamed, “there are not enough roofies in the world to make me sleep with you again!” And she had fallen to her knees and prayed that Satan himself was looking after her former husband sent to him by her righteously indignant father. It was then that the doorbell rang. “Oh, my goodness.” Margie thought. “I have not had a visitor other than two of those heathen Mormons in twelve years. Let it be a sign of what I should do. Please, God, let it be a sign.” And she went to the door. “Are you Margie Bartholomew? The daughter of that man of God, the Reverend Bartholomew of the Tabernacle of the Pearly Gates?” the man in the gray suit and pink shirt with the lavender necktie and white pearl necklace and matching earrings asked. He clutched a simple silver lame purse to his chest. His companion held a large, family edition of the King James Bible in both hands and wore freshly pressed Levis, a starched white western cut shirt and a white western straw hat. His western boots were so worn that they gave his ankles the appearance of being bowed. “Yes, I am?” Margie said, adding a slight question mark to the answer. “Praise Jesus,” Mom shouted and pushed his way into the living room. “Sweetie, I have been looking for you for fifteen years. Your daddy, God rest his mighty soul, baptized me!” Once into the living room Mom fell to his knees and began to pray. Dad stepped behind him, lifted his hat and bowed his head. Margie was so excited, she closed the door and ran to kneel in front of Mom, clasp his hands in her own, and join in the prayer. As soon as she did, Mom shouted “Amen and thank you Jesus!” and stood up. “Oh, sweetie, it’s like I am holding your father’s precious hands in my own. I can feel the power of the Holy Ghost coming right through them. Here, Dad, you hold her hands, tell me if I am wrong.” He handed Margie’s hands to Dad and began to explore the tiny house. “What a lovely house you have here, Margie. May I call you that? I feel we are true family in Christ. Do you live here alone?” She peeked into the kitchen and then the bedroom. “Ooh, I love that chenille on the bed. What a vivid color. Is it lilac or faded lavender? I washed a pair of Dad’s underwear with the kitchen curtains and they come out that same color.” Mom came around after peaking in the second bedroom and, with Dad, backed Margie between them onto the tiny sofa and sat. “Can we talk?” he asked. “I feel I need to tell you of my plans for my birthday in Christ.” He sat for a moment trembling with excitement, his eyes squeezed tightly together, his lips pursed, his hands shaking and then exploded, startling both Margie and Dad with his enthusiasm. “On that beautiful day when I went down in the waters held by the strong hands of your father, I was given a new birth. It was my birthday in Jesus. It will be fifteen years ago this coming July your daddy baptized me in the Big House. Did you know he continued to preach even after he was incarcerated?” Margie shook her head. “He did, my precious. And he told us glorious stories of his beautiful daughter who was carrying on his work on the streets of the city.” Margie began to cry, “He knew?” “Of course he did, sweetie. Word spreads quickly inside those high walls, don’t it, Dad?” “Amen,” said Dad. “The Reverend took me in the shower of that horrible place and washed away my sins.” Mom began to sway back and forth as he spoke. “He put the finger of God in me and taught me the true joy of being on my knees for Jesus! “Amen,” said Dad. “And this coming July the 17th I will have been fifteen years new born and I want to celebrate my Quinceañera and I want you to celebrate it with me. Will you?” Mom practically shouted. Margie stood and raised her arms to heaven and screamed, “I have had my sign, praise Jesus, I have had my sign! Kneel with me right now; there are horrible things going on in this house and I need to confess.” She fell to her knees and practically dragged Mom and Dad to the floor with her. She began to pray hysterically. “Oh, Lordy, Lordy Jesus. I have been a part of a horrible crime.” “Amen,” said Mom and Dad and they each put an arm over her shoulder. “In my basement are three people being held against their will by my wicked niece and my evil brother-in-law. And, oh, Lord, I have heard your message to set them free.” “Amen,” said Mom and Dad. And from across the room came the screeching whine of a cat in heat, “Prayer service ended, Margie.” All six eyes opened to the sight of Freddie Baggett standing in the doorway from the kitchen holding a Bersa Thunder .380 aimed directly at the prayer group. A terrified Eppy stood behind him pleading, “Boss, please, don’t.” He pushed past and stood between The Maggot and his mother. “Eppy, your mother is about to make a real nuisance of herself. And, I might add, so are you.” “I’ll take care of her. I will. Just let me calm things down. Mama, go in the front bedroom and stay in there. Take your friends with you and stay in there. Do as I say mama.” “But, Eppy, God has given me a sign.” “Mama, so help me, if you don’t get in that room right now, I’m gonna shoot you!” Mom and Dad took an arm each and lifted Margie to her feet and backed into the front bedroom. As soon as they were inside, Mom quietly closed the door. “Now you better keep’em in there, Eppy, or I swear, I’ll burn this place to the ground and send the whole bunch to hell – including your little tight end down there. Kapish?” Epperson shivered as much from tension as from the nails-on-board sound of Freddie’s voice, extended his palms in a calming gesture and backed toward the bedroom door. “Now keep that bitch quiet while the client is here, Eppy.” Eppy nodded, slipped through the door and quietly closed it. He turned to find himself facing Mom, Margie and Dad with Dad holding Jerome’s 22 pistol. “Not a sound or we’ll shoot,” Mom said. “I’m a dead aim,” Dad said. “You brought this on yourself, son,” Margie said. “Mama, I just risked my life for you,” Eppy said. “But, honey, God told me what to do,” Margie sniffled, “just like Abraham and Joseph.” “Abraham and Isaac,” Mom corrected. “Shit,” Margie whispered, “after Jonah and the Ark I get all confused.” “With me, it’s after David and Jezebel,” Mom whispered.” “Will you two shut up,” Dad yelled. “Ssh,” they both came back. “Now then, Eppy, what are we gonna do?” Margie asked. “I don’t know, you just threatened me,” Eppy pouted. “Honey, we got to rescue that poor baby and your beloved Ryan.” “And my precious Mikey,” Mom added. “Do you know Mikey?” Margie asked. “He’s my grandson-in-law,” Mom whispered. “Oh, my Jesus,” Margie cried, “We’re practically related.”