mR. bERZERKELEY II

Mayor Sain sits at a small, round table in the kitchen in his home next door to Hamilton House across a common driveway. The two story, hundred year old craftsman has been around almost as long as the Hamilton House. Inside, the clutter of papers, books and clothes suggest he doesn’t have many visitors. The fact that dust and cobwebs can be found in the kitchen indicates he hasn’t spent much or any time preparing food, either. And, why should he, with his mother and her great food a few steps away? He gets up and opens the one appliance that is well-used - the refrigerator - takes out a cold beer and returns to his breakfast as the kitchen door opens. Jefferson, wearing his dark-blue Cal sweatshirt and light blue dockers, and Sylvia, wearing a yellow Cal sweatshirt and a wraparound blue skirt, walk in. The past fifty years have been good to the spry Jefferson but not so good to his drugged out partner Sylvia, who barely knows her own name.
“Mister mayor?” Jefferson says looking at the plate of food. “Your mom trying to keep you from getting drunk and disorderly at the Big Game again?”
“She’s got a lot more,” Mayor Sain says, with food in his mouth. “She’s ready for you.”
“I am always ready for you,” Sylvia slurs.
“Go get your food and come back,” an excited mayor says. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Jefferson and Sylvia leave and walk across the driveway to Hamilton House while the mayor clears the small table and a couple of hanging cobwebs. “I have a son!” he says happily to himself. “Michael is my son! The evil bitch and I have a son! Oh! The evil bitch! I’m going to tell her I know at today’s game. Yes. That’s it! I’ll make her squirm and scratch her butt because I know what she’s been hiding all these years. Michael is our son!”
A familiar smell fills the air making the mayor’s nose twitch. Jack R. Abbott opens the kitchen door and peeks in. “Where’s Doreen?” the mayor asks.
“She had to do an emergency gonad extraction on a Schnauzer,” the small, underweight Jack R. Abbott says, rubbing his scraggily beard.
“You didn’t bring Winston, I hope?” the mayor says rubbing his nose.
“No. He’s real pissed! Cable went out and he’s gonna miss Raider re-runs. He let me have it just before I left.”
“Want to take a quick shower?” Mayor Sain asks, hardly able to stand the stench.
“Naw. It’ll drift away soon. Your mom is cooking I see.”
“Wait a minute,” the mayor says as he stands and walks into a small bathroom grabbing air freshener. “Spray on some of this evergreen. It’ll cut the smell or she’ll throw you out of Hamilton House.”
Jack R. Abbott groans as he catches the spray can the mayor underhands. He covers his body including under both arms and a little on his holey green tennis shoes, before tossing the can back.
Mayor Sain takes a whiff. “That’ll do for now,” he says. “Go on over. Jefferson and Sylvia are already there. Bring your food back. We’ve got plans to review and I’ve got something very important to tell you.”
“Sounds like material for another mystery novel,” Jack R. Abbott says.
“It’ll be a good one,” the mayor laughs. “More like a horror novel!”
“Was that ‘horror’ or ‘whore’,” Jack R. Abbott chuckles.
“Both,” the mayor says. “Go get your food and hurry back.”
Jack R. Abbott leaves. “I’ve got a son! I really have a son!” Mayor Sain repeats to himself holding both hands over his head signaling a touchdown. “I’m going to have him be just like me…well maybe not JUST like me…he does have that hole in the side of his head. I’m going to teach him how to make a lot of money in real estate…no maybe be a lawyer…no a professor and invent something to cure cancer…no…like Asia and grow body parts. I will teach him how to play an instrument and sing so we can be a father and son act and make CD’s and hits and be famous. Maybe he will call me “dad” and mom “grandmother”. I’ve always wanted that! Yes! I’ve got a son!”