Golden Oldies

Still shaking his father’s hand, Jimmy said, “Maybe we can get on with some fishing now?”

Ron burst into the cabin.  Rawboned with a pointed chin and nose, Ron pointed.  ““Is that the guy?  What’s with the gun on the floor?  Ma told me she called some guy and told him about his black box and gold coins being found.  She said he was fuming to say the least.  So, what happen, Charlie – Jimmy?”

Catching his breath, Ron confided, “Years ago this guy” - He nodded towards the no-name, unconscious hoodlum. – “told her it was just for safekeeping.  He gave her money to keep things hush-hush, but Ma didn’t say how much she got.”

At that moment the guy on the floor moaned.  “What hit me?  It felt like brass knuckles.”  He sat up, while rubbing his jaw.

“My fist.  I’m Jimmy Chief.”  He swung a roundhouse right.  “Pow!  That’s the way we American Indians Powwow with hoods.  The police are on their way.  What if anything has this fracas taught you?”

Alert but still rubbing his chin, the old thug said, “Keep away from the Chiefs when I go for the gold.   I ain’t sayin’ no more.”  He clamped his mouth shut.





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