Pickford Estates chapters 5-8

A Fruitful Death


Appalled is the word I would use to describe the feeling in that courtroom after finding out that I had committed murder at the early age of six. Flabbergasted is the only word I would use to describe the feeling in the courtroom after hearing about the events that unfolded.

The day after Mr. Appletree’s funeral I received a letter in the mail from an attorney in Foil City. The letter stated that I was the sole beneficiary of all Mr. Appletree’s property including his prized apple tree. If I was interested all I needed to do was go to Foil City to sign some legal papers to make it official.

News traveled real fast around Pickford Estates and it didn’t take long for the whole town to hear about my good fortune. Soon rumors started flying around about the relationship shared between Mr. Appletree and myself.

Honestly the relationship between Mr. Appletree and me wasn’t really a relationship. I’d steal apples from his tree, and he’d try and shoot me. He didn’t molest me, grab my ass, or whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and the only way to prove it was to take the lie detector test for my parents.

After that nonsense my parents agreed to take me on my first trip over the bridge to the big city. I had heard that Foil City was the type of place where Super Heroes flourished and a kid my age could get a hand job for a couple bucks!

You can only imagine the excitement that overwhelmed my body as we drove over the bridge. The sky scrapers and bright lights just mesmerized me, and lost between all the glitz and glam was the law offices of Oscar Meyer and Weezner. Now I didn’t know which one I needed to see so I asked the receptionist at the front desk.

“Oh you must be the lucky little guy who inherited the Appletree estate! Just have a seat and Mr. Meyer will be with you shortly.”

It wasn’t long before Rich Meyer entered the room and brought my family back to his office. We shook hands and proceeded with business. Rich explained to me that Mr. Appletree had changed his will four years prior to his death; around the time I stole my first apple from his tree. The attorney didn’t know why Mr. Appletree wanted to change his will but said a video tape was left behind only to be viewed after his death, and that this tape might clear up a few things.

As I watched the video in private I was more confused than ever because there wasn’t much on it. Just Mr. Appletree yelling at me, telling me I would be the death of him.

As the tape played on Mr. Appletree failed to explain why I was so lucky. The only thing he went on to say really, “Protect that apple tree! When the time comes pick the apple at the very top!”

The apple he was referring to was a huge green apple in a sea of red. It was the only green apple on the tree and was a real thing of beauty. Since I felt responsible for Mr. Appletree’s death I decided to take the responsibility and take care of his tree for him, so I signed the papers.

Then from that moment on I owned the apple tree, a house, and officially had the shittiest neighbors on the block!





Take These Broken Pro Wings


I knew when I signed those papers that I was taking on a huge financial responsibility. I had bills now! Home insurance, food, electric bill, water, property tax! I didn’t think it would be that hard for the jury or anybody else in the courtroom to understand that the last thing I could afford was to buy some new school clothes or a decent pair of kicks for the upcoming school year which was like a week away, especially with the child labor laws and stuff.

But even if I was still living at home with my parents and didn’t have all those bills, I still didn’t get to go shopping at a mall or a dress for less like you spoiled brats today. All my clothes came from Filthy’s vintage store which meant they were hand me downs from my brother. Everything except my shoes.

I always got a new pair of school shoes every year which was very important. Having a cool pair of shoes back then and even today was and is very important. You could have some rag tag jeans and a crappy tee, but if you had some fresh kicks it would pull everything together.

That’s why I pleaded with my mother to buy me a new pair of Nike Air Jordan’s, “Mom please buy me the Jordan’s! I will behave, do chores, I will cut your toenails for heaven’s sake!”

I can’t lie, my heart started to beat real fast and I got really excited when my mother told me to get in the car after my relentless hounding for the shoes. It was cut short though when I noticed the car was just about out of gas, at least not enough gas to get to the mall.

And just like I thought instead of going to the mall, we just sat in the car for about as long as it would take to get to the mall. Then my mother threw a shoebox at me that didn’t say Nike Air on the box or even have the familiar swoosh mark.

So instead I got stuck with the other shoes that could make you fly. A brand new pair of Pro Wings fresh out of the box. They were slip-ons and had tiny little palm trees on them.

So it was official! I was going to be the worst dressed kid in school…….again.

For about three days straight I had Filthy toss out every insult he could think of at me about how bad I dress and how poor I look just to toughen up my skin before the school year started.

Little did I know that nothing I would’ve done could’ve prepared me for my first grade year.






First Day, of First Grade, I Might’ve Been Made


I remember having to walk myself to school on the first day. That’s because Filthy wasn’t going to attend Franklin elementary anymore. He figured the only way to get a good jump start on his porno career was to transfer to a good Catholic school where he had a chance at being molested. The rest of the family didn’t seem to have a problem with Filthy’s departure so either did I!

The only thing I had a problem with was standing in the doorway of classroom 205 which also happened to be the same classroom I was assigned to. Standing there greeting children like it was no big deal was a real life, eye patch wearing, parrot loving, wooden legged pirate. She even had rum on her breath.

Confused, scared, I don’t know what I was but I wanted to make sure I was in the right spot so I asked her, “Is this the right classroom?”

I showed her my schedule and she confirmed it, “Arr mate!”

She told me to walk the plank and pick out a desk. So I entered the classroom, stood there, and contemplated.

You see picking a desk in school is one of the most important decisions a person has to make in their entire life and I’m not kidding. What if a person decides to sit next to the smelly kid? What if that smelly kid’s smell distracted the kid from learning and that kid get’s held back on the account of the smelly kid’s smell?

What if a person decides to sit next to a smart kid? What if the person that decided to sit next to the smart kid passes and gets good grades on that fact alone?

Or what if a person decides to sit next to the ethnic kid that nobody else wanted to sit next to and breaks down a social barrier? What if that ethnic kid grows up to be the best man in that person’s wedding and they become lifelong friends?

Even at that early age I knew the importance of choosing the right desk and somewhat had a plan. Now I didn’t know too much about pirates but what I did know was that they stole stuff. There was no way I was sitting anywhere near the teacher’s desk and risk having my milk money taken.

Also Stinky Stinkowitz although being a real sweetheart, he smelled of something awful so I had no intentions of sitting next to his stinky ass either.

So from what I saw left of the desk situation I had two choices.

There was the desk behind Jenny Smart who was a genius and smelled good, and had the handwriting of an angel; and then the desk next to the new kid who was obviously in the wrong classroom.

I say this because I had never seen a first grader who was five feet and weighed 200 pounds. I could also tell that this new kid wasn’t from Pickford Estates, that he was either from New York or somewhere more diverse like Foil City because when he was shaking the other kid’s down for their lunch money I could hear his gritty accent.

Since all the tough decisions back then were settled with the tried and true method of inka binka bottle of ink, and fate decided I was sitting next to the new kid. Since I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers I asked him first before I sat down, “Can I sit here?”

His response, “That depends! You got a dollar?”

Still new to the whole extortion thing I wanted to make sure I understood, “You mean if I sit here I have to give you a dollar? Is that just one dollar, or is it a dollar a day, do I pay by the week?”

I think my stupidity got to him, “Just sit down already!” He shouted.

After getting settled into my new desk I asked the new kid, “Hey what’s your name? Mine is Jimmy!”

“It’s Frankie Lute! Is there a Problem?”

“No just trying to make conversation.” I told him.

I had a strange feeling after looking at the kid for a minute that I had seen him before or that maybe I knew him from a past life. Then it clicked. He was a spitting image of his father Bobby Lute who was a crime boss in Foil City’s underworld and who was constantly on the news. Frankie’s father had also been shot and killed earlier that summer, and the rumors in the papers say The Clam was responsible, the same Clam that robbed that bank and got away with all those jewels.

But when you assume you make an ass out of u and me and that’s why I asked Frankie, “Hey is your father Bobby Lute?”

“You mean was my father Bobby Lute? He’s dead!”

Since I loved old mobster movies I said something that I had heard in one of those, “Yeah I was sorry to hear about that. Your father was a real standup guy!”

Our introductions to one another were interrupted by the pirate, “Hello class! My name is Ms. Teach and I will be your teacher this year. Before we take roll call and start class, I would like to go ahead and get a few things out of the way. First off yes I am a pirate, and I do have a wooden leg. I am also missing my right eye, my parrot’s name is Davey Jones, but last and most importantly I will steal shit out of your backpacks! Now when I call your name please raise your hand and say here.”

The first name she called was Heather Farmer and that was somebody I was familiar with, I’ve known her since preschool and basically everybody in town got their produce from her family.

“How about Mitch Cook are you here?” Ms. Teach asked.

“I’m here!” Shouted Mitch.

Then Ms. Teach asked, “Is Raymond Roper the third here?”

The kid sitting right next to the teacher’s desk like some little teacher’s pet spoke up, “Present!”

There was nothing I hated more than those stupid kids who answered roll call with, “Present!”

As the teacher went through the list she finally got to my name and I answered with a simple, “Here!” and then we got on with our day.

We really didn’t do too much work that first day.

We made name tags out of construction paper and macaroni noodles, we turned in all of our school supplies, then stood up in front of the class and gave a quick bio about ourselves, and then we took a nap.

Before I knew it was time to go home. Overall the first day went pretty well except for the fact we were assigned homework which I hated.




Show and Smell


Before I could tell the courtroom about my first homework assignment the judge decided to take a short recess probably to go to the restroom. I took that time to remind myself about what happened so I wouldn’t get in trouble for perjury. It started to come back to me.

Our first homework assignment wasn’t any reading, writing, or arithmetic. We were supposed to go home and find the one thing that meant the most to us, and then we’d bring that item in and talk about it. This is commonly known as Show and Tell.

I didn’t have a ton of possessions growing up but what I did have was the best apple tree in town. Since I couldn’t bring in the whole tree I figured I would just climb to the very top of that tree and pick that shiny green apple and show that baby off.

After climbing 20 feet in the air and reaching that green apple I realized as soon as I picked it; that the great green apple that I had fantasized about for four years wasn’t even a green apple. It was a wooden box shaped like an apple and colored green. When I opened up the heart shaped box I found a golden key with an inscription on it that said “Ange Noir”

I had no idea what the hell it meant or what it was a key to, but I was still really excited and could hardly sleep that night! I couldn’t wait to get to school the next day and show it off, even though I knew a lot of kids would bring in cool stuff.

For instance Frankie brought in the .45 caliber pistol his dad left him, Mindy Miracle brought in the umbilical cord that was wrapped around her neck at birth, the black kid Cliff Barber whose dad owned the barber shop brought in his hair pick, and Raymond Roper the third brought some stupid 1920’s fedora hat that those old detectives wore.

If I remember correctly Heather Farmer was the first to show off and tell about her favorite toy which was one of those Farmer Says pull toys. Then Frankie unloaded his clip, and Mindy showed us why it was a miracle she was alive.

Then it was Raymond’s turn and he tried to upstage everyone even me and I hadn’t even showed off my key yet.

He went on and on about that stupid hat! He told the class that his great grandfather wore this hat when he was a cop and so on. Bragged about how all the great detectives in Pickford Estates wore this hat, and how someday he’ll wear it while busting most of our asses.

By the time Raymond was done talking about his dumb hat it was time for recess already and I’d have to wait even longer to show off my golden key.

This infuriated me! I couldn’t even concentrate on the monkey bars, and my head wasn’t in the game of tag either. The only thing I could concentrate on was getting revenge on Raymond for trying to steal my thunder.

So while all the little kiddies were working up a sweat on the playground I made my move and headed for the classroom 205.

I had no idea if Mrs. Teach was still in the classroom so I had to be smart about it. So I opened the classroom door and gave a holler, “Mrs. Teach my stomach hurts!”

No response.

“Mrs. Teach it really hurts bad!”

Still no response.

I knew after two no responses that the classroom was empty and the coast was clear. So I went on with the mission and I headed straight for Raymond’s hat. And then I took it.

I didn’t take it far just to the corner of the classroom where I took a shit in it. It was one of those really nice poops too. It had one of those hooks on the end like an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen.

Then after my work was done I went back outside and ran in a circle for a few minutes to get some color in my face so I wouldn’t look out of place. Then when the whistle blew to go back inside, I had to contain myself and not burst out laughing. I started to imagine all the different emotions Raymond would go through when he seen that turd in his hat.

My imagination didn’t do it justice. You should’ve seen his face, it was priceless!
He was screaming, “I’ll get to the bottom of this! Mark my words whoever did this will pay! My dad’s a cop!” All the good stuff.

Then after Raymond’s little hissy fit I finally got my moment in the sun.

I showed the class my golden key and most of them seemed pretty impressed. But Mrs. Teach, she started shaking; especially after I told her about the inscription on it.

She asked the class, “Does anybody know what Ange Noir means?”

No takers.

Mrs. Teach informed the class that Ange Noir meant Black Angel in French which made total sense after she told us the story.