Into the Twilight, Endlessly Grousing by Patrick F. McManus Page B

asked me to help unload his car. The trunk was full of golf clubs and tennis rackets.
    â€œHoly cow!” I said. “Where did you get all the clubs and rackets?”
    â€œMy uncle died and left them to me.”
    â€œHow come he needed so many rackets?”
    â€œJust liked to have some spares on hand.”
    â€œBoy, I guess. He didn’t even remove the price tags.”
    â€œYeah. You want a racket? I’ll sell you one cheap.”
    â€œNaw. I don’t tennis.”
    About once a month, another of Duke’s beloved uncles would die and leave him a bunch of brand-new sporting equipment, which Duke would store in our hovel. After awhile, we could hardly see the walls, there was so much stuff piled against them. I suggested to Duke that members of his family were dropping off with abnormal frequency.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “It’s real sad. Wanna buy a bowling ball?”
    Then one day Duke showed up with a whole carload of rifles, shotguns, binoculars, fishing rods, and reels. This was more like it.
    â€œAnother uncle die?” I asked.
    â€œYep. Dear old Uncle Fudd. I’ll really miss him. This here was his favorite shotgun.”
    â€œI can see that. He kept it in the box it came in.”
    â€œThat’s right. Uncle Fred always said, you own a fine firearm, you got to take care of it.”
    â€œFudd,” I said.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou first said your uncle’s name was Fudd. Now you just referred to him as Fred.”
    â€œRight. Fred Fudd. You wanna buy the shotgun? Since we’re such good pals, I’ll sell it to you real cheap.”
    â€œSorry. No money.”
    I would dearly have loved to pick up a few of the guns real cheap, as well as some of the fine rods and reels. My heart ached with envy just looking at them, or at least at the boxes that contained them. My sporting needs would have been filled for life. On the other hand, not being entirely stupid—forget the unfounded rumors spread by my professors—I had belatedly arrived at the conclusion that my roomy was a professional thief. We had so much hot merchandise in our hovel, the heating bill dropped to practically nothing.
    Still, I was reluctant to confront Duke about the matter. He was surly, large, and muscular, and I was mild, thin, and puny, about the right size, in fact, to fit nicely into thetrunk of a car, even when rolled up in a carpet. I could have called the cops, but I had no proof that Duke’s sporting uncles hadn’t had a sudden run on their mortality. On the other hand, I was expecting a police raid on our hovel at any moment. Surely they would suspect me as being an accessory to the crime. So there was nothing for me to do but bring the matter to a head with Duke, and sternly so, regardless of the consequences to myself. I only hoped I wasn’t being too harsh.
    â€œSay, listen, Duke, ole buddy. I got an idea. You have plenty of money, so why don’t you move to a nicer and larger apartment and take your loo—uh, your stuff, with you?”
    â€œNaw. I like it here. Besides, when I’m off going to funerals and like that, I got you here to keep an eye on my loo—uh, my stuff. Nope, I’m staying right here, ole buddy.”
    What to do, what to do? There seemed no way out. Sooner or later Duke was bound to get busted, and I right along with him:
    â€œYou see, Officer, he said his nine uncles recently died and left him all this stuff, and I believed him. I had no way of knowing I was harboring a criminal and his loot.”
    â€œSounds reasonable to me, son. Cuff him.”
    I began to see there was only one way out of the fix. I had to get rid of Duke. It was a terrible thing to contemplate, but there was nothing else to do. I’d just wait till Duke was asleep some night and … First, though, I had to arrange a rendezvous with a shady character of my acquaintance.
    â€œYou bring it?” I asked, glancing around