Merchants of Venice Boulevard

Chapter Two

 

    With the death of anyone in New Lambert, it took a while for the space left by the departed to fill.  But it always did.  Businesses came and went all the time.  That’s what made the place so attractive actually.  You never knew what you would find in town. Up this street or that, down that alley, around the corner, there would always be something new, weird and cool.  People would always come to town and remark about how the town has changed this way or that since the last time they were here too.

    “When I was here in the 60’s,” one old veteran was heard to remark.  “We used to skip school and sit along the mule barge canal smokin’ pot all day, pickin’ up chicks and visa versa. And we used to buy our posters and stuff from that store over by the bridge.  What was its name, dear?   I can’t seem to remember…now and then I forget these things, ya see.” 

    But the thing these folks never realized about New Lambert was that here things changed every five minutes and when some new business failed or an old one died they were mourned and missed but soon enough somebody moved in and another life began.

    Those that live here say the town has a “thump”, a heart, if you will.  And you only had to land here for an hour or two to feel it.

    Venice Boulevard, on the south side of town was where most people landed.  It is known as the Tenderloin of New Lambert and in its 300 year history the street hasn’t changed much.  Not too many of the old buildings still stand but those that do, reek of that soul the town has.  “The house on the canal used to be a bawdy house for the mule barge men.” a tourist pamphlet read, “While the house on the other end of the street is the oldest one in town.  Built by a man for his new Georgia bride.” 

    Ghost and colonial cannonball stories resided side by side with belly and ballet dancers.  Just recently, for example, one of the original Radio City Rocketts lived there only to be replaced by a Bay City Roller.  If New Lambert had a “thump” it could be heard easiest on Venice Boulevard. 

    It was easy a lot lately.  Captain Jack’s Whiz-bang and Hoo-Ha Emporium had just closed its doors for the night and Cap’t Jack was heading home.  He was hungry and after spending a day in his store he wanted just a little peace and quiet.  “I can’t believe they are still in there bangin’ away at this hour,” he grumbled under his breath.  “Don’t they know people actually live in this area?”  The new condo project he had to walk past wasn’t going to give him much peace or quiet tonight. 

    Having grown up in the tundra region of New Jersey, Jack Parker had come to New Lambert fresh from a successful life as a Chicago pork belly investor.  Those than knew him would never guess that he would end up as shop keeper selling Hoo-Ha’s to tourists but they were wrong.  Jack had just met and married the love of his life, the sweet and angelic, Tina.  And, leaving the big city behind, they landed on Venice Boulevard where they bought a little house started a family and opened the shop of their dreams.

    Captain Jack’s Whiz-Bang and Hoo-Ha Emporium sold a little bit of everything.  From Milty’s Famous Malted Milk Balls, fresh from the boardwalk in Atlantic City, to his heavily perused rack of vintage comic books.  Where else could anyone find an original “Little Lulu Find’s a Cat” 1963 ed.?  Not to mention the tables full of stuffed bears and puppets all “for the kiddies.”   Just recently, however, he had begun stocking the shelves behind his antique cash register with sundries, the necessities of life in a tourist town:  batteries, soda pop, cigarettes, one-time cameras, feminine products…stuff like that.  People always asked Jack why his penny candies all cost a nickel now and Jack would hem and haw and just tell them, “That’s the way life IS….ya want it?”  He was doing all right.

    Jack walked into his little house and tossed his coat on the plastic covered sofa in what was now the childproof living room.  “Honey, I’m home!” he yelled.  He was immediately greeted by Bozo, his slobbering family dog, a cross breed of unknown parentage but a great guard dog and the perfect family pet. 

    “Hi ya Bozo, you old muttski.  Where’s your mother?” he asked.  Bozo looked at him and dropped a saliva soaked tennis ball on his shoe. 

    “I’m down here,” yelled Tina.  “How was the shop today…any business?”

    Jack continued down to the lower level of his home where Tina was. Bozo tried, as always, to push his way past to get there first.  “The usual,” he replied.  “We finally got those Balinese tambourine toe bangles I ordered last February and that gross of Chinese finger traps came in.  Other than that I had a good conversation with Victor Spent about last week’s Council meeting.   How was your day?”

   “Fine, thanks!  I’ve been making these pillows for the shop from those old bedspreads your mother gave us.  You think they’ll sell?” Tina asked.  “I figure maybe $25 a piece.”

   “Sweetie, I think we can sell anything you make,” Jack said.  “I can’t believe you can take care of all this house stuff and still find time to make things for the store.  You’re just incredible!”  And he reached around his wife and gave her a hug from behind.  “What’s for dinner?” 

    Then the phone rang.

    It was Victor Spent on the other end with an update for Jack about most recent meeting of the IBA, the Independent Business Alliance. 

    “Hey, Victor!” Jack remarked.  “How’d it go this week?  Who showed…?” 

    The IBA was an ad hoc group of New Lambert businesses formed for the purpose of promoting themselves to the tourists in a way the Commerce Chamber never did.  The first meeting was a hoot.  There were at least twenty Mom’s and Pop’s there and when the meeting opened up for discussion everyone had a solution to everything and the first words out of their mouths were, “I’ve lived here for ten years and here’s the way we need to do this!” or “I used to live in New York and we used to do it this way.” The problem was that somehow they never lost the “independent” part of themselves in enough numbers to accomplish anything cooperative and could never see enough of anyone else’s ideas to “ally” themselves to any one plan.  But they had a good time and the wine flowed freely.  Which was the way all meetings in New Lambert went.  First you would drink, shake hands and ask about how everyone’s business was doing, drink some more wine and then have a meeting.  Then the process reversed itself and by the end everyone would stumble home satisfied that many things got accomplished none of which was ever remembered the following morning.

    “Everyone showed.” Victor Spent told Jack.  “Even that new couple that just bought the old Alpine Antiques place.  They are going to open next week with a Mongolian Leather Shoppe.  I think we have a real shot at taking over the Chamber if this continues.  Don’t you?”

    “I do.” Jack said.  “I think the Chamber has seen its time.  Besides, they only drink those California wines.  If they wanted to represent local businesses they would drink only Delaware Valley wines like we do.”

    “ I agree.” said Victor.  “Did you read The Curmudgeon lately?”

    The Curmudgeon was the town blog into which anyone can send in ideas and complaints and they don’t have to sign their names.  It was the one place where the town could express themselves freely without the responsibility of being factual.  Which apparently bothered a lot of people.  It seems many townspeople needed their opinions to always be true and never mostly just an opinion.  Lately the discussion was centered on how the town council at the last meeting would only recognize the Chamber of Commerce to represent the businesses of New Lambert.  It was expressed that they apparently couldn’t handle more than one opinion from the community much less find a truth between two different ideas.

    “Yes, I read it and I think the council would be wise to create a permanent seat dedicated to someone representing the business community.” said Jack. “But the council is elected by the residents and how many business owners actually live in town anymore, ya know?”

    “I know,” said Victor.  “Pete and I and you may be the last ones that actually live and work in town.  We’re becoming a rare breed.”

    Tina could be heard in the background telling Jack that dinner was ready so Jack begged off from Victor.  “Gotta go, buddy!  The fam is calling.”

    “No problem, Jack.” Victor said.  “Tell Tina I’ll have those earrings she wanted by next Friday, ciao!”

    “Thanks for the call, Victor.” said Jack. “Tell Pete I got those toe bangles for his belly dancing outfit in today.  He can pick them up anytime…and Victor?  I think you’d make a great addition to the council.  Bye now!”

    Jack sat down at the head of the family table, breathed a sigh of exasperation. Looked at his lovely wife and said,  “This is one weird little town!”

    Just then a huge explosion was heard and felt from across the river behind Jack’s home.  A fireball the size of a hot air balloon blew up into the sky above the rail bridge and the ground shook.  It was not a normal sight in New Lambert.

   “What was that?” yelled Tina over the din.  “It looks like a house blew up!”

    And that’s exactly what happened.  An old stone house that had sat next to the railroad tracks just off of Stockton Street somehow blew up sending stones and debris into the street and onto the tracks of the New Lambert Steam Railroad.

    The first people on the site were the Mexicans who lived nearby.  They apparently knew what an exploding house sounded like and were quickly on the scene trying to rescue whatever survivors there were.  And thank God, everyone lived.

    Mayor Patrick, whose house was next door to the smoking pile of rubble, went immediately to his window and dialed the 911 to the Vulcan Fire House.  Fire Chief Kadzinski answered the phone.  “Hello, Vulcan Fire House!” said the Chief.  “…What the hell was THAT?”

    “ Hey there, Bob.” Mayor Patrick spoke into the phone.  “This is Sean Patrick and the house next door to me just exploded into the street.”

    “Holy God!” said the chief.  “You okay?  …is anyone hurt?”

    “Yea I’m fine but you better get the volunteers out here and FAST!” said the mayor.  “I see some people already on the scene but nobody in uniform.”

    The Chief immediately hit the CALL Button and the town siren wound up and blasted its FIRE alert.  Sending at least two-dozen local volunteers into their vehicles.  “I’m on it, Sean.  Thanks for the call.  We’ll be there in 2 minutes.” said Chief Kadzinski in his most controlled voice. 

    It appeared that the house exploded while the water department out front was cutting through the street and cut an unidentified gas line.  Whatever it was the first man on the scene was Jose Menendez.  He was on his way to work at the Morgan Inn and when he heard the boom and saw the huge cloud.