Thanksgiving

Joe Jukes lived on the outskirts of Yucaipa, just beyond the jagged boundary of Coulter pines. Not a soul in the community had ever seen Joe not wearing his hat. This particular hat was one of those saggy brimmed bucket hats made of cotton and it was maroon. But the most recognizable thing about Joe's hat was the embroidered image of a laughing turkey sewn onto the front.

Nobody could understand this because Joe was the neighborhood bookmaker. He covered our grid, plus the eastern desert run up to the outskirts of Joshua Tree. Nobody understood because according to Joe himself, and he would know because his ancestors came through Chicago in the time of Capone, 'Diamond Joe' Esposito, Dillinger and such, Joe told us years ago over whiskey sours and poker that someone that didn't pay his debts in that time was known as a turkey. So all of us in the neighborhood wondered, why would a bookmaker who relies on payment from his clients wear a laughing turkey on his hat? Shelf that in your mind for a minute and let me tell you about Kiki.

In the neighborhood, everyone called Kiki “J.J.”. It stands for junkie-junkie because she was both a heroin and a gambling addict. One time, Kiki nodded out at the Clipper's game and when she came to, she'd won eighty-five grand which launched her, hopping around the stands with her bleached green hair and tight sequin disco pants and drool running off her chin like some crazed cockatoo squawking that she was rich.

Now unfortunately, Kiki wasn't the best at paying her debts in a timely fashion. And she could afford this luxury due to the fact her husband Randy, used to play defensive end for the Minnesota Vikings and so people in the amount of zero, were willing to fuck with Kiki, lest they craved to perish in the avalanche of Randy. But Kiki was down on her luck with the games lately, not to mention the junk was beginning to leave her as a local fixture on the bus benches, her zombie eyes melting in the reflection of the opposite wall's graffiti. Joe was in a real bad situation because Kiki was into him for about three grand going on five weeks. It was a thing in the neighborhood, you were starting to hear about it in the drug stores, the taverns, and the bowling alley.

So here's what Joe did. This was around the time Thanksgiving was upon us. At the regular poker game, Joe began yapping about this legendary stuffing his grandmother used to make in the old Chicago neighborhood, and that he was gonna go on a deep search for the family recipe. Just two days later on Thanksgiving Day, Joe was cruising around the neighborhood in his sea-green '74 Plymouth, doling out helpings of grandma's legendary stuffing. We all got one. Including Randy, who asked Joe if he'd seen Kiki the last few days because she'd taken off for her usual Tuesday night at the roller disco and hadn't come home since. Joe told Randy he didn't know anything about it and that he shouldn't worry because, with all due respect, it was no secret Kiki was prone to disappearing on her junk binges. That very evening, Randy called Joe to tell him the stuffing was the best he'd ever tasted in his life.