Free The Kitchen Readings by Michael Cleverly Page B

see a “button man” wearing in a gangster movie and your standard storm trooper issue. What Hunter admired most were the large flap pockets. They had to be ten inches square, roomy. Roominess was a quality that Hunter greatly admired in pockets, as he traveled with equipment that wasn’t always 100 percent legal and was sometimes bulky. Obviously, bulging pockets were a drawback: probable cause. He asked Ed where he might acquire such a jacket. North Beach Leather, a shop whose owner happened to be a friend of Ed’s. North Beach Leather was located in the Watertower mall on Michigan Avenue. The Watertower is a vertical mall. Up and down, not spread out like suburban malls. One travels it by elevator or escalator, not by hiking around the acreage.
    When Ed and Hunter arrived at the mall, all the elevators were packed—a bad start. The full elevators necessitated them taking the escalator. Hunter never liked rubbing up against a lot of people, especially people who had no idea who he was. North Beach was on the seventh floor, which meant an awful lot ofhuman contact for Doc. Up one escalator, off it, on to the next. Hunter’s mood was changing.
    When they arrived at the shop, Ed introduced Hunter to his friend, the owner, who, in turn, introduced Hunter to whatever employees were in the immediate area. The whole thing was becoming an event, with other sales people and curious shoppers gathering around. It was having a bad effect on Hunter. The little group made its way to the rack of SS “button man” jackets. Ed’s friend sized Hunter up, selected one, and helped Hunter into it. Hunter’s perceptions were often colored by his mood, and his mood had gone south, far south. It had all become too big a project. “This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t pay ten dollars for this piece of shit.”
    The crowd dispersed, and Hunter and Ed went back to Ed’s for some more down time.

    People close to Ed and Hunter are sure that this wisdom passed on to President Clinton proved to be invaluable.

    The leader of the free world and a clearly simpatico human being.

Cleverly Tells a Few Animal Stories
    Peafowl, Dogs, and Cats
    There was something odd about the Dobermans’ gait as they loped across the lawn toward my truck. As the two dogs came closer, I realized what had happened and I knew that these would be the last dogs to reside at Owl Farm. When they were gone, there would be no replacements.
    Hunter was mistrustful of the “establishment.” His rules were his own and often didn’t quite dovetail with those of the people who ran things. And next to law enforcement, banks and bankers are pretty much right at the heart of the mainstream establishment. Doc didn’t care for bankers. He didn’t like handing over his money to that kind of person. How could you trust them?
    As with many people in the arts, Hunter’s income was sporadic: feast or famine. As his fame grew, this situation became less pronounced, but even as recently as the seventies it was still the general fiscal pattern. Upon receiving the occasional large cash injection, he would, of course, give some thought to paying the bills. Then he’d stock up on the things that he’d been denying himself. And then his thoughts would turn to savings. Looking to the future, retirement. Krugerrands were Hunter’s version of a 401k. He would bury them in ammo canisters in the yard. Stealing out in the wee hours, on moonless nights, shovel and canisters in hand, he’d dig, carefully removing the sod, and replacing it when the burial was complete. The dogs were the only witnesses. (You can see where this is heading.) Dogs love to dig. Dogs have good memories when it comes to this sort of thing, and always have great noses. Over a period of time it became clear that the Dobies had been digging around looking for the ammo canisters. Hunter felt he had to deal with the problem.