The auction continued in full swing, the outdoor area crowded with bargain seekers, their acquired spoils piled high about them. Dean bumped into Pumpkin Green, who was leaving, a black cape and tuxedo over his arm. Billy Langstrom, behind the wheel of a red Jeep similar to but older than Deans', honked from across the street. A waif of a girl sat beside him. Dean felt a pang of sympathy-a child herself about to bring a life into the world.
Pumpkin held up the hanger, his outfit draped like black robed judge. "I skipped the big stuff 'cause I've got no room in my cart, but these threads are something else, ain't they?" He explained he was off to the Langstroms' for supper. "The Missus makes the best pie in town," then he added, "next to Mrs. Dean."
And, Dean thought, the price is the same-free.
Pumpkin motioned toward the Jeep. "That's Melissa, Billy's chick. She's one sweet kid. If Billy didn't have her locked up, I'd take a shot myself!" Dean wondered if the young man knew the girl's condition.
Pumpkin trotted off, bouncing on legs Dean would die for. Twenty-four hours after his hour-long downhill hike from the mine, Dean's stilts felt like he'd run a barefoot marathon on cobblestoned streets.
Fred and the Bird Song Five were spotted by first locating the largest stash of trash. Amid boxes, lamps, and glassware of every description sat the old man, atop a trunk, snuggled between the two maiden ladies from Indiana. The trunk was one of five that circled them, all large square affairs-foot lockers for summer camp. Brandon Westlake, lustfully examining a pile of rusty tins, was pulled away by Paulette Dawkins for consultation. They entered into deep conversation, discussing the pending bid item-a statue of a nymph waving a snake. After a nod of her head, Paulette's hand shot up and the auctioneer all but cheered as he looked about for another sucker, his voice sounding like an old Lucky Strike commercial. Dean willed his hands to remain in his pockets.
"I just drive a Jeep," he said to the group as he looked over the plunder. "It's not a tractor trailer."
"We can make more than one trip," Fred said. Just then, everyone clapped as the nymph was delivered to a joyful Paulette.
"Isn't this exciting?" she squealed. "I haven't had this much fun since high school!"
Dean said something polite as he glanced at the abundance before him and then at his Jeep across the street. "I might as well start hauling this stuff. It all goes to Bird Song?"
"Yup," answered Fred as his arm shot to bid. "Just dump it out back and we'll sort it out."