What's in a Name?

What’s in a Name?

By Mark VanTassel

Lucky whistled while he worked. It was a beautiful day, his knives were sharp, and he had fresh meat to package.

The shop was small, but it was his. There was a narrow area in front of the counter where customers could come in and see prime cuts, but only Lucky was allowed behind the counter. After all, we wouldn’t want someone to get hurt.

He giggled at his favorite joke, about the butcher who backed into the meat grinder and got a little behind in his work.

The meat was soft, and marbled with fat. No surprise there, Sam had been a lazy pig. He sectioned off belly, loins, ribs, and shoulders. The hams were a little small, but the meat looked good.

A customer came in. Pamela was the organist from church. She was always happy, and never had an unkind word to say about anyone. Lucky found that a little suspicious. No one was perfect, after all.

“Morning, Lucky,” she said.

“Good morning, Pamela,” Lucky said with enthusiasm. “What can I get for you today?”

“How about a nice pork loin?”

Lucky brought one of the fresh loin cuts around, rolled it in paper, and put it on the scale. “Looks like two pounds and one ounce. For you, we’ll call it a pound and a half.”

She smiled at him, a radiant display of teeth and dimples. “You don’t need to undersell your cuts for me, Lucky. I can afford them.”

“You’re my favorite customer, Pamela. Let me spoil you a little.”

She waved him off with a flip of the wrist. “Okay. If you insist.”

They swapped cash for product, and he was alone again. He cleaned the bones, putting the bits in a big pot in the back. His broth was popular, and making it was practically no cost to him. The bones went into the oven. He would bake them for a couple of hours, then grind them into bone meal. At least half of the gardeners in town used his bone meal in their beds.

Then he cleaned the table and his tools and brought out a batch of chickens.

The bell on the door tinkled and Mrs. Del Rey came in. She’d taken a turn, and was using a walker now. Despite that, she looked like four and a half feet of feisty.

“Good morning,” Lucky said. “How’s my favorite customer?”

She gave him a fake frown. “I’m not your favorite customer. You say that to all the ladies.”

He grinned at her. “Now, now. I wouldn’t want them to feel left out, but we both know I only mean it when you’re here.”

She relaxed the fake frown. “What do you have in the discount section today?”

Mrs. Del Rey could barely afford to eat, but she never asked for help.

“I have some fish that didn’t sell yesterday, and a bit of beef chuck. How is Lucille getting along?”

Lucille was a fiction. The old lady couldn’t bear to ask for help for herself, but when she grew desperate she would ask if anyone had any aid for Lucille. Lucky was pretty sure he was the only person in town who knew. He loved to listen to gossip, but he seldom passed it on.

“I’m worried about her, nothing but skin and bones under her dress. Now that you mention it, if you had something for her, I know she would be grateful.”

He got out a cut of pork shoulder and passed it to her. “I got this for a song. It won’t put me out at all to share a bit with her.”

“Bless you, Lucky.”

“Blessings on you too, my dear.”

Alone again, Lucky prepped the chickens. He put four whole birds in the case, then broke the rest down into cuts. The carcasses went into the broth pot.

A knock at the back door interrupted his cleaning ritual.

“Morning, Douglas. How’s my favorite supplier?” Lucky asked when he saw the strapping man.

“Doin’ alright. Had a mishap with one of the calves this morning. Broke two legs, had to put it down. Can you take it?”

“In fact I can. Let’s get it into the pit.”

The pit was a room with a floor three steps lower than the rest of the building. It was perfect for the initial stage of butchering because it was cool, had a large drain in the floor, and good doors that sealed the smell of offal away from the customer counter.

Douglas had already bled and cleaned the animal. That was convenient. Lucky needed some intestines for sausage casings, but there was always an oversupply. He paid the man a bit extra for the work, and left the calf in the pit. He closed for lunch from noon to one, but usually worked during that time. Today he’d be skinning this calf.

“Thanks for takin’ her,” Douglas said. “Not sure what happened to your competition, but he’s been closed two days in a row now.”

Lucky frowned at him. “Two?”

“Yup.”

“That’s strange. He didn’t say anything about leaving to me.”

“Life’s a mystery,” Douglas said. He shook Lucky’s hand, then went out to his truck.

Chief Paul was waiting in front of the counter when Lucky returned to the front. The big policeman looked grim, which was his usual demeanor. Something was always awful somewhere, and he was worried about it, just in case no one else was.

“Morning, Chief. What can I get for you?”

“When was the last time you saw Sam Bell?”

Lucky cocked his head. “You know, Douglas Price was just here. Said he hadn’t seen Sam in a couple of days. Seems strange to me. Sam always asks me to look after his place if he’s going to be gone overnight.”

“That’s not an answer to my question, Mr. Hodges.”

“Mr. Hodges?” Lucky asked. “I guess you really are worried. I saw him three days ago. Hadn’t really considered it until now.”

“Neighbors say you two had a fight three days ago. Said they could hear you screaming at each other for half a mile.”

Lucky nodded. “He was having a birthday party for his nephew. They had the music turned up a bit too loud.”

“He’s also your only local competition,” Chief Paul said.

“That’s not strictly true, Chief. There’s a new supermarket opening in a couple of weeks, and the west side has its own stores and what not.”

“You have anything to do with his disappearance?”

“No, sir. You treating it like a missing person's case?”

“That’s what it is. Nobody’s seen him for two days. Nobody’s heard from him. He’s not at work, which is abnormal, and he’s not at home. Back door was unlocked, so I went in and looked around.”

“Any signs something went wrong?” Lucky asked.

“What kind of signs did you have in mind?” The chief leaned over the counter, studying Lucky.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess in the movies they’d look for signs of a struggle, or receipts for airline tickets… stuff like that.”

“You worried about losing business to that new supermarket?”

Lucky shook his head. “No. I sell local meats, which they won’t. Plus my prices are a tad lower than a big chain can afford.

“And now you’ve got Sam’s business.”

“I hope not. Look, he’s a tough, no-nonsense guy. He’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” Chief Paul reached into his pocket, then offered Lucky a business card. “You think of anything I should know, give me a call.”

“Will do,” Lucky said. He tucked the card into his shirt pocket, underneath his apron.

“Mrs. Paul wants a cut of pork for dinner tonight,” Chief Paul said.

“You sure you want to buy from me? You’re acting like I’m your prime suspect.”

“You are my prime suspect. Nobody else had any issues with Sam.”

Lucky nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I still think he’s going to turn up. How large a cut do you need?”

“Just a pound or so to flavor a stew.”

“Sure thing. I’ve got some right here in the counter.”

Lunch went well. He got the calf skinned and hung up in the refrigerator and still had enough time to walk across the street to Cali’s Market and get some vegetables for the broth.

“You worried about that new supermarket?” Cali asked while she rang up his purchase.

“No. We’ll think of something. We sell local goods, which they won’t, and we can beat their prices by a bit.”

She shook her head and grimaced. “I hope that’s true, but I’m worried.”

He patted her hand. “Try not to. Things will work out.”

“Thank you for the encouragement, Lucky.”

“Anytime. Have a good afternoon.”

Lucky cut the roots off of the vegetables, except for the carrots, because they were roots. He had the pot flavored just in time to open for the afternoon rush.

It was busier than usual, particularly the hour between five and closing. His normal preparation wasn’t enough, and he was forced to bring out meat from the refrigerator and cut it while customers waited.

A delivery driver came in at six, but Lucky still had a line. He made the guy wait for an extra quarter hour.

“I’m surprised you hung around,” Lucky said when the last customer was gone.

“Last delivery of the day,” he said. “Lucifer Hodges?”

“I don’t much like that name. Please call me Lucky. Would you like a cut of pork, to compensate you for waiting?”