I was surprised to see how far Mr. Burdett had walked by the time I got out of the pub and to the street.  Guess he did find his sea legs.

Scrimshaw Kid I

Scrimshaw Kid II

He was about a block down, walking towards downtown.  I just had this terrible feeling like I was going to lose him, or he would be arrested before I could finish- start- talking to him.  I left my bike locked up and took off after him.

He turned right before I got to him, “Said we were done.”  He glared at me like a dog with a hurt leg.  Wasn’t going to do anything, but still posturing.

“Thought we were gonna walk and talk,” I stammered out, slightly out of breath.  “I know of another place we can go.”  He just kept walking.  “Nice folks, cheap beer.”  Just then a thunderous and ominous roar came from the dark cloudy sky, like in the movies.  He stopped walking and I caught up with him.  It was the first time I really got a good look at him.  He wasn’t much taller than I was- just rougher or more weathered.  The crow’s feet at his eyes were very well pronounced.  His beard was dense and bushy, but not unkempt.  He was obviously strong and stocky, but not big.  His boots looked like they were twenty years old.

It wasn’t hard to convince him to go to another bar with me.  It was cold and starting to rain.  He was wearing short sleeves.

We walked into the bar I frequent.  There were not a lot of folks there, besides the regular early crowd.  It was perfect.  I figured Burdett would settle in with the regulars, not want to talk to me, and I could overhear him telling his stories.  Not so much.

Within one minute, we were on our way to another bar.  Burdett had asked some guy if he wanted to box him in the alley.  He didn’t.

We wandered into a little hole in the wall.  I had never been there before.  It was alright.  We sat at the bar, lit cigarettes, and waited for the bartender who was apparently in the back or something.

I was looking around for an ashtray when she came back out and approached us.  Burdett was a changed man by the time she got all the way around.  The bartender was a beautiful black haired woman named Betty.  Burdett was not the same guy who just asked a seventy year old if he wanted to box in the alley.  He acted like a complete gentleman.  He politely asked for a beer and a coffee for me.  I was truly moved that he remembered what I drank an hour ago.  He asked her name and introduced himself as “Samuel Bingo Burdett the Scrimshaw Kid at your service.  And this is my accomplice, Sheets.”

They didn’t have coffee, so I got a ginger ale, and no one busted my balls for not drinking.  And I liked being introduced as his accomplice.

Mr. Burdett and Betty were not interested in me.  They were interested in each other.  After thirty minutes, he asked me to leave.  He wanted to talk with his lady friend in private.  She seemed like she could handle him better than I could.  I heard her say, “I may be pretty, but I’ll still hurt your feelings.”  I wished I could get her to interview Burdett.

We made plans for lunch the next day, and I left.  I was tired and hungry.

My phone rang and it was Harvey Robinson, Monkeywhale‘s creative director.  He wanted to know how the meeting went, and to tell me that the Sam Frazier video‘s are coming out really well.  I didn’t really know what to tell him.

“Okay, so whaleboats are smaller boats that catch and bring whales to the whaleships, where the whales get ground up or stored or what have you…”

Harvey stopped me right there. “Matty, that’s disgusting.  Just stop by the studio.”  Click.

He was right, it was disgusting.

to be continued…

right here.  Scrimshaw Kid IV.