Freddie Bork and Huey “Crybaby” Walker cruised up and down Uncle’s block. They were driving a new used car, an Oldsmobile with a CD player, which they had stolen from a car dealer on Blackstone Avenue. Immediately they bought some CD’s and paid in counterfeit bills.
“This is real comfy,” Freddie said in a whisper as he eased the Oldsmobile to the curb. He cut the engine. The music, a Garth Brooks song about roping cows, died in the speakers.
“That second-rate photographer must live over the garage,” Freddie said, “not the house.” He studied the large ranch-style house, as he planned their attack. He then grinned happily when he spotted Dr. Femur’s chiropractor’s sign. “And here’s the deal, Huey. Your back’s out of whack and we’re gonna get it fixed.”
“It is?” Huey asked. He was staring dreamily at the Garth Brooks CD, wondering if it felt great to be famous.
“You’re gonna get a tune-up from the chiropractor,” Freddie said as he opened the car. “Let’s go.”
They got out of the car and crossed the street. Freddie glanced at the mailbox on the road. He saw “Julio Silva, Photographer,” on one of the boxes and almost did a jig of happiness.
“We’re gonna get these punks,” Freddie said angrily. “Come on, Huey, hobble a little.”
“What’s hobble?”
“You don’t know the word hobble? Whatta you, dumb?” Freddie hunched his shoulders and let his hands go limp. He walked in a circle like a gorilla. He straightened up and said, “You got it? H-o-b-b-l-e. That’s hobble.”
“I got it, Freddie. You’re good at explaining,” Huey said and, with Freddie leading the way, hobbled toward the house. They knocked. The chiropractor answered the door, his pipe hanging from his mouth. One of his two sweaters was off, and he was skinny as a skeleton.
“Sorry to bother you, doc,” Freddie said. “But my friend’s got a back problem.”
Huey grinned in pain. He moaned and stuttered, “I-I-I hurt real bad.”
“Come in. Let’s see,” the chiropractor said, and showed the two inside the house that was overly warm. “I’m Dr. Femur.”
“I’m Demetrius Armstrong,” Freddie said.
“I’m J.J. Cool,” Huey said.
“This way,” Dr. Femur said and led Freddie and a hobbling Huey to a small office connected to his house. In the corner of the office hung a human skeleton, jaw slack and grinning with a perfect set of yellowish teeth. On the wall hung profiles of people with swaybacks, slumped shoulders, hunched backs, bowlegs, pigeon-toed stances—people in a lot of pain and hating life.
“Nice office,” Freddie said. “Real clean like.”
“It is quite comfortable,” the chiropractor agreed with obvious pleasure. “It’s convenient to work at home.”
Huey was told to climb onto a table, facedown. The chiropractor ran his hands up and down Huey’s spine, first softly and then with great vigor. His bones popped like buttons and he moaned, “Man, that feels good.”
Freddie walked over to the skeleton. He worked its jaw so its mouth opened and closed.
“J.J.,” the skeleton said. “J.J., this is going to be you if you don’t get those photos.”
Huey glanced over at Freddie and the skeleton. “That’s not funny.”
The chiropractor placed his hands around Huey’s head, and gave it a snapping jerk to the left. The muscles popped and again Huey moaned from ticklish delight.
“Break his neck. Give it a good twist,” the skeleton shouted. Freddie clacked its jaws together and laughed.
“That’s not funny,” Huey said. He moaned again when the chiropractor gave it a jerk to the right.
Freddie let the skeleton’s jaw drop. Now serious, he asked the chiropractor, “I see that you have a photographer living in your apartment. The one on top of the garage.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the chiropractor said. He gave Huey’s neck such a twist that Freddie squinted and asked, “You okay, Huey? I mean, J.J.”
“Feels great. You should go next.”
Freddie ignored the suggestion and returned his attention to the chiropractor. “We need some photos taken,” Freddie said. “You think he’s home—I think his name is Silva.”
“Yes, that’s right. Julio Silva.”
“Is he good?”
“I can vouch for him. He took those photographs on the wall.”
Freddie didn’t bother to look. “We don’t want to disturb his family, but do you think he would mind if we dropped in on him?”
“No. I don’t believe so. He has his nephew staying with him this weekend.” Dr. Femur turned Huey on his back and worked on his stomach, pushing his fist into his abdomen. Huey let out a chuckle and said, “Stop. I’m ticklish.” The doctor ignored him and remarked, “The nephew was in the newspaper. In the youth column. He and his friend were responsible for taking pictures of the armored-car robbers.”
“Is that right?” Freddie said. “It’s a cryin’ shame about all the crime these days.”
Huey stopped chuckling and was now worried.
“All right, enough with J.J.,” Freddie said. “Give me a rubdown, doc.”
Freddie lay down on the table and the chiropractor began to pop every bone in his tension-stiff neck. He worked his spine like a zipper, up and down, up and down. Freddie groaned and then rose feeling great.
“How much, doc?” Freddie asked, bringing out his wallet from the back of his pants.
“You seem like nice fellas,” he said writing out a receipt. “How ’bout forty altogether.”
Freddie opened his wallet and brought out three counterfeit twenty-dollar bills. He handed them to Dr. Femur and said, “Please, take this. I’m so glad my friend is no longer hobbling.”
Huey straightened his posture, good as new.
They left the office and returned to the front door. They shook hands and thanked the doctor. As they were about to leave there was a knock on the door.
“Looks like you have more clients,” Freddie said.
When the chiropractor opened the door, he discovered Hector and Mando standing together, smiling.
“Oh, it’s my friends,” the chiropractor said with a genuine pleasure. “Please come in.”
“We thought we’d come by,” Hector said as he wiped his shoes and entered. “You know, have our bones broken.”
The chiropractor laughed at the expression. To Freddie and Huey, he said, “Well, good-bye, gentlemen. You see that I’m keeping busy.”
Freddie and Huey’s glare fell on the two boys. Hector and Mando both seemed to know Freddie’s face, but from where, they both wondered.
Freddie thought of grabbing the two right there, but he knew that it would be the wrong move. He would take care of them later, wring their necks like squealing chickens and throw them from their new used Oldsmobile.
“Yes, it’s your turn,” Freddie sneered at Hector as he passed through the front door. “It’s your turn to have your neck broken.”