Harvey Porter Does Dallas Read Free

On the floor of the closet were boxes and boxes of toys, sports equipment, books, and old clothes.
    â€œWill you at least help me move this stuff to the basement?” Bobo asked, his chins still quaking.
    â€œI don’t see that happening,” was Harvey’s reply. “Take a look at this mess. All this crap piled everywhere. Did I make the mess?”
    â€œN-n-o.”
    â€œBut you did?” said Harvey.
    â€œY-yes.”
    â€œOkay, blimpy, first new rule: whoever makes the mess takes the mess. Sound fair?”
    â€œY-yes.” Bobo didn’t stutter, but the presence of Harvey Porter was turning his insides to mush.
    â€œI’ll tell you what,” said Harvey. “I’ll give you a break.”
    â€œWhat break?”
    â€œI’ll show you what’s left in the suitcase.”
    Bobo waddled slowly to the bedside to look inside Harvey’s suitcase. All that was left was something with an odd shape that was wrapped in a chamois. He opened it and brought out a nine-millimeter semi-automatic handgun.
    Bobo gulped. About three times. “Is that real ?” he asked Harvey.
    â€œWould I have some reason to carry a toy gun around with me?” was the sarcastic reply. “Of course it’s real.”
    â€œD-do you d-do you ever use it?”
    â€œOnly when I’m cornered and overwhelmed. I almost had to use it on Carlos Villanueva.”
    â€œC-c-carlos Vil-vil anueva?”
    â€œYeah. He gave me this nasty scar here,” said Harvey, pointing at the jagged and poorly-stitched zipper on his forehead. “But I didn’t have to use it after all. I broke his jaw for him and gave him my best rabbit punches. When I left, he was all doubled up and squirming on the sidewalk.”
    Carlos Villanueva? Bobo’s fear had turned to terror.
    Harvey continued, “I was brown bread and so was his gang. It can get that way out on the streets.”
    â€œYou were in a brown bread street gang?”
    â€œYeah, eventually. But when I was younger I had to make my way in more acceptable ways, like stealing and panhandling. But that’s enough of that crap. You’ve got a lot of work to do to set up your new bedroom. You better get started.”
    Bobo’s eyes were still as round as they could get. “I guess I better,” he gulped.
    â€œAnd one other thing, doughboy. If you even breathe a word about all of this—the sleeping arrangement and the gun—I will take that blubber around your middle and tie it into very tight knots. Trust me on this: It won’t be a pleasant experience for you.”
    Bobo was still twitching and trembling and shaking. “Okay, Harvey, I pr-promise.”
    Bobo made his many trips up and down the two staircases carrying armloads of stuff from the closet. Each trip was slower than the one before. He was sweating and huffing and puffing as the trips continued.
    While the doughboy was engaged in this action, Harvey lay flat on his bed. He had found a Playboy magazine in one of the drawers and was thoroughly enjoying leafing his way through. His respect for the doughboy went up a notch because Bobo had Playboys and Hustlers hidden away in his drawer.

3. CANNING FACTORIES AND STORIES
    Things got a little more complicated when Wilberta Mushrush returned home. In fact, they got a lot more complicated; Mrs. Mushrush took a shine to Harvey right away.
    Her husband met her at the front door. “Did you have a nice day at the factory, dear?”
    â€œOh sure,” she answered sarcastically. “It was about 110 degrees in there and most of the fans weren’t working.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” said Mushrush. “And now I’ve got some news for you: We’ve got a visitor.”
    â€œWho is it?” his wife wanted to know.
    â€œWe need to talk in private, let’s go into the kitchen.” In the kitchen, before he mentioned Harvey, he said, “You probably better get the