It'd been twelve days since Whizzer rented the power rake and core aerator. We'd raked thatch from the whole lawn, then punched out a ton of plugs without grinding or coring a single pop-up sprinkler head. Whizzer had every one flagged. That same day we spread a layer of compost over the whole lawn. It'd rained hard several times since then, mostly dissolving and washing in the plugs and compost. Three hot sunny days followed, and it was time for a serious mowing--on the day Whizzer tipped the pizza delivery guy three hundred dollars.

The mower is an Eclipse, the nineteen thirty-something Oldsmobile of mowers. A heavy push mower with a catcher. The lawn is soft dense bent grass that likes to be cut short, and that old Eclipse does so with the precision of fine shears. The back lawn is flat and small, a breeze to mow. The front lawn is huge, in three rolling tiers. Pushing the old Eclipse up and down the front lawn about a hundred times told me how Gaea keeps her legs and bottom so toned.

One run either up or down the front lawn fills the catcher. I had a wheelbarrow up by the porch, and one down by the stone fence. I was dumping the catcher not far from the gate when the pizza delivery guy pulled up. His name is Barney. He nodded and gave me a "how ya doin'" at the gate, then hurried up the flagstones. Whizzer was on the porch. He and Barney seemed to have lots to talk about....

I made it to the top of the lawn and had just dumped the catcher when Whizzer shouted, "Lude!" He beckoned with his hand. I walked over and Whizzer introduced me to Barney, whom he'd never met before. "Check out the button."

The button Barney wore was black on white, about the diameter of a baseball. TIMMY WILL BE WHOLE, THANKS TO GOOD PEOPLE is what it said. Barney looked uncomfortable, sweat beading on his forehead. I was sweating like a pig.

"Tell him about the fund," said Whizzer.

Barney still held with both hands the insulating bag that held the boxed pizza. "It's the reattachment fund," he said. "Timmy's my son. He's ten. Couple months ago a child molester knocked him cold on the way home from school and cut off his penis. A lady scared the guy off and called an ambulance. Timmy's okay now but his penis is still frozen up at Sacred Heart Medical Center. I don't have insurance and it'll cost thousands to have the little thing reattached. His mother died last year of brain cancer. I'm workin' two jobs, and tryin' to save up the money. Lot's o' good people have helped out with tips."

Barney looked up at Whizzer, who stood with his arms folded across his chest. Whizzer glanced at me, then sat down on a step so he could look straight into Barney's eyes. "So people ask what the button means and you give them the story about the frozen penis and they help out...right?"

Barney nodded, and looked down. "People like to help out."

"I'll bet," said Whizzer, a devilish look on his face. "Especially when a poor little boy's penis is sleeping without him eh? How much've good people helped out?"

"I'm not sure how much is in the fund. I give all the money to the hospital, and when there's enough money they'll do the operation."

"Strange I didn't read anything about this in the paper," said Whizzer. "I don't remember reading a word about it. And I read the whole paper every day."

"Oh, that's 'cause we wanted to save the boy from all the embarrassment."

"Who's we?"

"Me and the wife."

"I thought she died of brain cancer."

"I remarried."

Whizzer took a deep breath, and uttered, "hhmmmm." I was standing next to Barney, smelling sweat and mowed grass and pizza. "Whatcha think Lude?"

"Sounds strange," I said. Barney didn't look at me.

"Okay, listen Barney." Whizzer seemed deadly serious. Barney looked at him. "All I want is the truth. Now, I think you made the whole thing up 'cause you know how many suckers order pizza delivered. You're mining. There's a mother lode of chumps around and you're makin' some good bucks off 'em. Now either you tell me the truth, or I'm goin' in right now to make some calls. Your employer, Sacred Heart Medical Center, the police...."

Barney turned white. I felt sorry for him, and wondered why Whizzer was grilling him so mercilessly.

"I made it up," said poor abject Barney. He sighed, and continued in a low monotone. "I got no kid...no wife. It's all a scam."

Whizzer clapped his hands and laughed. "Alright Barney, my man!" Barney didn't dare smile...yet. "God, that's a good one." Whizzer stood up. "You're a subtle bugger, gimme five!" Barney reached up and swatted Whizzer's hand. "This town's ripe with suckers and you've got one o' the best scams to tap ‘em I ever heard. I can just imagine all those chumps grimacing and thinkin' about poor Timmy peein' through a little stump, wishin' doctors'd sew his little peckersicle back on. The reattachment fund!" Whizzer threw back his head and laughed. Barney glanced over his shoulder, obviously hoping the stemmers across the street couldn't hear. He'd probably made a little off them. They had pizza delivered almost daily the first two weeks of every month. Whizzer swaggered down the stairs and put his arm around Barney. "Come on in for a minute Barney, and let me pay you off."

I followed them into the Castle. Whizzer had his arm around Barney until they got to the big table in the front room. Barney glanced around the room, unzipping the bag. He took out our pizza. Whizzer had him chuckling.

"So how long you had this reattachment thing goin'."

Barney said, "Since the first o' March."

Whizzer shook his head. "And I'm the first guy to call you on it?"

"Yep."

"How's it paid off?"

"You can imagine, right after first o' the month the tips are pretty big."

"What's the biggest so far?" Whizzer took out his wallet.

"Well," said Barney, gazing at all the bills in there. "One guy gave me a twenty."

"How much you figure you've made all together?"

"A good grand I suppose." Barney wasn't worried anymore. He seemed a tad proud. "I'm givin' it up pretty soon though. Don't wanna push 'er too far."

"You got another scam lined up?"

"Yeah...sure. Always."

"What're some o' the others?"

"Well, I wore a patch over one eye awhile--told ‘em I got a splinter o' glass in it while draggin' some kids outa the cross fire in a gang shoot out. Said I needed surgery but had no insurance. And I got this boot with trick uppers and a four-inch insole I wear sometimes. I limp real bad and tell people I need surgery to have my long leg shortened.... Sometimes I use a cane."

Whizzer just shook his head in admiration. "You're a cunning entrepreneur, Barney. You've made my day." He pulled out a wad. "Don't you worry one bit about me or Lude sayin' nothin' about what you told us. More power to you brother. Now how much for the pizza?"

"It's eighteen-seventy-five with the tax."

"Well, here's twenty for that, keep the change." Barney stared at the C-notes in Whizzer's hand. Whizzer stalled, building tension.... "Here's a hundred for coming up with the reattachment fund. I love it." Barney's eyes opened wide when the C-note hit his hand. "And here's a hundred for telling us the truth.... And one more for making my day." Barney was stunned stiff, but his color was back. He was looking Irish. "So...how much you sell me the button for?"

Barney stuffed the cash in his pants pocket. He took off the button, carefully...and handed it to Whizzer. "It's yours for making my day."

"Good man Barney!" Whizzer shook his hand. I shook his hand. He picked up the pizza bag and we walked him to the door. He seemed half a foot taller than when Whizzer was really grilling him. "Till next time Barney. Keep up the good work!"

Trotting, he looked back and waved at us from the middle flight of flagstones. "Thanks guys! Enjoy!"