Soul of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Not a problem, John. Glad to check her.”

  “So, what do I owe you, Doc?” John reached for his wallet.

  “Shut up.” Matt would not expect, or accept, payment.

  John fished out a hundred dollar bill and shoved it into Matt’s shirt pocket. Matt tried to swat him away.

  “I’m not taking your money.” Matt protested.

  “It’s not for you. It’s so you can take Becca out to dinner.”

  “We’re not, I mean, I …”

  “Don’t act innocent, Walker.” At that moment John’s cell phone rang and he took the call. “It’s my dad; somebody has driven a truck through our fence. I hate to do this to you, but I gotta go.”

  “No problem. Later!”

  On the way back to town Becca commented on the rekindled friend. “John seems to have turned out to be a pretty nice guy.”

  “Yeah,” Matt shrugged. “It only took two stints in rehab.”

  “Oh, goodness. I guess we are getting older.”

  “Yeah, grandma.” Matt impersonated the voice of a shaky old man.

  “Thanks a lot!”

  “You’re older than me!” Matt laughed.

  “Yeah, by what, three months? How do you remember that?”

  “What?” Matt was feeling mischievous. “After all your birthday parties my mom dragged me to?”

  “I didn’t go to any of yours,” Becca said.

  “You weren’t invited.”

  “See? You were a snot. I told you.” They both laughed.

  For the next twenty minutes they chatted as if they had been friends their whole life. They had known each other their whole lives, but they really had never gotten acquainted.

  They pulled up in front of the Walker house. “Dad’s home. Hey, before we go in, I hope John didn’t embarrass you too much with that dinner comment.”

  “No.” Becca answered with a disappointed tone to her voice.

  “So, where are we going for dinner?” Matt asked brightly. “This Benjamin is burning a hole in my pocket.”

  “You don’t have to take me to dinner just because John suggested it.”

  “I was going to ask you out anyway. He just made it easier and more affordable.” Matt smiled widely. “And you’ll probably get to go to a nicer place. It will be a nice way to get away from things and clear your head a little bit.”

  “This afternoon has worked wonders, Matt. I actually feel human again. Thank you for asking me to go with you.”

  “Shall we go in?”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Cole? I need you.” Kelly’s voice said more than her words. She was frightened and there was something very wrong.

  “Are you okay? Where are you?” Cole prayed she hadn’t been in an accident. She only left the house a little while before.

  “I’m locked in the Center. Please, can you come? I’m scared.”

  By the time Cole said, “On my way” he was already running to the car. Never a great driver, and with a tendency to be cautious, he drove to town with a total disregard for speed limits or stop signs. He took the corner at Long Street faster than he should and fishtailed, nearly losing control. Just ahead he could see three police cars blocking the street in front of the Center. Cole pulled over and parked, hoping his screeching and sliding went unnoticed.

  In the front of the Center was a large group of people yelling and screaming and chanting. The police presence calmed some of his fears, but Kelly must be frantic. The closer he got to the crowd, the clearer their chants became.

  “Free, free the Orvin three! Free, free the Orvin three!”

  The six policemen stood in a horseshoe around the group. It seemed odd to Cole that they hadn’t dispersed the crowd. Cole made his way closer and stood at the rear of the patrol car closest to the door of the center. By his estimation there were close to fifty people in the crowd. The makeup of the crowd was almost entirely Indian. The group Cole encountered the day before at the police station was primarily men, but the crowd in front of him was half women.

  Across the front of the windows in red, runny paint someone sprayed Make America Native Again!

  Cole glanced to his left. One of the policemen was approaching him. “Hey, I wouldn’t be here if I were you. These people are getting pretty wound up. And I don’t think some white guy gawking at them is going to go down well.”

  “My wife is inside the Center. I need to get her out of there.”

  “Well you sure as hell aren’t going through the front door without losing your scalp.” The cop laughed at his own joke.

  “Then what do you suggest I do?”

  “I suggest you either let this run its course and they’ll all leave in a little while, or you can go around and get her out the backdoor, that is, if she can hear you.”

  “Why are you letting this go on this way?” Cole’s words wiped the smile off the policeman’s face.

  “Because there are six of us and fifty of them. No sense throwing fire on gasoline. We’ll let them tire out and then get them to leave.”

  “And if they decide to break out the windows or burn the place to the ground, then what?”

  “Then I guess we wait for the cavalry to arrive.” The policeman chuckled again. “They’ll tire out in a bit.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Cole pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began walking back to the car. “Kelly, I’m out front. I’m going to go around back and take you out that way. I’ll be there in a second.” Cole got into his car and did a u-turn in the middle of the street and pulled into the parking lot of Johnson’s Insurance, cutting through to the alley behind. He turned left and hastily moved down the alley to the back door of the Center. He got out of the car and pounded hard on the back door. He could hear the yelling and screaming echoing off the buildings. Within moments, Kelly opened the door.

  “This is insane! What is wrong with these people?”

  “I don’t know but let’s get out of here.” At that moment the sound of breaking glass echoed through the building. Cole pulled Kelly out the door and slammed it.

  “Wait, I have to lock it!”

  “That’s pretty pointless if the windows are broken out in front. Get in the car.”

  Kelly started to get in the car. “Wait, what about my car?”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s in front.”

  “We’ll get it later.” Cole got in and continued down the alley.

  “Can you explain to me what this is all about?”

  “The police have arrested three Indians on suspicion of murdering the Poores. Just like Michael Blackbear, they’ve all three had run-ins with Mr. Poore. Two of them had the police called on them at the Center. The crowd is saying that they all three have alibis.”

  “Then why don’t they let them go?” Kelly turned in her seat to look at Cole.

  “Because, my darling, they’re Indians.”

  “Don’t be silly. This is the twenty first century.”

  “Oh yeah? Explain that to Michael Blackbear, Tommy Running Dog, Richard Armendez, and Samson Knight. We’re not in San Francisco anymore. Somebody along the line forgot to explain to these people due process and civil rights.”

  “I knew there was an element in the Cheyenne community that doesn’t like the Center, but I had no idea that the white people were just as bad, or worse, toward the Indians. I guess you never really know a place till you’ve lived there a few years. I think we’re just now starting to see below the surface of our little town.”

  “What are you doing down here, anyway? I thought you were going shopping.” Cole approached a stop sign on the corner.

  “I was, but I remembered we were going to take an inventory of supplies and I thought I would do it while it was nice and quiet.”

  “Well you certainly missed the call on that one. When did the crowd show up?”

  “About ten minutes after I got here I started hearing commotion out front. Then there was pounding on the doors and windows, peo
ple were screaming and swearing. That’s when I called you.”

  When they got to Long Street, Kelly looked back and saw the graffiti and the broken window. They had hung a banner from the awning that said Indian Culture! Not White Fairytales! They rounded the corner and headed for home.

  Kelly began to cry. “It makes everything we’ve tried so hard to do seem so pointless.”

  “It does indeed.” Cole accelerated.

  “When we come back later to get my car, we’ll see about securing the building and replacing the window.”

  “We won’t be coming back. I’ll have Ernie run me back to get your car. You can call somebody else to take care of the rest.” Kelly turned and looked out the window and barely spoke the rest of the way home.

  On the kitchen table Michael divided, counted, and restacked his take so far. $20,000, two robberies, and now only half way there. It was almost a week since he robbed Marco’s. The fear of learning what the police knew, or what was reported, kept Michael from watching or reading the news. “One more should do it. They’re not ripping me off again.” Michael’s words seemed to echo in the small kitchen.

  He placed the money back in a small box and walked it out to Mary Wilson’s shed. He felt a sense of pride outsmarting the police by hiding his gun and money. If he left the bag of jewels and gun in the house when they made their surprise visit, he would still be behind bars, but, rather than a murder they would have him for the hold ups. The first of the week will be the perfect time to hit his next store. Not only would he be able to get the jewels, but if he were able to surprise the merchant when they arrived, he could not only get jewels, but the weekend’s receipts as well.

  An old, tattered phone book was on the kitchen table. He didn’t understand why he still had it, but it would come in handy in deciding where he would go next. Flipping to the J’s in the yellow pages he scanned the list of jewelers. The biggest jewelry store in the county based on the size of their ad was M&J Jewelry Mart. He circled the number with a pencil and reached for the phone. He quickly punched in the number and waited for someone to answer.

  “What time do you open on Monday? Thanks.” He placed the phone back on the base on the counter. If they open at ten, I will be there at a quarter to nine. Michael closed the phone book.

  The weekend went by as normally as Michael’s nerves would allow. He attended a tribal gathering in honor of the oldest member of the tribe who was turning 100 years old. He spoke with old friends and enjoyed the barbecue provided by the tribal council. Sunday he slept late and spent the afternoon watching old black and white movies on TMC. The need to get out and do something eventually made it impossible to concentrate on the movies.

  Somehow his car found its way to Shelly Matera’s house. She was no longer there. While he was in the army she married a mechanic from Tulsa who was the cousin of his friend, Merle.

  ‘I will wait for you as long as there is dust in this old town.’ Her promise rang in his ears as he stopped his car in the middle of the street. His mind went back to a dusty afternoon in Iraq when he received a letter from Merle telling all about going to Shelly’s wedding, not realizing no one bothered to tell Michael.

  He sighed deeply. “You shouldn’t have come by here.” Halfway between the car and the house, the image of Shelly smiling and waving goodbye the day he left for the Army played like a hologram. If he were not such a coward he would have asked her to marry him then and there. In the back of his mind he thought of being killed in a war far away. It made him realize he would have to wait. The blast of a horn jarred him from his thoughts. He hit the accelerator and left the area. He bought two burritos from a roadside taco stand, ate one and put one in the refrigerator before going to bed.

  A ray of bright sun pierced through the window and across Michael’s face. His first thought was that he overslept, but checking the time it was just a little past 7:00. He shaved, showered and retrieved his gun from Mary’s shed. He started to eat the burrito he saved from the night before, but his nerves would not allow him to take more than a couple bites. He paced nervously until there was only twenty minutes left before his determined time of reaching M&J Jewelry Mart at 8:45.

  The large employee parking area behind Jewelry Mart was also used by employees of Kerry’s Supermarket to the left of the jewelry store, and Western Wear store to the right. Michael parked the car out of the direct line of M&J’s back door. From his vantage point he would have plenty of time to determine who would arrive at their back door first.

  At five minutes to nine a neatly dressed man, gray at the temples, in a pale gray suit, his tie yet to be knotted, left a silver Mercedes Benz and took the first steps toward the back door of the jewelry store.

  Michael stepped from his car, the blue burka in one hand and his gun in the other. He didn’t slam the car door. As quietly as he could, he slipped in behind the man from the Mercedes. The man was four yards from the back door when Michael slipped the burka over his head.

  “Don’t turn around and don’t do anything foolish.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You and I are going in the store, you are going to fill a bag for me and I am going to leave. No one will get hurt if you do what I say.”

  “This is a very bad idea. My other clerks will be here soon.”

  “Hopefully I’ll be gone by then, just do as I say, open the door, turn off the alarm and let’s get this over with.”

  “As you say.” The man slipped the key into the door.

  “Slowly. Alright, alright, slowly.”

  The man opened the door and stepped inside. To the left of the door was a keypad for the alarm. It began to beep as he pushed in a series of five numbers for the code. Michael pulled the door until he heard it click behind him.

  “Everything you want is in our safe.”

  “Then open it.”

  “I just didn’t want you getting excited when you saw the showcases empty.” The man crossed the room to the safe. It was nearly as tall as he was with a large brass combination lock in the front. Michael noticed the man’s hand tremble as he began turning the combination. As the last number was entered the man turned the large handle and opened the safe.

  “Here.” Michael thrust out the Wal-Mart bag. “Fill it.” Without hesitation the store manager began taking trays and slipping them into the bag. “Shake ’em. Shake ’em.”

  The man did as instructed and then tossed the trays aside. He repeated this action nine times.

  “Now, where are the raw stones?” Michael stepped a little closer to the man.

  “They’re in this box.”

  “Ok, dump it.” The man reached in the safe with both hands.

  Michael heard tapping on glass coming from the front of the store. In that moment of distraction, the man spun about and pulled the trigger of a gun that was mounted inside the box. Michael felt a burning in his side and saw rage in the manager’s eyes.

  Without thinking, he shot the manager once in the chest and once in the face. Michael quickly grabbed the bag, ran out the back of the store, slamming the door hard behind him. The pain in his side was growing worse by the second as he got into his car and shut the door. He left the keys in the ignition and was out of the parking lot in just a matter of seconds. He made his way back to the highway and home.

  After two tours in Iraq with never so much as a scratch, Michael Blackbear was shot by a middle-aged jewelry store owner. The pain combined with the adrenaline of the shootings put him in a heightened state of awareness. In the army he was trained to kill. In his job he did nothing but help the people of Iraq. As he drove, the images of his wounded comrades being loaded into helicopters and rushed to hospitals in and around Bagdad made the wound in his side even more surreal.

  Somehow, I must get in the house without anyone seeing me. His garage door opener remote was misplaced ages ago. On occasion, he pulled his car up onto the dirty weed patch of a front lawn and washed the car. He decided he would pull the car up there again, thi
s time with the car door facing the front door. The closer he got to home, the worse the pain became. He felt the urge to pee, but thought that maybe the two sensations were blending together. He relaxed and felt the warm urine run into his pants and mix with the blood. He sat for a long moment staring at his front door, wondering if he could make it the few feet to the door. Later, he would hose out his car, but for now he must somehow get into the house.

  There was a thunderous pounding in Michael’s head. He opened his eyes wide and was unable for a moment to determine where he was. There was tremendous pain in his knee and as he turned his head he saw he was lying on the floor just inside the front door. He had passed out and collapsed. His right leg was bent at the knee, and it was under his other leg.

  The house was in the shadows of dusk. He had no concept of how long he was out. Michael struggled to straighten his leg and a pain shot through his side and the ceiling exploded in white sparkling stars. I must feel my side, he thought, but the gooey half coagulated blood held his hand and arm to the floor like thick molasses. He rolled to his left with a deep, guttural groan, freeing himself. He felt his side and the gooey blood.

  Breathing heavily he made it to his hands and knees. Half crawling, half dragging his aching leg, he moved down the hall to the bathroom. Moving as close as he could to the bath tub Michael reached in and turned on the water. He realized he must have blacked out again because when he opened his eyes the water was reaching his elbow. With great effort and incredible pain, he pushed himself to his knees and rolled into the tub. The water was warm. He tore open the front of his shirt popping off each button as he went.

  He gently began running his right hand over his abdomen, gently washing away the gooey blood as he went. He reached the wound and gently ran his fingers around the hole left by the bullet. The pain was lessened by the water and he was able to reach onto his side, feeling the gooey blood and rubbing it until he could feel the skin beneath. He knew from his medic training in the Army that this kind of wound is cause for a great loss of blood. He placed his hand full over the wound and tried to remember what lay beneath. Did the bullet strike any vital organs? The bleeding seemed to have stopped.