“Wow.” Rory was flabbergasted.
He also realized that his father was telling him this story to teach him something, to convey a message of some sort. And he had a hunch that it had to do with him and Las Vegas.
“You think I should go back there, don’t you, Dad?”
His father shrugged his shoulders and gently smiled. “That decision is yours alone to make, son. Most times, we can’t see if we made the right decision until many years later, looking back. And then we can usually see if it was God-directed or not. Looking back on my decision to go after those white football players, I see now that God put me in that exact place at that exact time for a specific reason. Or there were several reasons—to bring a tiny piece of justice to a very prejudiced little town, to make a man out of me, to lead me to my future career as an FBI investigator, or maybe all of the above. I also know now that in calling me to help try to save that girl and that black boy, he was also saving me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saving me from being the fearful, judgmental, self-centered, close-minded man I had become.”
And then, much the way he had appeared out of nowhere, his father was gone.
Rory felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, trying to wake him.
He was still lying face down on the rear seat of the Maserati, most of his body hunched in the plastic garment bag, which was buried beneath a half inch of sand.
He could barely breathe. Sand had managed to sneak into the crevices of his neck, ears, nose, and eyes, which he could only open into slits. He took a shallow breath through his mouth, which was so parched that he couldn’t make his swollen tongue move to lick his dry, cracked lips. He also came to with a piercing headache. It was as if knives were being stuck into his skull.
Rory vaguely heard a woman’s muffled voice call his name as if from a distance.
It was definitely a familiar voice. And then he knew. It was Susan.
A man’s voice joined in. John Dade? “I think he’s waking up, but he’s definitely dehydrated and suffering from heat exposure. I’ll call 911. They’ll send a Medivac chopper.”
Rory felt cool fingertips touch his neck. “They better. His pulse is elevated. He definitely has hyperthermia, and may have heat stroke.”
“Let’s get some water into him.” After John hung up from the call, he and Susan rolled Rory over and unzipped him from the black plastic bag that had soaked up the sun and was acting like an oven-roasting bag.
Rory felt like he was in a fog. His vision was blurred and he tried to speak, to thank Susan and John, but the words just wouldn’t form in his dry mouth and throat. He was so tired; all he wanted was to fall back asleep. His eyes closed again and his head bobbed forward.
“We’ve got to keep him awake,” John said.
Suddenly, Rory felt cool water trickling over his face, his eyes, and into his mouth. He couldn’t swallow and gagged at first, then managed to feel a few drops wet his cracked tongue. In a few moments, he was drinking and felt like he couldn’t guzzle fast enough.
“Slow down, partner,” John said soothingly.
He could finally see the beautiful face of Susan hovering over him, feel her wiping the dirt and sweat from his face with a cool, damp cloth.
She smiled at him. Looking into her big brown compassionate eyes, he wanted to cry, but had no tears in him to do so.
With some effort since he was dead weight, Susan and John hoisted Rory from the back of the Maserati out and into the rear seat of the air-conditioned police cruiser.
Rory could faintly hear the whirring beat of a helicopter approaching.
“They’re going to have to land a mile away so they don’t start another sandstorm. We’ll have to meet them. Let’s go.”
It was a bumpy ride through the desert, but in just a few minutes, they arrived where the chopper sat waiting. Rory was safely positioned in the back of the helicopter. Intravenous fluids and an oxygen mask were administered by the two Medivac personnel inside, and once John and Susan had driven far enough away, the chopper was airborne, en route to Sunrise Hospital in Vegas.
Rory’s body temperature had reached one hundred and six degrees at the height of the sandstorm. He was diagnosed with heat stroke, which could have been fatal if not for the just-in-time intervention of John and Susan.
Once in the hospital, his temperature was gradually lowered, his fluids were replenished, and he was left to rest. When Rory awoke lying in a hospital bed, he didn’t know where he was at first. But then his memory slowly kicked into gear.
The first person to greet him was Susan, as if she had never left his side.
Rory smiled, feeling shy and embarrassed.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” she said, arising from the chair where she was seated in his private hospital room, waiting for him to wake up. She walked over to his bedside and took one of his hands in hers.
“You’re lucky, you know.”
“I know.” Rory could barely recognize his own voice. It was so scratchy it sounded like he had been a chain smoker for forty years. His throat was still a little sore, but at least he could make his tongue and lips work again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Here comes someone else you might want to thank.”
John Dade walked into the room, filling the doorframe with his bulk, carrying two coffees in paper cups.
“Well, there’s the famous gambler come back from the dead.”
Rory winced, recalling his escapades from the night before. He couldn’t look at Susan, fearing she had heard the worst.
John set down the cups of coffee, walked to the other side of Rory’s bed, and shook his hand. “We’re glad you made it, partner. I don’t know how I would have ever explained this to your mother.” Always the jokester, Rory thought with a smile.
“Thank you, John, for saving my life.”
“Ah, glad to help. But the guy you really need to thank is your son Rick. He called the police department just in time. Actually, he’s on a jet making his way here as we speak. He should be arriving sometime this evening to visit you.”
“My son is on his way here?” Rory rasped. I’m thankful he made that phone call to John and Susan, but he really doesn’t need to fly all the way out here just to see me … unless …. Rory recalled their conversation about Rick’s ministry and his desire to move to Las Vegas. Even though he would love to see his son, he still didn’t want Rick moving to Vegas any more than he wanted to stay himself.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Susan asked, and Rory sensed a trace of consternation in her tone.
“Uh, yes, of course. It’s just that ….”
“You’re not planning to stay, are you?” It was more a statement than a question. Rory noticed a slight but irrefutable note of irritation in her voice.
“I’m not sure.” That isn’t exactly a lie, Rory thought. “I may stay for a little while.”
A nurse walked in to check Rory’s vital signs and to replace the bags of intravenous fluids that hung by his bed.
“I guess we’ll just be going,” Susan said abruptly. She shook Rory’s hand as if he was some stranger she was visiting for the first time. “Good luck, Rory, it was nice to see you again.”
Even John looked at Susan with surprise. As she headed for the door, John asked her to please wait in the hall, saying he wanted to talk to Rory about something.
When the nurse left and the two men were alone, John whispered, “What’s that all about?”
“Long story.” Rory pointed to his throat, indicating it was still feeling a little raw.
“Ah, girl troubles?” John pulled up a chair to chat. Rory wanted to roll over and ignore him but instead, just shrugged his shoulders.
Whatever, he thought. She’s got too much of a temper for me. Who knows what she’s thinking? Besides, the truth is that I’m not staying any longer than I have to.
John laid a big hand on Rory’s shoulder, like his dad would have done. “I’ve known Susan for a long ti
me. I’m pretty sure she likes you, a lot, enough to be annoyed that you can’t wait to get out of town again, even though she won’t admit it. She is one strong, classy lady. And of course she’s beautiful to boot. So what’s the problem? Don’t you like her too? I thought I knew you by now. You’ve kinda become like a son to me, and I was hoping I could talk to you like your dad might do if he were still here. Of course I don’t mean to ever take his place or anything.”
“That’s okay, John,” Rory forced the words out. “I know what you mean, and I appreciate all you’re trying to do. And you’re right. Susan is a wonderful woman. I was attracted to her too.”
“Was? So you’re not now?”
“Yes, I am … but … she won’t leave Las Vegas, and I can’t stay. So what’s the point?”
John looked puzzled and sad. “What about your son? What are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know. We never really finished our conversation because the phone went dead. I never promised him anything—or her, for that matter.”
John slowly rose from his chair and shook Rory’s hand. “I will miss you.”
The huge ex-sheriff ambled out of Rory’s hospital room without looking back, softly closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
His son arrived at the hospital just after Rory drifted off to sleep that evening. Rick stayed through the night and morning with his father, holding his hand and praying for him.
The next day Rick found a cheap, sparsely furnished, two-bedroom apartment for the two of them in Paradise, a suburb just southeast of the city. It was available on a month-to-month rental basis.
Rory was released from the hospital that night and was too weak to protest the living arrangements when Rick came to get him and told him he would be staying with him in his new apartment. Rick told Rory that he didn’t have to stay beyond his recuperation, which the ER doctor had said was expected to last only a few days, as long as he got plenty of rest and fluids.
While Rory followed that prescription over the next few days, napping, watching movies, and reading, Rick was mostly out and about, away from the apartment.
On their second evening together, while they were eating Chinese take-out at the small dinette in their little kitchen, Rory questioned his son about where he had gone for the day. Rick just said he was “checking out” Las Vegas since he had never been to Sin City before. “Okay, I’m also seeing if it’s where I want to stay,” he added when Rory glanced at him skeptically.
I hope he’s not counting on me to stay too, Rory thought.
As if he could read his mind, Rick said, “I know, dad, you’ll probably head back to Ohio soon. But that’s okay. I’m just glad we’re having some time together.”
Day four landed on a Friday. Since he was feeling back to normal, Rory decided to stay through the weekend to spend a few quality days with Rick. Besides, he didn’t really have a job to go back to anyway.
“But I still think I’ll be leaving eventually,” he warned his son as they split a veggie omelet for breakfast. Much to Rory’s chagrin, Rick had become a vegetarian. Although that’s nothing compared to the whole gay thing, Rory thought when his son went grocery shopping for the two of them and revealed his eating habits while filling the refrigerator. “I really can’t see myself living or working here. I just need to decide where I can see myself ending up.”
Rory was pretty sure he didn’t want to go back to Columbus, and especially not back to his old ad agency job, even if there was an open position. He just didn’t know where he wanted to be or what he wanted to do.
He had mostly enjoyed the past three days of virtual isolation, actually. But he felt that if he left without spending more time with his son, he might eventually regret it.
Seeing Rick’s face light up when he told him he’d be staying at least through the weekend told him it was the right decision.
“So what do you want to do and where do you want to go this weekend?” Rick asked after they had finished breakfast, and each had showered and shaved.
“I have no idea,” Rory said. “I was going to ask you the same thing. It really doesn’t matter to me. How about if you decide?”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” I couldn’t care less when it comes to Las Vegas, Rory thought. I’ve already seen far too much.
“Okay, in that case, I do have a few places in mind that I’d like you to visit with me.”
“Hmm … so where to?”
“You’ll see. I’ll surprise you.”
“Rick, you know I hate surprises.”
“I know, Dad, but just trust me.”
Rory wasn’t sure if he did or even could trust anyone ever again. Still, this was his son. How bad could it be?
Rick had bought a used Volkswagen at a car lot while he had been gallivanting around the city. The two climbed in, and Rick drove into the city and parked in front of a Goodwill thrift shop.
“Stop number one,” Rick said, getting out of the Beetle.
“Here?” Rory looked both ways down the street. Besides the Goodwill and a few rundown vacant buildings, there was only a car wash a block away and a convenience store across the street. They were just on the outskirts of Vegas and could see the skyscraping Stratosphere thrill ride and amusement park at the far end of the Strip about a mile away.
“Yep. Don’t forget, trust me.” He led Rory into the store. The clerk at the counter, an elderly black woman, greeted Rick like he was her grandson.
“Ricky, good to see you, where you been?” She came around from behind the counter and gave Rick a hug.
“Delores, I’d like you to meet my father, Rory Justice.”
“It’s a pleasure.” The plump woman with black curls that grayed into crispy ringlets smiled warmly, her brown eyes twinkling with genuine mirth.
Rory looked with shock at both of them, unable to fathom how his son could possibly have gotten to know a total stranger in Vegas so well after only a few days. Realizing he was staring and being rude, he forced a smile and took the elderly woman’s outstretched hand in his. “Nice to meet you.”
“Delores, is it all right if I take my dad into the back?”
“Of course, I’ll mind the store.”
The back? Rory felt uneasiness creep over him like a prickly cold sweat. But he had no choice but to follow Rick, who led him briskly single file through narrow aisles lined with racks of clothes to the back of the store and through a steel door. They walked into a large warehouse. What is my son getting me into now?
Seated at various long tables were about two dozen teenagers sorting piles of clothes. Within moments of seeing Rick enter, they all came up and took turns hugging or high-fiving him.
Rick introduced Rory to them, and explained to his father that the teens were members of a Christian youth organization called Young Life. They were volunteering their time to help with Goodwill’s recycling efforts. Goodwill took all of the clothes and other items that were too damaged to be sold in the outlet, bundled them up, and sent them off, usually to third world countries, to be recycled for use as raw materials.
“Nothing’s wasted around here,” Rick said.
“How do they all know you?” Rory whispered when they were leaving after saying their goodbyes.
Back outside the steel door and in the showroom, Rick paused and told his father how he had contacted the Young Life director shortly after they had settled into the apartment. He had signed up to be a leader.
Rory noticed some of the teen volunteers had called out “see you Sunday!” as they bade farewell. He figured his son must be meeting with them again on Sunday.
Their next stop was at the local homeless shelter downtown.
Rick asked Rory if he would like to help serve the midday hot meal.
Not really, Rory thought, but figured he couldn’t very well say no to the request without coming across as a huge jerk.
So he donned an apron once his son introduced him to the other volunt
eers and shelter workers, and soon was dishing out roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
Two hours later, after lunch had been served, the volunteers ate, and then they all washed pots and pans and tidied up. When Rory and Rick said goodbye to the others, two shelter workers also said they would see both of them on Sunday.
They’re just mistaken, thinking I’m coming to the Young Life meeting, Rory thought, shrugging it off. He felt tired and sweaty, yet strangely content as he sat once again in the passenger seat of the VW, too tired to question his son what was happening on Sunday.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Rory said as they drove off. “It was nice how they all said thank you and seemed really grateful. I actually enjoyed helping.”
Rick smiled. “I figured you might,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “And they always need volunteers.”
“Yes, well, maybe I can do it wherever it is that I move to next.”
Rick’s eyes clouded with a little sadness. “That would be nice, Dad.”
Next they stopped at a place that looked vaguely familiar to Rory.
The VW pulled up in front of an industrial building that bore a sign that read Vegas Allied Youth Association, with smaller lettering underneath that Rory recognized: VAYA con Dios.
“I know this place!” Rory stepped out of the car onto the curb out front and told Rick with a touch of pride how the organization had resulted from the grass roots efforts begun by the Brown and Ramirez families, borne out of the pain of their loss and strife due to gang violence and drug abuse.
“I know,” Rick said.
Rory was surprised at his son’s comment.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I did my homework. The Young Life folks told me I could probably find some volunteers down here for a small choir or band to eventually sing at my church services. They told me that the same local FBI and police team they had seen on the news that had worked on the bomb scare and helped rid the city of the Mafia had also helped make VAYA a reality. I knew you were part of that team. I’m very proud of you, Dad.”
The Runaway Prophet Page 21
