Jake's Burn

by Randy Rawls

  I heard him moan again. “No, I couldn’t have… I didn’t… I loved her. She was my only friend.”

  I inched along the wall toward Joey’s voice. “Yes, you did, and you’re going to pay. Keep talking, you bastard, so I can find you.” I stepped closer, trying to ascertain how much farther I’d have to go before I could wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. “You’re a dead man, Joey. No judge and jury for you. You’re dead.” Anger drove me, sadness about Terri and the adrenaline from rage kept me going, made me ignore my empty pistol against Joey’s loaded guns.

  “No, Ace. I’ll save you the trouble. I gotta find Terri. Gotta tell her it wuz an accident. Maybe Sheila’ll be there, too.”

  A shot sounded from nearby. I threw myself against the wall wondering if Joey had been suckering me in. As the echo died away inside the stone walls, silence became the dominant feature of the night.

  I froze, fearing for my life. The shot had reminded me of my vulnerability. Joey still had my pistol with ammunition, and all I had was his empty gun. In the dark, I couldn’t even see to throw it. Time to recapture some of the patience I had lost.

  Silence. I waited. More silence. I could hear nothing except my heart pounding loud enough to wake Mom and Dad. I had to take a chance.

  “Joey. Joey.” I was in the shadow of the wall and couldn’t see a thing. I inched toward where I’d last heard him and stumbled over a soft object.

  I hit the ground and reached to feel what had tripped me. My searching hands found a body. Joey. He didn’t move or make a sound. I ran my hands up his trunk and groped for his carotid artery. I put my hand into a gooey mess. My sense of smell kicked in, and the odor was unbearable. Also, I didn’t find a carotid artery. I didn’t find a head.

  I rose and collected my thoughts, giving my heart time to settle back into something resembling a normal rhythm. I stumbled away and went to my car where I found a flashlight. I stopped by Terri first and found her still dead, in spite of my yearning. Her body was cooling in the wet air. I opened the trunk, took out the blanket we used for our picnic and covered her with it.

  When I got back to Joey, I found the same result—he was dead. He’d blown the top of his head off.

  I lost it. “You son-of-a-bitch, how dare you do this?” I screamed at him, demanding he get up so I could kill him. I was nuts, out of control. At some point, I snapped back to normalcy, finding myself with a rock held high over my head, preparing to bash Joey with it.

  I sobered and dropped to the ground with my head in my hands. As far as I was concerned, Joey cheated justice, and he cheated me. I hadn’t wanted him to die from his own hand. I wanted the satisfaction of watching him die after I pulled the trigger, of watching his eyes bug out as I choked him. I wanted to dribble him like a soccer ball over the grounds of Scranton Academy.

  I walked back to the car, took out my cell phone, and called 9-1-1. Then I sat with Terri. I cradled her and whispered, “I love you. I should have told you, I love you.”

  When the ambulance arrived, the medical personnel assumed I was injured because of the blood on me and my crying. They insisted on checking my blood pressure, temperature, pulse, and other vital signs. They seemed surprised to find me healthy and were solicitous as they took Terri’s body away.

  Sheriff Yardley didn’t show as much concern for my well-being. He used terms like jail, charges, obstruction of justice, and a few other expressions that meant he wasn’t happy with me. I didn’t care. I was consumed with Terri. There wasn't space for any thoughts except of her.

  I cried.

  He cursed.

  I cried for Terri and for what we'd never have.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Jake and Bubba stood one on each side of me at Terri’s funeral. I was between them because I wasn’t sure they were ready to be civil to one another, even in grief. Terri and Joey were buried side by side in the Hart family plot. I wished Terri’s grave were closer to the Edwards plot. I knew Mom and Dad would love to have her for a neighbor.

  Across from us stood Terri’s mother and an older version of Joey. I remembered Joey’s comment when we first met. “She looks like Mom, and I look more like Dad.” He’d been right. I wanted to do something, say something that would make Ms. Hart feel better, that would let her know I hadn’t wanted it to end this way. It wasn’t often a mother buried both her children on successive days. I could see the pain etched in her face, making her look twenty years older than when I met her a few days ago.

  I headed around the grave to express my condolences, but her grimace froze me in my tracks. She wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. I couldn’t blame her if she held me responsible for their deaths. There was no way I could expect her to understand it was Joey, not me, who was the reason both were dead. She had to be thinking that if I hadn’t returned to Cisco, Terri and Joey would still be alive. Maybe she was right. But I couldn’t afford to believe that—not if I wanted to remain sane.

  I wanted to tell her I felt the loss of Terri as acutely as she did. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her daughter. But I backed away and returned to Bubba and Jake.

  I stood with my head down, feeling sad for myself, cursing my fate at losing Terri.

  “Ace, I can’t tell you how sorry I am at how this worked out.” Jake’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “When Terri told me she couldn’t marry me because she loved you, I knew who was the richer. All my money, packaged with my love couldn’t buy what had been handed to you—the most fantastic woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” I noted that he didn’t call me Arty. “I was almost there, wasn’t I? A shot at true happiness. I never really had her, but I miss her more than anyone can ever know.” Tears flowed. Embarrassed, I turned toward Joey’s grave. He’d been buried the previous day. “At least we know what happened to your house.”

  “And to Sheila and Sonny,” Bubba added. “I lost the woman I love, so I understand what you’re feeling.” Bubba’s voice was soft and filled with sadness. His country-boy accent had disappeared. “I suppose I could use that old cliché that time heals all wounds. But I can tell you from my experience, it leaves a nasty, angry, festering scar. I’ll never get over Sheila.”

  Jake looked at him. “Neither will I, Bubba, neither will I. I tried to hate her, but I could never do it. She was a part of me I’ll carry to my grave.”

  They stared at one another, and I tensed, fearing the worst while hoping it wouldn’t happen.

  Bubba changed the subject. “Hojo said he would open the Down Home early today. That’s his way of honoring Terri, and he’s laying in an extra supply of Killian’s in your honor, Ace. He should be there by now. If we don’t head out, we might not get in the door. I’m sure the whole Down Home crowd will gather to wish Terri a good trip.”

  As we turned to walk away, Jake surprised me by saying, “Bubba, it’s time we buried the hatchet. We stood on opposite sides of the grave when Sheila was buried. Let’s move to the same side now. We loved her, you in your way, and me in mine. In her own way, she loved both of us, and I think she’d want us to be friends.” He stuck out his hand toward Bubba.

  Bubba looked at him, then reached toward Jake’s hand. His first grasp seemed tentative, then he shook it vigorously. “Thanks, Jake,” he said. “I’ve been sorry for a long time we hurt you. All I can say in my defense is I did love her, truly loved her.”

  “There’re things I’ll never forget—or forgive, but we can start new.”

  Maybe that was the first time I realized the power of love, and how badly Jake was hurt when he lost Sheila. I couldn’t help but reflect that even with all his money and prestige, he’d lost both the women he loved. Love could bring down the most powerful, the richest among us.

  I looked at Jake, then Bubba, and saw the sadness in their faces. I knew I’d been right in not telling either of them what Joey told me about Sheila and Millener—about their love tryst.

  We started toward the exit onto Second S
treet. I glanced back toward Terri’s grave and saw Mr. Hart coming after us. My first impulse was to get out of there. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with Terri’s dad at her graveside.

  “Mr. Adams, do you have a moment?” he called.

  Jake, Bubba, and I stopped as Mr. Hart caught the three of us. He stuck out his hand toward Jake and said, “Mr. Adams, I had to thank you for helping us with Terri and Joey’s funerals. The undertaker done a mighty fine job on both of them, but he went all out on Terri. Don’tcha think so?”

  “Yes, she was very beautiful,” Jake said as Bubba and I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “Me and the missus could never have afforded to put’m away in style without your help. She’s kinda upset right now, but I know as soon as she settles down, she’s gonna want to thank you, too.”

  “Think nothing of it, sir,” Jake said in an embarrassed tone. “Now, we have to go. Please give Ms. Hart my heartfelt condolences.”

  “Your’re a mighty fine man, Mr. Adams. Ah’m gonna tell ever’body what you done.” Terri’s father turned and headed toward the graves, but not before giving me a glare that would melt a glacier.

  I stared at Jake and realized I was proud of him, proud to learn that his rich-guy layer was only a veneer. Inside, he still had small town values.

  He caught me looking at him and shrugged. “What the hell’s money for if not to assuage your own guilt?”

  Since he was in a generous mood, I decided to test how far he’d go. “Hey, remember I told you the fire department needs a new utility vehicle. That old one—”

  “Not to worry.” Jake cut me off with a grin. “It’s on order—a Jeep Cherokee with all the trimmings. That Chrysler dealer’s getting rich off me.”

  Still the blasé rich guy.

  That afternoon and evening, I rediscovered what makes living in a small town so personal, so wonderful. The Down Home was packed with people telling me how great Terri was, how sorry they were I’d lost her, and what an expert job I did in solving the case. All afternoon the faces changed, but the sincerity remained constant.

  Sam Raleigh came in and apologized for giving me a bad time when I first came to town. He left me feeling proud when he said, “Hell, you’re damn near as good as Mr. Adams bragged you to be. Come back anytime.”

  Sheriff Yardley showed up late in the afternoon. He wore his uniform with the hat I’d admired when it hung on his wall. You remember, the tan department-issue, sweat-stained cowboy hat with character I saw in his office.

  “Congratulations, Edwards. I don’t know whether you’re good or lucky. All the prints—gas cans, your motel, your house—were Joey’s, especially the last set on your Beretta. Don’t know how you did it, but you got it done. Of course, you made me look bad in my own backyard. You broke the case while my people spun their wheels. And me with an election coming up. I’d feel a whole lot better if I knowed you was leaving town and not coming back any time soon. And don’tcha ever think about running against me.”

  He stopped and glared at me before a smile split his face. “Other than that, I’m here to say you did one hellava job, and I’m proud to have watched you play football when you were a kid. In spite of your years in the city, I guess you still got some Eastland County in you.”

  “I hope I never outgrow my roots here,” I said. “As for running for office, don’t worry about me. You’re the man this county needs. I got lucky and had the help of a good woman. You can be sure I’m on my way out of Eastland County. With Terri gone, I don’t have anything to hang around for.”

  As he stood looking relieved, I added, “Did I do good enough for you to give me that great hat of yours?”

  I plucked it off his head and headed for the door. First, he gave me a look that would melt glass, then threw back his head and laughed. “Edwards, you best not come back to Cisco. I might turn my head next time Sergeant Jones wants to have a private interview with you.”

  I walked out, climbed into the Chrysler and pointed it toward Dallas, knowing all my ties to Cisco lay in Oakwood Cemetery—my mother, my father, and now, Terri Hart. I looked at the sheriff’s hat on the passenger seat and tried to grin, but instead, tears trickled from my eyes.

  * * * *

  The next night I sat in my favorite position, kicked back in my recliner. I’d picked the boys up as soon as I got back to North Dallas. The concierge summoned a bellhop who carried them to my car. The boys had seemed unimpressed and glad to leave the cat hotel.

  Striker lay in my lap, and Sweeper had ensconced himself on the arm of the chair, his private throne. They were content, purring happily, apparently glad to have me home. I stroked them and ran through the case.

  As I finished, I said, “You’re the hero, Sweeper. If you hadn’t attacked Joey when he came to call, and ripped off his earring, I might have never caught on to him.”

  Sweeper yawned, then meowed, and gave me a look that seemed to say, “Hey, no big deal.”

  As soon as I was convinced he didn’t care, he stood, stretched, and pranced up and down the arm of the chair a couple of times. After he’d performed his triumphant march, he jumped onto the floor and scooted across the room. I figured he was headed for the food dish, but instead, he ran to the sofa and flattened onto his belly. He reached under the sofa and I could see he strained to reach something.

  I moved Striker to the arm of the chair and walked to Sweeper. “What is it, old boy? Did you lose one of Ms. Jacobs’ kitty treats under there? Or maybe, your favorite toy, your love-toy?”

  As I said it, realization dealt me a serious blow. I pulled the sofa from the wall and Sweeper raced by me and grabbed his miniature soccer ball, his favorite toy, his love-toy. He dribbled it around the room a couple of times then fired an accurate shot into the corner.

  While he played, I stood and stared, remembering his performance when I’d come home after my first trip to Cisco. Love-toy. Could he have known? Nah, no way.

  I sat back in my chair and Striker again took possession of my lap. Sweeper jumped back onto the arm of the chair, then stepped into my lap, nudging Striker to make space for himself.

  Striker had stopped purring during Sweeper’s performance, and now moved to allow Sweeper to settle. As Sweeper curled himself into position, Striker licked my hand with his sandpaper tongue. Sweeper nodded agreement. Both purred again.

  “Now boys, let me tell you about Terri Hart.” I had to stop because of the swelling in my throat. After swallowing several times, and wiping the tears from my eyes, I continued, “She was almost your step-mom.”

  They looked at me as if they’d prefer to return to the cat hotel than listen to another of my stories.

  I told them anyway.

  CASE CLOSED

  ABOUT AUTHOR RANDY RAWLS

  Randy Rawls is a retired US Army officer. After spending twenty years in uniform, he became a civilian employee of the Department of Defense. During those years, he honed his craft as a writer in various leadership and administrative positions. After retiring, he turned his hand to writing fiction.