by Nikki Duvall
“I expect this game will change her mind,” Halee said with pride. She kissed Ty on the cheek. “I just need to keep this little guy safe.”
“Once you get into the spotlight, your life isn’t yours anymore. I kept my children under lock and key when they were growing up. Any idea who’s behind this?”
“None.”
“Well, I have a couple of ideas worth hearing.” He peered past Halee at the commotion in the front of the jet. Bobby sidled his way toward the bank of leather seats situated in the middle of the cabin with the usual dour look of a cop who knew and saw too much on a regular basis. He tossed his duffle bag into an overhead bin and peeled off his Cubs jacket. “Robert Pallante,” he said, offering a strong handshake. “I appreciate the ride.”
“Robert,” repeated Jack. “Welcome aboard.”
Rita skipped down the aisle, the very opposite of Bobby, excited as a kid on her way to Disney World. She stopped at the circle of plush leather seating and looked like she might dissolve into tears of joy. Bobby jumped up and slid her tired suitcase into the overhead bin next to his. “You want the aisle or the window, Rita?” he asked, almost reverently.
“Window,” she said with a giggle.
“So you’re the Rita I have heard so much about,” said Jack, taking her hands in both of his. “I picked out today’s dessert just for you. Halee told me you like tiramisu.”
Rita beamed. “Heck, yeh! I mean, yes. Yes, very much. Thank you, Mr. Keeting.”
“Jack, please call me Jack.”
Uncle Gus walked slowly toward them, juggling a cup of coffee, a newspaper, and a lightly packed duffle bag. He kept his head low and angled himself into one of the oversized chairs. “I could get used to this,” he said to Bobby. “Mr. Keeting,” he said, half rising out of his chair and offering a hand. “Gus Benedetto. Grateful for the use of your airplane.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Everyone turned to watch J.D. walking steadily down the center aisle. A thick white bandage hid his left eye; a band of white gauze held the patch in place. His exposed forehead was painted in a mixture of red and dark blue with a tinge of green at the edges. He looked more like a boxer than a baseball player. Halee’s heart filled with joy at the sight of him.
He stopped a foot from Keeting and held out his hand. “I hear we have a lot in common,” said J.D. “Thank you for arranging this.”
“Mr. Shaw. We meet at last.” Keeting shook J.D.’s hand and studied his battered face. “And they say baseball isn’t a contact sport.”
“Think I’ll slide feet first next time.”
Jack laughed. “I admire your decision to play tonight. Only a champion would put himself on the line like this. I hate to admit it, but I do believe you’re worthy of our Halee after all.”
“I’ll do my best to live up to that opinion, Mr. Keeting.”
“Jack. Call me Jack.”
“J.D.”
“Why don’t you use the room in the back, J.D.? You can rest quite comfortably and save up your strength for tonight’s game. I’ll come see you later, talk business. I have some news to share.”
“Thank you.” J.D. headed in that direction, one foot at a time.
Halee plopped Ty on Bobby’s knee and headed in J.D.’s direction. Jack intercepted.
“You want him to win tonight, don’t you?” he asked with a coy smile.
“I just want to be sure he’s comfortable.” She tried to squeeze past.
Jack took her by the arm. “He’s preparing, Halee. Like a warrior for battle, he’s sliding into a zone reserved only for him. We all do it. It’s your job to recognize that, to allow it. You can celebrate later.”
Halee hesitated, continuing to focus on the door to the bedroom where J.D. had disappeared. The pilot’s voice came over the sound system, advising them to buckle their seatbelts for takeoff. “Come join me,” said Jack, taking her hand and leading her to a small sofa at the back of the plane. “I’ll tell you about my grand schemes.”
“I don’t like the way he touches her,” said Bobby to Rita, adjusting his seat belt over his bulky frame.
Rita narrowed her eyes and examined the scene. “All rich guys do that. They like what they see, they think they own it. Halee can fend for herself.”
“What did she have to do to get him to take us to New York?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This guy has prick written all over him. He’s gonna want the favor returned. We shoulda rented a car and driven to New York.”
“Right. Have you ever driven across country with an infant?”
Bobby smirked. “No, but I heard all about it from Gus.”
“Just cool your jets. Big man isn’t gonna try anything with a Chicago cop on board.”
Bobby sat back with a satisfied expression, but continued to watch the scene unfolding on the sofa. By the time they’d climbed to 37,000 feet, Gus was snoring and Ty was sprawled out on the floor, doing the same. There was no sign of J.D. An attractive young waitress appeared from the front of the plane with a cocktail tray and some napkins. “May I get you a drink?” she asked Bobby brightly.
“No, thank you.”
“Beer, wine, soft drinks.”
Bobby waved her away. “Nothing.”
“Lunch?”
“No.”
Rita considered Bobby with a look of suspicion. “I’ll have a beer,” she said. “And I’ll take lunch, too.”
“Yes, of course.” The waitress glanced toward Jack and Halee for a moment, and then disappeared.
“Since when do you turn down a beer and lunch?” asked Rita in a hushed whisper.
“I don’t trust this guy as far as I can throw him,” said Bobby, focusing his steel gaze on Keeting. “Never eat in the house of someone you don’t trust.”
Rita rolled her eyes.
“How did they meet again?”
“On an airplane.”
“What’s he doing flying commercial when he’s got his own jet?”
“How do I know?” Rita grinned widely as she dug into a full plate of fresh sushi, fruit, and salad. “Ah, this is great,” she said, raising a forkful to Bobby’s lips.
He turned away.
“What a grouch.”
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” Bobby pushed off his chair and walked deliberately toward Keeting, never taking his eyes off him. He towered over the sofa where Keeting and Halee were deep in conversation. “I have some information about the kids in St. Louis,” he bellowed without apologizing.
Keeting ignored him, continuing to talk. Halee raised her hand. “Please, Jack,” she said, inching closer to the sofa’s edge.
“Seems there’s no connection between Demarcus Robinson’s gang and the kids in St. Louis,” said Bobby. “The Chicago gang has laid the matter to rest. That means this incident is fresh.”
“So it’s not Chantrell?”
“Not from what I can tell.”
Rita approached from behind. “That’s good news, right?”
“Maybe.” Bobby studied Jack’s reaction. “What did Frank find out?”
Halee shrugged. “The number was masked. It can’t be traced without a court order.”
“So let’s get one.”
“Please,” said Jack, rising from the sofa. “Too many people in the rear of the cabin. We need to redistribute weight.”
Bobby crooked his finger toward Halee. She followed him to the circle of chairs in the center of the cabin. He poked Gus on the shoulder. “Wake up, old man.”
Gus grumbled and stretched. Bobby leaned over. “Look alive. We got trouble,” he said in a low voice. He straightened, meeting Halee’s worried expression head on. “The kids said a blonde woman paid them a hundred bucks to threaten you. That’s all. No kidnapping, no violence. They were just supposed to scare you.”
“Catrina Hiett?”
“Was that the woman at the ballpark?”
Halee nodded.
“Maybe. The kids
said they didn’t get a good look at her. Said she was in a stretch limo a couple blocks away from the ball field. Said there was a man in the car with her. A guy with red hair.”
Halee swallowed hard. “What did she say to them?”
“She told them to go to the hospital emergency room and look for a white woman with a black baby.”
“So she had to know where we were going.”
“She had to know you were going at all.”
Halee gasped. She shook her head. “No.”
“Who wants J.D. to come clean about his shoulder?”
“Catrina.”
“Who else?”
Jack came up behind them and slid his arm around Halee’s waist. “Everything alright?”
Bobby strode to the cockpit and knocked on the door.
“You can’t go in there,” Jack shouted from behind.
Bobby entered the cockpit and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. “Where are you taking us?” he asked.
“You can’t be in here,” the pilot said, reaching for his gun.
Bobby flashed his badge. “Where did Keeting say we were going?”
The pilot hesitated. “My orders are to fly to Mr. Keeting’s summer home on Cape Cod.”
“Change in plans,” said Bobby. “New York LaGuardia. Call ahead and have a helicopter waiting to take us to Federal Stadium.” He pulled out his cell phone. “This thing work in here?”
“Yes, but…”
“Detective Rory O’Brien,” Bobby barked into his cell phone. “It’s an emergency.”
***
Faye leaned back in the chair at Carly Gershall’s beauty salon and closed her eyes. There was really nothing as soothing as getting your hair washed. After a week wondering what to do about Hank’s proposal, it was good to surrender to Carly’s comforting touch.
“Why ain’t you in New York, Faye? I’da thought you’d have a front row ticket to tonight’s game.”
“I’ll be truthful with ya, Carly,” said Faye. “I just can’t stand the big city. Me and Hank are fixin’ to watch the game on the big screen down at Fat Jimmy’s with everybody else.”
“So you want to look nice for your picture in the paper?”
Faye grinned.
“I have a good feeling about this,” said Carly, squeezing Faye’s shoulder. “I just know J.D. is gonna win the whole thing tonight.”
“I know it too,” said Faye. “I know it clean to my toes.”
“That’s nice of Hank, taking you down to Fat Jimmy’s. It can get pretty wild down there. Best to go with a man.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“I suppose he needs some cheering up. He can’t be feeling all that good, what with losing the ranch.”
Faye opened her eyes. “What did you say?”
“Hank losing the ranch. Betty Fraser told me. She and Hank broke up a few weeks back after he asked her to marry him. Turns out they was courtin’ quite a while. Surprised us all.”
“Hank courtin’ Betty Fraser?”
“Why yes, didn’t you know? Her cousin works down at the clerk’s office. Says his taxes are overdue a couple of years now. Betty said she ain’t marrying no poor man.”
Faye started to sit up.
“Hold up now.” Carly placed a warm towel over Faye’s freshly washed hair and rubbed lightly.
“That can’t be right,” said Faye. Her hands were shaking; her breath was stuck in her lungs. “Hank’s selling. He’s gonna sell to J.D.”
“Well he’d better hurry up. Some business out of New York is fixin’ to get the place for the price of the taxes. Betty’s cousin says that’s all it’ll take. There ain’t no note on it, been paid off for years. You know the government. They want their damn taxes.”
“Dry my hair!” said Faye.
“But I ain’t cut it yet…”
“Dry it, Carly, or I’ll walk outa here with it wet and everybody will wonder what kinda operation you’re running!”
“Well, I’ll be!” Carly hurried over to her station and grabbed a blow dryer. “What are you in such a hurry for?”
“I got business to take care of.”
“All’s I need is twenty minutes and you’ll be pretty as a picture.”
“I ain’t got twenty minutes.” Faye pulled the cape from her shoulders and stood. “I’m sorry, Carly. I’ll make another appointment.” She rushed to the door and let it slam behind her.
The old Buick was burning up to about one hundred degrees inside when Faye slid herself onto the front seat. The contrast felt good with the chill of her damp hair. Her fingers shook as she tried to grip the hot steering wheel. Taxes? Why hadn’t Hank told her? Why had he lied to her about the ranch?
And then it came to her. Her stomach tightened into a ball and squeezed. It had taken thirty years and a rejection from Betty Fraser to make Hank Long desperate enough to ask her to marry him. And she’d fallen for it, just like a school girl.
She rolled the window down all the way and dipped her head out, hoping not to throw up before she reached the clerk’s office. The rich aroma of newly cut hay filled her nostrils, comforting her with the familiar smell of home. She pushed her face out further, allowing hot air to sandblast her dry skin. Somehow pain was what she needed right now, physical pain to remind her she was alive. For better or worse, she was alive.
The county clerk’s office was a short ten minute ride from the beauty salon, yet it seemed like the longest ride of her life. In better times the office would be open till five, but times weren’t better, and all county offices closed at noon on Friday. Faye couldn’t help but stare at the clock on her dashboard as the minutes ticked away. All it would take to lose the ranch she had dreamed about owning her whole life was one slow train. She held her breath as she approached the tracks that split Kadele in two and listened for the slow sad whistle. Without a look either way, she floored the gas pedal, shooting the old Buick across the tracks just as the guard rails started to lower.
“Thelma and Louise!” she shouted. “You ain’t got nothin’ on Faye Shaw!”
Her eyes caught sight of flashing lights in her rear view mirror. Curtis Jones’ fat face glared at her from the patrol car inches from her bumper. He motioned for her to pull over. She pushed the gas down a little more, took two corners at mach speed, and double parked in front of the clerk’s office.
“Not now, Curtis,” she warned, hurrying up the three steps. She pushed on the locked door, peering through the glass. “Let me in!” she yelled, beating on the glass. “It’s 11:57. I got a right to come in!”
A young man in a white shirt and skinny tie approached from inside and pointed at the sign in the window. “Closed,” he mouthed, as if she couldn’t read.
“Danny Tarbell, you open this door this minute!”
The young man looked surprised.
“I know who you are. I changed your diapers when your mama took with the fever. I know all your secrets.”
Danny cracked the door. “We’re closed, Ms. Shaw.”
“No, you ain’t.” Faye shoved her way past Danny into the office. “Fire up your computer. I got some important business to take care of.”
“You’ll have to come back on Monday, Ms. Shaw.”
“Monday will be too late. I wanna pay the taxes on Hank Long’s ranch. I wanna buy the place out from under him.”
Danny considered. “It’s a large sum of money, Ms. Shaw…”
“I got it.”
Danny smiled. “I don’t think you understand.”
“How much?” Faye demanded.
Danny sighed and logged on to his desktop computer. “Give me a minute.”
“You look just like your father,” Faye said whimsically. “He’s a good man, too.”
Danny smiled and pulled at his tie. “Here we go. The taxes are scheduled for payment this afternoon. Some LLC out of New York.”
“Cancel the payment.”
“I can’t do that.”
Faye leaned in closer. “Danny,
listen up. Your family was one of the first to break ground in this county. They’ve stuck to this place through good times and bad times. What do you think your granddaddy would say if you let Hank’s land go to some person with no name from New York?”
Danny rubbed his chin.
“You think they’re gonna farm that land, Danny? Or maybe your granddaddy don’t care if they build a hundred McMansions and change this place overnight.”
Danny sighed. “It’s outa my hands…”
“How much are the taxes?”
“Thirty seven thousand,” said Danny softly.
Faye leaned back in her chair, stunned.
“I’m sorry.”
Faye took a deep breath and reached into her purse. “Will you take a check?”
Danny snorted. “Well, yes…”
“I’ve been saving every dime J.D.’s sent me over the years, hopin’ someday I’d know what to do with it.” She wrote slowly, clearly, then tore off the check and handed it to Danny. “I never thought it would buy me a ranch.”
Danny held the check up to the light. “Well, I’ll be…”
“Now run that piece of paper through your system and cancel that fancy New York check. Kadele will be better for it.”
Danny squinted his eyes at the screen and busied his fingers on the keyboard. Five minutes later he smiled and blew out a big breath. “I believe you just bought yourself a ranch, Ms. Shaw.”
“You done a good thing, young Daniel,” said Faye, getting up to leave. “Your granddaddy is smiling down on you from heaven.”
“Aren’t you going to wait for a receipt?” asked Danny.
“Send it to me in the mail,” said Faye. “I got a ball game to get to.”
~THIRTY-ONE~
J.D. took the elevator to the Federals Owners Skybox and handed the attendant a fifty dollar bill before exiting. “Hold it for me, would ya?” he said. “This won’t take long.”
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Shaw,” said the young Latino man. His eyes roamed over J.D.’s freshly pressed uniform with quiet reverence. J.D. walk down the short corridor toward the party in progress, his oiled glove tucked tightly under one arm, his cleats digging into the thick patterned carpet and leaving their marks in his wake. A corner of the attendant’s lips lifted. “Tell ‘em to kiss your ass,” he mumbled under his breath.
