The older men at the bar slowly stood. From their pockets a variety of knives, straight razors, and brass knuckles appeared. They quietly made their way toward the tables unnoticed, as the group of five young men taunted and insulted Edgar.
“OK, that’s enough!” Wolf shouted from the stage. He stood at the edge of the tiny platform, and Cole could see what a big, big man he was. “I said, that’s enough!” His voice seemed to fill the small club like thunder from above. He handed Cole his guitar.
“Whachugonna do ‘bout it, gran’pa?” The slapper scoffed and laughed, pointing at the big grey-haired man on the stage. “I don’t think so.”
A blanket of uneasy silence seemed to cover the small club. The Slapper’s four friends directed their attention to Wolf. All wore smirks of “you’re gonna get it now” across their faces. The Slapper took two steps toward Wolf.
Cole looked at Edgar who had just been handed a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun one of the old men brought from under the bar.
“You want us to teach ‘em how to behave?” a big-bellied man asked from behind the five unwelcome patrons.
“Nope, I got this,” Wolf said calmly.
Without another word, Wolf reached back and pulled a .32 automatic from his waistband. It was a finely etched, nickel-plated “Tuxedo Colt” with mother-of-pearl hand grips. Wolf pointed it, full arm’s reach, straight at the slapper’s forehead.
“Hey, now! Hey, now!” Slapper said with hands raised high. “We don’t want no trouble!”
“Y’all have a funny way of showing it. First, you put hands on my friend here,” Wolf gave a quick flick of the gun towards Cole, “and try and take his seat, then you insult my cousin, and then…and then, worst of all, you call me Gran’pa! It’s time for you and yo’ jive ass friends to get on back to your cradle, yo’ mama’s waitin’ supper on you.”
“Hey man, no need ta point no gun at us!” Slapper protested.
“Tell you what, skinny, you git out an’ never some back b’foe I have you kiss my wrinkly ol’ black grandpa ass.” Wolf jabbed the gun towards the slapper. “Now git!”
Slapper turned and gave his friends a jerk of his head and started for the door. The old black men from the bar formed a gauntlet and slapped their palms with the razors, brass knuckles and knife blades they held, ready for use.
As slapper reached the front door, Wolf fired hitting the header just above the open door. Everyone behind the slapper began to shove and break ranks running out the door.
The club filled with the uproarious laughter and comments of the men from the bar. Wolf looked down and smiled at Cole.
“Shall we continue?”
Cole handed the big man his guitar. Before he could be seated a large group of men started through the door. In front was a man in a grey fedora that looked as big around as he was tall. Behind him, a younger man carried a standup bass in a brown canvas cover.
“Willie!” Wolf shouted.
Through the doorway flowed men carrying guitar cases, amps, drums and for each one there seemed to be two women dressed up for a night on the town.
“Where have you been?” Kelly asked interrupting Cole’s memory.
“Chicago.” Cole smiled and signaled to turn on Ben and Erin’s street.
Dinner at Erin and Ben’s was always a pleasure. Cole loved having a family. After spending years alone, his daughter Erin entering his life was a surprise gift that erased all the loneliness. The addition of Ben’s mother Kelly to the mix was a blessing he would never have dared to dream of. They were indeed a blended family.
Then there was Jenny. Cole’s granddaughter was a constant source of wonder and delight. She was seven, going on sixteen. She could talk circles around both her mother and grandmother, which is no small feat. She always kept Cole on his toes and his pockets empty of change.
Cole rang the doorbell.
“I bet they’re going to tell us they are naming the baby Cole,” Kelly teased.
“I’ll take that bet!” Cole laughed and turned to Kelly. “My money is on Grace Kelly Mitchell.”
The door opened and squeals of “Grandpa! Grandma! You’re here!” filled the air.
“Hey, sport, how you doin’?” Cole responded.
“You guys want to see my new books? I got three. One is about a boy who can fly in his lawn chair with balloons tied to it.”
“How about after dinner? Then you can read it to us,” Kelly said, going in the house.
“Works for me!” Jenny spun around and disappeared before Cole made it through the door.
“Hi. Long time no see,” Ben said, giving his mother a peck on the cheek.
“In here,” Erin called from the kitchen.
“Sounds like a cry for help,” Cole said, making his way to the kitchen.
“Father, dear, can you come taste this?” Erin called out with an unfamiliar pleading in her voice.”
The counter and stove looked like a food truck exploded in the housewares department of Macy’s. Cole tried to assess the damage and figure out what Erin was attempting to prepare. Her cookbook was speckled with a Jason Pollack abstract of spattered grease and a palette of crimson sauces.
“This isn’t working.”
Cole smiled. “Depends on your objective.”
“That’s not funny!” Erin burst into tears.
“Sorry.” Cole crossed the kitchen and took Erin in his arms. Her ever growing baby bump took Cole by surprise.
“Stupid hormones! I can’t think straight. Stupid tsp and Tbsp!” Erin tossed the measuring spoons on the counter behind her.
“I know a great little Mexican place. I’ll pay. Kelly and I will clean up this…” Cole paused, as Erin began to laugh.
“Pretty bad, huh?
“I’ve made bigger messes, but they usually involved motor oil. What are you fixing?” Cole asked, fearing another flood of tears.
“Goulash with handmade Spätzlenoodles.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I saw paprika and grabbed cayenne out of the cupboard. They are kind of the same color, right? Anybody could make that mistake, right?”
“Anybody with company coming, a high-maintenance, seven-year old running around, and who’s six months pregnant, sure.”
“There is even more to it than that,” Erin said softly. “Can you have Kelly come in here, please?”
“Hey, Kell’! Can you give us some input here?” Cole called toward the family room.
Cole realized the dinner disaster was not the root of his daughter’s stress.
“They’re watching the game. Thanks for saving me!” Kelly entered the kitchen.
Erin turned and pushed her hair behind her ears, and smiled sheepishly at Kelly.
“Did I miss something?” Kelly asked.
“We’re suffering from a hormonal spike,” Cole offered.
“It’s not just that,” Erin started sobbing again.
“Oh, sweetie.” Kelly moved to where Cole and Erin stood in front of the stove. “Group hug?”
Erin planted her face into Cole’s shoulder and sobbed quietly. Kelly looked at Cole with a raised eyebrow, what-is-this-about, look. A few moments later Erin pulled back and wiped her eyes.
“Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s OK. Let it out if you need to.”
“It just all too much. The baby, the house, keeping up with Jenny, and then Ben drops the atomic bomb on me last week, and I’m just overwhelmed. And just look at this kitchen!”
“We can deal with the kitchen. What atomic bomb?” Kelly asked, fearing the absolute worst.
“He was waiting until tonight to tell you.”
“Tell us what?” Cole questioned, sensing Kelly’s apprehension.
“We’re moving to Texas!” With that Erin began sobbing again.
Kelly leaned back against the counter. “What?”
“Ben was offered a job at Texas Children’s Hospital, in Houston, as head of pediatric cardiology. We leave in a month. I don’t
want my baby born in Texas. I don’t want to live in Texas. I don’t want Jenny to grow up in Texas. This is my home, and this is where you guys are.”
Cole felt like he swallowed a grapefruit. He looked over at Kelly who was leaning against the counter, milliseconds from crying.
“Come, sit.” Kelly reached out and took Erin’s hand and directed her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Let me tell you a story.”
Erin drew squares then circles with her finger on the top of the table.
“A nice young man from Connecticut came to Colorado to do his residency at St. Francis Hospital in my hometown of Colorado Springs. He was tall, handsome, and my Prince Charming. I think you know the rest of the story. The point is, he was offered a teaching fellowship in San Francisco. I cried, pouted, sulked, and begged that we not leave. In the end, I realized my selfishness was standing in the way of a tremendous opportunity. I prayed and prayed and asked God to give me peace and a willingness to give up the life I always loved for a new life, full of new opportunities. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here, any of us. We don’t know God’s plan, we only know what we are comfortable with.”
“How did you leave your family?” Erin sniffed and looked deep into Kelly’s eyes.
“It was then I realized that Peter and Ben were my family. I know the hurt, and feeling of separation. It was during those five years I became the woman I am today. I was forced to grow in ways I never knew even existed. We’re here, and we’ll be there, as often as you want us.”
Cole took a seat next to Erin and put his arm around her shoulder.
“Oh, Daddy.” Erin buried her face in Cole’s shoulder.
Cole closed his eyes fighting back tears. Since Ellie, Erin’s mother, introduced him to his daughter, shortly before she passed away, Cole lost his one great love and Erin lost her mother. In the years since, as they grew together as father and daughter, Erin never once called him Daddy.
“I love you, sweetheart,” Cole whispered. His heart sank, and a dark blanket of sorrow enfolded him, as the dread of their separation swept over him.
Chapter Five
Cole awoke sideways in his bed with the top sheet wound tightly around his left arm. His night had been a succession of fitful dreams, nightmares really. Erin and her family, in Texas, was the constant. Fits and starts of dream images, buried memories, and gooey fragments of things real and imagined. His dreams felt like the sabotaged niceties of his waking hours, post cards from his subconscious, subway posters of dread and guilt. The triggers were many and the manifestations painful. In the last seven hours, Cole Sage tossed, turned, sweated, and trembled his way through hellish tableaus, Technicolor Imax memories, and had returned exhausted.
His life didn’t pass in front of him, but rather he relived moments of terror, bravery, and shameful cowardice. Cole didn’t dream often, seldom would be more accurate; during the night he made up for the long period of peaceful sleep.
As he lay drifting in that cloudy, nearly awake place between get up and nap, snippets of dream images shot across the ceiling above. The room still was awash with the gray shadows of early morning. The digital clock’s red number reported 5:40 and Cole rolled onto his side hoping to capture a few more minutes of sleep before the alarm would force him to face the day.
Sleep is the great deceiver and hider of time. Moments could pass for hours, undisturbed—one never knew. The chirp of the alarm seemed to erase the tormented sleep from Cole’s mind. He sat and rubbed his hands briskly up and down on his face.
“Up, up and way!” Cole mumbled, standing, and making his way to the shower.
One and a half bagels, and a hot, steamy, mocha later, he was on his way to see what the new day would bring. He kicked the paper on the porch aside. Untypically, he turned on CNN and forgot to get the paper earlier. He missed the front page story about the strange rash of fatal stabbings in the city. With the turmoil at the paper and the introduction of Lindsey to the media mix, news of the city was the last thing on his mind.
Arriving early at his office, Cole was ready to do his part. As he waited for someone to pick up at Child Protective Services, he shuffled a stack of notes for his Sanctuary City story.
A pleasant feminine voice greeted him: “Good morning, Child Protective Services. How may I direct your call?”
Cole scrambled through the pile of notes for the scrap of paper where he wrote the name of Kelly’s friend.
“Yes, good morning. David Elmore, please.”
After a brief wait, a different woman’s voice said, “Mr. Elmore’s office, Faith speaking.”
“Good morning, Faith, Cole Sage calling, is Mr. Elmore in?”
“Cole, Kelly’s friend, right?” Elmore said picking up the phone. The voice was strong, confident, and a rich baritone. “She e-mailed me and said you might be calling.”
“Yep, that’s me.” Cole knew he was going to like this guy,
“What can I do for you?”
Cole gave Elmore the Reader’s Digest version of Lindsey’s story and asked how to get Hanna appointed Lindsey’s guardian.”
“Damn.” Elmore sounded suddenly deflated.
“Can’t do it?”
“No, it’s not that. I was hoping you were calling to do a story on us.”
“We can do that, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“What’s the angle?” Cole inquired.
“Understaffed, budget cuts, and an explosive increase in kids who need help.”
“My kind of story.”
“We have two supervisors that are more interested in getting their names in the paper, supporting various causes, than allocating funds for the real programs that help real kids in real danger.” David Elmore was getting excited and switched to full fighting mode. “But, first things first: tell me about your friend.”
“Hanna Day, my secretary, slash, assistant: stable, street smart, no-nonsense fighter for truth, justice, and the American way,” Cole chuckled. “She has a two-bedroom apartment, a good income, no criminal record. What else ya need?”
“Address, phone, and e-mail.”
Cole gave Elmore the contact information and his too, for good measure.
“OK, she’s good to go.”
“That’s it?” Cole said, a bit shocked at the lack of red tape.
“Lindsey’s in a bad place? Hanna is willing to take care of her and make sure she’s in school? Feed her? Give her a real bed to sleep in? Isn’t in it for the money?”
“Well, ya, of course. I mean, no, money doesn’t enter into it.”
“Then Hanna is a better guardian than 90% of the people I deal with.”
“When should she come in to sign papers or whatever?”
“No point. I’ll put something in the file. It will take six months to get to the top of the pile. Nobody’ll know the difference.” Elmore sighed. “That’s what I mean, between the foster care system, and the county referral program, money gets the wheels to stop squealing. ‘Where’s my check, I’ve had this kid two months!’—I hear it every twenty minutes. Tell Hanna she’ll have an emergency check by the weekend. I’ll fax you over the docs so she can get on the list at Lindsey’s school.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to say.” Cole was truly shocked at Elmore’s handling, or not handling, of Lindsey’s case.
“Say you do your magic and fry the hides of those two publicity hogs on the Board and get us some attention. My door is wide open and I’ll get you complete access to anything in the building.”
“Deal!” If Cole could tie the two supervisors to the Sanctuary City mess, it would kill two birds with one stone. “How about I come in this afternoon?”
“Come at noon and I’ll buy lunch!”
“You’re on.”
As planned, Lindsey met Hanna promptly at 7:15 in front of the Chronicle.
“Do I really have to go to school?” Lindsey protested. “I could just work at the paper with you. I could file things, and go get stuff. I could be you
r go-fer!”
“A deal’s a deal. You go to school, and then you can come back to the paper. Grades up, perfect attendance, and you’re set. Screw up, and back to mom you go. Got it?” Hanna was bluffing about the back-to-mom part, but on the rest…she meant business. “Let’s get rolling. I can’t be late for work.”
“OK, Mom!” Lindsey teased, but deep down she was thrilled with the image she saw. She was living in a scene from a TV show with a normal mom and her teenage daughter.
The halls of Lindsey’s school were old and dark. Butcher paper signs for an upcoming football game and class elections were the bright spots as Hanna and Lindsey made their way to the attendance office. The hallway was packed and the roar of a thousand kids on their way to class was deafening.
“This looks just like my high school. Time doesn’t change some things,” Hanna said over the noise of the crowed hallway. They approached the window marked A-G.
“Good morning,” a dark-haired woman with bright eyes and a big smile said in welcome.
“Good morning. We need to clear up some absences, and get me put on Lindsey’s emergency contacts list.”
“Are you mom?”
“No, I’m a temporary guardian.”
“Oh, for the safety of the student, may I have your paperwork, please.
“That’s being processed.” Hanna felt problems looming.
“Sorry, I can’t help you because you’re not on the emergency list. As soon as you have your paperwork though, we’ll get you all squared away.”
“I’m sorry,” Hanna began, “What did you say your name was?”
“I’m Pamela.”
“Hi, I’m Hanna Day. Is there some way we can have me as a contact until we get the papers to you. I should have them today.”
“Great, then just bring them in. Until then, I’m sorry, I can’t add you to the list.”
“Look,” Hanna lowered her voice to almost a whisper. This child is in a scary place. We really need to make sure she’s safe. In case of an emergency—meaning her mother—I need to be notified.”
“I understand. Until I have a CPS, Welfare, or a court document, my hands are tied.”
Heart of Cole Page 6
