Elvin Bodner's Stand

by Ronald Gaines

  Elvin

  Bodner’s

  Stand

  By

  Ronald Gaines

  To Jodi and the girls,

  whose love and encouragement

  make it all possible.

  Copyright © 2015 by Ronald Gaines

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious, products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN 13: 978-1505331417

  ISBN 10: 1505331412

  LCCN 2014960257

  Cover Design by Ronald Gaines

  Cover art by Jeremy Sams

  Papaw Publications USA

  CHRONOLOGY

  November 2009

  Shushing Carroll Swicegood 1

  Introducing “Cash” Raskin 5

  December 2009

  Changing the Game 8

  Disorder in the Court 14

  Last Piece of the Puzzle 17

  What’s Up Doc? 22

  January 2010

  All Rise 29

  Promises, Promises 38

  A Concealed Weapon 41

  No Way to Start the Day 49

  February 2010

  Rolling Out New Stands 53

  Close the Door When Leaving 60

  “Cash” and Carla 63

  March 2010

  Special Delivery 67

  Somebody’s Snoopin’ 76

  Killing Time at a Rest Stop 79

  Hello David, Ya There? 86

  One Man Short 93

  It Begins at Stand #12 95

  From Lover to Landlord 100

  April 2010

  Four’s a Crowd 103

  A David Bell Update 106

  Here Comes da Judge 109

  Afternoon Delight 114

  Halftime Awards 121

  Taking Care of Carla 123

  The Scene at Stand #12 127

  This Changes Things 132

  Buenos Dias Senor 136

  A Strategy Session 138

  The Banging Ladies’ Club 142

  The Repercussions Begin 151

  May 2010

  No Way to Treat a Lady 154

  Take a Look for Yourself 162

  A Bizarre Twist 165

  Running Down a Donor 170

  Sparky’s Last Meal 174

  Narrowing the Field 186

  Just in the Nick of Time 192

  August 2010

  Adios Amigo 200

  September 2010

  The Summer of 2010 205

  October 2010

  Keeping On Keeping On 208

  A Downward Spiral 215

  Just Imagine the Unimaginable 219

  Premarital Murder 227

  Old Home Week 230

  1 Shushing Carroll Swicegood

  Saturday, November 21, 2009 11:05 AM

  The story of Elvin Bodner’s Stand begins in a tree near the North Carolina-Georgia border on a cold Saturday morning in November of 2009. Elvin was doing something he thoroughly enjoyed, hunting deer. Thursday and Friday a total of eight were seen, seven does and one spike buck. Since dawn on that Saturday, nothing had shown itself up or down the gentle slope of the ridge.

  It was a little after eleven when he heard the chain hit the ground. In the still air, even the clatter of aluminum reaches your ear. Carroll had taken a bad fall from an Indiana deer stand several years earlier.

  A couple of cracked ribs and a badly sprained elbow slowed him down for several months. For its intended purpose, no doubt the chain was a smarter bet, but it also was more cumbersome and certainly noisier.

  “Swice, you and your chain,” muttered Elvin with a chuckle, as his Browning 308 reached the ground. He had just dropped his end of the rope to pile up on the rifle, when he caught a glimpse of something coming up the ridge. Elvin moved side-to-side trying to see what was making its way through the mountain laurel. Only part of the rack was visible, but there was plenty there to indicate a nice buck.

  The deer stepped into the open and looked to its left. Then its head and neck swung back to the front before dipping to the ground. Two movements followed as the deer turned to the right and looked over his shoulder. Each move led Bodner to believe the buck had gotten up between himself and Carroll, who was hunting about a hundred yards on down the ridge line.

  As his size would indicate, the cautious buck had again chosen the right direction to move away from a startling sound, such as a metal chain hitting the ground twenty feet below a tree stand.

  Then it was almost as if the deer took special notice of the items lying at the foot of the oak. The lunker did nothing less than stroll right up to the base of the tree in which Bodner was sitting. The inquisitive visitor bent over and began to sniff the rope and rifle.

  Are you kidding me? All those scent blockers and look at that buck…Next thing he’ll do is pick up the rifle and take a shot at me. Good grief….Now wait a minute…my camera, I can take a picture to back up the story ain’t nobody gonna believe.

  Elvin slipped the small camera from his shirt pocket and positioned it to his right eye. He could perfectly frame the head of the deer, the rope and rifle. That’s the moment Carroll Swicegood, weaving in-and-out of the thick green leaves, brazenly announced his pending arrival.

  “Hey now, Elvin my man,” was roundly broadcast from the largest clump of rhododendron. Heading up that ridge, all Carroll Swicegood needed was seventy-six trombones.

  The intended photograph from twenty feet above the whitetail’s broad back was never taken – not with the photographer squinting, grinding his teeth and shaking his head. When Elvin opened his eyes again, of course the buck was nowhere to be seen.

  As each closed his door on Elvin’s well-broken-in ’99 Chevy Suburban, Bodner was continuing to show his frustration. The silent treatment was alternated with pithy installments of a lecture on “holding-it-down” when you’re in the woods.

  “I tell ya Swice; you can’t come through the woods sounding like Patton’s 3rd Army and expect to do much good. Maybe it’s all those cacklin’ chickens that’s got you so deaf you can’t hear yourself.”

  Carroll owned and operated three poultry processing plants and a string of chicken houses across two states. It was one of his plant managers in Hall County, Georgia that had arranged the deer hunt near the Georgia-North Carolina line.

  “Oh, I know it “EB”. I ought not’ve yelled out like that, but we’d agreed to meet at eleven o’clock. I hadn’t seen nothin’, and figured the same about you,” replied Swicegood, taking off his hat and dropping it in the front seat between himself and the disgruntled driver.

  For a while Carroll looked out the passenger door window, thinking about events of the late morning. This deer huntin’, I just don’t know. It’s okay, but huntin’ hogs, that big trophy porker, is what I’d like to get you more interested in. With wild hogs, you don’t have to be quiet as a settin’ hen.

  Bodner couldn’t really argue the point. He’d been on one real hog hunt in his life and that was to Texas. On several occasions, he’d spoken to friends about the fun he’d had.

  Bodner had often said “out there they run in packs,” Frankly, he found hunting hogs less tedious than hunting deer, and a good way to enjoy time in a stand.

  2 Introducing “Cash” Raskin

  Monday, November 23, 2009 9:30 AM

  Raymond Elvin Bodner had been a Circuit Court Judge in South Carolina for four years when he and
Carroll Swicegood went on that deer hunt in north Georgia.

  He was well-respected in the state’s legal circles – known for both his sensitivity to the law’s intent, as well as its even-handed enforcement. The Judicial Merit Selection Committee had no difficulty screening and presenting him to the General Assembly for a joint public vote. He was handily elected as a Resident Judge on the General Sessions side of South Carolina’s 17th Judicial Circuit. The Circuit was headquartered in Sturn County. Bodner lived in Sturnburg, the county seat, for a good portion of his life.

  Another Sturnburg resident, Millard “Cash” Raskin, had a reputation in stark contrast to that of Elvin Bodner. Raskin, one of Sturn County’s roughest, had grown increasingly belligerent before Judge Bodner during the early hearings. The well-known rogue’s efforts at verbal intimidation were really revving up as the legal proceedings progressed.

  His mouthy threats were coming almost daily, and each seemed more convincing and increasingly specific. Sturn County jail personnel were called by name as he taunted and threatened Sheriff Bill Andrews’ jailers. Historically, officers felt Raskin was a genuine, pedigreed nut job. And yet, knowing much of his noise was for nothing but show, few doubted he would hurt you under the right circumstances.

  Head Jailer Hal Bruckner walked into the processing room, pulling the cell block door closed behind him. “That damn Raskin is a real jerk. What a screwed up piece of work.”

  Chief Deputy Larry Wyatt was signing paperwork at the counter. “Hal, I believe you’d have to be both of those to throw your eleven-month-old daughter against the kitchen wall.”

  “Say what?” responded Bruckner.

  Wyatt never looked up from the forms lying on the counter in from of him. “Yeah, that hairball couldn’t get his baby girl to stop crying, so he threw her against the kitchen wall. Of course, that stopped her. She’ll never make another sound.”

  Wyatt looked up from his notes and continued.

  “And get this. His wife was boiling bottles at the time, and he held her hand in the hot water for trying to make him stop yelling about the little girl. That’s when he stopped the crying by walking across the kitchen and hurling the baby into the wall. Class act huh?”

  That was the moment Bruckner knew soft drinks, tea refills, properly seasoned food and anything resembling a dessert would no longer be going to cell #8.

  3 Changing the Game

  Friday, December 11, 2009 9:00 AM

  Brenda Page was the best Legal Assistant Elvin Bodner had ever seen and he’d seen more than a few. Since her recent divorce she’d thrown herself into her work. There were no children and no more bumps and bruises from an abusive, two-timing husband. There was only her job, which she took seriously and enjoyed greatly.

  As always, Brenda walked into Bodner’s office promptly at nine o’clock, carrying an armful of files over to his work table.

  “Good morning Your Honor. Here are the files pertaining to what’s on your calendar today and next week. Just let me know if there’s something I might have left out and I’ll bring it right in.”

  “Brenda, you’re a good one. Thank you very much.”

  “Oh yes, I was thinking on the way in this morning. I never asked how your hunting trip went with Mr. Swicegood a couple of weeks back.”

  “You mean me and chicken farming’s number one contribution to the deer hunting’s drum and bugle corps?”

  “Sir?”

  The Judge laughed. “Oh never mind, it’s just an inside joke. Yes, the trip went well thank you. We enjoyed very much the folk’s hospitality up in Gainesville. We didn’t do any shooting though and I don’t have any pictures. And there’s one in particular I really wish I had, but right before I hit the shutter button, I sort of got interrupted.”

  While walking back to the reception area, Brenda looked a little befuddled by the answer.

  A few minutes later, there was a phone call. The Judge could hear Brenda’s voice in the next room, always professional and always pleasant.

  “Good morning, Judge Bodner’s office. Oh, hey Mr. Swicegood, hope you’re doing well this morning.”

  “I certainly am Brenda. Thanks for asking. Is the Judge available?”

  “Yes sir, let me just see if this is a good time.”

  Hitting the hold button, Brenda announced what Judge Bodner already knew. “Your Honor, Carroll Swicegood is on the phone.”

  That old boy must have a fly on my wall.

  “Good morning Swice. Did you buy that duct tape for your mouth, like I suggested for our next deer hunting trip?”

  “Now Elvin, that wasn’t particularly funny the first time you said it. And it ain’t funny this morning! I’ll buy the tape if you’ll buy some cotton for your ears.”

  Both men had a laugh as they had done many, many times before.

  “Good mornin’ to you Elvin. Hope you’re off to a good start this Friday,” said Swicegood, as the laughter began to fade.

  “So far so good, but the day is young brother Swicegood.”

  Bodner settled back in his chair to listen as his friend summarized a proposal for their next trip. The chicken processor had been thinking about their exchange in the car. If he could just get the Judge into the hog hunting groove, Carroll was certain His Honor would be bitten by the bug.

  “Oh man, I don’t know Carroll. Janeen has quite a schedule laid out for us between now and the first of the year. I know there are three parties, a couple of family get-togethers and some other stuff she’s committed to.”

  “We don’t have to go this month Elvin. Myron said he had a busy few weeks ahead. I can check on sometime in January or even February.”

  Carroll lost his wife in 2003 and was more flexible on the home front than either Myron Marks or Elvin Bodner. Sometimes Carroll seemed to forget or just overlook that fact, calling to propose trips and ending up clearly disappointed when the Judge or Myron Marks was unable to arrange things at home.

  “Well, did Myron end up saying he’d go?”

  “He told me to go ahead and get something set up. I haven’t talked to the Brantleys yet to see what dates are available. I’d just want us to go before the weather gets too hot.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t feel right to hunt anything while you’re sweatin’ through a t-shirt,” agreed Bodner.

  “Didn’t you say you’d hunted there before Elvin?”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve been down there several times for deer back when Nelson Brantley was alive, but it’s been a while. I don’t really know why it’s been so long. I’ve heard lots of good things about their hunts since his boy took over.”

  “Well, they may not have the hogs stickin’ out of every pocket like the people in Texas or even north Florida, but there’s more than enough to go around. You don’t have to ride two days to get to your stand either,” said Carroll.

  “No doubt about it, that’s one real advantage. Alright Swice, you get something scheduled and let me know about the dates as soon as you can. I’ll get to work on my calendar – no bad conflicts and I’m ready to go. But listen Swice, I’m thumbing through my calendar here and I’ve got a cramped January and first half of February. See if you can get us set up for the front end of March, okay?”

  “I’ll do it. Hopefully the Brantley’s can offer us several options on dates.”

  “Good deal buddy, looking forward to being with you two,” said the Judge.

  After hanging up the phone, Elvin leaned back in his chair to more align his request with the open door.

  “Brenda, please make a note around the middle of February regarding a possible hunting trip with Swicegood and Myron Marks. If I haven’t heard anything by then, I’ll have to call him back…don’t have any other details for you right now.”

  At the time, Judge Bodner had no idea how far beyond mid-February upcoming events would delay a trip to Brantley Hunting Lodge.

  4 Disorder in the Court

  Friday, December 11, 2009 1:00 PM

  One of the files Brenda bro
ught to Elvin Bodner’s office that morning was tabbed: “Raskin, Millard “Cash” DOB 7-18-83”. It contained a photograph and stack of materials relative to various illegal activities. There were also notes on the defendant’s next court date, which happened to be set for that afternoon, December 11th at 1:00 PM.

  The previous appearances had been quite a show, with the defendant’s antics right on the edge of getting him in real trouble with the Judge. His Honor spent time over lunch refreshing himself on details before heading to the courtroom.

  Raskin was led in promptly at one o’clock with that smug grin everyone had come to expect. Even cleaned up and reasonably well dressed, he looked full of it. When younger, Raskin had been tireless in building a reputation as one of the county’s top tough guys. But now he’d grown older, and the youthful thug demeanor had morphed into that of a serious criminal. A total of seven years hard time helped with the transition.

  Keenon “Shorty” Roberts, his somewhat reluctant, court-appointed attorney was dressed to impress that Friday afternoon. He’d chosen the cheesy, green-plaid suit he donned so often. The tie was a real standout; it matched nothing he was wearing – perhaps something back home in his closet, but nothing he was wearing that day.

  “Mr. Roberts, you’re looking fit to kill this afternoon,” noted Judge Bodner.

  “I thank you Judge.”

  The pint-sized counselor obviously didn’t pick up on the sideways compliment. Raskin dialed right in with a quick look over at Keenon Roberts and a follow up grin at the Judge. Any cutting or belittling comment, regardless of how shallow and inoffensive, Millard Raskin always found funny.

  With minimal education, he was best at simple things. Once in his youth, emptying a pistol into a rusted-out drink machine in the woods below his father’s house became one of his oft-repeated claims to wit, creativity and good humor. He was easily amused.