Elvin Bodner's Stand

by Ronald Gaines

  His next call was to Sheriff Bill Andrew’s office in Sturnburg.

  “Sheriff Andrews please.” He caught himself tapping the steering with his left hand as he nervously waited.

  “This is Sheriff Andrews.”

  “Bill, Ken Stepp here.”

  “Hey Solicitor, hope you’re okay today.”

  “I’m not sure how if I am or not. Sheriff, I just got a message from Cash Raskin.”

  “Raskin? You sure it was him?”

  “Yes, I’m sure it was him. He said my name really slow, like I heard him do about every other day in court. It was Cash Raskin alright.”

  “Where are you now Ken?”

  “Oh, let’s see. I’m about six or seven miles north of Summerville on US 78.”

  “You headed away from home?”

  “No, no, I’m headed back to Sturnburg now. I just took Malinda down to her mom’s place.”….

  “Okay, good. How long is she gonna be there?”

  “Just as long as I can get her to stay.”

  “How long you figure before you get back in town?”

  “About an hour and a half I guess,” said Stepp, still looking obsessively in the rear view mirror.

  “When you get here, come straight to my office.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there…Oh, and Bill, I don’t mind telling you this bullshit’s got me shook up.”

  “I know it has. See you shortly,” said Bill Andrews before hanging up and shouting across the hall – “Larry Wyatt, get in here please!”

  Ken pressed the end-call button and dropped the phone in the passenger seat. Another glance in the rear view mirror was followed by a look in each side mirror. For the first time since hearing the message at work, Ken Stepp felt like he could concentrate on taking a deep breath.

  Where he stopped to use the men’s room wasn’t as fancy as the rest areas over on I-26. It was a smaller facility, a holdover from US Highway 78’s “main route days”.

  Somehow his thoughts were scrambled and sparking in all directions, as he leaned his head on his forearm above the urinal. That’s when a .25 caliber slug entered just behind his right ear. Kenneth Stepp was knocked forward, sliding down the wall toward his knees until his left arm wedged between the chrome handle mechanism and cement block wall.

  Cash Raskin had simply double-timed up behind Ken Stepp and shot him dead. Then the hoodlum turned around, walked out to Carla Bayliss’ still-running car and drove out of the empty rest area.

  Riding some distance behind, the murderer had followed the black Chrysler from the time it pulled out of the Twisted Oak Subdivision until it came to a stop in the US 78 pull off. It was from the car that the warning call had been placed.

  17 Hello David, Ya There?

  Wednesday, March 10, 2010 5:10 PM

  The twelve hunters began arriving around three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. Two hunts a day were scheduled, beginning Thursday morning and running through Saturday afternoon. Three parties made up the group.

  Ken Treadwell and his brother Robert were in from Fayetteville, NC. They had a friend along – Jerry Stancil, Robert’s former roommate at Campbell University.

  One of Butch and Scott’s favorite groups was at the Lodge. The two carloads of Pennsylvanians included Hardy Smith, Mitch Chambers, A. J. Knight and Gary Baldwin from the Philadelphia area. Ellis Byrd, Adam Fletcher and Pete West were from Harrisburg.

  The seven hunters got together through the friendship of A.J. Knight and Pete West. The two played football together at Westminster College in New Wilmington, PA. After being with him half a day, hunters discovered A. J. Knight was the only Brantley regular who could match Carroll Swicegood in the joke-a-minute sweepstakes. However, most of A.J.’s offerings got the result he hoped for – a round of laughter punctuated with a knee-slap here and there.

  The third party was two sisters from Greer, South Carolina – Faye Bowen and Patti Rondel. Thanks to their father, Faye had always enjoyed hunting and fishing. Patti took a little longer to get in the groove. Now in their early fifties, the twosome was likely to call and schedule a hunt most any time. So regular were their visits, the ladies kept a trailer in one of Brantley’s RV spaces throughout the year.

  All twelve were settled in and visiting in the living room around the large stone fireplace, when A.J. Knight offered up his third joke of the evening. Someone had said something about a funeral home, which was the perfect lead in.

  “Speakin’ of funeral homes, did I tell ya the one about the two old boys that took the hearse to pick up a new casket for an upcoming service?”

  “No you didn’t A.J. Tell us what happened,” said Pete West, who was very accustomed to playing the straight man for his old football pal.

  “Well, it seems on the way home the guy in the passenger seat wanted to take a nap. So he just crawled in the back of the ambulance and got in the casket. Looking in the mirror, the driver couldn’t resist swerving back and forth, slinging his buddy from side to side. The back door came open and out the guy went, sitting up in the casket and holding on to both sides. The dolly rolled down the street, bounced over the curb, glanced off a telephone pole and rolled right by a druggist standing in front of his store. The druggist shouted, “Good grief, can I help you?” and the guy yelled back, “Yeah, I’m looking for something to stop this coffin!”

  The round of laughter was loud and genuine. A. J. was one of those guys who could generate as much amusement with the way he told a joke as with the joke itself.

  While the group visited in the living room, Sara Mae was pulling together one of her much-anticipated evening meals. Before it was served, Scott called Eddie, Darnel and David Bell into the kitchen.

  “How ‘bout you guys each take a vehicle and do a quick look-see to make sure the wind this mornin’ didn’t put a tree across the road or, God forbid, across one of those new stands.”

  There hadn’t been much rain, but as the front moved through during the night and early morning hours, things really began to sway.

  No one knew better what strong winds could do to a tall, slender Carolina pine than the guys at the Brantley Lodge. The last big storm to hit Franklin County downed trees in every direction. Yesterday’s and last night’s wind gusts were equal to or a little worse than the one three years back.

  It was almost four thirty when the three vehicles pulled away from the Lodge. The sky was overcast and darkness would only make things more challenging. Beginning the cleanup with nothing but flashlights and auto headlights was an idea no one cherished.

  Darnel was in the ’96 Chevrolet dually, Eddie the Willis Jeep station wagon and David took the ‘93 Hummer H1, affectionately known as “The Big Red Beast”. The only Brantley vehicle left out back was the school bus Specialty Fabrication had converted into an open-air, twenty-seat sightseeing vehicle. When the weather permitted, it was used to drive guests around the hunting layout. It also made the list every year in the Sturnburg Christmas Parade.

  Eddie and Darnell each had a chain saw. David had no power equipment, just an axe and a small cross saw. There were ropes and chains in all three vehicles, in case something sizeable needed to be drug away.

  Young Mr. Bell was excited to be on his own, heading out to do something Butch really needed done. He was in the early stages of feeling like he was one of the guys.

  Eddie Fulford went up along the western side of the property. Quite a bit of that area was open and he wasn’t looking for a lot of downed debris.

  The Brantley veteran, Darnel Stone, took a more central route due north away from the Lodge. David Bell swung toward the east, going up River Bottom Road all the way to the new Connor lease along Turtle River.

  Within his first half mile Eddie was stopped, cutting up a pine that had fallen across the western-most route toward the northern edge of the property. That was followed by several stops to toss large broken limbs into the back of the truck.

  Darnel was breathing a sigh of relief as he took the power saw to a tr
ee that missed one of the new stands by no more than ten feet. He removed several branches from the metal stairway before moving on up the wooded cut to look for more rubble. As with Eddie, there were frequent stops to drag sizable limbs out of the way. However, most of the edges around open areas were proving to be in pretty good shape.

  David was hoping there would continue to be no need for a power saw as he reached the far end of his run. He had already turned around up near the curve where River Bottom Road veers left away from the river, when he saw his first real issue. The large limb’s jagged end had been driven in the ground after cart wheeling from the top of an aging oak.

  That branch ain’t more than three or four inches around. I’ll just pull it out of the ground and drag it on out in that field.

  He backed the Hummer up and turned the headlights toward the broom straw. After making sure the lights were on bright, he jumped to the ground and trotted up to the limb.

  With his back turned to the Hummer, it was not until his second tug that something behind him broke the headlight’s beam. It was quick, almost like a circuit shorted in The Big Red Beast’s wiring, bouncing from high to low and back to high again. One thing was certain; the circuit in David Bell’s head instantly bounced from a question mark to an exclamation point.

  He didn’t move for a moment, remaining bent over with both hands firmly around the branch – his eyes continuing to look into the deepening darkness of the field. Fighting surges of panic, the nineteen-year-old released his hold on the limb and slowly began to stand up. That’s when the beam was broken for the second time.

  Oh God, it stopped between the headlights. It stopped between the headlights to watch me. No animal would do that! The ax….why didn’t I bring that ax?

  When the beam winked again, the elongated shadow’s movement spoke clearly. Someone was moving up quickly from behind. In an instant, the Brantley newcomer’s reflexive turn to the right jerked to a stop and exploded into a desperate struggle for survival – the last struggle of David Bell’s short life.

  The two-way radio on the Hummer’s console would go unanswered – “David, this is Eddie, you copy….Hello David, this is Eddie you copy….David, ya there?”

  18 We’re One Man Short

  Wednesday, March 10, 2010 7:50 PM

  Eddie pulled up at the Lodge a little before eight o’clock and headed in to try and get some pine resin off his arm.

  “How rough did things look Eddie?” asked Scott who was still walking around after dinner with a fork and saucer in his hand, eating a piece of Sara Mae’s coffee cake. There was a glass of milk in his other hand. For a man who typically started his day well before five AM on cold mornings, not liking coffee had gotten him more than his share of razzing.

  “Not as bad as I thought it was gonna be. There was only one tree across a road and it didn’t take me long to cut it up and drag it off. Darnel’s not back yet, right?” asked Eddie, dabbing his scraped arm with a wet paper towel.

  “Don’t think so,” replied Scott.

  “No Hummer. Don’t guess David’s back either.”

  Darnel walked in the back door, joining Eddie at the kitchen sink.

  “You see much down Darnel?”

  “Eddie, it wasn’t as torn up as you might expect. The way that wind sounded early this mornin’, I was lookin’ for quite a bit of broken stuff. I rode over by the #2 pond, and there were two pines that had fallen into the water. We can get those cut up later; they’re no problem for the next few days.”

  “We heard anything from David?” asked Darnel.

  “He and I talked on the radio right after we all left, but nothing since. I called him a couple of times as I was coming back. He didn’t answer though,” said Eddie.

  In the few weeks the youngster had been on board, Darnel had taken a liking to him. He didn’t really know any details, but it seemed to him like David had come up hard – little or no family life. Darnel was quickly growing concerned about the newcomer. He only had a simple run to make, and he’s gone now almost two and a half hours.

  “Where you goin’ Darnel?” asked Eddie, as his colleague pulled the back door closed, without offering an answer to Eddie’s question.

  Darnel’s thoughts were racing…maybe he’s taken on more than he could handle, tackling a tree that was no one-man job. I know he’s subject to do that…rather than “cry uncle” and call for help.

  Darnel Stone headed for River Bottom Road.

  19 It Begins at Stand #12

  Wednesday, March 10, 2010 8:10 PM

  He saw the headlights long before he got to the Hummer. The vehicle was headed south, back toward the Lodge on River Bottom Road. Darnel had let himself get more and more concerned after hearing David didn’t respond to Eddie’s repeated radio calls. He was thinking about this being his first trip on his own, and the way fallen trees can play tricks on you in the dark. However, just seeing the lights brought a little relief.

  There he is….good deal....he’s headed back and probably stopped to get a few last limbs out of the way. Come on David, there’s gonna be nothing left to eat my young friend!

  Darnel stopped the dually in front of the Hummer and slipped the shifter into park. Then he walked around to the driver’s side of the Hummer, where he came to a sudden stop. The door was open; the engine was running; the radio was playing some country song and Butch Brantley was calling on a two-way lying on the Hummer console.

  “Darnel, this is Butch, you read me…”

  Darnel Stone stood motionless, taking in the eeriness of the scene. Even with the radio and engine running, there was a strange silence.

  “David….David….David Bell!” shouted Stone.

  There were all the trappings of a Brantley employee at work, but there was no movement, nothing happening and no one around. He picked up the radio, still dealing with the numbing effect of what he’d found.

  “Go ahead Butch.”

  “You find him Stoney?”

  “Found the Hummer, but no sign of David.”

  “Where’s the Hummer?”

  “It’s in front of #12, right in the middle of River Bottom Road. The headlights are on; the radio’s blaring; the driver’s door is open and the engine’s running big as you please.”

  “Aw Darnel, that’s crazy. You yell for him?”

  “Yes sir – two or three times. I really don’t like how this looks boss!”

  “Okay Stoney, Eddie and I’ll be right there with the two big hand-held lights. He’s gotta be close. We’ll find the boy!” Butch asked Scott to stay at the Lodge with the guests. Eddie got the two lights out of a kitchen cabinet before he and Butch slipped out the back door.

  The hunters had broken up into two groups after dinner. The Philadelphia foursome and Pete West were in the living room involved in a full-blown bull session. Chips, dips and a beer or two had greased their wheels.

  Jerry Stancil was playing cards at the kitchen table with the Treadwell brothers and Ellis Byrd. Adam Fletcher, who’d been taking a shower walked into the dining room, buttoning his shirt.

  “Where’s everybody going? I just heard that growlin’ Jeep crank up and light outta here.”

  “Don’t rightly know Fletch,” said Ellis, never looking up from his troublesome poker hand.

  As fast as he dare, Eddie Fulford hustled the Willis wagon up River Bottom Road toward stand #12. The threat of a deer, hog or flock of turkeys suddenly appearing in the road was a real concern. As they approached the back of the dually, Darnel walked back into the road from the field to their left.

  “Fellas, I been all around here with this flashlight and there’s no sign of anything. Thought maybe if he’d taken off across the field I could find some kind of trail but there’s nothin’ bent over or broke or tramped down….nothin’.”

  Butch cupped his hands around his mouth and followed Darnel’s earlier shouts with two of his own.

  “David…David Bell.”

  Two long blasts from the dually horn cam
e next. There was no response from the dark woods, nothing to hear but the distant trill of an irritated Eastern Screech-Owl. A singular question filled the minds of all three men – what on earth could’ve happened to David Bell?

  “Alright, let’s all grab a light and spread out. We’ll give this whole area a good goin’ over. He wouldn’t have gotten very far from the H1 and the two-way. Maybe he’s hurt and unconscious somewhere. Let’s each get a radio and get after it,” said Butch, knowing his theory rang a little hollow.

  Fifteen minutes were required for the men to search what they felt was a realistically wide area. Butch engaged the button on his radio.

  “Darnel, you found anything at all?”

  “No sir ain’t seen nuthin’.”

  “How ‘bout you Eddie, you seen anything?”

  “Same here boss.”

  “There’s nuthin’ where I’ve been either guys. Let’s get back to the Hummer.”

  They were gathered at the grill of the H1, when Butch laid out the next steps.

  “Let’s see here…..why don’t we turn the Hummer engine off and kill the lights. Eddie, you close her up, but don’t lock it – David might show up and he’ll need to get out of this cold. Leave a radio on the seat and the keys under the driver side mat, and let’s all head back to the Lodge. Listen now, let’s try and keep this from the hunters. There’s no reason to alarm them at this point. I’m gonna give Sheriff Scott a call.”

  20 From Lover to Landlord

  Saturday, March 13, 2010 7:50 PM

  Carla Bayliss followed the Raskin trial from day one. She’d worked hard at trying to understand how Millard could hurt his own child like that. Until he was arrested for Paige’s death, Carla was convinced she’d seen Cash at his worst – very drunk and very disorderly.