by C. E. Nelson
Dave pushed the last bite in his mouth and then looked down at the plate for the rest of the sandwich he was sure would be there. He knew he should go upstairs and check his phone but he also knew he wanted another sandwich – and a beer – and then some sleep. After a very short debate the beer won and Dave was standing with the refrigerator open in front of him, pouring a good portion of a just open bottle down his throat.
He closed the door and was making his way back to his seat when he noticed the deck door was ajar. “Dammit! You are a major slob brother,” Dave shouted aloud. “I hope you left your truck windows open and your cab is full of mosquitoes!” He had yet to install the screen door for the deck and could see that the kitchen light had invited several black flies and a large moth inside.
Dave walked over and pushed the door shut. He stood looking out at the still black lake for a moment before tilting his head back for another sip. At that instant he felt the blade at his throat just as a hand grabbed the hair on top of his head.
“Do not move, I hate to make a mess,” came the hoarse voice from behind.
The campfire smell was strong and Dave kicked himself for not noticing it before. He raised his hands high and felt the blade puncture his skin below his Adam’s apple. “Easy. Let’s just relax a minute.”
“There will be no relaxing for you or any white man again!” an angry voice snarled in Dave’s ear as his head was pulled back.
Pain shot down Dave’s spine as his back arched. He bent his knees slightly trying to ease the pressure but Bigeagle pulled him up. “Easy! Let’s talk.”
“The time for talking is past!” was the venomous response from behind. Bobby Bigeagle pushed the sheriff ahead until his stomach was being pushed into the glass door. “You have no respect for our land and our culture. You kill our fish and our game and trash our land. You make the red man your slave in his own land!”
Dave felt as if his back was going to break under Bigeagle’s powerful grip. Even a slight backwards movement of his arms or legs brought the blade tighter against his throat. Any attempt to jerk back or twist from Bigeagle’s grip would be futile. He thought about trying to swing his arm down and hit Bigeagle in the crotch but wasn’t sure he could hit his target or even swing his arms back far enough with his arched back. Could he get enough force with the beer bottle to knock Bigeagle over the head and get him to release his grasp? His legs started to quiver and he wasn’t sure he could stand much longer with the backward pressure but knew any movement would likely trigger the man to cut his throat.
“Bobby, we can figure this out,” came Dave’s raspy voice. The back of his neck was now screaming in pain.
“No more talk!” came the shout from behind. “Now you die!”
Dave felt his head being pulled back further as his knees began to buckle. He closed his eyes as he felt the searing pain of the blade being pushed across the left side of his throat as Bobby moved it in place to pull it back for the killing cut. Dave knew he had nothing to lose. He brought the beer bottle back as hard as he could but felt nothing, the bottle flying from his hand as his wrist snapped. At the same time he grabbed at the arm around his throat with his other hand.
Dave’s sudden movement with both his arms did little more than arch his head back further, pushing his neck forward into the razor-sharp blade. It did, however, momentarily delay Bigeagle from making the killing stroke across Dave’s neck.
This proved fortuitous in that in that small window of time the glass over the kitchen sink exploded. The knife that was poised to kill dropped to the floor as Bobby’s hands simultaneously released the knife and Dave’s head. Dave lost his balance, falling backward into Bigeagle, and then onto the floor. He rolled immediately to his right, knocking over a chair before pushing himself up on all fours. Bigeagle lay on his back, blood pooling under his head.
Dave reached out and grabbed the knife that was lying on the floor between them and then looked up to the window that was now missing. Dave spun back to the left when he heard the deck door slide open, holding the knife ready for the attack.
“You OK?” asked Don, gun still in his right hand, as he looked down at Bobby’s body.
Dave was on his knees, his hands dropping to the floor. His free hand went to his throat where a small warm flow of blood was moving toward his chest. He pulled his blood-covered hand away and looked at the blood covering his palm. “I think so,” he answered looking up from his bloody hand to his brother. “I’m not sure.”
Don moved quickly to the sink to grab a dishtowel, handing it to his brother who was now sitting. Dave pressed it hard against his wound. Don looked his brother in the eye a moment longer, thinking how close he had come to losing him. He could feel tears begin to well in his eyes so he bent down before Dave could see to feel for the pulse that had long ceased in Bobby Bigeagle. He stood again. “Let’s see.”
Dave removed the towel and bent his head back to reveal a long cut, the blood flow was slow but persistent. “You’ll live but I’m guessing you’re going to need stitches. Maybe you should get your lady doctor to make a house call?”
Dave pressed the towel that was quickly turning red back to his throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Damn truck broke down. Couldn’t believe it. Fucking thing has less than twenty thousand miles on it and it just quit,” he replied looking his brother in the eye. “Hiked back, saw the light still on in the kitchen, and just decided to walk around to the back. Happened to glance in the sink window and it looked like you maybe had your hands full,” he continued trying not to let any emotion show. “You’re welcome by the way,” he added, a smirk on his face.
Dave stared back for a long moment. This wasn’t the first time Don had saved his life. More than once a link neither brother could explain had brought them to each other’s aide. Dave owed him more than he could ever repay and fought back the urge to stand and give his twin a hug. “I suppose I owe you a beer?”
Chapter Forty
Dave sat at the kitchen bar watching as Don finished duct-taping a piece of plastic over the kitchen window, an unopened beer on the counter in front of him, not remembering how it got there or how he got to the bar. Dave’s neck was burning and he felt like he was drifting, like maybe he was dreaming. He put his hand to the bandage Don had taped on his wound and then looked down at the blood on his fingers. There was a bloody towel on the bar in front of him that he picked up to wipe of his hand and then pressed the towel to his wound. Sirens outside drew his attention and he tried to stand to go open the front door, nearly losing his balance in the process, and grabbing the counter. He slowly sat back on his stool.
“Would you mind getting the door?”
Don looked with concern at Dave before putting the roll of tape on the counter next to the sink and moving toward the front door. “Might as well, I do everything else around here.”
Danny was about to pound on the door when Don opened it.
“Sheriff, you OK?”
“Wrong again Danny, I’m Don. And yes the sheriff is OK. He’s in the kitchen.”
Meline mumbled his apologies and went to the kitchen. Dave sat at the bar, his elbow on the counter to make it easier to hold the towel to his neck.
Danny’s eyes got big when he saw the now blood-red towel. “Jesus sheriff, you OK?”
Dave assured him he was.
“Doc should be here in less than half an hour,” said the deputy as he walked over to look at the body of Bigeagle. “You got him,” he said staring down at the body.
“Yes, I think we really got him this time,” responded Dave as he rubbed the soar scalp on the back of his head with his free hand. “This time I’m sure.”
Meline lifted his head and turned back to Dave. “I knew it was an Indian.”
Don had just re-entered the room to hear the deputy’s comment. Both men stared hard at Danny but said nothing. Danny looked back and forth between the men as the uncomfortable silence grew.
“Um, what
do you want me to do sheriff?”
Dave stared at his deputy a moment longer. If he were ever to make any inroads with the Native American community, long-held attitudes would have to change, at least in his staff. Dave was about to make a comment but found that he could not focus. He desperately wanted to lie down. “I want you go to the Bigeagle’s now to make sure they hear about it before word gets out. Then you and Tony get word to the camps and the locals that the danger is passed. I think I need to lay down for a bit.”
“And what about Rosemary?” asked Danny.
“What about Rosemary?” Dave responded back in an irritated tone.
“Well, should I call her first?” replied the deputy with a hurt look on his face.
“You let Rosemary get her beauty sleep. God knows she needs it. Bigeagles first, the camps and locals next, and then you can call Ms. Theil.”
Meline looked as if he wanted to protest but then thought better of it and took a step toward the front door. “You got it sheriff. Take care.” Danny took one last look at the body on the floor and left.
Dave watched him go and had no doubt that by the time his deputy was moving down his driveway that he was on the phone to Rosemary. Another discussion needed.
“You going upstairs?” inquired Don.
Dave replaced the disgusted look with a grimace as he pushed himself up from the counter. “No, I think I’ll just crash on the couch until the doc gets here,” he replied as he moved unsteadily toward the family room, leaning on the bar for support.
It was the last thing he remembered before hearing his brother conversing with someone and a dinging sound that made him think his smoke detector needed new batteries. He forced his eyes opened and looked at a white ceiling with bright, rectangular lights. He slowly lowered his chin to see the IV in his left arm and then looked to his right.
“Welcome to the real world sleeping beauty,” said his brother.
How are you feeling Mr. Trask?” asked an attractive blonde nurse as she checked the numbers on a machine to the right of his head.
“OK, I guess. Where am I? What time is it?”
“You are in the Two Harbors hospital old man. And,” Don added as he looked down at his watch, “it is now approaching nine.”
“A.M.?” questioned Dave.
“Good guess genius.”
“Can I get you anything Mr. Trask?” asked the nurse.
Dave’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat constricted, as he realized he was very thirsty. “Water please.”
“No problem. I’ll let the doctor know you are awake.”
Dave watched his brother leer after the nurse, shaking his head, which made him cringe at the pain he felt in his neck. His hand went to his neck to feel the large bandage there. “OK, so what happened?”
Don turned back to Dave. His brother still looked a little pasty. “You tried to get up from the bar in your kitchen and nearly passed out. I just got you to the couch when Doc Adams showed up. He patched up your neck but said you needed stitches and possibly some blood so we got you in the ambulance and brought you here.”
Dave went back over the attack by Bigeagle. He had been only seconds – or a second – from dying. The pain in his back, the searing pain of the knife, and then the exploding glass. The blood on his hand and the blood on the floor under Bigeagle’s head. He found the control for the bed and adjusted it so he was sitting up. He stared at his brother.
“Thanks Don.” Don was silent and Dave thought he saw a look of concern in his brother’s eyes.
A man with messy sandy brown hair in blue scrubs and a white jacket came in holding a chart with the nurse Dave had seen earlier close behind. Dave thought he looked to be about college age and strained to look at the crooked badge that hung from the blue lanyard around his neck.
“Good morning Mr. Trask, I’m Doctor Leese. How are you feeling?”
The nurse placed a cup of water on the tray in front of Dave and he sipped from the straw. “I seem to be OK. Fine.”
The doctor looked at a chart in his hand and then at the readings of the machine to Dave’s right. “Good. While you were out we stitched you up and gave you a little blood. Your vitals seem to be good so, why don’t we get a meal in you, and then I’ll take one more look at your stitches. If everything looks OK you should be able to go.”
Dave thanked the doctor who smiled and then handed the nurse the chart before leaving. The nurse gave Dave a menu, he told her his selections, and then she left. He caught his brother watching the nurse again. “Good grief Trask. Are you always on the prowl? Didn’t you see the ring on her finger?”
“You never know. Maybe she just likes to wear rings.”
Dave raised his eyebrows. “So you were here all night?”
“Yeah. I caught some Z’s on the couch in the waiting room.”
Dave remembered that Don had left to take part in a bust the night before. “I thought you had a bust to get to?”
“Well, as you may remember, when you shoot someone they kind of shut you down for a bit. Anyway, it went down without me and without a hitch so maybe I’m not quite as important as I think I am….but I doubt that.” He sat in an uncomfortable tan metal folding chair. “I sent all of my people home, and your two deputies from here too. Hope that’s OK?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dave stared at Don who was now slouched in the chair to his right. He thought he looked tired and worn and older. He guessed they both looked older. “Any other news?”
“Your deputies stopped to see how you were doing. You might want to call them when you get out of here. I think they’re kind of lost.”
Dave didn’t doubt that. He made a mental note to give them a call. He had hoped his brother would say that Linda had stopped by or at least called but he didn’t want to ask. He felt disappointed, sad. He watched his brother pick up a magazine. “You don’t need to stay Don. I know you got a lot to do. I can have one of the deputies take me back.”
“No problem. I drove your truck anyway. Hopefully mine is still where I left it,” he answered without looking up.
A few minutes later the nurse returned with a tray and Dave dug in. The smell of the food made him realize how hungry he was. He was over halfway through with breakfast when he glanced up to catch his brother looking at him and felt guilty knowing Don had likely not had breakfast. “Hey, they must have a cafeteria here. Why don’t you go get something? Hopefully I’ll be ready to go by the time you get back.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll do that,” he replied as he stood, leaving the magazine on the seat of his chair. “I bet that nurse could help me find the way.” Don took two steps towards the door before he stopped and turned back to Dave. “Almost forgot. Your lady friend doctor stopped by and said she’d like to jump your bones when you get out of here but if you weren’t up to it she said I would do,” he added with a laugh.
Dave picked up a sausage to throw at his brother but was too hungry to waste it. “Get out of here asshole.” Dave watched his brother duck and then quickly leave before putting the sausage in his mouth and thinking it was about the best tasting sausage he had ever eaten.
Chapter Forty-one
Dave was released two hours after he finished eating. They stopped at a SuperAmerica station on the way back to Basswood where Don purchased a five-gallon container and filled it with gas. He tried to put it in the back of the 4-Runner, but Dave admonished him for not considering that it could possibly tip over there, and had him put it on the floor mat behind his seat. They stopped at Don’s truck where he poured the gas in and then followed Dave home. Don pulled in behind Dave and then trailed him to the porch where Dave turned and said, ”You can just leave Don. I’m fine.” The truth was Dave’s throat hurt like hell and he still felt like he had about as much strength and coordination as a baby learning to walk.
“I thought maybe a sandwich would be good before I took off.”
Dave felt guilty again for not thinking to offer something to Don. “Sorry.
Come on in and I’ll fix you something.”
They went to the kitchen and Dave started pulling things from the refrigerator and putting them on the counter. Dave felt disorganized, having to think hard about what he was doing. His brother noticed Dave’s hesitation with the task and said, “You take a seat. Let me do this.”
Dave looked at him but didn’t protest, moving to the other side of the bar to sit while his brother made sandwiches for both of them. He felt for the bandage on his neck, the wound sensitive, and then looked to his left where Bigeagle had laid only hours ago. The body was gone and it looked like someone had tried to clean up the blood. Dave was already thinking he would have to refinish the floor.
Don pushed a plate with a sandwich across the bar to him along with a glass of water. Dave guessed it may have been the blood loss, but whatever it was, he still felt ravenous and quickly downed his lunch. He watched his brother put the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth, wash it down with his water, and then collect the plates from the bar and put them by the sink. Dave felt that there was so much he should say, he didn’t know where to start. Instead he stood, walked round the bar, and gave his brother a hug.
“Jesus little brother, don’t go all mushy on me,” said Don as he recoiled. “I’ll be back to help you finish this place as soon as I can.”
They both knew that wasn’t what the hug was all about, but neither was comfortable saying any more. Dave watched from the porch as his brother left again, thanking God that his brother could not be bothered with little details like how much gas was in his vehicle, waving as his truck disappeared into the woods. He could still hear the truck when he pulled the cell phone out of his front pocket and dialed Linda’s cell number.
“Hello big boy. How you doing?” was the seductive reply he got when she picked up.
“You answer all your calls that way?”
“I do. You never know when it might pay off.”
