Walking Woman (Gratis Book 2)

by Jackson, Jay

  She retrieved her carriage from where it had rolled to a stop, at an old basketball hoop in the middle of the parking lot. She made sure that it wasn’t damaged and rearranged the tassels so they all hung correctly. If she didn’t, they would get tangled. She hated it when they didn’t hang just so. Satisfied that everything looked correct, she walked away from the two men, pushing her carriage before her.

  “Hey! I said, do you own this parking lot? You rude, or you deaf?” The passenger, a beefy man named Paulie Waycock, ran to the front of the carriage, blocking Claudia’s way. His driver, Flip Fennerly, quietly walked up behind her. He moved so close that her white stockings transected his mirrored lens when he looked down.

  “Damn,” said Paulie, “You have got to be the ugliest woman I’ve seen in a long time. Really. I’ve seen a lot of ugly women, but you have got to be the butt-ugliest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Flip smiled at his cohort’s comment, revealing a row of chipped teeth, yellowed from a pack-a-day habit.

  “Aw, hell, Paulie. She ain’t so bad. I’ve seen worser than this down on Metropolitan Avenue, late night anyway. I say we give this one a chance, see what it’s got going on. So what do you say, Miss Ugly Lady? You want to make up for almost denting the car? You want to show us how bad you feel?”

  Claudia had dealt with a lot of insults, but nothing quite like this. There was the high school senior who pushed her once, but she handled it fairly quickly, and that kid was small. These were two fully grown men. There was nothing callow about them. They had the appearance of men who finished something once they started it.

  She also knew she’d never seen them before. One who walked as much as Claudia knew everyone, or at least their faces. She knew every car in the county, too, and would remember a janky old Camaro like the one these two drove up in. Even the paint job—applied with the heavy hand of an amateur—was a particular shade of purple she’d never seen before in Gratis. Standing there, one man behind her and one in front, she also knew that they didn’t know her, either.

  That would be their problem.

  Without looking at him, she kicked Flip, landing the back of her foot directly on his balls, and immediately pushed the carriage into Paulie. Most toy baby carriages wouldn’t be able to knock a grown man down, but this was Claudia’s carriage. The rebar hit Paulie directly in his lower gut. He fell back, clutching that same soft mass.

  Knowing that she had the men at only a temporary disadvantage, Claudia hurried into the trailer park. Various people were already looking from their front porches, wondering what new crime was being committed. Claudia knew that the more people watching, the better.

  Flip and Paulie knew that as well, and neither tried to follow her into the trailer park. Instead they got into the IROC and screeched out of the parking lot. As they drove away one of them, Claudia didn’t know which, yelled out of the T-top.

  “We’ll see you soon, Miss Ugly Thing! Real damn soon!”

  Never turning around, Claudia wheeled her carriage through the trailer park. She wouldn’t let herself be distracted from her task. It was too important. She did notice that, lately, distractions seemed to be throwing themselves at her in curious ways. It troubled her.

  Stopping once she got deeper into the park, she leaned against a discarded washing machine. Rust ate away at its old knobs. There she stayed, closing her eyes as she considered the two men and what they wanted with her. Her eyes stayed closed until she heard a scream moments later. It came from the far side of the trailer park.

  Opening her eyes, she straightened up and wiped away the old washer dirt deposited on her dress. She could think about the janky old Camaro and its passengers later. Right now she had to watch, to see what was going on, and make sure she gathered her clues. There was work to do—too much—and the afternoon shadows already betrayed the sun’s bright glare.

  13.

  Delroy was done with court around the same time Flip was getting gut punched by a toy baby carriage. He was glad to be done with the week. It had been stressful, with most of Wednesday and Thursday spent in depositions.

  Parties to civil cases conduct depositions to find out which witnesses may be helpful, or not, if a case ever goes to trial. Ninety-nine percent of the time, cases don’t go to trial, but you never really knew until that case was fully examined by the opposing parties—and the attorneys billed enough hours to satisfy their firms’ partners.

  During a deposition, one party, in the presence of his or her attorney, is questioned by the other party’s attorney. Most questions are deemed relevant, and the judge in the case later determines how much of the witness’s response is admissible in court. This response is taken down by the court reporter, who is also present.

  The process sounds like a fairly civilized way to conduct business and hopefully avoid trial. The problem is that everyone in the room during a deposition is human, which tends to make everything difficult.

  Wednesday’s deposition was pleasant enough. It was a divorce case and opposing counsel, Joe Creal, was a friend. He and Delroy got along well enough. Of course the parties despised each other, given the nature of the case, but the lawyers held them in check most of the time. The only issue arose when Creal told his client not to admit any infidelity when Delroy asked. His grounds were that she would be admitting adultery and possibly sodomy. Both were still illegal in Georgia, if never actually prosecuted. Delroy was ready for this, as he’d seen his friend raise this objection before. He neatly pointed out that the statute of limitations in this case had long since expired on the two offenses. Ceding his point, Creal instructed his client to answer Delroy’s questions. Unfortunately, one infidelity turned into multiple, as well as admissions to creative forms of sodomy. By the end of the day, both sides knew the case would never go to trial. Delroy had a drink with Creal later that evening at Daddy Jack’s. They laughed like sixth graders while assigning names to the various sexual acts described by Creal’s garden-club client. Their favorite was the “Gratis Steampot.” It was gloriously obscene.

  Thursday’s deposition, however, wasn’t nearly as much fun. Delroy’s client had a pending criminal case related to the deposition’s civil case. Because of the criminal action, Delroy didn’t want his client to answer any questions. Anything he admitted could be used against him during the criminal trial.

  Delroy instructed his client to assert his Fifth Amendment right to all questions, no matter how tenuous their relationship to the criminal case. In Georgia, in order to assert the Fifth Amendment during a deposition, a witness must still attend the deposition and assert after each question. He can’t just avoid the deposition by claiming his right to remain silent beforehand.

  His client answered the first question, which was to state his name. Delroy then counseled him to assert his Fifth Amendment right after each question in the following manner. “I assert my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the US Constitution and will remain silent as to that question.” In all, his client made the same assertion 183 times that morning and afternoon.

  Opposing counsel got noticeably angry around the ninetieth time and threatened to call the judge in Savannah. Delroy calmly replied that no judge would make his client waive any of his Constitutional rights. He then mentioned that he’d inform the judge that the alleged crime was reported to the Savannah Police Department to gain an advantage in the civil case. Delroy finished off by opining that “any attorney would know what a pending criminal case could do to a civil deposition,” and how an attorney who didn’t understand that “doesn’t seem to know which end of the pig takes a shit.”

  At that point, the parties needed to take an hour to let things cool off. They subsequently slugged through the last few hours of the deposition listening to Delroy’s client exercise his rights as a citizen. It wasn’t a very productive day, and Delroy was glad of it. His client was no closer to going to jail or losing a considerable amount of money than he was when the day began. Knowing what he did about the case, that was a win.


  Between exploring the sex life of one very squatty woman—which was presently better than his—and fighting with a jerk lawyer who didn’t seem to appreciate his pastoral observations, Delroy also checked on the sisters’ property inquiries. He called the other attorneys, beside Racey, who had left their cards. Their tales were similar.

  Each had been asked to inquire about the land. When their inquiries were met with silence, they were both very politely dismissed. Neither would say more than that. They failed to admit that they didn’t know the client’s identity, and that they were each mailed $1,000, cash. The law business in that part of Georgia could be spotty. Nobody left an easy thousand unclaimed.

  That Friday afternoon, Delroy got home and sat down with T-Bone in the backyard. The day was still warm, almost eighty degrees. The little dog stretched and laid down in a patch of sunshine. Every now and then he opened his eyes, as black as his coat, and looked at whatever little bug buzzed by. Other than that, he gave himself over to the warmth of the sun, quietly yipping when the urge hit him.

  Delroy wished he could lose himself like his dog, totally immerse himself in a moment’s happiness. Of course he couldn’t. It was a hard thing to do in the legal profession—to leave your clients’ worries at the office when you came home. That was one of the real secrets that people didn’t know. Most lawyers care. It hurts to see a parent cry when their child goes to prison, to see a man or woman desperate after the romantic hope of marriage dies in the ashes of divorce. Even the randy old woman he laughed about two nights before saddened him. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the little-girl part of her that never thought life would turn into this.

  More than the constant sadness for his clients, though, he missed Amy. He couldn’t help it. Immersing himself in total happiness was impossible, but being lost in loneliness was the easiest thing to do. Every second ticked loudly when he wasn’t busy, stretching into the void of her being gone, the emptiness of each moment without her. He was powerless against it. Even here, looking at what may be the happiest dog on earth, the stillness of missing her was too much for him to sit with. He had to do something. He had to move.

  Standing up, he started toward the door. T-Bone sensed that his human was moving, like all dogs seem to, and opened his eyes. Delroy went upstairs to change, then came down moments later wearing old chinos and a blue button-down. He decided to go to the sisters’ old farm, to look at the land somebody felt was so valuable. The trip would do little more than burn gas, but he had to get out.

  Opening the door, he heard T-Bone bark. Delroy turned around and eyed the dog. Feeling guilty and remembering how lonely T-Bone must be as well, he carried him to the Suburban’s front passenger seat. There the little dog sat, panting with excitement at the trip he would be taking. Next to the sun’s warmth, he loved car rides the most.

  Delroy retrieved a large pillow he kept in back, placing it under T-Bone so he could see out of the windows. The little dog gazed intently, entranced by the world speeding by him. Delroy braked gingerly at each corner, careful not to sling his pal off his pillow.

  Along the way an old Van Morrison tape started playing in the ancient cassette player. He didn’t know whether T-Bone had a preference in music, but the little dog didn’t seem to mind the opening notes of “Into the Mystic.” The two lonely souls rode along together, humming and yipping as they went.

  Before he got to their driveway, Delroy saw the sisters’ neighbor, Benny Parker. He was weed-eating a ditch in front of his property. A few years younger than Delroy, Benny had graduated high school when Delroy was already in law school. He owned forty acres abutting the sisters’ land, stretching from the road down to the river. Benny made his living in the funeral home business, and Delroy liked him well enough. Still, he always felt like Benny seemed to be sizing him up for a coffin every time they met. It creeped him out. Delroy slowed to a stop and rolled down his window.

  “What’s up, pardner? How’s business?”

  “Not bad Delroy, not bad at all. How are you doing?”

  “Well, no problems here.” Delroy could hear the defensiveness in his own voice. Admitting anything other than perfect health to an undertaker had to invite bad luck.

  “What brings you out here, Delroy? You need my services?” Benny grinned, sensing that Delroy was uncomfortable when they spoke. He was used to it.

  “Not yet, Benny, but you’ll be the first to know if I do.” Both men laughed. “Listen, has anyone come by here to ask you about selling your land? Have you seen anybody poking around here? I’m just asking because your neighbors have a number of inquiries about their land recently, and it just seems a little odd.”

  “It’s funny you ask, but I did get a card in my mailbox about a week ago with a note for me to call if I was interested in selling. I didn’t think anything of it, and didn’t call because I’m never gonna sell this land.”

  “Did you happen to keep the card or remember the name of who was asking about it?”

  “I’m sorry Delroy, but I threw it away. I just didn’t have a need for it.” Benny wiped his brow and smiled. “Delroy, you got anything to drink in there? I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot today, and I’m about to die.”

  Delroy leaned back and opened the cooler he kept in the Suburban’s back seat. He pulled a Budweiser out of the cool water and handed it to Benny. “Will that do ya?”

  “Oh yes, that’ll do me just fine. Thank you, sir.” He opened the beer and took a long drink.

  “Well look, I’m gonna let you get back to whacking your weeds. Do me a favor, though. If you see anybody odd out here, would you call me?”

  “No problem,” Benny replied and walked back down to the bottom of the ditch, beer in hand. He put it down, fixed his goggles, and got back to work.

  Delroy pulled away, but decided against going down the sisters’ driveway. He drove away and parked where their land ended at their other neighbor’s property instead. T-Bone looked up at him and made a sneezing sound. The little dog needed to use the bathroom. Delroy got out, T-Bone in his arms, and clambered over the fence. He then put the little dog down and let him go. No leash was needed. The dog seemed to realize how small he was and stayed close to Delroy. Before long, they made their way down to the Bird.

  The river splashing before them, Delroy sat down, T-Bone in his lap. They looked at the water slowly flowing by, its undulating current carrying it to the sea. Delroy thought about the summer before, when a bad man carried his nephew and niece away over that same water. He was lucky. The bad man who carried the children, Meg and Peck, was stopped before he could do as he wished. Delroy recoiled at the thought.

  Maybe that was all the luck I had in this world, keeping the children safe, and I used it all up.

  After an hour, the temperature dropped and T-Bone started to shiver. Delroy stood up and headed back to the Suburban, this time carrying the little dog. It was getting dark, and the coyotes were already whooping in the distance. Delroy couldn’t stand another loss, not now.

  The two got in, and T-Bone curled up on his pillow instead of peering out. The adventure was over for him. The little dog slept as they drove toward Gratis, yipping in his sleep as they bounced along. Delroy smiled every time he did so, wondering about T-Bone’s dreams.

  Some things are still good, he thought.

  Delroy turned the Suburban toward Anna’s house to see the children. Meg and Peck were almost lost to him only a few months before. As bad as some things were, they hadn’t left him. Things could be much worse.

  “Some things are still very good,” he now said to himself, aloud.

  Hearing this, T-Bone awoke and turned his eyes toward Delroy. He stared for a moment, yawned, and closed them again. Soon he was dozing, yipping every time he finally caught a chipmunk or squirrel. In his dreams they ran slowly, clumsily, and he caught them all.

  14.

  Mister Brother and his family were happier than they had been in a very long time. The new house, the one Mister Brother w
orked so hard on, was finally done, and everyone had their own room.

  Mom and Dad stayed in the master bedroom. Sister, whom he found a few days before, right where he found Mom and Dad, had the one next to them. Mister Brother slept in the converted attic. The only one missing was Baby Brother. His room was ready, though, with new furniture and old Georgia Southern football posters. There was even a child’s bed shaped like a NASCAR racer, complete with a Bill Elliott comforter on top.

  Except when he was at work, which was turning into a rare occasion, he was at the new house with his family. They did all the things he remembered as a child. Mom made lunch every day, Dad read the paper, and Sister spent most of the time in her room listening to the radio. Sometimes they played Rook until late in the evening, only stopping when someone, usually Mom, realized the hour.

  One day, though, things changed. At first it was only a feeling, little more than a stir. Dad, as always, was the first one to put what was wrong into words.

  “We need Baby Brother to come home. We miss him, and he needs us.”

  Dad mentioned it respectfully, at first. Not an hour later, though, he said it again, but finished with “Did you hear me the first time?” Mom and Sister started on him soon thereafter, with Mom crying as she asked about Baby Brother. Sister hissed at him when she asked, saying to anyone who could hear that “Mister Brother always makes us wait on things, always.”

  He told them he was looking for Baby Brother, every day. Sister just snorted when he said that.

  “Looking for him every day? You’re always here. How are you going to find him here? We know he’s not here, dummy.”

  Mom told Sister not to call him a dummy, but then just cried and cried. She kept saying “I need my baby boy! Where is my baby boy?” through her sobs.

  Dad shook his head every time Mister Brother tried to explain. He heard Mister Brother give too many empty excuses when he was a little boy. He wouldn’t fall for them now.