Radio Activity (The Rick Shannon series)

by Bill Fitzhugh

The owner of B-Side Vinyl sold Piper at the Gates of Dawn on-line for sixty-five dollars. He then took all the albums that Rick gave to J. J. Maguire and sold them for a total of six hundred thirty dollars so J.J. could pay his way into an alcohol rehabilitation program. He then became an instructor at the Paul B. Allen School of Broadcasting in Omaha, Nebraska. He’s been sober ever since. He still has the Beatles 45.

  A few weeks after Clay was arrested, the ratings book came out. It showed a one point gain in average quarter hour listeners over the previous ratings period. A month later Clean Signal Radio Corporation announced that it had bought the station. They fired everyone and began simulcasting the syndicated talk format on the AM and the FM sides.

  No one knows what happened to Uncle Victor.

  84.

  The story of Rick’s investigation got front page play throughout the state. Even though his wound was nearly healed, Rick kept the bandage on his neck as long as the reporters and photographers were coming by for interviews. They would come out to the trailer and he’d take them out to the woods and show them where he’d found the bodies. He talked about his new radio job in Vicksburg and how he was going to open a private investigation service. He said he was toying with names like Rockin’ Vestigations, but he hadn’t settled on anything. Rick figured all the press would put him in good graces with his new station, nothing like having someone of semi-celebrity status coming on board. And he knew it would get his name out there for potential PI clients.

  Still, as busy as Rick was with all the media requests, he wasn’t too busy to notice the shift in Traci’s mood since their night in the woods. He had the sense there was something she wasn’t telling him. It was the same feeling he’d had that night at Kitty’s when she seemed on the verge of explaining about her ex-boyfriend, but had held back. When he asked her about it, she changed the subject. She was fine, she said. Don’t worry about it. She made vague statements about joining him in Vicksburg, but Rick didn’t hear her heart in it. He had started to lower his expectations.

  On the day of the move, Rick hitched his pickup to the back of the big U-Haul he had rented. After adding Captain Jack’s record collection, his Barcalounger, and the Griswold number five skillet to his own belongings, there wasn’t any other way to do it. Besides, the new station was paying for the move. Rick glanced in the mirror for one last look at the trailer, then he pulled out onto the road.

  As he drove across town to Traci’s apartment, Rick entertained the fragile hope that she would be waiting on the sidewalk with her suitcases. Upon closer examination, he realized it was more of a fantasy than a realistic hope. He stopped in front of her place around noon but there weren’t any suitcases out front when he got there. No Traci either. He climbed out of the truck and went to her door.

  Traci met him there with a sheepish grin. “Hi,” she said. “All packed?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. “What about you?”

  Traci smiled but shook her head.

  Rick responded with a disappointed nod.

  A little girl appeared by Traci’s side, looking up at Rick. “Hello,” she said.

  Rick looked down. “Hi.”

  Traci said, “Oh, hey, you two’ve never met, have you?” She put her hand on the girl’s head. “Rick, this is my. . . this is Kaitlin.”

  “Your niece?”

  “My daughter.”

  Rick tried not to look too surprised. He said, “Oh.” Like he understood.

  Traci seemed a little embarrassed and said, “I was going to--”

  Rick shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He squatted down and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Rick. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Kaitlin smiled but hid behind her mom’s leg. “She’s kinda shy,” Traci said.

  Rick stood up and thought about asking why she hadn’t told him, but he let it go. He could imagine a lot of reasons but knowing them wouldn’t change anything. “She’s got your smile,” he said.

  Traci sent Kaitlin back to her room to play. After she was gone, Traci looked at Rick and said, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you and I was going to, but the timing never seemed right. At first it was. . .well, it doesn’t matter. I hope you understand. But that night. . .and the blood? I just kept thinking about her and what would happen if I . . . didn’t come home.”

  “Sure,” Rick said. “I understand.” He figured this might be the last time he saw Traci and he didn’t want the end too gloomy, so he tried to lighten the mood. “Now keep in mind that the radio gig I’m offering is a lot less dangerous. So if you think you might want to. . .” He smiled and gave a little gesture to finish his thought.

  “Yeah,” Traci said with her own sad smile. “I thought I’d let you go ahead and get started anyway, and maybe we could come along later.” She turned and looked toward the back of her apartment. “Depending how you feel about it. . .” She looked back at Rick. “Well, you know. We could come visit.”

  “Sure. That’d be great,” Rick said. “We’ll take her to the Civil War park and let her play around on the cannons. And the job’ll be waitin’ for you if you want it.”

  “Thanks.” Traci walked Rick out to the truck and kissed him good bye.

  Rick held her face in his hands and took one last look at the swoop of her eyebrows. Then he kissed her forehead and climbed into the truck.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  Rick looked down, smiling, and said, “Thanks.” Then he put the truck in gear and drove away. He saw Traci in his mirror, waving, as he made the turn off her street.

  As he drove out of town, Rick tried telling himself it was all for the best, that whatever happens is supposed to happen. That there’s a reason things turn out the way they do. He tried all the things people tell themselves when they don’t like the outcome of the game and have no way of changing it. Rick figured people believed these things because they found it more comforting to blame fate than to accept the arbitrary nature of life. Blaming fate while simultaneously embracing a vague implication that something better would spring from it; like Rick’s cynicism, it was a philosophy of consolation. In pop Christian terms they would say, When God closes a door he opens a window. Rick had heard it more than once and, despite there being no apparent basis for the claim, he understood how and why it comforted so many. In fact, Rick sometimes wished he was among them.

  But he wasn’t. He would agree that good things sometimes happened after bad things happened but he knew that one didn’t necessarily cause the other. When something happened, you chose how to react. Things change and you can change with them or not, the choice is yours. Rick laughed at himself. Radio had changed, but Rick refused to, but at least it had been his choice. He was alone again and heading for another town, another station. But at least he had something to look forward to.

  As he drove beyond the city limits Rick picked up his cell phone and hit speed dial for the studio. Rob answered and Rick said, “Just wanted to say one last good bye and wish you good luck with everything.”

  “Thanks,” Rob said. “You, too. I really appreciate everything you did for me.”

  “Glad I could help.” Rick gave Rob his cell phone number and told him to call if he ever needed anything or if he came to Vicksburg. Rob said he’d come to visit.

  “Listen,” Rick said, “I have a request.”

  “Name it.”

  “How about Buddy Miles, Them Changes?”