Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  "A.K. seems well-trained," Stephanie said.

  "He is. Good company, too."

  "I gather you live alone? I mean, is it just you and your dog?"

  "Yeah. My mom always said I'd never find a woman who'd put up with me." Yates turned the fan toward Stephanie. "Can you do what you want here, or would you rather work at the kitchen table?"

  "This is fine. By the way, I'd like to tape the interview, if you don't mind."

  "That all depends. What's going to happen to the tape?"

  "I'll erase it when I'm finished. It's just that things move along a little more quickly if I don't have to take notes."

  Yates thought for a moment. "Makes sense...okay. But like you said, my name doesn't get used in any of this. I'm only talking to you because you got my curiosity up."

  "No names." She switched on the recorder. "All right, let's start with what you're doing now. Obviously you're a forest ranger."

  "Yeah. I've always been an outdoors kind of person. I was always hunting, fishing, and camping as a kid. Then there was Nam. That was real outdoorsy."

  "You served in Vietnam?"

  Yates nodded. "Green Berets. When I got back, I tried to fit in like everyone else, but it didn't work out. So I went up into the Salmon Mountains. Lived up there for about a year, year and a half."

  "By yourself?"

  "Yeah. I saw three people the entire time. Two were vets, like me."

  "And the third?"

  "Darren Rusk, a retired ranger. His wife had just died. We spent a lot of time together up there. He talked me into coming back, convinced me that I could live around people again but still have the outdoors and peace of mind. So I used the GI Bill to go to school. Darren helped me get on with the Forest Service when I graduated." Yates looked directly at Stephanie. "He's dead now, but I know he's happier. When I go back up there I can almost feel his presence. Nobody knew the high country like Darren."

  "That's pretty rugged up there. How does someone live on his own so far from people?"

  Yates shrugged. "I could ask you how you live so close to people in L.A. It's just what you get used to." Yates stood up. "You want something to drink?"

  "No thanks, I'm fine."

  Yates went into the kitchen. While he was gone Stephanie glanced around the room at the plain but functional furnishings. For the first time she noticed a locker that looked somewhat like the one she had seen in Xeno's cabin.

  "What else do you want to know?" Yates asked when he returned with a quart carton of milk.

  "Tell me about your childhood."

  "My childhood? There's not that much to talk about. When I was little, all the kids called me Dirk the Jerk. Then, when I was about eleven or twelve, I started growing and the name-calling just sort of stopped. In Nam it was just ‘The Dirk.'"

  "The Dirk?"

  "Because I was so good with a knife." He reached down and raised his pant leg. The leather handle of a commando knife stuck out from the top of his boot. The stainless steel pommel was shiny and round. "I guess some habits are hard to break." He let his pant leg back down. "I wasn't the best, though. Terry was the best."

  "Terry?"

  "Terry...Terry Stuart, my buddy. A cracker from Waycross, Georgia." Yates looked at Stephanie. "Does My Chanh mean anything to you? Quang Tri?"

  "No, sorry."

  "I didn't think so." Yates took several swallows of milk. "Well anyway, Terry got hit during a firefight. You see the movie Platoon, that part where they're getting overrun? That's just the way it was. Hundreds of gooks swarming toward us. Terry and I got separated from the rest of our unit. For three days I carried him on my back. On the fourth day we came to this small clearing. There were five gooks camped there. When I set Terry down he cried out from the pain. I mean, he couldn't help it. He was delirious by then. They heard him and came running toward us. I zapped the first two, then my rifle jammed." Yates unbuttoned his shirt to expose an ugly four-inch scar on the right side of his chest. "One of them almost got lucky." He paused. "I carried Terry for three more days, until we ran into a unit of ARVN regulars."

  "ARVN?"

  "Yeah, South Vietnamese. The good gooks."

  "Do you still keep in touch with Terry?"

  Yates gulped down the rest of his milk and crushed the carton in his massive hand. "He died right after I took out the Cong. But I couldn't just leave him out there." His face was blank, his voice hollow. "You know, besides Darren and Terry's mom, you're the only person I've ever told that to."

  The better part of the next hour was devoted to talking about Yates' time with The Family. After high school he spent most of the summer hiking in the mountains. It was there he met Mother Earth and her followers.

  "Were you with The Family when the murders occurred?" Stephanie asked.

  His face grew solemn. "I don't like to admit it, but yeah, I was. I didn't have any idea things were leading to that."

  "Why didn't you do something afterward? Why didn't you tell someone?"

  "I'm big, but I'm not stupid. I knew what could happen to people who crossed Mother Earth. So I went back home for awhile, then enlisted in the army to get away." Yates laughed, a bitter, discerning laugh. "I sure got away, all right."

  Chapter 25

  Stephanie's sessions with Marney Lentz and Mike D'Angelo were, by comparison with earlier interviews, fairly mundane. Neither had been with The Family for more than a few months, and neither had any interesting Family stories to relate. Lentz was now a special education teacher. At forty-seven, she was the oldest Family member Stephanie had met. She was married, had three children, and was active in the Special Olympics program. D'Angelo had been in real estate for nine years, a broker for the past three. He coached Little League baseball in the summer and junior hockey in the winter.

  Colleen Dupre was a former fashion model who now ran her own agency. She wasn't interested in talking about her past with The Family, nor did she care to discuss her life since The Family. Like Eric Dolmire, she had agreed to an interview only to find out how much Stephanie already knew about her. Unlike the senator, however, Colleen Dupre remained aloof. She showed Stephanie to the door after she was convinced that nothing would be written without her permission--permission she was not about to grant.

  "I can't wait until Sunday," said the woman at the front desk. She handed Stephanie a newspaper.

  "Why's that, Lucille?"

  "Your story on The Family, Stephanie. The whole building's talking about it."

  Stephanie looked at the front page, at the box outlined in blue in the upper right-hand corner: "The Rest Of Mother Earth's Family--Where Are They Now? Stephanie Kenyon Tells You Starting Sunday." She smiled and tucked the paper under her arm as she headed for the elevator.

  When she got to her desk several people gathered around her to offer congratulations and ask questions. Hal saw her and dashed over.

  "Where have you been?" he asked. "I'm ready to climb the walls. Do you know what time it is?"

  "Sorry. I got stuck in traffic."

  "Never mind. Come on, we've got work to do. A lot of things have changed while you were gone."

  "Like what?" Stephanie excused herself and followed Hal to a conference room.

  "Sit down," Hal said after he closed the door. "I would have called you but I didn't have time and I wasn't sure where you'd be. I've had several meetings with Melrose and Mr. Z over the past few days. We've decided on the format of the series. Sunday sales have kept pace but daily numbers are dropping, so we're going to run it this coming Monday through Friday, two interviews a day. Do you have ten strong ones?"

  Stephanie nodded. "At least that many."

  "Good," he said. "And Steph...they were getting so excited about the series that I felt I had to go ahead and bring up the reunion."

  "But you told me you were going to wait until I could be there."

  "I know, I know, but the timing was just perfect."

  "What did Mr. Zollinger say?" Stephanie asked. She knew Hal woul
d never have taken the risk of offending Mr. Zollinger if he weren't sure of the outcome.

  "He thinks we're both geniuses. The reunion is on, if enough people are willing to come. Right now it looks like we'll have it a week after the series ends. That will give us a little time to decide on a location, transportation, food, and whatever else we need. We're not going to build up the reunion like we're building up the series. We've decided there would be too many problems with security and confidentiality. There'll be no advance notice in the media. In fact, no one else at the Trib is to know about it."

  "So the meeting is off for today?"

  "The meeting is on," Hal replied. "I think Mr. Z wants to lay kudos on you for your ideas and your hard work. He also wants to discuss the promos."

  "We're getting promotions?"

  "I wish. I'm talking about promos for the series. Melrose has arranged for you to be interviewed in the morning by about every TV station in town. He also bought spots to plug the series. They'll air tomorrow night and run all next week. He wants to talk to you about the image you should project since you'll be representing the Trib."

  "Why would Melrose go to all that trouble for me?" Stephanie asked.

  "He's not. All he sees are dollar signs, and he's milking this for everything he can get." Hal popped the tab on a can of Cherry Coke. "Do you know yet which interviews you're going to use?"

  "I'm way ahead of you. I've already finished four of them."

  "Good. Which ones?"

  "Moran, Dolmire, Hartun and Pennington. Until now I thought we'd be going with one a day, but since we're running two a day I think it would be good to start off with Moran and Dolmire."

  "I'll leave that up to you." Hal took a sip of Coke. "Were there any problems this time?"

  "Colleen Dupre. I barely got ten words out of her."

  "That's not what I meant," Hal said. "I meant the strange phone calls."

  "Well...no more calls, but I did get a threatening letter, at home. It said something like I shouldn't be sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, and that they're watching me."

  Hal raised in his chair. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "What could you do about it?"

  "I don't know, but you still should have told me. Who signed it?"

  "No one, but I have a suspicion it came from Mother Earth."

  Hal's eyes grew larger. "Mother Earth knows about this?"

  "She sent a letter to Treva Billingsley that said she's not exactly happy about what I'm doing."

  "Did you see the letter?"

  "No, Treva wouldn't show it to me because some parts of it were personal. She might have been the one who told Mother Earth, but she denied it. What this tells me, though, is that there's still communication between Mother Earth and her Family. Hal, don't you find it a bit strange that someone I've interviewed, one of the successful ones, so to speak, still has contact with Mother Earth?"

  "Don't be so sure it's someone you've interviewed. It could be Xeno."

  Stephanie wanted nothing more than to sleep late on Saturday morning, but she dragged herself out of bed to exercise and run. The meeting with Mr. Zollinger had gone so well that Hal talked her into going out to Rex Ristorante to celebrate. After she got home she forced herself to stay up and type a draft of the segment on Angela Deerfield.

  Mr. Zollinger had told Stephanie that good things were going to happen for her at the Trib. He talked at length about some of the articles she had written, and she couldn't help being flattered that he remembered them. Melrose had been cordial, but Stephanie was sure it was only because his Uncle Arthur was there. Because of the expense she was surprised he was in favor of the reunion, but she was even more surprised when he suggested they work together on the travel arrangements once Stephanie knew who would attend. By three thirty, reporters from four different television stations had interviewed her and she had taped two promos. As the last TV crew was packing to leave, Melrose walked up to her.

  "Hey, Kenyon. Bet you like being in front of all those cameras, don't you?"

  "It's great," Stephanie replied, without turning her head. "Would you like an autograph?"

  "Only if you'll sign the inside of my thigh."

  "Sure, Lance," she said with an accommodating smile, "if I can use an acetylene torch."

  By the time Stephanie got home Saturday night she was exhausted, but she dragged out her tapes and her notes and continued to work on the series. It was just after midnight when the phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Miss Stephanie, it's me, Weasel."

  "What's wrong, Weasel? You sound upset."

  "I could be in trouble, Miss Stephanie. Big trouble. You gotta help me."

  "Of course. But what's wrong?"

  "I can't talk now. Meet me at our usual place, as quick as you can."

  "I'm on my way."

  Weasel wasn't in front of the drugstore on 6th Street when Stephanie got there. She drove around the area for over an hour and kept checking back at the drugstore, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Worried, she decided to go to Severman House.

  Not being a twenty-four hour open shelter, Severman House was locked. She rang the bell for several minutes before someone came to the door. It was another few minutes before the resident returned with Colonel Willis.

  "Stephanie! What brings you here at this hour? Is something the matter?"

  "I'm not sure, Colonel. Is Weasel around?"

  The Colonel's brow wrinkled. He turned toward the tall, thin man behind him. "Don, go see if Weasel's here, would you?" He turned back to Stephanie. "Tell me what's wrong."

  "I got a call from Weasel about two hours ago. He sounded very frightened. He said he needed my help and asked me to meet him right away. He wasn't there when I arrived. I've driven all over the place and I didn't see him. I wouldn't have bothered you except that it's not like Weasel."

  "Don't worry, I'll bet he's sound asleep in his bed. He's probably tired. I asked him to go gas up the station wagon to get it ready for church in the morning. It was almost empty when he left and he ran out of gas before he got to the station. He was pretty worn out by the time he got the gas and walked back to the car. He doesn't have much luck hitchhiking."

  "It's just that he's never stood me up before. That's not like him."

  Colonel Willis chuckled. "You don't know him like I do, Stephanie. I wish I had a dollar for every time he stood me up. Now don't worry, everything is fine."

  Both of them turned when the resident came walking back down the hallway.

  "Is he asleep, Don?"

  "No, Colonel. His bed's empty."

  Chapter 26

  Her laughter could be heard a block away. Arm in arm they tottered along, each leaning on the other for support. They had met two hours earlier in a smoky, dimly-lit bar. It was the kind of place that specialized in liaisons between people who used names other than their own when seeking escape from the monotony of their dreary daytime identities. Tonight he was Johnny and she was Suzanne, but the names didn't matter because neither would remember the other once they sobered up. She was aware of the growing effort it took each morning to cover the harsh lines time had left on her face. That made it easier for her to overlook his receding hairline and the belly that lapped over his belt and jiggled as he walked. Passersby looked at them and laughed, but the couple seemed to shut out everything except the emptiness each hoped the other would fill. They staggered deeper into the night, looking for one last bar, one final dose of courage before winding up in a cheap motel room.

  "Johnny, I gotta pee."

  "Aw, come on, you can hold it awhile."

  "I've been holding it awhile. I gotta go. Now!"

  "What the hell you want me to do, cup my hands? I don't see anyplace still open around here." He looked up and down the street and peered at his watch. "Shit, it's two thirty."

  "I don't care what time it is, I gotta go to the bathroom." She started giggling. The more she giggled the tighter she held herself to keep from ur
inating in the middle of the sidewalk.

  "All right, come on," directed Johnny. "Follow me."

  "Where?"

  "Over there." Johnny pointed toward an alley on the other side of the street. There was no traffic as they weaved their way across. The closer they got to the alley the more foreboding it became. It was an old service alley that stretched only two-hundred feet before ending at the back of a dirty, deserted, three-story warehouse. Its sides were formed by brick buildings that housed empty retail shops on the street level and apartments long since vacated on the upper levels. Two stripped automobiles with flat tires suggested that the alley was rarely used.

  "Johnny, I'm not going back there." By this time her knees were locked together in a final attempt at bladder control.

  "It's either in the alley or right here on the sidewalk."

  Once again she surveyed the dark stretches of the alley, shivering again at the thought of what its shadows might conceal. She then considered her only other choice, the sidewalk, with people and cars passing by. The alcohol had not effaced all modesty.

  "Okay, but I'm not going all the way back, just in a little ways so no one can see me."

  "Fine, but hurry," Johnny urged.

  "You're telling me to hurry?"

  They walked about thirty feet into the alley before she squatted by the side of the building. She let out a moan of relief as her urine formed a small puddle beneath her and streamed in a warm river to where Johnny was standing. At that moment she seemed to lose some of her appeal.

  "What the hell is that?" he asked.

  "What! What is it?" She quickly pulled up her panties.

  "Oh, don't get all bent out of shape. It's only a rat or something."

  "A rat! I hate those things!"

  "Calm down," he said. "They won't hurt you unless you corner them."

  By now their eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness of the alley, though the effects of the cheap scotch still added a touch of fuzziness.