by Vince Milam
CC shot out first, Tinker on her heels. She stopped short, eyes wide, mouth open.
“What happened?”
She pointed to the flesh-colored adhesive bandages on my face and neck.
“It’s okay, CC. It really is. I was in a car accident, but everything is okay. I promise.”
Tinker cared little about bandages and barked and rubbed against my legs and barked again.
“You are okay?” CC asked.
“I’m okay.” I held out my arms, and she moved inside them. A long and gentle hug, murmurs of “I missed you” from both of us.
Mom hustled over and joined after tossing out, “Marcus Johnson, it has been too long and don’t you look good.”
She joined the hug, the tears started, and we stood bonded, relieved, loved. I could have stood there for hours.
“I heard you say car accident,” Mom said. “I take it everyone is recovering?” She pulled a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Are you faring well, Marcus?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mom knew Marcus, Bo, and Catch from Delta days and had run into them at long intervals when I’d drag them through Charleston. Mom understood Delta’s purpose and believed in it as much as a mother could. She also understood the nature of my contracts since those days. She wouldn’t ask further questions about past engagements, although the door was wide open regarding her opinions on the recent matter. Which was more than fine with me. Home with Mom and CC. Circle complete, life returned to a semblance of normal.
“Bo and Catch are sleeping in the extra bedroom,” I said, kissing Mom and CC again and squeezing them as best I could. “Bo has the worst of it. Catch blew out his knee, but it’s on the mend.”
“I couldn’t be happier they are here. But no more car accidents, my son. I can’t take it.”
She cried again, and I hugged her tighter.
“No more car accidents. Everything is taken care of.”
“Do you mean it?”
“I mean it. We removed a heavy burden. One we’ve carried for years. It’s over, Mom. Over.”
A sharp pang of unfinished business left unspoken, but I’d deal with that tomorrow. Not now, not at this golden moment.
“Bo is here?” CC asked. She was wild about Bo. Their times together on the phone or the Ace of Spades were major highlights.
“He is, but he’s sleeping. He’ll be so happy to see you. And Tinker.”
“Tinker Juarez.”
“And Tinker Juarez.”
She gently released me and smiled at Marcus.
“You’re black.”
“I am,” Marcus said and smiled back. “And it has been years and years since I last saw you, CC.”
His statement, an affirmation he was one of her brother’s tribe, prompted her to approach and deliver another hug. Marcus returned it full force. Tinker spun around them, voiced approval, and dashed off to ensure his backyard turf remained unmolested by other critters. He peed on a particular spot in the middle of the yard and another at the back fence. His turf.
Mom joined CC and gave Marcus a hug and a smack on the cheek.
“It has been years, and the gray hair makes you look distinguished. I know how much Case loves visiting you in the middle of nowhere. He also tells me you have a girlfriend.”
“On again, off again.”
“Hmm. We will talk about that, Marcus Johnson.” She kissed him again. “You could use a woman’s perspective since you live alone with cows and bears. And snow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Peter, who had stood aside, a large grin on full display, approached with hand extended. I slid past this handshake and embraced him.
“Thank you, Peter. God bless you and thank you.”
“It wasn’t a problem. At all. I’m glad I could be of some service.”
He’d been a rock. Leapt into the mess without hesitation, helped all he could with Mom and CC. Committed himself to the role of support and, if needed, guidance. Mary Lola Wilson—Mom—could do a heckuva lot worse than Peter Brooks. Although he had one remarkable woman in Mom.
“Where’d you folks go?” I asked.
“CC,” he called out. “Where did we go?”
CC, eyes wide and sparkling, took a quick spin on her toes before answering.
“Disney World! Can you believe?”
“Wow,” I said. “It must have been amazing.”
“Oh, Case. And Universal Studios. You cannot believe!”
“And I can’t wait to hear all about it. But first, let’s get unloaded.”
Orlando, Florida. A perfect spot for the family, away from Krupp’s network of data points. Smack dab among thousands of tourists, surrounded with folks, in a place none of them had been before. My estimation of Peter Brooks cranked up another notch.
“You men unload. CC, honey, you have to be quiet inside. Bo and Juan are sleeping. I’ll inventory the grocery situation. Peter, would you be a dear and make a grocery store run after I make a list?”
“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered in his direction. “I’ll go.”
“I do have to do that,” he said with a wide smile. “And I don’t mind one little bit.”
“Honey, keep the dog under control. He’ll want to go see who’s sleeping inside. Bo and Juan were in the same car accident as your brother. They need rest. I’m thinking steaks. It’s a lovely evening, and there’s not a lot of time for cooking, so we’ll grill outdoors. What about dessert? Never mind. I’ll whip up a pie.”
With Mary Lola Wilson in command, we unloaded the vehicle and Peter headed for the store. Mom demanded that Marcus and I sit in the kitchen while she went about coffee and pie-making. CC scooted a chair alongside me and regaled us with Disney World and Universal Studios stories. She’d reach over and grab Marcus’s hand when an item of special interest was reviewed, making sure he was part of the tale-telling. Tinker, after loud sniffs under the extra bedroom door, stood sentinel at the back porch and overlooked the yard. Mom added footnotes to CC’s tales. She’d clearly had as good a time as possible given the exodus situation. The stove heated the room, the coffee was fresh, and in that small Charleston kitchen waves of powerful love held court. I reveled in it, filled to the brim with joy and relief.
Chapter 37
Eight-hour shifts, one man on duty. Given three ex-operators as immediate backup, our situation was secure. I had confidence the plug had been pulled. Hitters and bounty hunters would head for greener pastures. Covering bases, I asked Mom and CC to always venture outside with an escort. Including the backyard. Mom found it silly. CC loved it. After an evening of overeating and sleeping, at dawn I broached the Hawaii travel with Mom.
“I’ll return in thirty-six hours. Guaranteed.”
“Why? Why are you, in this condition, flying away again?”
We sat alone in the kitchen. Rather, I sat, while Mom bustled about and ensured we remained well-fed at regular intervals. Mary Lola’s healing salve.
“I haven’t completed the contract. There’s one loose end left.”
She halted countertop ministrations and cast a jaundiced eye. Catch snored from the next room’s couch. Marcus and Bo lay stretched out in the bedroom. I stood watch.
“A business loose end? Or some other type?”
I lied. Had to.
“Business. My client expects it. I have a charter flight at midnight.”
A lousy schedule, but with departure from a small place such as Charleston where long-flight charters weren’t a regular occurrence, I’d take what I could get. With travel and time-zone changes I’d get into Kona past midnight.
“Then back here?”
“Absolutely. Back here.”
“You have to heal, son of mine. You all do. Why in the world the four of you think you are still young and nimble is beyond me.” She slurped coffee and waved a wooden spoon. “Foolishness. Absolute foolishness.”
“No argument here.”
Catch’s final snore erupted, followed by a low g
rowl. He wandered into the kitchen, scratching.
“Coffee, Juan?”
“Yes, ma’am. Please.”
Mom refused to call him Catch. “He has a perfectly lovely name,” she’d say. “Juan Antonio Diego Hernandez. Lovely name.”
“How’s the knee?” I asked.
“Alright. How’s your butt?”
“Watch the B-word,” Mom said and emphasized her point with a wooden spoon whack against the rim of an iron skillet.
“Sorry.”
“It’s been better,” I said. “But healing.”
Mom delivered Catch a mug of joe. She was prepped and loaded for a relationship discussion.
“Case tells me you have a wonderful partner in Portland. Willa?”
“She’s something special.”
“Lord knows she’s something special to put up with you, Juan Antonio. Now explain why you two aren’t married.”
“Well…”
“Exactly as I suspected. There is no good reason. The poor suffering woman has dealt with you for how long?”
Catch glanced my way for support. My returned headshake spelled you’re on your own.
“Several years.”
“Several years.” The wooden spoon thwacked the skillet again. “Several years. And just how many years do you plan on waiting, mister?”
“Well, now that we’ve taken care of a major issue affecting us, I might surprise you.”
Mom flicked off the stovetop, grabbed her coffee mug, and sat at the small wooden table with us. She took a slurp, set the mug down, and snatched one of Catch’s hands with both of hers.
“You know I love you like a son. All these years you’ve been the dearest of friends to Case, which in and of itself is quite the challenge.”
“Mom, I’m sitting right here.”
“Hush. Now Juan, there are times when an honest assessment is required.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How would you assess Juan Antonio Diego Hernandez?”
He shot another glance only to be met with my no-help-available smile.
“Well, I suppose I can be a handful on occasion. But my heart’s in the right place.”
“Exactly! I’d suggest more than ‘on occasion,’ but we won’t split hairs. And your heart has always been in the right place. Do you love her?”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I do.”
“Then marry the poor girl. I’ll pray for you. Miracles do happen. You might could mellow a bit. It will be a heavy lift on the Lord’s part, but you can do it, Juan. Yes, you can. Now, are you hungry?”
Later, CC and Tinker wandered in. She kissed Mom, then me, then Catch. She was infatuated with his beard and tugged it while she planted a cheek kiss. Tinker whined at the back door. The day settled into a litany of loving small talk, naps, and too much food pressed upon us.
Midmorning, Marcus stepped outside for a cigar. I joined him.
“Flying solo on this one?” he asked as the rancher in him inspected the sky, ascertaining weather.
“Yep. Short trip.”
“US turf.”
“I know.”
“That’s my only concern,” Marcus said. “He’s a powerful man with powerful friends.”
“There’s a small window of opportunity. I doubt he’s gotten wind of our recent activities. Gotta make a move before he hears about it.”
“Agreed. I’ll just say you could use a partner. It wouldn’t hurt.”
“I know. Man, I know. But my treasure lies here, and it requires protection.”
“That’s not an issue. We’ll be here for however long it takes.” He applied a gentle grip to my upper arm. “I can’t lose a man after what we’ve been through. Not now, not at the tail end of things.”
I couldn’t pinpoint why I was so moved. Relief at the situation, the family’s safety, our return from the gates of hell. But his gentle touch pressed against closed floodgates.
“I’ve got this, Marcus. And I’ll return before you know it.”
An arm release, an eye-lock, and a sage nod returned. Soon after, Bo eased out the back door. He moved with deliberation, pain evident, but smiled and lifted his face toward the winter sun.
“I thought I’d join you two fine gentlemen for a smoke.”
“This will be the first and last time you hear this from me,” Marcus said, puffing his cigar. “But at the moment you could probably use it.”
Bo produced a tiny pipe, weed packed into the bowl. Before he fired it, he asked Marcus, “Will you join me?”
“No. How’s the shoulder? And the other messed-up parts?”
“Splendid hallmarks from a grand adventure.” Bo fired a hit of weed. “Will we ever see another like it?” he asked, exhaling.
“I hope not,” Marcus said. “And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
“It was a bold and heroic experience, was it not, my Georgia peach?”
He bumped against me, gentle against my side.
“Don’t know about heroic,” I said. “Except for you. Bo Dickerson should have had his ticket punched with those escapades. As for bold, maybe. Damn foolhardy, for sure.”
“We are too emphatic about the finality of future endeavors together, my brothers.” He extended a hand and rested it on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus smiled and shook his head.
“They broke the mold when they made you,” he said, chuckling. “And I’ll second the damn foolhardy.”
We stood in the cool midmorning sun. Neighborhood life sounded around us; cars cruised past, the occasional bark of a dog, screen doors slammed, and kids yelled. Just right.
After more naps and quiet recovery, I passed through the living room. Bo had planted himself on the couch. CC and Tinker joined him, although Mom did her best keeping the dog off the furniture. To no avail. The three bundled together while Bo and CC swapped stories and songs and flights of fancy. CC had always adored him, and Tinker Juarez picked up on the affection and provided his own, squirming his upper body into Bo’s lap.
“Nice dragons or bad ones?” Bo would ask CC.
“Nice ones.”
“Purple, green, or blue?”
“Blue.”
“Then you will learn about the famous blue flying dragons of Kamchatka. The nice ones.”
Bo would weave a tale, asking CC for input as the story progressed. Bo would appear shocked or surprised at her input, and CC would squeal with pleasure, laughing. I stood for a while, observed, and eased toward the couch. Leaned down and kissed CC. With a groan, I pushed off and shifted toward Bo. Leaned over again and rested forehead to forehead, eyes closed. No words, just a simple acknowledgement toward a fearless blood brother and my best friend.
Peter Brooks joined us for dinner. The seven of us packed around the kitchen table. Chicken and dumplings, dinner rolls, green beans, hummingbird cake. Our largest challenge was not overeating. Our second largest challenge was keeping Mom seated. We held hands, said a prayer, and dug in. The conversations were fun and gentle and shifted toward personal relationships because, well, Mom.
“Now, Bo. I understand you have a lady friend on that island, although it is unclear why anyone would wish to live where you are surrounded by sharks. Tell us about her.”
He did.
“So what I’m hearing,” Mom said, “is she is gainfully employed with the government. While you swim with tourists.”
“He’s a snorkeling guide, Mom,” I said.
“I’m a presenter,” Bo said. “I present wonders of the ocean.”
“And dragons,” CC added.
“And nice blue dragons.”
“Sounds to me like you’d best stick with this woman,” Mom said.
“I plan on it.”
“See, son,” she said, addressing me. “There is someone for everybody. Marcus, tell us about life in the wilderness.”
He did, covering cattle and hay and weather. Peter added a story or two about his and Mom’s recent Yellowstone Park trip. Mom’s input referenced bears. Catch gr
oaned as he attempted to rise for a second helping of chicken and dumplings, but CC leapt up to get it for him. When she returned with the steaming bowl, Catch lifted his chin toward her so she could giggle and give his beard a tug. Tinker Juarez stood stock-still at the kitchen doorway. He added an occasional low whine over his exclusion. CC and I would exchange winks—a favorite all-encompassing gesture she loved to deliver and receive. A perfect evening.
After we insisted Mom remain seated while the rest of us cleaned up, four ex-operators met on the screened-in back porch. Marcus fired a cigar, cool weather settled, and Tinker nosed his way out the screen door and inspected his backyard domain. Low conversation shifted toward my imminent departure.
“Don’t get busted,” Catch said. “Take care of business, but make it look like an accident. Can you toss his expired ass into the ocean?”
“I’ll be careful. It’s strange how, after the love felt here, the residual anger toward him has grown. Weird.”
It had. Krupp had kicked off this entire bloody mess. I had culpability with the data center break-in, but the odds were fair he would have unleashed the bounty hounds regardless. He was a MOTU, and I represented an unknown. MOTUs don’t like unknowns.
“When I get back to Portland, no more hiding, no more worry about Willa,” Catch said. “I’ll get a driver’s license and a credit card with my actual name. I’m putting this lumbersexual object of envy back on the grid.”
We’d begun internalizing life without a bounty. A new approach toward the world.
“How about you, Bo?” I asked. “Any changes?”
“JJ is considering a transfer. There’s a position in Albuquerque she may take.”
“You going?” I asked. You never knew with Bo.
“Arid and ancient lands, my brothers. Old souls meander through that place, seeking an audience. The universe whispers, nudging me in that direction.”
“I can’t speak about universal nudges—and I’m happy to remain in that situation—but I’ll admit my go-forward perspective will change,” Marcus said. “My view of strangers and activities and actions. I’ll let my guard down. A bit.”
“Me, too,” I added. “The future has a different texture.”
