4
Jack drove west on Camp Bowie Boulevard, listening to the clatter his tires made on the red brick paving laid by the Works Progress Administration in the Great Depression. Memories from thirty and forty years ago flooded back as he turned right on Hillcrest. After a block he saw Rivercrest Country Club and turned left on Crestline. He passed the clubhouse and drove slowly down Alta Lane until he spotted the house he wanted. Situated on almost two acres with giant pecan trees shading the front, it had six bedrooms, including a large master suite overlooking a heated pool and hot tub. The driveway circled the house to a six car garage. Sitting on a bluff above the Trinity River, the back yard sloped down the hill toward the river and the afternoon sun. In the distance was the old bomber plant, called various names over the years, including Convair and General Dynamics, but now closed. Jack’s dad had worked there for thirty years.
Jack stopped at the curb and listened for a moment to Willie Nelson warning mamas not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys. Then he climbed from his old red pickup and reached behind the front seat for his cane. His knee felt pretty good today, and he might not even need it. Still, he never knew when he was going to make a wrong step and have it collapse under him. He leaned against the front fender of Lucille, the name he gave his truck when it was new, and surveyed the house. It had a front porch extending the length of the house with a veranda of equal length above it. Both had elaborate wrought iron railing. He liked it. The realtor had told him it was unoccupied; so, he walked to the house, climbed the four steps to the porch and peered in the windows. The room on the right of the front door was the living room with a room of almost similar size to the left, this one lined with bookshelves. Behind the study was an entry into what appeared to be the dining room. He was standing at the top of the steps, leaning on his cane and surveying the golf course across the street when a green Lexus pulled up behind his pickup. Wow, he thought, as the realtor exited her car, Fort Worth could get more interesting in a hurry. The realtor’s biography on her website put her around forty, but she looked thirty. He guessed she was about five feet, four inches tall. Her short, auburn hair glistened in the afternoon sun. She wore blue pants and a long-sleeved white shirt open at the collar just enough to show a hint of cleavage. As she approached, Jack saw her eyes were emerald green, his new favorite color.
Colby Stripling glanced at the red Dodge Ram pickup as she parked. When she walked toward the house, she saw a middle-aged man wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, cowboy boots and a Texans cap. Why am I wasting time on this guy? Maybe I can take him out west of town and sell him a tract house, something he can afford, she thought. Still she put on her best realtor’s smile and reached out her right hand. “Good afternoon. I’m Colby Stripling.”
“Pleased to meet you, Colby,” Jack replied. “Name’s Jackson Bryant. Call me Jack. I’ve already taken the virtual tour of this place, and I like it. The owner willing to come off that five million he’s been asking for the past eight months?”
Colby decided to cut this showing short. “Look, Mr. Bryant, It’s tough to get a mortgage of any kind in this economy. Do you really think you can get one for a house this size?”
Jack grinned. “No, ma’am. I was just figuring to pay cash. Now can we have a look around?”
Still not sure if this guy was for real, Colby nodded and unlocked the front door. She stepped aside so Jack could get the full effect of the two story entry with its crystal chandelier and curving staircase to the second floor. Jack stepped in and nodded his approval as Colby turned to show him the living room. Next they entered the study and made their way back through a dining room large enough for a table for twelve. While Jack appreciated the kitchen, he was taken with the master suite across the center hall with French doors opening onto the back patio and a bathroom with a large flat screen TV and its own hot tub for two. They stepped through the French doors to the back yard where Jack admired the immaculate landscaping surrounding the pool and another hot tub.
“I’ll need that six car garage, and the concrete pad beside it looks just about right for my RV. I’ve seen enough. Offer four and a half, to close in two weeks.”
“Wait, wait, Jack,” Colby interrupted, deciding she wanted to be on a first name basis. “Don’t you want to see the upstairs?”
“No need to.” Jack shook his head. “I saw the upstairs on the virtual tour. Assuming the house passes inspection, I want it.” Jack glanced at her left hand and noticed there was no wedding band. “Now, how about joining me for a cup of coffee at the Starbucks over on Camp Bowie.”
Colby smiled and looked into his blue eyes. “I’d be delighted. Let me call and reschedule my next appointment.”
5
Jack led the way in Lucille and stood ready to open Colby’s door when she parked beside him in front of Starbucks. “What’ll you have?”
Colby shook her head. “No, this is my treat. After all, I’m trying to get your business.”
“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “You’ve already got it, but I’ll have a black coffee. I don’t speak Starbucks and just always ask for something simple.”
Jack stood beside Colby while she ordered his coffee and a grande skinny latte for herself. When they were seated by the window, Colby said, “I’ve sold a few big houses for cash, but not any lately. Mind if I ask what you do for a living?”
“Not at all,” Jack replied as he took the lid off his coffee and gently blew across the top to cool it a degree or two. Then he smiled and continued, “I’m now officially retired. Before that I robbed banks. Just kidding. Until last week I was a plaintiff lawyer in Beaumont. Got my last big verdict and called it quits.
Colby thought about what Jack said before she asked, “I think I understand what a plaintiff lawyer does. For good measure, can you explain?”
“Sure,” Jack said as he tried to take a sip of his hot coffee. “I usually represent the little guy or his family if he’s killed, someone who has been severely injured or killed because of the negligence of a big company. He couldn’t afford to take on a Fortune 500 company if he paid by the hour; so, I take those cases on a contingent fee. If we win, we both have a big payday. If we lose, I eat all my time and expenses. Fortunately, I carefully select my cases,” he said. “And I usually get a big settlement or a bigger verdict if I have to try the case.”
Colby absorbed all Jack said, already beginning to like the man across the table from her. “I think I follow what you’re saying. Why are you here in Fort Worth?”
“I grew up in Fort Worth and wanted to move back. I still have a few classmates here and my son, J.D., is going to play football for TCU.”
Understanding flashed through Colby’s eyes. “Oh, yeah. He’s a walk-on. The Star Telegram ran a feature on him. Came out of the Marines. Two tours in Iraq. Never played football in his life. Just showed up at Coach Patton’s door.”
“That’s my son. Pleased to know you follow TCU football. Maybe I can talk you into joining me for a game or two this fall.”
Colby paused before she replied, fishing for more information. “You must have a big family. That’s a giant house.”
‘Nope. Just me. J.D.’s mother and I divorced fifteen years ago.”
Colby took a sip of her coffee. “Still, why such a big house? I’m not trying to knock myself out of a commission, but there are plenty of smaller houses with similar features.”
“I’m buying it because I can afford it and I want people to know I succeeded. Look, I grew up on Byers, east of Clover Lane. I’m sure you don’t show those houses. Commission wouldn’t be worth your time. We had a two bedroom, frame house. Camp Bowie Boulevard was the dividing line. I went to South High Mount Elementary, Stripling Junior High, and Arlington Heights. The kids at Heights who lived on the north side of Camp Bowie treated the rest of us like we lived on the wrong side of the tracks. It pissed me off then and even now. Speaking of Stripling, you related to those Striplings?”
“Yes,” Colby replied. “My gre
at grandfather started Stripling’s Department Store downtown near the court house. He’s the one W.C. Stripling Junior High is named after. My grandfather took over the family business. Unfortunately, times passed him by. Walmarts and Targets started springing up. He stuck to the old ways his father taught him and drove the business into the ground. He finally sold the store for about the value of the land. A developer tore it down and built an office building. I grew up in Monticello, not far from Rivercrest. I moved back into my family home after my parents died a few years ago.”
“I know where that is. Couple of my classmates lived there. I figured they must have been rich, living in a brick house with more than one bathroom.” Jack decided to be the inquisitor and asked, “Are you’re married?”
Colby had removed the lid from her coffee and looked down while she stirred it. Finally, she looked up. “I, uh, I’m seeing someone.” Obviously uncomfortable, Colby turned to look out the window and then changed the subject. “So you made a lot of money as a plaintiff lawyer. Why retire to Fort Worth? Why not the mountains or maybe an island in the Caribbean?”
Jack was puzzled by her change in demeanor but let it pass and answered. “Let me give you a little more background. Most of my classmates when off to college, Texas, A&M, Texas Tech, North Texas, some to the Ivy League. Quite a few stayed in town and went to TCU. My parents couldn’t afford to send me anywhere to college. So, I lived at home and commuted with three other guys to Arlington State. Joined Army ROTC to pay for my tuition and books. After I graduated I spent three years in the 101st Airborne, mainly jumping out of helicopters. Then I talked my way into South Texas College of Law in Houston.” Jack paused as his eyes got a far away look and he re-lived his growing-up years in Fort Worth. “When I graduated, I moved to Beaumont, not because it was a paradise. In fact, it’s a polluted, mosquito infested swamp with a bunch of stinking refineries and a small port.” Jack smiled. “On the other hand, the United States Chamber of Commerce votes it a judicial hell hole every damn year.”
“I don’t understand,” Colby interrupted.
“Juries in Jefferson County and a few similar counties down along the Mexican border never met a big company they liked. They’re notorious for awarding giant verdicts to injured workers. I went there to get rich, and it worked.” Jack thought about what he just said and added, “Well, I did get rich, but over twenty-five years, I helped out a lot of folks who couldn’t afford justice if it hadn’t have been for me and lawyers like me. As to Fort Worth, I always loved this town even though I don’t have fond memories of a lot of my classmates, and now J. D.’s here. As to Rivercrest, a few of my classmates lived in those big houses. I just want to show them that you don’t have to be a member of the lucky sperm club to buy one.”
“Do you mind if I ask about your cane?”
“Not at all. I thought my military service was behind me. Then President Bush, the first one, decided he needed me in Desert Storm. I wasn’t there three months before I took some shrapnel in my left knee. Gave me an early out and I returned to Beaumont. The knee works pretty well most of the time. Then for no good reason it goes out on me. That’s when I need the cane. Otherwise, I’ll fall on my ass.”
Colby figured she had enough information. She looked at her watch. “I gotta get out of here. I’m already late for my next appointment.”
Jack nodded his understanding. “And I’ve got to meet J.D. for dinner. I’m staying at that Residence Inn on Seventh across from the old Monkey Wards. At least that’s what we called it when I was growing up. Now I see it’s been turned into lofts. Anyway, I’ll be there until I hear back on the offer. You’ve got my cell.”
As they walked out into the sunlight, Colby eyed his pickup and asked, “I gather you’ve got other vehicles. Why do you drive that old Dodge?”
They stopped at her Lexus while Jack answered. “Good question. There’s a lawyer in Palestine, Texas. Old friend of mine. Name’s Johnny Bob Tisdale. I referred him a case a few years back and we both made a nice fee. Along with my cut, he gave me this pickup. I’ve got a bunch of other vehicles, but I’ll drive this until the wheels fall off. Come around here to the back. I want to show you something.”
Jack led her around to the rear of his pickup and pointed to the license plate. The frame announced, My Lawyer Is J. Robert Tisdale. “Next to me, he’s probably the best plaintiff lawyer in the state. Hell, he may even be a little better.”
Jack extended his hand and Colby shook it. Jack waited for her to back out and drive away. As he watched the Lexus disappear to the west, Jack decided he was definitely taking a renewed liking to Fort Worth.
6
Within a minute after leaving Jack, Colby was passing the old Ridglea Theater. Her mind wandered back to her encounter with her new client. It had been years since she had a romantic thought about a man. Why this one? Why now? As the thought grew, she realized why: This was a man, self made, who had done a lot of good for needy people and made a lot of money along the way. Maybe he was a night in shining armor, maybe not, but he was certainly different from the guys she met nearly every day. Then she shoved him out of her mind. Whatever the thought, she couldn’t follow through on it.
When she got to Edgehill she moved to the left turn lane and waited for the light. She glanced in her mirror as she waited, then reached into her purse for lipstick which she managed to apply just before the light changed. She followed Edgehill until she got to Ridglea Country Club, a nice neighborhood but one several steps below Rivercrest. She circled around the west side of the golf course until she turned into a circular driveway with a granite monument between two giant live oaks. The monument announced “Ridglea Oaks Nursing Home.” Colby parked in the shade of one of the oaks and took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied with her appearance, she retrieved what she called her realtor’s black purse, a Dooney and Bourke with multiple pockets accessed by gold zippers. She called it her realtor’s purse because it was large enough to double as a briefcase. In fact, the main pocket held, among other trash and treasures, her iPad.
Ridglea Oaks was considered among the finest nursing homes in Fort Worth. The lawn was manicured. Flowers that changed with the seasons were in beds on either side of the entrance. There’s nothing good about being confined to a nursing home, Colby thought as she opened the door, but if there is no other option, this is certainly better than most.
The living room, as it was called, had a large screen HDTV on the wall to the left. Several of the guests, most of them elderly and largely abandoned by their families, watched an afternoon game show. Some understood it. Others merely stared at the screen because their chairs were facing that direction. In one corner four men were engaged in some card game. To Colby’s right was the reception desk. Colby addressed the receptionist manning the desk by name as she signed the register. “Afternoon, Ruth. How are things going today?”
Ruth smiled. She liked Colby and it showed. “Just fine, Ms. Stripling. You sell any houses today?”
“Actually, I’m about to land a big one.” She leaned over and whispered. “In Rivercrest.”
“Wow. Good luck,” Ruth replied.
Colby walked toward a hallway and paused when she saw a shriveled up old lady in a yellow dress, sitting in a wheelchair by herself. Colby kneeled beside the wheelchair so Ms. Newman could see her face. “My, you’re looking pretty in that yellow outfit. Even have a yellow rose in your hair. I bet you’ve got some family coming for a visit today.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then Ms. Newman slowly nodded her head.
“Well, you tell your daughter I said hello. I haven’t seen her in ages.”
Colby rose and walked down the hallway painted a pale blue, her heels tapping on the tile floor as her eyes wandered over pictures of landscapes, gardens and mountain scenes. They certainly tried to make a dreary place cheerful, anyway, she thought. She nodded at the nurse at the nurses’ station. When she got to the fourth door on the right, she drew in a breath and en
tered without knocking. The single occupant of the room was a man, lying still on the bed in the center, his eyes open but seeing nothing. He was fed by a tube in his stomach. A sudden, ruptured aneurysm in his brain had put him in that condition. The neurosurgeon did everything he could, but he could not change the inevitable. The doctor had said he might live five years. That had been ten years ago.
Colby walked over to the head of the bed and kissed him on the cheek. “Hi, Rob. It’s me. Let me pull up a chair and I’ll tell you my good news.”
Colby placed a straight back chair facing the bed and took the occupant’s hand in her’s. “I’ve got a lead on a sale in Rivercrest. Four and a half million, can you believe that? Of course, I’ll have to share the commission with the listing broker, but my share will be around a hundred thousand. That means I can catch up on my payments to the nursing home and use the rest to pay down my 401k loan.”
Rob said nothing, which is what Colby expected. She knew he neither saw nor heard her. Still, she felt a moral obligation to treat him like a human being who had thoughts and feelings when she visited.
Colby stayed half an hour, then kissed Rob on the cheek again before she left the room. In the hallway she found an attendant pushing Ms. Newman toward her room. “You have a good visit with your family, Ms. Newman?”
The attendant shook her head. “Nobody came. So, I’m taking her back to her room for dinner.”
Colby shook her head in disgust as she walked away, wondering how people could just abandon family members like they were animals in a shelter.
7
Don Allison sensed desperation in his brother’s voice when Dwayne asked him to drop by the office. Don spent twelve years in the Navy after high school and then became his brother’s insurance manager, overseeing the insurance products sold in his brother’s dealerships for the last twenty years. Don drove to his brother’s office that afternoon, waved at the secretary and opened the door to find Dwayne on the phone. The office was at the front of Dwayne’s ranch, built to look like a large bunkhouse until a visitor got through the front door. The front office was Ann’s, Dwayne’s secretary for twenty-five years. A door to the side led to a bull pen, full of cubicles for bookkeepers, clerks, and staff. Dwayne’s office was massive with leather furniture and nearly every space on the walls filled with the head of some trophy animal he had killed in hunting trips throughout the world. Behind his desk were plaques, recognizing his service to multiple civic organizations and photos of Dwayne with politicians, mostly Republican. Dwayne was ten years older and starting to get a little beefy with jowls and dark circles under his eyes. A few prominent veins on his nose acknowledged his love of good whiskey. What little hair he had left was now mostly gray. Don walked to the bar by the window and poured two fingers of Tito’s vodka over ice and returned to sit in front of the desk until the conversation ended.
Dead Peasants Page 2
